LITMIR.BIZ

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      Nor while a hand can grasp a sword

      Shall Dixie’s be enslaved.

      Chorus—Hurrah! three cheers! so gaily let us sing,

      Of all the lands that crown the earth,

      Old Dixie’s is the king.

III.

       Table of Contents

      The morning after our departure from Southampton, the crew were mustered into the service of the Confederate States and signed the articles. I was rated as a “landsman,” or a “boy.” The crew were divided into two watches, and the regular routine of duty at sea began. I found that I had twelve hours on duty out of every twenty-four, and at no time more than four consecutive hours to call my own. For instance, to-day I would be on duty from 12 to 4 A. M., 8 A. M. to 12 M., 4 to 6 P. M., and 8 to 12 P. M., and so on in uninterrupted succession. This was rather hard work for one who was fond of comfort and late breakfasts, but I speedily learned not to lose any time in going to sleep, and undressing appeared a useless indulgence. This was not the worst of it. The wind was fair, and we had been running under the foresail, foretopsail and spanker, when some evil genius inspired the officer of the deck to order all hands aloft to reef the foretopsail. Now I knew nothing of gymnastics. I had never attempted to climb a greasy pole or a rope in my life, and was unaccustomed to any more difficult mode of reaching a given elevation than by the use of easy stairs, with a strong baluster. The Nashville was rolling handsomely, and I was not eager to respond to the call that had been made, hoping that my assistance would not be needed or expected by my hardy companions. But Sawyer, the boatswain, had no idea of allowing me to escape in that way, and enquired, in his usual polite way, whether I intended to be all day making up my mind. I told him I thought not, and started up the shrouds. Making a desperate effort to be lively, I missed every second or third ratline and scraped most of the skin off my shins. At last I reached the mast-head and got on the topsail yard. My calculation was that the best place for me was close to the mast, which I might hug with one arm while I helped to manipulate the flapping sail with the other; but the men who were up there would not hear of this. With much profanity, they told me that the proper place for me was out at the extreme end of the yard. Suspended under the yards, as customary, and parallel with it, was a foot rope. Planting my feet squarely against this, and resting my chest upon the yard and holding on like grim death with my hands, I got out to the yard-arm, but here the foot rope was so close to the yard that it was of little use to me. Just then one of the men gave the rope a jerk. My heels went up and my head went down, but I saved myself from falling by a violent effort and trusted the foot rope no more. Using both hands in lifting the sail, I balanced my body as well as I could upon the yard, and at this moment I confess I would not have given a sixpence for my chance of seeing the next morning’s sun. I came down safe, however, as you perceive, and more scared than hurt. The men said that I left the marks of my fingers on the stays, and that the wood was indented where I grasped the yard. After a while I became accustomed to going aloft, although I never could make myself believe that it was better to be at the yard-arm than nearest the mast. The men were right, however, in regarding the former as the easiest berth, as the weight of the sail to be lifted is the least there.

      The Nashville having been originally a passenger steamer, as I have already mentioned, carried only enough coal in the bunkers for six or eight days steaming, so we were soon employed in hoisting coal from the lower hold forward, and running it aft to the bunkers. So long as the work was at the windlass on deck I got along very well, but, when I was sent down into the stifling atmosphere of the lower hold to fill the baskets with coal, I quickly ended the difficulty by fainting. When I revived, I went on deck and told Mr. Sawyer what had taken place. As one of the officers whom I knew was looking at him, he contented himself with saying that “I was no account anyhow, and might as well stay on deck.”

      This is as good a place as any to give the names of the officers: The commanding officer, as I said before, was Captain Robert B. Pegram, of Virginia; the First Lieutenant and Executive officer was Mr. Bennett; Lieutenant John J. Ingraham, of South Carolina, was the Sailing-master; the Second Lieutenant was Mr. Whittle, of Norfolk, Virginia; Dr. John L. Ancrum, of Charleston, was the Surgeon; Mr. Richard Taylor, of Norfolk, Virginia, was the Paymaster. The Midshipmen were: Thomas, of Georgia; McClintock, of Mississippi; J. W. Pegram (the Captain’s son), of Virginia; Clarence Cary, of Virginia; Hamilton, of South Carolina; Sinclair, of Virginia; Dalton, of Mississippi. The Master-at-arms was Lewis Hill, of Richmond, Virginia. We had aboard, also, a Charleston pilot, Captain James Evans.

      My intercourse with the officers was very pleasant while at Southampton, and I was on excellent terms with Cary, Pegram, Dalton, Hamilton and McClintock while we were at sea. They were careful, of course, not to allow their personal consideration for me to interfere in any way with a proper regard for the discipline of the ship. Cary was anxious to improve himself in French, and I gave him a lesson nearly every day. To one of the other midshipmen I gave some lessons in music. The sailors were very much disgusted that any special kindness should be shown me, and really, until we reached Bermuda, this kindness on the part of the officers was confined necessarily to a friendly nod, or other greeting, excepting when I was giving any of the midshipmen such little assistance in French and music as I have mentioned.

      The second day after we left Southampton my trunk was broken open and nearly everything I had in it was stolen by the sailors. I complained to Mr. Bennett, who suggested that I ought to have expected it, and should have been careful to keep my trunk securely locked, or to have had in it nothing that was worth stealing.

      Captain Pegram did not appear to know that I was on board until we had been several days at sea. I was engaged one morning in sweeping the deck, or cleaning paint, when he stepped out from the pilot house, and seemed to recognize me. He nodded and said “good morning,” and that was all. My heart sank and I felt forsaken.

IV.

       Table of Contents

      In order to baffle the Tuscarora, who was sure to pursue us, Captain Pegram took a more northerly route than was usual; and on the fourth or fifth day after sailing the wind freshened sharply, and in a few hours blew with terrible force. The ship was old, and unprepared for bad weather, and it was not without anxiety that our officers saw the tempest approach. In twenty-four hours the gale had reached its height. The waves were running awfully high to my unaccustomed eyes, and were battering the sides of the ship as though determined to force an entrance. Nobly, however, did the Nashville behave. There surely never was a better sea boat. She shipped little water, and, although each wave that struck her bows made her tremble and quiver from stem to stern, she bore herself nobly in the unequal contest. Loose spars, boxes, coils of rope and water-casks, which had been improperly secured, were rolling about on deck, threatening to break the legs of whoever should pass. The port bulwarks from the heel of the bowsprit to the wheelhouse were washed away flush with the deck. One angry wave carried off the whole of the port wheelhouse and dashed to pieces several of the “buckets,” or paddles. The saloon and the forward cabin were several inches deep in water, and the forecastle was in a worse plight. For days this continued. The engines were slowed down, and we did no more than hold our own. It would have been dangerous, lame as the vessel was, to drive her in the teeth of the tempest. The most grewsome part of it all was the unremitting tolling of the forecastle bell, as the Nashville rose on the crest of the wave and glided down, and down, into the trough of the sea.

      THE BELL.

      1.

      A stormy night, the foaming waves,

      In crested might, the good ship braves;

      She seeks in vain the rest she craves,

      Surging o’er dead seamen’s graves,

      While still is heard, o’er tempest’s swell,

      Thy

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