As well as I can remember, it was on New Year’s Day, 1862, that I went aboard the Nashville.

I reported to the officer of the deck, and told him that I had been ordered by Captain Pegram to come aboard for duty. I was turned over to the boatswain, who told me to go down into the “foksle.” Up to this time I was supposed to be, what I appeared to be, a sailor. As a matter of fact my experience in nautical affairs had been confined to sailing miniature yachts on the Serpentine in Hyde Park, but I thought I had considerable theoretical knowledge obtained from the romances of Marryatt and Chamier, and Dana’s excellent book: “Two Years Before the Mast.”

Following my conductor, Mr. Sawyer, I tumbled down the “companion,” and found myself in as pleasant a place for being uncomfortable, as any one could desire.

The foksle, or forecastle, was about ten feet long, about five feet six inches high, and about ten feet broad aft, and six feet forward. The lack of height was an advantage to me, as when the vessel rolled I could hold on with my head and have my hands at liberty. On each side of the forecastle were the bunks or “rabbit hutches” for the crew. In the centre was a small table supported against the windlass bitt, a heavy piece of timber which passed through the forecastle. Around the bitt were hung a number of one-pronged forks, notched knives, and battered spoons, matching each other in only one thing—dirt. Twelve o’clock or “eight bells” rang, and the crew came down to dinner. There were but eight seamen on the Nashville, and they represented almost as many different nations. There was an Irishman, and a Belgian, a North Carolinian and a Swede, a fat Cockney Englishman and a Frenchman, a Scotchman and a Spaniard. I found them to be mean, treacherous and obscene, and I shall say no more about them than is absolutely necessary. The dinner on the first day will serve as a sample of our usual diet, and of the crew’s habitual behavior. First, there was a scramble for the knives, forks and spoons; then a greasy boy brought down a large dish containing roast beef and potatoes, and dumped it on the deck. The men clustered around the dish. One of them seized the meat with his left hand, hacked off a large piece with the dull knife in his right, clutched a handful of potatoes out of the dish, and then retired to a quiet corner with his prey. Each of the others did the same. When my turn came I had no appetite, and, until I left Southampton, my custom was to make up in town for my enforced abstinence aboard ship. The food was good in itself, and there was plenty of it, but it was wretchedly served, as I have mentioned. A bunk was assigned me, but I did not sleep much that first night. The next morning I went to Mr. Sawyer, the boatswain, and asked him for something to do. He proceeded to question me, found that I knew nothing of a sea-faring life, and told me very frankly that I was not worth my salt. However, he furnished me with a bucket and some soap, and told me to go to work and scour the paint. When I had amused myself with this for some hours, I was given a rag and told to polish up the brass-work. This ended, I occupied myself in sweeping decks and cleaning out spittoons. This was about the daily routine of my life on the Nashville. Usually only one man was on watch at night, and this part of the duty I found reasonably pleasant, as I could ensconce myself in the pilot house and read a novel to pass away the time, when I was not required on deck. The officers, especially the younger ones, were not particularly careful to return aboard at the appointed time, and I suppose that the dignified Solicitor of the Western Union Telegraph Company, Mr. Clarence Cary, has forgotten how I have connived at his slipping aboard, over the rail, when he had stayed in town longer than was good for him. Every day or two I was allowed to go ashore in the evening, and, leaving my sailor garb behind me, I led, for a few hours, a pleasant life in town. Mr. Sawyer, the boatswain, was very indignant one night, because he took off his hat and made me a profound bow, fancying that I was some distinguished visitor.

I think it was early in January, 1862, that a little commotion was caused by the report that the United States sloop-of-war Tuscarora had anchored in Southampton Water, and that Captain Craven, who was in command, had announced his intention to take the Nashville into either New York or Boston. Neither of these ports was our destination. Besides the eight seamen on the Nashville, we had about thirty firemen and coal-heavers, and in officers we were particularly rich, having, besides the Captain and Executive Officer, a Sailing-master, Purser, Doctor and seven Midshipmen. The men went ashore as often as they could obtain leave, or steal off unobserved, and the Tuscarora’s men did the same.

There was a Music Hall at Southampton in those days, known as the “Rainbow” or the “Wheat Sheaf,” which, being cheap and warm, was a favorite resort with us. The entertainment was not of a high order, but it answered the purpose. The sympathies of the Southampton people were unquestionably with the Confederates, and the Tuscarora’s men were thought very little of. They had a hard time of it. When they went to the “Rainbow,” any of the Nashville’s men who happened to be there was sure to call out for the “Bonnie Blue Flag” or “Dixie,” which was instantly played with the full force of the small orchestra, amid the hurrahs of the audience. But if the Tuscarora’s men ventured to suggest “Yankee Doodle” or “Hail Columbia,” they were hooted down incontinently. Consequently, fights were frequent, and, as the newspapers were friendly to us, the “Yankees” were always the aggressors, and were always the unfortunates to be locked up for the night, and lectured and fined by the magistrate in the morning. I must admit that we generally brought on the row ourselves, but, when it was over, and the wrong men had been put in the station house, we had the satisfaction of going down to the Nashville, singing lustily and giving cheer after cheer for the Southern Confederacy and Jeff Davis.

In the meantime, Captain Pegram had been in correspondence with the English Government, with regard to the threatening attitude of the Tuscarora, and it was announced officially that neither vessel would be allowed to leave Southampton within twenty-four hours after the departure of the other. This was kind, for, although there were many rumors concerning our armament, we really had but two guns, (12 pound Blakeley’s) which had been lent to Captain Pegram by Governor Pickens, of South Carolina. Soon rumors came that we were about to sail in real earnest, and popular curiosity was so stimulated that crowds of persons came down from London to take a look at “the pirate.” Many of them were disappointed at our peaceful appearance, but most of them agreed that the vessel was appropriately painted black. The Nashville was now hauled to the outer dock, and the authorities were notified that we were ready to sail. The appointed day was February 3, 1862, and thousands of persons, including many of our warm Southampton friends, thronged the docks. Amid cheers and waving handkerchiefs and cordial Godspeeds, the Nashville, at about half-past 3 o’clock in the afternoon, under a full head of steam, glided out into Southampton Water. Passing rapidly down the channel, the Confederate flag flying at the fore and mainmast, we saw lying off Osborne our old enemy, the Tuscarora, with steam up, but alongside was lying the British frigate Shannon, fully prepared to have a word to say, if Captain Craven should attempt to sail before the appointed time. This was some comfort to us, and we were soon gently rising and falling on the waves of the broad Atlantic.

I will give, at this place, some verses that I wrote at the time, and which used to be sung aboard. The air, as well as I remember, was very much like one that I had heard at the “Rainbow.”

THE NASHVILLE DIXIE.

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