The time had come that comes to all! There was no loyal
voice to respond to the familiar call, the hatches had closed
over him, his boat was sold to another, and he had left not a
trace behind. We could not find out even where he was buried.
Mr. Richard Brown, of Marblehead, our chief mate in the Alert,
commanded many of our noblest ships in the European trade,
a general favorite. A few years ago, while stepping on board
his ship from the wharf, he fell from the plank into the hold
and was killed. If he did not actually die at sea, at least
he died as a sailor, - he died on board ship.
Our second mate, Evans, no one liked or cared for, and I know
nothing of him, except that I once saw him in court, on trial
for some alleged petty tyranny towards his men, - still a subaltern
officer.
The third mate, Mr. Hatch, a nephew of one of the owners, though only
a lad on board the ship, went out chief mate the next voyage, and rose
soon to command some of the finest clippers in the California and
India trade, under the new order of things, - a man of character,
good judgment, and no little cultivation.
Of the other men before the mast in the Alert, I know nothing of
peculiar interest. When visiting, with a party of ladies and
gentlemen, one of our largest line-of-battle ships, we were
escorted about the decks by a midshipman, who was explaining
various matters on board, when one of the party came to me and
told me that there was an old sailor there with a whistle round
his neck, who looked at me and said of the officer, "he can't show
him anything aboard a ship." I found him out, and, looking into
his sunburnt face, covered with hair, and his little eyes drawn
up into the smallest passages for light, - like a man who had
peered into hundreds of northeasters, - there was old "Sails"
of the Alert, clothed in all the honors of boatswain's-mate.
We stood aside, out of the cun of the officers, and had a good
talk over old times.
