different from what they now are.

The contrast between

the motion of a vessel on the water and that of a waggon over such a rough road is very great. The jolting of the waggon proved very unfavorable to us in our weak state. The free masons paid particular attention to my master. He was immediately confined to his bed and placed under the care of a physician. Though weak and without appetite, I was with difficulty able to keep about. My two uncles who were captured with me at Charleston, had gone in a cartel directly to Philadelphia. During the time that Boston had been occupied by the British troops (1774, 1776,) a gentleman by the name of Drown, an inhabitant of Boston, but with his family removed to Epping, N. H. where he resided in the house of my uncle Johnson. Having formed an intimate acquaintance with grandmother, he had learned that she had two sons and a grandson on board the Ranger. Having ascertained that part of the Ranger's crew had returned to Boston, Mr. Drown (now residing in Boston) made diligent inquiry after us. He called at the house of Mr. Cox, while I was at an apothecary's shop, and gave information that my father was no more! My master deeply afflicted, requested Mrs. Cox to inform me rather than to communi cate the distressing intelligence himself. On my return Mrs. Cox took me into another apartment, and with much sympathy made known to me the matter. My readers can better judge of my feelings than I can express them. I having passed some time in tears and reflection, went into my master's chamber. He readily perceived that I had received the heart rending intelligence, and was himself quite affected. Said he, "Andrew you have met with a great loss, I am very sorry for you; I don't know how it will turn with me but I hope you won't leave me. I suppose you are desirous to get home, but I am unwil ling to part with you. I have no child and if I should live and you will live with me, I will make you my son, and will endeavour to make a man of you. I am now looking for Mrs. Powers every day; I hope you won't leave me Andrew. If I should live I will do all I can for you." This friendly address much affected me. I loved the man and although I had a great desire to get home, I C2

could not leave him. His time however was short. think he died the next day or the day after. I was much grieved for the loss of such a kind and faithful friend. He was indeed a father to me. I was now a poor orphan not yet fifteen years old, without relatives or acquaintance in Boston, sick and without money. But the Lord has always been very gracious in raising friends for me. Mr. and Mrs. Cox felt much for me and endeavoured to comfort me. They thought I had better try to get home. Mr. Cox said there was no coaster in from Portsmouth, at that time, and that there might not be any in for a week or more; that if I should set out by land, I should probably get some assistance in my journey along. The distance to Portsmouth was about 60 miles.

The day after my master's death, by Mr. Cox's direction, I placed his clothing &c. in his chest, locked it and took the key to carry to Mrs. Powers.

Mr. Cox gave me five or six paper dollars, and his best counsel and wishes. The tears flowed plentifully from Mrs. Cox's eyes, while in broken accents she gave me her benediction. I set out in the fore part of the day, (Mrs. Powers arrived in the evening.) With my little budget I stalked down to the ferry just as the ferryman had arrived from the opposite shore. My meagre appearance immediately excited his attention, and ascertaining I was from prison, and that I wished to cross the ferry, he went directly over with me without waiting for any other passenger, gave me my passage and his best wishes. My complaint had now become a confirmed dysentery, and I found myself poorly able to travel; I had not walked a mile before I was obliged to lay down under a shade, by the road side, in great pain. After a while the pain in some measure abated, and such extreme debility succeeded, that I felt great difficulty in attempting to walk again, and feared I should never get home. A train of melancholy reflections overwhelmed my mind; I wept, I wept bitterly. My father was dead, my master (a second father,) was no more. I could remember the sympathy which he had expressed for me, but could profit nothing by it at this time.

I was in pain. I knew not whether I could rise on my

feet, or if I could rise whether I could walk. Having wept until my tears were exhausted, my bosom would again and again swell with sorrow. I cannot now say, whether in all this conflict, I attempted to pray. I how ever attempted to rise and with difficulty succeeded, picked up my little budget and slowly pursued my journey. I had walked quite too fast from the ferry, and too far without resting. I now walked cautiously and rested frequently. As I was passing a house in Lime, I was noticed by a woman who stood in her door; she came imme diately into the road to me, asked me a few questions, and insisted upon my going into the house. We were met at the door by another tender hearted mother; they had one or both of them a son or sons in the army. I being seated they stood over me and wept freely.

The best which their house afforded was at my service, I partook sparingly of such refreshment as they prescribed. In the presence of those ladies, I put off the effeminate mourner. My spirits were considerably revived, and I found that by walking slowly and resting frequently, I could make the best progress; that night I got to Newell's tavern in Lime, at that time one of the most celebrated taverns in New England, I think the old gentle'man's name was Timothy, he was lame in one hand. He gratuitously entertained me and gave me good counsel.

The next day I had an opportunity of riding several miles in the bottom of a chaise, in which two gentlemen were riding and put up at the Bell tavern in Danvers. In about seven or eight days I arrived at Portsmouth; there I found my mother a widow having only two of her chil dren with her, Betsey, about twelve years old and Sally, her youngest, about one. My brother Thomas had sailed for the West Indies in December, with Capt. Peter Shores in a small vessel; Capt. Stackpole and Capt. Jones had each of them sailed in company with Capt. Shores. They had now been gone long enough to have made two voyages to the West Indies, but there was no intelligence from them, nor has there ever been any to this day. Without doubt they all foundered in a violent gale of wind, which arose shortly after their departure. My sister Martha, was living at my uncle Samuel Sherburne's,

on the ancient farm. The death of her father, and the fate of her brothers, weighed her spirits down. She was eighteen months older than myself, and afterwards be came the wife of Mr. Edmund Davis, of Portsmouth. Little did I expect to have found such changes in the family in one year. The reader will judge of my feelings under such circumstances. Dr. A. R. Cutter, one of the most celebrated physicians in the country and one of the most amiable of men, was called for, and I think nearly two months elapsed before I recovered so as to be capable of any business. There was no employment of any consequence for me on shore, unless I should go into the army. I preferred the sea and was very desirous of doing something for the family. My father was by occupation a carpenter, he left no estate and the avails of my former cruise were pretty much exhausted.

My mother was now industriously employed in spinning, knitting, and sewing for others, but principally in spinning linen; this was now her only means of supporting herself and children who were with her. My mother would sit at her wheel for hours, diligent and pensive, without uttering a word, while now and then the tears would roll down her cheeks and when she broke silence, she perhaps narrated some event which transpired in my father's day or referred to some event respecting her dear Thomas, her first born.

As the Ranger was built in Portsmouth and had fallen into the hands of the enemy, the patriotic merchants of Portsmouth were anxious to retrieve their loss; they built a beautiful ship, which mounted twenty guns and called her the Alexander and gave Capt. Simpson the command of her; Elijah Hull, Esq. who was first Lieut. of the Ranger, was also second in command on board the Alexander; he was a worthy character and much beloved by the officers and crew. A considerable number of the Ranger's officers and crew occupied the same station on board this ship, that they had previously occupied on board the Ranger. Having been invited by Capt. Simpson, to try my fortune with him again, I readily accepted the invitation.

We sailed from Portsmouth in December 1780, and

cruised upwards of three months, but took nothing, we never gave chase to any vessel without coming up with her, but we never met with an enemy. Our cruise was designed for three months, but, as we could get no prize, we prolonged it and our provision failed, so that we came to half allowance before we got in and we really suffered for

water.

I left with my mother a power of attorney, with directions to sell any part of my share she might think proper. She sold one fourth part for about seventy dollars, to a farmer of our acquaintance and was to take country produce, this answered a valuable purpose; it procured fodder for her cow, firewood, &c.

On my return, I found my mother and family in health, but no news from Thomas. I began to feel as if the care of the family would devolve on me and I felt zealous to render them all the help in my power. Our friends and neighbors began to extol me for my attention to my mother and sister, and I was emulous to redeem the pledge.

The Alexander was a fine ship and the fastest sailing ship I was ever acquainted with. She was preparing for the second cruise and I had been invited to try my fortune in her again and had concluded to accept the invitation; but a circumstance occurred which gave me a different direction.

I was walking the street one day and being in a seaman's garb, was readily recognised as a sailor and was overtaken by a jolly tar, who accosted me in the following manner. "Ha shipmate, don't you wish to take a short cruise in a fine schooner and make your fortune?" I replied, that I expected to sail in the Alexander. "O we shall get back," said he "before the Alexander will get ready to sail."

The young man was Capt. Jacob Willis of Kennebunk port, in Maine, his schooner was called the Greyhound, she was fitted out in Salem, Massachusetts. She had been a bank fisherman, but being now finely painted, with a new and longer set of masts and spars, and having her ensign and pennant flying, she made quite a warlike appearance. She mounted four pounders and being af