Chapter VIII: Part 8

We left the Texel in November 1799, and in standing over to our own coast had nearly struck by the blunder of our pilots on the Gabbard. After escaping from this first blunder we anchored near the Shipwash, another shoal by far more dangerous than the former. It was in the evening that we took up our quarters in this precious situation, intending to get under way with the morning tide. I must here mention that we had two pilots; one of them had been a branch pilot for more than twenty years. I had the morning watch, and on relieving the deck I observed to this branch pilot that the weather had a very suspicious appearance. The wind at this time was favourable for getting to sea, and we could lay five points to windward of the tail of the shoal. I strongly urged the pilot to get under way, pointing out the danger of our situation should the wind get dead on the shoal, but all to no purpose. He said there was no fear and he must remain where he was, as he was sure the weather would be fine, and that it was only a light haze over the moon; upon which I went to the captain and gave my opinion. He agreed with me, but did not like to take charge out of the pilots’ hands, saying he was fearful, in getting under way, that the ship might get on shore should she cast the wrong way. Now there was no fear of that, as a spring on the cable would have cast her the right way, and the loss of an anchor was of little consequence compared with the risk of losing the ship and our lives.

Far be it from me to reflect upon Captain Dobree, who was a good officer and seaman; and taking charge from a pilot was a great responsibility; but when a pilot is guilty of a gross error, I should never hesitate to take charge of the ship, if I knew I could do so with safety, which was the case now. But it was neglected, and as I foretold, the wind soon after backed round and blew dead upon the shoal, so that we could not weather either end. At this time we were at single anchor about two or three cable’s-lengths from the breakers, blowing strong, and the sea getting up; at half cable; but let go another anchor and veered to a whole cable on the former, and half cable on the latter, bringing two anchors ahead. Sent topgallant masts upon deck, and struck yards and topmasts; the wind increasing to a gale, with a hollow sea and great strain upon the cables. There was no alternative but to cut away the masts, which was immediately done; but owing to an error of one of the officers, who ordered the lanyards of the main stay to be cut before the lanyards of one side of the main rigging, the main mast, in consequence fell aft, and carried away the mizen mast, which stove the boats on the quarters and did considerably damage to the upper works; and some of the rigging caught fire, from the stove in the cabin having the funnel knocked off; but this was soon got under, and with great exertion the wreck was cleared. ‘And now, Master Pilot,’ says I, ‘after getting us in this damnable situation, what next is to be done?’ The son of a bitch could make me no answer; but the junior pilot exclaimed ‘—— seize me if we sha’n’t be on the sands.’ I could not help saying they deserved to be hanged as drowning was too good for them.

I have already mentioned that we had Dutch troops on board with their families, and of as much use as Castlereagh would have been with the same number of his Lancers or Prancers.[140] The few marines we had were worth a thousand of such live lumber. It was ludicrous to see those Dutchmen coming upon deck with their hat boxes, boots, trunks, flutes and music books, ready to go on shore, when the sea was running mountains high, and a tremendous surf of prodigious height on the sands close under our stern, and no chance whatever, if the ship parted, of a soul being saved; which made Captain Dobree observe to me, ‘Where ignorance is bliss ’tis folly to be wise.’

About half-past ten A.M. we parted the best bower, and let go the sheet anchor; and at the greatest risk—it was neck or nothing—veered on the small bower to a whole, and half cable on the sheet, which brought us very near the shoal but there was no help for it. About twelve o’clock we observed that the small bower was stranded; and at the moment when nothing but a miracle could save us, in a terrific squall of thunder, lightning, hail, and rain, the wind suddenly flew round and blew with violence off the shoal, which saved H. M. ship Blonde from destruction. It soon after got moderate; we had an excellent ship’s company, and in less than three hours we had jury masts rigged and both anchors hove up—having saved the small bower; made sail and anchored in a safer berth to await the tide.

About eleven P.M. we were surprised by a boat coming alongside with four hands, who stated they belonged to a galliot that had struck upon the tail of the shoal and had beat over into smoother water, where she sunk. The crew had taken to the boat and were six hours beating about before they got alongside of us, and thought we were a floating light. As soon as the morning tide would allow we got under way and followed some merchantmen—for I am certain the pilots did not know the way without having a leader—and arrived at Sheerness in the evening;

Ragged, and shabby, and all forlorn,
By wind and weather tattered and torn,
Occasioned by pilots who treated with scorn
The good advice that was given that morn;
For which a rope their necks should adorn,
The damnedest lubbers that ever were born.

Captain Dobree soon after left the ship to proceed with Sir Home Popham and other captains to Russia, and I acted as captain for several weeks until another was appointed. Having business on shore, I wrote to the admiralty requesting to be superseded, which after a little delay was granted, and Lieutenant Edwin James was appointed in my room. I left the old Blonde and my worthy messmates early in 1800.

I shall now relate a few anecdotes as they come to my memory. When near the shoal I have just mentioned, our surgeon’s mate and the ship’s cook were almost frightened out of their senses. The former, who would fight any man, or face the devil as soon as let it alone, was not equal to this; and when the junior pilot said, ‘—— seize me if we shan’t be on the sands,’ he clapped his hands and ran down to the gun room, with his hair standing on end, crying out, ‘Lost! Lost! Lost!’—and then flew on deck again; and when the wind shifted, he cut several capers and said ‘I’m a man again.’ As for the cook, he had saved a sum of money by keeping shop on board and selling things to the ship’s company. At the time the best bower parted, he was on the forecastle in the greatest tribulation; says he, ‘Betty’ (meaning his wife, who was on board) ‘will go to a better mansion, but I’m doubtful about myself.’ He had hardly made the observation when the sea broke over the bows that threatened destruction and with a faltering voice he said, ‘Liver me! Liver me!’—meaning ‘Deliver me,’ but could not get the word out. ‘Damn your liver, you croaking son of a bitch,’ says the captain of the forecastle. ‘Go into your coppers and be damned to you, and there you’ll be safe, and don’t come barking here like a tanner’s dog.’ I was on the forecastle with Captain Dobree at the time. He looked at me and for my life I could not help laughing.

While at Sheerness we had two courts martial held on board of us[141]; one on Lieutenant Brice, on charges brought against him by Captain Charles Brisbane while on the South American station. The charges being proved, he was sentenced to be dismissed the service and rendered incapable of serving his Majesty, his heirs or successors. This was most unfortunate for Lieutenant Brice, as his commission to the rank of commander only waited the result of his trial. The next was on Captain George Tripp, for the loss of the Nassau, 64, on the Dutch Coast.[142] The court having heard all the evidence came to the following conclusion:—That H.M. ship Nassau was lost through the gross ignorance and inattention of Captain Tripp, and that he did not set a good example to those under his command; and for such conduct he was sentenced to be dismissed from the service as unfit and unworthy, and rendered incapable of serving his Majesty, his heirs or successors.

I promised (page 12) to speak of Pat Gibson when I came to the Blonde. He was at this time (1799) purser of the Pallas, 38 (formerly the Minerva), having given up the Princess Royal as too great an undertaking for his age, being, as he told me, eighty. The Pallas being alongside the same hulk, we were constant visitors. As every circumstance, however trifling, may be interesting, I shall relate a few anecdotes. Gibson was a tall raw-boned Irishman from the county of Tipperary; very powerful, with an Herculean grasp, and woe betide those who got into his clutches if roused to anger. He was a very jovial companion, droll in his manner, full of anecdote, and sung in the Irish language, of which he was a perfect master. He used to go on shore to bring off the drunken Irish who had stayed above their time, and I remember his saying to me, ‘Arrah, don’t you think, my dear fellow, that it’s a hard thing that nobody can manage those spalpeens but an ould man like me, now eighty years of age? Och, By the Holy Father, how I knocked their heads together, and left the mark of my fist upon their ugly podreen faces, bad luck to them.’

He was at the taking of Quebec and was one of those that assisted in carrying General Wolfe off the field when mortally wounded. His account of the battle was very interesting, and in it he fought most manfully. It was amusing to see him sitting in his cabin with his legs stretched outside the door singing Irish songs. The steward once interrupted him, for which he got a thump on the back that sent him the length of the gunroom, Pat saying, ‘To hell wid you! take dat till the cows come home.’ There was a countryman of his by the name of Fegan, who, in the American war, was sent by Sir John Fielding (the celebrated magistrate of Bow Street) on board the Conquistador, 60, then lying as a guard-ship at the Nore with Admiral Roddam’s flag. This Fegan was a shrewd, keen fellow, and made a song on being sent on board of a man of war, and Gibson was very fond of singing it. I only remember a few verses:—

The beginning of the war they hobbled poor Fegan,
And sent him on board of the Conquistador;
That floating old gin shop, who struck upon her beef bones,
While laying as a guard-ship near the buoy of the Nore.

When first they lugged him before Justice Fielding,[143]
Fegan thus to him did say:
You may be damned, you old blind b——,
I will be back again before Christmas day.

By my sowl, Mr. Fegan, you are a fine fellow,
It’s you that have done the king much wrong;
Call Kit Jourdan, the master at arms, sir,
And put Mr. Fegan in double irons strong.

Step here, boatswain’s mate, and give him a starting;
Says the first lieutenant it’s always my way;
And you shall have many before the day of parting—
I think, Mr. Fegan, you mentioned Christmas day.

Etc., etc., etc.

When I called on him about three months before his death he told me he was then on his last legs; that he had enjoyed an uninterrupted state of health for upwards of ninety years; that he never had the headache, rheumatism, toothache or spasms, and that he had nothing to do with doctors’ bottles with collars round their necks, and look, says he, if you can find any of that craft on my chimney-piece. Before I close I must give another song of his:—

There was a wedding at Baltimore,
Of three score people lacking of four;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.

The priest of the parish got up at the dawn,
To marry brisk Flemming to sweet Susan Bawn;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.

There was Tyghe, and Dermot, and Madam Shevaun,
And they all rode on a long-tailed gar-ron;[144]
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.

There was sneezing galore, with full madders[145] of ale,
Which made maidens stagger and men for to reel;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.

Potatoes and herrings must please the men,
But madam the bride, she must have a fat hen;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.

There was long kail, and pottage, with good pishochbey,[146]
And the rarest colcannon[147] that e’er you did see;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.

When the feasting was o’er, from the room she was led,
Where they lay head and points as if they were dead;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.

· · · · ·

Our master, Henry Webb, was a very worthy fellow, but had strange fancies. When we were going from the Downs to Portsmouth, and about three leagues to the southward of Beachy Head, he had the first watch, and having after supper taken his drop, he dropped asleep while sitting on the gun-carriage and had a dream that the ship was on shore. Up he started and ran into the captain, who had gone to bed, and called out, ‘Get up, sir, we are all lost.’ The captain jumped out of bed and went upon deck in his shirt, and ordered the hands to be turned up, and sent for me. I flew up with only my trowsers on, found everything in confusion, and I really thought that madness had seized the whole. ‘Put the ship about, sir, immediately,’ says the captain. This I complied with, and when on the other tack I asked him if anything was the matter. ‘Mr. Webb, sir,’ says he, ‘must be sent to the madhouse.’ I confess I was not well pleased, as I had the middle watch and this happened at six bells, so I had an hour more than I expected to trudge the deck. I should have stated that the wind was westerly and we were beating down Channel with a moderate breeze. The captain was much inclined to bring Master Webb to a court martial, but we interceded for him and the business was looked over, but he never heard the last of this, and would frequently be greeted with the well-known words, ‘Turn out, we are all lost’—a compliment he could well dispense with.

He gave us a droll account that when at Lisbon he missed the boat that was to take the officers off in the evening who were on shore upon leave, and was engaging a shore boat for that purpose; but suspecting from something the boatmen were saying that their intention was to murder him, he took to his heels and hid under some logs in the neighbourhood of Bull Bay and remained there all night in the greatest terror. When he sallied out in the morning he was covered with filth of a yellow hue and appeared at a distance as if he had been dipped in Pactolus! His fright was so great that he was not aware of the bed of roses he had reposed on for so many hours, until he started in the morning with blushing honours thick upon him.

On another occasion, coming up in a small fishing boat from Sheerness to Chatham, he heard two of the men whispering, which he imagined was about himself, and when making a tack and near the mud, out he jumped and began to crawl upon his hands and knees as fast as he could for dry land. The poor fishermen, not knowing what to make of such conduct, ran the boat on the mud and two of them went after him, but to no purpose, it being dark. They called repeatedly, but got no answer from Webb, who was making off in terror and dismay; and what alarmed him more was hearing the men say, ‘D’ye see him now? Where the hell can he be got to? He must be hereabouts.’ At last he got out of the mud and set off for Chatham in a nice pickle, and told his tale; but the boat had arrived before him and the men in great tribulation had given their version, being fearful of prosecution, expecting that Webb was smothered or drowned; and glad enough they were when he arrived at Chatham and also to join in the laugh against him. One of the fishermen happened to know him by sight and where he lived, and by that means it got publicity.

In cases like this, and where ghosts were introduced, Webb’s courage would be put to the test; but in every other respect he was as brave as a lion. While at the Passage of Waterford, he had a dispute with our second lieutenant, and a challenge was the consequence, and they asked me leave to go on shore. As I had the greatest friendship for them both, I refused their request, and went below to the gunroom. Soon after one of the midshipmen came down and informed me they were going out of the ship. Up I went and found them in the jolly boat just shoved off. ‘Come back,’ says I, ‘immediately, or I’ll make the sentry fire.’ On their return I told them if they did not make it up instantly, I would try them by a court martial for going out of the ship contrary to orders and taking the boat. This had the desired effect, and I had the pleasure of making up the dispute between two as good fellows as ever lived.

The second lieutenant (Jack Derby) was a noisy droll fellow, always keeping the mess in a roar of laughter. The first day he joined the ship we had roast beef for dinner, and when brought to table it was little better than half done by the neglect of our black cook. Now this cook’s name was Jack Derby also, whom I sent for, and calling him up to the head of the table close by Lieutenant Jack Derby, says I, ‘I am sorry, sir, you should have such a dinner, particularly the first day of your coming on board; but you have to thank that black son of a bitch, Jack Derby’—an emphasis on the word—‘whose grog shall be stopped for such neglect.’ ‘Don’t mention it, sir,’ says he laughing; ‘I shall make a very good dinner, and suppose my name will be inserted on the ship’s books as Jack Derby the Second.’

While lying off Lymington our launch was sent to Portsmouth yard for stores, and Derby was sent in her. On her return, our purser (Huish) took a passage. On leaving the harbour the weather was moderate, but soon after came on to blow from the westward. Now the purser was very fearful in a boat, and Derby carried more sail than he ought, on purpose to alarm him. From the harbour to Lymington, the distance is twenty-six miles, and the wind being dead on end they had to beat all the way. Sometimes the boat would be gunwale under, and Huish, terrified almost to death, would every moment rise from his seat and fall again, exclaiming, ‘Jesus, Jenny, Jesus, Jenny’ (common words of his when things went wrong), and cursed the hour he was fool enough to trust himself with Derby, and if it pleased Providence to spare him now he would never put his foot in a boat with him even in a calm. But his troubles were not yet over, for in getting into the Fiddler’s Race near Gurnet Point, on the Isle of Wight side, with the tide under their lee, there was such a sea breaking that the launch was nearly swamped, and Derby seriously repented his joke; while Huish in despair repeatedly ejaculated, ‘Orontes’ bark, Orontes’ bark will be our fate.’ (See _Aeneid_ [i. 117]).[148] However, they got safe on board and created much amusement in the account Huish gave of Derby’s wickedness.

Being ordered to embark the 23rd regiment foot for Guernsey, and after going through the Needles in the evening, it came on thick weather in the first watch; and about eleven the wind, at SE, began to blow a hurricane, with snow so thick that we could not see half the length of the ship. We sent topgallant yards and topgallant masts upon deck, and hove the ship to under storm staysails. The topsails and courses were frozen as hard as board, and being short of complement it took nearly the whole of the middle watch before they could be furled. One of our main topmen was frozen and died soon after. The officers were also aloft, and all hands suffered most dreadfully. I was speaking to the man at the wheel when a sheet of ice fell out of the mizen top and knocked both of us down. It gave me a severe blow on the shoulder and the other a staggering thump on the back. I was so benumbed when I got below that I had hardly life in me. The officers of the 23rd made me swallow hot brandy and water, and I went to bed, where I had not been above half an hour before all hands were called again, and I was obliged to go on deck. The fact was the fore topsail had got loose and blew to rags, and the main topsail was nearly following its example, but stopped in time, and we had to bend another fore topsail in this cruel weather. Towards morning it cleared up and got moderate. During the whole course of my life I never suffered so much as I did on that dreadful night. However, we got safe into Guernsey and landed our soldiers. The officers were a glorious set of fellows, and sorry I am that I cannot find any of their names on the list.

The last time we were at the Passage of Waterford was passed very agreeably. I had a cousin (the son of the late Alderman Bates of Waterford) who had an estate in the neighbourhood. He used to send horses and a carriage for the officers of our mess, who were frequently at his house. He was field officer of the district and kept a great deal of company, and gave many parties in honour of the old Blonde. On one occasion he came on board to invite us to an evening party, when he and Jack Derby got into conversation, and at last got so drunk that it was evening before they got sober enough to leave the ship. It was then time to go, and off they started, Derby in full uniform. When the boat landed, he, with all the politeness imaginable, wanted to hand Bates out. This Bates declined. ‘Then,’ says Jack, ‘we’ll go together.’ Now the gang board was hardly broad enough for two, and the moment they stepped upon it over they went where the water was four feet deep and got a fine ducking. Derby would not return to the ship, but, mounting a horse belonging to Bates, set off in his wet clothes to meet the party, and there Bates dressed him in regimentals, and a precious figure he cut. We passed a very pleasant evening, there being near seventy present. One of the ladies sung the beautiful air of ‘Eileen Aroon’ in Irish—a translation of which I met with a few years ago and give it as follows:—

I’ll love thee evermore,
Eileen aroon.
I’ll bless thee o’er and o’er,
Eileen aroon.
Oh, for thy sake I’ll tread
Where the plains of Mayo spread,
By hope still fondly led,
Eileen aroon.

Oh! how may I gain thee,
Eileen aroon?
Shall feasting entertain thee,
Eileen aroon?
I would range the world wide,
With love alone to guide,
To win thee for my bride,
Eileen aroon.

Then wilt thou come away,
Eileen aroon?
Oh! wilt thou come or stay,
Eileen aroon?
Oh yes! oh yes! with thee
I will wander far and free,
And thy only love shall be,
Eileen aroon.

A hundred thousand welcomes
Eileen aroon.
A hundred thousand welcomes,
Eileen aroon.
Oh! welcome evermore,
With welcomes yet in store,
Till love and life are o’er,
Eileen aroon.

We had a fidgety and crabbed commodore (Captain Stevenson of the Europa, 50) who neither enjoyed pleasure himself nor would let anyone else do so: who kept Blue Peter flying the fortnight we remained, which said No! to every invitation to the city.

In going from Portsmouth to the Downs we gave a passage to an assistant surgeon, red hot from the land of cakes, who had never been on board of a man of war, and had now an appointment to a gun vessel. Seeing that he was a complete greenhorn, we took him into our mess that the midshipmen should not make a butt of him, for which he was very thankful. On leaving the ship in the Downs, he took the surgeon aside, saying, ‘You have all been very kind to me, particularly the purser, and I would wish to make him some acknowledgment. D’ye think if I gave him three pounds of cheese!!! it would satisfy him?’ After he landed at Deal he put up at the Three Kings. Captain Dobree, happening to go into the coffee room, observed him in one of the boxes, and hearing him ask the waiter what there was for dinner, stayed to hear the result. The bill of fare being given him, he ordered an apple pie, which was brought him made in a good-sized dish. This he devoured in a short time, and ordered the fellow to bring him another, which he demolished also, and then rang the third time and asked him if he had any more of those pies. On the waiter saying they had, he said, ‘You may as well bring me one more,’ upon which Captain Dobree exclaimed ‘Merciful father!’ and left him in his glory. The captain told me this the moment he came on board, saying he never met the fellow of him in all his peregrinations.

About six months after this a small squadron of gun vessels were ordered from the Downs to cruise on the French coast. It happened that his appointment was dated before the other assistant surgeons in the above squadron, and will it be believed that he considered himself entitled to the same rank and emoluments as physician of the fleet, and made application for the same, and got for answer (as we were told) that the board disapproved of the whole of his practice.

DANIEL DOBREE, Esq., [Acting] Captain.

Dead [1802]. A good officer, seaman, and gentleman. [Post captain,
April 29, 1802.]

J. A. GARDNER, 1st Lieutenant.

A commander.

JOHN WORRALL, 2nd Lieutenant.

Dead [1831]. A commander; crabbed.

JOHN DERBY, 2nd Lieutenant.

Dead. Warden at Portsmouth yard.

HENRY J. LYFORD, 2nd Lieutenant.

Dead [1830]. A post captain.—[Marshall, vii. 170.]

WM. GIBSON, 2nd Lieutenant.

Broke by court martial and rendered incapable of serving, for
going on shore without leave to fight a duel.

EDWIN JAMES, 2nd Lieutenant.

Dead [1829]. A commander.—[Marshall, xi. 156.]

HENRY WEBB, Master.

Dead. A worthy, honest fellow.

ROBERT HUISH, Purser.

Dead. A droll fellow and good mimic.

[JOHN] TUCKER, Purser.

Dead. Thoughtless and extravagant.

J[AMES] MILLIGAN, Surgeon.

Dead. A worthy fellow.

[JOHN] HARRISON, Gunner.

Dead. A very good warrant officer.

JOHN BLACKFORD, Boatswain.

Dead. A willing man, but drank.

[THOMAS] NEWPORT, Carpenter.

Dead. Broke by court martial.

[JAMES] THOMAS, Mate.

Uncertain. A good-natured Irishman.

[EDWARD] CAULFIELD, Midshipman.

Dead. A lieutenant.

[CHARLES] DONCASTER, Midshipman.

Dead from yellow fever at Jamaica. A fine, promising young man.
[Borne as ‘boy of the 1st class’; afterwards midshipman.]

FREDERICK HOUGHTON, Midshipman.

Drowned. A lieutenant.

CHAS. HOUGHTON, Midshipman.

A lieutenant. They were sons of Major [Daniel] Houghton [_cf._
_D.N.B._], the African traveller.

DANIEL DOBREE, Midshipman; son of the captain.

Dead.

[WILLIAM] BLACKFORD, son of the boatswain.

Dead. A lieutenant; a worthy character. [Borne as ‘boy of the 3rd
class’; afterwards midshipman.]

BRUNSWICK, 74

This flat-floored tub that rolled like the devil,
Was planned by Black Dick in an hour most evil.

In April 1801 I was appointed to the Brunswick in Portsmouth harbour and did duty as first lieutenant until the senior officer made his appearance, which was not until I had fitted the ship out. This officer was my old shipmate, Jack Key, formerly of the Barfleur, and one totally unfit for the situation. In consequence, Captain George Hopewell Stephens, who commanded the ship, was obliged to apply to the admiralty for an officer senior to Key, and Emanuel Hungerford was appointed first lieutenant, Captain Stephens expressing his regret at the circumstance, observing that it was a hard case but that he would do everything in his power to serve me. He was as good as his word, and I found him through life a sincere friend. Hoisted the flag (red at the mizen) of Rear Admiral John Holloway, as junior port admiral, and received orders to proceed without loss of time to Spithead; and having struck the flag, sailed to join the North Sea fleet under Admiral Dickson, who had his flag (blue at the main) on board the Blenheim, 74. After cruising several weeks and putting into Yarmouth Roads occasionally, we were next ordered to join the grand fleet under Admiral Cornwallis (Billy Blue) off Brest blockading the French fleet until the negotiations for peace; when, in consequence of the French sending a squadron to the West Indies, our admiral detached from the grand fleet five sail of the line in October 1801 for the same destination. The squadron consisted of the following men of war:—

Goliath 74 Captain Essington, as commodore
Captain 74 Captain C. Boyles
Elephant 74 Captain Thos. Foley
Brunswick 74 Captain Geo. Hopewell Stephens
Ganges 74 Captain Fremantle

We had a pleasant passage down the trades and made Deseada some time in November, and had a beautiful view of the West India Islands; and in about a week after making Deseada we arrived at Port Royal, Jamaica, and found lying there the following men of war:—

Sans Pareil 84 Rear-Admiral Montagu—Captain Jas. Katon
Carnatic 74 Captain H. W. Bayntun
Cumberland 74 Captain Penrose
America 64 A hulk
Admiral de Vries 56 A cooperage
Abergavenny 54 A guard-ship
Vengeance 44 A French frigate: a prize
Melampus 36 Captain Thos. Le M. Gosselin, etc.

We remained about ten weeks in sweet Port Royal harbour, until the arrival of Rear-Admiral Sir John Thomas Duckworth, K.B., as commander-in-chief, who had his flag (red at the mizen) on board the Leviathan, 74, and then sailed with a small squadron to cruise off the Island of Navasa, Cape Tiburon, etc., for several weeks under Rear-Admiral Montagu. In 1802 (I don’t remember the month) Rear-Admiral George Campbell arrived with the fleet from England, which cut a very fine appearance.[149] The like had not been since the days of Rodney, viz.:—

Leviathan 74 {Rear-Admiral Duckworth, K.B. {Captain Richard D. Dunn Sans Pareil 84 {Rear-Admiral Montagu {Captain Jas. Katon Temeraire 98 {Rear-Admiral Geo. Campbell {Captain [C. Eyles][150] Princess Royal 98 Captain Formidable 98 Captain [Rich. Grindall][150] Carnatic 74 Captain Cumberland 74 Captain Penrose Goliath 74 Captain Essington (then Brisbane) Spencer 74 Captain [Henry D’E. Darby][150] Captain 74 Captain C. Boyles Ganges 74 Captain Fremantle Elephant 74 Captain T. Foley (then Dundas) Brunswick 74 Captain Geo. H. Stephens Vengeance 74 Captain Duff Audacious 74 Captain S. Peard Orion 74 Captain Oliver Edgar 74 Captain Otway Bellerophon 74 Captain Loring Robust 74 Captain Hon. Alan H. Gardner Resolution 74 Captain Majestic 74 Captain D. Gould Theseus 74 Captain John Bligh Zealous 74 Captain S. H. Linzee Warrior 74 Captain Chas. Tyler Powerful 74 Captain Sir Francis Laforey, Bart. Bellona 74 Captain Thos. Bertie Vanguard 74 Captain Chas. Inglis Defence 74 Captain Lord H. Paulett Abergavenny 54 A guard-ship America 64 A hulk Admiral De Vries 54 A cooperage Hindostan 54 A store-ship Vengeance 44 A prize Decade 36 Captain Rutherford Melampus 36 Captain Gosselin Trent 36 Captain Perkins Naiad or Néréide 36 Captain Mends Æolus 32 Captain Walker Druid 32 Captain Thisbe or Dido (?) 28 Captain

And other frigates I do not remember.

Pelican 18 Captain Geo. McKinlay
Calypso 18 Captain
Lark 18 Captain
Raven 18 Captain James Sanders

Came into Port Royal the Française, 36, French frigate, to purchase different articles for Madame Le Clerc, the wife of the commander-in-chief of the French army at St. Domingo, and sister of Napoleon (then first consul of France). A court martial was held on Captain Thomas New for the loss of his ship,[151] on which charge he was acquitted. During our cruise off St. Domingo we could observe the devastation occasioned by the war with the French and the blacks; several plantations and villages on fire. At this time sickness began to make its appearance in the fleet, and the Brunswick had 287 men on the sick list, and buried a great many. The Vengeance, 44, a prize, tailed on shore and many lost their lives in endeavouring to get her off, particularly the party of thirty-four from the Brunswick, the greater part of whom died; and this for an old French frigate not worth repair, being rotten and useless.

A short time before we arrived, the Topaze, 36, on a cruise, buried all hands except fifty-five; the captain (Church) and all the officers died, and the ship was brought in by the gunner. Eight sail of the line having been surveyed and ordered home, we were one of the lucky squadron. Each ship was directed to take on board four tons of iron hoops lying at a place called Greenwich; and our launch took several trips for this precious cargo; the thermometer generally 112,[152] and I have to remember many damnable roastings I got in grubbing for rusty hoops not worth their carriage. So much for the wisdom of Sir John. What could induce him to think of such a thing was only known to himself. Everyone at first thought it a hoax until they took the trip. I have heard many men say how dearly they liked the West Indies; the heat was so fine and conducive to health. Much good may it do them; and I, for one, shall never envy them taking up their quarters with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.

The day before we left Port Royal happened to be sweet May Day and I shall never forget it. The squadron ordered home had to send as many of their stores as they could spare to the dockyard. I had to tow our spare topmasts and several spars, and with great fatigue got them landed and put into store; the heat beyond description; so much so that near thirty of the blacks belonging to the yard were taken ill and sent to the hospital. Captain Stephens was one of those who liked the West Indies, and coming into the yard at this time, when not a breath of air was stirring, I pointed out to him some fowls that had taken their station as well as myself under an archway, with their wings drooping and their bills open gasping for breath. ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘the fowls wax warm although indigenous, and don’t appear so comfortable in this fine climate as might be expected.’ ‘Let us be off,’ says he, ‘for there’s no standing this.’

As several of our men had to receive extra pay for work they had been doing, I had to stay a considerable time in consequence of some of the Jacks-in-office waiting to get change to settle with our men; and I had a hot dispute with one of them (a Mr. Bull), who felt much hurt at my saying ‘What a cow you are to keep us in this infernal oven until our faces are the colour of your own (he was a man of colour)—bad luck to you.’

A short time before we knew of our being ordered home I went to dine on board the Elephant with Lyford, the first lieutenant (my old messmate in the Blonde). They expected to be sent home, and were so sure, that Captain Peers of the marines, and Jones, the purser, said how happy they should be to take any letters I had to send to England, and would be certain to call on my friends as soon as the ship arrived. Poor fellows, little did they think that instead of going home their bones would be left at the Palisades. I am grieved to say that out of the whole mess only two or three returned. I was taken ill the day I dined with them, and I can truly say that I feel the effects of the wretched climate while I am stating this.

On the 2nd of May we left Port Royal and for two or three days were becalmed in sight of the accursed harbour. At last we joined Rear-Admiral Campbell off Cape Tiburon. On our sick list being shown to the admiral he seemed astonished at the number, and when he found it was so swelled with yellow fever patients he ordered our boat off immediately and would not suffer any communication with our ship. We remained cruising with the squadron for a short time, and then left the fleet for England with the following men of war:—

Bellona 74 Captain Thos. Bertie, commodore
Powerful 74 Captain Sir Francis Laforey, Bart.
Defence 74 Captain Lord Harry Paulett
Zealous 74 Captain Samuel Hood Linzee
Brunswick 74 Captain Geo. Hopewell Stephens
Edgar 74 Captain Robert Waller Otway
Orion 74 Captain Oliver
Vengeance 74 Captain Duff

Went through the Crooked Island passage and parted company with the commodore, who, with five sail of the line, stood to the eastward and left the Powerful, Brunswick, and Edgar or Orion (I forget which) to get home as they could, being bad sailers. But Sir Francis Laforey, in the Powerful, knew well what he was about and stood to the northward. We had dreadful weather near Bermuda for three days, but moderate after, and when on the Banks of Newfoundland altered our course for the Channel and got there a few hours before the flying squadron, who we joined, and soon after arrived at Spithead after a passage of nearly two months, and went into harbour, where the Brunswick was paid off in July 1802.

But before closing I must relate a few occurrences, beginning with the captain. This gentleman was first lieutenant of the Janus, 44 (upon two decks) commanded by Captain Glover in the American war, and was one of the small squadron under the late Admiral Cornwallis, who at this time was captain of the Lion, 64, in the action with the French under Lamotte-Picquet,[153] who had a much superior force. As the action commenced, Captain Glover (who had been ill some time) died, and Lieutenant Stephens fought the ship in a manner that will do eternal honour to his memory. He was opposed in the line to a French 74 and fairly beat her out of her station. When the battle was over he went on board the commodore and reported the death of Captain Glover, and that he had died below, as the surgeon had reported his being unable to be brought on deck. Now Captain Glover had been spoken of before as not having exerted himself so well as was expected; and Cornwallis (who was a friend of his) observed to Lieutenant Stephens that he ought to have let his captain die on the quarter deck, as he well knew what had been said of him on a former occasion; and notwithstanding the surgeon’s report that he could not be removed from his cot, he never forgot it. This account I had from Captain Stephens; and when we joined the grand fleet off Brest under Admiral Cornwallis, we had not been there two hours before he made to us the signal of disapprobation for what in fact the ship ahead of us was to blame for. Says Captain Stephens to me, ‘Gardner, did I not tell you that Billy Blue would hold me in his kind remembrance? See how he begins to compliment me before the whole fleet.’

Captain Stephens was a brave and meritorious officer, an excellent sailor, and a master in naval tactics. I found him, both on board and on shore, a sincere friend. He applied for me to go as his first lieutenant when he was appointed to command the Captain, 74, but from ill health I was unable to join. He died a rear-admiral of the white, lamented by numerous friends.

I shall never forget the morning before we took our departure from the grand fleet off the Black Rocks. The signal was made to put ourselves under the orders of the Goliath, 74, with the ships I have already mentioned, and we imagined it was to go into port as the first division to be paid off. I had the middle watch and had turned in, when about five our master thundered at my door and calling out, ‘Here’s news for you, you ragged-headed rascal; turn out and hurrah for the back of the Point and Capstan Square! paid off by the hokey, in a few days.’ He then began singing:—

Jolly tars, have you heard of the news?
There’s peace both by land and by sea;
Great guns are no more to be used,
Disbanded we all are to be.

Oh! says the admiral, The wars are all over;
Says the captain, My heart it will break;
Oh! says the bloody first lieutenant,
What course of life shall I take?

He then began to cut such capers that I thought he was mad. For my own part, I was in high spirits and got up and roused out several more who had not heard of the good news, when unfortunately a cutter came under our stern and sent a boat on board. When the officer came on the quarter deck, our master, full of glee, went up to him and said, ‘If you have any letters, give them to us and we’ll take them in for you.’ ‘The devil you will?’ says he. ‘That would be a pretty circumbendibus, to send letters to Portsmouth _viâ_ Jamaica. Why,’ says he, ‘you don’t laugh.’ And well he might say so, for no lame duck on change ever cut a more rueful appearance than the master, who damned his eyes, and went below to make his will, wishing bad luck to the fellow who brought the news.

We had to victual and get stores from the rest of the fleet, with a heavy swell and the ship rolling like a tub. She was the worst sea boat that ever was built, drawing less water by some feet than the other ships of her rate, but of great breadth and superior size. She had a trick of carrying away her main topmast close by the cap, by a particular jerk in pitching; and as we were informed by Mr. Yelland, the carpenter (who had been appointed to her for years before), could never be prevented; and here she played the same game, and laboured so dreadfully that it was with the utmost difficulty we could get the stores on board and another main topmast rigged, so as to be ready to join the squadron. She rolled so that the scuttle butts broke adrift, and a poor fellow got so much injured by one of them that he died soon after. She also held a bad wind, so that it was no easy task for an officer to keep her in her station; and to sum up the whole of her good qualities, on her last cruise she had nearly drowned all hands, and it was by uncommon exertion and good luck they succeeded in getting her into port, where they made her a powder ship, the only thing she was fit for.[154]

Before we left the fleet, one of our lieutenants was taken ill and sent home, and Lieutenant Hector Maclean came in his room—he was senior to me and appointed second. This was another hardship, but Captain Stephens told me not to mind it as he would do everything in his power to serve me. I told him that Lord Hugh Seymour, the admiral commanding on the Jamaica station, was an old friend and shipmate of my father’s, and I would thank him to mention me to him when the ship arrived, which he said I might depend on. But, unfortunately for me, Lord Hugh died before we got out, regretted by everyone, and was succeeded in the command (until the arrival of Sir J. T. Duckworth) by a man[155] as proud as the mighty Prester John.

We had many strange beings in our wardroom—I shall begin with the master and surgeon. Our first lieutenant gave the former the name of Pot Guts, and the surgeon the cognomen of Bottle Belly. The master saved everything he could, having a family; and for this he was considered by some as very near. Now the surgeon was one that loved good living, and used to eat very hearty and seemed to devour everything with his eyes on the table. I remember his saying to the master in a satirical manner, ‘Mr. Wills, don’t you intend to purchase a black servant for your good lady?’ ‘Why,’ says Wills, ‘I had some idea of doing so, but to tell you the truth I am fearful you would eat him on the passage.’ The surgeon had nothing further to say. While lying at Port Royal, Wills was caterer of the mess and went to Kingston to purchase dollar pigs; and going into a house he saw some people lugging a man downstairs, and on his asking what was the matter, they told him it was only a man who had died of the yellow fever. This gave him such a turn that to recover his spirits he was obliged to drink seven glasses of grog before (to use his own words) he could make his blood circulate, and for several days he was on the look-out for the black vomit.

One of the dollar pigs he brought with him was deformed, having a head as long as his body, and when put into the sty with the others he killed the whole of them; and some of the seamen got it into their heads that this pig was the devil. Now Wills was a bit of a methodist and did not like this, and one morning he had the devil knocked on the head and hove overboard, observing it was the last time he’d have anything to do with a shaver like that.

Our first lieutenant used to play many tricks with Wills. Once when the packet came in, we were looking at her out of the wardroom windows, when up started Hungerford, who swore that Mrs. Wills and her two daughters were in a boat under the stern and coming alongside, and that he saw them leave the packet which had just arrived from England. Out he ran from the wardroom to escort them, and poor Wills looked stupid with surprise. A few minutes after the door opened and in came Hungerford with three naked black fellows, who he introduced as Mrs. Wills and her two daughters in the newest fashion from England. Wills, angry as he was, could not help joining in the laugh. When the ship was in Portsmouth harbour, I went with Hungerford to dine with Wills, who lived at Portsea. He had on his door a large brass plate with ‘Methuselah Wills’ engraved thereon in capital letters. When we returned, Hungerford swore that old Wills had the following inscription on the above brass plate:—

Methuselah Wills Esquire,
Master in the Royal Navie,
Passed for a first-rate ship of 110 guns,
Him and his wife lives here.

Poor Wills was a very good fellow; he died the senior master on the list at the age of eighty-three, and lies, with a great many more of my old shipmates, in Kingston churchyard, near Portsmouth. The last time I saw him was on the day the Princess Charlotte, 100, was launched. We were in the dockyard together and had just passed the bridge when it gave way with the gates belonging to the dock, by which accident near twenty people were drowned, and we escaped the same fate by about three minutes.[156]

I must now speak of a very different kind of being—poor unfortunate Jack Key, our third lieutenant. He had many vices, particularly hard drinking, but more his own enemy than any others. He was sent to Port Royal Hospital and invalided, and remained there after we sailed, in great distress, not being able for some time to get a passage home. One gentleman with feelings that do honour to him, took pity on the destitute. This gentleman was Mr. Carroll, assistant surgeon belonging to the Goliath, who, in the kindest manner, brought him on board his ship to provide for his wants, and did everything in his power to relieve him in his miserable situation; but the march of intellect among the superior officers rendered the good intentions of Mr. Carroll of little avail, as they ordered poor unhappy Jack out of the ship without loss of time.[157] Mr. Carroll is now a surgeon in the navy of long standing, and in extensive practice in Walworth. Key, from his dark complexion, had the nickname of Cocoa Jack, and was always, when the weather had the appearance of being bad, seen with a piece of wool between his finger and thumb ready to put in his ear, which made them say, ‘We are going to have bad weather; Jack is wool gathering.’

I once relieved Jack at 12 o’clock P.M. When I came on deck he was not to be found. It was blowing fresh, we were on a wind, the weather topsail braces gone, the yards fore and aft and the weather backstay falls overhauled. Why the topmasts did not go was no fault of Jack’s. At last I found him asleep in the lee scuppers and more than half drunk. On another occasion, when with the grand fleet off Brest, the signal was made for the ships to send boats to unload the victuallers, and I was sent with the launch and an eight-oared cutter for that purpose. As there was a great swell we had a difficult task to clear them, and it was late in the evening before we could take our launch in tow, and then pulled for the ship (I think about 7 P.M.), which was about a league off. Now Cocoa Jack had the first watch, and the ship was lying-to for the boat until the captain went to supper; when Jack, thinking we were too far from the admiral, made sail for some time and left us to shift for ourselves. At this time the wind freshened and the sea began to break, and I had serious apprehensions for our safety, and we did not appear to near the ship, whose distinguishing lights were scarcely visible. At last after near five hours’ labouring at the oar we got alongside. On going upon deck I found Jack had gone below without being relieved, and seated at the wardroom table with cold beef and a bumper of grog before him. ‘Ah, Tony,’ says he, ‘you have got on board at last? I had almost given you up.’ Although he was my senior officer I could not help saying, ‘Damn your old cocoa soul, did you want to drown all hands of us? Why did you not heave to before?’ ‘Lord help you,’ says he; ‘we have been lying-to these three hours.’ Now what Jack called lying-to was this: he let go the main-top-bowline, kept the sail shivering but not aback, and the helm a little a-weather, so that the ship forged ahead considerably. With all his faults he was a good-tempered fellow, and I said no more.