Jack in the Forecastle; or, Incidents in the Early Life of Hawser Martingale

by John Sherburne Sleeper

After exchanging a few left-handed compliments with no decided result, our pugilistic amusement was interrupted by the unauthorized influence of two of the passengers, who had been searching for shell-fish among the rocks. What the result of the contest would have been I will not venture to conjecture. I was but a tyro in the art, while Strictland prided himself in his scientific skill, and gave an indication of the purity of his tastes by boasting of having once acted in the honorable capacity of bottle-holder to a disciple of the notorious Tom Crib, on a very interesting public occasion.

After we had been about a fortnight on our passage, daily beating to windward in the Caribbean Sea, we were fallen in with by a British sloop-of-war. The sight of this vessel, and a knowledge of her character, caused a sensation throughout the schooner. Doubts were very naturally entertained in regard to the treatment the passengers would receive at the hands of their much-dreaded enemy. They were Frenchmen, and all the property on board was French property; and notwithstanding they sailed under Spanish colors, it was predicted by some, who entertained exaggerated notions of the rapacity of Englishmen and their hatred of the French, that the flag of Spain would not serve as a protection; but that their little property would be seized upon, and themselves detained and confined as prisoners or war. Others, however, cherished a different opinion, and had confidence in that magnanimity which has always been claimed by the English as one of their national attributes.

It was an anxious moment; and a general council of war was held among the passengers on the deck of the schooner, in which, as at a conclave of parrots, few seemed to listen while every one was eager to speak. The consultation, however, produced no result. Indeed, nothing could be done, excepting to wait, and bow submissively to the decrees of the conqueror.

My friend and companion, Strictland, was really in greater jeopardy than either of the Frenchmen. If his name and station had been discovered, he would have found snug quarters during the term of his natural life; nothing could have saved him from impressment. The French passengers, aware of the fact, with the kindest feelings took active measures to prevent such a misfortune. They changed his name, clad him in Frenchified garments, bound a many-colored handkerchief around his head, put a cigarette in his mouth, and cautioned him against replying in his native tongue to questions that might be asked. Thus travestied, it was boldly predicted that he would not be taken for an Englishman.

The sloop-of-war sent a boat alongside, commanded by a lieutenant, who seemed surprised at the singular group by which he was surrounded on reaching the schooner's deck. To his questions, replies were received from a dozen different mouths. He was a pleasant, gentlemanly officer and seemed greatly amused at his reception. At length he inquired for the captain, and on his being pointed out, addressed his questions to him, and repressed the officious interference of others until he received a full explanation of the character of the vessel and the intent of the voyage. The statements of the captain were confirmed by papers and documents, which left no doubt of their truth. The lieutenant, after obtaining all necessary information, returned to the ship to report the result of his visit. He did not tarry long, and when he came back relieved the apprehensions of the passengers by assuring them that the commander of the sloop of war, far from seeking to injure or embarrass them, felt for their misfortunes and would gladly render them any assistance in his power. He then went among the passengers, conversed with them, asked each one his name and country, and took other means to prevent deception. When he came to Strictland, and asked his name, the reply was, "Jean Fourchette," in a bold tone.

"Are you a Frenchman?" asked the officer.

"Yes, SIR," was Strictland's reply, in a most anti-Gallican accent.

The officer stared at him for a moment, but without asking more questions passed on to others.

I felt somewhat apprehensive that the British ship was short-manned, and that the officer might cast a longing look on me, and consider me worthy of serving his "most gracious majesty"; in which case I intended to fall back on my American protection, which I regarded as my richest treasure, and insist upon going to an English prison rather than sling my hammock in a man-of-war. But no questions were asked, as I was looked upon as one of the crew, which, without counting Strictland, consisted of only three individuals; and the idea of reducing that small number by impressment was not entertained.

The officer, before he left the schooner, with great glee communicated to our passengers an important piece of intelligence, which was more gratifying to British than to French ears. A great and decisive battle had been fought at Salamanca, in Spain, between the combined armies under Wellington and the French army under Marmont. It resulted in the signal defeat of the French marshal, who was severely wounded. The officer left some English newspapers on board the schooner containing the details of the battle.