The Knickerbocker, or New-York Monthly Magazine, February 1844

On going on board, I found between four and five hundred people, including officers, passengers, and crew. The captain was a large heavy-built man, very unwieldy, and remarkable only for having a large, long body placed upon very small legs. He reminded me of an ill-constructed building, ready to fall by its own weight. He appeared never to be happy unless he was ‘in hot water,’ either with the passengers or crew. There were six mates, or more properly lieutenants, for all the officers were in uniform. There were also a dozen or more midshipmen, a boatswain and his two mates, gunners, quarter-masters, armorers, sail-makers, and carpenters in abundance. In short, we were fitted out in complete man-of-war fashion; not forgetting the cat-o’-nine-tails, which was used with great liberality. The crew was made up of all nations, but the majority consisted of broken-down men-of-war’s men, who being unfit for His Majesty’s service had little fear of imprisonment. The others were composed of Portuguese, Dutch, Italian, etc.; and taken altogether, one would have inferred that they must have been drafted from Falstaff’s regiment of taterdamallions.

One fine morning the fleet got under way. Nothing note-worthy or interesting however occurred until we made the island of Ceylon, where we lay a couple of days; during which time the crew got and kept most unaccountably drunk. The officers tried every method to solve the mystery, but without effect. The truth was, the men became suddenly fond of cocoa-nuts, selecting them from the bum-boats in preference to any other fruit. The secret was, that the shell was bored before the nut was quite ripe, the juice poured out, and Arrack substituted in its place. Our next place of stopping was Madras, where we took in more cargo, but no more cocoa-nuts, as no fruit-boats put off to us, the weather being too rough to admit of it.

We had now been at sea several weeks, and had many among our crew and passengers upon the sick-list. Of the former, was a young man on his first voyage. He had been ill more than a week, and there being no physician on board, there was little or nothing done for him. At length he became delirious at intervals; and during the whole of the last night of his existence he made the most piercing and heart-rending cries; calling incessantly for his mother and sister, and lamenting that he should never see them more. Poor fellow! before the next night he was sewed up in his hammock, with a couple of shot at his feet; prayers were read over him, and in the presence of his silent and pensive ship-mates, he was consigned to the ocean, that vast and sublime grave of countless millions of our race. Several weeks after this occurrence, one of the passengers, a Frenchman, died of the consumption, and was buried in the same way; and had not the subject been of too serious a nature, the event would have partaken somewhat of the ludicrous. As usual, the shot was placed at the feet of the dead body, but proved to be insufficient to sink it. The consequence was, that the head and shoulders remained above the surface, bobbing up and down, until we lost sight of it in the distance. The captain’s clerk always officiated as Chaplain at the funerals and divine service; which latter, by the way, was more of a farce than any thing else; for I have known more than one instance where they have been interrupted in the very midst by a squall of wind. Then to see the hubbub; the congregation dispersed; some ordered aloft, with such pious (though sometimes more forcible) ejaculations as: ‘Lay aloft there, you lubbers! D—n your bloods! I’ll see your back-bones! I’ll set the cat at you!’ etc.

We now approached the Cape of Good Hope. The weather became lowering; and as the day advanced, heavy masses of black clouds gradually arose above the horizon, and palled the sky. Night came on suddenly, and with it the threatened storm in all its fury. The darkness was as it were the quintessence of an ink-bottle. Nothing could be seen, save when the lightning gleamed, or when the rockets which were sent up from the Commodore, and broke forth, spreading their lurid, baleful light to give notice to the squadron of their position; then for an instant the whole scene was lit up with a hideous glare, when all would subside again into tenfold darkness. This, accompanied by the whistling of the wind, the roar of thunder, and the booming of a gun at intervals from the Commodore, to give notice for putting about, gave a grandeur and sublimity to the scene, which I have never seen surpassed. Fear gave way to excitement; and the idea of perishing amid this terrible war of the elements was worth years of the monotony of every-day life. I thought too of the Flying Dutchman, but did not fall in with him until some time after, and then it was by day-light, and without the poetry of ‘darkness, and cloud, and storm.’

The tempest gradually subsided, and at the end of two or three days scarcely a breath of wind was to be felt. Angry Nature had changed her frowns for sportive smiles; the face of the great deep was like polished glass; but there was a long swell of the ocean, apparently of miles in length; its bosom heaving and sinking, as if still oppressed with its late troubles. Our ship lay utterly unmanageable, her sails flapping idly against the masts. There was not sufficient wind to make her answer the helm; and there we lay, rolling and plunging, expecting every moment to see our masts go by the board. The lower yards dipped at every roll; and so great was the strain, that it drew the strong iron ring-bolts by which the guns were secured, and the lashings which fastened the large water-butts broke loose. This was at night; and the power and speed with which these heavy articles were driven from side to side was truly terrific. It took all hands the whole night, (and not without great danger) to secure them. The next day, a new and greater danger presented itself in a different form. A large ship, about the size of our own, lay in the same helpless condition; and by reason of a current, or some other cause, approached so near that it became truly alarming. Both vessels were rolling their keels nearly out of the water; and had they come in contact, it would have been certain destruction to both. It was necessary that something should be done immediately; and the crews of both vessels were ordered into their respective boats, with lines attached to the ships; and with several hours’ hard labor at the oars, they were enabled to separate them.

It was about this time that I had a view, not of the Flying Dutchman exactly, but of his ship, while standing on the forecastle early one morning. There had been a fog during the night, and a portion of the vapor still hung over the surface of the water. I had remained in that position but a few moments, when my attention was called by the boatswain’s-mate, who stood near by: ‘Look yonder!’ said he, pointing with his finger. I looked in the direction indicated, and lo! there lay the mystic ‘Phantom Ship.’ She was only a few yards off; perfectly becalmed, with no more motion than if painted on canvass, and apparently not over six feet long, yet perfect in every respect. I was gazing in admiration, with my eyes rivetted upon the object, when there came a light breath of air, so light that I could hardly feel it; presently the mist began gradually to rise and disperse; the ship began to recede; the magic scene was at an end! A breeze had sprung up, and the phantom-ship proved to be one of the fleet; and by a signal from the Commodore, she took her station in line with the other vessels. I never saw any thing like it before nor since. The atmospheric delusion was astonishing; but it was nothing new to the old boatswain’s-mate. All the other vessels were obscured by the fog, and this happened to be the nearest to us. Had the others been in sight they might (or might not) have presented the same appearance. Possibly the position of that particular ship helped to produce the effect. The sight of so large a fleet formed in two lines, extending four or five miles, each convoyed by a man-of-war, like a troop of soldiers led on in single-file by its officers, was ‘beautiful exceedingly;’ especially when the rising or setting sun illuminated their white sails, and a signal-gun from the Commodore changed their course; every ship in that vast fleet, at the cry of ‘About ship!’ moving as by one mind, and gracefully bowing to, and as it were saluting, the breeze! It was a scene never to be forgotten.

The wind gradually increased until it became a smart breeze, and we soon neared the Island of St. Helena. Here we first heard of the downfall of Napoleon, the greatest warrior of all ages; one who struck such terror into the souls of combined Europe, that they dared not let him go free, and imposed upon Great Britain the honorable task of becoming his jailor; and her very heart quaked within her bosom while life remained in his; doomed though he was to perpetual and hopeless exile, upon an isolated rock in the midst of the ocean. On seeing the yellow flags, with the motto ‘Orange boven,’ flying at the mast-heads of the shipping, and hearing of the overthrow of the power of France, our old Dutch boatswain’s-mate, (who in his youth had served with the brave Admiral De Winter, and who had braved the ‘battle and the breeze’ for more than half a century,) was touched to the very depths of his stout heart. He was completely melted, and wept like a child over the fallen fortunes of Napoleon. ‘Holland,’ said he, ‘has lost her best friend. Who like him will watch over and protect my country!’ He was naturally of a cheerful disposition; but from that time to the close of the voyage, he appeared sad and disheartened, and a smile scarce ever came over his countenance. I may remark in passing, that there were on board of our ship some ten or fifteen Dutch prisoners, who were the remnant of a large force that had formerly been garrisoned at the island of Java. All but these few had been gradually wasted away by pestilence and the poisoned spears and knives of the natives; and Holland, being so much engaged in her wars at home, had no means of aiding so distant a colony. Such was their condition when the island fell into the hands of the English; and they were rescued from destruction by the natives, only by becoming prisoners of war to the English. They were all old men, and some of them could speak a little English: they used to relate to me their former condition, and talk of their future prospects. The tale was a sad one. When young they were ‘kidnapped,’ as they termed it, by the government, as no volunteers could be got to serve in that sickly climate. They were forced from home and their parents at a tender age and sent to that far country, whence they had no prospect of ever returning, or hearing from their friends. Some of them had been absent for forty years, during which time they had seen none of their connexions, and seldom heard from them; for many years all intercourse had been dropped. They felt themselves entire strangers in the world; they were going to Holland to be sure, but not to their home. After the lapse of so many years, where could they seek for their friends? Death and other causes had removed and scattered them; and they almost dreaded the time when they should again set their feet upon the land of their fathers. Having been many months their associate in imprisonment, I took a deep interest in these poor fellows; participated in their feelings, and parted from them with regret. Peace to their memories! They have without doubt long ere this ended their weary pilgrimage of life.

We remained at St. Helena several weeks, waiting for the China fleet, during which time we took in a fresh supply of provisions, water, etc. This now famed island is nothing more nor less than a huge irregular block of granite, rising perpendicularly from the midst of the sea. The town, what there is of it, is built in a gully or chasm in the rock: the inhabitants are composed mostly of the military establishment and those connected with it, with perhaps a few exceptions. The island is only useful as a stopping-place for outward and homeward bound India-men, etc; and the inhabitants would be in a state of starvation, were it not for the supplies of provisions which they obtain from the shipping which put in there. All manner of coins from all manner of countries are in circulation here; and all copper coin goes for a penny, be it twice the size of a dollar, or as small as a five-cent piece. A person that way minded might soon make a large and curious collection here.

The China fleet now made its appearance, and after a few days’ delay we all got under weigh, with a convoy of a frigate, a sloop-of-war, and a transport full of troops, who on their arrival in England were ordered immediately to the United States, where they were sadly cut up at the battle of New-Orleans. We left the island with a stiff breeze, which continued with fine clear weather for several days. The fleet amounted to over seventy sail, and was arranged in two lines; and in fine weather, with all sail set, we composed a beautiful spectacle. During the whole of the voyage the utmost precaution was used to prevent an attack or capture by privateers, or national vessels of the enemy. Lights of every kind were strictly forbidden at night, except through a special order from a superior officer, and a double watch was kept day and night.

‘Land, ho!’ cried the look-out at the mast-head, one day. It proved to be what is termed the Western Islands, which lay directly ahead of us. ‘Sail, ho!’ was the next cry; and all eyes were turned toward the strangers. They were two ‘long, low, black-looking schooners,’ lying-to very quietly, about three miles ahead. ‘See the d–d Yankees!’ shouted all hands, in full chorus, as the American flag was displayed at their gaff. A thrill shot through my nerves; my heart swelled, and my eyes filled with tears, as I beheld the Flag of my Country for the first time for many months. No one can imagine the love he bears his native land, until he tests it as I have done. Many were the speculations as to the probability of capturing the saucy privateersman; for by this time all the sail that the convoy could possibly set was spread in chase of the enemy, who as yet had made no attempt to fly, although apparently but a stone’s throw ahead of us. Our captain was the only one in my hearing who seemed to doubt their being taken: ‘The d–d scamps know too well,’ said he, ‘what their craft can do, to trust themselves so near us.’ We now appeared close on board of them, and the chase well under way, when each fired a gun in defiance or derision, and darted off like birds. It was now nearly dark, and we were not far from land, for which one of the schooners seemed to fly right before the wind, closely pursued by the frigate, under all the canvass she could set. The other put out to sea, close-hauled upon the wind. The brig and transport, the fastest craft in the fleet, crowded all sail, but without nearing the schooner, as she could lie at least two points more to windward than her pursuers. They both escaped! The frigate being disabled, by springing her fore-top-mast, gave up the chase; the others relinquished the pursuit as fruitless, and rejoined the fleet.

The night was extremely dark; and the next morning two large vessels were missing. It seemed that the privateers had returned, and hovering around, watched their opportunity, and captured two of our most richly-freighted ships; but as those seas were swarming with British cruisers, they were shortly re-captured and sent to England, where the whole fleet soon arrived. The West-India fleet came into port about the same time; and the amount of wealth brought into London by the safe arrival of the Bengal, China, and West-India fleets, must have been almost incredible. For myself, I was consigned to a dreary prison, ‘as will more particularly appear’ in an ensuing number.

A VERITABLE SEA STORY

BY HARRY FRANCO‘The sea, the sea, the o—pen sea, the blue, the fresh;’ but here we halt;Mr. Cornwall knew very little about the sea, or he would have written SALT.                ‘The whales they whistled, the porpoise rolled,                And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;’Worse and worse; more blunders than words, and such a jumble!Whales spout, but never whistle; dolphins’ backs are silver; and porpoises never roll, but tumble.                ‘It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,                And like a cradled creature lies,’ and squalls,                He should have added; but to avoid brawlsWith the poet’s friends I’ll quote no more; but entre nous,Those who write correctly about the sea are exceeding few.Young Dana with us, and Marryat over the water,1Are all the writers that I know of, who appear to have brought aDiscerning eye to bear on that peculiar state of existence,An ocean life, which looks so romantic at a distance.To succeed where every body else fails, would be an uncommon glory,While to fail would be no disgrace; so I am resolved to try my hand upon a sea-story.In naming sea-authors, I omitted Cooper, Chamier, Sue, and many others,Because they appear to have gone to sea without asking leave of their mothers:For those good ladies never could have consented that their boys should dwell onAn element that Nature never fitted them to excel on.Their descriptions are so fine, and their tars so exceedingly flowery,They appear to have gathered their ideas from some naval spectacle at the ‘Bowery;’And in fact I have serious doubts whether either of them ever saw blue water,Or ever had the felicity of saluting the ‘gunner’s daughter.’It was on board of the packet –, from feelings deferentialTo private griefs, I omit all facts that are non-essential:To Havre we were bound, and passengers there were four of us,Three men and a lady—not an individual more of us.The month was July, the weather warm and hazy,The sea smooth as glass, the winds asleep or lazy.Dull times of course, for the sea, though favorable to the mind’s expansion,Yet keeps the body confined to a very few feet of stanchion.Our employments were nought save eating, drinking and sleeping,Excepting the lady, who a diary was keeping.She was a very pleasant person though fat, and a long way past forty,Which will of course prevent any body from thinking any thing naughty.A very pleasant person, but such an enormous feeder,That our captain began to fear she might prove a famine-breeder;A sort of female Falstaff, fond of jokes and gay society,Cards, claret, eau-de-vie, and a great hater of sobriety.Her favorite game at cards she acknowledged was ecarté,But like Mrs. Battle, she loved whist, and we soon made up a party.We played from morn till night, and then from night till morning,Although the captain, who was pious, continually gave us warning.That time so badly spent would lead to some disaster;At which Madame G– would laugh, and only deal the faster.Breakfast was served at eight, and as soon as it was endedRound flew the cards; and the game was not suspendedUntil seven-bells struck, when we stopped a while for lunch,To allow Madame time to imbibe her allowance of punch;This done, at work we went, with heated blood and flushed faces,Talking of kings, queens, knaves, tricks, clubs and aces.At six bells (three P. M.,) we threw down our cards and went to dinner,Where Madame never missed her appetite, whether she had been a loser or a winner;Then up from the almonds and raisins, and down again to the queens and aces,We had only to remove from one end of the table to the other to resume our places;Another pause at six, P. M., for in spite of all our speeches,Madame’s partner would lay down his cards for the sake of pouchong and brandy peaches;Being French and polite, of course, she only said ‘Eh bien!’ but no doubt thought him a lubber,For a cup of washy tea to break in upon her rubber.At four bells (ten P. M.,) up from the cards and down again at the table,To drink champaigne and eat cold chicken as long as we were able:With very slight variations this was the daily life we led,Breakfast, whist; lunch, whist; dinner, whist; supper, whist; and then to bed.The sea, for aught we know, was like that which Coleridge’s mariners sailed on;We never looked at it, nor the sky, nor the stars; and our captain railed on,But still we played, until one day there was a sudden dismemberment of our party;We had dined on soup à la tortu, (made of pig’s feet,) of which Madame ate uncommonly hearty;And had just resumed our game; it was her cut, but she made no motion;‘Cut, Madame,’ said I; ‘Good Heavens!’ exclaimed her partner, ‘I’ve a notionThat she has cut for good; quick! help her! she’s falling!’And the next moment on the floor of the cabin she lay sprawling.Poor Madame! It was in vain that we tried hartshorne, bathing and bleeding;Her spirit took its flight, tired to death of her high feeding:For spirits are best content with steady habits and spare diet,And will remain much longer in a tabernacle where they can enjoy repose and quietThan in a body that is continually uneasy with stuffing,And goes about like an overloaded porter, sweating and puffing.The next morning at four-bells, the sun was just uprisen,Glowing with very joy to leave his watery prison;The bright cerulean waves with golden scales were crested,Forming the fairest scene on which my eyes had ever rested;The wind was S. S. W., and when they let go the main-top bowlineTo square the after yards, our good ship stopped her rolling.Madame lay on the quarter-deck sewed up in part of an old spanker,And for this glorious sight of the ocean we had solely to thank her,For to have kept her lying in the cabin would have caused some of us to feel qualmish,And she could not have been kept on deck, as the weather was growing warmish;Therefore it had been resolved in a kind of council, on the captain’s motion,At sunrise to commit the old lady to the ocean.She was placed upon a plank, resting upon the taffrail, (the stern railing,)One end of which was secured by a bight of the trysail brailing.The captain read the prayers, somewhat curtailed, but a just proportion,The plank was raised, ‘Amen!’ the corpse dropped into the ocean.Down in its deep mysterious caves she sunk to sleep with fishes,While a few bubbles rose from her and burst as if in mockery of human wishes.‘Up with your helm; brace round; haul out your bowlines;Clear up the deck; keep her full; coil down your tow-lines!’The ship was on her course, and not a word said to remind usOf the melancholy fact that we had left one of our number behind us.‘Shocking affair!’ I remarked to Madame’s partner, who looked solemn as a mummy,‘O! horrid!’ said he; ‘I shall now be compelled to play with a Dummy!’

ON A PASSAGE IN MACBETH

‘Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.’Macbeth.

Let us put on one side for a few moments the horrid midnight murder of the gracious Duncan. Let us suppose of the buried majesty of Scotland,

——‘Upward to Heaven he took his flight,If ever soul ascended!’

Let us for the moment imagine Mrs. Siddons to have been the veritable Lady Macbeth, and acknowledge that never was man more powerfully tempted into evil, nor more deeply punished with his fall from Virtue, than this, the Thane of Glamis and of Cawdor. My concernment in this Essay is neither with his virtue, nor his fall. I neither come to praise, nor bury Cæsar:

‘Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.’

In the reading I desire should be here given to the language of the immortal bard, it will be perceived that the last pronoun is made emphatic. ‘Get thee to bed.’

The household of the castle of Macbeth, excited and disturbed as its members had been throughout the day by the unexpected arrival of the King of Scotland at Inverness, are now subsiding into rest. The King has retired. His suite are provided for in various parts of the quadrangle; and all the tumultuary sounds of preparation and of festive enjoyment have followed the departed day; and Banquo charged with a princely gift to the Lady Macbeth under the title of most kind hostess, from her confiding and now slumbering monarch, has paid his compliments and gone.

Now comes the deeper stillness, and the witching hour of that eventful night; and the noble Thane, having gone the rounds of his hushed castle to place all entrances under both watch and ward, turns to his torch-bearer, the last remaining household servant of the train, and dismisses him with the message I have read. The words excite no surprise in the mind of the attendant. He receives the command and departs upon his errand; to deliver it as had doubtless been his office before, and then retire for the night: