The same afternoon we fell in with a small prize to the squadron in the
Chesapeake, a dismasted schooner, manned by a prize crew of a midshipman
and six men. She had a signal of distress, an American ensign, with the
union down, hoisted on the jury-mast, across which there was rigged a
solitary lug-sail. It was blowing so hard that we had some difficulty in
boarding her, when we found she was a Baltimore pilot-boat--built
schooner, of about 70 tons burden, laden with flour, and bound for
Bermuda. But three days before, in a sudden squall, they had carried away
both masts short by the board, and the only spar which they had been able
to rig, was a spare topmast which they had jammed into one of the pumps
fortunately she was as tight as a bottle--and stayed it the best way they
could. The captain offered to take the little fellow who had charge of
her, and his crew and cargo, on board, and then scuttle her; but no--all
he wanted was a cask of water and some biscuit; and having had a glass of
grog, he trundled over the side again, and returned to his desolate
command. However, he afterwards brought his prize safe into Bermuda.
The weather still continued very rough, but we saw nothing until the second
evening after this. The forenoon had been even more boisterous than any of
the preceding, and we were all fagged enough with “make sail,” and “shorten
sail,” and “all hands,” the whole day through; and as the night fell, I
found myself, for the fourth time, in the maintop. The men had just lain
in from the main topsail yard, when we heard the watch called on deck,
“Starboard watch, ahoy,”--which was a cheery sound to us of the larboard,
who were thus released from duty on deck and allowed to go below.
The men were scrambling down the weather shrouds, and I was preparing to
follow them, when I jammed my left foot in the grating of the top, and
capsized on my nose. I had been up nearly the whole of the previous night,
and on deck the whole of the day, and actively employed too, as during the
greatest part of it it blew a gale. I stooped down in some pain, to see
what had bolted me to the grating, but I had no sooner extricated my foot,
than, over-worked and over fatigued as I was, I fell over in the soundest
sleep that ever I have enjoyed before or since, the back of my neck resting
on a coil of rope, so that my head hung down within it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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