Sea Fever Page 10

  That afternoon it cleared off, and we found a pilot lying a little outside of us. About sunset a man-of-war’s cutter came alongside, and Mr. Irish was ordered to muster the crew. The English lieutenant, who was tolerably bowsed up, took his seat behind the cabin table, while the men came down, and stood in the companion-way passage, to be overhauled. Most of the foreigners had gone in the boat, but two of the Americans that remained were uncommonly fine-looking men, and were both prime seamen. One, whose name was Thomas Cook, was a six-footer, and had the air of a thorough sea-dog. He filled the lieutenant’s eye mightily, and Cook was very coolly told to gather his dunnage, as he was wanted. Cook pointed to his protection, but the lieutenant answered – ‘Oh! these things are nothing – anybody can have one for two dollars, in New York. You are an Englishman, and the King has need of your services.’ Cook now took out of his pocket a certificate, that was signed by Sir John Beresford, stating that Thomas Cook had been discharged from His Maj. Ship Cambrian, after a pretty long service in her, because he had satisfactorily proved that he was a native-born American. The lieutenant could not very well dishonour this document, and he reluctantly let Cook go, keeping his protection, however. He next selected Isaac Gaines, a native New Yorker, a man whose father and friends were known to the captain. But Gaines had no discharge like that of Cook’s, and the poor fellow was obliged to rowse up his chest and get into the cutter. This he did with tears in his eyes, and to the regret of all on board, he being one of the best men in the ship.

  Cooper, due to his wealthy background, would almost certainly have had documentation of citizenship, enabling him to escape this fate. Things got worse when Captain Johnston headed up to London in order to discharge his cargo of flour. Threading their way up the Thames to one of the greatest cities on earth at the time, Cooper was deeply impressed by the huge fleet of merchant vessels anchored in the river and particularly the great ‘forests of masts’ he saw. But it was while they were here that another embittering incident took place. Thomas Cook, the man who had previously escaped the navy while the Stirling had been off the Isle of Wight, took the time to visit the Admiralty during the ship’s stay in London. He headed there in the company of Cooper in order to settle some money he was owed for his services in the Cambrian. He was told to return in a few days and leave his certificate of discharge – the document that had previously saved him from impressment – with the Admiralty in the meantime. Almost inevitably, in the intervening days he was captured by the press gang and never seen again. It is clear that such incidents infuriated Cooper. Nevertheless, he was able to enjoy taking in some of the sights of the great city while the Stirling loaded shingle preparatory to the next leg of her voyage, which would take her around to Aguilas in Murcia, Spain.

  On a chill January day, the Stirling took leave of the turgid lower reaches of the muddy old Thames and headed for warmer climes. As the crew hunched against the icy blasts of wind that ruffled the darkened waters of the English Channel, all must have felt a wave of apprehension. Ahead lay the Scilly Isles and beyond Ushant and the dreaded Bay of Biscay, feared by sailors from time immemorial. The route to Aguilas would take the Stirling straight across this notorious bight of water in the very depths of winter. Exposed to the fearful south-westerly gales that lash the French coastline through this gloomy season, a ship could rapidly be battered into submission by wind and wave, become embayed in Biscay and driven ashore on the great fangs of rock which hem its shoreline. However, although the passage was indeed stormy, it was not to be the weather that caused the Stirling the trouble on this leg, but rather other shipping. Clear of Biscay and running into warmer climes off the Portuguese coast, the Stirling was followed by a mysterious stranger. I will leave it to Cooper and Myers to tell the story:

  While running down the coast of Portugal, with the land in sight, we made an armed felucca astern, and to windward. This vessel gave chase; and, the captain disliking her appearance, we carried hard, in order to avoid her. The weather was thick, and it blew fresh, occasionally, in squalls. Whenever it lulled, the felucca gained on us, we having, a very little, the advantage in the puffs. At length the felucca began to fire; and, finding that his shot were coming pretty near, Captain Johnston, knowing that he was in ballast, thought it wisest to heave-to. Ten minutes after our main-top-sail was aback, the felucca ranged up close under our lee; hailed, and ordered us to send a boat, with our papers, on board her. A more rascally-looking craft never gave such an order to an unarmed merchantman. As our ship rose on a sea, and he fell into the trough, we could look directly down upon his decks, and thus form some notion of what we were to expect, when he got possession of us. His people were in red caps and shirts, and appeared to be composed of the rakings of such places as Gibraltar, Cadiz and Lisbon. He had ten long guns; and pikes, pistols and muskets, were plenty with him. On the end of each latine-yard was a chap on the look-out, who occasionally turned his eyes towards us, as if to anticipate the gleanings. That we should be plundered, every one expected; and it was quite likely we might be ill-treated. As soon as we hove-to, Captain Johnston gave me the best spy-glass, with orders to hand it to Cooper, to hide. The latter buried it in the shingle ballast. We, in the cabin, concealed a bag of guineas so effectually, that, after all was over, we could not find it ourselves.

  Captain Johnston proceeded to swing out the jolly boat in order to row across to the pirate ship, for that is undoubtedly what she was – and ascertain the Stirling and her crew’s destiny. Fate had other ideas, however:

  There lay the felucca, waiting for the boat; and the men were reluctantly going into the latter, when the commander of the felucca waved his hand to us, his craft fell off and filled, wing-and-wing, skimming away towards the coast, like a duck. We stood gaping and staring at her, not knowing what to make of this manoeuvre, when ‘bang!’ went a heavy gun, a little on our weather quarter. The shot passed our wake, for we had filled our topsail, and it went skipping from sea to sea, after the felucca. Turning our eyes in the direction of the report, we saw a frigate running down upon the felucca, carrying studding-sails on both sides, with the water foaming up to her hawse-holes. As she passed our stern, she showed an English ensign, but took no other notice of us, continuing on after the felucca, and occasionally measuring her distance with a shot. Both vessels soon disappeared in the mist, though we heard guns for some time. As for ourselves, we jogged along on our course, wishing good luck to the Englishman. The felucca showed no ensign, the whole day. Our guineas were found, some weeks later, in a bread-locker, after we had fairly eaten our way down to them.

  It was a narrow shave and there was more to come, for shortly afterwards the Stirling, so recently saved by the Royal Navy, almost fell victim to it, coming very close to being run down by a vessel from the British Fleet, which lay off Cape Trafalgar on the Spanish coast. Cooper was to play an important role in saving the ship:

  The captain ordered our helm hard up, and yelled for Cooper to bring up the cabin lantern. The youngster made one leap down the ladder, just scraping the steps with his heels, and was in the mizzen rigging with the light, in half a minute. That saved us. So near was the stranger, that we plainly heard the officer of the deck call out to his own quarter-master to “port, hard a-port--_hard_ a-port, and be d----d to you!” Hard a-port it was, and a two-decker came brushing along on our weather beam-- so near, that, when she lifted on the seas, it seemed as if the muzzles of her guns would smash our rails.

  After this, the trip was incident-free and the Stirling battled through the narrow bottleneck of the straits of Gibraltar into the azure waters of the Mediterranean and skirted the Spanish coast around to the great port of Cartagena. After a brief period of quarantine, she was able to proceed to Aguilas and load a cargo of Barilla, a plant that produces sodium carbonate, used in washing powder. Some weeks later she tripped her anchor and headed back to England, being almost hurled out of the Mediterranean by a strong Levanter, one of the great winds that roar across this stretch of water, parti
cularly in spring. After a fortnight she was once again off the English coast, swinging to her anchor in Carrick Roads, Falmouth. It was while she lay in quarantine here that there was a repeat of the humiliating plundering of the Stirling’s crew by British naval officers. The loss of a Falmouth-born man known simply as ‘Bill’ was particularly scarring, as Cooper and Myers related:

  The press-gang was soon on board us, and its officer asked to have the crew mustered. This humiliating order was obeyed, and all hands of us were called aft. The officer seemed easily satisfied, until he came to Bill. ‘What countryman are _you_?’ he asked. ‘An American – a Philadelphian,’ answered Bill. ‘You are an Englishman.’ ‘No, sir; I was born–’ ‘Over here, across the bay,’ interrupted the officer, with a cool smile, ‘where your dear wife is at this moment. Your name is ______ ______, and you are well known in Falmouth. Get your clothes, and be ready to go in the boat.’

  This settled the matter. Captain Johnston paid Bill his wages, his chest was lowered into the boat, and the poor fellow took an affectionate leave of his shipmates. He told those around him that his fate was sealed. He was too old to outlive a war that appeared to have no end, and they would never trust him on shore. ‘My foot will never touch the land again,’ he said to Cooper, as he squeezed his young friend’s hand, ‘and I am to live and die, with a ship for my prison.’

  Such high-handed incidents sickened Cooper, and his views on the British were no doubt hardening rapidly as the voyage progressed. From Falmouth, the Stirling proceeded once again to London. It was here that an incident occurred that cemented the friendship between Cooper and Myers, which was to bear fruit many years later. Myers had been fooling around and had jumped across the bulwarks in order to board a vessel that was moored alongside the Stirling. The youngster somehow lost his footing and fell between the two boats. He seemed certain to drown, for he could not swim a stroke, but Cooper intervened:

  … hearing my outcry, he sprang down between the ships, and rescued me from drowning. I thought I was gone; and my condition made an impression on me that never will be lost. Had not Cooper accidentally appeared, just as he did, Ned Myers’s yarn would have ended with this paragraph.

  After this piece of casual heroics, Cooper, the much chastened Myers and the rest of Stirling’s crew had to wait several months in London River before finally returning to America. Aside from a brief meeting in 1809, it was to be many years later, in 1842, that Cooper and Myers crossed paths again. By that time Cooper was one of America’s most successful novelists and Myers had endured a lifetime of hardship and adventure at sea. He read Cooper’s book, The Pilot, and wrote to his former shipmate. Cooper was delighted to hear from him and invited his former shipmate into his home, where he remained some weeks. The upshot was Ned Myers, which affords a great insight into the US Mercantile marine and navy during these formative years.

  The last leg of this voyage turned out to be a lengthy one and, during an interminable few weeks spent tacking to and fro in an endeavour to get out of the English Channel, the Stirling was once again boarded by the Royal Navy who tried to seize a Swedish sailor. It was at this point that the infuriated Cooper ‘got into a little fight’ with the English officers, and it is perhaps fortunate that the captain intervened. The Swedish sailor was so adamant that he would not serve in the Royal Navy that the English eventually left him alone. The rest of the passage was lengthy and Captain Johnston had to head as far south as Corvo in the Azores before he picked up a fair breeze that finally bowled them home. The Stirling had been away over a year and Cooper had garnered an affection for the sea that lasted until the day he died. He had also witnessed enough English bullying and brutality to make his next move clear; he wanted to join the US Navy.

  There is little doubt that this decision was, at least in part, the result of the chastening encounters with the Royal Navy during his adventures aboard the Stirling. English arrogance when dealing with America was never more evident than in the manner in which they simply strode aboard American ships and plundered them of men. This was to be one of the key factors that led to outright war between the two countries in 1812. Cooper was clearly outraged by what he had witnessed and his ardour was to be further stoked when he returned to America. When he arrived in New York, the city was abuzz with the latest British outrage; the Leopard–Chesapeake affair, a diplomatic disaster for the British. In short, troubles had started when a number of sailors had deserted the HMS Melampus off the US coast. An order was given to search any US vessel for these men. Rumour had it that they had joined the US frigate Chesapeake, just departed for a cruise of the Mediterranean. As ill-fortune would have it, the Chesapeake ran in to the HMS Leopard. The American frigate was still in a state of extreme disorganisation, having just made her departure. By contrast, the Leopard appeared ominously ready for action, her gunports already open and decks cleared for action. The Chesapeake’s commander received an officer who had been sent from the Leopard by stating that he was under no obligation to surrender any deserters.

  The British officer returned to the Leopard and within minutes the British ship opened fire upon the Chesapeake, pouring broadside after broadside into the unprepared American ship. On board the Chesapeake, officers and men raced around in a panic, and in the general confusion, no one was even able to find a match or spark to ignite a cannon. Right at the end of a fierce 15-minute pounding, a single cannon discharged its shot into the Leopard’s side but it was more of a poignant symbol of impotence than a meaningful retaliation, and shortly afterwards, the Chesapeake surrendered and the Melampus deserters were returned. The Chesapeake limped back to port with a tally of three men dead and 18 seriously wounded. The frigate was also a wreck. The result was public outrage. These days it is hard to imagine America as a bullied underdog but in the early 1800s, she was, and Cooper wanted to do his bit, signing on as a midshipman in the US Navy in 1808.

  There is little doubt that he had visions of seeing active duty in order to right some of the wrongs that the English had inflicted on his country. Certainly, it felt as if America was just waiting for the spark that would cause the country to explode into war. Yet, just as had been the case aboard the Chesapeake, the country was unprepared and the spark was lacking. War would not come until 1812 and, in the meantime, Cooper discovered that life in the navy in peacetime could be an extremely tedious business. His service was something of an anti-climax. He never seemed to gain a position of any permanence and, although the thunderclouds of war with Britain darkened the skies and rumbled, peace remained in place. Cooper initially served on the USS Vesuvius, which was in such a terrible state of repair that she rarely went anywhere. Following this, he was transferred to Oswego on Lake Ontario to help supervise the building of the USS Oneida, a brig that was intended for use in the expected war with Britain.

  This was probably the most interesting assignment Cooper had in the navy. Oswego was a tiny backwood on the shores of the great lake and the arrival of a huge band of carpenters, blacksmiths and naval officers must have made quite an impression. It must also have been fascinating for the aspiring young sailor to witness a vessel being built from scratch. Indeed, much of what he observed found its way into one of his later books, The Crater. In the meantime, the many months spent in this peaceful, remote back of beyond provided rich material for two of his early novels, The Pioneers and The Pathfinder. This material was further augmented by an epic pleasure trip – in one of the Oneida’s boats – up the Niagara River to the mighty falls. Cooper took in the dramatic scenery and wove these spectacular and lonely backdrops into his later writing. By spring 1809, the smart little vessel they were building was almost ready, but delays in finding personnel meant that she would not actually sail until 1810. It is therefore understandable that Cooper became restless, longing for active service. In September 1809 he requested leave from the navy and attempted to secure a berth on a merchant vessel. He failed and, again, the British were at least partly to blame for this. At the time that Cooper
went looking for a berth, American trade was utterly stagnant following the Embargo Act of 1807, implemented by President Thomas Jefferson. This legislation, preventing trade with either Britain or France, was the result of incursions such as the impressment that Cooper had witnessed aboard the Stirling. America did not feel strong enough to stand up to either Britain or France and therefore went for sanctions in order to punish both. The result was mild punishment for America’s enemies and wholesale punishment for American traders, as the sanctions were returned with interest. Merchant shipping was paralysed, and it says much for the depression of trade in America at this time that an active and experienced seaman could not find a berth. Cooper returned to the navy and things seemed to be looking up, for he secured a berth on the USS Wasp, later described by Cooper as ‘a beautiful and fast cruiser’. Her captain was James Lawrence, a most active and daring commander, who would later perish while commanding the aforementioned USS Chesapeake in her epic defeat by the HMS Shannon. He was later immortalised for his words, ‘don’t give up the ship’ as he was taken down to the sick bay of the Chesapeake having received a mortal wound.