Chapter II: Part 2

When I joined the Panther, Mr. Price, the purser, who I knew nothing of, furnished me with everything I stood in need of, as the ship was hurried off to join Lord Howe and I had not time to get fitted out. When the ship was paid, he refused to take any remuneration when I called to repay the obligation, but said he would do the same again with pleasure. I stand indebted to his kindness, which I shall remember for ever with heart-felt gratitude and respect for his memory, and grieved I am that the service should have lost so good an officer, lamented by every person who had the pleasure of his acquaintance.

We sailed (I think) in May with the grand fleet under Lord Howe, to cruise in the North Sea after the Dutch. On our arrival in the Downs, Captain Piercy, from ill health, left the ship, to the great regret of every officer and man on board, and was succeeded in the command by Captain Robert Simonton.

Nor he unworthy to conduct the host,
Yet still they mourned their ancient leader lost.—_Iliad._

During our cruise the influenza carried off great numbers in the fleet. Our ship’s company (a most excellent one) was turned over to the Raisonnable, 64, and that of the Ripon, 60, sent on board of us, and we shortly after left the fleet, and returned to the Downs to relieve the old Dromedary, and hoisted the flag (blue at the fore) of Vice-Admiral Sir Francis William Drake as port admiral, for about a month; when we were relieved by the Ripon, and then proceeded to St. Helen’s, where we remained a short time, and sailed with a flying squadron to the westward, consisting of four sail of the line and three frigates, under the command of Captain Reeve[12] as commodore, as follows:

Crown 64 (Captain Reeve, senior officer)
Suffolk 74 [Captain Sir George Home][13]
Vigilant 64 [Captain J. Douglas][13]
Panther 60 [Captain R. Simonton]
Monsieur 36 [Captain Hon. Seymour Finch][13]
Recovery 32 [Captain Hon. G. C. Berkeley] [13]
Cerberus 32

About the middle of July, in the Bay of Biscay we took, after a long chase, three prizes, the Pigmy cutter, Hermione victualler, with ninety bullocks for the combined fleet, and a brig laden with salt. A day or two after, when blowing very hard and under a close-reefed main topsail and foresail, on the starboard tack, a fleet was seen to leeward on the beam and lee bow. The commodore made the private signal which was not answered, and then the signal for an enemy and to wear and make sail on the other tack. Wore accordingly, and set close-reefed topsails, with fore and main tacks on board, which worked the old ship most charmingly. In loosing the mizen topsail, and before letting it fall, I slipped my foot from the horse[14] and fell off the yard into the top, and saved my life by catching hold of the clewline, having fallen from the bunt of the sail. The captain saw this and gave me a terrible rub down for not taking more care of myself. One of the prizes (the brig with salt) was retaken. The next morning, the weather being moderate, saw the enemy about three leagues to leeward. Sent down one of our frigates, the Monsieur who sailed remarkably well, to reconnoitre; in the evening they were out of sight. Soon after, we fell in with the Sandwich, 90, Vice-Admiral Sir Peter Parker (white at the fore), with the Count de Grasse[15] on board a prisoner, and a large convoy from the West Indies bound to England. Parted company from Sir Peter. Several ships of the line joined our squadron, which proceeded to cruise off the coast of Ireland for a short time, and then returned to Spithead, where we found the grand fleet fitting for the relief of Gibraltar. Caught fire in the marine storeroom near the after magazine, which damaged several knapsacks before it could be got under. We had only one boat alongside, the others being absent getting off the stores from the dockyard. A quartermaster’s wife and three others jumped out of one of the lower-deck ports into this boat, and casting off the painter pulled away for the hospital beach as well as any bargemen, leaving their husbands to take care of themselves.

August the 29th, one of our fleet, the Royal George, 100, Rear-Admiral Kempenfelt (blue at the mizen), being on a careen, to the astonishment of every person upset at Spithead, and more than two thirds of her crew drowned, and among the number that brave and meritorious officer Admiral Kempenfelt, a man that has never been surpassed as an able tactician. We saved twenty-seven of her hands. One of them told a curious story. He said he was boat-keeper of the pinnace, whose painter was fast to the stern-ladder; and just as the ship was going over, the hairdresser took a flying leap out of the stern gallery with a powder bag in his hand and had nearly jumped into his boat. He was so much alarmed that he could not cast off the painter, nor could he find his knife to cut it, and was obliged to jump and swim for his life, when our boat picked him up. His own boat went down with the ship. It was a sad sight to see the dead bodies floating about Spithead by scores until we sailed. The poor admiral and several officers were never found. Captain Waghorn (the admiral’s captain) was saved and tried by a court martial and acquitted. God knows who the blame ought to light on, for blame there must have been somewhere, for never was a ship lost in such a strange and unaccountable manner. The ship might have been weighed had proper steps been taken. A stupid attempt was made, but failed, as well it might; for neither officers nor men exerted themselves. The Royal William and Diligente were placed one on each side, and would have raised her, but energy was wanting, and there she remains, a disgrace to this day.[16] Lord Howe having hoisted his flag (blue at the main) on board the Victory, 110, and the fleet being ready, the signal was made on the 11th of September to get under way, and that we were to take charge of the convoy as commodore with a broad blue pennant, and the Buffalo, 60, to bring up the rear. The convoy consisted of fifty sail of victuallers for the relief, with which we went through the Needles and joined the grand fleet at the back of the Isle of Wight, the Bristol, 50, and East India fleet under her charge, in company. In forming the line of battle the Goliath was to lead on the starboard tack and the Vengeance on the larboard. The fleet consisted of thirty-four sail of the line, besides frigates, and their names I shall give when I come to the action with the combined fleets.[17] We had moderate weather down Channel, and the number of convoys collected, and under the protection of the grand fleet to a certain distance, made up several hundred sail, which cut a fine appearance.

But, when the fleet got well into the Bay of Biscay, things began to alter, the wind shifting to the SW, with heavy squalls, which increased from a gale to a furious hurricane. I remember being at dinner in the wardroom when the height of the gale came on, the ship being under a close-reefed main topsail, and a very heavy sea running, which made her labour prodigiously. Our third lieutenant (Montagu) came down and said: ‘Gentlemen, prepare for bad weather; the admiral has handed his main topsail and hove to under storm staysails. Our main topsail was not handed ten minutes before she gave a roll that beggared all description; ‘chaos seemed to have come again,’ and it appeared doubtful whether she would right. The quarter deck guns were out of sight from this lee lurch, and the weather roll was equally terrible. The scuttle butts[18] broke adrift and were stove; a lower-deck gun started and with great difficulty was secured; one of our poor fellows was lost overboard, and serious apprehensions were entertained for the safety of the ship, who cut such dreadful capers that we expected she would founder. I must here mention that when the Panther came from abroad, the devil tempted the navy board to order her proper masts to be taken out, and [a] fifty-gun ship’s placed in their room, and this occasioned her to roll so dreadfully. It was in this gale that the Ville de Paris, Glorieux, Hector, Centaur, and others were lost on their passage to England from the West Indies. It lasted a considerable time, and it was near the middle of October before the fleet entered the Gut of Gibraltar.[19]

His lordship made the signal to prepare for battle, and while he stood up the Straits with the fleet, we were ordered to lead in the relief. In doing so we had near been relieved for ever, for we were taken in a sudden squall with our lower-deck guns run out, that had nearly swamped the ship before we could get them in and the ports down. Stood in for the Rock, but unfortunately got black-strapped [20] with part of the convoy, and with difficulty got them safe into Rosia Bay. Had three cheers given us by the garrison. The enemy’s fleet, consisting of forty-five sail of the line, at anchor at Algesiras; one of their ships, the St. Michael, 70, a prize to the Rock; she had driven in the late gale under the batteries near the Old Mole and was captured. A constant cannonade kept up between the garrison and the Spanish lines; shot and shells flying in every direction; not a house left standing in the town, and the forts that were abreast the junk ships[21] (sunk before we arrived) beaten down to the water’s edge; the inhabitants living in the bomb-proof, the only place of safety; and with the exception of the old Moorish Tower, that bid defiance to shot and shells, everything had the appearance of desolation and ruin.

While we remained in Rosia Bay, one of the enemy’s line-of-battle ships (a three-decker) had the temerity to stand in and attack us and the convoy at anchor; but when within gunshot, the batteries opened such a heavy fire that she was obliged to haul off after being severely handled, doing us little damage—we had none killed or wounded. It was laughable to see the convoy blaze away with their pop-guns at this great hulk of a ship.

I have lately seen a volume [i. 106 _seq._] of Lieutenant Marshall’s _Naval Biography_, where he mentions, in the Life of Admiral Holloway, who commanded the Buffalo, 60, several particulars respecting the relief. Anyone not knowing better must suppose from reading his account that Captain Holloway had the sole charge, when, in fact, he only brought up the rear, and was under our orders. No mention is made of the Panther being the commodore, and leading in a great part of the victuallers. Now, without wishing to take from the merits of Captain Holloway (who was a most able officer) I must beg leave to state that Captain Simonton, who was intrusted with the convoy, did his duty full as well as Captain H., although Lieutenant Marshall takes no notice of the Panther or her commander.

The same gentleman quotes an anonymous author[22] who reflects upon Lord Howe, and, among other incorrect statements, says it was injudicious in his lordship to place the Buffalo the rear ship in the action. Now I for one flatly contradict this, and I say that the Vengeance, 74, and not the Buffalo, was the rear ship. Lord Howe was too good an officer to place a ship in a situation where she was likely to be cut off, and his lordship’s character is above the animadversions of an author who was afraid to put his name to his work. One of the convoy under charge of the Buffalo was captured, with the baggage and soldiers’ wives, the only loss sustained.

The enemy’s fleet having got under way on the 17th or 18th October, we also weighed; but were obliged to anchor, the enemy having made demonstrations to attack us. They, however, gave up the point for fear of the batteries; and we soon after left the Bay and joined the fleet preparing to anchor in Tetuan Bay, until his lordship was made acquainted of the combined fleet being at sea and standing up the Straits. The next morning, the 19th of October, the weather ‘rather hazy, a kind of a mizzle,’ the admiral made the signal to prepare for battle, the wind having shifted to the eastward, and the enemy in sight. His lordship soon after made the signal to bear up and sail large through the Gut, it not being his intention to engage until clear of the Straits. The enemy’s fleet stood after us with every sail they could pack. It was a very beautiful sight to observe the evolutions of the two fleets and a fair trial of who could sail best. I well remember the Victory, Edgar, Raisonnable, and Royal William, with their topsails on the cap, running ahead of some with topgallant sails set. Our old ship, once called the Flying Panther, would have out-sailed any of them, had her masts not been altered. As we and the old Buffalo were not in the line of battle, because we had charge of the convoy before we saw them safe in, we imagined our station would be with the frigates to look on and see the fun, and we were laughing to think we should have a cool view of a battle, and one of the officers (who had read a little) observed he should be like Scipio the Younger, who, when sent on a mission to Africa, saw from an eminence a battle between that old vagabond Masinissa and the poor Carthaginians that lasted from morning until night. ‘But mortal joys, alas! are fleeting;’ for behold Lord Howe made our signal to come within hail; and while passing under the stern of the Victory we received directions to take our station in the line of battle between the Ruby and the Foudroyant in the van division. Nothing more about Scipio and Masinissa! The Buffalo was sent to the rear between the Union, 90, and Vengeance, 74. What do you say to that, Lieutenant Marshall, in your _Naval Biography_?

It took the fleet the whole day to clear the Gut. The next morning, off Cape Spartel, the signal was made to form the line of battle on the starboard tack and to prepare for action; the enemy coming down in line of battle abreast, with light winds and every sail set, making numerous signals, which had a very fine effect, as every ship repeated the signal and their fleet had the appearance of being dressed in colours. Our line was drawn up in the finest style, and so close and correct that you could only see the ship ahead and the other astern.

So close their order, so disposed their fight,
As Pallas’ self might view with fixed delight;
Or had the God of war inclined his eyes,
The God of war had owned a just surprise.

Owing to the light winds and the enemy repeatedly hauling up and then bearing away, it was near 6 P.M. before he formed his line. A three-decker (supposed to be the Royal Louis) leading his van began the action by firing into the Goliath, who led ours. The action continued from 6 P.M. until ¾ past 10; the van and rear chiefly engaged; the centre had little to do. The enemy’s centre extended to our rear-most ship, so that eleven or twelve of them (the whole of their rear) never fired a shot. We had four killed and sixteen wounded; among the former Mr. Robert Sturges, midshipman doing duty as mate, a gentleman highly respected and lamented by every officer and man on board. I was placed with another youngster under his care, and he took the greatest pains to teach us our duty. He was as brave a fellow as ever lived, and when his thigh was nearly shot off by the hip, he cheered the men when dying. It was a spent shot that killed him, and weighed 28 pounds; and what was remarkable, it took off at the same time the leg of a pig in the sty under the forecastle.[23]

I had a very narrow escape while standing on the quarter deck with Captain Forrester of the marines. The first lieutenant (the late Admiral Alexander Fraser) came up to us, and while speaking a shot passed between us and stuck on the larboard side of the quarter deck. We were very close at the time, so that it could only have been a few inches from us. It knocked the speaking trumpet out of Fraser’s hand, and seemed to have electrified Captain Forrester and myself. The shot was cut out and weighed either 12 or 18 pounds—I forget which. Our rigging fore and aft was cut to pieces; the booms and boats also, and every timber head on the forecastle, with the sheet and spare anchor stocks, were shot away, and the fluke of the latter. Our side, from the foremost gun to the after, was like a riddle, and it was astonishing that we had not more killed and wounded. Several shot-holes were under water, and our worthy old carpenter (Mr. Cock) had very near been killed in the wing, and was knocked down by a splinter, but not materially hurt. The enemy set off in the night and could only be seen from the masthead in the morning. It was supposed they went for Cadiz.

A curious circumstance took place during the action. Two of the boys who had gone down for powder fell out in consequence of one attempting to take the box from the other, when a regular fight took place. It was laughable to see them boxing on the larboard side, and the ship in hot action on the starboard. One of our poor fellows was cut in two by a double-headed shot on the main deck, and the lining of his stomach (about the size of a pancake) stuck on the side of the launch, which was stowed amidships on the main deck with the sheep inside.[24] The butcher who had the care of them, observing what was on the side of the boat, began to scrape it off with his nails, saying, ‘Who the devil would have thought the fellow’s paunch would have stuck so? I’m damned if I don’t think it’s glued on!’

We had a fellow by the name of Mulligan who ran from his quarters and positively hid in the coppers! and had put on the drummer’s jacket. When the firing had ceased he was seen coming out, and was taken for the poor drummer, and ran forward taking off the jacket, which he hid in the round house; but one of the boatswain’s mates observed the transaction and Mr. Mulligan got well flogged just as the action was over. The poor drummer had greatly distinguished himself, and had taken off his jacket in the heat of the action, which this fellow stole to hide his rascality.

[Lists of the fleet, killed and wounded, of detachments to the West
Indies and the coast of Ireland, follow. They are in close agreement
with the lists given by Schomberg (_Naval Chronology_, iv. 390 _seq._)
and were probably copied from them, or the published lists which
Schomberg reproduced. In any case, they have no special authority and
are therefore omitted.

In November, on the Panther’s arriving at Plymouth, where Vice-Admiral
Lord Shuldham had his flag in the Dunkirk—]

a court martial was held on board the Dunkirk on one of our midshipmen (Mr. Foularton) on some trifling charge brought against him by Lieutenant Hanwell of the Dublin, on which he was fully acquitted. One of our main-top men (Martin Anguin), in sending down the topgallant mast, fell from the fore part of the main topmast crosstrees and pitched on the collar of the main stay, from which he went down, astern of the barge upon the booms, into the hold, the gratings being off. He was sent to the hospital without a fractured limb, but much bruised about the breast. He recovered and came on board to receive his pay on the day the ship was paid off. Such a fall and to escape with life, I believe is not to be found in the annals of naval history.[25] Hoisted the flag (blue at the fore) of Vice-Admiral Milbanke as port admiral, second in command.

The peace soon after taking place, a mutiny broke out in the men of war, and some of the ships began to unrig without orders, and were in a high state of insubordination, particularly the Blenheim, Crown, Standard, Medway, and Artois. I do not remember that any examples were made, but this I am sure of, that the ringleaders richly deserved hanging. Having received orders we dismantled the ship and struck Admiral Milbanke’s flag, and in a few days after the old Panther was paid off to the great regret of every officer on board. It was like the parting of a family who had lived long together in the strictest friendship; and while writing this, it brings to mind many circumstances that make me bitterly lament the inroads death has made among those worthy fellows.

The stroke of fate the bravest cannot shun:
The great Alcides, Jove’s unequall’d son,
To Juno’s hate at length resigned his breath,
And sunk the victim of all-conquering death.

Before closing my account of the Panther, I must relate a few anecdotes that happened during the time I belonged to her. I was placed with another youngster, by the name of Owen, under the tuition of the captains of the fore and main top. We were both in the same watch, which we kept first in one top and then in the other, to learn to knot and splice and to reef a sail; and for their attention we remunerated them with our grog. I remember the captain of the fore top (Joe Moulding), a very droll fellow, teaching us what he called a catechism, which we were obliged to repeat to him at two bells in every middle watch. It was as follows:

‘So fine the Conflustions!! of old Mother Damnable, who jumped off
the fore topsail yard and filled the main topgallant sail; run
down the lee leach of the mizen and hauled the main tack on
board, that all the devils in hell could not raise it; clapped a
sheepshank on the main mast, a bowline knot on the foremast, and
an overhand knot on the mizen mast; run the keel athwart ships,
coiled the cables in the binnacle, tossed the quarter deck
overboard, and made a snug ship for that night; when up jumped
the little boy Fraser with a handspike stuck in his jaws to fend
the seas off, with which he beat them into peas porridge, and
happy was the man who had the longest spoon. AMEN!!’[26]

After repeating this rigmarole we were obliged to start up to the mast head, if topgallant yards were across, to blow the dust out of the topgallant clueline blocks. One night, blowing and raining like the devil, I proposed to Owen about five bells in the middle watch to steal down out of the top and take the raisins that were intended for the pudding next day. When we got down to our berth we found the raisins were mixed with the flour and we had the devil’s own job to pick them out. After filling our pockets, one of the watch came down for grog and found us out. We ran off as fast as we could and got in the weather main rigging, where poor Owen was caught, seized up and made a spread eagle of for the remainder of the watch and part of the next. I made my escape and remained some time on the collar of the main stay, until all was quiet. One of the watch came up, but not finding me in the top gave over chase; but I got cobbed in the morning, and no pudding for dinner.

While in Hamoaze we had a draught of Irish Volunteers, about sixty in number. One of them was seven feet high, and when the hands were turned up to muster on the quarter deck, he stood like Saul the King of Israel, with head and shoulders above the host. This man used to head his countrymen when on shore upon leave, and was the terror of the people about Dock,[27] particularly North Corner Street, flourishing an Irish shillelah of enormous size, [so] that the constables when called out would fly like chaff at the very sight of him. He was, like the rest of his countrymen, honest and brave, and very inoffensive, but woe betide those that insulted him. Being in the dockyard returning stores, some of the shipwrights called him a walking flagstaff; for which compliment he gave two or three of them a terrible beating, and then challenged to fight twelve of the best men among them, taking two a day, but the challenge was not accepted from so queer a customer.

The night before we were paid off our ship’s company gave a grand supper and the lower deck was illuminated. Several female visitors were of the party from Castlerag and other fashionable places,[28] who danced jigs and reels the whole of the night, with plenty of grog and flip; and what was remarkable, not a soul was drunk in the morning.

I must here mention that my shipmates, though brave as lions, were given to superstition, as the following will show. After poor Sturges was killed it was given out that he was often seen in the tier, and sometimes in the cockpit. This had such an effect that not one of the midshipmen would stay below by himself. I remember one of them (Sm. Simmonds) falling asleep on the table in the starboard wing berth; and the rest going on deck, he was left alone. When he awoke, he took to his heels and ran up to the gunroom, where he fainted away and remained so a long time. When he came to, he declared that he saw poor Sturges standing in the berth as pale as death and looking steadfastly at him. This story worked so much upon the minds of the others that they took good care to have company at all times when left below. I had the shot that killed my worthy friend, and intended to have brought it home; but by some means it was lost or stolen on the morning of pay day.

While lying in Hamoaze our midshipmen carried on a roaring trade when rowing guard in the middle watch. They would sometimes set off to Catwater to visit a house where a very handsome girl lived, who would get up at any hour to make flip for them and felt highly flattered at their calling her Black-eyed Susan. I have sometimes been of the party and well recollect the many escapes we have had in carrying sail to get back in time, as the passage from Catwater to Hamoaze is rather a rough one in blowing weather, and the boat would frequently be gunwale under, so that I often thought my life was at stake.

I should have mentioned that our ship’s company mutinied as well as the other ships,[29] and some of our midshipmen that were obnoxious went on shore before the ship was paid off. A gentleman whose name I shall not give, and who had joined us in Hamoaze, had unluckily given some umbrage to the men, and was one of those who kept out of the way; but after the ship was paid off some of the fellows met him at the bottom of North Corner Street and took him on board of a collier and gave him a ducking.

After leaving the old Panther several of the officers were put on board the Rose transport for a passage to Portsmouth; but the wind being unfavourable for more than a fortnight, we left the Rose and her mutinous lot of scoundrels, she being ordered somewhere else. We were then transferred to the Hope transport, and after considerable delay we sailed for Portsmouth with a fine breeze from the westward, which soon after changed to the eastward, and blew like the devil. We were nine days turning up Channel[30]; however, we had a glorious set on board, and the master of the vessel (whose name I forget) did everything in the most handsome manner to make us comfortable. On the tenth day we arrived at Spithead, and on my landing at Gosport I found my poor grandmother at the point of death. She wished much to see me before she died. I followed her to the grave where she was interred alongside of my grandfather, Captain James Gardner, Royal Navy.

OFFICERS’ NAMES

SIR FRANCIS W. DRAKE, Vice-Admiral.[31]

Dead. Admiral.

MARK MILBANKE, Vice-Admiral.

Dead [1805]. Admiral of the white.—[_D.N.B._]

THOS. PIERCY, Captain.

Dead. An excellent officer; he was taken prisoner[32] with Sir
Richard Pearson by Paul Jones.

ROBT. SIMONTON, Captain.

Dead. An excellent officer. After repeated applications for
employment which he could not obtain, he was made, on the
promotion of flags, a rear-admiral on the retired list. He
commanded the Superb, 74, in the East Indies (1779–81), and had
seen a great deal of service.

RICHARD DORREL, 1st Lieutenant.

A commander; a good officer.

FRANCIS BROOKS, 2nd Lieutenant.

Dead. A good officer.

MONTAGU, 3rd Lieutenant.

Dead. A good officer.

ALEXANDER FRASER, 1st Lieutenant.

Dead [1829]. A vice-admiral of the red; a very smart
officer.—[Marshall, ii. 458.]

[JAMES] MURRAY, 2nd Lieutenant.

Dead. A quiet, good fellow.

TILLMAN, Acting Lieutenant.

Uncertain.

[JOHN] WADE, Master.

Dead. A brave and meritorious officer.

[BEN.] FORRESTER, Captain of Marines.

Dead. As brave and generous a soul as ever lived, but thoughtless,
and died unfortunate.

GEO. NOBLE, Lieutenant of Marines.

Dead. A captain in the militia, a brave and generous fellow.

[ROBERT] ANDERSON, Surgeon.

Dead. Highly respected.

[JAMES] MALCOLM, Surgeon.

Dead. Highly respected. See Edgar.

[JOHN] PRICE, Purser.

Dead. I want words to express my gratitude and respect for his
memory.

[JAMES] BRANDER, Boatswain.

Dead. A worthy veteran sailor.

[THOMAS] DAWSON, Boatswain.

Dead. A good seaman, but severe.

[JAMES] FRASER, Gunner.

Dead. Much respected; kept a stationer’s shop at Plymouth Dock.

COCK, Carpenter.

Dead. A good man; no dandy.

ROBERT STURGES, Mate.

Killed in battle [20th Oct. 1782]; a most worthy gentleman.

[THOMAS] CONNELL [Quarter gunner; Mid.], Mate and Acting Lieutenant.

Dead. A brave Irishman.

[EDWARD] FORSTER, Midshipman—[aftds. Mr’s Mate].

Dead. Herculean Irishman; a terror to the dockyard maties.

[THOMAS] WATSON, Midshipman.

Dead. A glorious noisy fellow.

SAMUEL SIMMONDS, Midshipman.

Dead. Called Yellow Sam.

[JAMES] TAYLOR, Midshipman.

Dead. A smart fellow.

[JAMES] TAYLOR 2nd, Midshipman.

Dead. A pilot at Deal, called South Sands Head.

[LUKE] CAMPBELL, [Clerk, then] Midshipman doing duty as Schoolmaster.

Dead. A very clever, good fellow.

[WILLIAM] NEATE, Midshipman.

Dead. _Neat_ in his dress; a fiery, good fellow.

JOHN FOULARTON, Midshipman.

Dead. A very brave fellow, but half mad.

RICHARD DANTON, Midshipman.

Dead. A respectable pilot at Deal.

MARTIN PERT HARTLEY, Midshipman.

Uncertain. A quiet, good fellow.

[ROBERT] SKIRRET, Midshipman.

Uncertain. A good-natured Irishman.

[ALEXANDER] THOMPSON, Surgeon’s Assistant.

Uncertain. A gentleman; skilful in his profession.

[RICHARD] PICKERING, Clerk.

Dead. A worthy fellow while on board, but turned out thoughtless
and unfortunate.

FLANAGAN, Under Clerk.

A Purser. A gentleman; since dead.

J. A. GARDNER, Midshipman. [Ord., 8th Feb. 1782; A.B., 1 Oct. 1782;
Mid., 1 Jan. 1783.]

A commander.

SALISBURY, 50

Stern tyrants whom their cruelties renown.—ADDISON.

I joined this old devil of a ship, properly called the Hell Afloat, in December 1783 in Portsmouth Harbour. James Bradby, Esq., captain, and in June 1784 hoisted the flag, white and then red, at the fore, of Vice-Admiral John Campbell, F.R.S., as commander-in-chief and Governor of Newfoundland, and sailed soon after. Nothing remarkable happened on the passage to St. John’s, where we arrived in July; the following men of war composing the squadron:—

Salisbury 50 {Vice-Admiral Campbell.
{Captain James Bradby
Santa Leocadia 36 Captain Alexander Edgar.
Proselyte 32 Captain Jonathan Faulknor, jun.
Æolus 32 Captain
Thisbe 28 Captain
Merlin 18 Captain J. Lumsdale
Echo 18 Captain Nichols.
Thorn 18 Captain Lechmere.
Lawrence brig Lieutenant Carter, acting.

If I remember correctly it was this year that an extraordinary court martial was held on the master of the Proselyte for cutting the lanyards of the weather main shrouds when the people were up reefing topsails. The charge not being proved, he was acquitted. While laying in the harbour, a French frigate with a commodore came in, saluted the admiral, and remained a few days. The 28th October is the time for the men of war to sail for England; but owing to unfavourable winds, we were not able to leave St. John’s before November. The admiral having given permission for any person that pleased to take home a dog, 75 were actually embarked. We took our departure with a sloop of war in company. I am not certain whether it was this year or the next, when about 60 leagues to the SW of Scilly we were covered in the night with a flock of crows and caught several. When near the Channel we fell in with a vessel from the coast of Africa in want of provisions, the crew living on parrots and monkeys, and in great distress; supplied them with provisions and parted company, and after a passage of near three weeks arrived at Spithead, and then into harbour, where we remained as a half-and-half guard-ship until May, when the admiral hoisted his flag, and we soon after sailed for our station, in company with a sloop of war.

When on the banks of Newfoundland, in a thick fog at night, going about three knots, a field of ice struck us on the weather bow and carried away the starboard bumpkin and head sails, besides knocking off several sheets of copper. On the banks we picked up a cask of brandy covered with weeds and barnacles, and saw the yards and spars of the line-of-battle ships that were lost on and near the banks in the gale of September 1782 on their passage to England from the West Indies. Fell in with several islands of ice. Arrived at St. John’s, and remained there the usual time. We had a brewery on shore which supplied the squadron with spruce beer.[33] I was on shore at this brewery when one of our men unfortunately fell into the boiling coppers and died the same day in a most deplorable condition. It was said that the beer was sent off (of course by mistake) to the squadron, and I think some little demur was made about drinking it and it was sent back.

On the 29th of October (1785) we left St. John’s with a thundering gale right aft. A merchant who had never been out of St. John’s harbour took a passage for England. We had a tremendous sea following that almost turned his brain with horror. One sea that measured heights with the mizen peak had a prodigious effect upon him, and with a look I cannot describe, he called out, ‘Lord, Lord, Lord, Have mercy on me, and pray do let go the anchor!’ His bawling out so horribly, frightened the man at the wheel so that the ship was in danger of broaching to. This gale lashed us on at a devil of a rate, and we had 294 and 296 knots on the log in 24 hours. Our passage was very short as far as the Lizard, when the wind shifted to the eastward, and I think it was nineteen days before we arrived at Spithead, having a dish of turnips[34] all the way up Channel. Went into Portsmouth harbour, where the old Salisbury was paid off the latter end of 1785 or beginning of 1786.

This was the most hateful and disagreeable ship I ever had my foot on board of—so unlike the Panther. Mastheading upon every trifling occasion. The senior midshipmen (with the exception of a few) were tyrants; and petty tyrants are generally the worst. The captain was a very good man at times, but often harsh and severe in his remarks. He once told me (and I have never forgotten it) I would never be fit for anything but the boatswain’s storeroom. This was because I was down with the keys in my turn, a midshipman being always sent to see that lights are not taken into the storeroom except in a lantern, which is the custom in every man of war. He had missed me in the watch and thought I was skulking; and though I explained to him how it happened, it was all to no purpose. Great men don’t like to be put right. I well remember the cutting taunt; but I thank God his prophecy did not come to pass, as the certificates I am proud to say I produced from some of the first officers in the service will testify; and when I went to pass for lieutenant at Somerset House, the commissioners told me my certificates would get me promoted without interest. Upon this hint I transmitted them to Earl Spencer, the first lord of the admiralty, and by return of post he gave me a commission and appointed me second lieutenant of the Hind, 28. This may be considered as sounding my own trumpet. It may be so; but it is the truth. Enough of this digression, and let me return to the old bundle of boards and relate a few circumstances.

I have positively, after keeping the first watch while in the harbour of St. John’s, been turned out with other youngsters, to keep the morning watch and most of the forenoon without being relieved. Had we complained we knew what we had to expect from the overgrown tyrants, some of whom were members of the Hell-fire Club. I remember my old messmate, Ben Morgan (poor fellow! now dead and gone), having the lower part of his ear detached from his head because he kicked a little at the tyranny.

Our admiral was a great astronomer and took delight in lunar observation. One Sunday morning he sent four of us down with Pye the schoolmaster to work a lunar. While we were below, the hands were turned up to muster, and we were going to attend, but Pye said there was no occasion. Presently down came the quartermaster saying Lieutenant Stiles (who had the watch) wanted us. On going up he, in a very knowing way, demanded why we were not up to muster, and on our acquainting him with the reason he said it was all very well, and it would be better if we were to step up to the masthead and look out for squalls, as it was too thick to take a lunar. So two of us (I was one) were sent to the main topmast head and two to the fore, where we remained some hours. This was on the banks; a thick fog having just come on, with drops from the topgallant rigging which wetted us through in a short time; but that was of no consideration. On another trifling occasion, the same worthy was going to trice me up to the mizen peak, but this he thought better of. I could relate many more cases, but let this be sufficient. Lieutenant Stiles lately died a rear-admiral. One of the laws of Solon says, ‘Speak not ill of the dead; no, not if their sons offend you.’ I shall attend to this and say no more on the subject until I come to the Edgar, and then naught in malice.

When at St. Johns, a playhouse was got up by Graham, the admiral’s secretary, with considerable ability, and several of the officers used to perform. The scenery was very good and did Mr. Graham a deal of credit. Only the favoured few could get leave to see the performance. The kindhearted first lieutenant would send us that were not descended from the Kings of Cappadocia and Pontus on board at sunset, for fear we should catch cold if we stayed out late. This was making game; and I remember some of us meeting the admiral, who kindly gave us leave to pick fruit in his gardens for two hours, when this same Lieutenant Deacon happened to come up at the time; and when the admiral was gone, he started us on board, when we had not been there a quarter of an hour, saying he was fearful the fruit would gripe us. Kind soul!—the devil thank him. He was a most facetious gentleman, and when a seaman once asked him for slops, he replied, ‘Certainly, my man, what slops do you want?’ ‘A jacket, sir, if you please.’ ‘And cannot you think of something else?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ says the man, ‘I will be glad of a shirt and trowsers.’ ‘Very well, you shall have them. But do think of something more that you stand in need of,’ ‘Why, sir,’ says the man, ‘If you have no objection I should like a pair of shoes and stockings, and a smock frock.’[35] ‘Very well, my man, you shall have them all in good time. I expect a vessel in with some blue chalk from the Straits of Baffleman, and then I shall chalk out all your wants; so be off, or I shall get the boatswain’s mate to measure you with the end of the fore brace before her arrival, which you may think rather premature.’

When asking him for leave to go on shore he would frequently say, ‘As soon as I have time to chalk you out a barge to take you, I shall attend to this most important business.’ Once on a rainy day he was making some of those remarks, when his foot slipped and he fell on his bottom on the quarter deck. One of the lieutenants said, ‘Had the deck been chalked, sir, it would have saved your fall.’ This vexed him greatly, and seeing us laugh he started us up to the masthead for the remainder of the watch, saying, ‘Take care! As the rigging is not chalked you may slip and get an ugly fall.’

I have already mentioned our bringing home 75 dogs. I messed in the main hatchway berth on the lower deck, with four midshipmen and a scribe. We had eight of those dogs billeted on us. One of them had the name of Thunder. At dinner I once gave him a piece of beef with plenty of mustard rolled up in it. The moment he tasted it, he flew at me and I was obliged to run for it. He never forgot it, and whenever I offered him victuals he would snap at me directly. Another of those dogs used to sleep at the foot of Charley Bisset’s cot, and when the quartermaster would call the watch this dog would fly at him if he came near Bisset, who would often plead ignorance of being called, and by that means escape going on deck for the first hour of the watch. We had a drunken Irishman, by the name of Collins, who, when sent to the hospital at St. John’s, contrived to get liquor in spite of all precaution to prevent it. At last it was found out by the following circumstance. He had one of those dogs that could do anything but speak. He used to sling a bottle round his neck and then put a shilling in his mouth and send him off in the evening. The dog knew well where to go, for he had been often there with Collins. It was to a public-house, between the hospital and St. John’s. He’d howl as soon as he got there; the landlord knew well what he wanted, and would fill the bottle with rum. The dog would then drop the shilling, but not before, and scamper off to return to his master; not at the gate of the hospital—he was too cunning for that—but like a Roman conqueror, through a hole in the wall; when one night he was discovered by the watch going their rounds, and by that means the business was brought to light. From the ingenuity of the master and his dog, both escaped punishment.

Our armourer was a man who would drink like a fish, and one morning coming to the brewery complaining of thirst, the cooper, a droll and wicked fellow, gave him some essence of spruce, and the armourer took a good swig before he found out his mistake. The moment he could speak he asked what it was he had taken. The cooper said he was very sorry for what had happened, but he thought it right to acquaint him it was some stuff they had to poison rats. The armourer was struck dumb with terror, but at last, in a paroxysm of rage, swore that the cooper should die first; and drawing out a large knife, gave chase and certainly would have put an end to his joking had he not locked himself up in the brewery in great tribulation, as the armourer was trying all in his power to break open the door. However, the poor fellow was at last made sensible it was a joke, and had some double spruce given him to make amends—which had the desired effect.

Our second assistant surgeon was another wet soul, and coming from the play half drunk went to sleep in an empty cask that was lying on Quigley’s Wharf, when a squall of wind rolled the cask overboard and poor old Andrew Reardon would have been drowned, had it not been for the boat-keeper of the cutter. Old Andrew is now dead. He dearly loved grog, and when told that new rum was a bad article he said he didn’t care; if it fractured the brain it was all he wanted.

With a few exceptions we had a terrible lot of wild midshipmen. Some of them were members of the Hell-fire Club,[36] and used to dress, when going to that place, in scarlet coats with black velvet collars and cuffs, black waistcoat, breeches, and stockings, and hair powdered. Those chaps would play all manner of wicked pranks on board, such as pouring molasses under the heads of those who slept in the tier, and others would have a hook and line with which they’d haul our quilts and blankets off in the night, and then heave water over us, at the same time making a squeaking noise; while others, in the secret, would say it was the gibbering of a ghost, and that the tier was haunted; but that they would ask the parson (a wet soul) to lay the spirit, not in the Red Sea, but in the large pond near St. Johns. One poor fellow, a clerk whose name was Newnham, but nicknamed Newcome, they got in the tier one night in the dark, and swore it was the admiral’s cow that had got adrift. It was no use for the poor fellow to say he was not that personage; for a selvagee was clapped round him in an instant with a hauling line made fast, with which they roused him up the hatchway in a moment, terrified almost to death.

I must here mention the shifts my old messmate, Ben Morgan, and myself were put to the last year we were at St. John’s. Our captain used to pay our mess and washing bills, for which he was repaid on our return to England. It happened one morning when the washing bill was sent in, that he observed our towels were inserted with other articles; upon which he sent for us, and after a severe reprimand upon our extravagance, adding that we ought to have washed the towels ourselves, he dismissed us, saying he should give no more money to be fooled away in that manner, and that we deserved to be well flogged in the bargain. We were glad enough to steer clear of him. In respect of the money he was as good as his word; for devil a farthing more would he let us have, and we were sadly put to it; for we had only Tom Cod (caught alongside) for breakfast, salt beef or pork for dinner, and Tom Cod for tea in the evening. At last we in some measure got over our difficulties by going to the hills and gathering a weed called maidenhair, a good substitute for tea; and with molasses instead of sugar, poor Ben and myself fared gloriously.

While at St. John’s two of our seamen deserted and got into the woods on their way to an out port; and they had nearly been devoured by the wolves who attacked them in a hut, where they remained three days without provisions, and had great difficulty and danger in coming back to the ship, where they were treated with two dozen apiece.

Our captain to keep us in good order placed a Mr. Stack as father of our mess. He was cursed surly and disagreeable, but I believe meant well; only [he had] an ugly way of showing his kindness. When in good temper (which was seldom) he would say ‘My son,’ when he addressed any of us; but generally, ‘I’ll split your ear.’ This man drew a very long bow and would frequently tell the most unaccountable stories. I have heard him relate that the ghost of Commodore Walsingham[37] (who he had served under, and who was lost in the Thunderer, 74, in the West Indies, in the hurricane of 1780) appeared to him when he was a slave on the coast of Barbary, where he was chained by the leg for upwards of a twelvemonth, and after undergoing innumerable hardships he was released by a Moorish lady who fell in love with him and paid his ransom to a considerable amount. This was too much to swallow from a fellow as ugly as the old Diligente’s [figure-] head.

When at Spithead and in the harbour, our ship’s company had a violent quarrel with the crew of the Grampus 50, commanded by Ned Thompson[38] the poet, who had the Coast of Guinea station, and several battles were fought with various success. The quarrel originated in some of our fellows saying they of the Grampus, when on the coast, lived chiefly on monkey soup, except on Sundays, and then they were regaled on roast parrots. For this they swore to murder every snow-eating son of a bitch belonging to the Salisbury whenever they could catch them. One of the mates of the Grampus had the impudence, while we were in harbour, to drop under our bows with a launch-load of his people who had been for stores to the dockyard, and challenge ours to fight; for which he had very near been brought to a court martial.

Our quarrelsome blades had another row with the riggers; and when the latter would pass the ship in their launches, our fellows would thrust their heads out of the ports and sing out—‘I say, Mortimer, drop in the launch, make fast a hawser to the NW buoy, take three round turns and a half hitch, seize the end back and come on board with the launch.’ This occasioned many a battle, and the riggers generally got the worst of it; for we had some from that land which produces the finest peasantry in the world on board, and woe betide those who came in contact with them. We had the O’Ryans, the O’Gallaghers, the Macartys, the O’Donovans, the Murphys, the O’Flahertys, the O’Tooles and the O’Flanagans, and great part of the ship’s company were Irish and very quiet when not disturbed. One of those fellows—Darby Collins, who had the dog that I have mentioned at the hospital—did positively beat at the back of the Point, Portsmouth, eleven men by cracking their heads at single-stick one after the other. He was a tall, raw-boned Irishman, a Garry-owen boy that stood up manfully for the honour of his country.

The following are the names of the officers belonging to the Salisbury:—

JOHN CAMPBELL, F.R.S., Vice-Admiral.

Dead [1790]. An admiral; a most able officer and great astronomer.
He was captain of the fleet on board the Royal George with Admiral
Hawke when he defeated the French under Conflans.—[_D.N.B._]

JAMES BRADBY, Esq., Captain.

Dead. A retired rear-admiral.

HENRY DEACON, 1st Lieutenant.

Dead. He was the senior commander on the list; had the out-pension
of Greenwich Hospital. A good seaman, but satirical, and too fond
of mastheading.

RICHARD RUDSDALE, 2nd Lieutenant.

Dead. A commander; a fine-looking fellow and the best officer in
the ship.

JOSEPH LORING, 3rd Lieutenant.

Dead. A good sailor, very passionate, and swore like the devil.

JOHN STILES, 4th Lieutenant.

Dead. A rear-admiral of the white. Fond of mastheading for little
or nothing. More of him when I come to the Edgar.

[GEORGE] TREMLETT, Master.

Dead. A quiet, good man. [William Henry Brown Tremlett (captain,
1802), his servant].

[JAMES] PIERCE, Captain of Marines.