Chapter IX: Part 9

Our purser was a glorious fellow for keeping it up; and after taking his full share of Madeira would then turn to upon rum and water, and about two or three in the morning would give his last toast, ‘A bloody war and a sickly season!’ and then retire in a happy state. I once told him when he had the dry belly-ache after drinking port wine, that it was likely he’d go to the palisades (the burying ground), but that I would be happy to do anything for him in England that lay in my power. He gave me a look that expressed everything but thanks.

I must here relate a circumstance which took place on the evening of the day we made Deseada. We had a dog on board that in fact belonged to no one, but the ship’s company were very kind to the poor animal, who used to get well fed from the different messes, and was quite at home fore and aft. The evening was fine, with light winds, and the ship going about three knots, when some wicked fellow (supposed to be the son of a clergyman) threw the poor dog overboard when several sharks were round the ship. It was naturally supposed they had made a meal of him, but that was not the case, as they had more mercy than the ruffian who was guilty of such cruelty. On the arrival of the squadron at Port Royal one of our officers went on board (I think) the Captain, 74, when to his astonishment, who should come jumping round him but the lost dog. On his relating the circumstance to the officers, they told him that about ten o’clock of the evening in question they were upwards of two miles astern of us when they heard a strange noise under their bows. At first they thought it was a man overboard until they heard the dog bark, when one of the men went down by a rope and caught hold of the poor creature by the neck and got him safe on board. A blanket belonging to a sailor was towing overboard which he got hold of with his paws and held on and by that means was rescued from a watery grave. His new shipmates wished to keep him and with them he remained. Of the young man who threw him overboard, if I were to pronounce an eulogy on his character I should without flattery say:—

On Newgate steps Jack Chance was found,
And bred up in St. Giles’s pound;
He learned to curse, to swear, to fight,
Did everything but read and write;
And bawdy songs all day would sing,
And they all declared he was just the thing.

Our first lieutenant (Hungerford) was a very droll fellow but fractious from disappointment. He was in the Trusty, 50, when the late Admiral Walker commanded her at the time she put into Cadiz, where some of her officers were arrested and sent to prison by the Spanish Government for smuggling off money; for which Captain Walker was tried by a court martial and dismissed the service. He and Hungerford were upon very bad terms, and happening to meet in High Street, Portsmouth, Hungerford with a cane began to strike at him, when Captain Walker in his defence, caught hold of a hod belonging to a mason who was standing by, and made a blow at Hungerford, which, fortunately for him, missed the mark, and several officers coming up, a stop was put to any further proceedings. This business hurt Hungerford in the service and made him many enemies. Captain Walker was reinstated and died a rear-admiral.[158] He commanded the Monmouth, 64, in the Dutch action under Duncan and behaved with uncommon bravery. Hungerford was a very good officer and seaman and an indefatigable first lieutenant. In watching, quartering, stationing, and regulating the ship’s company in every respect he showed great ability. He was a great mimic, and very droll in other respects. I remember at Port Royal, when he was ill, his pretending to be dumb and mad, and carrying on the joke for a whole day on purpose to annoy the surgeon. He put on a white great coat belonging to Captain Rea of the marines, with his sash and sword, and a large cocked hat and feather, strutting about the wardroom and making a dead set at Fuller whenever he came in. However, about seven in the evening he found his tongue and said to me, ‘What a damned fool I made of Bottle Belly; how easily I humbugged him.’

The day we made the east end of Jamaica I had the forenoon watch, and was walking the deck with Captain Stephens, when Lieutenant Morgan of the marines called out from the gangway to the gunner’s mate to get a gun ready and fire into the ship abreast of us. On my asking him what he meant by such extraordinary conduct, ‘Sir,’ says he, ‘I am not accountable to you for my actions’; and going up to the captain he told him he was no longer captain of the Brunswick, but that he would take pity on him and suffer him to keep possession of his cabin for the present. The captain looked at me in amazement. ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘Mr. Morgan is certainly deranged.’ He was then sent below, and on going down the quarter deck ladder, he roared out to the man at the wheel, ‘Put the helm a starboard, you damned rascal.’ The captain dined with us that day, and, after the cloth was removed, Morgan came to the table, and on something being said to him he took up a glass of wine, part of which he hove in the captain’s face, and the glass at Jack Key’s head; and when we seized hold of him, he called me a damned conceited whelp, and that he always saw a little greatness about me that he never could put up with. This young man’s brain was turned by diving into things he did not understand, and it may be said in truth of him:—

A little learning is a dangerous thing,
Drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring.

He was invalided and sent home, and got the retirement, but never recovered his reason.

Another of our marine officers (Augustus John Field) was a very strange being. He was on board the Quebec, 32, in the action with the Surveillante, French frigate, in the American war. Both ships were dismasted after very hard fighting, when the Quebec unfortunately caught fire. Her brave captain (Farmer) would not quit, and was blown up in his ship. Out of the number saved Lieutenant Field was one and got a considerable lift in his corps for his bravery. He was a very good fellow in many respects, but drew a long bow and kept it up too much. He had been through all the changing scenes of life, and told incredible stories—that he was descended from the Plantagenet family and could trace his genealogy to Henry the Second. By way of amusement I have seen him rest the calf of one leg on the knee of the other and then drive several pins up to the head in the calf of his leg, saying he would leave them to the mess as a leg-a-cy.

Our ship was full of rats, and one morning he caught four which he had baked in a pie with some pork chops. When it came to table he began greedily to eat, saying, ‘What a treat! I shall dine like an alderman.’ One of our lieutenants (Geo. M. Bligh) got up from the table and threw his dinner up, which made Field say, ‘I shall not offend such delicate stomachs and shall finish my repast in my cabin,’ which he did and we wished the devil would choke him. When he had finished, he said one of the rats was not exactly to his taste as the flesh was black; but whether from a bruise or from disease, he could not say, but should be more particular in future in the post mortem examination. I never was more sick in my life, and am so to this day when I think of it. Our captain of marines (Rea) was a very worthy fellow. He had great antipathy to the West Indies, and was always cursing Venables and Penn for taking possession of Jamaica, and was sorry Oliver Cromwell did not make them a head shorter for their pains. I have often heard him repeat the following lines as a morning and evening hymn

Venables and Penn,
Two bloody-minded men,
In an evil hour
Those seas did explore,
And blundering about
This cursed hole found out;
And for so doing,
The devil has them stewing;
And with him they may remain
Till we come this way again,
Which we think howsomdever
(As our boatswain says) will be never;
And let all the mess say Amen!

When cruising off Cape Tiburon I was sent in our cutter to board a Yankee about two leagues off and to purchase stock. Our surgeon by way of pastime took the trip with me. As the Yankee had plenty for sale, and it being a dead calm, I loaded our boat with live and dead stock until she was pretty deep in the water. On our return, the sharks began to muster and the live stock to ride rusty. The surgeon said it was a damned shame to trifle with people’s lives in that manner by overloading the boat, and cursed the hour he ever came with me; and it by no means eased his fears when one of the boat’s crew said, ‘Please, your honour, if we don’t cut the b——s’ throats’ (meaning the live stock) ‘their hoofs will be through the boat’s bottom, as they are kicking like blazes, and here’s a bloody shark close alongside us.’ However, we got safe alongside after a long tug. The surgeon with a woeful countenance told a lamentable tale, which made Captain Stephens and the rest laugh heartily. He took good care never to volunteer his services with me in a boat again. He has often put me in mind of the trip and I hope he will live long to do so.

We had a tedious passage home, and when off Bermuda it was a gale of wind and a calm alternately for three days and nights, with thunder and lightning. On one of the nights I had the middle watch and was obliged to clue down the topsails upon the cap eight or nine times, blowing a gale of wind one moment and a calm the next. The night was as dark as Erebus between the flashes, and then as light as broad day. Through one flash I saw our surgeon coming on deck rolled up in a white great coat, and I said to Captain Stephens (who was up most of the night and standing with me on the gangway):

By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes.

Captain Stephens would always repeat the above when he saw Fuller come on deck. I have often wondered that no accident happened to the ship from the lightning, which was beyond everything of the kind I ever saw. This was the only bad weather we had during the voyage, which was a lucky circumstance for the Brunswick; for had a gale of wind come on for any length of time we certainly should have foundered.

And now let me say in the language of the Romans when taking leave of their deceased friends:—

Vale, Vale, Vale, nos te ordine, quo natura permiserit, cuncti sequemur.

OFFICERS’ NAMES

JOHN HOLLOWAY, Esq., Rear-admiral of the red.

Dead [1826]. An admiral of the red. An old messmate of my father’s
in the Princess Royal with old Vinegar (Hyde Parker), in
1779.—[Marshall, i. 101.]

GEO. HOPEWELL STEPHENS, Esq., Captain.

Dead [1819]. A rear-admiral of the white; a most excellent
officer.

EMANUEL HUNGERFORD, 1st Lieutenant.

Dead. An excellent first lieutenant; strange and droll.

HECTOR MACLEAN, 2nd Lieutenant.

Dead.

JOHN KEY, 2nd and 3rd Lieutenant.

Dead. Cocoa Jack was no man’s enemy but his own.

JAMES ANTHONY GARDNER, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 3rd Lieutenant.

A commander.

[THOMAS] LOWE, 5th Lieutenant.

Dead. A loss to the service.

GEO. MILLAR BLIGH, 7th and 6th Lieutenant.

Dead [1831]. A post captain.—[Marshall, v. 430.]

METHUSELAH WILLS, Master.

Dead. Poor old Wills was crabbed, but a good fellow.

ROBERT COOPER, Purser.

Dead. A very worthy fellow.

SMITHSON WALLER, Purser.

A very generous fellow, but kept it up too much; since dead.

WILLIAM FULLER, Surgeon.

A skilful surgeon, but crabbed as the devil at times; yet a very
good fellow, always obliging, and the first to relieve those in
distress.

[HENRY] REA, Captain of marines.

Dead. Much the gentleman.

AUGUSTUS JOHN FIELD, 1st Lieutenant of marines.

Dead. A very brave fellow, who drew a long bow, but would injure
no one.

[JAMES] HOLMES, 2nd Lieutenant of marines.

Uncertain. A good-natured fellow.

[JOHN] ROBSON, 2nd Lieutenant of marines.

Uncertain. Very quarrelsome, and appeared to be half mad.

ROSS MORGAN, 2nd Lieutenant of marines.

Dead. Invalided for insanity, sent home, and got the retirement.

[WILLIAM] WISEMAN, Gunner.

Dead.

[JOHN] FOLLIE, Boatswain.

Uncertain. Drank hard; a sailor.

[WILLIAM] YELLAND, Carpenter.

Uncertain. Very much respected.

[WILLIAM] HARRISON, Mate.

Uncertain. A very active officer.

[HENRY] EDGEWORTH, Mate.

Uncertain. A very good sailor, but unfortunately drank hard.

METHUSELAH WILLS, Midshipman and then mate; son of the

master.

A lieutenant.

PARDIEU [(?) SIMON PURDUE], Midshipman.

Dead. A commander; an officer, seaman, and gentleman. Highly
respected, but unfortunately given to drinking.

[WILLIAM] ELLIOT, Midshipman.

Killed in battle. A lieutenant; a very worthy young man.

EDWARD MEDLEY, Midshipman.

A lieutenant.

[R. A.] TAYLOR, Midshipman.

Uncertain. Wicked and wild.

[G. J.] ARCHDALE, Midshipman.

Uncertain. Much respected.

[GEORGE] ROBERTS, Midshipman.

Uncertain. A steady youth.

[JOHN] LEMON [or LAMOND], Midshipman.

Uncertain. Very steady.

WILLIAM WADE, Midshipman.

Dead. A lieutenant.

[RICHARD] HORSLEY, Midshipman.

Dead.

[JOHN] HODGES, Midshipman.

Died of yellow fever at Jamaica.

[ROBERT] WILSON, Midshipman.

Died of yellow fever at Jamaica.

[JOHN] CONTENT, Midshipman.

Died of yellow fever at Jamaica. [Borne as coxswain. Aged 39. DD.]

[ROBERT B.] MATTHEWS, Midshipman.

Uncertain. I believe a lieutenant; he was one of those saved from
H.M. ship Apollo that was wrecked on the coast of Portugal [1
April, 1804].

ROBERT ATKINS, Midshipman.

Dead. A lieutenant; steady fellow.

[MICHAEL] GOULD, Clerk.

Uncertain. Very clever. [Midshipman; afterwards captain’s clerk.]

[J. H.] WADDLE, Wrote under the clerk.

Uncertain. This poor fellow was made a butt of and ran away from
the ship. [Borne as L.M. Aged 30.]

[ANDREW] MARSHALL, 1st Assistant Surgeon.

Uncertain. This gentleman did honour to his profession.

DANIEL QUARRIER, 2nd Assistant Surgeon.

An M.D. A surgeon in the navy, and surgeon of the division of
royal marines at Portsmouth; a magistrate for the county, and what
not.

AGENT OF TRANSPORTS

I was employed on this service but a short time in Portsmouth Harbour and had several transports to superintend, and was in expectation of sailing to the Mediterranean; but as ill luck would have it, our destination was altered to that infernal bake-house, Port Royal, Jamaica. I then thought it time to be off and I wrote to the board to be superseded, which gave great offence to Sir Rupert George[159] (the chairman). However, my request was granted and I left a service that I never would accept of, had I my time to go over again, upon any consideration. For the short time I was in it I saw enough to convince me that if an officer did his duty, he would be like the hare with many friends; and if he acted otherwise, he must lay himself open to any puny whipster who might wish to take advantage of his good nature. I was succeeded by Lieutenant Jump, who refused to take charge of the stores, saying he had enough hanging over his head already (being, as I understood him, in the transport service before). However, I settled everything to my satisfaction, returning into store all the articles I had drawn; struck my swaggering blue pennant[160] and resigned my command to the above officer, wishing him joy and not envying him his appointment.

SIGNAL STATION: FAIRLIGHT, NEAR HASTINGS, SUSSEX

_From January 30th, 1806, to December 7th, 1814_

As when high Jove his sharp artillery forms,
And opes his cloudy magazine of storms;
In winter’s bleak uncomfortable reign,
A snowy inundation hides the plain;
He stills the winds and bids the skies to sleep;
Then pours the silent tempest thick and deep;
And first the mountain tops are covered o’er,
Then the green fields and then the sandy shore;
Bent with the weight, the nodding groves are seen,
And one bright waste hides all the works of men;
The circling seas, alone absorbing all,
Drink the dissolving fleeces as they fall.—_Iliad._

In such a season as the above I arrived at Hastings on the 30th of January 1806. I was appointed to the station by Lord Garlies, one of the lords of the admiralty, who behaved to me in the kindest manner. After waiting on Captain Isaac Schomberg, who superintended the Sea Fencibles from Beachy Head to Dungeness, I proceeded to join my station about three miles to the eastward of Hastings. When I got to the summit of Fairlight Down, about 600 feet above the level of the sea, the first object that struck me was a hut, built of turf, in a ruinous state, and on the top a figure with a soldier’s jacket on. ‘Hallo!’ says I; ‘Is this the signal station?’ ‘Yes, zur,’ says he. Why then, thinks I, I’m damned if I don’t give up the appointment. ‘Where’s the midshipman?’ says I. ‘Midshipman, zur? why, there be only me and another soger, and I expects to be relieved to-day.’ ‘By whom?’ says I. ‘Vy,’ says he, ‘by two melishy men, and I thought you and that ere lad’ (meaning my son, who was with me, and under six years of age) ‘was them till you comed near.’ I could not help smiling at this, and taking a turn round the premises I thought I would look at the interior. I did so, but backed out again in a hurry, from filth and wretchedness. [The detailed description of these is omitted.]

On coming out I happened to cast my eye to the SE, and there I saw another signal station; and on making enquiry, I was informed by a labourer that the station I had just observed was the right one, and that this was only for the fogeys to look out from; so away I trudged over several ploughed fields and at last arrived at my destination, in the room of Lieutenant Francis Gibbon, deceased, who had formerly been a messmate of mine in the Salisbury.

It would puzzle a Philadelphia lawyer to recollect everything that happened for the eight years and ten months that I remained in this place, and I shall merely relate a few occurrences as they come to my recollection. I had a midshipman, two signalmen, and two dragoons, under my superintendence; and when anything particular took place one of the dragoons was sent off with the despatch to the nearest commanding officer. We had the strictest orders to be on the look-out by night and by day, in consequence of the threatened invasion, and our being so near the French coast that on a clear day the camp at Boulogne could be seen without a glass,[161] so that the utmost vigilance on our part was required. Blue lights, fire beacons, etc., were in constant readiness, and the French flotilla at Boulogne, Calais, Ambleteuse, and Vimereux were hourly expected to make a start.

Independent of this, whenever the wind blew strong from the westward, so as to occasion the cruisers to take shelter under Dungeness, the French privateers were sure to come over and pick up the struggling merchantmen before the men of war could regain their station off Beachy Head. We had also to be constantly on the watch to give notice in case of smugglers being on the coast, and to prevent prisoners of war making their escape from the vicinity of our station, a signal for that purpose being made from one post to another; so that we had no relaxation from duty except in a thick fog, which sometimes would take place for nine or ten days together, during which time we had only to walk round the cliffs and along the seashore. I have heard many say that a signal station was an easy berth, and only fit for old and worn-out officers. This I flatly deny; and, without fear of contradiction, can safely say that I suffered more from anxiety at this station than ever I did on board of a man of war. In the latter, when one’s watch was over, a little rest could be obtained; but at the station the night was worse than the day, as the flotilla were expected to take advantage of the darkness so as to be over in the morning, and the night signal was more anxiously watched than that of the day. When Earl St. Vincent was first lord of the admiralty, Lieutenant John Henry St. John Page (an old schoolfellow of mine, who I had the following account from) applied to him for a signal station, stating that he was unfit for active service in consequence of a paralytic stroke which affected his arm and one of his eyes. His lordship wrote for answer, ‘That an officer of a signal station ought to have two eyes, and damned good eyes they ought to be.’ However, he complied with his wishes.

From our elevated situation I have often been in dread for the safety of the house, particularly in the SW gales, and have frequently expected that the board would be obliged

To set a figure, to discover
If we had fled to Rye or Dover;

and I’m astonished that the house did not blow away. I well remember one dreadful gale blowing down our chimney, which lay upon the roof without breaking through, forming an angle of 45°, and the midshipman, crawling out upon all fours (for we could not stand upright), declared he thought it was our 18-pound carronade that was blown there and had taken that position for a long shot. The fire blew out of the stoves, and the glass out of the window frames; the night as black as Erebus, with heavy rain which formed a river that swept everything before it; the chief part of our garden washed or blown away, leaving nothing but the bare rock behind, so that I wished myself in the old Bay of Biscay again.

To make up for this, the views about Hastings are remarkably fine, and in the summer well worth visiting; particularly the fish ponds, Dripping Well, Lovers’ Seat, Friar’s Hill, Old Roar and many other romantic spots, one of which I must mention. About a mile to the NE of Hastings, from a place called the Tile Kiln House, the prospect is highly interesting; looking towards the town, is a valley with a thicket on the left, and at the bottom a stream that runs to the sea; in front, the west hill with the ancient castle said to be built by William the Conqueror soon after the battle of Hastings; and on the east hill, the remains of a Roman camp. One morning when the hounds were out, I was walking near the above thicket when an immense boar rushed furiously on the pack and the huntsmen had great difficulty in separating them. The boar belonged to the farmer near the spot, and some of the dogs had reason to remember him.

As I am better acquainted with handling a tar brush, strapping a block, or turning in a dead-eye, than describing green groves and gravel walks, I shall say nothing more respecting the face of the country, but begin upon other subjects. And here I must say that during the time I had the station, I was upon good terms with every individual from the mayor down to the fisherman. But I regret to state that death has made sad inroads among my worthy friends since my departure. In the summer, the cockneys would frequently come to take a look at the French coast and Bonaparte’s tower on a clear day; and not content with asking ridiculous questions, would walk into the house without leave or licence, and seat themselves. On one occasion, when I had returned from Hastings, I found seated in my room a fellow with his coat off and reading one of my books. He took no notice of me for some time. At last he drawled out ‘It’s werry hot veather.’ ‘It is,’ I replied; ‘but pray what is your business?’ This question seemed to startle him, and particularly so when I informed him I was a man of war’s man, and never suffered myself to be taken by storm or boarded in the smoke. He took the hint and walked off.[162]

In stating this I only allude to a set who were unacquainted with common politeness. At the same time I have to acknowledge the civility and attention I received from many of the respectable families that visited Hastings.

The lower class at Hastings and in the vicinity believe in witchcraft, and several old women that lived in All Saints’ Street were supposed to be witches. About a mile from my station lived a poor old woman named Hannah Weller, who was put down in the list; and many strange stories were told respecting her—such as pigs, and sheep, and sometimes oxen, refusing to pass her dwelling, until the drovers would go and beg of her to let them pass quietly. On my going one morning to market at Hastings, I bought with other articles some eggs, which I gave to Wm. Crump (one of the signalmen), who put them at the bottom of his basket well covered with straw so that they could not be seen. I then told him to make all haste he could to the station, and without his knowing it I returned before him. When I had got about a mile and a half from the town I met Hannah Weller, who, I knew, was coming in at this time with some clothes for the wash; and I told her, if she met Crump, to tell him to make haste out and to be careful of the eggs he had in the bottom of his basket, and not to say she had seen me. Now Crump stood in great dread of Hannah, and was a firm believer in deeds of the black art. Soon after I had seen her she met Crump, and desired him to be very careful of the eggs and to make haste and not loiter by the way. Crump was terrified almost out of his wits to think she should know what cargo he had charge of; and, after wishing her good morning, strode off without looking behind until he got about a hundred yards from her. He then took out his knife and stuck it in the mark the ring of her patten (as he thought) had made, and a sure way—if she looked round—to prove witchcraft; and she, happening to look round at the same time and seeing him stopping, called out, ‘Crump, what are you about?’ and shaking her hand, desired him to be gone, upon which he took to his heels in amazement and arrived at the station as pale as death, and told his woeful story to the midshipman with many illustrations, which the midshipman believed to be as true as holy writ.

We had a tame raven, the most sagacious creature I ever met with. He used to go every morning with the signalman to town, for the letters and to market, and would take his station at the butcher’s shop long before we could get there; and when he saw us ready to return, would set off for home in a hurry. Sometimes we could see him fighting with the crows; and once he alighted on the head of a gentleman reading in a field; to his consternation, until we explained to him Ralph’s tricks. Under the Lovers’ Seat stands a house on the beach called The Govers, which was inhabited by a wicked fellow, a cobbler by trade. This man took it into his head to leave off his wicked ways, and went to church regularly every Sunday, and paid great attention to the service for about three or four months, and then relapsed to his former failings. On being asked the reason of his apostasy he replied that he went to church until he was tired; and seeing no use in it, he thought he might as well go back to sin and cobble again as he could get more by it than going to church. Early one morning this fellow was gathering sticks in the valley under the signal station, when our raven was on the prowl. The moment Ralph got sight of him he pitched on his neck and began to claw and tear him most unmercifully, which alarmed him so much that he had hardly power to defend himself. At last he got hold of the raven, and, with part of the thong he had to bind the sticks, he began to tie Ralph’s legs, and when he thought he had him secure he gathered up his sticks and was stooping down to fasten them, when the raven broke loose, and seized on him a second time, and tore his breeches to rags after clawing him severely, and then flew away. The cobbler, dreadfully alarmed, went home without his sticks and told everyone that he met that the devil had attacked him and that he must alter his course of life, as he now believed something was in it. The joke was kept up, and I think he was never told it was our raven. Poor Ralph at last met with an untimely death. A farmer, shooting rooks, laid him low by mistake, which he was very sorry for when too late.

Notwithstanding the many cruisers that were on the station and the unceasing look-out on the coast by the officers of the customs, the smugglers contrived to make several runs. One morning in the month of November the midshipman called me up a little before daylight, and reported that fifteen horses were in the field near the station, with Flushing jackets strapped on their backs, and made fast to the hedge, without any one with them. As the day began to break, I went to the brow of the hill, and saw on the beach between two and three hundred people, and a boat a short way from the shore. The moment they got sight of me they set up a shout, and made use of horrible threats. However, I went down with the midshipman, and found some customhouse officers who had been up to their necks in water trying to get at the boat, but all to no purpose. The fellows on board seemed to be drunk, and held up some kegs which they stove; and making use of language the most vile, stood to the westward. I immediately dispatched the midshipman to give information to the customhouse and made the signal to the next station. A galley was soon after manned and armed, and after a long chase the smuggler was captured with several tubs of liquor. As I returned to my station the mob shewed their heads just above the brow of the hill, and complimented me with three groans and then dispersed; and glad I was to see them clear off. They appeared to be all strangers, the customhouse officers declaring they had never seen one of them before. Some of them swore they would be a shot in our locker the first opportunity, and we expected they would have attacked us in the night; but we heard no more of them.

I shall now mention a few friends; and first the Reverend Richard Wadeson, late Vicar of Fairlight, who died since I left the station, aged eighty-nine. He had formerly been second master at Harrow School, when Dr. Parr was usher, and was offered to be first master at the death or resignation of Dr. Sumner, but refused it.[163] He was one of the best men I ever met with, and one of the first classical scholars in the kingdom, and highly respected by his parishioners as the following account will shew. He had, as vicar, only the small tithes; and when requested by some of his friends to raise them he refused, saying, he had lived on good terms in the parish with every individual for a long time, and that he would do nothing to forfeit their esteem and would suffer anything rather than oppress them. When this came to the knowledge of those who paid tithes, they, as a mark of respect, immediately made a handsome addition to his income, with a high panegyric on his integrity. Nothing could put him out of temper except losing at backgammon. I well remember one evening his coming to the station and saying he was determined not to be vexed, let what would happen. We then began to play (not for money), and he lost twenty games running. At last he roared out, and on my asking him what was the matter, says he, ‘He’s here.’ ‘Who, sir?’ says I. ‘Why, the devil,’ says he, ‘is at my elbow, but he shall not make a parson swear.’ I am sorry to say this worthy gentleman lost his sight some years before his death, and, in addition to this misfortune, had great domestic troubles which he bore to the last with unshaken fortitude.

I must not forget another worthy friend, the Reverend Webster Whistler, Rector of Hastings and New-Timber, who lately died at the advanced age of eighty-seven. He also was a first-rate scholar and a powerful preacher; a hater of bigotry and clerical tyranny; possessing great personal courage, and one of the finest-looking men in the kingdom; with an athletic frame, upwards of six feet, and looked, when on horseback—as Napoleon said of Kleber—like one of Homer’s heroes. His kindness and attention I never shall forget. I was always welcome to his house and he always sent me a large tithe, as he called it, of fruit and game, whenever he had an opportunity. I could mention many acts of this kind; but one mark of respect I cannot pass over. When my mother died, he selected a particular spot for her grave where he knew the ground was dry, refused all fees, and even assisted in placing the turf over her remains. He was not one of your dandy parsons either in dress or address; for he was not ashamed to wear a rusty black coat, or to knock down anyone that offended him. I remember a dragoon officer addressing him one morning with, ‘Damn me, how are you, Whistler?’ ‘If you say that again, I will fell you to the earth,’ was his reply. Going into a boat, and having on an old black coat and trowsers, he asked me who I thought he was like, repeating the following lines:—

Sordid his garb, but in his looks were seen
A youthful vigour, and autumnal green.

‘Can you,’ says he, ‘with all the antiquity you smatter, find out who I allude to?’ ‘Charon, sir,’ says I. ‘Right,’ says he, ‘I’m the man; but I am not going on the Styx to-day. The Channel shall be my cruising ground this morning’; and off he started with some ladies in company. On his return he came up to the station, foaming with rage, requesting me to inform him the name of the cutter in the offing, that he might report her commander to the admiralty for daring to fire at him. Now the fact was this. The cutter had fired at some boats to bring them to, as the fishermen had frequently smuggled goods on board; and Mr. Whistler having boarded one of them to get fish, the commander of the cutter fired several muskets at his boat, thinking him a smuggler also, which made the parson pull to land as fast as possible. It was out of my power to give him the name, as I had not her number. ‘Well, then,’ says he, ‘the first time I can lay hold of him I’ll christen him in the Bourne stream, by giving him a good ducking.’

The beginning of December 1814 the admiralty directed me to pay off the station without loss of time, and the next day I received a letter from the navy board to the same purpose, and further directing me to clear the station of the stores under my charge, and to sell all unserviceable articles. Now all this was very well, and they concluded by saying,

We are your Affectionate Friends[164]——
(Signed by three commissioners);

but on the margin of their letter was a postscript as follows:—

‘You are to discharge your midshipman and men on the receipt of this
letter; and yourself, as soon as these instructions have been complied
with.’

So by this I was to do everything myself, which was very kind, in the dead of winter, three miles from Hastings, and a long way from the spring where we had our water, and nothing to be had in the neighbourhood; and upon a hill, said to be 650 feet above the level of the sea—so that if a snowstorm came on I might remain there alone and starve and be damned for what some people cared. However, I got a merchant at Hastings to send his wagons out and take the stores to his warehouse, until a vessel was sent to receive them; and after selling the coals and fire stack, I paid off the station on the 7th of December 1814.

APPENDIX

(P. 250)

_The ‘swaggering blue pennant.’_

[As the distinctive pennants for Transport Officers when afloat were
done away with several years ago, and indeed Transport Officers afloat
are now almost unknown, we are happy in being able, by the kindness of
Vice-Admiral George T. H. Boyes, the present Director of Transports,
to give the Regulations, as they stood in 1814, ‘relative to the
pennants of distinction’ appointed to be used by transport agents when
afloat.]

The principal agent, serving on any expedition, in order to be particularly known and distinguished, shall wear, on board the transport wherein he is embarked, a blue ensign, together with a plain blue broad pennant at the main topmast head, of the following dimensions, viz. eight feet at the staff, and twenty feet long; but, for foul weather, four feet at the staff, and ten feet long.

When there is but one agent to a division of transports, or when several agents are not serving under the immediate orders of other agents, a blue ensign with the common blue pennant at the main topmast head is to be worn as the only necessary mark of distinction. The broad pennant is never to be hoisted by any agent who has not another under him.

All inferior agents shall hoist the blue ensign and a plain blue common pennant, two feet broad at the head, and thirty feet long. A smaller one, at discretion, may be worn at sea.

Should transports of different expeditions meet at the same port, the principal agents only of each expedition are to hoist broad pennants at the main, fore, or mizen topmast heads, according to their respective rank in his Majesty’s navy: and the inferior agents, belonging to each expedition, are to hoist common blue pennants at the same masthead with their principal.

At sea, should a large fleet of transports, all on the same service, be classed in three grand divisions, the agent commanding each division may hoist the broad pennant at the main, fore, or mizen topmast heads, according to their rank, as aforesaid; and their inferior agents in like manner.

INDEX

Adair, C. H., rear-admiral, commanding the reserve in the Medway, 179

Adams, Buck, jail-keeper, 16

Adams, Francis, carpenter, 124

Alcot, John, captain’s clerk, 55

Alexander, Emperor of Russia, 101

Allardice, Titus, midshipman, died insane, 93;
invalided home, 151

Allen, Henry, midshipman, 94;
commander, hanged, _ib._

Allen, Thomas, midshipman, put on shore in the mutiny, 193;
drowned, 202

Anderson, Robert, surgeon of the Panther, 39

Anderson, Robert, surgeon of the Hind, ‘Benjamin Bullock the Madman,’
194–5; 201

Anguin, Martin, seaman, falls from aloft, 32

Anstruther, Philip, midshipman, 119

Apple pies, assistant surgeon dines on, 223

Archbold, William, midshipman, 119

Archdale, G. J., midshipman, 249

Atkins, Robert, midshipman, 249

Augustus Frederick, Prince (Duke of Sussex), 139

Ayscough, captain 208

Back-strapped, 26 _n._

Badcock, Benjamin, midshipman, drowned, 202

Baldwin, captain of marines, 115

Ball, A., captain, 192

Bantry Bay, expedition to, 188 _n._

Barber, William, midshipman, 153

Barker, William, lieutenant of marines, 13

Barrett, John, midshipman, 123, 125

Barrington, the Hon. Samuel, admiral, 12, 98–9, 112

Barton, Sir John, treasurer of Queen’s household, 18

Bastia, siege and surrender of, due to seamen and marines, 148

Bates, alderman, of Waterford, 221

Bates, Gardner’s cousin, entertains the officers of the Blonde, 221

Batt, Henry, midshipman, 54

Batt, John, midshipman, 125

Bazely, John, port admiral in the Downs, 190

Bazely, John, captain, letter from, 191;
put on shore in the mutiny, 193,
184, 190, 201, 203–4

Beauclerk, Lord Amelius, midshipman, 55, 116;
captain, 131

Bedford, William, lieutenant, 91, 122–4

Beer, spruce, 42 and _n._;
man falls into copper of, 43

Belfry, Knight of the, 68 and _n._

Bell, John, mate of the hold, is painted like an ancient Briton, 149,
153

Bennet, Charles, midshipman, 119

Berkeley, the Hon. G. C., captain, 22, 64

Bertie, Thomas, captain, 229, 232

Biggery, Robert, carpenter, 202

Bingham, Edward, midshipman, 17

Bingham, J., midshipman, 17

Bingham, Robert, chaplain, 17

Bisset, Charles, midshipman, his dog, 47, 53

Blackford, John, boatswain, 224

Blackford, William, 225

Black pieces = muskets, 150

Blake, John, midshipman, 14

Bligh, George Millar, lieutenant, 245, 247

Bligh, John, captain, 229

Bluet, George Rule, midshipman, curious love token, 92

Bone, Johnny, boatswain, devil of a fellow at cap-a-bar, 70–1, 96

Bonny Broom, her ghostly boatswain, 4

Boulogne, camp at, 253 _n._

Bourmaster, John, captain, ‘an honour to the navy,’ 113;
recommends Gardner, 121, 100, 110–11

Bowen, Griffith, lieutenant’s servant, 114

Bowen, Richard, signal midshipman, 116

Bowen, Thomas, lieutenant, 114

Bowler, William, surgeon, R.N., 18

Boyes, George T. H., vice-admiral, director of transports, 265

Boyles, C., captain, 227, 229

Boys boxing during battle, 31

Brace, Edward, midshipman, 95

Bradby, Borromy, midshipman, 54

Bradby, Daniel, rated as captain’s servant, 54

Bradby, James, captain, 41, 52

Bradby, Matthew Barton, captain’s servant, 54

Braham, singer, 182 _n._

Brander, James, boatswain, 39

Brett, William, lieutenant, 170

Brice, lieutenant, court martial on, 213

Bricknell, midshipman, ugly and vain, 171

Bridport, Lord, admiral, 114, 188, 190–1

Bridsdale, Richard, lieutenant, 52

Briggs, lieutenant, encourages the seamen, 174 _n._

Briggs, John, assistant surgeon, 154

Brine, Augustus, midshipman, 117

Brisbane, Charles, captain, 213, 228

Brock, Philip, midshipman, 54

Brooks, Francis, 38

Browell, Mr., 15

Brown, Maurice, midshipman, 92

Brown, Simeon, carpenter, 53

Brown, William, midshipman, 93

Browne, P., midshipman, 117

Bruce, John, midshipman, 117

Buchan, Charles, purser, his foraging expedition, 4–5, 8, 91

Buffalmaco, painter, fresco of The Last Judgment attributed to, 140

Bull, Mr., a man of colour, 232

Buller, John, midshipman, 118

Bullock, William, lieutenant, 151

Burdon, George, captain, 206

Bush, William, midshipman, 117

Bustard, Robert, mate, 115

Butcher, Samuel, midshipman, 124

Byron, the Hon. John, vice-admiral, 11–12

Cadiz, smuggling of dollars at, 160–1;
the Alameda, 161

Calder, Mrs., fond of boat-sailing, 109

Calder, Robert, captain, his harshness, 97, 98;
his civility, 99;
a brave officer, 100;
court martial on, 101;
strict disciplinarian, 107;
ship in high order, 108;
his courtesy, 109, 113

Calvi, siege of, 147

Came, Charles, midshipman, 119

Campbell, Duncan, assistant surgeon, 96

Campbell, George, captain, 144–5;
rear-admiral with Nelson off Toulon, 151,
228, 232

Campbell, John, vice-admiral, 41, 44, 52

Campbell, Luke, midshipman, does duty as schoolmaster, 39

Campbell, Majoribanks, midshipman, 54

Cannadey, Moses, midshipman, 124

Cap-a-bar, note on, 70

Carden, J. S., midshipman, 84;
captain of the Macedonian, 95

Carpenter, James, lieutenant, 114

Carroll, assistant surgeon, 239

Carter, lieutenant, 41

Carter, Charles, lieutenant, 115

Carter, Richard, 18

Carthage, encounter with Turks at, 133;
visit to ruins of, 133–4

Castlereagh, Lord, Lancers or Prancers of, 210

Caulfield, Edward, midshipman, 225

Chantrell, William, lieutenant, his night orders, 109;
a droll fellow, 113;
a narrow escape, 150–1;
smuggles six hundred dollars, 160–1;
settles a dispute at a dinner, 163–4, 167, 170

Chaplain’s bet, 111–12

Chatham, Lord, First Lord of the Admiralty, 80

Chatterton, midshipman, 119

Chest, John, midshipman, his chest, 120

Chissell, John, master, an accomplished linguist, 171

Chissell, Richard, midshipman, 171

Christian, Sir Hugh Cloberry, rear-admiral, 64, 184

Christian, Jonathan, midshipman, 116

Chubb, clerk, drowned, 202

Church, captain, 230

Clark, George, midshipman, 118

Clayton, captain, 174

Cock, carpenter, 31, 39

Cockerell, James, purser, 52

Coet, W., midshipman, 18

Coghlan, John Timothy, master, 183, 201;
his boat-sailing, 195–6;
death, 196

Cold, severe, 178–9 and _n._, 181, 220–21

Cole, Richard, midshipman, 94

Collier, John, midshipman, pious when drunk, 149;
practical jokes on, 149, 153

Collins, Augustus, midshipman, son of Sir John, 153

Collins, Darby, drunken Irishman, his ingenious dog, 47;
fights eleven men, 51

Collins, Sir John, captain of the Berwick, 121, 126, 130–1, 133, 139;
dies, 144;
respect shown by the seamen, 144;
his knighthood, 151

Colomb, admiral, his account of the French expedition to Bantry Bay,
188 _n._

Colours, wrong, hoisted, 189, 198

Colpoys, Sir John, vice-admiral, his flag struck by the mutineers, 192

Colquhoun, steward, sewn up in a bullock’s hide, 135

Connell, Thomas, lieutenant, 39

Conolly, John Bull, midshipman, 93, 118

Constable, Love, lieutenant, ‘a devil of a tyrant,’ 122, 124

Content, John, midshipman, 249

Cook, Hugh, midshipman, 95

Cooper, Robert, purser, 248

Cornwallis, the Hon. William, admiral, 226, 233–4

Correy, surgeon, 8

Cosby, P., vice-admiral, 155, 160

Courage, James, assistant surgeon, 171

Court, contempt of, 199 _n._

Cowdray, John, carpenter, 7

Crisp, writer, 55

Crombey, assistant surgeon, 96

Cromwell, Oliver, 245

Crosbie, Robert, midshipman, 95

Crugal, Spirit of, 78 and _n_.

Crump, Mr., 162

Crump, William, signalman, believes in witchcraft, 256–7

Culmer, Billy, the oldest midshipman in the navy, 102;
description of, 102;
anecdotes of, 102–7, 115

Culverhouse, John, signal lieutenant, 66 and _n._;
as Diomede, 84;
his song, _ib._;
captain, drowned, 91

Cumberland, the Duke of, admiral, visits the Barfleur, 98

Cunningham, Charles, captain, 131 and _n._

Curry, Richard, midshipman, 119

Curtis, Sir Roger, anecdote of, 61

Daddi, Nardo, fresco by, 141 _n._

Dalgleish, James, mate, 118

Dalston, Sir John, captain of marines, 13

Daniel, Robert Savage, lieutenant, killed at the battle of the Nile,
113, 115

Danton, Richard, midshipman, pilot, 39

Darby, H. D’E., captain, 228

Davis, John, quartermaster, afterwards midshipman, 125

Davis, mate, 93

Dawe, Harry, lieutenant, 91

Dawes, Richard, lieutenant, killed 1st June, 124

Dawson, George, captain, court martial on, 73–4

Dawson, Thomas, boatswain, 39

Deacon, Henry, lieutenant, 45–6, 52

Delafons, John, purser, 115

Delafons, John, midshipman, 119

Delafons, Thomas, midshipman, 119

Dempster, Walter, midshipman, 153

Derby, John, lieutenant, a droll fellow, 219–21, 224

Derby, John, cook, 219

Deserters attacked by wolves, 50

Dickinson, Francis, midshipman, 125

Dickinson, William, midshipman, 125

Dickson, Archibald, admiral, 226

Dixon, John W. T., midshipman, 117;
captain, lost in the Apollo, 117

Dixon, Manley, captain, 56;
his character, 60;
commanded the Lion at the capture of the William Tell, 62

Dobbie, William Hugh, midshipman, 95

Dobree, Daniel, lieutenant, 114;
captain, 203, 206, 209–12, 223–4

Dobree, Daniel, midshipman, 225

Dodgson, John, surgeon, 152

Dodwell, Brown, master’s mate, 53

Dogs, seventy-five, in the Salisbury, 42;
anecdotes of, 47;
dog thrown overboard, 241–2

Dolling, John, lieutenant, 98, 113

Doncaster, Charles, midshipman, died of yellow fever at Jamaica, 225

Dorrel, Richard, lieutenant, 38

Douglas, carpenter, 96

Douglas, the Hon. Dunbar, midshipman, wonderful escape of, 117

Douglas, J., captain, 22

Dowdall, Edward, gunner, 53

Downman, Hugh, midshipman, 94

Dowsing, Jackson, lieutenant, 114

Drake, Sir Francis, taught the people of Plymouth, 7

Drake, Sir Francis Samuel, 38 _n._

Drake, Sir Francis William, vice-admiral, 22, 38 and _n._

Dubosc, French emigrant captain, 168

Ducker, John, boatswain, 164–5, 171

Ducks, attack on, 110–11

Duckworth, Sir John Thomas, rear-admiral, 228, 230–1, 237

Duff, Andrew, midshipman, 55

Duff, captain, 229

Duncan, Charles, master, 151–2

Duncan, Lord, 71

Dundas, captain, 229

Dundas, general, at Bastia, 148

Dunham, Robert, lieutenant, broke and reinstated, 202

Dunn, Richard D., captain, 228

Durban, William, midshipman, 118

Durham, Philip Charles, lieutenant, 25 _n._, 114

Dusautoy, lieutenant of marines, 62

Dutchman, cargo of runaway, 208

Eastwood, N. H., captain, chased by Billy Culmer, 102–3

Eaton, Jack, mate, 117;
cheers up Gardner at his examination, 173;
captain of Marlborough, 117;
committed suicide, 117;
captain of Medusa, 191

Edgar, Alexander, captain, 41

Edgar, Thomas, lieutenant, in charge of a merchantman, 159–60;
had sailed round the world with Cook, 163, 167–70

Edgeworth, Henry, mate, 248

Edmonds, Tom, midshipman, a delightful flute-player, 92

Elliot, John, vice-admiral, 99;
his able services, 112

Elliot, Robert, midshipman, 93

Elliot, William, midshipman, 55;
lieutenant, 114

Elliot, William, midshipman, 248

Esperanto, early example of, 128

Essington, captain, 227–8

Everitt, afterwards Calmady, Charles Holmes, lieutenant, 8

Eyles, C., captain, 228

Fairlight, signal station, 109, 251–63;
duties at, 253;
severe gales, 254;
cockney’s visit to, 255–6;
smugglers, 258–9;
Gardner’s friends there, 259 _seq._;
paid off, 263

Fanshawe, Robert, commissioner at Plymouth, 197–8

Faulknor, Jonathan, rear-admiral, 100;
most able officer, 113

Faulknor, Jonathan, jun., captain, 41, 188

Faulknor, Samuel, captain, note on, 100

Feary, Frank, midshipman, 92

Fegan, sent on board the Conquistador by the Bow Street magistrate,
112, 214;
song by 214–15

Field, Augustus John, lieutenant of marines, draws a long bow, 244;
dines off rat pie, 245, 248

Fielding, Henry, novelist, 215 _n._

Fielding, Sir John, the blind magistrate, 214–15 _n._

Finch, the Hon. Seymour, captain, 22

Fireworks, manufacture of, in front of a fire, 198

Flag, insult to the English, 131

Flanagan, clerk (afterwards purser), 40

Flemming, boatswain, broke by court martial, 202

Flinders, mate, well acquainted with ancient history, 123

Flood, Patrick, midshipman, reads the Bible, 75;
draws caricatures, 79;
is ruined by Molloy, 80;
verse by, 88, 92

Floyd, Thomas, lieutenant, 13

Flying Dutchman has a roving commission, 199

Foley, T., captain, 229

Follie, John, boatswain, 248

Foote, John Stode, chaplain, 14

Foote, Samuel, actor, 34 _n._

Forrester, Ben, captain of marines, 30, 31, 38

Forster, Edward, midshipman, a Hercules, 39

Forton prison, Frenchmen sent to, 16

Foularton, Henry, midshipman, his keg of gin, 94

Foularton, John, midshipman, court martial on, 32, 39

Fraser, Alexander, lieutenant (afterwards admiral), 31, 38

Fraser, James, gunner, 39

Frederick, T. L., captain, 131

Freeburn, Archibald, gunner, 202

Fremantle, captain, 227, 229

French officers, prisoners on board La Favorite, 200;
claim their rank in the navy, _ib._;
claim refused, _ib._;
sent to Mill Prison, _ib._;
Gardner’s generosity to, 201

French prisoners, threatened rising of, 159;
left at Gibraltar, 170

French Royalists on board Gorgon, 170

French seamanship, an instance of good, 186

Frost, ‘Hard Frost,’ midshipman, is ‘laid out,’ 87;
a ‘transcendent blackguard,’ 88, 94

Fuller, William, surgeon, 243, 248

Gale, legendary commodore, 69, 87

Galloway, James, midshipman, 153

Galton, midshipman, 116

Gardner, Alan, rear-admiral, 121;
his service, 123

Gardner, the Hon. A. H., captain, 229

Gardner, wrote in the office: no relation of the author, 96

Gardner, Francis Geary, captain, 3, 8, 10–13, 19

Gardner, James, captain, 37

Gardner, Mrs. James, death of, 37