In ship and prison

by William P. Chipman

Doubtless you know that there is no tie to keep you near home, and will carry out your long cherished wish of visiting other lands. You have my free consent. I was a sailor’s daughter and a sailor’s wife. I believe ‘it is as near to heaven by sea as by land,’ and have no objection, as you long have known, to a sailor son. I only suggest that you go to Marblehead and find Captain Samuel Tucker. He was a friend of your father, and will be your friend and adviser. Possibly he may be willing to give you a berth in his own ship; if not, he may be able to secure a place for you with some other captain as good and trustworthy as himself. This much I am sure he will be willing to do for you for your father’s sake. Never forget the great truths you have learned at my knee, and, living by them, you shall some day join your father and me in heaven. With my best love and a kiss,

Your dying mother,
Elizabeth Dunn.”

Squire Sabins, who had been appointed my guardian, though himself averse to the sea, offered no opposition to my plans, and a week later, with a new sailor’s kit and as fine an outfit as a lad of my age ever had, I left for Marblehead to look up Captain Tucker—a man whom I had never seen, but about whom I had heard from childhood, for, as the sole survivor of my father’s wreck on the coast of France, he had been the one to bring the tidings of that unfortunate event to my mother. I arrived at the village in the evening, and was left by the stage at Mason’s Inn, where I passed the night. Early the next morning, while I waited for the breakfast hour, I went out on the street for a stroll. Of almost the first person I met, an old fisherman on the way to his nets, I inquired for the residence of the man I was seeking.

“Capt’n Samuel, I ’spose you mean, seein’ how thar ain’t but one Capt’n Tucker here,” he responded. “That big, gabled house, standin’ thar all by itself on Rowland Hill, not far from the bay shore, is whar he lives when to home. But he hain’t thar now. He sailed yisterday from Salem for Lisbon.”

“You are sure of that, sir?” I asked with much chagrin at the thought that I had lost by a single day the man I was anxious to see.

“I orter be,” he answered good-naturedly, “seein’ how my Bill went with him, rated as an able seaman for the fust time, an’ I was over thar to see them off. Bill will make a capt’n yit, ye see if he don’t, for he’s with the smartest skipper that sails from these parts, who’s promised to do the square thing by the lad.”

I was in no state of mind to dispute his assertion, or to listen further to a recital of his family affairs, which he seemed disposed to make. Thanking him for his information, though it had not been to my liking, I turned abruptly and went back to the tavern, where the disagreeable news I had received was confirmed by the inn-keeper while I was at breakfast.

I arose from the table out of sorts with myself and uncertain what course I had better follow. I knew I could go back to my native town and reclaim the place I had given up on the coasting schooner. But I did not want to do that, now that I had bidden farewell to all my friends there with the expectation that I should not see them again for months, perhaps not for years. I could not afford to wait, without employment, until Captain Tucker returned. Could I find some other ship in the harbor, or over at Salem, on which I might secure a berth?

Debating this question with myself, I tramped about the town for several hours, visiting the cliffs, the beach, the wharves, the old powder house and Sewall fort. Occasionally I made inquiries about the seventy vessels of various kinds which I could count in the harbor, but while I found several opportunities to ship on a fisher or coaster, I did not find a single vacancy on a vessel bound across the ocean. Towards noon I reached Red Stone Cove, where there lay, stranded and broken in two, a long boat, perhaps once belonging to an East India-man. On the stern part of this disabled craft I at length sat down and soliloquized:

“Evidently there’s no chance for me here, and after dinner I’ll hire a boat and row across to Salem, and try my luck there. Perhaps I shall be more fortunate. If not, I can come back here, and take a berth on a fisher until Captain Tucker comes home.”