OLD KENNEDY, THE QUARTER-MASTER.(Constitution and Guerriere.)No. I.
(Constitution and Guerriere.)
The sun became more and more powerful as it ascended towards the meridian, and was reflected with effulgent intensity from the mirror-surface of the river. As we bent over the side and looked far down into the deep vault reflected from above, and saw our gallant little yacht, with her white sails and dark hull, suspended with even minute tracery over it, we could almost imagine ourselves with the Ancient Mariner, “in a painted ship upon a painted ocean.”—The white sandbanks quivered and palpitated in the sultry glare, and the atmosphere of the adjoining swamps hung over them in a light blue vapour; the deadly miasma, their usual covering, dissipated in the fervent heat; while the silence was unbroken, save by the occasional scream of the gull, as it wheeled about in pursuit of its prey, or the quick alarmed cry of the kingfisher, hastily leaving some dead branch upon the shore to wing its way farther from the object of its terror. The blackboy, in perfect negro elysium, lay stretched fast asleep, with his arm resting upon one of the dogs, in the blazing sun on the forecastle, while we ourselves, reclined upon the cushions, with our refreshments before us, indolently puffed our cigars under the awning, Old Kennedy, perched upon the taffrail, coxswain fashion, with the tiller between his legs. While thus enjoying ourselves, like true disciples of Epicurus, the guitar was taken from its case in the cabin, and accompanied by the rich tones of Walter Lee: “Here’s a health to thee, Mary,” in compliment to our kind hostess, swept over the still surface of the river, till, dissipated in the distance, and anon the “Wild Huntsman,” and “Here’s a health to all good lassies,” shouted at the pitch of three deep bass voices, bounded over the banks, penetrating the deep forest, causing the wild game to spring from their coverts in consternation at such unusual disturbance of its noontide stillness. “We bade dull care be gone, and daft the time away.” Old Kennedy, seated at the tiller, his grey hair smoothed down on one side, and almost falling into his eyes, his cheek distended with a huge quid of tobacco, which gave an habitual drag to a mouth whose expression indicated surly honesty and resolution, was a perfect portrait of many an old quartermaster, still in the service; while his scrupulously clean shirt, with its blue collar open at the neck, discovering a rugged throat, encircled by a ring of greyhairs, and his white canvass trowsers, as tight at the hips as they were egregiously large at the ancles, indicated the rig in which he had turned up, for the last thirty years, to Sunday muster. The old seaman had seen a great deal of service, having entered the navy at the opening of the difficulties with the Barbary powers, and had been engaged in several of the signal naval actions which followed in the subsequent war with Great Britain. Previous to that time, he had been in the employ of Tom’s father, who was an extensive shipping merchant at Alexandria, and now, in his old age, influenced by an attachment for the son, who had built a snug cottage for him on his estate, and, vested with the full control of the yacht, he had been induced to come down to spend the remainder of his days on the banks of the Potomac, enjoying the pension awarded by government for the loss of his arm.
I had previously had the hint given me, that a little adroit management would set him to spinning a yarn which would suit my fancy. So, watching a good opportunity, knowing that the old man had been with Hull in his fight with the Guerriere, I successfully gave a kick to the ball by remarking, “You felt rather uncomfortable, Kennedy, did you not, as you were bearing down on the Guerriere, taking broadside and broadside from her, without returning a shot. You had time to think of your sins, my good fellow, as conscience had you at the gangway?” “Well, sir,” repliedhe, deliberately rolling his tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other, squirting the juice through his front teeth with true nautical grace—“Well, sir, that ere was the first frigate action as ever I was engaged in, and I am free to confess, I overhauled the log of my conscience to see how it stood, so it mought be I was called to muster in the other world in a hurry; but I don’t think any of his shipmates will say that Old Bill Kennedy did his duty any the worse that day, because he thought of his God, as he has many a time since at quarters. There’s them as says the chaplain is paid for the religion of the ship, and it’s none of the sailor’s business; but I never seen no harm in an honest seaman’s thinking for himself. Howsomever, I don’t know the man who can stand by his gun at such time, tackle cast loose, decks sanded, matches lighted, arm-chests thrown open, yards slung, marines in the gangways, powder-boys passing ammunition buckets, ship as still as death, officers in their iron-bound boarding caps, cutlashes hanging by lanyards at their wrists, standing like statues at divisions, enemy may-be bearing down on the weather-quarter—I say, I doesn’t know the man at sich time, as won’t take a fresh bite of his quid, and give a hitch to the waistbands of his trowsers, as he takes a squint at the enemy through the port as he bears down. And as you say at that particular time, the Guerriere (as is French for soger) was wearing and manœuvering, and throwingher old iron into us, broadside and broadside, like as I have seen them Italians in Naples throw sugar-plums at each other in Carnival time.—Afore she was through, tho’, she found it was no sugar-plum work, so far as Old Ironsides was consarned. You obsarve, when we first made her out, we seen she was a large ship close hauled on the starboard tack; so we gave chase, and when within three miles of her, took in all our light sails, hauled courses up, beat to quarters and got ready for action. She wore and manœuvered for some time, endeavouring to rake, but not making it out, bore up under her jib, and topsails, and gallantly waited for us. Well, sir—as we walked down to her, there stands the old man, (Hull) his swabs on his shoulders, dressed as fine in his yellow nankin vest and breeches, as if he was going ashore on leave—there he stands, one leg inside the hammock nettings, taking snuff out of his vest pocket, watching her manœuvres, as she blazed away like a house a-fire, just as cool as if he was only receiving complimentary salutes. She burnt her brimstone, and was noisy—but never a gun fires we. Old Ironsides poked her nose steady right down for her, carrying a bank of foam under her bows like a feather-bed cast loose. Well, as we neared her, and she wears first a-star-board, and then a-larboard, giving us a regular broadside at every tack, her shot first falls short, but as we shortened the distance, some of them begins to come aboard—firstamong the rigging, and cuts away some of the stuff aloft, for them Englishmen didn’t larn to fire low till we larnt ’em. First they comes in aloft, but by-and-by, in comes one—lower—crash—through the bulwarks, making the splinters fly like carpenter’s chips,—then another, taking a gouge out of the main-mast; and pretty soon agin—‘chit’—I recollects the sound of that ere shot well—‘chit’—another dashed past my ear, and glancing on a gun-carriage, trips up the heels of three as good men as ever walked the decks of that ere ship; and all this while, never a gun fires we; but continues steadily eating our way right down on to his quarter, the old man standing in the hammock nettings, watching her movements as if she was merely playing for his amusement. Well, as we came within carronade distance, them shot was coming on board rather faster than mere fun, and some of the young sailors begins to grumble, and by-and-by, the old men-of-wars-men growled too, and worked rusty—cause why—they sees the enemy’s mischief, and nothing done by us to aggravate them in return. Says Bill Vinton, the vent-holder, to me, ‘I say, Kennedy,’ says he, ‘what’s the use—if this here’s the way they fights frigates, dam’me! but I’d rather be at it with the Turks agin, on their own decks as we was at Tripoli. It’s like a Dutch bargain—all on one side. I expects the next thing, they’ll order pipe down, and man the side-ropes for that ere Englishman to come aboard and callthe muster-roll.’ ‘Avast a bit,’ says I; ‘never you fear the old man. No English press-gang comes on board this ship—old Blow-hard knows what he’s about.’
“Well, by-and-by Mr. Morris, our first lieutenant, who all the while had been walking up and down the quarter-deck, his trumpet under his arm, and his eyes glistening like a school-boy’s just let out to play; by-and-byhebegins to look sour, ’ticularly when he sees his favourite coxswain of the first cutter carried by a shot through the opposite port. So he first looks hard at the Old Man, and then walks up to him, and says by way of a hint, in a low tone, ‘The ship is ready for action, sir, and the men are getting impatient;’—the Old Man never turns, but keeps his eye steadily on the enemy, while he replies, ‘Are—you—all ready, Mr. Morris?’—‘All ready, sir,’—says the lieutenant—‘Don’t fire a gun till I give the orders, Mr. Morris,’—says the old man. Presently up comes a midshipman from the main-deck, touches his hat—‘First division all ready, sir,—the second lieutenant reports the enemy’s shot have hurt his men, and he can with difficulty restrain them from returning their fire;’—‘Tell him to wait for orders, Mr. Morris,’ says the old man again—never turning his head. Well—just, you see, as the young gentleman turned to go below, and another shot carries off Mr. Bush, lieutenant of marines—just as we begins to run into their smoke, andeven the old gun-boat men, as had been with Decatur and Somers, begins to stare, up jumps the old man in the air, slaps his hand on his thigh with a report like a pistol, and roars out in a voice that reached the gunners in the magazines—‘Now, Mr. Morris, give it to them,—now give it to them—fore and aft—round and grape—give it to ’em, sir—give it to ’em,’ and the words was scarce out of his mouth, before our whole broadside glanced at half pistol shot—the old ship trembling from her keel to her trucks, like an aspen, at the roar of her own batteries—instantly shooting ahead and doubling across his bows, we gave him the other with three cheers, and then at it we went—regular hammer and tongs. You would a thought you were in a thunder storm in the tropics, from the continual roar and flash of the batteries. In ten minutes, his mizen-mast went by the board. ‘Hurrah!’ shouts the old man; ‘hurrah, boys, we’ve made a brig of her.—Fire low, never mind their top hamper! hurrah! we’ll make a sloop of her before we’ve done.’ In ten minutes more over went her main-mast, carrying twenty men overboard as it went; and sure enough, sir, in thirty minutes, that ere Englishman was a sheer hulk, smooth as a canoe, not a spar standing but his bowsprit; and his decks so completely swept by our grape and cannister, that there was barely hands enough left to haul down the colours, as they had bravely nailed to the stump of their main-mast. ‘Isay, Kennedy,’ says the vent-holder to me, lying across the gun after she struck, looking out at the wrack through the port, and his nose was as black as a nigger’s from the powder flashing under it—‘I say, I wonder how that ere Englishman likes the smell of the old man’s snuff.’”