A Reminiscence of a Scene on Board a Man-of-War
The incident recorded by Usher Parsons, surgeon, U. S. Navy, serving on board the U.S.S. Guerridre (2d), having the title The Avenger of Blood, occurred about September 16, 1818. The commanding officer, the renowned Captain Thomas Macdonough of Lake Erie fame, reported the arrival of the Guerridre at Cronstadt on that date. The ship touched at that port to disembark the Honorable George W. Campbell, American minister to Russia.
Dr. Parsons was born on August 18, 1788, in the town of Alfred, York County, Maine, and was the author of nearly sixty publications, most, but not all, of which were on subjects connected with the medical profession. Captain F. L. Pleadwell, (M.C.), U. S. Navy, who has given much attention to historical research, contributed an account of Dr. Parson’s life to the U. S. Naval Medical Journal, Vol 17, No. 3. In this pamphlet Dr. Pleadwell said:
Some other published writings less known…attest his permanent interest in his naval reminiscences…In 1840 he published in the Knickerbocker Magazine a story, “The Avenger of Blood,” founded on an incident which occurred on board the Guerridre in 1818. In 1850 he helped to agitate the question of the abolition of flogging in the Navy, and wrote a pungent article on the subject for a New York newspaper. In 1862 he contributed to the New England Historical and Genealogical Register brief sketches of officers who were in the battle of Lake Erie.
Elliot Snow Rear Admiral (C.C.), U. S. Navy
’Twas in a dark, tempestuous night, that the frigate Guerridre ploughed her way through the Gulf of Finland, rolling and plunging at the sport of every billow, as it dashed its spray over her deck. The incessant creaking and groaning of the ship’s joints at every surge, were occasionally interrupted by the hoarse sound of the officer’s trumpet, or the shrill pipe of the boatswain, and the tramp of men running with the halyards.
“Steward,” said the caterer of the wardroom, as he entered it from deck, “invite down all the officers of the mess about the galley, and all others that can be spared from duty. Tell them it is Saturday night; and mind ye, have ready the large can of whiskey-punch, piping hot, and materials for replenishing it.”
, The social board was soon surrounded, each mess-mate steadying himself in his chair, as the ship rolled from side to side, by embracing a leg of the table between his knees. The customary toast for Saturday evenings, “To sweethearts and wives,” was drunk with the usual sigh of fond recollection; and then followed the enlivening song and mirthful story.
“There is some fun,” said the sailing- master, “in that pilot who joined us at Copenhagen. If we could but get the Russian down from deck, he would make sport enough for us, in his broken English.”
“We’ll have him then,” replied the first lieutenant. “Steward, ask the pilot to join us; and, look ye, have less noise in that gunroom when you return.” The wardroom servants, who occupied the adjoining apartment, had evidently followed us in circulating the Saturday evening glass.
Presently, the rough, weather-beaten pilot appeared at the table, and turning his mustaches right and left, to open a way for the glass, he soon made up in speed what he lacked in time; and readily overtook us in the convivial race; nor did he fail to confirm the sailing-master’s opinion of his mirth-moving powers. Little did he dream of the transition his feelings were soon to undergo. But I anticipate.
It is very common on board war-vessels, on pleasant evenings, for officers to stand within listening distance of the men about the forecastle, to over-hear, as it were unobserved, the songs and jests of the jolly sons of Neptune. In like manner, the noise from the servants’ room had drawn the purser from the table to listen to their sport. After a time, he returned, with an expression of countenance that betokened astonishment at something he had overheard.
“Gentlemen,” said he, in a low tone, “one of our servants is a pirate!”
“Pirate!” exclaimed the company. “Yes,” answered the purser, “a Bara- tarian pirate, who was convicted, and subsequently pardoned by President Monroe; and he is now giving an account of his atrocities to the other servants.”
“By Saint Nevski!” exclaimed the Russian pilot, “dat is no vay de Emperor treats de pirates. He vould send dem to Siberia, to be knouted and den hunged!”
“Let us,” resumed the purser, “have the rascal out here, and make him describe some of his piracies.”
To this proposition all agreed; and John Smith, for such was his name, real or fictitious, was called forth, to entertain us with a story from real life. All eyes were arrested by the expression of his countenance as he approached the table, and each one would have been slow to suspect him of piracy, so innocent were his looks.
The first lieutenant began his interrogatories in a calm and serious manner, and grave tone of voice, remarking that he wished to know some of the particulars of the piracies committed by him and others, for which he was tried and condemned. With a look of astonishment at our knowing anything of his career, John hesitated.
“Go on!” said the lieutenant, “go on! we know you have been pardoned, and therefore you have nothing to fear from us. Let us hear the whole story.”
John began, as might be supposed, with a disclaimer of his own guilt, in the outset; alleging his ignorance of the designs of the band with whom he enlisted, until it was too late to extricate himself. He then recounted several of their piratical adventures, some of which were detected, and led to their capture and trial. By this time he had become easy and communicative, and desirous to gratify our excited curiosity and interest in his stories. “But there was one act,” continued he, ‘“that never came to light, which was worse than all the rest.”
“Let us have it, John, out with it!” “Well,” continued John, “it so happened we fell in with a Russian ship, bound to Mexico, and boarded her. The captain, who was a brave fellow, resisted our search for money. We thereupon knocked out his brains with a handspike, and (oh, it makes me shudder to think of it!) we then killed every man on board; and after plundering all we could carry away, we scuttled the ship, and set fire to her.”
“Vot Russian ship vas dat?” interrupted the pilot, impatient to learn whether he had ever any knowledge of her.
“It was, Sir,” replied John, “the ship Orloff. Captain Nicholas Potowsky.”
“Mine Got!” exclaimed the pilot, with clenched hands, and a quivering lip, “it vas my brodder! Villain! Murderer!—it vas my brodder Nicholas! You shall be put in irons, and hunged, ven dis ship arrives at Cronstadt! I vill see de captain dis very night. O Nicholas! You vas not drowned den, ship and all, as ve always supposed!” The pilot now rose from the table to seek the captain, but was unable to pass the sentinel stationed at the cabin door. Meantime, John Smith was hurried down into the coal-pit, in a dark comer of the vessel, and was there confined out of sight, during the pilot’s stay on board, which however was short, as we soon landed at Cronstadt. It was reported that he applied to the authorities there to take John out of the ship, but was told that, the Guerriere being a national armed vessel, nothing of the kind could be done. John therefore escaped due punishment, till we arrived at the next port, which was in Sicily, where, expecting another trial for his life, he immediately deserted, and was never more heard of.
The striking incidents of this narrative, the reader will perceive, are the perpetration of a murder in the Gulf of Mexico, and its first disclosure in the Gulf of Finland, nearly on the opposite side of the globe; and then to the brother of the victim, by the murderer himself. The whole savors so much of fiction, that the writer thinks it well to state that he was a surgeon of the ship at the time, and knows the material facts to be as he has here related them.