Ned Myers, or, a Life Before the MastCooper, James Fenimore
History
Ned Myers, or, a Life Before the Mast
Cooper, James Fenimore
Myers, Ned, approximately 1793-1849; Seafaring life
I had another escape from drowning, while we lay in the docks, having
fallen overboard from the jolly-boat, while making an attempt at sculling.
I forget, now, how I was saved; but then I had the boat and the oar to
hold on to. In the end, it will be seen by what a terrific lesson I
finally learned to swim.
One Sunday we were drifting up around the palace; and then it was that I
told Cooper that the Duke of Kent was my god-father. He tried to persuade
me to make a call; saying I could do no less than pay this respect to the
prince. I had half a mind to try my hand at a visit; but felt too shy, and
too much afraid. Had I done as Cooper so strongly urged me to do, one
cannot say what might have been the consequences, or what change might
have been brought about in my fortunes.[4]
One day Mr. Irish was in high glee, having received a message from Captain
Johnston, to inform him that the latter was pressed! The captain used to
dress in a blue long-tog, drab-breeches and top-boots, when he went
ashore. "He thought he could pass for a gentleman from the country," said
Mr. Irish, laughing, "but them press-gang chaps smelt the tar in his very
boots!" Cooper was sent to the rendezvous, with the captain's desk and
papers, and the latter was liberated. We all liked the captain, who was
kind and considerate in his treatment of all hands; but it was fine fun
for us to have "the old fellow" pressed--"_old fellow_" of six or
eight-and-twenty, as he was then.
About the last of July, we left London, bound home. Our crew had again
undergone some changes. We shipped a second mate, a New-England man. Jim
Russel left us. We had lost Bill; and, another Bill, a dull Irish lad, who
had gone to Spain, quitted us also. Our crew consisted of only Spanish
Joe; Big Dan; Little Dan; Stephen, the Kennebunk man; Cooper; a Swede,
shipped in London; a man whose name I have forgotten; and a young man who
passed by the name of Davis, but who was, in truth,--------, a son of the
pilot who had brought us in, and taken us out, each time we passed up or
down the river. This Davis had sailed in a coaster belonging to his
father, and had got pressed in Sir Home Popham's South-American squadron.
They made him a midshipman; but, disliking the sea, he was determined to
go to America. We had to smuggle him out of the country, on account of the
press-gang; he making his appearance on board us, suddenly, one night, in
the river.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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