A single voyage satisfied him.

There never was but one of our family who didn't run away to sea, and this one died at his birth.

My grandfather had also been a soldier--a captain of militia in 1812.

If I owe the British nation anything, I owe thanks to that particular British soldier who put a musket-ball into the fleshy part of Captain Nutter's leg, causing that noble warrior a slight permanent limp, but offsetting the injury by furnishing him with the material for a story which the old gentleman was never weary of telling and I never weary of listening to.
The story, in brief, was as follows.
At the breaking out of the war, an English frigate lay for several days off the coast near Rivermouth.

A strong fort defended the harbor, and a regiment of minute-men, scattered at various points along-shore, stood ready to repel the boats, should the enemy try to effect a landing.
Captain Nutter had charge of a slight earthwork just outside the mouth of the river.