James Barnes - Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors - Tales of 1812

"Yaas," returned Captain Dewey, "we be summat behind the times."

His eyes twinkled as he glanced out of the cabin window. Still becalmed and almost hull down, H.M.S. Badger was but a speck against the horizon.

The Englishman drew a long deep breath.

"Come, sir," spoke up Captain Ezra. "Don't get down hearted. 'Live an learn,' that's my motto. We're drinkin' your good health, sir, join right in."

When the Blazing Star arrived in port, she turned over to the United States authorities an officer and twelve men, prisoners of war.

He said that he had been impressed into the English service from the brig Susan Butler , of New York. But what grounds the boarding officer had taken in supposing him to be a British subject would puzzle most. The cocked-hats generally left a merchant vessel's side with the pick of the unfortunate crew. The qualifications necessary for a peaceable Yankee merchant sailor to change his vocation and become a servant of King George were plain and simple in 1810: ruddy cheeks – crisp curling hair – youth, health, and strength, why! of English birth and parentage most certainly! What use the papers stating that his name was Esek Cobb, or Hezekiah Brown? His home port or natal town Portsmouth, N.H., Bath, Me., or Baltimore? He spoke the mother tongue; he was an A.B. His services were needed to fight old England's enemies, and away he would go in the stern sheets of the press boat, bitter curses on his lips and irons on his wrists.

But this straight-haired, Indian-featured, narrow-shouldered half-man who stood there on the Constitution's deck, with his soaked, scanty clothes, clinging to his thin, big-jointed limbs, why in the name of the Lion or the Unicorn, or the Saint or the Dragon, for that matter, had they chosen him? He told his tale in a low, whimpering voice, with his eyes shifting from one deck-seam to another – Five years in the Royal British Navy! – Five years of glorious service of the one who rules the common heritage of all the peopled earth – Five years of spirit-murdering slavery.

Not six cable-lengths away, a dark shape against the lights of the town, lay the great ship from whose side he had lowered himself in the darkness to swim to the shelter of the smart, tall-sparred frigate, over whose taffrail he had watched his country's flag swinging in the sunlight, tempting him all the day. He had fought against the swiftly running tide until at last – just as his strength had left him – he had been hauled on board by the anchor watch, and now his one prayer was that they would not give him up. The men who stood about looked pityingly at his shivering figure. A middy, attracted by the commotion, had hastened aft to find the officer of the deck. The forecastle people murmured among themselves.

"Captain Hull won't give you up, lad," said one, laying his hand on the poor fellow's shoulder.

"This ship is not the Chesapeake ," said another; "don't ye fear, man."

"Here's the Leftenant," put in another – "'tention!"

"What's going on here?" asked a low voice.

The sailor who had last spoken touched his cap.

"I was down making the running-boat fast to the boom, sir, when I hears a faint cry, and I sees a man in the water just alongside, sir. I lays hold of him, and thinkin' it's one of our crew, sir, we gets him quietly at the forechains; then we sees as how he ain't one of us, sir, – he says."

"That'll do; let him speak for himself. Where did you come from, my man?"

"From the Poictiers , yonder, sir. For the sake of mercy don't give me up!"

"Are you an American?"

"Yes, sir; God's truth, I am."

"Your name?"

"McGovern, sir."

"Where were you born, McGovern?"

The stern, matter-of-fact inquiry could scarce conceal the pity in the tone; but it was the officer-voice speaking.

"In Water Street, New York, sir, not far from the big church – Oh, for the love of – "

"You speak like an Irishman."

"My parents were Irish, your honor, but I was born in the little house fourth from the corner. You won't let them – Oh, God help me!"

The sturdy rocking beat of oars near to hand off the port quarter caused an interruption. The fugitive gave a quick glance full of terror in the direction of the sound; then he dropped forward upon his knees; his whimpering changed to a hoarse weeping whisper.

"Don't give me up; I'd rather die – save me – save me," he croaked.

One of the watch came hurrying aft. "There's a cutter here at the gangway," he said in a low voice, saluting the Lieutenant.

"Very good, my lad," responded the latter. "Take this man below, give him dry clothes and a place to sleep."

Two men helped the abject creature to his feet and led him sobbing to the forward hatchway. The Lieutenant stepped to the side.

"On board the cutter there," he called, "what do you want at this hour of night?" Well he knew, and he spoke as if the answer had been given.

"On board the frigate," was the reply. "We're looking for a deserter; he started to swim off to you; has he reached here?"

The Lieutenant disdained deception. "We fished a half drowning man out of the water a few minutes since," he replied quietly, leaning over the gangway railing.

"He's a deserter from my ship; I'll be obliged if you will hand him over. – This is Lieutenant Colson, of the Poictiers ."

"Sorry not to grant Lieutenant Colson's request; the man claims protection as an American. Captain Hull will have to look into the matter. – This is Lieutenant Morris, of the Constitution ."

"I should like to see Captain Hull at once. In bow there, make fast to the gangway."

"Hold hard, sir. The Captain is asleep; I cannot waken him."

"I demand you do – you are in one of His Majesty's ports."

"I know that well enough – keep off the side, sir." There was a moment's silence, and then the same level tone was heard addressing some one on the deck. "Call the guard; let no one come on board the ship to-night."

There was the sound of some movement on the Constitution's deck; the fast ebb tide clopped and gurgled about the vessel's counter mirthfully. The Englishman, standing erect in the stern sheets of the little cutter bobbing against the frigate's side, hesitated.

"On board the frigate, there!"

"Well, sir, in the cutter!"

"Heark'ee! You'll repent this rashness, I can warrant you that, my friend; you will pay high for your damned Yankee insolence, mark my words. Shove off there forward" (this to the bowman) – "shove off there, you clumsy fool! Let fall!"

There had been no reply from the bulwarks to the Englishman's burst of temper; but Lieutenant Morris stood there drumming with his fingers on the hilt of his sword, and looking out into the darkness. Then an odd smile that was near to being scornful crossed his face, and he turned quietly and began the slow swinging pace up and down the quarter-deck. That Captain Hull would sanction and approve his conduct, he did not have the least suspicion of a doubt; if not on general principles, on account of a certain specific reason – to be told in a few short words: —

It had happened that three days previous to the very evening, a steward, who had been accused of robbing the ward-room mess of liquor, and incidentally of drunkenness arising from the theft, was up for punishment – somehow he had managed to take French leave by jumping out of a lower port. He had been picked up by the running-boat of the flagship. At once he had claimed to be a subject of King George, and, needless to record, the statement was accepted without question – whether he was or not bore little weight, and cuts no figure in this tale. Suffice it: Captain Hull's polite request for the man's return was laughed at, very openly laughed at, and the Admiral's reply was a thinly veneered sneer – why, the very idea of such a thing!