Knoxville journal. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1874-1986, 1875-03-18

q short absence, and there was no danger
that fishers daughter. herself bred
amid all the hardy associations of the sea.
should dread. Had she herself not sailed
away once to the mackerel- grounds, and
time after time been rocked on the
bosom OF the stosm and the deeps Far
from her thoughts was any such mis-
| chance as that which was to inspire her
husband to perform a deed one of the
most remarkable in the chronicles of the
| time.
1t would be worth special article to
| paint in words, with the same spirited
| and picturesque touch with which Nor.
ton and De Hass put similar scenes on
| canvas, life on board the fishing feet off
the coast of Maine or Massachusetts,.
The same now as it was 100 years ago,
we can easily fancy the scene, SO realistic
| yet so poetic.
But Abner Taft and his sturdy mates,
though deeply and dumbly conscious of
| the beauty and terror of the ocean, as
all men of the sea are, had other thoughts
to absorb them. To perform their work
speedily, to catch and pack their boat
load of the fnny food, which means
comfort and content for those they
loved, was the thing to be done that
| they might return and make matters
snug at home for the cold weather.
There were then no patriotic commits
sions that lavished money at home
while stalwart men fought in the field, to
give timely assistance to the families of
absent soldiers. So the fishermen
worked on day after day and week after
week, through fair weather and foul, till
the catch" was completed.
The night Of its departure from the
| fishing banks the little feet was widely
scattered by storm. Abner Taft's
smack was driven out to sea before the
gale and nearly suffered wreck.
The warning of the tempest was in
his ears through the long, dark hours, as
he was hurried he knew not whittier
When the morning broke on the wild
waste of waters he knew that he must be
far out at sea, for there was nothing in
sight except, low down on the horizon,
| large vessel which was hardly noticeable
between the confused tumbling of the
waters and the thick, dark sky. A ship
at sea for the imperiled crew of frail
| fishing-boat is now welcome sight.
To these three men of Marblehead it
was a thing more portentous of evil than
the cruelty of the ocean and the frown of
the skies. 1t could be nothing less than
an armed vessel of the enemy, for the
Colonies had but little merchant. marine
and their ships of war were as vet stand
ing peacefully in their primitive woods.
To be captured had but one meaning-a
lingering death by Imprisonment in some
dungeon.hulk, or possibly to be i'm.
pressed into a service which they bitterly
abhorred-in any case long if not final
parting from all those they loved.
There was still one chance-their little
| boat, lying low, might not be seen and
the British war-vessel pass on. This
| hope was soon crushed as the rapidly-en-
larging ship came up with close reefed
sails before the stiff breeze into which
the gale of the preceding night had sub
sided. Only few minutes elapsed be-
fore shot was fired and hoarse voice,
| roaring through speaking. trumpet, babe
them come alongside.
Abner Taft and his mates had fallen
into the fate they so bitterly and justly
| dreaded. They were in the merciless
clutches of the British. Instantly they
had mounted the sides they were sum-
moned to the quarterback and con-
| fronted with the English Captain,
heavy, dissipated looking man, whose
red face wed with the scarlet splendors
of his uniform. Capt. Scott, command.
ing the sloop-ofwar Tartar, ship carry
| ing sixteen guns and nominal crew of
200 men, had an unenviable reputation
even among his brother officers for
| brutality.
The legend preserves some record OF
| the interview between the captor and his
victims, as they stood before him with
stern and surly looks, which they were
| either unwilling or unable to subdue in
| to the semblance of submission.
"Cursed rebel spawn, I'll warrantp
said Capt. Scott; who are yer"
Fishers from Marblehead, driven to
sea by the storm" said Abner Taft, in
slow, full tones, and the peculiar accent
which marked the speech OF his native
town, so different from that of the rest of
| Yankee-land.
The characteristic information struck
| the ear of the British Captain as he
peered keenly and suspiciousiy in the
| faces of his victims.
Englishman,' said he with an oath !;
| "no cursed rebel Yankee ever talked like
| that. Pass the word forward for the
bosom; he'll know 'em down to the very
shire and village"
The bosom, a weather beaten old salt,
with villainous face, who had been one
of the most cruel and INSCRIPTIONS
crimps In Plymouth, and was a sort Of
humble edition of his chief, came aft.
"Ah, ha, bosom, here's good, fat piece
of work cut out for you and your mates
with the cat" roared the commander.
Look at these cursed scoundrels, En-.
glishmen, deserters from the colors OF
their King. They'd pass for Yankees; ;
but know the breed too well. Talk to
| 'em and let's know what part OF Old En-
gland they hail from"
SAY, ay, your honor; know 'em by the
very cut of the jib!' answered the petty
officer, scraping and pulling his topknot
| to his superior.
The men of Marblehead saw the trap
| into which they had fallen, and obsti-
natelv refused to answer any further
questions. Seeiog nothing but death be-
fore them, they we're going TO die grimly
and silently.
Away with 'em to the gsngway and
4 trice 'em to the gratiug" shouted the
English Captain, with volley OF oaths,
infurated by the logged disdain of the
prisoners. "Give 'em four dozen apiece,