In ship and prison

by William P. Chipman

“It’s not Captain Tucker’s luck to do that,” I protested stoutly. “He’s always made successful voyages, and I believe this will be no exception. We shall not go many days before we capture a craft. Remember what I tell you.”

“I presume you would like to see them coming so fast the Captain would find it hard work to make up prize crews for them,” he responded banteringly. Then he continued more earnestly: “I agree with you. I believe Captain Tucker sails under a lucky star, and have no idea our trip is to be a fruitless one.”

He proved a true prophet. The very next day we took a prize—a sloop from Halifax, laden with dried fish, and bound for Boston. Though not of great value, it was in no sense to be despised, and to my own mind it was not unimportant. It meant so much less food for the enemy, and so much more for our brave troops. With this thought predominant I raised a cheer as Boatswain Lewis, with a crew of four men, started for port in charge of her—a cheer which our entire ship’s company joined in heartily.

Then the prizes followed in rapid succession until we had nine to our credit, and our number had been reduced three score to furnish crews for them. Among these were several of great value.

It was just two weeks since we left port when we captured our tenth vessel, the brig White Swan, from the Western Islands for Boston, with a cargo of fruit and wine. I speak more particularly of this, for my own personal fortunes were more intimately connected with it.

We sighted the craft at early dawn, and immediately gave chase—and it was a long one. Heavy laden as she was, and with less than two-thirds of our spread of canvas, yet she was well nigh a match for us in sailing. We overtook her by inches. The sun was about to set when we sent a shot across her bow, and it had gone down when I returned from boarding her and reported her sailing port, her destination, her cargo, and the additional facts that she had a crew of twelve, and carried one passenger—a Master George Rollins.

Captain Tucker kept her by the frigate all night. At daylight he transferred to her a score of prisoners that we had taken from other vessels, and, placing me in command with a crew of ten, he directed me to take her into Lynn. Master Rollins at his own request remained upon her, and with her captain shared the cabin with myself and Midshipman Thomas Blinn, who was my executive officer.

We cleared from the Franklin about nine o’clock and started on our voyage of two hundred miles with high hopes. The brig was a staunch one, and, as I have already intimated, a fast sailer. Her cargo was valuable, and I felt what perhaps may be termed a natural elation to be given the task of taking her into port. It is true I had a large number of prisoners between the decks, and two men under parole in the cabin, but I anticipated no trouble from them, and felt myself competent to fulfill the task assigned me faithfully.

The day was clear and cold. The wind was a favorable one, and we went ahead at a pace which would have delighted any sailor’s heart. In ten hours I estimated that we had covered nearly one-half the distance to port. Let the breeze only keep up and we should reach our haven before noon on the morrow. With much satisfaction I turned the watch over to Midshipman Blinn and went below.

Inadvertently the room I occupied was between that of Captain Williamson and Master Rollins, while Midshipman Blinn had one on the other side of the cabin. I had fallen asleep, but was awakened by someone trying to open my door. Fortunately, as it proved, I had fastened it on entering, and discovering this fact the intruder passed on and gave a light tap at the door of Master Rollins. The next instant, as though the newcomer was expected, the door opened gently, and the man quietly entered.