I remained on board four days and sold the ship for £700 sterling, received a check on the bank of London for the amount. Proceeded to Liverpool by steamer, from thence to London by railroad. Obtained the money and returned to Liverpool. Shipped on board of the Duncan and sailed for St. Johns with the money, early in November, 1842. The wind blowing fresh up channel, the captain concluded to run out of the north channel. Had a fine passage until we were abreast Tory island, on the northwest coast of Ireland, when the wind shifted into the northeast, and blew a fresh breeze. Running down the coast at night we were all greatly alarmed at the cry from the lookout, "Breakers ahead." The helm was instantly put hard up, which the ship immediately answered and came around upon her keel. Although under double-reefed-top-sails, they were trimmed in a few moments, and the ship began to gather headway, and stood offshore till daylight, when we made sail and stood to the westward. Without any thing of particular note we reached the Newfoundland banks, and saw and spoke the ship Thetis of St. Johns. She had the night previous run down a fishing schooner, seeing nothing of her until she struck her midships. Soon as possible the ship was brought to and boats lowered, but not a vestige was seen. Their loud shrieks were heard as they sank to rise no more. Anxious friends have no doubt long awaited their return and are still ignorant of their doom. Thus many a ship's crew have been swallowed up in a moment, with the waves their winding sheet, the howling winds their requiem.
One day we fell in with a large iceberg whose spiral top towered far above our mast head. With this we sailed some time. About 9 P. M. it shut in with a heavy fog from the southeast so dense that we could not discern objects the length of the ship ahead of us. This rendered our situation the most unpleasant, floating as we were with so formidable a companion among such a host of fishermen as ever throng that place, with no means of testing our proximity to them.
At length the sharp cry of the looker-out, "Hard port the helm," aroused all hands. The order was quickly obeyed, but not quick enough to avoid a severe blow from the ice. The shock aroused the captain, who came quickly upon deck. The pumps were rigged and every thing clewed up except the fore and main-top-sails, the yard lowered down and the reef-tackles rolled out; and thus we ran the remainder of the night. Heard the report of a gun mingled with the surf dashing, as we supposed, against the iron bound coast or against the ice. From the situation we were in we had much to fear, and in fact our terror could not be told, expecting each successive moment would bring us on to the rocks, or ice which would be even more certain destruction.
Another gun was discharged, and the dashing grew still louder. Whither to steer we knew not. Every ear and eye was called into requisition. Hope could hardly point us to a safe deliverance. All were certain that a most dreadful crisis was rapidly approaching. Another gun was fired which sounded but a half stone's throw from us, and the flash gleamed through the fog, and all was dark as before. Attentively listening I thought I could distinguish the strokes from the large paddle wheels of some Steamer, and a moment after our fears were greatly relieved by the rapid passing of one of the Liverpool line of steamers.
Daylight appeared and we made all possible sail, notwithstanding the fog had cleared away but very little.
Wind and weather favoring, we were soon safely anchored at the docks of St. Johns, and I was again in the bosom of my little family, where I remained working at rigging until the summer of 1843.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Command a Vessel. Sail for London. Come near going on the Goodwin Sands. Anchor at London. Sail for Mobile. Serious affair with the Seamen. Spirits discharged from the Ship. A Fortune-Teller. Sail for Liverpool. Sail as mate of the Ashburton. A Storm. Run upon the Rocks. Perilous Situation. Proceed to St. Johns, and go smuggling. Are taken, and ship sold. News from home. Go thither, and unknown. Conclusion.
Again on the first of August, 1843, I left St. Johns as commander of the Solway Frith, bound for London, with a crew of twenty-one all told. The owner, (Mr. W—— and wife,) were aboard. Proceeded down the bay of Fundy, very finely indeed; had nothing to mar our happiness, until we were in the chops of the channel. A fine breeze wafted us in the space of forty-eight hours into the Downs, where we came to anchor among three hundred sail from all quarters of the globe. About sunset, one night, the wind freshened a little, and hauled around into the westward, increasing each moment in fury. Some of the ships parted from their anchors, others cut away their masts, and rigging, to prevent if possible their severing the cable, and falling back upon the sands; while some would slip their cable, and run for the north sea. At ten o'clock the gale had attained that height, I thought it best to lower the top-gallant yards and masts; and while in the act, the anchor started, and we ran stern-foremost towards the sands with the greatest rapidity. All were filled with the greatest terror. Knowing there was no time to be lost, I threw out the best bower, and payed out ninety fathom of cable, then the small bower with seventy fathoms. The desired effect was produced; the ship was stopped in her course. Our windlass was nearly cut off by the wearing of the chains. Life-boats were every where bounding upon the wave like feathers, while the ships were plunging and tossing madly about. By four, the next morning, all of our top-gallant masts and yards were upon deck; thus we lay until the day following, when Mr. W—— and lady took the life-boat, and went on shore, and thence to London by land.