ly by rough greetings and jeers
whenever a new squad of blue jackets was thrust in among them,
would have commanded the admiration of the evil dwellers in Milton's
Pandemonium.

This arbitrary measure failed of success. The kidnapped sailors, on the
following day, were separately examined in the presence of the mate of
the brig, but no reasons were found for detaining a single individual.

A few days after this occurrence, Captain Tilton told me he had sold
the brig Dolphin to a Captain Turner, of New York, a worthy man and his
particular friend; that Captain Turner intended proceeding immediately
to some neutral port in the West Indies. The non-intercourse act, at
that time, prohibited all trade to places belonging to either of the
great belligerent powers. He also said he had made no arrangements in
regard to himself; that he was undecided what course to pursue, and
might remain on shore for months. Anxious, however, to promote my
interest by procuring me active employment, he had stipulated with
Captain Turner that I should have "a chance" in the Dolphin, on her
next voyage, before the mast. I had not a word to say against this
arrangement, but gave my cheerful consent, especially as it was
represented that Captain Turner would "treat me with kindness, and help
me along in the world."

I was thus unceremoniously dismissed by Captain Tilton from his charge.
Under the plea of promoting my interest, he had procured me a situation
before the mast in an old, leaky vessel, which he had got rid of because
she was not seaworthy, and commanded by a man of whose character he was
entirely ignorant. I expressed gratitude to my kinsman for his
goodness, notwithstanding I had secret misgivings in regard to his
disinterestedness, and signed with alacrity "the articles" with Captain
Turner. A new and interesting scene in the drama of life was about to
open, and I looked forward with impatience to the rising of the curtain.

The brig was laden with a cargo of lumber, rice, and provisions, and her
destination was Cayenne, on the coast of Guiana. In January, 1810, we
left the wharf in Charleston, and proceeded down the harbor. The wind
was light, but the tide ebbed with unusual velocity, sweeping us rapidly
on our way. We had nearly reached the bar when it suddenly became calm.
The brig lost steerage way, and the current was setting towards the
shoals. The pilot, aware of the danger, called out, "Let go the anchor!"

The order was