The Life of John Newton

(Continued)

Before anything suitable offered again, I was pressured, owing entirely to my own thoughtless conduct, which was all of a piece, and put on board a tender: It was at a critical juncture, when the French fleets were hovering on our coast, so that my father was unable to procure my release. In a few days I was sent on board the Harwich at the Nore. I entered here upon quite a new scene of life, and endured much hardship for about a month.

My father was then willing that I should remain in the navy, as a war was daily expected, and procured a recommendation to the captain, who took me upon the quarter-deck as a midshipman. I had now an easy life as to externals, and might have gained respect, but my mind was unsettled and my behavior very indifferent. I met with companions who completed the ruin of my principles. I affected to talk of virtue, and was not so outwardly abandoned as afterward, yet my delight and habitual practice was wickedness.

My chief intimate was a person of exceedingly good natural talents, and much observation. He was the greatest master of what is called the free-thinking scheme, and knew how to insinuate his sentiments in the most plausible way. He could hardly have labored more in the cause if he had expected to gain Heaven by it. This man, whom I honored as my master, and whose practice I adopted so eagerly, was overtaken, in a voyage to Lisbon, by a violent storm. The vessel and people escaped, but a great sea broke on board and swept him into eternity. Thus the Lord spares or punishes, according to His sovereign pleasure.

But to return: I was fond of his company. Having myself a smattering of books, I was eager enough to show my reading. He soon perceived that I had not wholly broken through the restraints of conscience, and therefore did not shock me at first with too broad intimations of his design. He rather spoke favorably of religion: but when he had gained my confidence he began to speak plainer. Perceiving my ignorant attachment to the Characteristics, he joined issue with me on that book and convinced me that I never understood it.

He so plied me with objections and arguments that my depraved heart was soon gained, and I entered into his plan with all my spirit. Thus like an unwary sailor, who quits his port just before a rising storm, I renounced the hopes and comforts of the gospel at the very time when every other comfort was about to fail me.

In December, 1744, the Harwich was in the Downs, bound for the East Indies. The captain gave me liberty to go on shore for a day. Imprudently disregarding consequences, I took a horse, and followed the dictates of my restless desire to take a last leave of her I loved. I had little satisfaction in the interview, as I was sensible that I was taking pains to multiply my own troubles. The short time I could stay passed like a dream, and on New Year’s day, 1745, I returned to the ship. The captain was prevailed on to excuse my absence. But this rash step, especially as it was not the first liberty I had taken, highly displeased him, and lost me his favor, which I never recovered.

At length we sailed from Spithead with a very large fleet. We put into Torbay with a change of wind, but turning fair again, we sailed the next day. Several of our fleet were lost in attempting to leave that place. The following night the whole fleet was greatly endangered on the coast of Cornwall by a storm from the southward. The darkness of the night, and the number of the vessels, occasioned much confusion and damage. Our ship, though several times in imminent danger of being run down by other vessels, escaped unhurt, but many suffered much, particularly the Admiral. This occasioned our putting back to Plymouth.

While we lay at Plymouth I heard that my father, who had interest in some of the ships lately lost, had come down to Torbay. He had a connection at that time with the African Company. I thought if I could get to him he might easily introduce me into that service, which would be better than pursuing a long, uncertain voyage to the East Indies.

It was a maxim with me in those unhappy days never to deliberate. The thought hardly occurred to me before I resolved to leave the ship at all events. I did so, and in the worst manner possible. I was sent one day in the boat, to take care that none of the people deserted. But I betrayed my trust, and went off myself. I knew not what road to take, and dared not ask for fear of being suspected. Having some general idea of the country, I guessed right, and when I had travelled some miles, I found upon inquiry that I was on the road to Dartmouth.

All went smoothly that day and part of the next. I had expected to be with my father in about two hours, when I was met by a small party of soldiers. I could not avoid or deceive them. They brought me back to Plymouth and walked me through the streets guarded like a felon. My heart was full of indignation, shame, and fear. I was confined two days in the guardhouse, then sent on board my ship, kept awhile in irons, then publicly stripped and whipped, after which I was degraded from my office. All my former companions were forbidden to show me the least favor, or even to speak to me. As midshipman I had been entitled to some command, which, being haughty and vain, I had not been backward to exert. I was now brought down to a level with the lowest, and exposed to the insults of all.

My present situation was uncomfortable; my future prospects were still worse; the evils I suffered were likely to grow heavier every day. While my catastrophe was recent, the officers and my former shipmates were disposed to screen me from ill usage; but during the little time I remained with them afterward, I found they cooled very fast in their endeavors to protect me. Indeed they could not avoid it without running a great risk of sharing with me. The captain, though in general a humane man who behaved very well to the ship’s company, was almost implacable in his resentment when he had been greatly offended. He took several occasions to show himself so to me, and the voyage was to last for five years.

I think nothing I either felt or feared distressed me so much as to see myself thus forcibly torn away from the object of my affections under a great improbability of seeing her again, and a much greater of returning in such a manner as would give me hopes of seeing her mine. Thus I was as miserable on all hands as could well be imagined. My breast was filed with the most excruciating passions, eager desire, bitter rage, and black despair. Every hour exposed me to some new insult and hardship, with no hope of relief or mitigation, no friend to take my part or to listen to my complaint.

Inward or outward I could perceive nothing but darkness and misery. I think no case, except that of a conscience wounded by the wrath of God, could be more dreadful than mine. I cannot express with what wishfulness and regret I cast my last look upon the English shore. I kept my eyes fixed upon it till it disappeared. When I could see it no longer, I was tempted to throw myself into the sea. According to the wicked system I had adopted, this would put a period to all my sorrows at once. But the secret hand of God restrained me.

(To be continued)

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