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DAVID DREADNOUGHT, 
 
 THE 
 
 REFORMED ENGLISH SAILOR. 
 
 PART FIRST 
 
 OF 
 
 Nautic Tales and Adventures in Verse, 
 
 BY S.pVHITCHURCH. 
 
 f* Tliey that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; 
 these see the works of the Lord, aud his wonders in the deep." 
 
 Psalm cvii. 23, 24. 
 
 BATH, 
 
 Printed by Wood tf Cunningham, at the City Printing-Offlce; 
 
 AND SOLD BY WILLIAMS, STATIONERS'-COURT, LONDON; 
 AND MAY BE HAD OF ALL BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 1812. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/daviddreadnaughtOOwhitiala 
 
r IN 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 X HE first part of " David Dreadnought^* 
 owes its existence to a pulpit anecdote related in 
 Bath, more than twenty-seven years ago, by the 
 late highly respected Rev. Thomas Tuppen^ of the 
 conversion of a very profligate Sailor, 
 
 Having on a time obtained leave of absence from 
 the ship io which he belonged, he took a trip to 
 London, and, while there, happened to stroll into a 
 place of worship belonging io the Establishment ia 
 Westminster during service time, where he heard, 
 soon after he had entered, the clergyman name his 
 text, which was — " Praj/ without ceasing J** The 
 words made a momentary impression, which sooq 
 wore off; but they came fresh to his recollection seven 
 years afterwards, when on an outward-bound \o^* 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
iV ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 age to America ; and then so effectually operated on 
 his mind as to produce a train of serious reflection, 
 which terminated in an entire change of heart and 
 conduct. — The Rev. Narrator added, that he was 
 acquainted with the Sailor several years after the 
 change had taken place, when he still followed the 
 seas^ and continued to evince the reality of his con- 
 version by a blameless life and holy conversation. 
 
 This anecdote, and the impressive manner in 
 ivhich it was related, struck the Author's mind very 
 forcibly, who had himself just quitted the sea ser- 
 vice, and who then composed some lines on the 
 subject, which were lionored with Mr. Tuppen'% 
 approbation. These lines he has lately revised and 
 improved, with the intention of their forming Ihe first 
 part of ** Nautic Tales and Adventures in Verse f^^ 
 in which will be comprised not only some further 
 account of David Dreadnought, but the interesting 
 narratives of John Marrant, the negro convert, 
 and Donald Henderson, the Caledonian mariner. 
 
SLv^mtnu 
 
 Introdaction — Allusions to the bloody conflict at Barossa, and 
 the storming of Badajoz — The heroes, Graham and Welling- 
 ton — Character of Dreadnought; his intrepidity and nautic 
 skillfulness; his irreligion and impiety; his insensibility to 
 danger; carelessness of lift ; fearlessness of death, and unmind- 
 fulnessof the world to come — Apostrophe to the brave mariners 
 of Great-Britain — Dreadnought's father; his last prayer for 
 his son, and death — Dreadnought leaves his ship; takes a trip 
 to London ; happens to hear the sound of an organ, and ii in* 
 duced to stroll hi to a church in Westminster; is forcibly struck 
 with the words of the clergyman's text ; the impression sooa 
 wears off; he goes to sea again, and is as careless and profli« 
 gate as before ; seven years afterwards, when on a voyage to 
 America, the words of the preacher's text recur to his recol- 
 lection with happy effect; he becomes a true penitent; find* 
 his long-neglected Bible under the rubbish of his chest; bedews 
 it with tears of contrition, and reads it with avidity — Allusions 
 to some striking passages in the holy scriptures — The balm 
 of Gilead— The prayers of Moses, Jabez, and Hezekiah— 
 Introduction of tl»e gospel method of salvation, and atone- 
 ment of the Son of God — The angel's song at the nativity — 
 The life and miracles of Christ — Lazarus raised from the 
 dead — the miraculous draught of fishes — Dispossession of the 
 maniac — The stormy tempest allayed — Restoration of the 
 lame and blind — Feeding the hungry multitude, and healing 
 the Canaanitish woman — Wonderful effect upon Dread- 
 nought's mind — He prays — Rejoicing in heaven over the re- 
 pentant sinner — The happy spirit of his father partakes of the 
 joy— Dreadnought finds peace and joy in believing; he be- 
 comes an eminent Christian, and continues to do his duty and 
 to serve his country; his aversion to religious controversy, 
 and happy thoughts upon that subject; his love of Catholicism 
 and preference to Bible Christianity— Objections that a Chris- 
 tian may not be a brave man answered, by appealing to the 
 life and death of Col. Gardiner, and to the conduct of Dread- 
 nought — Conclusion — No one so well prepared either for fight- 
 ing the battles of his country, or encountering the dangers 
 •f the seas, as the man who fears God, 
 
DAVID DREADNOUGHT. 
 
 f^THERS may sing of modern men of might. 
 On foreign shores who urge successful fight; 
 On red Barossa's heights who fought or fell. 
 Or who at Badajoz perform'd so well — 
 Warriors renown'd ! in deeds of death who shone. 
 By Graham led, or peerless Wellington; 
 Victorious banners, and the tented field; 
 Fit themes for song more gifted bards may yield. 
 Let it be mine to choose a humbler name. 
 And sing of heroes little known to fame: 
 Yet where is not the British Sailor known! 
 His bold achievements all the world must own. 
 
 Valiant was Dreadnought and of pow'rful arm; 
 His soul unconquer'd never felt alarm. 
 Train'd up in danger's school, by practice taught. 
 He well perform'd whatever brave man ought^ 
 
Tlie foremost post, where ventured men of might. 
 
 Grim death to face amid the hottest fight, 
 
 He ever claim'd — thoughtless alike was he 
 
 Of present risk, oi- future destiny; 
 
 Still unregarded that eternal doom 
 
 Awaiting man beyond the silent tomb : 
 
 And though God's providence preserv'd his life. 
 
 And brought him harmless through war's dreadful strife; 
 
 Though never once by foemen'a strength subdu'd; 
 
 For life preserv'd he felt no gratitude : 
 
 Ne'er was his Saviour's all-protecting care 
 
 By him acknowledg'd, or in praise, or prayer; 
 
 Nor from his heart was free-will oflF'ring giv'n. 
 
 By love enkindled, to the God of Heav'a. 
 
 When the dark tempest came with whelming sweep^ 
 And lifted up the billows of the deep, 
 Still unconcern'd would daring Dreadnought ride 
 Through the rough furrows of the raging tide ; 
 Music to him was the tremendous sound 
 Of stormy winds that threat'ning howl'd around: 
 Nimbly he climb'd, whenever duty led. 
 Up the loose cordage to the tepmast head; 
 
There on the yard, across the high mast slung. 
 
 He toil'd aloft in dreadful peril hung. 
 
 And reefd the flutt'ring sail, whilst near and far 
 
 Relentless rag'd the elemental war; 
 
 Than he more skill'd to hand, or reef, or steer. 
 
 None ever travers'd either hemisphere. 
 
 The battle's thunder, and the rage of fight, 
 Sweird Dreadnought's heart with terrible delight ; 
 Regardless he where flew the death-wing'd ball; 
 Fearless he'd see a wounded shipmate fall: 
 Careless who fell, or yielded up life's breath, 
 Unmov'd he heard the mournful groan of death; 
 Or, if he car'd for friend or messmate slain. 
 His fav'rite grog soon banish'd care again. 
 Oft, when not fighting in his country's cause. 
 In other combats he obtain'd applause; 
 Mark'd was his hardy front with many a scar 
 Which valor gain'd him in ignobler war ; 
 Oft in the ring, form'd by the noisy crowd. 
 His manly prowess was by all allow'd; 
 As oft on board, when fierce dispute rose high^ 
 Sure as he Ibught he gain'd the victory. 
 
On shore, on board, in each contentious fray. 
 He undisputed bore the pahn away. 
 Too much of time intrepid Dreadnought spent 
 In senseless joy and sinful meriment; 
 And still the lewd or loud unmeaning song 
 Entranc'd him 'mid the Bacchanalian throng ; 
 To riot prone — to vanity inclin'd. 
 Seducing pleasure occupy'd his mind. 
 Say, ye, Britannia's guardians, and her pride ! 
 To fight her foes who plough the ocean tide- 
 Say, hearts of oak ! to king and country true, 
 What pow'r of man could Dreadnought's heart subdue 1 
 What power but His, the sinner's mighty friend. 
 This stubborn will impenitent could bend 1 
 What but the spv'reign grace of GoD alone. 
 Could melt this heart insensible as stone 1 
 Ye men of might, firm in your country's cause. 
 Who gain her battles and her just applause. 
 Hard must ye struggle for a warrior's name; 
 Far must ye travel or for wealth or fame; 
 But Heav'n's immortal pearl is ever nigh — 
 Pray'r may obtain it^ or the meek heart's sigh: 
 
n 
 
 And if to peace with God the soul aspires. 
 
 If pure devotion kindle there its fires. 
 
 If deep contrition — penitence sincere. 
 
 And good desires, shall meet together there; 
 
 All that soul needs the Saviour will provide; 
 
 Who feels his wants shall have those wants supply'd; 
 
 For him the dove-like Spirit down from heav'n 
 
 Descends to witness every sin forgiv'n. 
 
 Year after year of toil or pleasure past. 
 Dreadnought remain'd still thoughtless and unchaste; 
 Heedless of every precept that in youth 
 His father taught him from the Book of Truth; 
 For Dreadnought's father was a man of pray'r. 
 He train'd his David up with pious care; 
 Oft ran the big tear trickling down his face. 
 When wrestling for him at the throne of grace; 
 But soon by evil company undone. 
 The sire's advice was slighted by the son; 
 And though sometimes the monitor within 
 Alarm'd the sinner, and reprov'd his sin. 
 Soon that still voice was hush'd amid the throng 
 Of noisy fools that roar'd the drunkard's song. 
 
12 
 
 His father died, and entered into rest; 
 
 Yet ere he died made one devout request; 
 
 Put up this last short pray'r in spirit mild: — 
 
 ** Convert, O God! and bless my wand'ring child! 
 
 " In mercy stop him in his mad career, 
 
 ** And draw the sinner to his Saviour near!" 
 
 Heard was that prayer — he sluraber'd in his grave. 
 
 But God most merciful still liv'd to save: 
 
 God ne'er forgot the dying saint's request ; 
 
 In his own time the wand'ring child he blest. 
 
 And be it known, though small may seem th' event. 
 His ship once moor'd, and every sail unbent. 
 That safe re-landed on his native isle. 
 While pleasure woo'd him with her syren smile, 
 Resolv'd was Dreadnought, then, from duty free. 
 His country's fam'd metropolis to see. 
 But there arriv'd — not palaces of kings; 
 Not all the stores unrivall'd commerce brings; 
 Not the gay barks that come from every laud. 
 Darken the Thames, and line the busy Strand, 
 Whose tow'ring masts like thick-grown forests rise. 
 Whose pendant streamers float along the skies ; 
 
13 
 
 Not aU enclos'd within the strong Tow'r's walls^ 
 Not all tlie nwjesty of. sainted Paul's; 
 Not all the painter's skill, or sculptor's art. 
 Could fix his.eye, or captivate his heart; 
 Deprav'd his appetite, debas'd his mind> 
 To sensual joys, to wantonness iocliti'd: 
 In midnight rev'iling oft, or at the play, 
 His mis-spent time he thoughtless past away; 
 And oft in brothels, and mid haunts impure,. 
 On him was clos'd the wretched harlot's door. 
 
 It chanc'd one day, ere grog or wine began 
 To conquer reason and degrade the man,^ 
 He haply heard with rev'rent awe profound 
 Some fuU-tou'd organ's soul-entrancing sound: 
 The sweet vibration of each tuneful air 
 The wand'rer drew within the house of pray'r;^ 
 In sable vestments, wJhere, uprais'd on high. 
 The man of God attracted Dreadnought's eye; 
 ** Pray without ceasing" soon assail'd his ears; 
 The sacred text awaken'd all his fears. 
 He heard some reasons in the sermon giv'n 
 Why pray'rs are ofFer'd to the King of Heav'nj 
 
14 
 
 Heard 'twas a duty, and a privilege great. 
 For man to bow before God's mercy-seat. 
 He heard life's path was narrow, and that there 
 No trav'Iler gain'd a passport without pray'r* 
 He recollected what his life had been. 
 His pray'rless life of folly and of sin; 
 His smitten heart awhile with sorrow bled; 
 Involuntary tears of grief he shed. 
 Then heavenly seed was sown to take deep root. 
 Spring up to life, and bear immortal fruit. 
 And put forth leaves of everlasting green. 
 Though some unfruitful seasons past between; 
 Year after year, though many a noxious weed 
 O'er ran the ground where lay that hidden seed. 
 Seven times had cheerless winter past away. 
 Yielding to spring's soft reign and milder sway. 
 Since Dreadnought heard the preacher's sacred text. 
 And felt his mind by guilty fears perplext. 
 Unchang'd his heart, on sinful folly bent. 
 Still unimprov'd each changing season went ; 
 And still on board the filthy tale or song 
 Wastes his best hours, and charms his time along; 
 
15 
 
 Still when on shore bad company bis choice. 
 Still deaf his ear to reason's sober voice ; 
 Yet Providence brought round the happy hour 
 When grace subdues the will's rebellious pow'r; 
 When retrospection, and the painful smart 
 Of wounded conscience, agonize his heart. 
 
 Dreadnought with crowded sail the ocean sweeps. 
 Again he traverses the mighty deeps; 
 When lo ! but some few days had fav'ring gales 
 Propell'd his ship, and swell'd her spreading sails. 
 Ere God was pleas'd (so blessings oft are giv'n) 
 To answer prayers long register'd in Heav'n, 
 But not to judgment the Almighty came; 
 No swift-wing'd lightning shot devouring flame; 
 O'er the dark deeps no pealing thunders roll. 
 No threat'ning messenger alarms the soul; 
 No whelming tempest bade the billows rise. 
 No wrathful meteor blaz'd along the skies; 
 But Mercy's angel whisper'd from above — 
 His voice was heard — the still small voice of love. 
 Buoyant the vessel o'er the smooth sea glides ; 
 The breeze that wafts her curb the yielding tides; 
 
m 
 
 The gay horizon, dazzh'ng to the sight. 
 Describes one vast expausive mirror bright; 
 The pleas'd eye penetrates the clear profound. 
 And sees the finny myriads sport around : 
 Affairs more mighty press on Dreadnought's mind 
 Than all the raging elements combin'd ; 
 Conviction's barbed arrows pierce his heart; 
 His conscience acts the stern accuser's part. 
 
 But who is this coraniission'd from the skies? 
 What minister, unseen by mortal eyes, 
 Repeats the preacher's solemn text once more. 
 In voice unheard by Dreadnought's ears before? 
 Though to bis view no seraph glories shine. 
 He hears the voice — the message is divine — 
 " Pray without ceasing," fixes on his mind ; 
 He fears to pray, though much to pray'r inclin'd. 
 ** Praj/ without ceasing," presses on him still; 
 Fain would he pray, but lacks the holy skill. 
 Fain would he raise to Heav'n the earnest cry. 
 But on his trembling lips the accents die. 
 
 Oh! what would now the penitent have giv'n 
 For some devout ambassador of heav'n! 
 
17 
 
 Or some choice friend, as was his father khid. 
 To soothe the anguish of his tortur'd mind I 
 No earthly friend had lie — ^yet God was near. 
 The wand'rer's heart to succour and to cheer. 
 A book had Dreadnought, that, in happier youth. 
 His father gave him — 'twas the book of truth; 
 That book, while aow by doubtful fears deprest. 
 He finds beneath the lumber of his chest; 
 There had it long, alas! neglected lain; 
 Its holy page defil'd with many a stain I 
 That sacred book, unread for several years. 
 He now bedews with penitential tears; 
 Eagerly grasps it, though with trembling bands. 
 And learns submissive its divine commands ; 
 There reads of Gilead's healing balm, and there 
 Notes the strong pow'r of interceding pray'r; 
 How Moses pray'd rebellious ranks to save. 
 And how th' insulted Godhead still forgave. 
 When Jabez pray'd, more than his brethren blest, 
 How God Almighty granted his^request; 
 How God was mov'd by fervent pray'rs and tears 
 To lengthen out good Hezekiah's years* 
 
18 
 
 There too be finds within the gospel plan 
 What love, what kindness, GoD reveal'd to man. 
 When his beloved Son came down from heav*n» 
 That man's nncancell'd debt might be forgiv'n; 
 When his atoning blood the Saviour spilt 
 To wash away the stains of damning guilt. 
 
 Hark! heavenly voices warble heavenly strains; 
 With sounds of gladness echo Bethlehem's plains: 
 Hark ! as they high extol the new-born king, 
 ** Good-will to men,** the joyful angels sing. 
 The mighty Saviour he, of lowly birth, 
 A meek itin'rant preacher on the earth ; 
 Thy king, O Zion! and thy bright day-star. 
 He spreads glad tidings of salvation far. 
 His powerful words appal the men of strife; 
 His words are words of everlasting life. 
 The mourner's hopes live in his friendly breath; 
 Resounds his voice through the wide realms of death; 
 His well-known voice the grave-bound pris'ner knows; 
 It rouses Lazarus from his dead repose. 
 The finny tribes obey their Maker's will. 
 And shoreward press the wide-spread net to fill. 
 
19 
 
 Hell's baffled legions dread his piercing eye. 
 And from the man possessed in terror fly. 
 His voice, the stormy winds and waves obey. 
 And to a calm the tempest dies away. 
 He heals the broken-hearted of mankind; 
 Restores the lame, gives eye-sight to the blind. 
 His lib'ral hand prepares mirac'lous food 
 To feed the hungry, craving multitude. 
 If sinners come to him with heart devout. 
 His word declares he " will not cast them outf 
 And Canaan's daughter, alien from the Jew, 
 Can prove that cheering word of promise true. 
 
 Dreadnought reads on — his heav'n-taught mind expands; 
 The more he reads, the more be understands : 
 Low on his stubborn knees, unus'd to bend. 
 He falls to supplicate the sinner's friend. 
 With broken heart devout, and streaming eyes, 
 *' O save a guilty sinner. Lord!" he cries. 
 Forthwith to heav'n recording angels bear 
 The humble penitent's soul-breathing pray'r: 
 All heav'n rejoices! holy seraphs praise 
 The God of mercy in exalted lays! 
 
m 
 
 The sainted spirit of his father hears ^ 
 
 How God hath answer'd all his pray'rs and tears; 
 And thus he sings — " Praise, kindred saints, the Lord I 
 "He hath my son from death to life restor'd : ^ 
 
 " With lasting praise let heav'n's high roof resound; 
 ** My wand'ring child was lost, but now is found !" 
 
 In Dreadnought's mind soon gloomy doubts give place 
 To the bright sunshine of celestial grace; ^ 
 
 Faith looks with undiverted eye to Heav'n^ 
 And Christ proclaims the penitent forgiv'u. 
 With real joy his heart begins to melt. 
 For real joy tiH now he never felt; 
 The peace of God that dwells within his breast 
 Lays every anxious care of life to rest. 
 How chaug'd the scene from that in former daysf 
 Now songs obscene give way to pray'r and praise; 
 Now no delight indecent tales afford ; 
 He serves his country, and he serves the LORD. 
 The hardy sea life, and the life divine. 
 In Dreadnought's conduct eminently shine; 
 As tar aud saint, industrious and sedate. 
 The foe of boasting and of fierce debate^ 
 
21 
 
 When tirg'd to vain dispute, would David say — 
 
 *' Life's path is narrow, but so plain the way, 
 
 ** That pilgrims need not quarrel on the road 
 
 *' Which leads them to their Saviour and their GoD. 
 
 *' Fruit-bearing trees on either hand that grow, 
 
 " And o'er the pathway pleasant shadows throw, 
 
 ** May yield the trav'llers food — but who 'd dispute 
 
 *• What others lik'd to pluck of heav'nly fruit? 
 
 *' Say, should I blame a brother pilgrim there 
 
 ** If he preferr'd to mine a diflfrent farel 
 
 *' No ! let me prize the food so freely giv'n, 
 
 " And with him share the bounteous gifts of Heav'n ! ' 
 
 *' In that great day, eventful, of assize, 
 " When Christ shall ride triumphant down the skies; 
 " When countless thousands shall await his nod, 
 ** And every tongue confess the Son of God; 
 ** When the dark grave his mandate shall obey, 
 ** Ope its deep caverns, and admit the day; 
 *' When myriads tbence of every clime and name 
 *' Shall rise to life, or to eternal shame: 
 ♦' Say, will it then be of those hosts inquir'd 
 •** What human creeds or doctrines they admired? 
 
S9 
 
 « Will it be ask'd if Calvin's creed they lov'd? 
 
 " Or whether that of Luther they approv'd? 
 
 " Or to what sect or party they belong'd; 
 
 " Or if the church or meeting-house they throng'd? 
 
 " Such nice distinctions may vain mortals please, 
 
 *' But Christ requireth not such things as these. 
 
 *' His word declares the humble heart contrite 
 
 "Shall be the temple of its God's delight; 
 
 " That heav'n's high mansions none may hope to fill, 
 
 *• But such as know and do their Saviour's will. 
 
 " Whate'er his name amongst his fellow men, 
 
 « The Bible Christian will be honor'd then."* 
 
 * It frequently happens that people are either churchmen 
 or dissenters because their fathers were such before them. — 
 Of what religions denomination Dreadnought's father was, we 
 are ilot informed. It is most likely, however, that Dread- 
 nought himself belonged to the established church ; because in 
 that church he received bis iirst religious impressions. Be that 
 as it may, we are assured he was no bigot, as his speech ma- 
 nifests a catholic temper an4 Cbristian iooderatioa well worthy 
 
 of imitation. 
 
 '.,. Mv'- 
 
^3 
 
 Though some unwise the vain opinion hold 
 That Christian mariners become less bold. 
 And sink degen'rate from the ranks of fame. 
 Deserving less the patriot's envy'd name; 
 When pure religion all the heart inspires 
 With faith, and zeal, and love's immortal fires; 
 And when, by grace erapower'd, they suffer loss 
 For sake of him who suffer'd on the cross. 
 Such vain objections stubborn facts deny. 
 For fame hath told how bravely saints could die; 
 And one clear proof may Gard'uer's hist'ry give. 
 Who died a soldier, and a saint could live. 
 So well may Dreadnought's services require 
 The sounding praise of the impartial lyre; 
 So may his actions prove, deny who will. 
 The hero once, shall be the hero still. 
 Oft has he since, by duty call'd afar, 
 Evinc'd his intrepidity in war. 
 He, always brave, or at what time or place. 
 As ever wont, look'd danger in the face; 
 And if allow'd to be an axiom clear. 
 That who fears God has none besides to fear; 
 
24r 
 
 Say, who so fit to mix in dang'rous fight 
 As he whose faith aqd life are in the right? 
 And who so safe, when by the night-storm driv'n. 
 As he whose hopes are treasur'd up in heav'n? 
 
 EhD OF THE FIRST PJIRT, 
 
DAVID DREADNOUGHT, 
 
 THE 
 
 ISleformclr tEngUiaifi bailor : 
 
 PART SECOND 
 
 OF 
 
 Nautic Tales and Adventures in Verse. 
 BY S. WHITCHURCH. 
 
 ' They that go down to tlie sea in ships, that do business in great waters ; 
 these see tlie works of the Lord, and las wonders in the deep." 
 
 Psalm c%'ii. 23, 24. 
 
 BATir, 
 Printed by Wood Sf Co. at the City Printing-Office ; 
 
 AND SOLD BY WILLIAMS, STATIONERS-COI'RT, AND DAUTON 
 
 AND HAHVEY, GRACECHL'RCH-STREET, LONDON; 
 
 AND MAY BE HAD OF ALL BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 1813. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 
 J. HE story of " John MarranV is founded 
 on fact. The substance of his narrative was taken 
 down in short-hand by the Author, from the lips of 
 the narrator, in the year 1785. It was then turned 
 into verse, and published under the title of the 
 " Negro Convert," which was so far honored with 
 public approbation as to experience a rapid and 
 successful sale. And although it be allowed that the 
 novelty of the subject, rather than the merit of the 
 performance, might have obtained such indulgence, 
 the Author has now ventured to revise and correct 
 it, for the purpose of its accompanying David 
 Dreadnought^ and the narrative of Donald HeU' 
 derson^ the Caledonian mariner, which last will 
 occupy the pages of the third and fourth parts of 
 *' Nautic Tales and Adventures." 
 
 The plain and simple narrative of Mr. Marranf, 
 may speak for itself without much comment. It 
 may not, however, be altogether unnecessary to sub- 
 join a few notes to the preceding part; for the infor- 
 mation of the youthful Reader. 
 
Argument 
 
 Allusions to Dreadnought's employment from the time of hi« 
 reformation, in war and commercial pursuits — He embarks on 
 board tlie Good Intent, Capt.Probus, commander, on a voyage 
 of circumnavigation — Departure from Plymouth — Allusions 
 to Commodore Anson's squadron, as comiected with the time 
 of sailing— Plymouth garrison — Mount-Edgecombe — Spanish 
 Armada — Duke of Medina Sidouia, its commander — Admiral 
 Drake — English bravery — Destruction of the Invincible Ar- 
 mada — St. Michael's Mount — Departure from the Land's-End 
 — Allusions to the antiquity of the trade to Cornwall for tin — 
 The Tarshish of Scripture, formerly Gades, now Cadiz — Ma- 
 deira — The tomb of Anna D'Arfet, and Den of Skulls on that 
 island — TenerifFe — other islands passed — Crossing the line — 
 Of the inhabitants of the ocean, tlie Dolphin, Flying-fish, 
 Shark, Porpoises, Nautilus, VVhale — Southern continent of 
 America — Straits of Magellan — Patagonian giants — Island of 
 Chiloe — Byron — Selkirk's residence on the island of Juan Fer- 
 nandez — Sea lions — Great Pacific Ocean — Olaheite — Beati- 
 ties of the climate — Spontaneous productions — ImmoraUty, 
 and idolatrous worship of its inhabitants — Noithern course 
 pursued — Recrossing the line — Karakakooa bay — Death of 
 Captain Cook — Present friendship, and inoffensiveness of the 
 natives; their ignorance and errors, and lack of the true 
 knowledge lamented — Departure from Owyhee — Destination 
 farther northward — Wintry climate — Oonalaska — Giant of 
 the storm — Perilous situation of the navigators off the north- 
 west course of America — Capt. Probus directs Dreadnought 
 to steer for an inlet to leeward, discovered by Capt. Cook — 
 Dreadnought harangues the crew, and follows the captain's 
 directions — Anchorage in Cook's river — New channel disco- 
 vered — Grand rocky entrance — Dreadnought's new-found 
 bay — Ship towed in to it, and unrigged — She is barricadoed 
 with spars to screen the crew from winter storms, and to guard 
 against the hostility of the savages — Some description of the 
 wretched inhabitants of those inhospitable regions — They trade 
 
VI ARGUMENT. 
 
 -n'ith the crew of the Good Intcat — Soon maoifest hostile in< 
 tentions, and approach the ship iu their war canoes — The 
 sailors behold the menaces of the cannibals undismayed — 
 Humane address of Captain Probus to his men — The savages 
 alarmed at the discharge of a loaded gun — Friendship and 
 traffic restored — Preparations for wintering in the bay — Hor- 
 rors of the climate — AHusious to the happiness of one who 
 holds communion with Goi) amid such dreary scenes of deso- 
 lation and death — Dreadnought's two friends, Marrant and 
 Henderson; their piety and friendly intercourse; they visit 
 and pray with the sick and the dying — the captain rightly 
 appreciates their worth — Allusions to Sabbath-day worshFp, 
 performed on the quarter-deck, at sea — Particular forms and 
 modes of worship of little consequence — ^The free-will offering 
 of the heart never rejected by the Deity — Marrant called 
 upon to relate his adventures to hia two friends — His narra- 
 tive — His father's plantation and wooden house near Charls- 
 ton in North-Carolina — Foliics of youth — His first religious 
 impressions on hearing the Rev.Mr.Whitefield name his text — ■ 
 Great distress of mind, and happy deliverance from despair — 
 He is turned ont of his fatlur's house — Tedious wanderings 
 and perilous situation iu the wildernesses of America — He 
 comes to a sea-port town, and is impressed on board a man of 
 war at the time of the dispute between Great-Britain and her 
 American colonies — His sea adventures — The battle on the 
 Dogger bank between the English and Dutch — He is wound- 
 ed in that engagement — Taken to the hospital on shore — 
 Cured and discharged from the service — His gratitude to his 
 Saviour for the universality of his love; for the riches of his 
 gcace; and for his great atonement — His two friends partake 
 ef his joy — Conclnding remarks. 
 
DAVID DREADNOUGHT. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Jt WELVE times the sun had pass'd each sign of heav'n. 
 And to the world twelve summer seasons giv'n. 
 Since Dreadnonght first the narrow way had trod 
 That leads to true felicity in GoD. 
 In desp'rate battle had he often fought. 
 And done his duty as brave Briton ought. 
 War's terrors past — in European trade 
 Some pleasant trips the pious Sailor made ; 
 But when bold Prohus canvass first unfurl'd, 
 Resolv'd to circumnavigate the world ; 
 On board the Good Intent, (for that her name) 
 With other chosen vet'rans Dreadnought came. 
 
 B a 
 
To shun such stonns as Anson brav'd of yore* 
 Round the South Cape's inhospitable shore; 
 More wisely taught, our navigators sail'd 
 When the soft winds that summer blew prevail'd ; 
 Horn's distant land in happier time to gain. 
 Or some safe channel to the southern main ; 
 Ere Winter bade his_adverse tempests blow. 
 Or pour'd thick stonns of overwhelming snow. 
 Without that garrison, where tier o'er tier, 
 Plymouth's tremendous batteries appear ; 
 Design'd whene'er within gun-shot they lie 
 To paur destruction on the enemy; 
 
 • Who that recollects the untimely eqnipment of fliat formi- 
 dable squadron, commanded by Commodore Anson, and intended 
 to carry terror and destruction into the very heart of Spanish 
 America, and at the same time shall bear in mind the consequent 
 miserable sufferings of the brave men who accompanied it, but 
 must be led to conclude tliat the experience of tlie navigators of 
 former ages had been lost upon the ruling men of that generation, 
 who acted in this instance, more like persons who had been paid 
 for promoting the destruction of their country's defenders, rather 
 than that of its enemies; but matters relating to such kind of 
 expeditions ar« better managed how than tlicy were formerly. 
 
S3 
 
 They pass that lovely mount, O Edgcombe ! thine ; 
 
 Whose varied charms in rich profusion shine; 
 
 Gladd'ning the eye, where Nature leagues witli Arty 
 
 Unrivall'd scenes of beauty to impart. 
 
 When, foe of England's church and England's state, 
 
 Rome's tyrant chief resolv'd her dreadful fate ; 
 
 When, to subdue by Avar's devouring flame, 
 
 With fleet invincible the Spaniard came r 
 
 He view'd with wishful eye thy every scene 
 
 Of shady grove, or lawn of living green. 
 
 And proudly thought, when levell'd Britain's throne, 
 
 Tliy smiling paradise would be his own.* 
 
 ■* Who hath not heard or read of the boasted Spanish Ar- 
 mada, conscecrated, and rendered invincible by the benedictions 
 of the Roman Pontiff, and from which such mighty atchiev£- 
 nients were expected? but which, although assisted by all the 
 thunder of the Vatican, and the powerful aid of his Holiness's 
 infallibility, could not effectually resist British bravery, nor 
 withstand the fury of those elements wl^icb completed the 
 destruction that British valour had bcgun» It was reported that 
 the Duke of Medina Sidonia, who commanded in that deservedly 
 ill-fated expedition, was so delighted with the prospect of Mount- 
 Edgcombe, as to determine, on a division of England among th& 
 Conquerors, to reserve that beautiful spot fox himself.. 
 
34 
 
 Anticipation vain! — tor Brake was then. 
 And English sailors fought like English men ; 
 Wreck'd were his hopes — by British thunders hurl'd. 
 His scatter'd ruins spread the wat'ry world. 
 
 Onward the sailors speed their destin'd way. 
 And open soon that ocean — spreading bay,. 
 Where Michael's Mount is seen, whose sainted name 
 The muse of Milten gave to lasting fame ; * 
 Renown'd of yore — renown'd in every age. 
 In Druid song, and in the poet's page. 
 Enduring rock ! whose adamantine sides 
 Repel the fury of inrushing tides; 
 Thy tower of strength a giant barrier stands 
 To guard from ocean's rage the lowly lands. 
 Old as tlie world— thy summit rose sublime 
 When morning stars first hail'd the march of Time. 
 
 Now pass'd beyond that west projecting shore 
 Where Goruwall hears the ocean's constant roar; 
 
 * St. Micljaels Monnt, in Coruwall, is not only immorta- 
 lized by the muse of Milton, but is also celebrated by ao iogeoioos 
 modem poet, the Rev W. L. Bowies. 
 
35 
 
 Cornwall I for shining ore Britannia's boast. 
 That lur'd young commerce to her rocky coast. 
 When Tarshish, * carrier of the ancient world. 
 Her vent'rous sails for British ports unfurl'd ; 
 Pass'd Cornish lands — no object meets the eye 
 Save one wide sea, and one surrounding sky ; 
 Untraceable the course, the helmsman guides 
 The buoyant bark'across the pathless tides i 
 Fast as her prow divides the yielding main. 
 So fast the parted waters close again : 
 So when the swift-wing'd eagle heav'nward flies. 
 No trace is left behind him in the skies. 
 
 * The ancient Gades, now Cadiz, by some supposed to have 
 been the Tarshish of Scripture ; from which place, the Phoeni- 
 cians, a colony of whom had settled there, carried on a consider- 
 able trade with Cornwall for tin, some hundreds of years before 
 the Christian era; having first discovered the island of Scilly, 
 which they called the Cassiterides. For further information on 
 this subject the reader may consult the Rev, R, Warner's 
 " Tour through Cornwall," in which will be found many judi- 
 cious remarks on the ancient tin trade of that couuty. See 
 also Troutbeck's Survey of tjie Scilly Islands. 
 
56 
 
 Now pass the travelers Macham's island green,* 
 Where D'Arfet's monument of yore was seen, (1) 
 
 By Macham rear'd with all a lover's care. 
 To tell to future wand'rers wlio lay there. 
 Dread Den of Skulls ! f whose gloomy walls o'erspread^ 
 With fleshless bones and relics of the dead. 
 Present a horrid picture to the view. 
 And preach a lecture than thy monks more true. 
 Thee left behind, soon Tenerifte is past. 
 Nor anchor there the gallant seamen cast : 
 
 * Island of Madeira; see notes at the end. 
 
 t " In a chamber of the Franciscan convent at Funchal, on 
 the island of Madeira, the wails and cieling are cempletely co- 
 vered with rows of human skulls and human thigh bones, so ar- 
 I'anged, that in the obtuse angle made by each pair of the latter, 
 crossing each other obliquely, is placed a skull ; a dirty lamp, 
 suspended from the cieling, and just glimmering in the socket, 
 serves dimly to light up this dismal den of skulls. The monk 
 who attends as shewman, is careful to impress on the minds of 
 those who visit it, the idea that they arc all relics of holy men, 
 who died on the island, although Mr. Barrow is of opinion that 
 the churchyard mu&t have been frequently robbed, in order to 
 accumulate such a prodigious number of skulls, which, from a 
 rough computation made by that gentleman, could not be under 
 tiiree thousand I"— —See Encyclopedia Britannica, art, Madeira, 
 
37 
 
 But far away, as o'er the deeps they bound, 
 
 Far spread the undulating waves around. 
 
 And tir'd the eye — save where some islets bright 
 
 Display 'd their lovely charms, and cheer'd the sight. 
 
 Whose shelter'd roadstead, or whose op'ning bay. 
 
 Invites the far-bound mariners to stay. 
 
 Rare gifts to man ! there, by His goodness plac'd, 
 
 Who first gave skill to plough the wat'ry waste. 
 
 And bade those rising Edens smile to bless 
 
 Whoe'er might stray o'er ocean's wilderness. 
 
 O'er Asia's plains, and trackless wilds afar. 
 
 Where scorching day careers his fiery car. 
 
 So caravans'ras * yield the pilgrim guest 
 
 The friendly shelter, and the welcome rest. 
 
 * The following descriptloa of the Caravansera is extracted 
 from a very interesting little work of Mr. Frs. Collins'«, who writes 
 feelingly upon the subject, having himself experienced tlie benefits 
 to be derived from such kind of accommodation. — ** These Cara-^ 
 vanseras are often mentioned in history : some of them are spacious 
 and commodious, affording comfortable accommodation and re* 
 freshment to man and beast, which, to a weary traveller, in a hot 
 climate, proves particularly pleasing. The one we passed was of 
 
38 
 
 So here and there mid Afric's worlds of sand 
 Some rees may vegetate in desert land. 
 To screen feint trav'Uers from the burning sun. 
 And shade those spots where cooling waters run. 
 
 But since no log-book here detaiPd in verse 
 Shall each minute particular rehearse. 
 
 Say what lee currents, or what varying wind. 
 
 On their long voyage the vent'rous trav'Uers find ; 
 
 What knots they ran precisely reckon o'er. 
 
 Or tell how distant capes and headlands bore ; 
 
 Or what the distance from th' Equator say. 
 
 By observation every sun-bright day ; 
 
 Or north, or south, which noted where they stood ; 
 
 While skilful reck'ning gave the longitude. 
 
 an inferior description, having a reservoir of water, and temporaiy 
 accommodation, only without lodgings; but the sight of a safe 
 retreat, of a few minutes only, was to us a grateful view. The 
 -Government deserve commendations for the part it takes towards 
 the building and furnishing those hospitable inns for the comfort 
 of the weary and benighted traveller, who would otherwise often 
 perish on uninhabited and dangerons roads, and the more dange- 
 gerous passages over trackless deserts."— CoZiins'a Voyages, ^-c. 
 
39 
 
 We speed them on — when cross'd the burning Line, 
 
 There on tlieir heads no suns oppressive shine; 
 
 There no dead calms, the saitors dread ! they knew. 
 
 For fresh and fair the summer breezes blew. 
 
 But who in humble lays like these shall tell 
 
 Of all the nations that in ocean dwellt 
 
 There countless millions live, to man unknown. 
 
 By laws restrain'd, and customs of their own : 
 
 Nor seen of man, nor bound by man's control. 
 
 They range their wide domains from pole to pole; 
 
 TJiere o'er the liquid plains they sportive play. 
 
 And shoot with speed along their foamy way. 
 
 And oft the seaman, as he sails along. 
 
 Beholds the gambols of a nameless throng. 
 
 Yet some beside the wand'rers' vessel came. 
 
 By tra:v'llers known, and which the verse may name. 
 
 There oft was seen the Dolphin, swift in chase, (2) 
 
 Pursue his brethren of the finny race ; 
 
 While the chas'd Flying-fish, to shun the foe. 
 
 Forsakes his native element below. 
 
 And trembling tries the light aerial way. 
 
 But soon descends, the fierce pursuer's prey, 
 c 
 
40 
 
 Thus, not to man alone belongs the pow'r 
 
 And cruel will his species to devour ; 
 
 To finny tribes the power and will the same : 
 
 Yet slaughter there demands a softer name; 
 
 Not reason there its milder sway maintains; 
 
 There only instinct, purblind instinct reigns. . 
 
 How oft from oozy caverns deep and dark (3) 
 
 Up sprang to light the all-devouring Shark ! 
 
 Fast by their ship the sailors saw him rush. 
 
 Eager with triple jaw his prey to crush ; 
 
 Yet as his powerful fangs the monster plies, 
 
 Unhami'd the Pilot-fish before him flies^ 
 
 Oft when the heavens portend the whelming storm. 
 
 Their marshall'd ranks the porpoise squadrons form; (4) 
 
 Now move in order, and now play by rule, 
 
 A leap-frog game, like boys let loose from school. 
 
 And there the Nautilus, with out-rigg'd sails. 
 
 Scuds like a gallant ship in summer gales; 
 
 But if rude winds or direful tempests blow. 
 
 It lurks securely in its caves below. 
 
 There, too. Leviathan, huge king of strength! (5) 
 
 Extends afar bis fear-inspiring length ; 
 
41 
 
 He nncontroU'd the foaming waters sweeps. 
 And towers a moving mountain on the deeps. 
 
 But now, the bold advent'rers' course to trace. 
 We quit the subject of the finny race ; 
 The southern continent still passing by. 
 To navigate Magellan's straits they try ; * 
 They coast along fam'd Patagonia's bound — ■ 
 But there no Patagonian giants found : f 
 The tedious passage of the straits achiev'd ; 
 The watchful crew, from sufF'ring toils relieved. 
 
 • So called from Ferdinand Magellan, a Portnguese officer in 
 the service of the Catholic king, who sailed through these straits, 
 from the North to the South Se?, in the year 1519. 
 
 t Commodore Byron, who circumnavigated the world in the 
 Dolphin, is reported to have seen Patagonians of the hdght of 
 nine feet; but those natives of Patagonia seen by Capt. Wallls, 
 in a subsequent voyage, were not above six feet seven inches in 
 height. Bouganvilie's account of the inhabitants of this part of 
 the world also differs from that of Commodore Byron; but it is 
 most likely that these several navigators happened to meet with 
 different tribes of these wandering savages, and that the veracity 
 of neither of them ought to be called in question, as no advantage 
 could be derived from practising imposition ou the reader. 
 C 2 • 
 
Give way to Joy; and some His mereies owu. 
 
 Whose guardian care m. every clime is known. 
 
 From Vict'ry's cape the navigators steer, 
 
 By Wager's isle and Misery's mountain drear; (^ 
 
 Disastrous fate ! where shipwreck'd Byron bore, 
 
 Expos'd to hardships on a (Jesert shore. 
 
 But lovelier scenes the happier course invite 
 
 To Selkirk's lonely island of delight, * 
 
 Whose sweet variety of hill and dale, 
 
 And green delights, confirm that vet'ran's tale; 
 
 wniie down the mountains living waters stray. 
 
 And silver streamlets in the vallies play : 
 
 The sailors' land, amidst the hideous roar 
 
 Of huge sea monsters on the grassy shore ; t 
 
 * Juan Fernuidez, tlie solitary residence of Alexander Selkirk 
 for between four and dve years; of which a most particular and 
 interesting account is to be found in Mr. Isaac James's Providence 
 JtispUiyed^QT remarkable adventures oi Alexander Selkirk, &c. 
 
 t Sea-lions, whose roaring is not unlike that of lions; and the 
 head of the one, according to Funneirs account, resembles that 
 of the other; having four large teetli before, the rest thick, short, 
 and stubbed. Selkirk supposes that some of tbese animals which 
 he saw could not weigh less than two tons weiglii, measuring 
 iwenty feet in length, and more in compass. 
 
'4j3 
 
 There pleas'd they staid awhile ; and there, refresh'd. 
 With transport hail'd that paradise of rest. 
 
 Then, Selliirk's lone retirement left behind. 
 No trace of isle or continent they find. 
 For three long months : no verdant lands appear'd. 
 As westward far the navigators steer'd; 
 One wide smooth ocean, and one cloudless sky. 
 Present perpetual sameness to the eye. 
 Soft blew the winds, bright shone the lord of day. 
 And cheer'd the wand'rers on their tedious way; 
 Save when from heaVn the lovely queen of night 
 O'er the calm waters shed her milder light : 
 Anon they touch upon bright summer isles,- 
 Where Nature, deck'd in everlasting smiles, 
 Unplough'd, unsown, her bread and fruit prepares. 
 Without or mortals' toil or mortal cares. 
 Of nil the group confess'd, unrivali'd queen. 
 There Otaheite spreads her carpet green ; 
 There lifts her breast, which smoothest seas surround. 
 And kiss her shores with softly murm'ring sound; 
 There she displays, in peerless beauty bright. 
 Her Eden prospects to the raptur'd sight* 
 c3 
 
4« 
 
 Yet there the natives, of degen'rate mind. 
 Delight in deeds disgraceful to mankind ; 
 And there, within its thick surrounding wood. 
 The dark Morai in gloomy horror stood; 
 And there it still the heathen hordes invites 
 To bloody horrors and infernal rites. 
 But many a night, and many a sun-bright day. 
 The navigators there prolong their stay, 
 'Mid Nature's tribes, to evil passions giv'n^ 
 Abusing thus the rarest gifts of heav'n.* 
 
 But thence the trav'llers sail; they cross once more 
 The burning Line, and northern isles explore. 
 Some weeks elaps'd, and some green islands past. 
 In Karakakooa's bayt they anchor cast. 
 Where Cook untimely fell ; where, limbless torn. 
 In savage triumph his remains were borne. 
 
 * Notwithstanding^the missionaries have resided so niauy 
 years on the island of Otahcite, it is much to be lamented that 
 the praiseworthy endeavours of those pioa3 men have prodnced 
 little or no change in the moral character of its inhabitants. 
 
 + A bay in Owhyhee, one of the Sandwich Islands, where 
 Captain Cook was killed. 
 
4^ 
 
 Yet harmless now the islanders appear; 
 
 Their kindness dissipate^ the stranger's fear; 
 
 While all the chieftains to their guests attend. 
 
 And each performs the duty of a friend. 
 
 Yet knowledge there, with all-diffusive light. 
 
 Ne'er pierc'd the shades of superstition's night; 
 
 Wander'd the soul in error's darksome gloom. 
 
 And ign'rance planted horrors round the tomb : 
 
 At idol shrines debas'd Religion stood. 
 
 Adoring senseless deities of wood. 
 
 Ne'er to Owhyhee's heathen sons was g^v'n 
 
 The Saviour's message, like a voice from heav'n: — 
 
 " O ye ! who sit in death's dark shades, arise ! 
 
 " See Truth's eternal sunshine gild your skies. 
 
 " O ye ! long desolate, arise and shine ! 
 
 " Taste heavn'ly bread, and quaff immortal wine! 
 
 " Eternal life for death, and joy for woe, 
 
 " The God of mercy offers to bestow. 
 
 " Arise and shine! his holy gifts be yours 
 
 " While time shall last or heav'n itself endures !" 
 
 While farther northward lies the trav'Uers' route, 
 Owhyhee's population all turn out 
 
46e 
 
 To take fond leave, or urge the longer stay 
 Of British guests in Karakakooa's bay. 
 In vain they urge : with ev'ry sail unfurl'd. 
 Fast speed the strangers to a colder world. 
 Where Winter sits upon his frozen throne. 
 While hostile elements his empire own. 
 And whence he bids his whelming tempests sweep. 
 The dreary wastes that bound the icy deep. 
 
 They pass the lands where savage man resides. 
 Spurns civil life, and all its arts derides ; 
 Where, pleas'd with trifles and ignoble toys. 
 His soul aspires not to superior joys. 
 Far left behind inhospitable isles 
 In gay attire, where Nature never smiles. 
 Where Oonalaska* rears his front of snow 
 Above the seas that wildly foam below. 
 Poleward they steer, advent'vous to explore 
 Regions unknown and seas unplough'd before ;. 
 
 * One of the Fox Islands, visited -by Captains Cook and 
 Meares. Lat. 51. 2. north.. 
 
Wliere, lo ! the giant, herald of the storm, 
 
 Blust'ring arose, and swell'd his fearful form ; 
 
 Portentous clouds their shadowy wings outspread. 
 
 And gloomy horrors round the phantom shed ; 
 
 Thick icicles about his temples hung. 
 
 Whilst warning accents thunder'd from his tongue ; 
 
 Stopping the wand'rers on the road to death. 
 
 He spake aloud in petrifying breath : — 
 
 " Stay, mariners, your desp'rate course! and know 
 
 " That past these limits man must never go! 
 
 *• Here danger lurks, tlwngh held by wintry chains; 
 
 " In triumph here wild Desolation reigns j 
 
 " While, farther north, huge ice-built mountains rise, 
 
 " And lift their rugged summits to the skies. 
 
 ** Not long will day's declining visions bless 
 
 " The wretch found wand'ring o'er this wildenrcsa; 
 
 •' The sun's last ray will soon, withdrawn from sight, 
 
 " Yield to the horrors of prevailing ivght." 
 
 Heard was that stormy voice — they toil in vain 
 Less hostile seas, or milder climes to gain; 
 The occidental wind that furious Wew 
 Such happier course forbade them to pursue* 
 
46 
 
 Where, where shall now the rash advenfrers go ? 
 Fast pours the sleet-storm, thick the falling snow : 
 Safe footing now the slipp'ry decks deny ; 
 Through ice-clogg'd blocks no more the stiff ropes fly : 
 The canvass swells, not to the strong wind's blast, 
 But hangs unyielding by the frozen mast ; 
 And slow the bark the shiv'ring helmsman guide* 
 Through the rough surface of impeding tides. 
 
 Woe to the chief whom furious tempests sweep 
 W^ith whelming violence along the deep ! 
 Woe to him then, unfit himself to guide 
 His lab'ring bark, when danger swells the tide ! 
 Condemn'd to bear the madness of the storm^ 
 But not allow'd his duty to perform j 
 With reputation and with life at stake. 
 To all the pangs of dread suspense awake ; 
 Alive to feelings of an anguish'd mind. 
 But to his sea-rock'd bed in pain confin'd, 
 Injur'd by accident, thus Probus lay 
 Below, to sad anxiety a prey. 
 
 Yet ihere was one, with strength and prudence blest. 
 Firm to command and animate the rest ; 
 
49 
 
 Yetthere was one, with delegated power. 
 Well skill'd to act in this eventful hour. 
 Chief mate was Dreadnought — found most useful there, 
 For all rever'd and lov'd the man of pray'r. 
 His chief, revolving o'er impending fate. 
 Thus gave instructions to that faithful mate : — 
 " That great discov'rer, now, alas ! no more, 
 *' Who fell, lamented, on Owhyhee's shore ; 
 " Victim to rashness, and to savage strife, 
 " Who by inglorious warfare lost his life ; 
 " Once through these regions urg'd his daring way, 
 " And found good shelter in a land-lock'd bay, 
 " Where, riding, ships may every storm defy, 
 " Though rough the wind, and dark the winter sky : 
 *' His safer course in happier times he steer'd, 
 " Nor shelter sought, nor frozen horrors fear'd. 
 *' But men like us can have nor will nor voice, 
 " Since dire necessity prescribes the choice, 
 *' An inlet, call'd by Cook's immortal, name, 
 " That long shall live in geographic fame, 
 ** Is by our reck'ning near : some shelt'ring bay 
 " May there our toils and anxious cares repay. 
 
50 
 
 *' Haply upon our lee that inlet lies, 
 " Whose friendly entrance soon will greet our eyes. 
 " Hard blows the gale, 'tis true, and loud the roar 
 *' Of daug'rous breakers on the leeward shore ; 
 " Yet though we hazard shipwreck on the coast, 
 " Better some perish than that all were lost. 
 " Let hope inspire us and our bosoms cheer, 
 " Nor yield to desperation, nor to fear."* 
 
 He said : the mate obeys his chief's commands. 
 Firm on the deck the dauntless seaman stands. 
 
 • How far onrnavigators penetrated to the northward before 
 the further prosecution of the voyage was given up, canuot now 
 be ascertained. If they did not, however, proceed so far as 
 Cjipt. Cook, when " thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice'' pre- 
 vented the further progress of his ship, it is probable they had 
 passed Behring's Straits. Be that as it may, they were involved 
 in difficulties, from which the late season of the year prevented 
 their escape ; and as the wind blew so violently from the west- 
 ward, and perhaps to the southward of that quarter, they found 
 it impossible to clear that group of islands which lay to wind- 
 ward, and were therefore under the dreadful necessity of making 
 choice of wintering either in Cook's River or in Prince William's 
 Sound ; to the former of which, from the more immediate shelter 
 "which it proffered, they gave the preference. 
 
61 
 
 " IJeaf up for land ! bear up for land !" he cries; 
 
 " Not distent far a shelt'ring haven lies ; 
 
 " Where, auchor'd safe, our ship may ride secure, 
 
 *' And winter's night, and winter's storms, endure. 
 
 ** Bear up for land, and put in God your trust — 
 
 *' Almighty God, most merciful and just! 
 
 *' His mercies here are ev'ry day renew'd; 
 
 *' His lib'ral hand bestows on all their food; 
 
 " He giveth life to every one that lives; 
 
 *' And if he take away that life he gives, 
 
 *' To his Almighty will 'tis ours to bow, 
 
 " Nor darvC we question him — * What doest thou?' 
 
 " Lo! Providence presides yon desert o'er; 
 
 " And Heav'n is near it as to England's shore. (7) 
 
 *' O think to you what mercies God has giv'n! 
 
 " Be but yourselves, and leave the rest to Heav'n! 
 
 ** Pluck all your courage up, nor fear the worst, 
 
 " Though the big tempest on our heads should burst, 
 
 ** And dash our crew forlorn upon the land, 
 
 " Amongst a rude inhospitable band ! 
 
 *' Yet be ye comforted, for God is there; 
 
 *' He makes the helpless his peculiar care; 
 
5$ 
 
 " And if we serve Him, and in Him confide, 
 
 ** He will for every mariner provide, 
 
 " Hope will inspire our hearts in solitude, 
 
 " Mid dreary deserts and barbarians rude : 
 
 *' We '11 launch our new-built bark, whose joyful crew 
 
 *' Shall bid these climes and savage hordes adieu." 
 
 Thus Dreadnought spake : the vessel faster glides 
 In shoaler water and through smoother tides. 
 Till the wide river's mouth is clearly seen. 
 The two extremes of op'ning land between ; 
 Less rough the winds and bright the setting sun. 
 As twice ten leagues within that land they run. 
 The wearied sailors come to anchor there ; 
 And hope awhile the calm of rest to share; 
 
 Dreadnought, as ever active, went f explore 
 The sinuous windings of the welcome shore; 
 
 When pass'd his boat a channel never found 
 By men before on bold adventure bound ; 
 A navigable strait ; so deep and wide. 
 Two largest ships might pass it, side by side. 
 The mountain rock, as if asunder split. 
 By Nature rent in gome convulsive fit. 
 
Its everlasting door-way opf'ning spread, (8) 
 
 And form'd a tow'ring arch above the head. 
 Direct in front a hillock islet lay, 
 That screen'd the entrance to an unknown bay : 
 With ancient pines the isle was thickly crowned. 
 That cast dark shades of gloomy horror round ; 
 And hid the rock-built arch and channel nigh 
 From the keen glance of every distant eye. 
 'Twas central fix'd — a cable's length or more 
 Its both extremes from each opposing shore. 
 That left for passing ships an ample space. 
 And for the war4)oats of the savage race. 
 But since its picture never artist drew. 
 Nor eye hath seen its panorama view; 
 And since no written journal-book appears ; 
 Or lost or perish'd with the lapse of years; 
 From oral hist'ry who shall now convey 
 Conception just of Dreadnought's new-found bayl 
 For so the captain nam'd it, when explored. 
 And Dreadnought's party had return'd on board. 
 Its shape was circular, full four leagues wide. 
 Extending every way — on every side; 
 
It seem'd, were the broad waters cover'd o'er. 
 Or with canoes, or some substantial floor^ 
 An amphitheatre, whose sides and base 
 Might furnish room for half the human race; 
 For from the water's edge to rise began 
 The wildest mountains ever climb'd by man; 
 Below thick underwood and high-grown grasi 
 Forbade the foot of traveller to pass. 
 Save where some stunted tree of name unknown 
 Stretch'd forth its leafless limbs, and stood alone. 
 High up the shelving sides whoever went. 
 With ease ascended, — gentle the ascent : 
 But all beyond in bold disorder rose ; 
 Projecting rocks the toil of man oppose. 
 Whose craggy cliffs, and threat'ning summits rude^ 
 Increase the wildness of the solitude. 
 
 It might be thought, when form'd the sea and land, 
 Twas hoUow'd out by the Great Maker's hand ;. 
 Unless in some eventful after-times. 
 When vmt'ry deaths aveng'd gigantic crimes. 
 And once-united lands, asunder hurl'd, 
 Proclaim'd the gen'ral deluge to the worlds 
 
56 
 
 That then the pent-up waters forc'd their way. 
 And spread wide bursting till was forni'd the bay; 
 And as the scatter'd soil was sever'd wide. 
 Those mountain heights were rais'd on every side ; 
 For still 'twas seen when sun or moon shone bright. 
 Each tow'ring cliff was like its opposite. 
 High o'er the waters far from either hand 
 Appear'd the summits of the mountain land. 
 As distant bills of Araby arise,* 
 Barren and dreary to the pilgrim's eyes. 
 While murmurs at his feet the dead sea's wave. 
 And seems to say — " Below is Sodom's grave I" 
 Wide, like that sea, expands the bay between. 
 Augmenting thus the grandeur of the scene.' 
 
 * On the Arabian side, nothing is to be seen bnt black per- 
 pendicalar rocks, which throw their lengthened shaduw over the 
 waters of the Dead Sea. Tlie smallest bird of heaven would not 
 find among these rocks a blade of grass for its sustenance ; every 
 thing here announces the country of a reprobate people, and 
 eeems to breathe the horror and incest whence sprang Ammon 
 and Moab. Chateaubj-iand's Travels, 
 
 D a^ 
 
56 
 
 The mariners proceed without delay 
 To tow their ship within the new-found bay; 
 And there a birth most eligible chose 
 To guard against their seen or unseen foes^ , 
 
 Where due north-west the high land barriers bore. 
 They anchor'd safe sonje distance from the shore ; 
 The captain said, and well that chieftain knew. 
 Rough winter winds, that oft at north-west blew. 
 Would less annoy them, under hills so high. 
 Whose lofty summits seem'd to reach the sky. 
 Thus for from shore they sbumi'd the mountain snow, 
 Tliat often fell with thund'ring sound below. 
 And bury'd all within its vortex wide — 
 Whatever lay along the water's side* 
 
 The ship unrigg'd, her gunwales all along 
 Present a fence of board and netting strong ; 
 At proper height was roof'd the main-deck o'er 
 With spars cut down, and shap'd upon the shore; 
 All which the neighb'ring Isle of Pines supply'd: 
 These, with their prc^s made fast on every side, 
 Form'd safe defence against the >varlike foe. 
 And yielded shelter to the crew below ; 
 
Thro' which nor wliefming stomis could force their way. 
 
 Nor savage men collected in the bay. 
 
 Unhappy outcasts ! frequent paddling by. 
 
 In war-canoes the sailors to defy ;. 
 
 Their limbs half-clad, and hideous aspect wild. 
 
 With paint besmear'd and filthiness defil'd. 
 
 Exhibit Nature in degree as low 
 
 As barb'rous man in wretchedness can go: 
 
 In beings so debas'd, research can trace 
 
 But faint resemblance of the human race; 
 
 Where genius never soars, nor talents shine; 
 
 Beclouded o'er each faculty divine. 
 
 There ign'rance holds in adamantine chains 
 
 The hopeless soul, and mental darkness reigns. 
 
 Opposing tribes maintain eternal strife ; 
 
 Man preys on man, and drinks the crimson life ! 
 
 Woe to the man who yields to brutal pow'r! 
 
 The savage fights, and conquers to devour j 
 
 His cruel bosom no compassion knows; 
 
 The brave and timid are alike his foes. 
 
 Mid treach'rous hordes yet peace awhile prevailsi 
 The savage come« for bauble toys and naHfi; 
 
58 
 
 Though prone to theft, he drives a thriving trade, 
 And seems well pleas'd with gains by barter made : 
 Proud of his wealth, he hugs his little store. 
 And views with transjwrt every trifle o'er. 
 Short-lasted harmless intercourse ! for, lo ! 
 Each friendly trafficer becomes a foe. 
 On mischief bent, the native tribes advance. 
 Wielding the huge war-club and barbed lance; 
 Eager they come to execute their plan, — 
 Boat pushes boat, and man drives onward man. 
 While hideous yells, reverberating far. 
 Proclaim the menace of barbarian war. 
 But the brave sailors see, devoid of fear. 
 With foul intent the caimibals draw near ; 
 By vengeful passions urg'd they man their guns. 
 To wreak their rage on Nature's savage sons; 
 When thus, his post resum'd, their prudent chief 
 Gave the kind feelings of his heart relief. 
 
 " Full well you know, my friends, tliat one broadside 
 " Would wreck yon foemens' hopes upon the tide ; 
 ** And, like the whirlwind's desolating breath, 
 ** O'er the dark waters spread dismay and death; 
 
59 
 
 *' But be ye merciful: lo! heav'niy love 
 
 " Embraces all that live, and breathe, and move; 
 
 " Blessings on all men freely Heav'n bestows; 
 
 " Respect of persons Godhead never knows* 
 
 " Revere and imitate the heav'niy mind, 
 
 " And to your savage enemies be kind. 
 
 " What ! though they come with murder's foul design, 
 
 " And spurn all human laws, and all divine;. 
 
 " Though, fond of blood and eager to devour, 
 
 ** Well pleas'd they now anticipate the hour, 
 
 " When,^ by nor saving hand nor pitying eye, 
 
 " Doom'd to the bloody banquet, we shall die; 
 
 " Yet — yet, brave comrades ! to your chief be true ; 
 
 " Yet harm them not — ' They know not what they doT 
 
 " They, nurs'd in ign'rance, never learnt to know 
 
 " What to their God, or to mankind, they owe ; 
 
 " Condemn'd to dwell by accident of birth 
 
 " In these fiir bounds of habitable earth, (9) 
 
 *' Where no humane instructor ever came 
 
 " To teach them mercy in the Saviour's name; 
 
 " Or train to usefulness their thoughtless youtli^ 
 
 " Or guide the aged in the way of truth: 
 
60 
 
 *' No rights they rev'rence save what pow'r bestows^^; 
 *' Their only arguments are threats and blows. 
 ** They think us base invaders, and 'twere right 
 ** To kill and eat us when o'ercome in fight. 
 *' 'Tis not for us to judge these wild men's cause; 
 *' They never heard of Britain's wiser laws; 
 
 ** 'Tis not for us to lake their lives away 
 
 *' But more to you were needless now to say, 
 
 ** Since your kind hearts your captain knows so well, 
 
 *' Where mercy loves with fortitude to dwell. 
 
 " Let one shot pass yon vaunting warriors near^ 
 
 ** Their rage will soon evaporate in fear.'* 
 
 He said : a shot was instantaneous sent. 
 Which struck each savage with astonishment; 
 It mov'd the waters as it whizz'd along, 
 And dash'd thick spray the warrior host among. 
 Passing the rock-built archway in its route, 
 •It smote the trembling islet's grove without; 
 Some ancient pines were left of honors shorn. 
 Whose sever'd limbs to distant floods were borne. 
 The lightning flash was seen with new surprise. 
 And heard the thunder rattling through the skies: 
 
Reverberates afar that cannon's roar. 
 Which never shook those dreary wilds before. 
 With the black smoke cloud curling overhead. 
 All shew of courage from the foemen fled; 
 From ev'ry boat they leap in wild affright. 
 And hope for safety in immediate flight. 
 Soon British kindness dissipates their fears. 
 While her white signal peace on shipboard rears: 
 The savage, aw'd by Britain's mightier men. 
 Ne'er comes with warlike menaces again. 
 The kindly intercourse is soon renew'd. 
 And friendly traflic, as before, pursu'd. 
 
 As yet the peopled floods unfrozen o'er. 
 For present want supplied and future store ; 
 And, by their chief's command, the active crew 
 From neighb'ring streams immense provisions drew. 
 Unwise the mariners, who, shelf ring there^ 
 For times of dearth neglected to prepare. 
 When far, the finny tribes by instinct led. 
 From northern climes and freezing waters fled ; 
 Or ere to happier realms, remote from view. 
 Day's mighty orb his cheering light withdrew; 
 
eg 
 
 Aslant, and glimm'ring o'er the land-lock'd bay, 
 That yet emits a transitory ray; 
 Chang'd like his alter'd look, awhile who smil'd. 
 And the kind heart of innocence beguil'd : 
 His early suit with kindling ardor press'd. 
 And won by blandishments the fair one's breast; 
 When sad reverse compels her to complain 
 Of visits short or looks of cold disdain. 
 
 Stern Winter soon in gloomy terror reigns. 
 And binds the waters in his frozen chains ; 
 And through his vast domains of thick'ning snow 
 Bids horrors multiply and tempests blow. 
 O happiest he ! in that unfriendly zone. 
 The fit abode of savage man 'alone ; 
 In search of food in vain where hunger prowls. 
 And to the night-storm melancholy howls; 
 Where ever and anon is heard the roar 
 Of famish'd beasts that haunt the ice-bound shore : 
 O happiest he ! of sailors wand'ring there. 
 Who holds communion with his God by pray'r; 
 He, though he lose, his comrades one by one ; 
 Though doom'd, ere back returns the summer sun. 
 
€5 
 
 To pay last rites to each devoted mate. 
 Nor Ijope iiimself to share a milder fate ; 
 Expectant sad of death's untimely hour, 
 Wliere none the tear of sympathy shall pour. 
 Though death's dark shadows swim before his eyes. 
 He looks to happier worlds beyond the skies ; 
 And Faith assures him there what glories shine 
 In that inheritance of love divine ! 
 
 Two friends had I)readnought, each of kindred mind. 
 Bound in rare union of affection kind ; 
 Disinterested friendship felt each breast. 
 And love divine the friendly compact blest: 
 Though diif'rent hues might designate the skin, 
 Dwelt one religion in each heart within. 
 The one was Donald Henderson by name : 
 He from a town of Caledonia came, 
 In other times renown'd, not farthe* north 
 Than the green borders of the Frith of Forth. 
 The next to Dreadnought in command was he. 
 But first in learning of the pious three ; 
 And one was John Marrant, of negro race; 
 111 manners pleasing, though of sable face : 
 
64 
 
 « 
 
 He, no " poor Indian, whose untutor'd mind 
 " Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind ; 
 " Whose soul proud Science never taught to stray 
 " Far as the solar walk or milky way :" 
 He, though a sailor, and a negro too. 
 Had higher walks, and happier worlds in view ! 
 His notions of a God were not confin'd 
 To flying clouds, or to the whistling wind ; 
 His soul had heav'nly wisdom taught to stray 
 Beyond the solar walk and milky way ; 
 His heart, enlightened, warm devotion fir'd, 
 And pure religion all his soul inspir'd ; 
 No middle skies his future views could bound ; 
 He walk'd by faith, and trod sublimer ground ; 
 And Christ his Saviour to his hope had giv'n. 
 Beyond uncertain life, a certain heav'n. 
 
 True friends were these, well to each other known; 
 Bless'd was the ship that call'd such men her own : 
 They taught the ign'rant ; where the sick man lay 
 IJjbey met to comfort him, and watch and pray ; 
 And often to the death-bed's side they came, 
 And proffer'd mercy ia the Savioxjb's name; 
 
65 
 
 For from the shij>i in that long winter's night, 
 
 Not few the souls that took eternal flight. 
 
 The captain valu'd them, for well he knew. 
 
 Who fear'd their GoD would to their trust be true. 
 
 But nobler motives made their chief revere ^ 
 
 Such men of piety and heart sincere ; 
 
 He lov'd his Bible, and GoD's holy word 
 
 Taught him to love the men who lov'd the Lord. 
 Oft would the band of friends together meet 
 
 To pass their time in holy converse sweet; 
 
 Oft range the deck so safely cover'd o'er. 
 
 While storms without and whelming tempests roar. 
 
 Though God they' worshipp'd every day, yet best 
 
 They deem'd his worship on his day of rest ; 
 
 Oft had they met upon the sea's wide way 
 
 With rev'rent mind to keep that hallow'd day. 
 
 Delightful day ! to Christian pilgrims giv'n — 
 
 A type of everlasting bliss in heav'n. 
 
 On quarter-deck, at ev'ry season fit. 
 
 When wind and weather would of pray'rs permit. 
 To morning service, by their chief's command, 
 Repair'd the crew, and joiu'd the pious band ; 
 
66 
 
 There, whUe the awning o'er the deck was spread. 
 From sun or rain to screen th' uncover'd head ; 
 One read the pray'rs and lessons for the day. 
 Or one would venture without book to pray. 
 For though in forms might their petitions rise. 
 Or in extemporaneous sacrifice, 
 Heart-aspirations in each diflf'riug case 
 Were well accepted at the Thcone of Grace. 
 The earth-born parent^ (if of hb'ral mind) 
 Blest with an offspring dutiful and kind',^ 
 All proud to serve him, and his will obey. 
 Though each may honor him a d iff 'rent way; 
 Would he regard that duteous child the less 
 Who might his love in his own way express 1 
 Would he for this denounce such child a foe. 
 Or spurn the gift he offer'd to bestow 1 
 Impossible! nor will the sire of heaVa 
 Those pray'rs reject by contrite spirits, giv'n. 
 All heart-felt off'rings God accepts, above. 
 All pray'rs inspir'd by his own breath of love; 
 The ranks and sects that designate mankind 
 Are all alike to Heavn's impartial mind. 
 
THE NARRATIVE 
 
 JOHN MARRANT. 
 
 T_^FT, when recalling all the past of life. 
 The mis-spent days of folly and of strife. 
 Would Dreadnought tell, with joyful gratitude. 
 How God in mercy his stout heart subdu'd; 
 How his whole life had been the care of Heav'n, 
 And how the gift of fervent pray'r was giv'n. 
 Oft he implor'd his chosen friends to tell 
 What various incidents their lives befel ; 
 And how the pleasing change of heart took place. 
 When they, like him, became the men of grace. 
 On days gone by, as once free converse ran. 
 Thus told his tale the sable-colour'd man ; — 
 
 O friends belov'd ! indulg'd with me to share 
 The tranquil mind, and Heav'n's peculiar care; 
 E 3 • 
 
68 
 
 Though diff'rent be my ceuntry and my race. 
 
 Like you, I 'm debtor to Almighty grace. 
 
 If rude in speech, in understanding weak. 
 
 Yet Canaan's language I can feebly speak ; 
 
 By Christ's disciples, though their gifts be small^ 
 
 That tongue is learnt and understood by all. 
 
 To your requests I cheerfully attend, 
 
 Lo ! friendship calls, and friend may speak to friend. 
 
 Indulgent hear me, whilst I brief relate 
 
 My life's adventures and my various fate. 
 
 Since to this world with infant plaints I came. 
 
 Or lisping first pronounc'd a mother's name ; 
 
 Or since, from giddy youth to manhood grown, 
 
 God's pard'ning mercy was to me made known. 
 
 Know then, when young, I heard th* Atlantic roar 
 With deaf 'ning sound on Carolina's shore : 
 One league due north, from where two rivers run* 
 With verging course, uniting soon in one. 
 
 * The rivers Ashley and Cooper uniting their streams not far 
 below Charleston, form a spacions and convenient barboar, which 
 •ommunicates with the ocean a few miles from that city. 
 
69 
 
 Within his circuniscrib'd plantation stood 
 My father's humble mansion built of wood ; 
 Behind, interminable forests lay, 
 And wilds impervious to the light of day; 
 Before, deep freighted barks their sails unfurl'd 
 To share the commerce of the ancient world ; 
 Whilst far and near on either hand were seen 
 Extensive rice-fields and savannahs green. 
 Free were my parents — when their owner died 
 He left them liberty and land beside. 
 
 It matters not how time of childhood went; 
 Swift past that time in thoughtless merriment. 
 When on my chin the early down began 
 To mark my age, and designate the man. 
 Aside the toys of infancy I threw. 
 And manlier joys from manlier baubles drew: 
 Chief music's voice my willing soul obey'd. 
 On various tuneful instruments I play'd ; 
 And oft at midnight revellings was seen 
 With my lov'd French horn and my violin. 
 Light pass'd my days — so nightly hours would pass. 
 As music lur'd me, or the tempting glass; 
 
70 
 
 But me 'twas given the awful truth to know. 
 That evil ways would terminate in woe ; 
 That sinful -pleasures, unrepented, led 
 To the dark regions of the hopeless dead. 
 
 A man of God came from your land afar. 
 Who wag'd for gospel-truth successful war ; 
 How great his usefulness, let thousands say. 
 Who felt his words, like me, and learnt to pray I 
 My evil heart in proud rebellion rose ; 
 Resisted truth, and deem'd its friends my foes ; 
 In God's own house I strove with clangors loud 
 To spread confusion through the list'ning crowd; 
 In vain I strove against the heav'nly will. 
 And dar'd His pow'r who can or save or kill. 
 I heard a voice that fill'd my soul with fears — 
 TTwas Whitefield's voice,* it ihunder'd in wy ears- 
 " Prepare, O Israel, to meet thy God!" 
 I felt the word beneath some potent rod. 
 
 • Although Mr. Marrant'8 narrative does not mention the 
 exact time of bis conversion, it is most probable that it took 
 place in the bcginoing of December 1769, when Mr. >^ite£eid 
 
n 
 
 Like Saul of Tarsus, to the ground I fell; 
 I felt within the gnawing worm of hell! 
 Conviction's fiery arrows pierc'd my heart. 
 And conscious guilt increas*^d the burning smart. 
 
 Behold the wretch, — who dar'd, with thoughtless rage. 
 Mad war against God's worshippers to wage. 
 And mid them strive his shrill-ton'd horn to blow, — 
 A suppliant sink beneath a weight of woe! 
 Prostrate, and weak, and trembling on the ground, 
 I cry'd for mercy, but no mercy found ; 
 
 was last at Charleston and where he remained ten days, after his 
 arrival in America, as appears from the following account by the 
 Rev. Mr. Winter, who accompanied that extraordinary character 
 in his last voyage to that country : — 
 
 " After the usual difficulties which attend the seas, we came 
 near Charles-town bar, and by reason of the lightness of our 
 vessel, for it was deficient in ballast, we were detained in what 
 is called five-fathom-hole, a situation not very agreeable. When 
 we got over the bar we were released from our ship by a pilot 
 boat, on the 30th of November, 17695 and on that evening, by 
 the good hand of our God upon us, we set our feet upon the 
 American shore. We staid but ten days in Charles-town." 
 
 Jay's Life of Winter. 
 
7« 
 
 My crimes, I thought, too great to be forgiv*ii! 
 Against all hope would shut the door of heav'n. 
 Hearing my plaints vociferated loud. 
 Around to help me press the list'ning crowd* 
 Back to my home in agony convey'd ; 
 Abhorring past, of time to come afraid ; 
 Reflection's sting, and keen remorse, combin'd 
 To feed the heil-Iike horrors of my mind. 
 
 Ye chosen of the Lord ! have ye not known 
 Contrition's tears — the wounded spirit's groan? 
 Can ye not tell how man may firmly stand 
 When God afflicts him with chastising hand. 
 Though slow disease may waste his feeble frame. 
 And dim the lustre of life's trembling flame? 
 All tliis he might sustain, nor yet repine; 
 But who could bear remorse so keen as mine 1 
 
 Three days at home I struggled with my grief; 
 A grave divine* was calFd to give relief; 
 But when he came, surpris'd, the good man found 
 My room with various nostrums crowded round, 
 
 * The Rev. Mr. Hall, a disseuting clergyman at Charleston. 
 
T3 
 
 Which kind physicians gave to work my eure, 
 And health and cheerfulness of mind insure ; 
 For such my friends, mistaking my disease, 
 Employ'd to yield my wounded spirit ease : 
 But vain their art — their skill united vain; 
 Tliere was but one couid heal my bosom's pain: 
 Hk, who for man his sacred life resign'd. 
 Alone could soothe my agony of mind. 
 He, bless'd physician! in my soul could pour 
 His healing balm in terror's dreadful hour! 
 Devoutly strove the holy man in pray'r 
 To raise me, downcast victim of despair? 
 On beaded knees, with fervency of soul. 
 He begg'd ot OoD my sufferings to control; 
 To grant me grace, and mercy free impart. 
 To stay the sorrows that o'erwhelm'd my heart. 
 In vain he pleaded in the Saviour's name. 
 To my dark soul no ray of comfort came ; 
 But all was doubt and fear, — still black despair. 
 And every horrer, reign'd triumphant there. 
 My pious friend, as pity movM his tongue. 
 Some tuneful lines from holy poet simgj 
 
But neither bard divine, nor music's charms, 
 
 Could quell my grief, or ease my soul's alanns : 
 
 I thought, obnoxious then to wrath divine. 
 
 That mercy's OoD ne'er pardou'd sins like mine. 
 
 But kind to me, ^ind to his Saviour true. 
 
 Once more the good man try'd what pray'r could do : 
 
 Once more he pray'd-; and, oh! what peace came thea 
 
 To me, before the most depress'd of men! 
 
 My conscience felt the sin-absolving pow'r. 
 
 And mercy triumph'd in that hapjpy houl*. 
 
 Pardou'd that sin which caus'd my bosom's smart, 
 Expell'd its rankling venom from my heart. 
 Not former follies could my soul delight. 
 Nor daily pastimes, nor debauch at night: 
 Pleasure, that lur'd me to her wanton bow'rs. 
 Where sharpest thorns survive the short-liv'd flow'rs ; 
 Sur\'ive to penetrate the guilty mind. 
 And leave in joy-reft hearts a smart behind ; 
 Pleasure, with gay companions of my youth, 
 I shun, for sake of Christ and heav'uly truth. 
 But soon from home 1 bend my far-bound way ; 
 My friends, unkind, permit me not to stay ; 
 
75 
 
 They fear not God ; their hearts with anger buru. 
 
 And me, lone wanderer, from my home they turn; 
 
 Yet still supported by my Saviour's love. 
 
 Through forests drear and pathless wilds I rove ; 
 
 Where tedious days and nights successive shed 
 
 Sunshine and dews on my unshelter'd head. 
 
 In search of food, I roam the sultry day ; 
 
 At night I 'm chas'd by hungry beasts of prey ; 
 
 Oft the tall tree presents its friendly height. 
 
 Closely pursued, I climb in wild affright; 
 
 There stride some trembling branch to shun the foe. 
 
 While death, with dreadful howling, waits below; 
 
 While fierce pursuers my retreat surround. 
 
 Raise the loud yell, and vengeful tear the ground. 
 
 Yet Providence was there, my friend and guide ; 
 
 My life was spar'd, and every want supply'd; 
 
 Though pineh'd by hunger, and an outcast driv'n. 
 
 Hopeful I trusted in the God of Heav'n; 
 
 And by his powerful aid sustain'd I stood. 
 
 And pass'd unhurt the monster-peopled wood. 
 
 Safe to a sea-port Jown at length I came, 
 
 Where white men dwelt, who bore the Christian name; 
 
 F 
 
76 
 
 But thus escap'd from savage beasts of prey, 
 I gave for life my liberty away. 
 
 'Twas at the time when party rage spread far, * 
 And stem resentment fann'd the flames of war; 
 When tlirough our colonies, from man to man. 
 Revengeful strife and fatal discord ran; 
 When friends and brothers 'gainst each other rose. 
 And parents fought, and children were their foes ; 
 When sire and son, by furious passions led, 
 Aim'd the fell weapon at each other's head : 
 'Twas then, as wand'ring seaward near the bay 
 W^here ships of various flags promiscuous lay, 
 A rufllian gang my person there detain'd. 
 And o'er my rights an easy vicf ry gain'd ; 
 
 * Alluding to the destructive war between Great-Britain and 
 her American colonies: but there must have been an interval of 
 at least four or five years between the time of Mr. Marraut's con- 
 version, and that of his impressment into the British service, 
 which the Author believes was not accounted for in the original 
 nanati ve. It may, however, from this circumstance be presumed, 
 that he was not discarded by his friends for some time after the 
 former event took place. 
 
77 
 
 Soon there, on board the war-ship close conliu'd. 
 New duties grew familiar to my mind; 
 But sea employment, then to me so new. 
 Brought its new toils and new adventures too. 
 Though strict were my commanders, let me tell, 
 I strove to please them, and I pleas'd them well ; 
 Since duty bade me their commands obey. 
 Cheerful I serv'd, and not unkind were they. 
 God gave me favor in my shipmates' eyes; 
 Through me they learnt the Christian name to prize. 
 Me HeaVn preserv'd — but my unfaithful heart. 
 Too prone from Him who sav'd me, to depart. 
 Mistrusted God, and in that evil hour, 
 I fell beneath the wily tempter's jjower. 
 From the bow-port I thrice essay'd to find 
 A AAat'ry grave to ease my tortur'd mind ; 
 But there as oft, so pleas'd the Pow'r divine. 
 Some friend stood by, and thwarted my design; 
 And still I liv'd, and still unharm'd I rose 
 From doubt's dark conflict and besetting foes. 
 
 To you, ray friends ! vain were th' attempt to tell 
 What me upon tempestuous seas befell ; 
 
78 
 
 For though, if sounded in a landsman's ears, 
 'Twould pain his soul, suffuse his eyes with tears. 
 And his warm heart with icy horrors freeze ; 
 To you, well known are perils of the seas. 
 Yet can 1 true to your requirements keep, 
 And not recount my dangers on the deep? 
 How threaten'd oft the mighty tempest's blast. 
 Each dread succeeding hour should be the last; 
 When swelling billows, lifted to the skies. 
 Struck every soul with terrible surprise. 
 Lest on the ship the whelming flood should fall, 
 And in one mighty ruin bury all ! 
 
 Swept off the deck, and struggling with the wave, 
 I once was sinking to a wat'ry grave; 
 When, lo ! uplifted by the surging main, 
 I came in contact with my ship again ; 
 I climb'd her sides almost depriv'd of breathy 
 And thus escap'd the all-surrounding death. 
 When dangers compass'd me on every hand, 
 God was my guardian, both by sea and land ; 
 So shall the Christian sailor still prevail 
 Through life's dark voyage — God's mercies never fail ! 
 
79 
 
 When th^ sixtU year of dang'rous service o'er. 
 My humble narrative shall tire no more ; 
 With tliat dire conflict* let my tale conclude. 
 Which put a period to ray servitude. 
 
 Loud bellows War ! loud sounds his trumpef s breath ! 
 Fiom distant dykes is heard the yell of death. 
 Stern on Batavia's brow defiance lours, 
 From all her ports her naval strength she pours. 
 Proud of her force, their hostile squadrons ride 
 The neighb'ring seas, and sweep the northern tide. 
 We spread our swelling canvass to the wind, 
 And leave afar your British shores behind. 
 Soon daring Parker views with wary eye 
 The bold manoeuvres of the enemy; 
 
 * Alluding to the battle on the Dogger Bank, between the 
 English and Dutch fleets, that was fought on the 5th of August, 
 1781. Which ship of the Britisli squadron Mr. Marrant tlien be- 
 longed to, cannot now be asceiiamed. The Author, however, 
 recollects something of that action himself; having been a spec- 
 tator of its commencement, although not an actor in it. He then 
 belonged to tlie Alert sloop of war, which was ordered away by 
 the Admiral to see the merchantmen under convoy safe into the 
 Frith of Forth. 
 F 3 
 
80 
 
 The foeman spies our motions from afar. 
 And makes the signal to prepare for war. 
 He forms the line, and waits our coming near; 
 Threatening his aspect seem'd from van to rear.^ 
 The steady side-wind fills our spreading sails; 
 Dauntless our men, their courage never fails — 
 Not keen-ey'd eagles, pouncing on their prey. 
 More eager look, more silent move than they. 
 His dreadful work, lo ! Vengeance will perform. 
 And this the calm before the whelming storm; 
 And this the period of suspense and dread. 
 Ere carnage reek'd, or mortal blood was shed. 
 Valour rode silent o'er the wat'ry world. 
 Ere his strong arm the bolts of rain liurl'd. 
 If aught disturb'd the solemn pause of death, 
 Twas ocean's stir, or heaven's perpetual breath ; 
 For as our ship the curling wave divides 
 Resounds the rippling noise of parted tides; 
 Whilst passing overhead from shroud to shroud. 
 Spake the fresh breeze in murmurs shrill and loud. 
 
 We shorten sail — the death-like pause is o'er; 
 To it succeeds the cannon's thund'ring roar. 
 
81 
 
 Whose lightning flashes blaze upon the eye. 
 While thick about us show'rs of death-shot fly ; 
 High soars the sulph'rous smoke, and overhead. 
 And all around, black clouds of darkness spread. 
 There fought the brave, who never fought again — 
 Painful the task to count the numbers slain ! 
 Mid such dread scenes, say brethren, who could stand, 
 Unless upheld by some all-pow'rful hand I 
 'Twas God preserv'd me when the battle rag'd. 
 When fleet with fleet, and ship with ship, engag'd ; 
 When triumph'd death, and fast life's crimson tide 
 O'erflow'd the decks where warriors bled and died ; 
 'Twas he preserv'd my life; yet to my share 
 Some sad allotment fell of pain and care ; 
 Some splinter-wounds inflicted anguish more 
 Than ere your suff"'ring shipmate felt before. 
 
 Though ceas'd the horrors of the vengeful fight. 
 Yet long the hostile squadrons kept in sight; 
 For well you know when martial rage prevails. 
 Much harm is done to rigging and to sails; 
 That crippled masts and sailyards oft demand 
 The prompt exertions then of ev'ry hand. 
 
82 
 
 Our damage to repair, no time was lost. 
 
 When slow we sail and steer for England's coast ; 
 
 Yet ere Britannia's friendly shores we gain. 
 
 Sank some brave hearts beneath consuming pain ; 
 
 In lasting silence hush'd was many a groan ; 
 
 Down the deep waters many a corse was thrown. 
 
 Oft> oft, my friends, amid the >vatch of night. 
 
 Death's ghastly form intruded on the sight! 
 
 Pale gleam'd the moon upon the troubled wave ; 
 
 Sad moan'd the night-breeze o'er the warrior's grave. 
 
 Ah ! who well-pleas'd should war's wide mischiefs trace. 
 
 Nor feel compassion for man's suff 'ring race ; 
 
 Dishonor'd be his name amongst mankind ; 
 
 Abhorr'd the cruel pleasures of his mind. 
 
 In vain to him might Sorrow's child complain; 
 
 To him might Misery utter plaints in vain. 
 
 Unmindful he of suff 'ring friends or foes ; 
 
 And steel'd his heart against another's woes: 
 
 Be it his fate to ride the ocean's flood. 
 
 And share, as I have done, in war and blood! 
 
 Now Hope's faint visions sooth'd the suff'rer's breast 
 As the near roadstead promis'd steadier rest; 
 
83 
 
 With momentary joy each bosom glow'd. 
 
 When in the Downs our gallant war-ship rode. 
 
 Soon to the hospital on shore convey'd. 
 
 On easier beds our wounded limbs were laid. 
 
 There, heal'd my wounds, hope cheer'd my heart anew; 
 
 More pleasing prospects rose upon my view. 
 
 War's dang'rous servitude with me was o'er; 
 
 Its scenes of bloodshed shock'd my sight no more. 
 
 What now remains? but loud to hymn His praise. 
 Whose mercy saves us, though by different ways; 
 Whose pow'r preserves us, and whose love the same, 
 Howe'er we differ, or in skin, or name. 
 For, blessed Saviour ! whether bond or free. 
 Or black, or white, we all are one in Thee. 
 Thy death aton'd for wrath-demanding guilt; 
 For sinful man thy precious blood was spilt; 
 All, all shall praise Thee ! but the black man's voice 
 In louder strains will bid all Heav'n rejoice. 
 When all the ransom'd to thy grace shall raise 
 One mighty voice of everlasting praise ! 
 
 Thus said Marrant: his compeers^catch the flame 
 Of kindling joy, and praise the Saviour's name. 
 
84 
 
 happy men ! to pass in sacred song, 
 
 Mid frozen climes, that winter's night along; 
 
 In which before were never lieard such strains 
 
 Of gladness sounding o'er the icy plains. 
 
 Such heav*nly themes, and such sweet songs of joy. 
 
 May holier tongues in ha{^ier worWs employ ! 
 
 So, when the new-bom sun shot living light 
 
 Through the vast empire of primeval night. 
 
 Sweet rang on youthful Time's delighted ears 
 
 Harmonious sounds, the music of the spheres ! 
 
 END OF TXB SECOyO PJtRT. 
 
KottjBf* 
 
 NOTE I.—P. 36. 
 
 Now pass the trav'llers Macham's island green. 
 Where D'Arfet's monument of yore was seen. 
 
 Although the Portuguese boast of having first discovered 
 the island of Madeira, we have it ou the authority of Purchas 
 that its first discovery " was owing to tlie misfortune of one 
 Macham, an Englishman, who, sailing from England to Spain 
 ~ with a woman, was driven by a tempest upon that island, 
 wliere he landed with some of liis company, and was left be- 
 hind by the men m the ship, who weighed and put to sea. 
 The woman died, for Avliom he built a chapel, and engiaved 
 on her tomb her name and his, with the occasion of their 
 coming thither. After this he made a small boat out of one 
 tree, and ventured with his men to sail along the coast of 
 Africa without sail or oars: and the Moors, among whom ho 
 came, wondering much how he came there, presented him to 
 their king, who sent him and his men to Castile." Such is 
 
86 
 
 the plain and simple accoimt of Purchas, given in Harris's 
 Collection; but the Rev. Mr. Bowles, following the more 
 romantic tale of Alcafarado,has interwoven, in his own happy 
 style, in " Tlie Conquest of Ocean," a highly poetical and in- 
 terestiiig story of John A'Machin, and that beautiful fugitive 
 who eloped with him from Bristol, the fair Anna D'Arfet. 
 
 NOTE II.— P. 39. 
 
 There oft was seen the Dolphin, swift in chase. 
 Pursue his brethren of the finny race ; 
 While the chas'd Flying-fish, to shun the foe. 
 Forsakes his native element below, &c. 
 
 " The Dolphin is bet>veen four and five feet in length, 
 some more, some less. It is a very pretty coloured fish, and 
 very good to eat, but something dry ; they feed mostly upon 
 Flying-fish, a sort of fish about the bigness of an ordinary 
 herring, and much like one; the Dolphins are so nimble as 
 to catch them M"hcn they light in the water to wet their wings, 
 or rather fins. For they can fly no longer than their wings 
 are wet, but then fall into the water and mount again. It is 
 very pretty to see what shifts and turns they will make to get 
 clear of thei» great enemy, the Dolphin; and rather than be 
 be taken by them, they will often fly into a ship; but when 
 
«7 
 
 they are in, unless they happen to fall into a puddle of water, 
 they 'CaBuot fly out again for want of moisture in their wings*" 
 Fwmelts Voyage round the World* 
 
 NOTE III.— P. 40. 
 
 How oft from oozy caverns deep and dark 
 Up sprang to light the all-devouring shark ! 
 
 " The Shark is a very ravenous sort of fish: those that 
 "we catch at sea are commonly about five or six feet in length; 
 they have a great wide mouth, with three and sometimes four 
 rows of teeth, very sharp, and jagged like a saw. It is so fierce a 
 fisli, that when it wants its prey it will seize upon any thing, and 
 make notliing of taking ofi* a man's leg at a bite or two. The 
 Shark is usually attended with one, two, three, or more small 
 fish, (about the bigness of an ordinary whiting) which go be- 
 fore him and show him his prey : they are called Pilot-fisli, 
 and look very pretty in the water: they will play about him, 
 he he never so hungry, and he never oflers to prey upon them." 
 Thus far Mr. Funnell ; to which the Author would add, that 
 :he has not unfrequently witnessed the wonderful strength of 
 this voracious monster when hauled on board ship, although 
 several musket-shots had been previously fired into hira. 
 Indeed, the sailors generally stand by on such occasions with 
 G 
 
S8 
 
 a hatchet to cut oflf his tail, with which he would otherwise 
 do much mischief while flouncing about the deck. The Author 
 recollects, when he belonged to his Majesty's ship Monmouth, 
 in the former war with America, to have found in the maw 
 of a large shark, which had been caught and hauled upon 
 deck, theverj identical piece of pork which had been intended 
 for that day's dinner, for liimself and messmates, together 
 with the iron hook and line, by which it had been suspenxlod 
 from one of tlie ship's stem-ports, for the purpose of towing 
 it overboard previous to dressing. 
 
 NOTE 4.— P. 40. 
 
 Oft when the heavens portend the whehning storm. 
 Their marshall'd ranks the Porpoise squadrons form ; 
 
 The motion of the Porpoises in the water is a kind of 
 circular leap; they dive instantly to the bottom, but soon 
 again rise up in order to breathe: they are so intuit in pur- 
 suit of their prey, that they sometimes astcend large rivers, 
 and several have been seen between London and Westmin- 
 ster bridges. They have no gills whatsoever, and blow tlie 
 water with a loud noise, which in cahn weather may be heard 
 at a great distance. They are seen nearly in almost all seas, 
 and are >'ery common about the EngUsh coasts, m here they 
 sport with great activity, chiefly at the approach of a squalL 
 
The missionary voyag'e has tlie following remark: " We saw 
 a very remarkable shoal of Porpoises; they rose as if disci- 
 plined, in a straight line extending abouthalf a mile, making 
 so-suddcn a noise and ruffle in the sea, that at first sight v^ o 
 took them to be breakers," 
 
 NOTE V^P, 40. 
 
 There, too. Leviathan, huge king of strength ! 
 Extends afar his fear-inspiring length, <S:c. 
 
 " The Greenland whale, wliich inhabits the Arctic circle, 
 is sometimes ninety feet in length; and it is reported that 
 within the bounds of the torrid zone, this huge inhabitant of 
 the ocean, is often discovered measuring a hundred^ sixty feet. 
 
 NOTE VI.—.P. 4>. 
 
 By Wager's isle and Misery's mountain drear; 
 Disastrous fete ! where shipwreck'd Byron bore. 
 
 Wager Island; so named from the Wager frigate, one of 
 Commodore Anson's squadron, which was wrecked there. 
 It is a barren spot, about 90 leagues to the northward of the 
 western mouth of the straits of Magellan, in the latitude of 
 
90 
 
 between 47 and 48° south. There was a dismal eminence 
 on the island, which Byron tells us tliey called Mount Misery; 
 and the narrative which he gives of the sufferings of himself 
 and some of his companions^ before they reached the Spanish 
 settlements, is dreadful in the extreme. Of their situation 
 before they quitted "V^^ager Island, some idea may be formed 
 from the following circumstance: " A boy, when no other 
 eatables could be foimd, having picked up the liver of one of 
 the drowned men, (whose carcase had been torn to pieces by 
 the force with which the sea drove it among the rocks) was 
 with difficulty withheld from making a meal of it;" but for 
 further particulars see BjTon's Narrative, written by himself^ 
 
 NOTE YII.—P. 51. 
 
 •* Lo ! Providence presides yon desert o'er; 
 ** And Heav'n is near it as to England's shore. 
 
 Exemplification of piety, presence of mind, and fortitude in 
 tlie midst of difficulty and danger, are the prerogative of true 
 courage, and congenial with the magnanimous soul, and 
 never fails to obtain the admiration of mankind. A singidar 
 instance of this kind I have frequently been much delighted 
 with, in a speech, which Captain James made to his ship^s 
 company, when about to take up their winter's abode on 
 the dreary shores of Greenland. This intrepid commander 
 
91 
 
 sailed from Bristol in the year 1631, on board the Hen- 
 rietta Maria, for the purpose of discovering a north-west 
 passage. Although I dislike swelling the notes unneeessa- 
 rily, yet I cannot deny myself the pleasure of transcribing 
 oiu- adventurous countryman's manly and pious address, 
 for tlie gratification of the youthful reader, who may not have 
 met with it before. 
 
 " Countrymen and faithful companions! be not dismayed 
 for any of these disasters, but let us put our whole trust in 
 God; it is he that gives and he that takes away; he throws 
 down with one hand, and raises up witli another; his will be 
 done! If it be our fortune to end our days here, we are as 
 near Heaven as in England ; and we are much bound to 
 Almighty God for giving us so large a time of repentance, 
 who, as it were, daily calls upon us to prepare ourselves for a 
 better life in heaven. I make no doubt but he will he mer- 
 ciful to us, botli here on earth, and in his blessed kingdom. 
 He doth not, in the mean time, deny but that we may use all 
 honest means to save and prolong our natural Uves; and in 
 my judgment, we are not yet so far past hope of returning 
 into our native country, but tliat I see a fair w^ay by which 
 we may effect it. Admit the sliip to be foundered, which 
 God forbid? (I hope tlie best) yet liave those of our owm and 
 other iiations, wheii they have been put to these extiemities, 
 out of tlie wreck of their lost sliip built a pinnace, and rc- 
 tnroed to tlicir friends again. If it be objected that they 
 
92 
 
 have happened into better climates, both for temperate ahr 
 and pacific and open seas, and provided withal of abundance 
 of fresh victuals ; yet there is nothing too hard for courageous 
 minds, which hitherto jou have shown, and I doubt not will 
 still do to the utmost." Harris's Collection of Voyages, vol^ h 
 
 NOTE VIIL—P. 63. 
 
 The mountain rock, as if asunder splits 
 By Nature rent in some convulsive fit. 
 Its everlasting door-way op'ning spread, 
 And form'd a tow'ring arch above the head. 
 
 Rocks of this kind have not unfrequently been discover- 
 ed by navigators. In Cook's voyages an account is given of 
 Dr. Solander, Mr. Banks, and other gentlemen, meeting with 
 one at New Zealand. In one of their excursions, as they 
 passed through a valley, the hills on each side of which were 
 very steep, they were suddenly struck with the sight of a very 
 extraordinary natural curiosity. It was a rock perforated 
 through Its whole substance, so as to form a rude, bat stu- 
 pendous arch, or cavern, opening directly to the sea. This 
 aperture was 75 feet long, 27 broad, and 46 in height, com- 
 manding a view of the bay, and the liills on the other side, 
 which were seen through it; and opening at once on tb^ 
 
view, produced an effect far superior to any of the contrivances 
 of art. Captain Meares too, after exploring the entrance of 
 the straits of John de Fuca in the Feliee, takes notice of a 
 similar rock to the southward of those straits. " This cape 
 (a head-land called Cape Look-out) is very high and bluff, and 
 terminates abruptly in the sea. About the distance of two 
 miles from it, there rose three large rocks, which were very 
 remarkable from the great resemblance tliey bore to each 
 other: the middle one has anarch-way, perforated, as it were, 
 in its centre, through which we very plainly discovered the 
 distant sea. They more particularly attracted our notice, as 
 we had not observed between King George's sound and this 
 place any rocks so conspicuously situated from the land. 
 Their distance from each other might be about a quarter of 
 a, mile, and we gave tliem the name of the Three BrotliersJ' 
 Meares's Voyages to the North-West Coast of Americ<u 
 
 NOTE IX.— P. 59. 
 
 *' Condemn'd to dwell by accident of birth 
 " In these far bounds of habitable earth, &c- 
 
 • \ 
 
 It is impossible for the Christian philanthropist to cast I 
 
 an eye over the map, or trace in idea along the dreary coast i 
 of N. W. America, from California to Behring's straits, and I 
 
94 
 
 at the same time permit his mind to form some calculation 
 of the numerous hordes of uncivilized barbarians, knd fero- 
 cious cannibals, inhabiting those inhospitable regions. It is 
 impossible for one, having the good of his fellow men at 
 heart, to contemplate so much ignorance, and so much 
 wretchedness, in these " dark places of the earth, full of the 
 habitations of cruelty;" without anxiously watching the 
 dawn of that glorious day, tliat delightful period, pregnant 
 with the most merciful events, when " the earth shall be- 
 " filled with the knowle<%e of tlie glory of the Lord;" 
 when ''all the kingdoms of the world shall become the king- 
 doms of our Lord, and of his Christ;" and when " the people 
 which sat in darkness shall see great light;" and when, " to 
 them which sat in the region and shadow of death,*' the 
 light of the glorious gospel of the ever-blessed God shall 
 spring up. So deeply are these wretched outcasts of the 
 human race overwhelmed in the thickfelt night of ignorance, 
 and so ferocious is the disposition of some of them, that to 
 civilize them, and to embue their minds with a knowledge of 
 the truth, would be Uttlc short of a miracle. But with God 
 all things are possible ! What has not the persevering zeal 
 of the Moravian brethren achieved among the Greenlanders, 
 and other savage nations? and what have not the pious 
 exertions of other missionaries done among the Hottentots? 
 It must be allowed that these most miserable dregs of human 
 society appear to be far more unpromising subjects for the 
 
nseful employment of missionary ability, tlian either Green- 
 landers, or even Hottentots. But when God's time is come 
 for the fulfilment of ancient predictions,, with regard to the 
 universal spread of knowledge, and dissemination of trutli, 
 every retarding obstacle shall be removed; proper means 
 shall be devised, and proper agents employed, for the aceom- 
 plishment of the great work of general reformation. But 
 whether it shall be brought to pass by means of bible societies, 
 and the dissemination of the scriptiu-es; or by the praise- 
 worthy exertions of gospel missionaries; or how much of the 
 great work shall be performed by the indefatigable labours 
 of that zealous apostle of ins^uction, Joseph Lancaster, and 
 the activity of his youthful disciples, cannot now be deter- 
 mined. Of this, however, we may be assured, that what God 
 bath promised in his word, must inevitably come to pa^; for 
 the wonderful revolutions which have recently astonished 
 mankind, the dethronement of continental sovereigns, th& 
 overthrow of autichristian hierarchies, and even the sword 
 of the destroyer, the thunder of battle, and the devouring 
 dogs of war; all, all, shall eventually accelerate the inscru- 
 table designs of that Almighty One, " who doetli according 
 to his will, in tlie army of heaven, and among the inhabitants 
 of the earth;'' for " surely the wrath of man shall praise him> 
 the reniainder of wrath shall he destroy.'' 
 
9$' 
 
 NOTE X.—P. 16. 
 
 Or ere to happier realms, remote from view. 
 Day's mighty orb his cheering light withdrew ; 
 Aslant and glimra'ring o'er the land-lock'd bay. 
 That yet emits a transitory ray. 
 
 Altiiough the sun may not rise for nearl; two mon^s in 
 some of thehigh northern latitudes, which Europesmshave now 
 and then been obU^d to winter in, yet during that period 
 tiiere is a moderate twilight, arising from the reflection of 
 tiie sun's rays on the tops of the hills. Besides, the nights 
 there are never so dark as in more southerly countries; be- 
 cause the ice and snow, with which the earth is covered, 
 reflect all the Ught which proceeds from the moon and stars; 
 and, at tliis season of the year, the moon never goes below 
 the horizon for several days together; added to which, the 
 aorthern tights are generally mwe powerful and brilliant 
 there than in our climates. But our navigators, from the 
 situation of the place where they wintered, were almost 
 excluded from these advantages, with regard to light, which 
 the climate might otherwise have afforded them, in a road- 
 stead less sheltered by high lands. Perhaps the following 
 account, given by the commander of the ship Nootka, whose 
 
D7 
 
 crew Trintered in Prince William's sound, may convey to the 
 reader's mind some idea of the gloomy asylum which our navi- 
 gators chose to winter in, and which was rendered so much more 
 clismal from the tremendous heights which surrounded them. 
 " We had now (in December) a very faint and glimmering 
 light, the meridian sun not being higher than 6^, and that 
 obsciu-ed from us by hills 22" high to the southward of us. 
 While we were thus locked in, as it were, from the cheerful 
 light of day, and the vivifying warmtli of solar rays, no other 
 -comforts presented themselves to compensate, in any degree, 
 for the scene of desolation which encircled us; while tremen- 
 dous mountains forbade almost a sight of the sky, and cast 
 their nocturnal shadows over us in the midst of day, the land 
 was impenetrable from the depth of snow, so that we were 
 excluded from all hopes of any recreation, support, or com- 
 fort, during the winter, but what could be found in the ship, 
 
 and in ourselves." 
 
 Meares's Introductory Voyage, 
 
 Wood aad Co. City FriaUog-Office; 
 
tJB 
 
DAVID DREADNOUGHT, 
 
 THE 
 PART THIRD 
 
 OF 
 
 Nautic Tales and Adventures^ in Verse. 
 BY S. WHITCHURCH. 
 
 ' They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters ; 
 these see the works of the Lord, and liis wondeis in the deep." 
 
 Psalm cvii. 23, 01. 
 
 BATH, 
 
 Printed by Wood eS Co. at the Citij Printing-Office; 
 
 A.ND SOLD BY WILLIAMS, STATIONERS'-COURT, AND DARTON 
 
 AND HARVEY, GRACECHURCH-STREET, LONDON; 
 
 AND MAY BE HAD OF ALL BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 1813. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 JL H E Author had intended to have ushered 
 this Third Part of Nautic Tales and Adventures 
 into the world unaccompanied by any preliminary 
 observations; thinking that, while the unavoidable 
 identification of himself with the hero of the tale 
 might savour too much of ostentation, the narrative 
 itself, and the lines introductory thereto, would com- 
 municate to the reader sufficient information of 
 Donald Henderson. He ventures, however, to 
 assert that he has himself been deeply interested in 
 part of the eventful history of the narrator — that he 
 has been his companion in the day of battle — that 
 he was an eye-witness to many of the scenes which 
 are attempted to be delineated in the narrative — and 
 that, even now, some of the circumstances therein 
 developed are fresh in his recollection. 
 H 2 
 
ClI ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The price of this liMle work, and the quantity 
 which each part of it contains, preclude the necessity 
 of the avowal, that gain has not been an object with 
 the writer; and, as for fame, if he possessed either 
 vani<y or folly enough to induce him for a moment 
 to flalter himself that even by the most strenuous 
 exertions to excel, it were possible for him to acquire 
 that bauble; those distinguished personages who 
 preside over the empire of taste, and who, by a stroke 
 of the pen, very frequently bias public opinion, and 
 decide the fate of authors and their works — those 
 gentlemen, it may be presumed, would not hesitate 
 to correct such folly, and to chastise such presump- 
 tion, if ever indeed they should condescend to de- 
 vote any of the pages of their various periodical 
 publications to the notice of David Dreadnought. 
 
 It would be ridiculous in any man to send a work 
 into the world without feeling himself intituled to 
 some share of public favor. But although the 
 Author of these Tales and Adventures, in verse, may 
 not hope to delight those who are pleased only when 
 surrounded by the atmosphere of superior genius, 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. CUl 
 
 or perambulating (he higher walks of Poetry; he 
 lias the temerity to believe that his present produc- 
 tion has not only novelty to recommend it, but that 
 it may, by tlie Divine Blessing, be useful to a certain 
 class of its readers ; and that he may be allowed to 
 claim the praise of meaning well. 
 
 Although the Author might be tempted io pro- 
 ceed, from the success which has attended the sale 
 of the preceding parts of Nautic Tales and Adven- 
 tures ; the publication of the remainder will depend 
 on certain circumstances. If God is pleased to con- 
 tinue life and health, and if the avocations of busi- 
 ness may permit, it is intended in the ensuing summer 
 to commit to paper the Fourth Part, which will 
 relate the departure of the Good Intent from her 
 ice-locked asylum; and the further adventures of 
 Dreadnoughty and his surviving companions, in the 
 prosecution of their voyage of circumnavigation. 
 
^rcjumettt* 
 
 Apostrophe to the inhabitants of Britain — Home scenery — Do- 
 mestic happiness and fire-side enjoyments contrasted witli 
 the situation of mariners exposed to the rigors of inhospitable 
 regions of the globe, and condemned to winter there — A per- 
 suasive to think of their fate, and to commiserate their suf- 
 ferings — Of Donald Henderson — His education — Youthful 
 studies and pursuits — His character — Bold in the defence of 
 truth — His rare modesty — Begins his narrative — Gives proof 
 of his own humility ; and alludes to the spiritual attainments 
 of his friends, Dreadnought and Marrant — Place of his nati- 
 vity ; its situation — Allusions to the prospect around it; also 
 to the magnificence of distant highland scenery — His father's 
 mansion — Hospitality and bravery — Is desperately wounded 
 at the battle of Preston Pans — Donald's recollections of the 
 deatlt-bed scene, and description of the impressions which a 
 sight of his father's corpse made on his infant mind — Donald 
 engages to go to sea in the ship Elizabeth — Feelings of his 
 mother on that occasion described and exemplified, by allu- 
 sions to the feelings of those unhappy parents who have 
 children of consumptive habits — Donald is informed that his 
 ship is preparing to sail — His mother's expostulation with 
 him previous to his going on board — His dutiful reply — Part- 
 ingscene,and reflections thereon — Adjournment — Thefriends 
 meet again for friendly intercourse— Donald resumes his nar- 
 rative — Mystery unravelled — His love for a beautiful young 
 woman, the cause of his going to sea — His manly and virtuous 
 reflections on the passion of love and liberty of choice — De- 
 claration of his own predilections — His tender attachment 
 to the fair object of his regard made known to his mother — 
 She bids him shun the lovely fair one who had inspired him 
 with ihe tender passion — He submissively obeys — Character 
 of the good Shepherd, his worthy minister, who ofliciated 
 at the Kirk — He gives Donald good advice — Donald acts 
 accordingly — He determines not to inform Eliza of his pre- 
 dilection for her — Other ways of making certain sentiments 
 known than by words — Lasting impressions made on his 
 mind — Moralizes thereon — The ship sails down the Forth — 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Passes the islands at its mouth — The mariners lose sight of 
 the Caledonian coast — Allusions to the Rev. Mr. Paterson's 
 establishment at the Isthmus of Darien — To the burning 
 mountain, Hecla— To the Torrid Zone and Trade Winds — 
 Atlantic ocean — The distant sail rising up from under the 
 horizon — Nearer and more peifect view — Pass through the 
 Straits of Gibraltar — Coast along the Barbary shore — Allu- 
 sions to the ancient Numidia — Hannibal — Ruinated temples 
 — Desolatedcountries, once renowned for arts and arms, and 
 famous in the annals of Greece and Rome — Straits of Messina 
 — Scylla and Chary bdig — Mount^tna — Malta — Its knights- 
 Shipwreck and fortitude of the Apostle Paul — Egypt — The 
 Nile — Mount Carniel — The Prophet Elijali — Acre— Island of 
 Cyprus — Ship returns home, and comes to at some distance 
 from her former anchorage — Friends of the crew — On the 
 beach and putting off in boats — Donald's melancholy pre- 
 sentiments on taking a view of his mother's house at a dis- 
 tance from the ship — His remarks on its appearance, and that 
 of the surrounding scenery — Autumnal prospect of the trees 
 — He visits the house, and is told of the death of his mother — 
 Visits his old friend and pastor, who relates some pleasing 
 particulars of his mother's hopeful prospects when she came 
 to die, and informs him of the death of Eliza — Moralizing 
 reflections and advice — Donald's pathetic account of his for- 
 lorn situation — He goes to sea again, and ascribes to God's 
 all-protecting providence his preservation and deliverance, 
 when surrounded by infectious disease and death — He goes 
 on boai d a man of war — Remarks on honor and on valor, and 
 some reflections on the calamities of war — England at war 
 with France — French fleet descried off" Grenada in the West- 
 Indies — Preparation for action — The battle — Horrible car- 
 nage on board Donald's ship — His particular friend and 
 messmate dies of his wounds — His last farewell to Donald — 
 Allusions to subsequent battles, and to the great mortality 
 among the sailors, owing to the unhealthiness of climate — 
 Donald's great respect for Dreadnought and Marraut — He 
 adverts to his own declining state of health — Is animated with 
 the consolation of hope, and rejoices in the anticipation of 
 eternal happiness — Allusions to the brevity of human life— 
 The certain decay of health, and beauty, and mental energy, 
 and termination of all mundane felicity — The consequent 
 deduction that Henderson was right in serving God, and in 
 seeking the obtaioment of an incorruptible inheritance. 
 
DAVID DREADNOUGHT. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 JJoMESTIC men! who dwell within the sound 
 
 Of surging billows that your land surround ; 
 
 Who kindly feel for untaught tribes of earth. 
 
 And rightly estimate your happier birth ; 
 
 And fondly hope, while sun and moon endure. 
 
 Shall last your fame, and be your rights secure ; 
 
 Oh ! when alternate kiss'd by suns and show'rs. 
 
 For you young Spring puts forth the loveliest flowers; 
 
 Glad'ning the eye — and ye enraptur'd hear 
 
 The song-bird's music carolling the ear : — 
 
 Oye! whom summer seasons oft entice 
 
 To wander o'er your own blest Paradise, 
 
108 
 
 And while the smiling prospects ye behold 
 
 That hill and valley to the view unfold, 
 
 Delighted say — " Shine on! bright landscapes, shine! 
 
 " Country belov'd ! what charms can equal thine?' 
 
 Yet may Imagination's eye pursue 
 
 The far-bound vessel, and her toiling crew ; 
 
 His nightly watchings where the sailor keeps. 
 
 And dauntless rides across the pathless deeps. 
 
 O ye who love some rugged steep to climb, 
 Of sea-beat rock — watch-tower of ancient time ! 
 From thence to view those restless waves that roll 
 On isles and continents, from pole to pole; 
 Or list to ocean's mighty voice, that roars. 
 With everlasting din, on Albion's shores; 
 O let the fervent prayer, the wish most kind, 
 Bespeed the chosen, bravest of mankind ! 
 Let ever-living thought pursue afar 
 The sea-rock'd bark, and that advenf rous tar, ^ 
 Who o'er the world of waters boldly steers 
 His undiverted course, nor danger fears. 
 
 Ye British islanders ! though winter rude 
 On your green walks with snows and floods intrude; 
 
109 
 
 Though pouring rains forbid you oft to roam 
 
 From fire-side bliss, ye have a cheerful home: 
 
 The tale or song the winter's night beguiles. 
 
 And love and friendship bless you with their smiles. 
 
 Then if to heaven ye raise your hallow'd mirth, 
 
 Ye are the happiest people upon earth. 
 
 Yet ruminate, as, borne on Fancy's wing. 
 
 The active mind from shore to shore shall spring 
 
 To farthest bounds of habitable space; 
 
 O think awhile, as other worlds ye trace. 
 
 On lonely men by polar ice confin'd. 
 
 Cut off from intercourse with human kind, 
 
 Debarr'd all friendly converse save their own. 
 
 As if to all the world besides unknown; 
 
 Yet hopeful in their little ark abide. 
 
 Till summer sun-beams melt the marble tide. 
 
 'Twas now the Caledonian's turn to say 
 What him befel e'er since his natal day. 
 Or since, a mariner, he left his home. 
 O'er ocean's wilderness afar to roam. 
 Reluctant to begin, awhile he stood, 
 Tracing life's retrospect in pensive mood:' 
 
110 
 
 For taste correct, and humbling thoughts of mind. 
 
 The tongue of eloquence itself may bind. 
 
 And his less-try'd experience, well he knew. 
 
 Resembled not the picture others drew. 
 
 His filial piety, and fear of GoD, 
 
 Requir'd nor man's nor Heav'n's chastising rod. 
 
 He soon became, so eminent in youth, 
 
 A pow'rful advocate for Bible truth. 
 
 His mother taught him, and he firm rely'd. 
 
 For bliss to come, upon the crucify'd ; 
 
 Love fir'd his breast, warm glow'd its kindling flame. 
 
 At the bare mention of his Saviour's name. 
 
 Science delighted him, and classic lore 
 
 Enrich'd his memory with abundant store. 
 
 He trac'd the wand'ring planets as they roll. 
 
 And knew what stars illumin'd either pole ; 
 
 Oft through the world's wide hemispheres he stray'd. 
 
 And, fancy-led, the universe survey'd. 
 
 He ponder'd well o'er hist'ry's blood-stain'd page. 
 
 And mark'd the manners of each rising age. 
 
 When hostile chiefs the flags of death unfurl'd. 
 
 And open'd Mis'ry's flood-gates on the world, 
 
Ill 
 
 Olt he 'd exclaim, " Ye savage men of blood, 
 " Who deluge earth, or crimson ocean's flood ; 
 " God keep from me your foul misdeeds afar; 
 " Ye mighty ruflians, who delight in war!" 
 
 Yet, wheu enamour'd with the magic lore 
 Of ancient song, and gifted bards of yore ; 
 When pond'ring o'er the blazon'd scrolls of fame; 
 Or when of Peleus' sons, or Hector's name. 
 The poet sung, or Helen's ravish'd charms. 
 His burning pulses beat to deeds of arms: 
 As then he trac'd the tide of battle roll. 
 War's kindling frenzy fir'd his raptur'd soul ; 
 He felt a hero, and he priz'd the sword 
 Whose dreadful havoc still his soul deplor'd. 
 
 And much he lov'd the Muse of holier pow'rs. 
 
 In the calm silence of night's lonely hours. 
 
 Wooing her skill, by hallow'd themes impress'd. 
 
 With love to God and seraph ardor bless'd; 
 
 Whose strains melodious soften human woe. 
 
 And give the soul to taste of heav'n below. 
 
 But chief that Book, by inspiration giv'n. 
 
 He valued most, the Christian's guide to heav'n; 
 I 
 
112 
 
 With hope divine that Book his heart inspir'd, 
 
 And all his soul with holy ardor fir'd. 
 
 For ever active in Religion's cause. 
 
 And prompt to plead for Virtue's righteous laws; 
 
 Where Reason fail'd to reach the wordy fool, 
 
 He shot the darts of keenest Ridicule ; 
 
 He soon discomfited who dar'd despise 
 
 Man's moral duties and lifers social ties; 
 
 Or darkling steer'd, by stormy passions driven, 
 
 Fearless of hell — without a hope of heaven. 
 
 Such Donald was, which studious to withhold. 
 
 His modest narrative had never told ; 
 
 Nor could his tongue one act of life make known. 
 
 Which angel purity might blush to own. 
 
 Though toilsome duties, 'mid a rig'rous clime, 
 
 Impair'd the hardy strength of manhood's prime; 
 
 Though like a murd'rous foe, came slow disease 
 
 To seize on health, and life itself to seize ; 
 
 The spirit unsubdu'd still glow'd the same. 
 
 With living faith, and love's immortal flame — 
 
 But Henderson his list'ning friends bespoke. 
 
 And thus the pause of silent waiting broke. 
 
J 13 
 
 " Though less inform'd concerning things divine. 
 No heavenly intercourse, like yours, be mine; 
 ^'et not devoid of incident that life. 
 Where Grace and Nature keep at constant strife; 
 There, while unholy passions strive to reign. 
 Perpetual warfare must the soul maintain. 
 Yet though to me, my friends, the truth I own. 
 No visitings miraculous were known; 
 To me no rapt'rous interval was giv'n; 
 No revelation visible from heav'n: 
 'Twas mine betimes the work of grace to know ; 
 Progressive was that holy work, and slow. 
 Too oft its sacred ardor seem'd subdu'd. 
 But grace again its burning flame renew'd ; 
 And sufF'rings oft, and Heav'n's chastising rod. 
 Brought me to close communion with my GoD. 
 
 " Prolix would be the story, to relate 
 Each small adventure of my varied fate. 
 E'er since the breath of life at first I drew. 
 Or since I bade my native land adieu ! 
 In my plain narrative, if aught suppress'd. 
 Your better judgments may supply the rest. 
 
114 
 
 " By the broad waters of the Frith of Forth, 
 A town lies frontways to the frigid North ; 
 The op'ning land there forms a spacious bay 
 From countless barks where gallant streamers plav, 
 And wind-borne float in various color'd pride, 
 For there the flags of various countries ride. 
 Beside that bay I pass'd my early days; 
 There first I pray'd, there lisp'd my Saviour's praise. 
 Where just below, with never-ceaseless roar, 
 The tides forsake, or kiss the pebbly shore ; 
 On a green plat which overlooks tlie scene 
 That smiles far off, while flood-tides roll bet^veen. 
 My father's mansion caught the eye afar — 
 Commanding station for defensive war! 
 In stately pride, for countless years, there stood 
 Behind the house a venerable wood. 
 Beneath whose high and wide-extended shade 
 A winding solitary path was made. 
 Where, when no breath of heav'n past overhead, 
 'Twas like the solemn stillness of the dead ; 
 But whensoe'er the noisy tempest spoke. 
 That shook the firmness of the aged oak. 
 
115 
 
 'Twas life, 'twas magic motion all around ; 
 The ear was dcafen'd with the rushing sound : 
 It seem'd, as all the branches trembling swung, 
 Each limb had voice, and every leaf a tongue. 
 But thence to rove in Fancy's rapid car 
 Past Grampian hills, renown'd for fatal war;* 
 The lonely watch where highland shepherds keep; 
 And ruiu'd tow'rs yet frown o'er many a steep: 
 To rove with Fancy o'er those mountains high^ 
 Whose lofty summits seem to reach the sky, 
 With her to climb some height above the rest, 
 Where dwells the kingly eagle in his nest. 
 And there an arbitrary monarch reigns. 
 Collecting tribute from surrounding plains; 
 And whence his oftspring M'ing their daring way. 
 Or wheel below and pounce upon their prey: 
 
 * At the foot of the Grampian hills, the Caledonians, com- 
 manded by their King Galgaciis, made their last grand stand 
 against the Romans under Agricola, and were routed with pro- 
 digious slaughter after a most desperate engagement. 
 I 3 
 
116 
 
 O thence how grand to view the varied scene 
 
 From cliff to cliff, or valley deep between ! 
 
 To trace wild Nature through her thousand forms ; 
 
 To note huge pines that live amidst the storms; 
 
 Down rugged steeps to watch white torrents run, 
 
 Or ken bright waters that reflect the sun ! 
 
 But views like these magnificent to paint. 
 
 Too weak my powers, description all too faint ; 
 
 O 'twould require, for subjects so sublime. 
 
 Some abler artist, and some happier time. 
 
 But pardon, friends, a Caledonian's pride. 
 
 That lures him thus his simple tale beside. 
 
 And thou, parental shade! thy son forgive; 
 
 Yet, if permitted in this world to live, 
 
 O pleasing thought! — If thou thyself wert here. 
 How would such themes delight thy list'ning ear! 
 Thy heart would glow with fire of former days 
 At the proud story of thy country's praise ; 
 Thy face, though furrow'd o'er by time, and pale, 
 With joy would brighten at thy Donald's tale! 
 
 " Mark'd by the aged trees that grew so nigh, 
 My father's house oft caught the stranger's eye ; 
 
117 
 
 There, whensoe'er the stranger chanc'd to roam, 
 Beneath my father's roof he found a home; 
 For oft a stranger-guest abroad was he, 
 Cheer'd by the rites of hospitality ; 
 And well he knew, the bounties Heav'n bestows 
 Were best employ 'd to soothe another's woes; 
 Rightly he deem'd, the few with affluence blest 
 Should act as friendly stewards to the rest ; 
 Well he perform'd his part — to all men true; 
 Happy he liv'd on earth, with heav'n in view. 
 
 *' Oft fought my father in his country's wars; 
 His chief rewards were honorable scars, 
 And self-approving thought, that, in the fight. 
 What patriot men contended for was right. 
 At Preston-Pans my gallant father bled ; 
 There almost lifeless mingled with the dead. 
 Yet, yet not there by rebel swordsmen slain. 
 He liv'd to wield his sharp claymore again. 
 Too soon I lost that father ! when so young 
 Imperfect accents lisp'd my infant tongue ; 
 Yet I remember him, for when he died 
 My mother led me to the death-bed's side. 
 
lis 
 
 I wonder'd then my mother cried so much ; 
 But when I ventur'd his cold hand to touch, 
 And found it motionless! I wonder'd more 
 It stroak'd my forehead not as heretofore ! 
 And why those sealed eyes no more could see. 
 That beam'd so oft love's softest look on me, 
 I could not tell ; nor why, where flush'd with red, 
 A mortal paleness o'er his face was spread. 
 Though soon deny'd the privilege to share 
 The watchful guidance of a father's care. 
 Yet never youthful pastimes from my mind 
 Could chase remembrance of a sire so kind : 
 That fix'd idea, how he lifeless lay 
 Upon his death-bed, never pass'd away; 
 Still the pale image holds my faithful breast, 
 That death in infancy so deep impress'd. 
 
 " I need not say how years of childhood past, 
 Or who my first instructor, or my last. 
 Till twice nine suns around my youthful head 
 Had summer's joy and summer's glory shed ; 
 And till a stripling volunteer I came 
 On board the ship, Elizabeth by name ; 
 
119 
 
 By inclination prompted long before. 
 
 Far distant seas and countries to explore. 
 
 At first my mother favor'd my design; 
 
 Beat her fond heart in unison with mine. 
 
 But, as you know, when cruel Death employs 
 
 Progressive means to wreck parental joys; 
 
 -Bids pale Consumption with approaches slow 
 
 Press the close siege, ere dealt the final blow; 
 
 Or sends his train'd bands arm'd with fev'rish strife 
 
 To sap the outworks and the walls of life ; 
 
 Invade the avenues of health, and win 
 
 By secret toil the citadel within: 
 
 Yet still fond parents credulous believe 
 
 The flatt'ring symptoms that as oft deceive : 
 
 Though the wan look, and hectic pulse, and breath. 
 
 Proclaim the slow but steady march of Death ; 
 
 Yet Hope — delusive Hope — will still beguile. 
 
 And like that syren of destruction smile, 
 
 By heathen poets feign'd, whose profFer'd charms 
 
 Decoys the wretch to ruin in her arms. 
 
 But when Death comes, though long foreseen his dart, 
 
 'Tis like an earthquake rending to the heart! 
 
120 
 
 Just so my mother: for though long she knew 
 That I was bound to bid her house adieu ! 
 And though her mansion windows fac'd the bay 
 In which my ship sometime at anchor lay; 
 And though she saw the boatmen ply their oars, 
 Who daily row'd on board the vessels' stores; 
 Though her own hands perform'd a thousand things 
 Which to my mind fond recollection brings. 
 To yield me comfort, and my need supply, 
 When sunder'd Ikr from her maternal eye; 
 Yet when the summons for departure came, 
 A death-like horror chill'd her trembling frame. 
 
 * Haste, Donald! haste!' aloud my shipmates say; 
 
 * The steady wind blows right to clear the bay ; 
 
 * All hands, unmoor!' aloud the boatswain cries; 
 
 * All hands, unmoor!' each mariner replies. 
 
 ' Hard at the capstern heaves our jolly crew 
 ' To bid their Lothian friends the long adieu!' 
 This when she heard, faint wax'd my mother's heart, 
 
 * And must we, Donald, then, and must we part? 
 
 * And wilt thou go, my Henderson?' she cried; 
 ' Wilt thou dare death upon the ocean's tide? 
 
ISl 
 
 * Ah ! do not, cruel, leave thy mother so, — 
 
 * Sad prey to dark uncertainty and woe. 
 
 * Q think, when storms of hail or rain conspire, 
 
 * On my slant roof to wreak their ruthless ire ; 
 
 * And my barr'd casement, that admits the light, 
 
 * Shall rattle to the tempest winds of night ; 
 
 ' To me in dreams think how the seas will rise ! 
 
 * What haggard corses float before my eyes! 
 
 ' O think, what scenes will frighted Fancy form 
 ' To shew my son a victim to the storm ! 
 
 * And when yon passage-boat, that oft has past, 
 
 * Shall heave convulsive to the whelming blast, 
 ' That lays her down upon her low lee-side, 
 
 * And deeply sinks her gunwale in the tide ; 
 
 * While the thick spray all o'er her decks is driv'n, 
 
 * And one dark cloud conceals the face of heav'n; 
 
 * Guess then what pangs shall torture lonely me 
 ' To hear the tempest howl, and think of thee. 
 
 * By all my cares since I became a wife ; 
 
 * The pangs I bore to bring thee into life; 
 
 * Thy father's suff'rings on his dying bed, 
 
 ' And all my sorrows o'er his pale corse shed ; 
 
122 
 
 ' By all I felt when he so kind and brave 
 * Became a tenant of the lonely grave 
 
 ' Desert me not! but let me still in thee 
 
 * The living image of thy father see. 
 
 ' Know, ever since thy father sank to rest, 
 
 ' Thy place has been next God's within my breast, 
 
 * Too much wert thou an idol, but my son 
 
 * Himself will punish me for what I 've done. 
 
 * Far from my widow'd heart will be remov'd 
 
 * That idol son, too dear, too much belov'd !' 
 
 " Thus as she gave sad utt'rance to her fears, 
 Adown her cheeks ran fond affection's tears. 
 Ah ! soft emotions not to be conceal'd ! 
 What my soul felt my speaking looks reveal'd. 
 Her words were swords and daggers to my heart; 
 Though Prudence bade, 'twas mis'ry thus to part; 
 In vain my weeping parent I address'd. 
 And thus the feelings of my soul express'd. 
 
 " * Mother! it grieves my faithful heart to find 
 
 * What dark forbodings agitate your mind ; 
 
 * Yet long ago each plan was known to you, 
 
 * Each scheme projected for this sad adieu! 
 
IS3 
 
 « The sea adventure long resolv'd was knows ; 
 
 * My future wand'rings to a distant zone : 
 
 ' Ah ! why not then of unbrew'd storms complain, 
 
 ' And fancied horrors on the briny main? 
 
 ' I could have then withdrawn, 'tis now too late ; 
 
 * I must depart, nor can forego my fate. 
 
 ' But should I go where polar storms have birth, 
 
 * Beyond the bounds of habitable earth; 
 
 * Is not my Omnipresent Father there 1 
 ' Shall I be less the object of his care? 
 
 * Though ^es pass, and time slides silent by, 
 ' Is he not always kind, and ever nighl 
 
 * Felt not my sire his all-protecting pow'r 
 ' Amid the battle's rage, in danger's hour? 
 ' To perils he by sea and land expos'd, 
 
 * Yet kindred hands his death-fix'd eye-lids clos'd; 
 
 * In his own tomb was laid that heart so brave ; 
 
 ' With kindred bones his bones have found their grave. 
 
 * Tell me, then, mother, is not God the same 
 
 ' To all who trust Him, and who fear his name? 
 
 ' Does not his providence for all provide, 
 
 ' Who dwell on laud, or plough the ocean wide? 
 
124 
 
 * To all the various tribes that people earth, 
 
 * Of savage origin, or prouder birth, 
 
 ' Their daily bread does He not freely give? 
 
 * May they not feed, rejoice in Him, and live? 
 
 ' The lily flower that decks your garden nigh, » 
 
 * And opes its paley beauties to the sky; 
 
 * The noisy sparrow, chatf ring at your gate, 
 
 * Are own'd by Him who fix'd the bounds of fete; 
 ' He clothes the one, and gives the other food ; 
 
 * His holy will is universal good. 
 
 * And shall I suffer, think you, his neglect, 
 
 * Who oft was pleas'd my father to protect? 
 ' He will ray life 'mid ev'ry danger save, 
 
 ' And smile on me as on my father brave. 
 
 * Think he is kind, and let that thought suffice ; 
 ' So may no tears of woe suffuse your eyes.' 
 
 " No more I said — save Heav'n's protection kind 
 Implor'd for her I left to grieve behind. 
 Sorrowing we part — I for a distant shore. 
 And she to weep — to see her son no more ! 
 
 " Perhaps, my friends, your feeling hearts may say, 
 
 * Donald did wrong upon that parting day ; 
 
125 
 
 ' A mother's tears, a mother s tale of woe, 
 ' Bade him at once the enterprize forego.' 
 Couclusioiis just! nor too severe the blame, 
 'Till better reasons for the deed I name; 
 Mv plain unvanish'd tale will soon reveal 
 What pain and weakness bid me yet conceal; 
 Oh, then, let cv'ry thought unkind depart. 
 Till fully known the stragglings of my heart 1 
 
 Retir'd the friends; and when, for converse sweet. 
 And mutual interchange of thought, they meet; 
 Or while the thick'ning snow-storms fall around. 
 Or monster-yells break through the dark profound; 
 Once more, to cheer that win fry solitude. 
 The Caledonian thus his tale renew'd: — 
 
 " Besides a mother lov'd, I left behind 
 The fairest angel born of woman kind ; 
 Of whose rare beauties but in part to tell 
 Would make your hearts with thrilling transports swell, 
 K 2 
 
126 
 
 And in this wilderness of frost and snow 
 
 Bid love's enkindled fires with ardor glow. 
 
 My heart was flesh and blood, where passions dwelt, 
 
 By every tender bosom own'd and felt. 
 
 I saw and lov'd her; for such charms to see, 
 
 And not to. love, I man could never be. 
 
 Free right of choice is giv'n by God above 
 
 To ev'ry heart inspir'd with virtuous love ; 
 
 Yet with that right restraining grace is giv'n. 
 
 That man's free-will thwart not the will of Heav'B, 
 
 Nor did I then what duty might disown; 
 
 I made my passion to my mother known : 
 
 She bade me shun the love-inspiring maid ; 
 
 I bow'd submissive, sufFer'd, and obeVd, 
 
 *' That faithful Shepherd at our kirk so long, 
 Who preach'd and pray'd his num'rous flock among; 
 By whom the luxury of doing good 
 Was more esteem'd than wealth or daintiest food : 
 He never pass'd a poor friend heedless by. 
 For poor and rich were equal in his eye ; 
 The sick he visited, the hungry fed. 
 And all men pray'd for blessings on his head: 
 
1«7 
 
 To that good nuiii, my minister, I wentr 
 To him my mind of sorrows full unbent: 
 He gave me good advice, — for from God's Book 
 That good advice my friend and pastor took. 
 1 rev'rent heard, and from that moment strove 
 To shun those charms I dar'd no more than love. 
 I fix'd on sea adventures, and that choice 
 Receiv'd the sanction of a mother's voice ; 
 And though at last she urg'd my longer stay, 
 'Twas sense of duty made me disobey. 
 
 To her I lov'd, I ne'er by speech reveal'd 
 The cherish'd passion in my breast conceal'd. 
 I said, of these fond feelings shall I tell. 
 To make her wretched whom I love so well? 
 No ! rather let me to the winds complain, 
 And tell soft love-tales to the raging main, 
 Than rob that lovely innocent of rest. 
 Or whelm in trouble her angelic breast; 
 Then if I perish with the untimely dead. 
 No tears for me shall lov'd Eliza shed ; 
 Then if I die, her heart, from sorrow free, 
 
 Will never feel one pang at thought of me. 
 K 3 
 
128 
 
 " Yet 'tis most true, uor need excite surprise. 
 That her heart's thoughts were told me by her eyes 
 And that, though doora'd in silence to repine, 
 She read the like intelligence in mine; 
 And well we understood, and well we knew. 
 Without one binding vow, that both were true. 
 All sad I sail'd for distant climes, to prove 
 The unshaken constancy of feithftd love; 
 Nor time, nor space however wide, could part 
 Eliza's image from her Donald's heart; 
 When far. from home, still there an inmate kind, 
 Her smiling image liv'd within his mind. 
 Hatred may cease, and anger may subside. 
 But such impressions evermore abide. 
 The heart must fail, and mem'ry's pow'rs decay. 
 Ere love's delightful pictures fade away. 
 But to feel hope and love at constant strife. 
 Oh ! 'tis the wormwood and the gall of life ! 
 To heal heart wounds by love so deeply giv'n 
 Requires that skill imparted but by Heav'n : 
 And oft to suff'ring mortals here below 
 Kind Heaven is pleas'd such wisdom to bestow; 
 
1S9 
 
 Then the soul profits by Affliction's rod. 
 And seeks and finds felicity in God. 
 
 Vot'ries of pleasure, profligate and vain. 
 May short-liv'd bliss at Folly's shrine obtain ; 
 And seek false joys, that ever on the wing 
 Behind them leave Reflection's scorpion sting ; 
 Or plagues entail, that, with remorse combin'd. 
 Consume the body, or distract the mind ; 
 Whilst horrors, raging there without control. 
 Create a hell of mis'ry in the soul. 
 Still faithful was my love, still chaste as true; 
 Unlawful love this bosom never knew. 
 I never sought, allur'd by wanton charms. 
 Unchaste enjoyment in the harlot's arms; 
 I never barter'd health, or peace of mind. 
 For sinful intercourse with woman-kind. 
 No, never so debas'd was Donald's heart ; 
 Ne'er would he thus from Virtue's paths depart. 
 
 Now as we pass our seaward islets by,* 
 Home's distant prospects lessen to the eye; 
 
 * The little islands of May and Bass at the mouth of tlie 
 Frith of Forth. 
 
130 
 
 Till the lov'd scenes on Caledonia's coast 
 Sink far from sight, as deep in ocean lost. 
 Yet vain the hope with subjects strange or new 
 To treat such vet'ran mariners as you ; 
 For though I strayed where Paterson* of yore 
 Began to colonize Panama's shore 
 
 * Mr. Paterson, a Scotch clergymau, who devised, and ia 
 part executed, a plan for forming an establishment on the Isthmus 
 of Darien, where he intended to have made roads for mules and 
 carriages, whereon to convey goods from sea to sea, upon the 
 ridge of hills running across the narrow neck of land that divides 
 the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, which might have been passed 
 in the space of a day, and which spot the finger of Nature seems 
 to have pointed out as a ceutre of union, to lessen the risk, and 
 to enlarge the empire of commerce, and to connect together the 
 trade and intercourse of both old and new worlds. Happy idea ! 
 that not only immortalizes the name of the projector, but reflects 
 honor on the country which gave him birth, and which aided his 
 patriotic exertions. It is, however, to be lamented that this 
 benevolent, and most useful establishment, should have been 
 crushed in its very infancy "by the very men who, of all others, 
 ought to have nourished and supported it; and that it was 
 sacrificed by the English monarch and bis impolitic counsellors, 
 to the overbearing tyranny of commercial monopoly. — For many 
 interesting particulars on this subject, see Encyclopaedia Bri» 
 tannica} art. Darien. 
 
131 
 
 Forlorn projector! yet allow'd his plan 
 
 The best devis'd by patriotic man. 
 
 To aid his country's commerce, and to bind 
 
 In one firm link all mercantile mankind — — 
 
 Alas! abandon'd on that isthmus land. 
 
 There famine smote his enterprizing band — 
 
 Or though I kenn'd that mountain height of snows, 
 
 His fiery floods where burning Hecla throws; 
 
 Or steer'd my course, and trimm'd my outrigg'd sail, 
 
 Where trade-winds blow, or spicy gales prevail : 
 
 Where'er I pass'd, or through what clime or zone. 
 
 Alike to you is ev'ry region known. 
 
 " Of maiden travels brief shall be my tale; 
 Some days we scud before the driving gale; 
 O'er the deep waters fast our vessel glides. 
 Surrounded by unfathomable tides, 
 W^here nothing greets the keen enquiring eye. 
 But one continuous world of sea and sky; 
 Save when in cloudless loveliness the sun 
 Gilds that far verge where seas and skies are one. 
 And the eye spies, with horizontal glance. 
 Or friend, or foe, upon the wide expanse ; 
 
132 
 
 Whose top-sail first a small white speck is seen, 
 Slow rising up the elements between; 
 Anon, with outstretch'd wings and colors bright. 
 The fuU-trimm'd vessel swims before the sight. 
 
 " Countless those scenes, m)' friends, well known to you, 
 That pleas'd me then, for they to me were new; 
 Yet let me not, since to be brief and plain 
 May please my shipmates and full credence gain; 
 Let me not trespass on the listening ear 
 With tale prolix, while you attentive hear 
 How sped our ship, and what the course we steer'd, 
 When Abyla's and Calpe's heights appear'd;* 
 Huge rocks! by Hercules asunder hurl'd. 
 To free the commerce of the ancient world; 
 And how we coasted barb'rous realms along. 
 Where once Numidia train 'd her warlike throng; 
 
 • Abyla and Calpe, two mountains opposite each other, one 
 on the African, the other on the Spanish side; formerly called 
 the Pillars of Hercules, and supposed by the ancients to have 
 been once united till separated by that hero, in order to open an 
 entrance into the Mediterranean sea, which prescribed limits to 
 Herculean labofs. 
 
133 
 
 By lands which gave that Carthaginian birth,* 
 Who curb'd awhile the masters of the earth; 
 Against proud Rome who swore eternal strife. 
 Nor parted with that hatred but with life. 
 
 " But time would fail, should Henderson recite 
 What seas we cross'd by day, or what by night; 
 What realms we saw by bigot rage laid waste; 
 What temples raz'd, or what by time defac'd; 
 What shores we pass'd, or islands sail'd among. 
 Degraded now, but once renown'd in song ; 
 Where flourish'd arts and arms ; where sounding Fame 
 Or prais'd the Grecian or the Roman name. 
 Or how we steer'd through monster-teeming straits. 
 Where still that whirlpool dire, Charybdis, waits 
 The careless to iugulph, and sea-waves roar. 
 As ever wont, on Scylla's rocky shore; 
 Or how at night we pass'd that mountain high. 
 Where ^tna bums his watch-tow'r in the sky; 
 That ever and anon emits his ire 
 In liquid flames and cataracts of fire. 
 
 * Hamiibal. 
 
154^ 
 
 'Tis thought by some, that deep in central earth 
 Such fiery-tliron'd volcanoes first had birth. 
 That belching forth from furnace gulphs below, 
 O'erwhelming floods and red hot cinders throw ; 
 Whose vengeful fires, in threat'ning furj- hurl'd. 
 Will one day spread and conflagrate the world. 
 It may be so in time's expiring hour — 
 Siich wrathful flames may peopled earth devour : 
 His will be done, the ever Wise and Just ! 
 Though the whole world may be consum'd to dust. 
 
 " Then pass'd we on, and saw by morning's light 
 That rock-built isle,* once fam'd for men of might; 
 True to their red-cross banners, who defy'd 
 The Turk's dread pow'r, and humbled Islam's pride. 
 Where, too, Christ's holier warrior long before, 
 Storm-driv'n, and wreck'd upon the barb'rous shore, 
 Amaz'd the Pagan ranks that round him stood 
 By his mind's presence, and firm fortitude; 
 As off he shook, without sustaining harm. 
 The pois'nous reptile fearless from his arm. 
 
 * Malta, where the Apostle Paul was shipwrecked. 
 
135 
 
 " But let me now in brief continuance say, 
 For Egypt's shores our vessel bore away, 
 His muddy margin where the Nile o'erflows; 
 Then pass'd where high that lofty Carrael rose, 
 Where once the wonder-working Prophet dwelt. 
 And patriot warmth, and zeal for Godhead felt; 
 When all the lying priests of Baal he slew. 
 Or rain from heav'n by pray'rful ardor drew. 
 Pass'd then the site of Acre's ruin'd tow'rs. 
 We sought the pleasant shade of Cyprian bow'rs. 
 And anchor cast beside that island green. 
 Devoted once to Love's lascivious queen. 
 
 " Moie might be told, but Prudence disallows; 
 To her commands the tir'd narrator bows. 
 Yet be it said, full twenty moons, or more, 
 I roam'd a wand'rer from my native shore ; 
 Then joyful back our gallant ship we steer'd. 
 For thoughts of home each sailor's bosom cheer'd ; 
 Quick throbb'd my heart as near that home we drew, 
 Alternate still to love and duty true. 
 
 " In port arriv'd, we anchor'd far from shore ; 
 Far from the birth we occupy'd before. 
 
136 
 
 But you, my friends, 'twere needless to iuform 
 
 What ships, or men, must quarantine perform; 
 
 How interdicted from their native land. 
 
 When from the Straits shall come the venf rous band. ■ 
 
 To such restrictions it is wise, and fit. 
 
 That all Levantine mariners submit. 
 
 Lest that dire plague the Mussulman deplores 
 
 Should desolate Britannia's healthy shores. 
 
 Not long our crew of quarantine complain'd. 
 
 For soon access to friends on shore they gain'd. 
 
 *• When moor'd our ship, to see the crowded beach, 
 From which some push'd the new-come ship to reach. 
 Well recollected by her figur'd head. 
 And painted sides, with yellow streak'd, and red, 
 It gladden'd every eye except my own. 
 Those friends to recognize that each had known. 
 I took my sight-assisting glass, to view 
 That spot belov'd, where first my breath I drew; 
 I saw both mansion door and gate were last. 
 While all the garden seem'd one dreary waste ; 
 The chimney's smoke yet climb'd the breezy air. 
 Which told me some inhabitant was there. 
 
137 
 
 1 watch'd the casement, but no mother view'd. 
 
 Thence looking out with fond solicitude. 
 
 To count what flags might o'er the waters play» 
 
 Or note strange ships that anchored in the bay. 
 
 I mark'd the trees that near the mansion grew; 
 
 Their foliage wore a melancholy hue ; 
 
 Much had been scatter'd by autumnal wind. 
 
 And all was deadly tinted left behind. 
 
 When landing on my native shore I gain'd. 
 
 By leave of health's strict officers obtain'd, 
 
 I left in haste the sea-beat strand, and came 
 
 Where first I lisp'd my honor'd mother's name j 
 
 Anxious to learn, afraid to know her fate, 
 
 1 pass'd impatient through the garden-gate — ■ — 
 
 But there no friend these eager eyes could see; 
 
 'Twas like a lonely wilderness to me. 
 
 No dog was there that once around me hung. 
 
 And fondly lick'd my hand with gentle tongue; 
 
 That oft me welcom'd home, with many a freak. 
 
 And did, to please me, every thing but speak. 
 
 Instead of mine, a surly cur was there. 
 
 That watch'd the stranger with a jealous care ; 
 
1S8 
 
 That, when to lift the door-latch I presum'd, 
 A fierce and threal'ning attitude assum'd; 
 Forbidding look'd, and growling seem'd to say, 
 " Enter thou not ! intruder, go thy way !" 
 I call'd my mother's name : a voice reply'd, 
 ' Thy mother sicken'd long ago, and died ! 
 ' Long has she lain beside thy father brave; 
 * I saw her corpse let down into the grave !' 
 Shock'd at the words, with trembling limbs I trod 
 My foot-steps back, and sought the man of GoD; 
 My rev'rend friend, my counsellor before. 
 He sooth'd some sorrows, bOt he added more. 
 " In his neat study, for I found him there. 
 Smoking, he sat upon his oaken chair; 
 Yet never he to sottishness was prone. 
 To indiscretion as to vice unknown ; 
 Though oft his pipe my worthy pastor took. 
 He drew his bev'rage from a neighb'ring brook. 
 Happier was he to live on simple fare 
 Than those who feast on dainties rich and rare : 
 Celestial peace ! sweet inmate of the mind, 
 Imbu'd with love to God and all mankind, 
 
139 
 
 Dwelt in his heart; to holy musings giv'n. 
 
 He ponder'd much upon the things of heav'n. 
 
 Arrang'd on shelves, around his study stood 
 
 Good choice of books that yielded mental food. 
 
 Open before him his large Bible lay; 
 
 That book was his companion every day ; 
 
 From it he drew supplies that sinners need. 
 
 Of heav'nly food the hungry soul to feed. 
 
 Anticipating all I wish'd to know 
 
 Of that dear woman in the grave laid low, 
 
 Unask'd he told whatever ine coucern'd ; 
 
 Of him the manner of her death I leam'd ; 
 
 Of her bright prospects when she came to di#, '■'^ 
 
 And hope, that bloom'd with immortality; 
 
 For he had pray*d devoutly by her side 
 
 On the sad ev'nihg when my mother died. 
 
 " With fait' ring voifce, too soon the good man said, 
 ' Thy dear Eliza ranks among the dead ! 
 ' Short was the warning to that fair one giv'n, 
 ' And soon her angel spirit pass'd to heav'n. 
 ' Short, short the time, since fun'ral rites I paid, 
 ' O'er the cold relics of that once-lov'd maid ; 
 l3 
 
140 
 
 ' Within the new-made grave reclines her head ; 
 
 * Grows not the green grass yet upon her bed. 
 
 ' Thus health declines, tlius beauty's blooming flow'r, 
 
 * Betimes may fade or perish in an hour. 
 ' Unfading joys, and permanence of love, 
 
 ' Are only known to souls in heav'n above. 
 
 * Yet though to thee 'tis given by times to know 
 ' That man must suffer while he dwells below ; 
 
 ' Though earthly parents both in silence sleep, 
 ' And thou art doom'd for one belov'd to weep ; 
 ' Who, when the icy hand of Death was felt, 
 ' On Donald's name with fond affection dwelt ; 
 ' With her last breath remeniber'd him in pray'r, 
 ' And begg'd of Heav'n his precious life to spare. 
 
 * Still God thy Father lives ! that constant friend, 
 ' To thy sad heart will consolation send. 
 
 ' Lift thou thy thoughts from earthly things : be still, 
 ' And bend submissive to the heav'nly will.' 
 
 " Like the first sire of all the human race, 
 I had to choose me then my resting place ; 
 For in firm land, or fluctuating tide. 
 Lay the whole world before me, fjw and wide ; 
 
141 
 
 Yet him unlike, for partner I had none ; 
 Deaf to my voice was ev'ry loved one. 
 To whom I might, as felt my kindred heart, 
 Utt'rance of sorrow, or of joy, impart. 
 
 " Though change of scene diverts the vacant mind, 
 That leaves its sadness witli the dead behind ; 
 Time's constant lapse alone can lessen grief. 
 The future comes and gives the past relief: 
 While transient woe is like the mill-stream's roar, 
 That foams and passes, and returns no more ; 
 Solemn as some deep river's silent flow 
 Moves on the majesty of real woe ; 
 Its bitterness the soul must long endure. 
 Since Time itself can scarce perform a cure ; 
 For, like the willow tree, alive and strong. 
 That shades the waters as they glide along. 
 And stands perpetual by the moving tides; 
 Deep-rooted sorrow in the heart abides. 
 
 " Thwarted the pleasing prospects once in view. 
 What plan for me, lone wand'rer, to pursue. 
 Was soon resolv'd ; and soon again I left 
 My native land, of dearest friends bereft; 
 
142 
 
 Venf rous I launched upon the stormy deep. 
 Once more the day or midnight watch to keep : 
 And mid the pestilence that walk'd by night. 
 Or plagues devouring in the hot day's light. 
 Unhurt I breath'd contaminated air; 
 Where'er I went, my Saviour God was there; 
 His all-protecting providence my guide, 
 I liv'd, though numbers perish'd by my side. 
 " Me glory tempted with illusive charms; 
 Lur'd by the pomp of war and clang of arms. 
 My country's call I cheerfully obey. 
 And tread the blood-stain'd deck where honor lay; 
 'Mid heaps of slain, and welf ring in his gore, 
 I mark'd the ghastly front that Valor wore : 
 I heard the last heart-cheering words be said ; 
 The death-shot came, he sank among the dead i 
 But who will glory in the rage of fight? 
 Who list to murder's tale with heart delight ? 
 W^ho will count o'er, and yet from tears refrain. 
 War's wounded myriads, or his thousands slain) 
 Who hear loud shouts erf victory nend the skies, >^ uff- 
 Heedless of widows' or of orphans' orie^l 
 
143 
 
 Be who he may, just would be that man's &te 
 If him befell the mis'ries I relate. 
 
 " Yet once like him I now severely blame, 
 My views of war and bloodshed were the same; 
 I thought it right to aim the deadly blow. 
 And rob of life the man mis-nam'd my foe; 
 I thought my country just, as well as strong. 
 And those who die for her could ne'er do wrong. 
 Oft then I said, though misemploy'd my breath, 
 'Tis better seek for honorable death. 
 Than wait till Nature's trembling pow'rs decay. 
 And slow disease shall waste my strength away; 
 Till that pale foe of youth and beauty's bloom, 
 Abhorr'd Consumption, sink me to the tomb ! 
 Who 'd live to find his once high blazon'd fame. 
 And proud acquirements, all an empty name? 
 On Sloth's soft couch who 'd rest supine his head ? 
 Who die inglorious on the pillow'd bed. 
 When War invites with his shrill trumpet's breath 
 To nobler conflict, and to speedier death ? 
 
 " Such were my views, when, prodigal of life, 
 I cast my lot among the men of strife. 
 
144 
 
 Then myriads saw Wrath's crimson flag unfurl'd ; 
 
 Then Discord's torch blaz'd baleful through the world. 
 
 War's thund'ring voice was heard on Gallia's shore, 
 
 While Albion's rocks resounded back the roar : 
 
 Nation with nation strove, and ours with France; 
 
 To fight the foe our " hearts of oak" advance. 
 
 Then near to lost Grenada's isle* we drew; 
 
 The phantom fame, or glory, to pursue. 
 
 Thick mists, that dimm'd young Morning's op'ning eye, 
 
 Conceal'd the war-ships of the enemy ; 
 
 But heav'nward soon the cloudy vapours rise. 
 
 In shadowy grandeur stretch along the skies. 
 
 And ting'd with colors gay, and edg'd with gold. 
 
 Fantastic figures to the eye unfold. 
 
 In splendid pomp ascends the lord of day; 
 
 Glitt'ring on ocean's breast bright sun-beams play. 
 
 In the deep bay,t beside plantations green. 
 
 With top-sails loose, the adverse ships are seen; 
 
 * The French had jast before succeeded iu accomplishing 
 the reduction of that island. 
 
 t St. George's bay, Grenada, where the French fleet lay. 
 
145 
 
 Forth they all come, prepar'd for desp'rate fight; 
 Proudly their lily banners wave in sight: 
 Forth they all come, defying us afar. 
 In all the pomp and confidence of war. 
 High beats the pulse, warm burns the patriot fire 
 That soon must cool, or suddenly expire. 
 Cheering the freshness of the mom's sweet breath. 
 That soon shall vibrate with the sounds of death. 
 Bright shines the sun on flags and heroes brave ; 
 Soon will it shine upon the warrior's grave ! 
 
 " Long ere in sight the lily flags appear,* 
 Preparative for war, the ship we clear; 
 
 * The battle off the island of Grenada, between the British 
 fleet commanded by the Hon. Admiral Byron, and the French 
 under the Count D'Estaing, was fought on the 6th of July, 1779. 
 The narrator was on board the Grafton, which ship suffered se- 
 verely in the action, having had upwards of one hundred men 
 killed and wounded, and being so much damaged as to be obliged 
 to undergo a thorough repair, and to be supplied with new masts 
 and a bowsprit at English harbour, Antigua. — The reader will 
 readily perceive that the narrator principally confines himself to 
 the transactions on board the ship to which he belonged.— For 
 a more particular account of this battle see the note at tlie end. 
 
146 
 
 And countless things, whose names need not be told. 
 
 We throw from deck promiscuous down the hold. 
 
 Aloud the boatswain "Up all hammocks!" cries; 
 
 And * Up all hammocks !' ev'ry mate replies ; 
 
 Lash'd are all haniraocks tight, with cordage strong. 
 
 And on each gunwale pil'd and rang'd along; 
 
 Close fore and aft is stow'd each barrier row. 
 
 To screen the decks from small-arms of the foe. 
 
 With strong link'd chains, aloft to every mast. 
 
 Or extra ropes, the sail-yards are made fast. 
 
 Shot-plugs and mauls the carpenter provides, 
 
 To guard below against inrush ing tides ; 
 
 Shot-holes to stop, or accidents evade, 
 
 'Twixt wind and water should some breach be made. 
 
 Gunner and crew in time examine well 
 
 Each unlash'd cannon down its deep-bor'd cell. 
 
 Loud beats the drum to arms, and, last, " All hands" — 
 
 The boatswain's pipe — " to quarters" quick commands. 
 
 *' Our valiant tars no death forebodings know ; 
 With crowded sails we rush upon the foe : 
 White foams the plough 'd-up sea, and far and wide 
 Spreads its divided undulating tide. 
 
147 
 
 Silonce on board prevails; nought, save the sound 
 Of helmsman's deep-ton'd voice, is heard around ; 
 Unless the breeze shrill through the cordage sung, 
 Or that the troubled waters found a tongue. 
 Dreadful suspense ! such anxious Nature knowS 
 When pending tempests threaten her repose; 
 And such the watching round the sick man's bed. 
 The solemn watching ere the soul be fled. 
 When whispers speak the language of the place. 
 And consternation sits on ev'ry face; 
 Yet in this period of suspended fate 
 On every vet'ran's brow defiance sate 
 Fearless and firm, while heav'n's propelling breatfc 
 Wafted us onward to the scene of death. 
 
 " The hasty foe the sullen silence broke. 
 And in loud wrath and rattling thunder spoke; 
 Quick flash'd red lightning from his guns afar. 
 And the swift shot began the dreadful war! 
 Cautious we steer; haul up or back the sails; 
 Of ev'ry stratagem our chief avails. 
 Pointed the guns, each lighted match at hand; 
 Watchful our vet'rans at their quarters stand; 
 
 M 
 
148 
 
 List'ning we wait, command to fire is giv'u ; 
 
 Soon clouds of smoke obscure the face of tieav'n. 
 Black horrors thicken round the blood-staiu'd tide ; 
 On war's dark storm the fiends of havoc ride ; 
 Prepond'rate there fate's mighty balance hung. 
 While life's last words expir'd on many a tongue. 
 Tremble the wounded masts! the sails on high. 
 Clue-lines, and blocks, in shatter'd fragments fly ; 
 Revengeful fury fir'd our gallant crew. 
 As nearer to the hostile ships we drew. 
 Oh ! who could see his countrymen expire. 
 And answer not the foe's destructive fire? 
 Soon, soon our decks were strew'd and delug'd o'er 
 With mangled members, and with human gore ; 
 Soon, soon our wounded claim'd the surgeon's aid, 
 And to the gloomy cockpit were convey'd; 
 Soon at his post fell many a hero brave. 
 To death devoted, and a wat'ry grave ! 
 I heard the dying groans of some who fell; 
 The battle's thund'ring peal'd their dreadful knelL 
 O painful thought ! no burial pray'r was read. 
 No holy ritual for the untimely dead ; 
 
U9 
 
 To the grim monsters of the briny maia 
 
 We throw the limbless corses of the slain ! 
 
 One-half to tell of this unblest of hours 
 
 Demands than mine a tongue of ampler pow'rs; 
 
 Yet fresh to me appears the tragic scene, 
 
 Though long-revolving years have past between ; 
 
 And faithful mem'ry still recalls the time 
 
 When fell one friend, cut off in manhood's prime I 
 
 When the mad tumult of the battle o'er, 
 
 And its loud thunder ceas'd awhile to roar ; 
 
 From decks with ruins strew'd I went below. 
 
 Anxious his state, whom most I lov'd, to know ; 
 
 As some riven tree uprooted by the storm. 
 
 Prostrate I found his mutilated form; 
 
 From his sore wounds ran life's fast ebbing tide ; 
 
 He grasp'd my hand — ' farewell!' the sufTrer cried: 
 
 His last word pierc'd my soul, no more he said; 
 
 W' ith that expressive word his spirit fled ! 
 
 To me, when life's past dangers I review. 
 
 That dire catastrophe is ever new ; 
 
 Nor shall I e'er, till mem'ry 's poAv'rs decay. 
 
 And this which throbs within me dies away. 
 
150 
 
 The painful scene forget; there death appears, 
 And sounds of anguish still assail my ears. 
 Though the fall'n warrior then forgot his woes, 
 And honor's bed insur'd his long repose; 
 Yet now, ev'n now I seem to see him bleed. 
 And hear death-groans to parting words succeed. 
 
 " Escap'd unharm'd that sanguinary fight, 
 I gaz'd with horror on the cheerless sight : 
 Our shatter'd ship was like a wreck afloat; 
 Daraag'd her hull, and masts, and ev'ry boat; 
 O'er poop and forecastle, and quarter-deck. 
 Were strew'd the ruins of the battle's wreck ; 
 There useless geer mid blood and carnage lay. 
 Not soon the bloody stains were wash'd away. 
 I felt for gallant shipmates who were slain. 
 And some surviving but to live in pain. 
 With limbs lopt ofl^, and maim'd and wounded sore. 
 Unfit for actual service evermore. 
 I smote ray breast ! with grief then agoniz'd. 
 And thus exclaim'd, nor be my friends surpriz'd : 
 ' Oh, when will man's destructive wrath subside, 
 • And peace expanding like the ocean wide, 
 
161 
 
 ' The world embrace? When be dispers'd afar 
 
 ' Tlie cruel people who delight in war? 
 
 ' Yet, King of kings ! thou makest wars to cease, 
 
 ' And thou wilt reign, Almighty Prince of Peace'.* 
 
 Too soon inur'd to blood, too soon I found 
 
 Those softer feelings of the soul lose ground; 
 
 For still war's bloody bus'ness was pursu'd, 
 
 And oft, in vain, the conflict dire renew'd ; 
 
 In vain I say, for unavailing still 
 
 The chieftain's courage, or consunnnate skill. 
 
 In vain the dreadful warfare was maintain'd ; 
 
 No laurels there on either side were gain'd.* 
 
 Though most immense the waste of human life 
 
 In this dread work of indecisive strife ; 
 
 There mortal sickness too unmann'd the brave. 
 
 And thousands sank in silence to the grave; 
 
 * Alludiug to several battles which were fought in the Carib- . 
 bean seas, between the British and Fieneh tleets, and in each of 
 which but little advantage could be claimed on either side, pre- 
 vious to that decisive victory gained by Admiral Rodney's fleet 
 over that commanded by the Count De Grasse, on the 12th of. 
 April, 1782. ' 
 
152 
 
 For in that sultry clime the wind's foul breath 
 Oft spread disease, and blew the gale of death ! 
 At Gros islet,* you both may know the bay. 
 Where British war-fleets oft at anchor lay ; 
 There oft we sent our invalids ashore; 
 There rest their bones, for they return'd no more ! 
 
 " When eighteen moons had shone with glory bright,t 
 And pour'd through Tropic climes their radiant light. 
 Shedding soft lustre round those verdant isles. 
 Where Spring perpetual reigns, and Summer smiles ; 
 Re-crossing then tli' Atlantic deeps, I came 
 Where yet liv'd some rememb'ring Donald's name ; 
 Where still surviv'd my minister and friend. 
 With him most glad some pleasing time to spend j 
 With him awhile at his request I staid ; 
 His friendly call I never disobey'd. 
 
 * A bay of the island of St. Lncia, wliich was then the prin- 
 ripal place of reudezvous for the Britisli ships of war. 
 
 t The moon in those tropical climates displays much brighter 
 radiance than in Europe. 
 
155 
 
 " Six summer suns their cheering light have shed; 
 Six winters' storms have liowl'd around my head. 
 Since those events — what I have known or seen 
 The lapse of intervening time between 
 Need not be told — permit me yet to say, 
 Not unimprov'd that time hath pass'd away; 
 Unnuraber'd mercies have to me been giv'n ; 
 And these not least of all the gifts of Heav'n, 
 To lighten cares and ease life's weight of woe, 
 Rare worth and friendship, such as yours, to know. 
 Slid health's decline, and Nature's sinking pow'rs. 
 With you lov'd friends, were pass'd my happiest hours; 
 And though I feel all flesh supporters fail. 
 And slow diseases o'er my strength prevail; 
 I wait the workings of the Heav'nly will: 
 * Faint, yet pursuing,' is my motto still. 
 And thanks to God, who consolation gives, 
 I know my Saviour, my Redeemer, lives : 
 And tliough sea-monsters may destroy this skin. 
 Yet I have hope, immortal hope within ; 
 That hope, which proves when sorrow's high seas roll. 
 The strong sheet-anchor of the lieav'n-born soul ! 
 
134 
 
 I woirid, my friends, of Christ our Saviour tell. 
 And on his kindness long enraptur'd dwell; 
 Delightful theme ! it shall my song inspire. 
 Though mortal weakness checks the kindling fire; 
 Yet soon, mid heav'n's harmonious choirs above. 
 The voice that speaks shall chaunt the hymn of love* 
 
 " Though few my days below, and evil giv'n. 
 Eternal day will be the day of heav'n ; 
 Soon faith and hope shall yield, and ev'ry pray'r. 
 And each fond wish, to full enjoyment there. 
 Parental spirits there will bless my eyes. 
 And hail me tvelcome to the blissful skies. 
 That angel, too, long inmate of this heart ; 
 She, she will meet me, never more tapart! 
 And there, O bliss supreme ! there shall I see 
 That Lamb of God, once crucify'd for me! 
 Such friends to meet around th* Eternal's throne. 
 And each to know, as each will then be known ; 
 With such society to dwell at rest; 
 Living to bless, to be for ever bless'd ! 
 O pleasing thought ! well may it now bestow 
 Foretaste of Heav'n's felicity below ! 
 
155 
 
 " Yet, prison'd soul! yet why thus ling'ring stay 7 
 Lo! kindred spirits beckon thee away. 
 The Saviour calls, death's louring clouds dispart; 
 The peace of God yields calmness to the heart. 
 Cloudless, O Sun of Righteousness, arise ! 
 Open, eternal gates of Paradise ! 
 Visions of bliss ! to seraph's gaze that shine, 
 Unfold your charms, your prospects all divine ! 
 Green tree of life ! with healing fruitage hung, 
 For men of ev'ry clime and ev'ry tongue ! 
 Delightful walks, by mortal feet untrod ! 
 Pure river, flowing from the throne of God ! 
 Hail, visions bright! by heav'n-bound spirits seen 
 From that drear isthmus, death and life between. 
 Hark! how sweet music warbles on the ear; 
 It may be hymning angels hover near; 
 They, guardian ministers ! are always nigh, 
 Though unperceiv'd by earthly pilgrim's eye ; 
 Yet, whensoe'er celestial sight is giv'n. 
 It shall behold the shining ones of heav'n.'* 
 
 The Caledonian said, nor said in vain; 
 Listen'd his friends with pleasure and with pain; 
 Their grief and joy alternately express'd. 
 By one belov'd so feelingly address'd. 
 
156 
 
 Sorrowing they mark'd their much-enduring friend 
 So near the confines of life's journey's end; 
 But glad to find beneath Affliction's rod. 
 He felt such hope and confidence in God. 
 
 Author of life! will earth-born joy subside. 
 Sure as shall ebb the ocean's rising tide? 
 Will beauty's rose-bud, rip'ning to decay. 
 Sure as the rainbow's lustre fade away? 
 Must nights of sorrow and of sufF'ring come ? 
 And will the tongue of eloquence be dumb? 
 Will pale disease the bloom of health destroy? 
 Must the time be when no sweet sounds of joy 
 Shall charm the ear? when dim will be the eye? 
 •And mirth and music pass unheeded by ? 
 Will " earth Jo earth" succeed each worldling's plan? 
 Sad ne plus ultra to the pride of man ! 
 Must fond desires all fail, and to the grave 
 Descend alike the coward and the brave ? 
 And is all vanity beneath the sun 
 That heart e'er wish'd, or hands have ever done ? 
 Supremely wise then Henderson, who trod 
 The path to heav'n, and serv'd the living God! 
 
 END OF THE THIRD PatRT. 
 
Kote* 
 
 Observations of the Author relative to the Battle alluded 
 to, and partly described by, Donald Henderson: 
 
 THE cockpit, after tlie firing had ceased on board 
 the Grafton, was truly a scene of horror! I went below to see 
 some wounded friends : on the cockpit ladder sat a man whom 
 I had employed to write for me occasionally in my oiBce ; his 
 right hand had been shot off; he lifted up the stump, which 
 had been dressed, and said, " Oh! Mr. W, I shall never bo 
 able to write for you any more !" But the dreadful exhibition 
 in the cockpit and the cable tiers, where lay the desperately 
 wounded, some of them weltering in their blood and expuing, 
 surpasses all description : such impressive scenes cannot soon 
 be forgotten! Even now I seem to hear the cries of the 
 wounded, and the groans of the dying. Many bled to death 
 that day for want of timely assistance ! That was the case with 
 Mr. Anthony, an aide-de-camp of the captain : I was standing 
 close by him, abaft tilie binnacle on the quarter-deck : it was 
 before a shot had been fired from our ship : the enemy's shot 
 were then flying, and whizzing over our heads. Some of our 
 men wlio had not been in action before, bent their heads on 
 
158 
 
 liearing so anusual and horrible a sound. Capt Collingwood, 
 who knew not what fear was liimself, and did not like to ob- 
 serve the symptoms of it in others, said rather sternly, " No 
 dodging.'' The command was no sooner repeated by Mr. 
 Anthony, than his thigh was taken off by a cannon-ball : he 
 w as immediately carried down to the cockpit, but the tourni- 
 quet was not applied in time, and he did not survive the loss 
 of blood. Our surgeon was a very skilful man, but he could 
 not accomplish what was impossible : he had too much w ork 
 on liis hands that day, and very little assistance. We had then 
 but one surgeon's mate on board, and he was too ignorant of 
 his profession to render much service. Our wounded men 
 sustained a very great loss by the absence of the other mate, 
 ray worthy friend, Mr. Rice Williams, who, I hope, is still 
 living for the comfort of his family connexions, and the benefit 
 of all who may need his assistance, in the neighbourhood of 
 Aberystwith. He unfortunately was then on shore at St Lucia, 
 taking care of our sick; had he been on board, I am persuaded 
 we should not have lost so many of our wounded men. His 
 skilful ability and humane attentions gained him the esteem 
 and confidence of all who had the pleasure of his acquaintance. 
 I can speak feelingly on this subject, having myself been much 
 benefited by his kindness and professional skill when sufiering 
 from splinter wounds received in a subsequent action; and I 
 have not unfrequently seen the eye of the sick, and of the 
 wounded, brighten at his approach. 
 
139 
 
 We had several men killed and wounded on the quarter- 
 deck besides Mr. Anthony. 1 remember one in particular 
 who was thrown overboard by myself and our first lieutenant, 
 (now Admiral Savage:) he was a corporal of marines, and had 
 his head siiot ofl' at the commencement of the action. If the 
 reader should inquire, what were the feelings of the writer at 
 such an eventful lime? he may rest assured they were not of 
 the most agreeable kind. It is not very pleasant to stand still 
 to be shot at! I>cing then captain's clerk of the Grafton, it 
 Avas my province to take minutes of the action, and to look 
 out for signals on board the repeating ship ; but happily for 
 me we were soon inveloped in such a cloud of smoke as not 
 to be able to discern distant objects. I had then permission 
 to attend one of the quarter-deck guns, and found my mind 
 considerably relieved by more active employment. 
 
 The sacrifice of human lives, however necessary it may 
 be deemed on some occasions, is at all times to be lamented, 
 especially when such sacrifice is not productive of real advan- 
 tage. And unless it were needful to enlarge tlie dominions 
 of the grave, and to multiply repositories for its inhabitants, 
 the capture of West-India islands, by European forces, is the 
 greatest absurdity imaginable. It is playing at a dangerous 
 game, in which the winner will in all probabiUty become the 
 loser, for as much as he is likely to fall a sacrifice to the un- 
 healthiuess of the climate. The French had attacked Grenada 
 with a powerful force, and the object of the British admiral 
 
160 
 
 Iras to frustrate tlieir intentions; for which purpose he sailed 
 from St. Lucia with a fleet, consisting of 21 sail of the line, 
 some of them indeed of the smaller rates, and a number of 
 troop ships under convoy, in the expectation that Lord 
 M'Cartney would have been enabled to hold out till the arrival 
 of the intended reinforcements ; but on nearing the island, we 
 found the enemy to be in full possession of it ! added to which 
 disappointment the French fleet was discovered to be much 
 more formidable than had been expected, and so considerably 
 strengthened by arrivals from Europe, as to consist of Ave sail 
 of the line more than ours, besides several large frigates. The 
 enemy having notice of our approach, quitted his anchorage 
 in St. George's bay, and formed witliout, in a regular line of 
 battle, while our fleet could not recover from the coufrision 
 and irregularity which the signal for a general chase had 
 thrown it into, till too late ; consequently the few ships which 
 sailed faster than others bore the brunt of the battle ; among 
 them the Grafton was the most severely handled, having re- 
 ceived the fire of every one of the enemy's ships from the 
 headmost to the stemmost in passing their line. The Prince 
 of Wales, Cornwall, Lion, and Monmouth, were also much 
 damaged, wliile many of our ships were too far tu windward 
 •itber to support us, or to annoy the enemy. 
 
 Wood and Co. 
 City TuaMngJOace, Batk. 
 
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