Chapter III: Part 3

Dead. A strange fish.

[WILLIAM] GOULD, Lieutenant of Marines.

Dead. A good officer.

THE PARSON (I forget his name).

Dead. Had no dislike to grog.

[JAMES] COCKERELL, Purser.

Drowned. Took care of his eights.[39]

[EDMUND] PETERSON, Surgeon.

Dead. Crabbed as the devil.

AARON GRAHAM, Admiral’s Secretary.

Dead. A very clever fellow; was magistrate at Bow Street.

[CHARLES] SMITH, Gunner.

Dead. Fractious from long illness. [D.D. in pay-book: no date.]

D—— (I forget his name) [EDWARD DOWDALL], Gunner.

Dead. Lethargic; always dozing on the forecastle; a sleepy, good
man.

[SIMEON] BROWN, Carpenter.

Dead. A quiet, good man; clever in his profession.

[JAMES] HALL, Boatswain.

Dead. An infernal tyrant; a good sailor; a sycophant, a Hun, a
Goth, a Vandal; a fellow that was made too much of by those who
ought to have kept him at proper distance.

[JOHN] MCCURDY, 1st Assistant Surgeon.

Dead. A surgeon at St. John’s; a very excellent fellow, and clever
in his profession.

ANDREW REARDON, 2nd Assistant Surgeon.

Dead. A surgeon, R.N. A very worthy fellow, who loved his glass of
grog.

DODWELL BROWN, Master’s Mate.

Dead. A lieutenant; a gentleman very much respected.

[SAMUEL] SCOTT, Master’s Mate.

Uncertain. A tyrant who I well remember, although it is upwards of
fifty years since I saw the blustering, swaggering bully.

ROBERT LAURIE, Midshipman.

Vice-admiral of the white; a baronet and K.C.B. A most excellent
officer, seaman, and gentleman. [Admiral, 1846; died
1848.—O’Byrne.]

CHARLES BISSET, Midshipman.

Dead. Wild and thoughtless, but a good-natured, harmless fellow.

[HENRY] POTTS, Midshipman [afterwards A.B.].

Dead. A tyrannical fellow and member of the Hell-fire Club.

[JOHN] SANDFORD, Midshipman [afterwards A.B.].

Dead. A member of the Hell-fire Club; a dandy and droll fellow.

[RICHARD] HERBERT, Midshipman. [A.B.].

Uncertain. A noisy, tyrannical fellow; member of the Hell-fire
Club; nicknamed Hawbuck.

[THOMAS JAMES] SKERRET, Midshipman. [A.B.]

Uncertain. This fellow wanted to be a tyrant, but was too great a
fool.

[CAMPBELL] MARJORIBANKS, Midshipman.

East India House.

[THOMAS] MERCHANT, Midshipman.

Uncertain. A good fellow; called Old Siolto.

[JOHN WENTWORTH] HOLLAND, Midshipman. [A.B.]

A post captain; played the violin well. [Died 1841.]

ROBERT MANNING, Midshipman.

Dead. A commander. Bob was a good fellow.

R. B. VINCENT, Midshipman.

Dead [1831]. A post captain; C.B.; fought well; called Don Diego
Del Vinsanti Hispaniola Whiskerando. More of him when I come to
the Victory.—[_D.N.B._]

PHILIP BROCK, Midshipman.

Dead. A loss to the service.

BORROMY BRADBY, Midshipman, son of the captain. [A.B.]

Dead. A commander; a very worthy character. [Two other
(presumably) sons of the captain, Matthew Barton and Daniel, were
rated captain’s servants.]

CHARLES GARNIER, Midshipman.

This gentleman was Captain of the Aurora, 32, and was
unfortunately drowned in Yarmouth Roads, Isle of Wight, going off
to his ship in the evening [1796].

JAMES MACFARLAND, Midshipman.

A commander; good-natured and droll. [Captain (retired), 1840;
died 1852.—O’Byrne.]

R. B. LITTLEHALES, Midshipman.

A retired rear-admiral. [Vice-admiral, 1840: died 1847.—O’Byrne.]

JOHN TYRWHITT, Midshipman.

Marshal at Gibraltar.

BENJAMIN MORGAN, Midshipman.

Dead. A lieutenant. Poor Ben! you and I have spent many an hour at
the masthead for little or nothing.

HENRY BATT, Midshipman.

Dead. A lieutenant. An old schoolfellow of mine. Harry was
passionately fond of grog, which made him an ungrateful return by
taking him out of this world before it was agreeable. Nicknamed
Ram, Cat, Batt, and Rammon the Butcher.

WILLIAM GARRETT, Midshipman.

Dead. A lieutenant. A very good fellow and good sailor, but fond
of grog and boasting.

NORBORNE THOMPSON, Midshipman.

A rear-admiral. [Died 1844.—Marshall, iii. 294.]

INCE, Midshipman.

Dead. A worthy fellow; a loss to the service.

RICHARD STILES TREMLETT, Midshipman.

Killed in a duel with Lord Camelford.

GEO. N[EATE] TREMLETT, Midshipman.

A commander. Brother of the above; a very good fellow. [Died
1865.—O’Byrne.]

ANDREW DUFF, Midshipman.

Dead. A drunken Hun.

FRANCIS GIBBON, Midshipman.

Dead. A lieutenant; wonderfully great, in his own opinion.

[WILLIAM] ELLIOT, Midshipman.

Dead. A commander, sickly and proud.

LORD AMELIUS BEAUCLERK, Midshipman.

An admiral, G.C.B. and G.C.H.; chief naval aide-de-camp to the
king. [Died 1846.—_D.N.B._]

SMITH, Midshipman.

Uncertain. Remember little of him, and that no good.

J. A. GARDNER, Midshipman. [Entered Dec. 12, 1783.]

A commander.

WILLIAM PYE, Schoolmaster.

Dead. A purser; Fit Pye, Fit man.

JOHN ALCOT, Captain’s Clerk.

A purser and retired storekeeper of Portsmouth yard.

HENRY ROLAND HARLEY, Admiral’s Office.

Was a purser in the navy but resigned the situation; a most worthy
fellow. We were in four ships together.

[WILLIAM] WILLCOCKS, Admiral’s Office. [A.B.]

Uncertain. A very droll and noisy fellow.

[THOMAS] LANDSEER, Admiral’s Office. [Admiral’s servant.]

Dead. A purser; a very satirical gentleman.

CRISP, Admiral’s Office.

Dead. A purser; another noisy, droll fellow.

NEWNHAM, Admiral’s Office.

Uncertain. A quiet, easy, poor fellow; made a butt of.

[THOMAS] STACK, used to keep the forecastle watch as Midshipman

Uncertain. Made a gunner; I have mentioned him before with his
long bow.

ORESTES, 18.

I joined the son of Agamemnon early in 1786, fitting in Portsmouth Harbour for Channel service, to cruise after smugglers from Dunnose to the Start; Manley Dixon, Esq., commander.

This brig was considered the finest in the service. She measured 32 ft. 9 in. on the beam, and drew 17 ft. 4 in. abaft, 13 ft. 4 in. forward, and [was] nearly 450 tons, mounting 18 long nines, and pierced for 26. She and the Pylades (called the Hercules and Mars) were taken from the Dutch by Macbride in the Artois, 44.[40] She sailed remarkably well, but was a wet soul, shipping seas over the bows and washing the men at the wheel. She would never condescend to rise to a sea, but dash right through. After a few cruises, when off the Isle of Purbeck we observed two large Hogboats[41] among the rocks, and several people on horseback upon the cliffs above the spot. Sent our boats to examine, and found them to be smugglers with seven hundred tubs of liquor, which we seized, and landed the smugglers at Swanage. After landing our tubs at the Custom House, Portsmouth, we anchored at Yarmouth, in the Isle of Wight, our place of rendezvous, where we remained a short time, and then resumed our cruising; sometimes in company with the Hebe, 36, on the same station; and then put into Guernsey, where we stayed but a short time and ran out in a gale of wind. Caught fire in the master’s cabin over the magazine, by the candles rolling against his curtains. It created great alarm, but was soon got under. During the time, it occasioned the utmost terrors among the ship’s company. Several of them got into the forechains, the head, and on the bowsprit, ready to jump overboard. However, they seemed to have as much dread of water as they had of the fire and remained stationary. It was ludicrous to see the captain with a speaking trumpet, exerting himself to keep order, and the carpenter’s wife catching him round the legs, and while he was calling for Water, she was screaming out Fire.

When our cruise was over we returned to Yarmouth, where our surgeon turned mad and cut some unaccountable capers. One morning early, he came upon deck and gave some orders to the officers of the watch, who paid no attention to them. Upon this he got hold of a crow[42] that was in the becket over one of the guns, and began to run a-muck,[43] and cleared the deck in a moment. Sentries and all took to their heels, and it was some time before an opportunity offered to get him below. At last he was got to his cabin in the gunroom, with four marines and a midshipman to guard him; but he soon made a start from his den and made no more of the marines than if they were sparrows. He first caught hold of two and knocked their heads together, and then punished the others, who from fear, made little resistance. He next attacked Patterson, the master, and swore he should stand auctioneer as it was his intention to sell his effects. I never saw a more ludicrous scene when the master, to humour him, began to put his things up to auction and we, outside (for we were afraid to go in) the gunroom, bidding for them. After the sale was over, he made Patterson put on two of his coats—one of them the Windsor uniform[44]—and then upset him and rolled him about the gunroom, swearing he was a beer cask. Then rushing out, he belaboured all that he met with, and went upon deck and remained cock of the walk until he came down of his own accord, and went to bed, saying, ‘You shall hear from me presently.’ However, good care was taken to secure him, and he was soon after sent to sick quarters, being a dangerous subject, and glad enough we were to get rid of him.

There was at Yarmouth a truly hospitable gentleman, a Captain Urry[45] of the Royal Navy, well known to officers in the service, who kept open house and gave large parties. He was the life and soul of Yarmouth, which place has never been worth going to since his death. On one of these parties, our barge (for we had a barge) was ordered to attend and tow a sloop full of company (it being calm) from Yarmouth to Lymington, and I was the midshipman sent, and had directions to land them, and to take orders from a captain in the navy, who was one of the party. This being done, a half-guinea was given to the men to drink, and I was desired to let them go on shore for that purpose. After they had their grog I missed the strokesman of the barge, a tall Irishman named McCarthy, who was nowhere to be found; in fact he had deserted. On my return I reported this to Lieutenant Jeynes who abused me and said he would write against me to the captain (who lived on shore) for suffering this tall Paddy to run away. The next morning he was as good as his word, and sent me with the letter. The captain, on reading it, gave me a severe reprimand, and sent me on board in a hurry, saying I should hear more of it very shortly. In a day or two after he came on board and we left Yarmouth for Spithead. I was in hourly expectation of some terrible explosion, as my friend the lieutenant was constantly reminding me of the subject. After the ship was moored the captain went on shore, and Jeynes soon followed. The master being commanding officer, I asked him permission to go and see my friends, which he granted, and I never joined the Orestes after.

I was but a youngster then. Had I known as much as I did soon after, I would have demanded a court martial on myself, and would have brought Lieutenant Jeynes to another for tyranny and oppression, which he was guilty of in many instances and had laid himself open to anyone who might think proper to bring the charges forward. He was obliged to leave the Orestes soon after. He had formerly (as I have understood) been a purser, and was broken by court martial; but having served his time as midshipman, got to be made a lieutenant, and died a retired commander.

Whenever the Orestes came in I used to keep out of the way. I lived at Gosport and was always on the watch, and when she came into Spithead I had timely notice and would set off for the country. After returning from one of those excursions, I was hiding behind a screen in our parlour; on the other side sitting by the fire was an old schoolfellow of mine and a young lady in earnest conversation about me. The former among other remarks said he believed I had made away with myself. This observation I could not brook, and catching hold of a large family Bible that was on a table near me (and which I have at this moment) I hove it over the screen and hit my friend on the jaw and knocked him down as flat as a flounder. I set off as fast as I could, leaving them in the utmost consternation; and he told me a long time after that he thought it was the devil that had felled him, until he saw the Bible. Captain Dixon, I believe, was aware that Lieutenant Jeynes had blamed me wrongfully, as he sent me my prize money and gave me a good certificate, and offered to take me again, for which he has my most grateful thanks, and I hope to live to see him admiral of the fleet.[46]

He was a very smart officer, and did everything in his power to teach the midshipmen their duty. We used to take helm and lead, and reef the main topsail; also pull in the boats upon particular occasions, such as going along shore in the night after smugglers, &c. When we were at Guernsey, the captain in the kindest manner allowed the petty officers a moderate quantity of liquor in each of their messes; but the sergeant of marines, not content with this indulgence, smuggled twenty kegs into the ship. When this was told the captain, he ordered all the kegs to be brought on deck and stove. The sergeant stood, like Niobe, in tears for his loss. It was a most laughable sight, as the liquor was running out mixed with salt water (for the ship rolled a great deal), to see the fellows laying down like beasts on the deck and licking up, while the boatswain’s mates were thrashing them to no purpose. The sergeant, I believe, was reduced to the ranks.

I shall mention a few strange fellows we had on board, and first Mr. Quinton the mate. This gentleman was a good sailor, and was very fond of gin grog, and used to say it agreed with him so well and made his flesh so firm. It was determined one day to count how many glasses he drank from morning until evening; and, if I remember correctly, twenty-six tumblers of good Hollands and water made the number; for in the good old times we never sported Cockney gin. I must in justice declare that Mr. Quinton was no drunkard; I never saw him disguised with liquor the whole time I belonged to the ship. The next was Mr. Stevens, who went by the nickname of Tommy Bowline, a rough knot; full of wise saws and strange dry sayings, but rather slack in his movements, and was what we call a hard officer and droll middy. When belonging to a guard-ship commanded by Sir Roger Curtis, while lying at Spithead the mizen topsail was ordered to be loosed, to swing the ship the right way. Tommy Bowline was the first to go aloft and was highly complimented by Sir Roger for his activity, saying ‘You are a fine fellow, Mr. Stevens; a most active officer, Mr. Stevens; you are a wonder, Mr. Stevens.’ Now it unfortunately happened that Tommy was left behind by the other midshipmen and was last on the yard. Sir Roger observing this called out ‘I recall all my compliments, Mr. Stevens; you are a damned lubber, Mr. Stevens; a blockhead, Mr. Stevens; come down, Mr. Stevens.’ This poor Tommy never heard the last of.

Our gunner (McKinnon) was another strange hand. He was troubled with sore eyes and would sit in his cabin damning them from morning till night. Two of our men having deserted while in Yarmouth Roads, our boat, manned by midshipmen with Lieutenant Jeynes, left the ship in the evening and pulled for Cowes, where we arrived about eleven at night. Mr. Jeynes having received some information respecting the deserters, set off in the boat for Ryde, leaving me at Cowes with two marines to go round by land and meet him there. I had no money to get any refreshment, and never shall I forget the fatigue I went through that night. After pulling in the boat thirteen miles, I had to walk seven miles on a wild goose chase, for we never heard anything more of the runaways; and the wind shifting, we had to pull all the way back to Yarmouth. Before I close my account of the Orestes, I must say a word or two respecting Lieutenant Jeynes (letting the law of Solon sleep for a day). He was without exception the most cold-blooded and bad fellow I ever met with. I have seen him thrash the men with the end of a rope in the most unfeeling manner, until he was tired, making use of the most abusive language; and for his tyranny was obliged to quit the ship; but, to give the devil his due, [he] was what we call a bit of a sailor, and if he pleased (which was seldom) could make himself agreeable. In the year 1793, the Orestes was lost in the Indian Seas and every soul perished.

NAMES OF OFFICERS

MANLEY DIXON, Esq., Captain.

An admiral and K.C.B. He commanded the Lion, 64, when the William
Tell, 84, was taken. The Foudroyant, 80, and Penelope, 36, in
company. He was also port admiral at Plymouth. Since
dead.—[Marshall, i. 375.]

THOS. JEYNES, Lieutenant.

Dead. I have said enough of him. A commander on the retired list.

[GEORGE] PATTERSON, Master.

Uncertain. Was master attendant abroad.

DUSAUTOY, Lieutenant of Marines.

A barrack-master.

[JAMES] STREET, Purser.

Took care of his eights.

WALLIS, Surgeon.

Uncertain. Mad from drink.

[ALEXANDER] PROCTOR, Surgeon’s Assistant.

A surgeon. Proud as the devil.

[HUGH] LAND, Clerk.

Uncertain. A clever little pedant.

[JOHN] HILL, Boatswain.

Uncertain. A good sailor.

[TIMOTHY] SCRIVEN, Carpenter.

Uncertain. A good man, and good bread-and-cheese carpenter.

[PETER] MCKINNON, Gunner.

Uncertain. A good sailor, but used to damn his poor eyes so.

[JOHN] QUINTON, Mate.

Dead. A good sailor; fond of gin grog.

D. HAMLIN,} Brothers, Midshipmen.

HAMLIN,}

Dead. Good young men.

[CHRISTOPHER] GULLET, Midshipman.

Dead. A lieutenant. See Queen.

STEVENS, Midshipman.

Tommy Bowline. Was made a gunner.

WM. MOUNSEY, Midshipman.

Dead [1830]. A captain, C.B.; a very good fellow.—[Marshall, vi.
20.]

ALEX. GILMOUR, Midshipman.

A commander; a good old sailor.—[Died 1853.—O’Byrne].

NICHOLA, Midshipman.

Dead from insanity.

MAUNDRELL, Midshipman.

Dead. A lieutenant. Was broke for tyranny, which he richly
deserved. Afterwards restored to his rank. Nicknamed Mantrap, from
taking up deserters.

J. A. GARDNER, Midshipman.

A commander.

EDGAR, 74

Early in 1787 I joined the Edgar, a guard-ship in Portsmouth Harbour—Charles Thompson, Esq., captain, formerly of the Boreas; and soon after went to Spithead and hoisted the broad pennant of the Honorable John Leveson Gower as commodore of the squadron of observation; but the Dutch armament taking place prevented their sailing. Several ships of the line assembled at Spithead, and others fitting in the harbour; but to no purpose, as the business was soon settled, and the ships returned to their stations, and those fitting were paid off. Next spring we were again ordered to Spithead, and a promotion of flags having taken place, we hoisted the flag (blue at the mizen) of Rear-Admiral the Hon. John Leveson Gower, as commander-in-chief of the fleet of observation, consisting of the following men of war:

Edgar 74 {Rear-Admiral Honorable John Leveson Gower.[47] {Captain Charles Thompson.[47] Colossus 74 Captain Hugh Cloberry Christian.[47] Magnificent 74 Captain Hon. Geo. C. Berkeley.[47] Culloden 74 Captain Sir Thomas Rich, [Bart.][48] Crown 74 Captain Charles Morice Pole.[47] Scipio 64 Captain Skeffington Lutwidge.[49] Hebe 36 Captain Edward Thornbrough.[50] Andromeda 32 Captain H.R.H. Prince William Henry.[50] Trimmer 18 Captain Charles Tyler.[50]

Sailed with the squadron to the westward of Scilly, and off the Irish coast for nearly two months, putting in occasionally to Cawsand Bay and Torbay, and then returned to our station as guard-ship on Portsmouth Harbour. We were very glad to get rid of our admiral. He was what we call a tight hand of the watch; one that would make a fellow jump where there was no stile. He used to play hell and turn up Jack, and would spare nobody. He had an ugly trick of getting up as early as three and sometimes before it in the morning, and would walk the quarter deck in a flannel jacket, and most of the time without a hat, until breakfast was ready; a happy dog of a midshipman walking between two of the quarter deck guns with a signal book, which ever and anon he would call for in the voice of Stentor—

Stentor the strong, endued with brazen lungs,
Whose throat surpassed the force of fifty tongues.

Coming out of his cabin early one morning in a great hurry, he fell over a signal lantern, and was going to play hell with the lieutenant of the watch for having lanterns upon deck at that time of day—about half-past two in the morning. The Crown being out of her station, he was going to make the signal for an officer from that ship, and going to the office to write the order he could not get in, the clerk having the key; which put him into such a rage that he swore he would flog the clerk and those that wrote under him. However, his rage abated and he did not make the signal, it blowing very hard; but he would not suffer the clerk or his under-scribes to show themselves in the office while his flag was flying.

Culverhouse was at this time signal lieutenant and was not so quick in getting up this unlucky morning as the admiral, although a very active and able officer. The admiral, not seeing him, roared out to me (which made me jump a foot off the deck) ‘Where’s that little son of a bitch? Go down for him directly.’ Down I went to the gunroom where Culverhouse slept, and told him the news. In great tribulation he instantly got up and came upon deck, and kept some time behind the admiral thinking to weather the storm; but the moment he got sight of him he sang out like a lion, ‘Go on the poop and be damned to you. Why were you not out of your nest before?’ I must here state that, notwithstanding this, the admiral was a great friend to Lieutenant Culverhouse, and I have been told first took notice of him from the following circumstance. When on board the Victory, he was on the gangway with his glass, sitting on the weather clue of the mainsail, when the main tack suddenly gave way and threw him into the lee clue of the sail unhurt. He was an excellent signal officer, a good sailor, an agreeable messmate, and in every respect a very clever fellow. He was made a post captain, but was unfortunately drowned at the Cape of Good Hope.[51] The admiral was like Sylla the Dictator; that is, he would go any length to serve his friends, but was the reverse to those he had a dislike to. He appeared to be well acquainted with the character of most of the officers in the service; his memory in that respect was astonishing. He was an able tactician, and in every respect a great officer, with a look ‘that withered all the host.’

He was a mortal foe to puppyism, and one of our midshipmen going aloft with gloves on, attracted his eye; for which he got such a rub down that I am certain he remembers to the present day, although he is a post captain, and as proud as the devil, without any reason. Another of his freaks was threatening to have a bowl put upon our heads and our hair cut round in the newest fashion by that measure. He told one of our midshipmen (Pringle) who was a very stout man and who happened to be in his way when looking at the compass, ‘That he was too big for a midshipman but would do very well as a scuttle butt,’ and, Pringle having his hands in his pockets, he was going to send for the tailor to sew them up. When he first came on board to muster, a little before we sailed, everyone was dressed in full uniform to receive him. He took notice of this, and with a smile (a lurking devil in it), complimented us on our good looks, at the same time observing, ‘You knew who was coming; but notwithstanding your looking so well, I think I can see a little rust on you yet which I shall endeavour to rub off.’[52]

Our captain was as gruff as the devil, and had a voice like a mastiff whose growling would be heard superior to the storm. He was very particular respecting dress as the following order will shew:—

_Memo._:—

If any officer shall so far forget himself as to appear when on
shore without his uniform, I shall regard it as a mark of his
being ashamed of his profession and discharge him from the ship
accordingly.

(Signed) CHARLES THOMPSON,
Captain.

He had very near caught some of us in Middle Street, Gosport, but fortunately an alley was at no great distance through which we made a hasty but safe retreat, and by that means prevented a few vacancies for midshipmen taking place in the Edgar.

And now according to promise let me speak a few words about my old mastheading friend, Lieutenant John Stiles. When the guard-ships went out for a cruise to blow the dust off the harbour duty men, their complement was made up of men and officers from those ships that remained in port. It happened that my aforesaid friend was sent on board of us. Now it so turned out that he had not so much to say on board the old Edgar as he had when on board the Salisbury (of cruel memory). In the latter ship he had lambs to look after; in the Edgar he had devils to look after him. In working ship this gentleman was stationed on the forecastle, and got the nickname from the admiral of ‘Knight of the Belfry,’[53] because he always planted himself there when the hands were turned up; and from being in such a conspicuous situation, when things went slack—which was sometimes the case— the admiral, who had an eye like a hawk, would damn him up in heaps, and the captain, as an able assistant, would run forward like a bull-dog, and roar out the second part of the same tune. I was also stationed on the forecastle, and when those freaks were going on, I used to look at my old mastheading friend and grin, and he knew damned well what I was grinning at, as the good old times could not be forgotten. And now, John, I am done with you.

I subscribed to a concert in Gosport and one evening I went with a messmate (the late Captain Philpot) and some girls who I gave tickets to; we did not break up until 12 o’clock and then went on board. It happened unfortunately to be our middle watch, and the rest of the watch being on shore we relieved the deck; but, being tired and sleepy, we thought it no harm to go to our hammocks instead of keeping a vile watch; so, singing the old song:

I hate this damned watching and trudging the deck;
The most we can get, boys, at best is a check;
Sit still then, and let the lieutenants all rail,
We’ll ride out the breeze—says Commodore Gale—

we thought ourselves perfectly secure; and so we should have been, had not a quarrel taken place between two of the quartermasters’ wives, for which one of them was turned out of the ship; but in revenge she accused the other of smuggling four tubs of liquor into the ship, stating the time to the first lieutenant. Now as ill luck would have it, it proved to be on the concert night, or rather the morning, when the transaction took place. He then made his report to the captain, who sent for us and with a ferocious aspect demanded the reason of our leaving the deck. We could give none, only Philpot said, ‘The concert, sir.’ ‘The concert, sir?’ retorted the captain; ‘What had the concert to do with liquor getting into the ship, and officers sleeping in their watch? I have a great mind to try you both by a court martial;’ and turning to the first lieutenant he said, ‘Mr. Yetts, let them be prisoners for three months’—or, in other words, not to be suffered to leave the ship, even upon duty, during that time.

Our first lieutenant (Yetts) was a very droll and strange personage, in dress as well as in manners. When he commissioned the Edgar he had on a uniform coat made in days of yore, with sleeves that reached to his hips, a very low collar, huge white lappels and cuffs, the buttons behind at a good fighting distance, and the skirts and pockets of enormous size. A red waistcoat, nankin breeches, and black worsted stockings, with great yellow buckles on round-toed shoes, a hat that had been cocked, but cut round, with a very low crown, so that he was obliged to keep his hand to his head to prevent its blowing off in the lightest breeze. When he came on board in this costume, the warrant officers thought he had made his escape from a madhouse; and Grey, the gunner, swore he was an understrapper from Bedlam that was come to take Johnny Bone the boatswain (at that time half mad from drunkenness) to the lunatic hospital. When this was told Johnny it brought him to his reason, and in great tribulation he locked himself up in his storeroom and remained there the most of the day, to the great amusement of everyone on board.

This Johnny Bone was a devil of a fellow at Cap-a-bar,[54] and would stick at nothing. It is related that the late Lord Duncan, when he commanded the Edgar, once said to him, ‘Whatever you do, Mr. Bone, I hope and trust you will not take the anchors from the bows.’

But to return to Lieutenant Yetts; he was a very active old man; extremely passionate, and swore as well as his brother officers of the present day; an excellent sailor, and though violent at times, would hurt no one. He was also well read in ancient and modern history. In asking him leave to go on shore, his answer was (if out of temper), ‘No; damn my brains if you shall go.’ It happened one night when he went on shore that Jack Kiel (one of the midshipmen) and myself took the opportunity and set off on a cruise in the long boat’s punt (small boat), and landed on Gosport beach; and having secured the boat, we took a stroll up Middle Street, when who should pop upon us but old Yetts, who, we thought, had gone to Portsmouth. We took to our heels and he called after us, but was not certain (so it appeared) to our persons. We, without loss of time, got on board and went to our hammocks. The moment he returned, down came the quartermaster to acquaint us that Mr. Yetts wished to see us. When we came upon deck he addressed us with ‘——, Mr. Kiel and Mr. Gardner, who gave you leave to go on shore? and why did you not come when I called you?’ We brazened it out that we had not been on shore and had gone to our hammocks a considerable time, and that he must have mistaken somebody else for us. This seemed to stagger him, but he swore, ‘damn his brains, but it must be us.’ He then made inquiry of the midshipmen of the watch, but we had taken devilish good care not to come up the side but crept in through the gunroom port, so that they could give him no information. By these means we weathered him; but for more than a week after, whenever he saw us on deck, he greeted us with, ‘Damn my brains, but it was you.’

There was a song at this time by Storace[55]—it began as follows:

I left the country and my friends
To play on my little guitar;
It goes tang-tang-tang,
It goes tang-tang-tang,
It goes tang-tang-tang,
It goes ta— etc.

One of our midshipmen (Vosper) altered this, and used to sing with a thundering voice the following burlesque to the same tune.

The other day I asked old Yetts
For leave to go on shore;
He said no, no, you shall not go,
He said no, no, no, he said no,
He said no no, you shall not go,
By Christ, you shall not go, etc.

I had nearly got into a second scrape about the confounded middle watch. My friend Jack Kiel and myself relieved the deck at 12. The rest of the watch were absent as before. The night was as dark as pitch, and blowing and raining most furiously, when about five bells we got rather hungry and went to our berth in the cockpit to stew beef steaks. This was done by lighting several pieces of candle in the bottom of a lantern, and sticking forks (not silver ones) in the table round it with a plate resting on them over the candles (the head of the lantern being off), which stewed the steaks remarkably well. We had scarcely finished when old Davy Jacks, the quartermaster, came hobbling down the cockpit ladder to inform us that the Endymion was going out of harbour, and had made the signal for assistance (we had then the command). ‘Why, Davy,’ says Kiel, ‘you must be mad to think of such a thing. Is that all the news you have?’ ‘Nothing more, sir,’ says Davy; ‘only Mr. Yetts wants you.’ This was the unkindest cut of all. Away we flew upon deck, saw how things were, and went into the wardroom to answer the bell for the officer of the watch, and found the old man nearly dressed. ‘J—— ——,’ say he, ‘What’s the matter? and why did you not come when I rung before?’ I told him we were looking out on the Endymion, who had broke from her moorings and had made the signal, and that I was just coming to acquaint him of the circumstance. This satisfied him, and we took good care never to be off deck again.

The Phaëton, 38, having arrived from the Mediterranean and a court martial ordered on her captain (Geo. Dawson), and also on Messrs. Wall and Lucas, the first and second lieutenants, and likewise on a man by the name of Wilkie, her master—Rear-Admiral J. Peyton hoisted his flag (white at the mizen) on board of us as president of the court. The lieutenants were tried the first, and sentenced to be dismissed from their ship; and then the above-named Wilkie, as prosecutor, exhibited fifteen charges against Captain Dawson. The trial lasted several days, when twelve of the charges and part of another were brought in Scandalous, Malicious, Ill-founded, and Derogatory to the discipline of his Majesty’s Service; but two of the charges and part of another being proved, he was dismissed from his Majesty’s Service.

Captain Dawson then tried Wilkie on four charges; part of which being proved, he was sentenced to be dismissed from his ship—a sad punishment, she being paid off the next day. The surgeon (Wardrope) had been tried before the ship arrived and was a long time under sentence of death.[56]

Captain Dawson was an officer who had greatly distinguished himself in the American War when he commanded the Hope [schooner]. He was captain of the Renown, 50, when she engaged and would have taken a French 84,[57] one of the Count D’Estaing’s fleet, had she not been rescued by some of the enemy’s ships coming to her assistance. This trial occasioned a great party spirit among the midshipmen, some siding with Wilkie the prosecutor, and others with Captain Dawson. I was for the latter, because I thought there was malice prepense in the prosecution. I hated the basilisk look of Wilkie, and wished him at the devil. A violent altercation taking place upon this subject, my old messmate Philpot, a strong adherent to the house of Wilkie, in the moment of irritation threw a black jack full of beer in my face; for which compliment I instantly knocked him down, and after a hard battle in which he got two black eyes, I came off conqueror. Things were going to be carried farther, but a stop was put to it and we made it up.

Like all ships we had some droll hands, and with the exception of about half a dozen, all good and worthy fellows. One or two of the half dozen I shall mention, and begin with Geo. Wangford, who had been in the Boreas, and was a follower of the captain. He was an immoderate drinker, and from his fiery countenance had the nickname of Bardolph. While in the Edgar his mother died and left him one thousand pounds. He lived about six months after receiving the money in one scene of debauchery; and with the assistance of a noted prostitute, named Poll Palmer, in that short time made away with nearly five hundred pounds. I remember his being taken ill after a hard drinking match, and then he got religious and requested one of the midshipmen (Patrick Flood), another strange fish, to read the Bible to him. This Patrick readily agreed to; but before he got through a chapter pretended to have a violent pain in his stomach, upon which Wangford requested him to take capillaire[58] and brandy, and that he would join him, and desired that, in mixing, two thirds should be brandy. Flood was immediately cured, and began to read a chapter in Job; and when he came to that part, ‘Then Job answered and said,’ Wangford started up and roared out—‘that I am going to hell before the wind.’ I lay close by them and heard every word. He soon after turned to upon Hollands, his favourite beverage, and thought no more of Job or the Bible. Soon after he was sent to the hospital, where he remained some time and died mad. A little before his death Pringle (one of the midshipmen) went to see him, and while sitting on the foot of his bed he started up and seized hold of Pringle by the hair singing out, ‘—— —— ——, catch that bird’; the other calling out for the nurse to assist him, which was of little use for he nearly broke her arm before others came up to secure him. Several of us attended his funeral.

Our time passed cheerfully in the harbour; plenty of fun and going on shore. One night several of us supped in the main hatchway berth on the orlop deck, when old Andrew Macbride, the schoolmaster (a man of splendid abilities but unfortunately given to drinking, though the goodness of his heart made him much respected and did away in a great measure with that infirmity) on this occasion got so drunk that Ned Moore (my worthy messmate) handed him a couple of tumblers of the juice of red pickled cabbage and told him it was brandy and water, which he drank without taking the least notice. I believe it did him good as an aperient, for he was cruising about all night and next day, and could not imagine what it was that affected him so.

One of our midshipmen (Millar), as worthy a fellow as ever lived, told me the following anecdote of himself and Macbride. On his joining the Hector, 74, a guard-ship in Portsmouth Harbour, Morgan, the first lieutenant, came up to him and said, ‘Millar, my boy, how glad I am to see you. You must dine with me to-day.’ Millar, who had never seen him before, thought it rather queer that he should be so friendly at first sight; however, he accepted the invitation. When dinner was over, Morgan declared that he was under a great obligation to him and that he should at all times be happy to acknowledge it. Poor Millar said he was really at a loss to understand him. ‘Well then,’ says Morgan, ‘I’ll tell you. It is this. I was considered the ugliest son of a bitch in the fleet before you came on board, but you beat me dead hollow, and surely you cannot wonder at my being sensible of the obligation.’ Millar laughed heartily, and they were ever after on the best terms. It happened in about three months after this, Macbride also joined the Hector. The moment he came on board, down came the quartermaster to Millar saying that Lieutenant Morgan wanted to see him immediately. As soon as Millar came on the quarter deck, Morgan went up to him and wished him joy; and pointing to Macbride observed, ‘You, Millar, are a happy dog for being relieved so soon. I was considered the ugliest son of a bitch in the fleet for more than a year; you then came on board and outdid me; but there stands one that beggars all description, and if they were to rake hell they could not find his fellow.’ Then going and shaking Macbride by the hand, asked him and Millar to dine with him that day to celebrate the happy relief.

Poor Andrew once made a vow that he would not get drunk, and said that not only the taste but the smell of the liquor was so disagreeable that he could not bear to stay where it was. He also gave Watson, the boatswain, leave to thrash him with his cane if ever he found him drunk. Poor fellow, he kept his promise for about three months, and then turned to as bad as ever, and Watson did not forget to give him a lacing with his cane, which occasioned the following song written by John Macredie:—

Of all the delights that a mortal can taste,
A bottle of liquor is surely the best;
Possessed of that treasure my hours sweetly glide,
Oh! there’s nothing like grog, says sweet Andrew Macbride.

When I sit in my school I think my time lost
Where with dry sines and tangents my temper is crossed;
But how sweetly I smile with the glass by my side:
Grog helps mathematics, says Andrew Macbride.

The boatswain, God damn him, would fain me control
With a promise when sober I made like a fool;
With his cursed rattan he so curried my hide,
That I’ll drink his damnation, says Andrew Macbride.

When the sweet powers of grog have my reason betrayed,
And free from sad care on the deck I am laid,
Then the boys black my face, and my actions deride;
The whelps may be damned, says Andrew Macbride.

From the raptures of grog shall a sage be controlled,
And a man like myself submit to be schooled?
If I’m drunk, the lieutenant and captain may chide;
But I’ll drink till I die, says sweet Andrew Macbride.

When I said the smell hurt me, the fools did believe;
Och hone! my dear friends, I did you deceive;
When the taste or smell hurts me, may hell open wide,
And I, damned there with water to drink, says Macbride.

Nothing disrespectful was intended by this song. Every officer in the ship was a friend to poor Andrew, and Macredie would have been one of the first to resent an insult offered to him. It is a strange coincidence that on the day we were paid off, I saw Macbride sitting on the taffrail reading Ossian’s poems, and looking at a fine engraving of the Spirit of Crugal.[59] Twelve years after in Port Royal Harbour, Jamaica, I went to answer the signal for lieutenant on board the Leviathan, 74 (I then belonged to the Brunswick), and going on the poop to write the order, I saw a figure sitting on the taffrail, who I thought I knew, in deep meditation. On going up to him I recognised my old messmate Macbride, with the identical book and the engraving of the Spirit of Crugal in his hand. The poor fellow was most happy to see me, but how altered! He went back with me to dinner, and I gave him some classical books that pleased him greatly. His bones are lying at the Palisades. He was one of the first mathematicians in Europe; an excellent writer in prose and verse, an able disputant, and possessed a mind remarkable for the strictest integrity. ‘Tread lightly on his ashes, ye men of genius, for he was your kinsman.’[60]

I must here say a word about poor unfortunate Patrick Flood. When first I knew him in the American War, he was a fine officer-like looking fellow; but when he joined the Edgar he was sadly reduced from long illness in the West Indies; and from domestic troubles, and disappointment at not getting promotion, grew regardless of himself and reckless of his character. Cynical to a degree and used to caricature us upon every occasion, I remember his making a very ludicrous drawing of Macbride, representing him sitting on the deck with the boys blacking his face and a bottle and a glass alongside of him; and [underneath it, some scurrilous verses, which Macbride answered with others still more indecent].

When the Edgar was paid off, Captain A. J. P. Molloy[61] was appointed to the command of her, and Flood was continued as one of the midshipmen. Having obtained leave to go to London to try and raise friends to get his promotion, he succeeded in getting the promise from Lord Chatham; but unfortunately having staid a short time above his leave, Captain Molloy, in answer to Lord Chatham’s letter respecting him, cruelly said he considered Mr. Flood in no other light than that of a deserter. This was the ruin of poor Flood, who died in penury, but lived long enough to witness the downfall of his enemy. And now let me mention my worthy messmate John Macredie, a gentleman that did honour to society and one that was highly respected by a numerous acquaintance. He had seen a great deal of service and was on board the Hercules, 74, in Rodney’s action on the 12th of April 1782. He was also on board the Princess Royal, 98, and Pégase, 74, and then joined the Edgar, and was a messmate of mine for three years, and again in the Barfleur for upwards of a twelvemonth. He was an excellent scholar, being well acquainted with the Greek and Latin, and was deeply read in ancient history and nearly equal to Macbride in mathematics. The author of many plays that were never printed, as he would not allow them to be sent to the press, although strongly urged by those who were competent judges of their merit. He was also a good poet and possessed undaunted courage, and was as generous as he was brave. At the same time he was one of the most absent [minded] men that can be imagined. I have known him when going to answer a signal come on deck with one boot and one shoe on; and when sent below in consequence, come up again with his black stock with the inside turned out. One morning when alongside of the flagship, on stepping from the boat to the accommodation ladder he dropped the order book overboard, and in trying to get hold of it he let go his sword, which sunk in a moment. I have also known him walk nearly two miles out of Gosport before he recollected that he had only to go to his tailor’s, who lived near the beach.

I must not forget another worthy fellow and messmate of mine, the late Lieutenant Edward Moore, at this time one of the mates. Ned was as brave and generous a soul as ever lived; a determined enemy to tyranny, as the following circumstance will shew. When the present Retired Rear-Admiral Shield[62] was first lieutenant of the Saturn, 74, at Spithead in the year 1791 or 1792, one evening in the first watch he ordered one of the midshipmen (Mr. Leonard) on some trifling occasion to the masthead for punishment. Mr. L. said he would go there with pleasure if it was on duty, but not for punishment; upon which Mr. Shield had him made fast to a girtline and triced up to the main topmast-head without a guy to keep him clear of the top etc. This made a great stir both on board and on shore, and Mr. Leonard was advised to commence proceedings by entering an action against Shield; and a subscription was set on foot to defray the expenses attending it. My friend Ned at this time belonged to the London, 98, lying at Spithead; and he wrote letters to the midshipmen of the other men of war to subscribe also. This coming to the knowledge of Lord Hood, he considered it as a conspiracy injurious to the discipline of the navy, and Moore was put under an arrest. A court of inquiry was held, and then a court martial, where Sir Hyde Parker stood as prosecutor; and after a long examination of witnesses, Moore was found guilty of contempt of court and sentenced to be confined in the Marshalsea for one month, a fortnight of which he remained on board the guard-ship. The other charge was not proved. The late Admiral Macbride, who commanded the Cumberland, 74, at that time, was a member of the court, and was a friend to Moore ever after, and made him lieutenant.

One of our midshipmen, who lately died a post captain, was an infernal tyrant. While in the Edgar, this chap one evening began his tricks by thrashing one of the youngsters, a messmate of Ned’s, and for so doing Ned gave him, to the great joy of all, the most severe drubbing I ever witnessed. Ned had been a shipmate of this person’s before in the Queen, 98, when a guard-ship, and had seen some of his pranks there and now paid him on the old score.

While lying at the Hardway moorings, about three o’clock one morning we heard a voice halloing out ‘Come here, you sleepy-headed hounds, and take me out of a hole that I have got into.’ It being low water, the voice appeared to come from the mud. Two or three of us got into the cutter (for we always kept a boat out)[63] and went in the direction of the voice, where we found Moore up to his middle, and being a stout fellow it was no easy matter to extricate him. Had we not gone when we did he would have been suffocated as the tide was flowing. He had been keeping it up and missed his way to the Hard. He was one that would part with his last shilling to serve a friend or assist those in distress. I recollect while lying in Torbay with the grand fleet (we belonged to the Barfleur, 98, then), that I had not a sixpence and no opportunity of sending home; and I wanted to go on shore, and how to raise the wind I did not know; which coming to the ears of Ned, says he, ‘Tony, I have got a guinea and I am determined that you shall have half of it’—which he made me take. Would to God that he was alive and that I could shake hands with him now, and the rest of the brave fellows that are no more. _Sit tibi terra levis!_

We had a custom when the officers were at dinner in the wardroom, of dividing into parties; one division was to storm the other on the poop. In one of those attacks I succeeded in getting on the poop, when Kiel (who I have mentioned before) attacked me with a fixed bayonet and marked me in the thigh (all in good part). I then got hold of a musket, put in a small quantity of powder, and as he advanced, I fired. To my horror and amazement he fell flat on the deck, and when picked up his face was as black as a tinker’s, with the blood running down occasioned by some of the grains of powder sticking in. I shall never forget the terror I was in, but thank God he soon got well; only a few blue spots remained in his phiz, which never left him. This was the only time I ever fired a musket and probably will be the last. They used to say in the cockpit that he was troubled with St. Anthony’s fire (alluding to my name).