The Spirit Of Democracy

THE PRESS-GANGS VICTIM.

A SEA SKETCH.

BY SYLVANUS COBB, JR.

Some time during the month of June, 1809, the American brig Sarah, of and from Norfolk, Va., entered the port of Liverpool with a full cargo. She was commanded by Capt. William Brown, and her first mate was Tom Macdonough, a true hearted Yankee sailor, who hailed from somewhere in the little State of Delaware.

After the brig had been duly entered at the custom-house, she was soon cleared of her cargo, and within one week after her arrival, she was loaded for home.

One pleasant evening—the one preceding the day on which the brig was to sail—Tom Macdonough took a stroll up into the town. He had been at work all day, in arranging the cargo, and having merely started out for a stroll, he had not thought it worth while to change his dress. He had been up as far as the Exchange, and was returning by the way of the docks, when he was accosted by a man who appeared to be a citizen.

"Good evening, stranger"

"The same to you," returned Tom, never once mistrusting that there was harm in the way.

"Do you belong to any of the vessels now in the river?" asked the other, as he cast a scrutinizing glance over the somewhat rough habiliments of the American sailor.

"Yes. I belong to the American brig Sarah."

"No, no,—that wont do."

"What wont do?" asked Tom, not a little amazed at the remark.

"O. I know you." returned the stranger, "you are a deserter from the frigate."

As he spoke, he placed a small whistle to his mouth, and in a moment after its shrill note had cut the air, six marines came rushing out from a tap-room close at hand, and at a motion from the stranger, they seized hold upon Tom and made him their prisoner. In vain was it that Tom protested that he was second in command of the Sarah, and in vain that he threatened vengeance,—but against the power of six stout fellows he could make no effectual resistance, and so he was taken along to the naval landing, where five other prisoners, all victims of the press-gang, were awaiting their embarkation. A boat was in waiting, in the command of a lieutenant, and into it was Tom, with the rest of the unfortunate seamen, unceremoniously hurried, and in less than half an hour, he found himself on board an English frigate, which lay at the mouth of the river.

"A fine set of men," said the English captain, as he run his eyes admiringly over the stalwart arms of the impressed seamen. "They will just fill up the list of our main-topmen."

"Are you the commander of this frigate?" asked Tom, addressing the man who had just spoken.

"Captain Downie, at your service," replied the commander, with mock gravity.

"Then, sir, of you I demand my immediate release. I am second in command of an American brig ready for sea, and no power in England can legally detain me."

"That wont go down, youngster," returned the captain, with a sneer. "You are a little too young for such an office. The king needs men, and you must take your chance with the rest."

"Do you mean to say that I am to be detained on board your ship?"

"Certainly."

"Then, sir." replied Tom, while his eyes flashed fire, "you will do it at your peril. Already have your people run up a heavy reckoning, and the day shall yet come when your king will have to settle it. I am exempt by your own laws, from impressment, and you know it."

The captain showed a little anger as our hero spoke, but turning to one of his lieutenants, he said:

"Mr. Monson, have these men's names entered, and then station them and mess them;" and without further remark he walked aft to his cabin.

In a moment Tom's mind was made up, and without resistance or remark of any kind, he allowed his name to be entered on the purser's books, and his station and mess to be assigned him, after which a hammock and bedding were served out to him, and he was directed to "turn in" as soon as possible.

The frigate was well guarded by sentries, there being two upon the poop, and one at each gangway, one on the bowsprit, besides those which were stationed at various posts below, so that no further notice was taken of the new comers after they had received their bedding, excepting to give the sentinels additional caution with regard to watching well that no one left the ship unless he was passed by the officer of the deck.

Tom's hammock was already clewed, and having hung it up, he turned into it without undressing. The night was warm and sultry, and as a means of giving a circulation of fresh air, the gun-deck ports were lowered, and from the place in which our hero swung he could look out upon the water, as it sparkled beneath the beams of the bright moon. Tom lay quiet until midnight, but as yet he could think of no means of escape. Shortly after that hour had passed, he heard the relief guard called, and in some ten minutes the corporal of the first guard came down upon the gun-deck and unlashed the hammock which hung next to his own, which operation being performed, he proceeded to undress himself, hanging his clothes, as he did so upon the hammock. The four hours' duty had given the corporal an excellent appetite for sleep, and in less than five minutes after he touched his mattress, he began to snore.

"Now, or never;" thought Tom, "is my chance;" and with this idea in his mind, he slipped quietly out from his hammock, and proceeded to divest himself of his own clothes, which having been accomplished, he very unceremoniously substituted those of the snoring corporal in their place, and then sat down upon the breeching of a gun to meditate further upon his plans.

One bell struck, and the sentinels passed the usual "all's well." Then Tom heard the corporal, as he started to go his rounds, and ere long he descended the main-hatch ladder to visit the posts below. No sooner had the marine officer passed beyond the galley, than our hero sprang up the ladder and gained the spar-deck. The officer of the deck was aft upon the starboard side, the sentries were walking their posts with regular tread, while the old quarter-master stood upon the poop, with his night-glass under his arm. The sentries performed their walk upon gang-boards raised even with the bottom of the hammock-nettings, and running forward from the ladders. The larboard gangway was shaded from the light of the moon by the awnings, and walking deliberately up the ladder, Tom looked over the ship's side.

Tom immediately walked aft to where stood the officer of the deck, and being quite assured by the mistake of the sentry, he pulled his cap over his eyes,—and, touching his visor respectfully remarked.

"I should like to overhaul that second cutter, sir, or I think there is rum aboard of her."

Tom knew he was playing a desperate game, but liberty was to be the result of success, and he flinched not a hair.

"Ha! the villains," uttered the lieutenant. "Up to their old tricks again. Go, corporal,—get down into the boat, and if you do find rum in her, they'll catch it."

Tom started quickly forward, but just as he got abreast of the fore-hatchway, he saw the Simon pure corporal's head rising above the combings. The marine ascended no higher, for with one blow of his fist Tom sent him back from whence he came, and then sprang quickly out through the port upon the swinging boom, and having reached the place where the second-cutter's painter was made fast, he hauled the boat up and leaped into her. The flood tide was setting up the river very strongly, and quick as thought Tom cast off the painter, and rapidly dropped astern.

"Help, help!" shouted our hero, at the top of his voice; "the boat's got loose."

"Get out a couple of oars, you lubber," cried the officer of the deck, as he jumped upon the poop on hearing the cry, where he arrived just as the cutter was sweeping past the quarter. "You can hold her against the tide."

Tom did get out a couple of oars, but the moment he got them balanced in the rowlocks, he commenced pulling for dear life, and, to the utter consternation of the lieutenant, the boat began rapidly to shoot up the river. All the sentries on deck were immediately called upon the poop, and their muskets were fired at the deserter, but though two of the balls whistled near the boat, yet none of them did any harm, and on the next moment Tom heard the third cutter called away, but he knew the men were all sound asleep in their hammocks, and so he felt secure.

It was ten minutes before the third cutter cast off from the ship, and long ere they reached Tom he had gained the shore, and was running at a remarkable speed towards the city, where he reached in safety, and before two o'clock he was on board his own brig.

The next morning the Sarah dropped down with the ebb tide, and as she passed the frigate, Tom saw the second cutter swinging in her usual place, and as he gazed upon the proud flag that floated at the Englishman's peak, he murmured to himself:

"If I live, I'll some day take the pride from those proud tyrants."

How literally was that saying fulfilled! Tom Macdonough had been Decatur's favorite midshipman at the siege of Tripoli, and "wherever Decatur led he dared to follow."

Subsequent to that brilliant chapter in the page of our history, occurred the event which is embodied in our sketch; but five years afterwards, on the 11th of September, 1814, Thomas Macdonough met one of England's proud fleets on Lake Champlain. At the first broadside, the British Commodore Downie, fell, and at the end of the fight which lasted two hours and twenty minutes, without intermission, Commodore Thomas Macdonough was the conqueror of Champlain.

He had gained a proud victory—he had indeed humbled the pride of the tyrant, and that day's achievement forms one of the brightest pages in the history of America.

Commodore Thomas Macdonough—the hero of Tripoli—the conqueror of Champlain! He was a noble and true-hearted man, and a terror to all enemies of his country. Peace to his ashes, and everlasting honor to his memory!