This discourse fell like a light on some dark opaque; it illuminated my understanding, disturbed my conscience. No sleep visited my eyes that night. Duty said, “Send back your team without rum in the morning.” Fear of men, public opinion, interest said, “No. Every other store-keeper sells it, and so may you.” The latter argument prevailed. Conscience was rebuked; the rum went to my store.
Shortly after this struggle, I married a member of the Methodist church in Hartford. We removed to Somers, Connecticut, where I continued to sell rum, though, as before, with great caution and with much inward struggling of mind. At last I could hold out no longer, and in spite of the example of ministers, (some of whom often drank, though sparingly, at my house,) in spite of the sneers of the scornful, and of the fear of loss to my trade, I gave it up! It was for the poor, untaught sailor to set the example of sacrifice to the store-keepers of Somers. Three others imitated me in a short time. Not to me, but to the grace of God, be the glory of my decision and resolution. I can assure the modern rum-seller, whose lashed and tortured soul still cleaves to the rum barrel and the toddy stick, for the sake of the profit, that I have ever regarded that act as among the best of my life.
Finding my present residence ill adapted to a successful prosecution of business, I closed up my concerns, and removed to Wilbraham, Mass., the place of my present abode; a pleasant town, but which is rendered more so by the very superior opportunities it affords for the education of children, in its most excellent and flourishing academy.
Here my life glided pleasantly and quietly along, affording no incidents worthy of special record. Happiness presided at my domestic board, prosperity accompanied my temporal enterprises, and religion reigned as the ruling genius over the whole. My ways were committed unto the Lord, and he directed my steps; for which I praise him with my whole heart.
In this delightful manner several years fled away; when, my business having led me, on one occasion, to New York, I heard that my old ship, the Macedonian, was in port. Animated with that regard for an old ship, which always inspires a genuine seaman, I went on board. She was so altered, I scarcely recognised her. Change, with an unsparing hand, had remodeled the decks and cabins, so that I felt somewhat lost where once every timber was familiar. This was rather a disappointment; however, I stood on the spot where I had fought in the din of battle; and with many a serious reflection recalled the horrors of that dreadful scene. The sailors, on witnessing the care with which I examined every thing, and supposing me to be a landsman, eyed me rather closely. Seeing their curiosity, I said, “Shipmates, I have seen this vessel before to-day: probably before any of you ever did.”
The old tars gathered round me, eagerly listening to my tale of the battle, and they bore patiently, and with becoming gravity, the exhortation to lead a religious life, with which I closed my address. They appeared to be very susceptible of religious feeling; as, indeed, sailors are generally. Should any doubt this fact, let them hear the Rev. Mr. Chase, in New York, or Rev. E. T. Taylor, in Boston, in whose usually crowded houses of worship, the face of the rough, weather-beaten son of the ocean may be seen bedewed with penitential tears; especially at the church of the latter gentleman—than whom none know better how to adapt discourse to a sailor’s soul.
During the flight of these years a constant correspondence had been kept up between me and my mother. She had constantly urged me to revisit my native land. To remove the last obstacle, she addressed a letter to Lady Churchill, to ascertain if I might safely return. She sent her the following note, the original of which is still in my possession:
Lower Brook Street, Nov. 7, 1821.
Mrs Newman,—