A few days out, we were hailed by an English frigate. She sent a boat alongside to make some inquiries, and left us to pursue our way in peace. We were all in good spirits; our men being divided into watches to assist the crew of the ship; our officers all snugly quartered in the cabin, and myself appointed to assist the steward; an office quite agreeable to one who had lived on prisoners’ fare more than a year,[26] because it brought me a few of the spare luxuries from the officers’ table.
One morning, shortly after the English frigate had boarded us, Captain Nicholson asked me something about Salem. I smiled. He inquired why I laughed. “Sir,” said I, “Salem is not my native place by considerable.”
“What do you mean?” asked the captain, looking somewhat puzzled at my manner of treating the subject.
I then unfolded the secret of my having been one of the crew captured in the Macedonian. They seemed amazed at the risks I had encountered since the capture of the Siren, and congratulated me very warmly on my really hair-breadth escape from the halter. It was a fortunate escape indeed, for which I can never be sufficiently thankful to that All-seeing Eye, that watched for my safety in the moment of peril.
During this voyage, a great deal was said about quitting the seas and settling down in quietness ashore. One of our shipmates, named William Carpenter, who belonged to Rhode Island, had a particular enthusiasm in favor of farming. He promised to take me with him, where I could learn the art of cultivating the soil. Many of us made strong resolutions to embark in some such enterprise. The pleasures of agriculture were sung and praised among us in so ardent a manner, that he must have been incredulous indeed, who could have doubted, for a moment, the certainty of quite a number of our hands becoming farmers, whenever we should gain the land.
One night we lay in our hammocks, talking with great earnestness about our favorite scheme, the wind blowing quite freshly on deck. Said one, “If I ever get home, you won’t catch me on board of a ship again.” “Yes,” said another; “farmers live well, at any rate. They are not put on allowance, but have enough to eat: if they work hard all day, they can turn in at night; and if it blows hard, the house won’t rock much, and there’s no sails to reef.” While this and similar conversation was going on, the wind was blowing harder and harder: from occasional heavy puffs, it at last grew to be a tremendous gale. Hearing so much wind, though there were hands enough on deck to manage the ship, some of us got up to assist if we were needed. It was now blowing most fearfully; the wild howling and whistling among the rigging, the wilder roar of the angry sea, the hallooing of the captain, and the impenetrable darkness which lent its horrors to the scene, were appalling even to a sailor’s breast. Just as I stepped upon deck she shipped a heavy sea, which drenched me to the skin. Presently, we heard the crash of falling timbers, and away went a top-mast, and a yard in the slings. There were now so many men on deck that we were in each other’s way; some of us went below and turned in, with the full expectation that our ship would founder before morning; and thinking it would be as well to go down in our hammocks as on deck.
While this state of gloomy foreboding continued, some of my shipmates manifested great alarm about eternity. They prayed aloud, in deep distress. Others only cursed, and said, as if in bravado, “We are all going to hell together.” For my own part I kept repeating the Lord’s prayer, and renewing those promises so often made in the moment of apparent destruction.
At length the day dawned, revealing the sad havoc made by the winds, of our masts and rigging. We also saw a number of those dwellers on the ocean, called Mother Carey’s chickens. Our shattered aspect reminded me of the Macedonian after the battle, excepting that we had no wounded and dead about us now. Captain Jones, who had not left the deck a moment during the night, declared that, though he had been twenty-five years at sea, he had never witnessed such a gale before. Our ship was nearly new, and an excellent sea-boat, or she would have shared the fate of many a ship in that terrible gale. As the wind abated with the approach of day, we repaired our damages and proceeded on our voyage, frequently passing vessels which had suffered as severely as ourselves. This gale was on the 9th and 10th days of August, 1815. Probably many, both sailors and landsmen, will recollect this and the September gale of that year, which occasioned such destruction of life and shipping.
Sailors are superstitious. Our men attributed this mishap to the presence of some Jonah in the ship. The man they pitched upon, as the probable offender, was an old sea-captain, who had been cast away several times. That he had done some fearful deed, was a matter of undoubted truth among them; but not being so resolute as the mariners of Tarshish, they did not cast him into the sea; neither did this liberality on their part cost us our lives, for, after several days of pleasant weather, we one morning found ourselves safely anchored at the quarantine ground, near the city of New York.