Chapter Thirteen.Jack a Man-of-War’s-Man.There is a time of life when a person feels that he has left for ever his boyish days and stepped into manhood. I felt that I had passed that boundary when I found myself rated as an able seaman on board theSyrensloop of war. I was now under a far stricter system of discipline than I had been accustomed to. At first I felt it somewhat galling; but I soon saw that without the greatest regularity it would be impossible to keep order among the crew of a ship even of the size of theSyren.My early days I had spent on board a merchantman, and had met with many adventures somewhat strange and exciting. I did not expect to meet with fewer in my new career, though they would probably be of a different character. The result of my last, in which I had aided in rescuing two of my countrymen from captivity, had proved most satisfactory. Jacob Lyal, one of them, was now with me, and I knew he would speak well of me among my new shipmates. The other, Captain Stenning, late master of theDolphin, was on board that vessel, and, I hoped, would soon be enabled to rejoin his wife and family in Halifax. Captain Gale, her present master, would also, I knew, speak favourably of me to my first commander in theRainbow, Captain Helfrich, whenever he should fall in with him. I pity the man who does not desire to be thought well of by those who know him, and who does not feel that he deserves their good wishes. I certainly had not made many friends, but those I had found were true and fast ones; and a great source of satisfaction to me was the having with me Peter Poplar, my first and best friend—that true-hearted seaman who had saved me from starvation—who had tended me as a father in my boyhood and youth—who had given me a profession which would enable me to support myself while health and strength remained—and who had ever endeavoured to instil into me those true principles which would enable me to steer clear of the rocks and quicksands to be found in my course through life.The wind had fallen and become fair; the helm of the corvette was put down, the sails were trimmed, and, under a crowd of canvas such as few merchantmen can attempt to set, we quickly ran the coast of Africa out of sight—the last we saw of its sandy shores being over our starboard quarter. The commander of theSyren, Captain Hudson, was, I found, very much liked by the crew, as, although he was a strict officer, he was a just one, and known to be a thorough seaman. He was a gentleman also in all respects, a brave man, and kind-hearted; and these are the qualities which sailors with good reason respect. Without possessing them, no man is fit to be placed in command over his fellow-men. My old ship, theDolphin, continued in our company for several days, during which we made the best of our way to the northward, the wind, though scant, enabling us, close-hauled, to keep a course in that direction. When somewhere about the latitude of Lisbon, a ship hove in eight, standing towards us under all sail. As her courses rose above the water, she was pronounced to be a frigate; and as her hull appeared, such was found to be the case. Then commenced such a hauling up and down of flags as I had never before seen. What it all meant I could not tell, but it seemed to produce a great commotion among the officers; and soon the news ran along the deck that war was declared—war with France. It was the beginning of a long and bloody struggle.Meantime, we hove-to, as the frigate had done, and Captain Hudson went on board her. When he returned, we found that we were ordered into the British Channel. The frigate, a new ship, just fitted out, with her officers in glittering uniforms, and her white wide-spread of canvas, and her fresh paint, and her brightly burnished sides looked, I thought, the very picture of a gay and gallant craft, as, passing close to us, she glided by through the sparkling sea. I could not help comparing her with the weather-beaten, wall-sided, ill-formed, slow-sailing merchantmen I had been accustomed to see, and I began to feel a pride in belonging to a man-of-war which I had not hitherto experienced.Before proceeding on our course, Captain Hudson signalled theDolphin, which had been hove-to, and informed Captain Gale that war had broken out, advising him to make the best of his way to Halifax. It was not till some years afterwards that I heard she reached that place in safety, and that Captain Stenning had had the happiness of being re-united to his wife and family.No sooner was the news of war received on board theSyren, than everybody seemed to wake up into activity. No one had time for a moment to be idle fore or aft. The armourer’s crew were employed in polishing up muskets, and pistols, and sharpening cutlasses. For hours together we were practised at the small-arms and great-guns, which had never before been thought of. The gunners were busy making cartridges; the carpenters, plugs for shot-holes; indeed, we all felt that people should always feel that there was work to do. We had good reason to rejoice before the cruise was up that we had not been idle.We reached Plymouth without meeting with an enemy or taking a prize. What a state of bustle and excitement the place was in! Carriages-and-four dashing through the streets at all hours of the day; troops marching here and there, with drums and fifes playing—some coming in, others embarking for foreign lands; artisans of all sorts hurrying in, certain to get work at high wages; men-of-war, and merchantmen, and store-ships, and troop-ships sailing in and out every day; boats laden with men and chests pulling across the harbour; seamen crowding every quay; pressgangs at work catching men to fight England’s battles; and then such hurrying to and fro, and shrieking of women, and shouting of men, and crying of children, and revelling, and laughter, and scenes of extravagance, and debauchery, and vice I had never before beheld, and did not think could exist in a civilised part of the globe.Having refitted with as little delay as possible, and again put to sea, we found ourselves off the north coast of Spain, far into the Bay of Biscay. For some time we were employed in looking along the coast of France, and picking up all the small coasters we could lay eyes on. We did a great deal of damage to a number of poor people, and taught them that war was a very disagreeable thing, so that they must heartily have wished it over, or rather, that it never had begun; but I doubt if we did ourselves any good in the way of collecting prize-money; at all events, I know that I never got any. At length, one morning, when we could just make out the French coast like a thin wavy blue line on the horizon, beyond which a rich yellow glow was bursting forth, the forerunner of the glorious sun, a sail was seen, hull down, to the northward, and apparently standing in on a bowline for the land. The ship, as was usual when cruising, had been quietly jogging on under her topsails during the night. “All hands, make sail in chase!” was the cheerful sound which made us spring on deck to our stations; and in a few minutes the corvette, with royals and studding-sails alow and aloft, was kept away after the stranger. The latter, which was pronounced to be a large topsail schooner, was soon seen to bear up, and to set all the canvas she could carry, in an endeavour to escape. The chase was a large and fast vessel of her class, for it was not till some time after breakfast that we could see half-way down her mainsail from the deck. Still, we were gaining on her. She, meantime, was edging away in for the land, so that there was little doubt that she was an enemy’s vessel—probably, from the way she made sail, a privateer with a number of hands on board, if not a man-of-war. Hour after hour we continued the chase, till the French coast rose clear and distinct on our starboard-bow.Jacob Lyal and I were at this time stationed in the foretop, of which Peter Poplar was captain, though he was shortly afterwards made a quarter-master. We thus saw every movement of the chase. She, by degrees, edged away again more to the northward, as if wishing to avoid the coast thereabout. We had begun the chase soon after daylight, and the evening was now drawing on, when, close in with the land, we made out a large ship standing along-shore, the rays of the sinking sun shining brilliantly on her snowy canvas. The schooner hauled up towards her, and then kept away again, as if she did not like her appearance.“What do you make her out to be?” said I to Peter, pointing to the ship.“Why, Jack, from the squareness of her yards and the whiteness of her canvas, I should say she is a man-of-war—probably a frigate, and a thundering big frigate, too, if I am not much mistaken.”“I suppose, from the French schooner keeping away from her, she is an English frigate,” said I.“Not so sure of that either, Jack,” he answered. “We don’t know that the schooner is French, in the first place; and even if she is, she may be mistaken as to the character of the frigate, or she may have altered her course just to deceive us, so as to let the frigate come up with us without our taking alarm about her. Never fancy that you have made a right guess and neglect to take precautions, in case you should be wrong.”“Why, if she is an enemy’s frigate, she’ll sink us,” said Lyal. “We shall have to up stick and run for it!”“Never do you fear that, lad,” answered Peter, somewhat sternly, I thought. “Run?—no! If that is a French frigate it will just give us an opportunity of showing what British pluck can do. Our lads know how to handle their guns and small-arms—thanks to the practice some of the grumblers complained of—and if we don’t give a good account of that ship out there, my name is not Peter Poplar.”The spirit with which Peter spoke soon animated both Lyal and me, and when we were relieved from our watch, and repeated his words, they were responded to by all the crew, and their great wish was that the frigate in sight should prove an enemy, that they might show how they would treat her.What the officers thought about the matter we could not tell, but as it grew dark the chase of the schooner was abandoned, studding-sails were taken in, and the ship was hauled on a wind and stood off-shore. As may be supposed, no one turned in that night; the hammocks remained in the nettings, and the ship was got ready for action.From the way the frigate was steering at nightfall, there could be little doubt that she was following in our track. Anxiously we looked out for her lights astern. Hour after hour passed away, and no sign of her appeared, and we began to fear that she had missed us altogether.At last a small glimmer was soon twinkling away in the darkness, and by degrees it grew larger and larger; and then out of the dense obscurity—for no moon nor stars were visible—there glided a dark towering mass, like some phantom giant talking over the deep. The drum beat to quarters, and the crew sprung eagerly to their guns. Every man was stripped to the waist, round which he had fastened a handkerchief, with another round his head, and had his cutlass ready to board or to repel boarders.In spite of the wish for battle we had all expressed, I could not help feeling a sensation of awe, if not of dread, creep over me, as we stood—thus in silence and darkness at our guns, expecting the attack of an enemy of vastly superior force. The muscular forms of our sturdy crew could just be distinguished grouped round their guns, the pale light of the ship’s lanterns falling here and there upon them in fitful flashes, as the officers went their rounds to see that every one was at his station, or as the boys handed up shot and powder from below. We were prepared, I say, but still, I believe, the general impression aft was, that the stranger would prove a friend.As she drew nearer, the order was given to make the private night-signal. Up went the lanterns to the mast-head. It was a moment of breathless suspense. No answering signal of friendship was made in return. In another instant, however, that unmistakable one of hatred and defiance—a shot—came whistling over our heads. It was replied to by one of our stern-chasers; and we then went about, that we might keep the weather-gauge—a most important point under present circumstances.The enemy, to avoid being raked, had to do the same. “Give it them now, my lads!” shouted the captain. “Let every shot tell, and show the big one what a little craft can do when her crew have the will to make her speak!” Loud cheers were the reply to the address, and instantly every gun sent forth its flame of fire; and I believe that not a shot failed to take some effect on the hull or rigging of our opponent. Now hotly broadside to broadside, at the distance of half-gun-shot from each other, we stood in towards the land. As fast as they could be run in loaded, our guns discharged their deadly showers. All the time we were edging closer towards each other, and as we got within hail we could see that considerable damage had already been suffered by the frigate. This gave fresh encouragement to us, and we blazed away with more hearty good-will than before. The enemy’s shot had, however, been telling not a little on us. Several of our men had lost the number of their mess, and more had been wounded; but no damage of consequence had been received aloft, and any the hull had received had been quickly repaired by our carpenter and his active crew.Amid the roar of the guns a loud shout burst from our people. I looked up. The frigate’s mizzen-topmast had been shot away, and came tumbling down on deck. Our fore-topgallant-topmast, however, soon followed, cut through by a round-shot; but that was of little consequence, as our topsail-yard was uninjured, and the topsail still stood. We were not long in clearing the wreck, but for a moment there was a cessation of firing. Just then a hail came across the dark waters from the Frenchman’s deck.“Do you strike, Sare? Do you strike?” was asked through a speaking-trumpet. Our captain seized his trumpet in return.“Certainly, monsieur, certainly. We have been and intend to go on striking, just in the way Englishmen have the fashion of doing.”A loud laugh burst from our crew at this answer. It just suited our tastes, and then such a hearty cheer was uttered as could not have failed to convince the Frenchman that our captain was likely to be backed by his people to the utmost. Our guns were not long silent, and once more the darkness of night was illuminated by the bright sheets of flame which burst forth in almost a continuous stream from their mouths.What a contrast to the previous awful silence was there in the report of the guns, the rattle of musketry, the shouts of the officers, the cheers of the men, the crashing of spars and timber as the shot struck home, and the shrieks, and cries, and groans of the wounded! To these expressions of pain even the bravest cannot help giving way, when wounded where the nerves are most sensitive.Several times the enemy attempted to close, when her greatly prepondering force of men would have told with fearful effect on our decks; but each time the attempt was made it was dexterously avoided by our captain. We had, however, begun to suffer considerably in spars and rigging, and the number of our killed and wounded was increasing. Our second lieutenant had been severely injured by the fall of the foretop-gallant-mast. A midshipman, a young lad who had just come to sea, was struck down close to me. I lifted him up in my arms for a moment, to get him carried below out of harm’s way; but the terrible injury he had received convinced me that no help could avail him. I put my hand on his heart: it had ceased to beat. Yet what voice sounded more full of life and spirit than his as we cheered at the captain’s answer to the Frenchman’s hail? On the other side of me a fine young fellow fell mortally wounded. He was just my own age, but not, like me, left alone in the world—he had many dear ones in his humble home. He felt that he had not many moments to live, though his mind was as active as ever.“Williams!” he faintly cried. “Stoop down, lad! Don’t let them take me below: I want to die here! And I say—you know my poor mother, and Sally, and George: just tell them that you saw the last of me; that I thought of them, and prayed for them, and that I hope we may meet in that far, far-off port to which we are all bound! I haven’t forgot the prayers mother taught me, tell her. It will comfort her to know that! Good-bye, Jack!”He pressed my hand as he uttered these words, but instantly afterwards his fingers relaxed. His spirit had fled, and I returned to my duty at my gun!There were not many seamen, unhappily, in those days, like poor James Martin. Another shipmate was killed not far from me, and he died uttering fearful curses on our enemies, utterly ignorant of the future world into which he was entering.Thus we fought on. Although we were severely punishing our big opponent, we could not feel that we were getting the best of the fight.“Do you think we shall take her?” said I to Peter, during another short cessation of firing.“I scarcely expect that,” he answered. “But I am pretty certain that he won’t take us. See, hurrah! He’s been hit again pretty hard!”As he spoke, the frigate’s mizzen-mast, which must have been before badly wounded, went by the board, and at the same time her main-yard came down by the run on deck, no doubt doing further damage by the fall.To show the enemy that our spirits were as high as ever, we cheered again; but, as if in retaliation, several shots, in quick succession, struck our foretopmast, and it, and the yard, and all our headsail, came thundering down on deck, in a confused mass of wreck, disabling several of our people, and rendering our foremost gun useless for a time. I was thankful that I had been stationed at a gun instead of being aloft. Some of the officers hurried forward to get the wreck cleared away, while others encouraged the men to persevere in the strife—not that any encouragement was necessary, for we were all eager to continue it, still hoping to make prize of our antagonist.What had become of the schooner meantime we could not tell. We could only suppose that she was an unarmed vessel. Had she been armed, she might have proved a very disagreeable addition to the force with which we had to contend.While we were clearing the wreck of the foretopmast, another broadside was poured into us, which we returned with our after-guns. It appeared to me, as I looked up again at her after loading, that the frigate was increasing her distance from us. There could be no mistake about it. Her helm had been put up, and she was running off before the wind. Didn’t we cheer heartily! but then we remembered that, deprived of our headsail, we could not follow—so we cheered again, and sent a few shots flying after her, like a dog’s farewell bark, just to show her that we claimed the victory, and would be ready for her if she chose to come back; and then we set to work with a will to repair damages.Our couple of hours’ night work had produced not a few, and sadly changed the appearance of our trim little sloop. Still, as our foremast was standing, we were able to make headsail on the ship, and we hoped by the following morning to get matters sufficiently to rights to be able to renew the engagement should our opponent again venture to attack us. I, in common with many of the younger men, was very much disappointed at not having captured the frigate; but Peter and others who had fought in the last war, told us that we were very fortunate in not having ourselves been obliged to strike, as our opponent could not have mounted less than six-and-thirty, if not forty guns—more than twice as many as we carried. Notwithstanding this, we only hoped to see her again in the morning; and as soon as daylight appeared several eager pairs of eyes were aloft looking out for her. There, hull down to the northward, appeared a sail, which was most probably our opponent; but she was running directly before the wind.At first we supposed that our captain would follow her; but though as brave a man as need be, as he had proved himself, he saw that the probability of capturing the frigate was too small to justify him in making the attempt—in doing which he was much more likely to lose his own ship. Shattered, indeed, did we look when the sun shone down on our blood-stained decks; and still more sad were the scenes which the wounded and dying presented below. I will not, however, now dwell on them. Several shot had gone through the ship’s sides, some between wind and water; but the holes had been quickly plugged by the carpenter’s crew. Altogether, so shattered was the sloop, that, unwilling as our captain was to give up the cruise, he had no resource but to make the best of his way to Plymouth. We arrived there ten days after the engagement; but the pumps had to be kept going all the time, and the ship was ordered into dock to undergo a thorough repair.It is impossible for me to describe all the scenes of which I was witness during that interesting period of England’s naval history; but there was one I must not omit, as it shows what presence of mind and courage can do, in rescuing people even from the greatest difficulties.At that time the French revolutionary party, so well named Red Republicans, were inflicting, with unsparing barbarity, the most dreadful atrocities on any of their unhappy countrymen who were even suspected of entertaining monarchical principles. The inhabitants of Toulon, as well as of several other places, were known to be favourable to the cause of their sovereign; and to afford them support, Lord Hood—then commander-in-chief in the Mediterranean—landed a body of English and Spanish troops, and took possession of the town and forts while his own fleet, with one sent by Spain to join him, entered the harbour.At this time a number of supernumeraries, of whom I was one, sailed from Plymouth to join various ships in the Mediterranean, and, in course of time, I found myself on board theJuno, a fine 32-gun frigate, commanded by Captain Samuel Hood. We sailed from Malta early in the year 1794, with some officers and a few troops, to reinforce the scanty garrison at Toulon, then besieged, as was reported, by a formidable army of the Republicans, amounting to thirty-three thousand men, under Generals Kellerman and Carteaux.TheJunowas just the sort of dashing frigate a young fellow of spirit would wish to belong to, and her Captain was just the man he would wish to serve under. Strict discipline was kept up on board, and all hands were made to know their duty, and to do it. Her officers, too, were as smart a set as ever stepped. I was very fortunate in this, because for the first time since I came to sea I was among strangers, with the exception of Jacob Lyal, who had joined her with me. Peter Poplar was far away in another ship, and I own I missed him sorely. Still. I had learned my duty, and I hoped to continue to do it.We had a quick passage from Malta, and made the French coast just before nightfall. We had carried on all sail, in the hope of getting in while daylight lasted, as the captain was anxious to deliver his despatches and land his passengers, and be out again in search of any stray cruisers of the enemy. The wind, however, fell so light that we were unable to do as he hoped. But he was not a man to be turned from his purpose. Accordingly, rather than lose a day, he stood boldly in for the harbour-mouth, which is not a difficult one to make. We expected that a pilot would have come out to us, but none appeared; and as no signal was made for one, it was then known that the captain intended to find his way in in the dark.Trusty men were placed in the chains with the lead; all hands were at their stations; those with the sharpest eyes were placed as look-outs; the captain stood, trumpet in hand, on the quarter-deck, ready to issue his orders. Not a word was spoken fore or aft. The wind was light, and nearly abeam. Thus, with a dead silence reigning on board, the gallant frigate entered the harbour of Toulon. The officers, with their night-glasses in hand, were anxiously looking out for the British fleet, that they might ascertain where the frigate was to bring-up. In vain they swept them round in every direction; no fleet was to be seen. The circumstance was reported to the captain.“The easterly winds we have had have sent a heavy sea rolling in here. They must have run into the inner harbour to avoid it. We must follow them there,” was his answer. “Shorten sail! Let the ship stand in under her topsails.”The courses were accordingly brailed up, and the top-gallant-sails furled, and under easy sail we stood up the inner harbour. Still nothing could we see of the fleet—not a light did any of the ships show.On we glided through the calm water. “A brig ahead, sir!” shouted the third lieutenant from forward.“Shall we weather her?” asked the captain.The answer was in the negative. “Set the foresail and spanker! Ready, about-ship!”Scarcely had the boatswain’s shrill pipe uttered the appropriate call, than the sails were let fall and sheeted home; and as soon as the frigate felt the effect they produced, the helm was put a-lee, and she went about close under the stern of the brig, which lay in her course. A loud hail came from the brig, but I for one could not make out what was said.“That’s not an English brig,” observed one of the officers near me. She lay off what is called the Grand Tour Point.“He is inquiring our name,” said another officer.“His Britannic Majesty’s frigateJuno,” shouted the first lieutenant.“Wah—wah—wah!” or sounds something like that, came from the brig. Some one also shouted, “Viva!”“Whereabouts is the English fleet?” asked the captain. “Have they sailed? Is the admiral still here?”“Wah—wah—wah!” was the only answer we got. The questions were repeated in French.“Yes—yes; oui—oui; wah—wah—wah!” was again the reply.“That’s a French merchant-brig. They cannot make out what we say. The fleet must have gone over to the other side of the harbour.”Directly afterwards, the words, “Luff—luff!” reached our ears.“They are afraid we shall be ashore, sir,” said the first lieutenant.“Then down with the helm!” shouted the captain. The order was promptly obeyed, and the frigate came up almost head to wind; but scarcely a minute had passed when we felt that she had run stem on to the ground; but so light was the wind, and so slight was the way on her, that no damage of any sort was done.Of course the order was immediately given to clew-up and hand the sails; and in another minute or so theJunolay with all sails furled right up in the centre of the harbour of Toulon, with a line of heavy batteries between her and the sea. While we were handing sails, a boat was seen to put off from the brig; but instead of coming aboard us, she pulled away rapidly in the direction of the town.Before, however, we were even off the yards, a flaw of wind took the ship’s head, and happily drove it off the bank, when the anchor was let go, and she lay with her head up the harbour. Still, however, she hung on the bank by the stern, while her rudder remained immovable and useless. Seeing this, the captain ordered a kedge to be carried out to warp her off; which, as she hung very lightly, could easily be done. To perform this operation the launch was lowered; but being a heavy boat, it took some time to get her into the water. Warps and the kedge-anchor were then placed in her, and her crew pulled away with the kedge in the proper direction to haul her off. While we were thus engaged, a boat was seen coming down the harbour.“What boat’s that?” hailed the sentry from forward.“Ay, ay,” was the answer.“Officers coming alongside!” cried the sentry—such being the answer given by naval officers when hailed by a ship-of-war. A captain repeats the name of his ship.The gangway was manned to receive the visitors. Every one was puzzled to know the meaning of a visit at so unusual an hour, and anxious to know what it meant. A well-manned boat came alongside, and two French officers, with several other people, scrambled up on deck.“Be smart, then, my lads, with the kedge,” sung out Mr Webley, third lieutenant, from forward. “We must get the ship afloat before the wind drives her further on.”The French officers looked about the decks for an instant, and then, followed by their people, went aft to the captain, who was standing on the quarter-deck ready to receive them.“Monsieur le Capitaine,” said one of them, taking off his hat and bowing politely, “I am sent by the chief of the port to compliment you on the way you have brought your ship into this loyal port, but to express regret that the regulations he has been compelled to issue make it necessary for you to go over to the southern side of the harbour, there to perform a quarantine for a short ten days or so, as you come from Alexandria, an infected place.”“But we don’t come from Alexandria; we come from Malta, which is not an infected place,” answered the captain.“Then, monsieur, Malta is an infected place,” returned the officer, quickly.“I cannot understand that,” answered Captain Hood. “I have to deliver my despatches, and some supernumeraries for the army here, and then to be away again as fast as possible. I beg, gentlemen, you will inform me where theVictory, Lord Hood’s ship, is. I must be guided by his orders.”“Certainly, monsieur, certainly,” said the Frenchman, bowing with a bland smile. “We will pilot you to him.”I remember thinking, as the Frenchmen walked along the deck, that there was a good deal of swagger in their manner, but I only set it down to Gallic impudence. While this conversation was going on, one of our midshipmen, a smart youngster—Mowbray, I think, was his name—had been inquisitively examining the Frenchmen, and he now hurried up to the captain, and drew him aside.“Just look, sir—those are Republican cockades!” he whispered. “As the light of a lantern fell on their hats, I observed it. There’s some trick put upon us.”“In truth you are right, my lad, I greatly fear,” answered the captain, in an agitated voice. “Where do you say Lord Hood is?” he asked, turning abruptly to the Frenchman.“My Lord Hood! He is not here. He has long ago departed. We have no lords here,” answered the French officer in a sneering tone. “You have made a great mistake, and are like a rat in a hole. The truth is, Monsieur le Capitaine, you and your ship’s company are prisoners! But make yourself easy—the English are good people—we will treat them kindly.”“Prisoners!” exclaimed Captain Hood and the officers standing near, in tones of dismay. “Prisoners! impossible!” But the assertion was too true.Lord Hood had been compelled to evacuate Toulon some time before, with all the forces under his command, after blowing up, by the aid of Sir Sidney Smith, several of the forts, and destroying or carrying away every ship in the harbour; while the unfortunate inhabitants were exposed to all the cruelties which their sanguinary opponents could inflict on them.As may be supposed, the Republican Frenchmen exulted in the idea of having so easily captured an English frigate, and a large number of Englishmen on whom they might retaliate for some of the losses their party had sustained. As ill news travels quickly, so in an instant the words in everybody’s mouth were, “We are prisoners! we are prisoners!” Some would scarcely believe it, and the officers and many of the men hurried aft in a body to ascertain the fact. Mr Webley had remained forward, and before we had been able to haul on the warp she had laid out, he promptly recalled the launch, and ordered the people out of her up the side. The boatswain was standing near him.“See,” he exclaimed, “there’s a flaw of wind just come down the harbour. If it holds, the Frenchmen, even should this report be true, need not be quite so sure as they think that they have caught us.”Saying this, he hurried aft to the captain, while the boatswain, not to lose time, made all the necessary preparations for making sail and cutting the cable.“I believe, sir, that we shall be able to fetch out, if we can get her under sail,” said the lieutenant in the captain’s ear. The words made him start, and restored vigour to his heart.“Thank you, Webley, thank you,” exclaimed the captain, when the third lieutenant told him that the wind had come ahead. “We’ll make the attempt, and may Heaven prosper it!”Without a moment’s delay, the first lieutenant issued the order to make sail, while Mr Webley hurried forward to see the cable cut, as she tended the right way. Like larks we sprang aloft to loose the topsails, and all was done so silently and so rapidly, that the Frenchmen could not make out what was occurring.“Gentlemen,” said the captain, politely addressing the officers, “I must trouble you to step below. We have duty in this ship to carry on which will not require your presence.”“But,” exclaimed the Frenchmen, uttering all the oaths in their ample vocabulary, “you are our prisoners. We do not choose to obey your orders.”“You mistake; you are ours! Englishmen do not yield unless to greatly superior force,” exclaimed our captain. “Gentlemen, you must go below.”The Frenchmen laughed scornfully. “Treason! mutiny!” they exclaimed, drawing their sabres, and attempting to make a rush to the gangway; but as they turned, they found themselves confronted by a file of marines, with fixed bayonets presented at them!Rage, and fury, and disappointed revenge were in the tones of their voices, as they gave vent to their feelings in oaths and execrations while they were being handed below. Not a man of their boat’s crew escaped, for all had come on board to witness the capture, as they supposed, of a British frigate.During this time the topsails had been let fall, and in less than three minutes were sheeted home. The headsails filled. At the very moment they did so, a stronger puff of wind came right down the harbour. “Cut, cut!” was the word. Round swung her head towards the open sea. Almost with a bound it seemed her stern lifted off the ground. “Hurrah! hurrah! We are free! we are free!” was the joyful cry. Now, come shot or shell, or whatever our foemen choose to send. We have our brave ship under command, and if our stout sticks do but stand, we may yet escape the trap into which we have so unwarily fallen.Such were the sentiments which were felt, if not expressed, by all on board the frigate. Plenty of sharp eyes were on shore, watching through the gloom of night, as far as they were able, the movements of the English frigate, expecting to see her every moment glide up the harbour, where, of course, troops had been rapidly collected to take possession of the prize, and conduct us within the precincts of a French prison.The Republicans must soon have discovered that their plan to capture us had not been altogether successful. As we sailed down the harbour, instead of up, as they had expected, lights began to gleam from the various strong forts which lined each side of the harbour below us, and also from the deck of our friend the brig, off Great Tower Point. Then, as we glided on, every moment gathering fresh way, from all directions a hot fire was opened on us. As with the light wind there was blowing it was necessary to be rid of every obstruction, both our barge and the Frenchmen’s boat were cut adrift, though we would gladly have prevented even them from falling into their hands.There was now no longer any necessity for concealment. The drums beat to quarters, the guns were cast loose, and as we passed down the harbour we began to return the compliments our enemies were so liberally bestowing on us. We had our guns ready in time to give our friend the brig a good dose, but what mischief we inflicted we could not tell; and, to do her justice, she was not slack in her attempts to cripple us. Thus in an instant the harbour, so lately sleeping in silence, and, as it were, shrouded in the solemn gloom of night, was rudely awaked and lighted up with the roar and bright flashes of a hundred guns, which, fast as they could be discharged, sent forth a continuous fire at our seemingly devoted ship. Thus far all had proceeded well; but we were far from free of danger. Shot after shot struck us, several times we were hulled, but not a man had yet been hit, when, to our dismay, the wind grew very scant, and seemed about to head us.“If it shifts a couple of points more to the southward, we shall have to beat out of this place!” exclaimed the captain of the gun at which I was stationed. “Never mind, lads; we’ll teach these Frenchmen what a British frigate can do in spite of all that.”Still theJunosteadily held on her course. The wind backed once more and came down the harbour, and on she glided. The enemy’s guns were, however, telling on us with fearful effect—our topsails were riddled with shot, and our rigging much cut up; but as the damage occurred, our active crew flew here and there to repair it, as well as time and the darkness would allow. Now the harbour opened out broadly before us, and the line of open sea could be perceived ahead. Our masts and spars stood unharmed, the firing from the forts grew fainter and fainter. Scarcely a shot reached us. On we stood. The shot began to drop astern. For several minutes not one had struck us. The Frenchmen tried in their rage, but all in vain.“We are free! we are free indeed! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” burst with one voice from all our crew, and the gallantJunobounded forward on the wide ocean, to show what British daring, judgment, and promptitude will effect, even although the most fearful odds are ranged against success.I trust that some on board that ship felt also that a merciful Providence had preserved us from a galling and painful lot, which would have endured for many a long year, to do our duty to Heaven and our country. I trust that the example set by the crew of theJunowill serve as an example to all British seamen—never to yield while there is a possibility of escape.Well, it was amusing to see how the Frenchmen did stamp and rage when they found that, instead of capturing us, they had been taken prisoners; but we treated them very civilly, and after a few shrugs and grimaces, like people having to take physic, we soon had the men singing and jigging away as merry as crickets.I remained for some time on board theJuno, and left her on a very short notice, and very much also against my own will.One dark night, as, with a convoy of merchantmen under our charge, we were standing for Gibraltar, the watch below were roused up with the cry of, “All hands shorten sail!” I and others, tossing on our clothes, sprang aloft through the darkness, with a fierce wind blowing in our faces, to reef topsails. Scarcely had I reached the lee foretop-sail yard-arm, and had, as I believed, the earing in my hand, when, how I cannot tell, I found myself jerked off the yard; and ere I could secure a firm grasp of the rope I held, I found myself hurled through the midnight air, clutching emptiness, till I reached the foam-covered water, through which the ship was hurriedly ploughing her way. I heard the cry, “A man overboard! a man overboard!” but the ship had been carrying too much sail, and without shortening it, it was impossible to round-to in order to pick me up. From the frigate, therefore, I knew that I could expect no help. I do not believe that for a moment after I fell I lost my consciousness, though I suspect that before I fell I was more asleep than awake. I had on only my shirt and light duck-trousers, so I threw myself on my back, to consider what was best to be done. There were plenty of vessels, I knew, astern of the frigate, but there was little chance of being seen by any of them, or of their being able to pick me up if they did see me.How long I could have remained floating on my back I don’t know—some hours, I suppose, in smooth water; but as it was, the squall had blown up a sea, and the spray kept dashing over my head and half drowned me. On a sudden I found my head strike against something with so much force as almost to stun me, and, turning round, I found myself in contact with a large object. I caught hold of it. Ropes were hanging down from it into the water; I climbed up by them, and found that it was the top and parts of the topmast of a ship of large size. I felt thankful that I was not likely to die for some time, unless the weather grew worse; and I did not allow myself to reflect that even a worse death might be in store for me—that of starvation. I had my knife secured by a lanyard round my neck, so I began to haul up the ropes, and endeavoured to form as secure a resting-place for myself as circumstances would allow. When I had done all I could, I looked round through the darkness for the chance of discovering a sail; but none could I see, so I sat down, and, strange to say, fell asleep.
There is a time of life when a person feels that he has left for ever his boyish days and stepped into manhood. I felt that I had passed that boundary when I found myself rated as an able seaman on board theSyrensloop of war. I was now under a far stricter system of discipline than I had been accustomed to. At first I felt it somewhat galling; but I soon saw that without the greatest regularity it would be impossible to keep order among the crew of a ship even of the size of theSyren.
My early days I had spent on board a merchantman, and had met with many adventures somewhat strange and exciting. I did not expect to meet with fewer in my new career, though they would probably be of a different character. The result of my last, in which I had aided in rescuing two of my countrymen from captivity, had proved most satisfactory. Jacob Lyal, one of them, was now with me, and I knew he would speak well of me among my new shipmates. The other, Captain Stenning, late master of theDolphin, was on board that vessel, and, I hoped, would soon be enabled to rejoin his wife and family in Halifax. Captain Gale, her present master, would also, I knew, speak favourably of me to my first commander in theRainbow, Captain Helfrich, whenever he should fall in with him. I pity the man who does not desire to be thought well of by those who know him, and who does not feel that he deserves their good wishes. I certainly had not made many friends, but those I had found were true and fast ones; and a great source of satisfaction to me was the having with me Peter Poplar, my first and best friend—that true-hearted seaman who had saved me from starvation—who had tended me as a father in my boyhood and youth—who had given me a profession which would enable me to support myself while health and strength remained—and who had ever endeavoured to instil into me those true principles which would enable me to steer clear of the rocks and quicksands to be found in my course through life.
The wind had fallen and become fair; the helm of the corvette was put down, the sails were trimmed, and, under a crowd of canvas such as few merchantmen can attempt to set, we quickly ran the coast of Africa out of sight—the last we saw of its sandy shores being over our starboard quarter. The commander of theSyren, Captain Hudson, was, I found, very much liked by the crew, as, although he was a strict officer, he was a just one, and known to be a thorough seaman. He was a gentleman also in all respects, a brave man, and kind-hearted; and these are the qualities which sailors with good reason respect. Without possessing them, no man is fit to be placed in command over his fellow-men. My old ship, theDolphin, continued in our company for several days, during which we made the best of our way to the northward, the wind, though scant, enabling us, close-hauled, to keep a course in that direction. When somewhere about the latitude of Lisbon, a ship hove in eight, standing towards us under all sail. As her courses rose above the water, she was pronounced to be a frigate; and as her hull appeared, such was found to be the case. Then commenced such a hauling up and down of flags as I had never before seen. What it all meant I could not tell, but it seemed to produce a great commotion among the officers; and soon the news ran along the deck that war was declared—war with France. It was the beginning of a long and bloody struggle.
Meantime, we hove-to, as the frigate had done, and Captain Hudson went on board her. When he returned, we found that we were ordered into the British Channel. The frigate, a new ship, just fitted out, with her officers in glittering uniforms, and her white wide-spread of canvas, and her fresh paint, and her brightly burnished sides looked, I thought, the very picture of a gay and gallant craft, as, passing close to us, she glided by through the sparkling sea. I could not help comparing her with the weather-beaten, wall-sided, ill-formed, slow-sailing merchantmen I had been accustomed to see, and I began to feel a pride in belonging to a man-of-war which I had not hitherto experienced.
Before proceeding on our course, Captain Hudson signalled theDolphin, which had been hove-to, and informed Captain Gale that war had broken out, advising him to make the best of his way to Halifax. It was not till some years afterwards that I heard she reached that place in safety, and that Captain Stenning had had the happiness of being re-united to his wife and family.
No sooner was the news of war received on board theSyren, than everybody seemed to wake up into activity. No one had time for a moment to be idle fore or aft. The armourer’s crew were employed in polishing up muskets, and pistols, and sharpening cutlasses. For hours together we were practised at the small-arms and great-guns, which had never before been thought of. The gunners were busy making cartridges; the carpenters, plugs for shot-holes; indeed, we all felt that people should always feel that there was work to do. We had good reason to rejoice before the cruise was up that we had not been idle.
We reached Plymouth without meeting with an enemy or taking a prize. What a state of bustle and excitement the place was in! Carriages-and-four dashing through the streets at all hours of the day; troops marching here and there, with drums and fifes playing—some coming in, others embarking for foreign lands; artisans of all sorts hurrying in, certain to get work at high wages; men-of-war, and merchantmen, and store-ships, and troop-ships sailing in and out every day; boats laden with men and chests pulling across the harbour; seamen crowding every quay; pressgangs at work catching men to fight England’s battles; and then such hurrying to and fro, and shrieking of women, and shouting of men, and crying of children, and revelling, and laughter, and scenes of extravagance, and debauchery, and vice I had never before beheld, and did not think could exist in a civilised part of the globe.
Having refitted with as little delay as possible, and again put to sea, we found ourselves off the north coast of Spain, far into the Bay of Biscay. For some time we were employed in looking along the coast of France, and picking up all the small coasters we could lay eyes on. We did a great deal of damage to a number of poor people, and taught them that war was a very disagreeable thing, so that they must heartily have wished it over, or rather, that it never had begun; but I doubt if we did ourselves any good in the way of collecting prize-money; at all events, I know that I never got any. At length, one morning, when we could just make out the French coast like a thin wavy blue line on the horizon, beyond which a rich yellow glow was bursting forth, the forerunner of the glorious sun, a sail was seen, hull down, to the northward, and apparently standing in on a bowline for the land. The ship, as was usual when cruising, had been quietly jogging on under her topsails during the night. “All hands, make sail in chase!” was the cheerful sound which made us spring on deck to our stations; and in a few minutes the corvette, with royals and studding-sails alow and aloft, was kept away after the stranger. The latter, which was pronounced to be a large topsail schooner, was soon seen to bear up, and to set all the canvas she could carry, in an endeavour to escape. The chase was a large and fast vessel of her class, for it was not till some time after breakfast that we could see half-way down her mainsail from the deck. Still, we were gaining on her. She, meantime, was edging away in for the land, so that there was little doubt that she was an enemy’s vessel—probably, from the way she made sail, a privateer with a number of hands on board, if not a man-of-war. Hour after hour we continued the chase, till the French coast rose clear and distinct on our starboard-bow.
Jacob Lyal and I were at this time stationed in the foretop, of which Peter Poplar was captain, though he was shortly afterwards made a quarter-master. We thus saw every movement of the chase. She, by degrees, edged away again more to the northward, as if wishing to avoid the coast thereabout. We had begun the chase soon after daylight, and the evening was now drawing on, when, close in with the land, we made out a large ship standing along-shore, the rays of the sinking sun shining brilliantly on her snowy canvas. The schooner hauled up towards her, and then kept away again, as if she did not like her appearance.
“What do you make her out to be?” said I to Peter, pointing to the ship.
“Why, Jack, from the squareness of her yards and the whiteness of her canvas, I should say she is a man-of-war—probably a frigate, and a thundering big frigate, too, if I am not much mistaken.”
“I suppose, from the French schooner keeping away from her, she is an English frigate,” said I.
“Not so sure of that either, Jack,” he answered. “We don’t know that the schooner is French, in the first place; and even if she is, she may be mistaken as to the character of the frigate, or she may have altered her course just to deceive us, so as to let the frigate come up with us without our taking alarm about her. Never fancy that you have made a right guess and neglect to take precautions, in case you should be wrong.”
“Why, if she is an enemy’s frigate, she’ll sink us,” said Lyal. “We shall have to up stick and run for it!”
“Never do you fear that, lad,” answered Peter, somewhat sternly, I thought. “Run?—no! If that is a French frigate it will just give us an opportunity of showing what British pluck can do. Our lads know how to handle their guns and small-arms—thanks to the practice some of the grumblers complained of—and if we don’t give a good account of that ship out there, my name is not Peter Poplar.”
The spirit with which Peter spoke soon animated both Lyal and me, and when we were relieved from our watch, and repeated his words, they were responded to by all the crew, and their great wish was that the frigate in sight should prove an enemy, that they might show how they would treat her.
What the officers thought about the matter we could not tell, but as it grew dark the chase of the schooner was abandoned, studding-sails were taken in, and the ship was hauled on a wind and stood off-shore. As may be supposed, no one turned in that night; the hammocks remained in the nettings, and the ship was got ready for action.
From the way the frigate was steering at nightfall, there could be little doubt that she was following in our track. Anxiously we looked out for her lights astern. Hour after hour passed away, and no sign of her appeared, and we began to fear that she had missed us altogether.
At last a small glimmer was soon twinkling away in the darkness, and by degrees it grew larger and larger; and then out of the dense obscurity—for no moon nor stars were visible—there glided a dark towering mass, like some phantom giant talking over the deep. The drum beat to quarters, and the crew sprung eagerly to their guns. Every man was stripped to the waist, round which he had fastened a handkerchief, with another round his head, and had his cutlass ready to board or to repel boarders.
In spite of the wish for battle we had all expressed, I could not help feeling a sensation of awe, if not of dread, creep over me, as we stood—thus in silence and darkness at our guns, expecting the attack of an enemy of vastly superior force. The muscular forms of our sturdy crew could just be distinguished grouped round their guns, the pale light of the ship’s lanterns falling here and there upon them in fitful flashes, as the officers went their rounds to see that every one was at his station, or as the boys handed up shot and powder from below. We were prepared, I say, but still, I believe, the general impression aft was, that the stranger would prove a friend.
As she drew nearer, the order was given to make the private night-signal. Up went the lanterns to the mast-head. It was a moment of breathless suspense. No answering signal of friendship was made in return. In another instant, however, that unmistakable one of hatred and defiance—a shot—came whistling over our heads. It was replied to by one of our stern-chasers; and we then went about, that we might keep the weather-gauge—a most important point under present circumstances.
The enemy, to avoid being raked, had to do the same. “Give it them now, my lads!” shouted the captain. “Let every shot tell, and show the big one what a little craft can do when her crew have the will to make her speak!” Loud cheers were the reply to the address, and instantly every gun sent forth its flame of fire; and I believe that not a shot failed to take some effect on the hull or rigging of our opponent. Now hotly broadside to broadside, at the distance of half-gun-shot from each other, we stood in towards the land. As fast as they could be run in loaded, our guns discharged their deadly showers. All the time we were edging closer towards each other, and as we got within hail we could see that considerable damage had already been suffered by the frigate. This gave fresh encouragement to us, and we blazed away with more hearty good-will than before. The enemy’s shot had, however, been telling not a little on us. Several of our men had lost the number of their mess, and more had been wounded; but no damage of consequence had been received aloft, and any the hull had received had been quickly repaired by our carpenter and his active crew.
Amid the roar of the guns a loud shout burst from our people. I looked up. The frigate’s mizzen-topmast had been shot away, and came tumbling down on deck. Our fore-topgallant-topmast, however, soon followed, cut through by a round-shot; but that was of little consequence, as our topsail-yard was uninjured, and the topsail still stood. We were not long in clearing the wreck, but for a moment there was a cessation of firing. Just then a hail came across the dark waters from the Frenchman’s deck.
“Do you strike, Sare? Do you strike?” was asked through a speaking-trumpet. Our captain seized his trumpet in return.
“Certainly, monsieur, certainly. We have been and intend to go on striking, just in the way Englishmen have the fashion of doing.”
A loud laugh burst from our crew at this answer. It just suited our tastes, and then such a hearty cheer was uttered as could not have failed to convince the Frenchman that our captain was likely to be backed by his people to the utmost. Our guns were not long silent, and once more the darkness of night was illuminated by the bright sheets of flame which burst forth in almost a continuous stream from their mouths.
What a contrast to the previous awful silence was there in the report of the guns, the rattle of musketry, the shouts of the officers, the cheers of the men, the crashing of spars and timber as the shot struck home, and the shrieks, and cries, and groans of the wounded! To these expressions of pain even the bravest cannot help giving way, when wounded where the nerves are most sensitive.
Several times the enemy attempted to close, when her greatly prepondering force of men would have told with fearful effect on our decks; but each time the attempt was made it was dexterously avoided by our captain. We had, however, begun to suffer considerably in spars and rigging, and the number of our killed and wounded was increasing. Our second lieutenant had been severely injured by the fall of the foretop-gallant-mast. A midshipman, a young lad who had just come to sea, was struck down close to me. I lifted him up in my arms for a moment, to get him carried below out of harm’s way; but the terrible injury he had received convinced me that no help could avail him. I put my hand on his heart: it had ceased to beat. Yet what voice sounded more full of life and spirit than his as we cheered at the captain’s answer to the Frenchman’s hail? On the other side of me a fine young fellow fell mortally wounded. He was just my own age, but not, like me, left alone in the world—he had many dear ones in his humble home. He felt that he had not many moments to live, though his mind was as active as ever.
“Williams!” he faintly cried. “Stoop down, lad! Don’t let them take me below: I want to die here! And I say—you know my poor mother, and Sally, and George: just tell them that you saw the last of me; that I thought of them, and prayed for them, and that I hope we may meet in that far, far-off port to which we are all bound! I haven’t forgot the prayers mother taught me, tell her. It will comfort her to know that! Good-bye, Jack!”
He pressed my hand as he uttered these words, but instantly afterwards his fingers relaxed. His spirit had fled, and I returned to my duty at my gun!
There were not many seamen, unhappily, in those days, like poor James Martin. Another shipmate was killed not far from me, and he died uttering fearful curses on our enemies, utterly ignorant of the future world into which he was entering.
Thus we fought on. Although we were severely punishing our big opponent, we could not feel that we were getting the best of the fight.
“Do you think we shall take her?” said I to Peter, during another short cessation of firing.
“I scarcely expect that,” he answered. “But I am pretty certain that he won’t take us. See, hurrah! He’s been hit again pretty hard!”
As he spoke, the frigate’s mizzen-mast, which must have been before badly wounded, went by the board, and at the same time her main-yard came down by the run on deck, no doubt doing further damage by the fall.
To show the enemy that our spirits were as high as ever, we cheered again; but, as if in retaliation, several shots, in quick succession, struck our foretopmast, and it, and the yard, and all our headsail, came thundering down on deck, in a confused mass of wreck, disabling several of our people, and rendering our foremost gun useless for a time. I was thankful that I had been stationed at a gun instead of being aloft. Some of the officers hurried forward to get the wreck cleared away, while others encouraged the men to persevere in the strife—not that any encouragement was necessary, for we were all eager to continue it, still hoping to make prize of our antagonist.
What had become of the schooner meantime we could not tell. We could only suppose that she was an unarmed vessel. Had she been armed, she might have proved a very disagreeable addition to the force with which we had to contend.
While we were clearing the wreck of the foretopmast, another broadside was poured into us, which we returned with our after-guns. It appeared to me, as I looked up again at her after loading, that the frigate was increasing her distance from us. There could be no mistake about it. Her helm had been put up, and she was running off before the wind. Didn’t we cheer heartily! but then we remembered that, deprived of our headsail, we could not follow—so we cheered again, and sent a few shots flying after her, like a dog’s farewell bark, just to show her that we claimed the victory, and would be ready for her if she chose to come back; and then we set to work with a will to repair damages.
Our couple of hours’ night work had produced not a few, and sadly changed the appearance of our trim little sloop. Still, as our foremast was standing, we were able to make headsail on the ship, and we hoped by the following morning to get matters sufficiently to rights to be able to renew the engagement should our opponent again venture to attack us. I, in common with many of the younger men, was very much disappointed at not having captured the frigate; but Peter and others who had fought in the last war, told us that we were very fortunate in not having ourselves been obliged to strike, as our opponent could not have mounted less than six-and-thirty, if not forty guns—more than twice as many as we carried. Notwithstanding this, we only hoped to see her again in the morning; and as soon as daylight appeared several eager pairs of eyes were aloft looking out for her. There, hull down to the northward, appeared a sail, which was most probably our opponent; but she was running directly before the wind.
At first we supposed that our captain would follow her; but though as brave a man as need be, as he had proved himself, he saw that the probability of capturing the frigate was too small to justify him in making the attempt—in doing which he was much more likely to lose his own ship. Shattered, indeed, did we look when the sun shone down on our blood-stained decks; and still more sad were the scenes which the wounded and dying presented below. I will not, however, now dwell on them. Several shot had gone through the ship’s sides, some between wind and water; but the holes had been quickly plugged by the carpenter’s crew. Altogether, so shattered was the sloop, that, unwilling as our captain was to give up the cruise, he had no resource but to make the best of his way to Plymouth. We arrived there ten days after the engagement; but the pumps had to be kept going all the time, and the ship was ordered into dock to undergo a thorough repair.
It is impossible for me to describe all the scenes of which I was witness during that interesting period of England’s naval history; but there was one I must not omit, as it shows what presence of mind and courage can do, in rescuing people even from the greatest difficulties.
At that time the French revolutionary party, so well named Red Republicans, were inflicting, with unsparing barbarity, the most dreadful atrocities on any of their unhappy countrymen who were even suspected of entertaining monarchical principles. The inhabitants of Toulon, as well as of several other places, were known to be favourable to the cause of their sovereign; and to afford them support, Lord Hood—then commander-in-chief in the Mediterranean—landed a body of English and Spanish troops, and took possession of the town and forts while his own fleet, with one sent by Spain to join him, entered the harbour.
At this time a number of supernumeraries, of whom I was one, sailed from Plymouth to join various ships in the Mediterranean, and, in course of time, I found myself on board theJuno, a fine 32-gun frigate, commanded by Captain Samuel Hood. We sailed from Malta early in the year 1794, with some officers and a few troops, to reinforce the scanty garrison at Toulon, then besieged, as was reported, by a formidable army of the Republicans, amounting to thirty-three thousand men, under Generals Kellerman and Carteaux.
TheJunowas just the sort of dashing frigate a young fellow of spirit would wish to belong to, and her Captain was just the man he would wish to serve under. Strict discipline was kept up on board, and all hands were made to know their duty, and to do it. Her officers, too, were as smart a set as ever stepped. I was very fortunate in this, because for the first time since I came to sea I was among strangers, with the exception of Jacob Lyal, who had joined her with me. Peter Poplar was far away in another ship, and I own I missed him sorely. Still. I had learned my duty, and I hoped to continue to do it.
We had a quick passage from Malta, and made the French coast just before nightfall. We had carried on all sail, in the hope of getting in while daylight lasted, as the captain was anxious to deliver his despatches and land his passengers, and be out again in search of any stray cruisers of the enemy. The wind, however, fell so light that we were unable to do as he hoped. But he was not a man to be turned from his purpose. Accordingly, rather than lose a day, he stood boldly in for the harbour-mouth, which is not a difficult one to make. We expected that a pilot would have come out to us, but none appeared; and as no signal was made for one, it was then known that the captain intended to find his way in in the dark.
Trusty men were placed in the chains with the lead; all hands were at their stations; those with the sharpest eyes were placed as look-outs; the captain stood, trumpet in hand, on the quarter-deck, ready to issue his orders. Not a word was spoken fore or aft. The wind was light, and nearly abeam. Thus, with a dead silence reigning on board, the gallant frigate entered the harbour of Toulon. The officers, with their night-glasses in hand, were anxiously looking out for the British fleet, that they might ascertain where the frigate was to bring-up. In vain they swept them round in every direction; no fleet was to be seen. The circumstance was reported to the captain.
“The easterly winds we have had have sent a heavy sea rolling in here. They must have run into the inner harbour to avoid it. We must follow them there,” was his answer. “Shorten sail! Let the ship stand in under her topsails.”
The courses were accordingly brailed up, and the top-gallant-sails furled, and under easy sail we stood up the inner harbour. Still nothing could we see of the fleet—not a light did any of the ships show.
On we glided through the calm water. “A brig ahead, sir!” shouted the third lieutenant from forward.
“Shall we weather her?” asked the captain.
The answer was in the negative. “Set the foresail and spanker! Ready, about-ship!”
Scarcely had the boatswain’s shrill pipe uttered the appropriate call, than the sails were let fall and sheeted home; and as soon as the frigate felt the effect they produced, the helm was put a-lee, and she went about close under the stern of the brig, which lay in her course. A loud hail came from the brig, but I for one could not make out what was said.
“That’s not an English brig,” observed one of the officers near me. She lay off what is called the Grand Tour Point.
“He is inquiring our name,” said another officer.
“His Britannic Majesty’s frigateJuno,” shouted the first lieutenant.
“Wah—wah—wah!” or sounds something like that, came from the brig. Some one also shouted, “Viva!”
“Whereabouts is the English fleet?” asked the captain. “Have they sailed? Is the admiral still here?”
“Wah—wah—wah!” was the only answer we got. The questions were repeated in French.
“Yes—yes; oui—oui; wah—wah—wah!” was again the reply.
“That’s a French merchant-brig. They cannot make out what we say. The fleet must have gone over to the other side of the harbour.”
Directly afterwards, the words, “Luff—luff!” reached our ears.
“They are afraid we shall be ashore, sir,” said the first lieutenant.
“Then down with the helm!” shouted the captain. The order was promptly obeyed, and the frigate came up almost head to wind; but scarcely a minute had passed when we felt that she had run stem on to the ground; but so light was the wind, and so slight was the way on her, that no damage of any sort was done.
Of course the order was immediately given to clew-up and hand the sails; and in another minute or so theJunolay with all sails furled right up in the centre of the harbour of Toulon, with a line of heavy batteries between her and the sea. While we were handing sails, a boat was seen to put off from the brig; but instead of coming aboard us, she pulled away rapidly in the direction of the town.
Before, however, we were even off the yards, a flaw of wind took the ship’s head, and happily drove it off the bank, when the anchor was let go, and she lay with her head up the harbour. Still, however, she hung on the bank by the stern, while her rudder remained immovable and useless. Seeing this, the captain ordered a kedge to be carried out to warp her off; which, as she hung very lightly, could easily be done. To perform this operation the launch was lowered; but being a heavy boat, it took some time to get her into the water. Warps and the kedge-anchor were then placed in her, and her crew pulled away with the kedge in the proper direction to haul her off. While we were thus engaged, a boat was seen coming down the harbour.
“What boat’s that?” hailed the sentry from forward.
“Ay, ay,” was the answer.
“Officers coming alongside!” cried the sentry—such being the answer given by naval officers when hailed by a ship-of-war. A captain repeats the name of his ship.
The gangway was manned to receive the visitors. Every one was puzzled to know the meaning of a visit at so unusual an hour, and anxious to know what it meant. A well-manned boat came alongside, and two French officers, with several other people, scrambled up on deck.
“Be smart, then, my lads, with the kedge,” sung out Mr Webley, third lieutenant, from forward. “We must get the ship afloat before the wind drives her further on.”
The French officers looked about the decks for an instant, and then, followed by their people, went aft to the captain, who was standing on the quarter-deck ready to receive them.
“Monsieur le Capitaine,” said one of them, taking off his hat and bowing politely, “I am sent by the chief of the port to compliment you on the way you have brought your ship into this loyal port, but to express regret that the regulations he has been compelled to issue make it necessary for you to go over to the southern side of the harbour, there to perform a quarantine for a short ten days or so, as you come from Alexandria, an infected place.”
“But we don’t come from Alexandria; we come from Malta, which is not an infected place,” answered the captain.
“Then, monsieur, Malta is an infected place,” returned the officer, quickly.
“I cannot understand that,” answered Captain Hood. “I have to deliver my despatches, and some supernumeraries for the army here, and then to be away again as fast as possible. I beg, gentlemen, you will inform me where theVictory, Lord Hood’s ship, is. I must be guided by his orders.”
“Certainly, monsieur, certainly,” said the Frenchman, bowing with a bland smile. “We will pilot you to him.”
I remember thinking, as the Frenchmen walked along the deck, that there was a good deal of swagger in their manner, but I only set it down to Gallic impudence. While this conversation was going on, one of our midshipmen, a smart youngster—Mowbray, I think, was his name—had been inquisitively examining the Frenchmen, and he now hurried up to the captain, and drew him aside.
“Just look, sir—those are Republican cockades!” he whispered. “As the light of a lantern fell on their hats, I observed it. There’s some trick put upon us.”
“In truth you are right, my lad, I greatly fear,” answered the captain, in an agitated voice. “Where do you say Lord Hood is?” he asked, turning abruptly to the Frenchman.
“My Lord Hood! He is not here. He has long ago departed. We have no lords here,” answered the French officer in a sneering tone. “You have made a great mistake, and are like a rat in a hole. The truth is, Monsieur le Capitaine, you and your ship’s company are prisoners! But make yourself easy—the English are good people—we will treat them kindly.”
“Prisoners!” exclaimed Captain Hood and the officers standing near, in tones of dismay. “Prisoners! impossible!” But the assertion was too true.
Lord Hood had been compelled to evacuate Toulon some time before, with all the forces under his command, after blowing up, by the aid of Sir Sidney Smith, several of the forts, and destroying or carrying away every ship in the harbour; while the unfortunate inhabitants were exposed to all the cruelties which their sanguinary opponents could inflict on them.
As may be supposed, the Republican Frenchmen exulted in the idea of having so easily captured an English frigate, and a large number of Englishmen on whom they might retaliate for some of the losses their party had sustained. As ill news travels quickly, so in an instant the words in everybody’s mouth were, “We are prisoners! we are prisoners!” Some would scarcely believe it, and the officers and many of the men hurried aft in a body to ascertain the fact. Mr Webley had remained forward, and before we had been able to haul on the warp she had laid out, he promptly recalled the launch, and ordered the people out of her up the side. The boatswain was standing near him.
“See,” he exclaimed, “there’s a flaw of wind just come down the harbour. If it holds, the Frenchmen, even should this report be true, need not be quite so sure as they think that they have caught us.”
Saying this, he hurried aft to the captain, while the boatswain, not to lose time, made all the necessary preparations for making sail and cutting the cable.
“I believe, sir, that we shall be able to fetch out, if we can get her under sail,” said the lieutenant in the captain’s ear. The words made him start, and restored vigour to his heart.
“Thank you, Webley, thank you,” exclaimed the captain, when the third lieutenant told him that the wind had come ahead. “We’ll make the attempt, and may Heaven prosper it!”
Without a moment’s delay, the first lieutenant issued the order to make sail, while Mr Webley hurried forward to see the cable cut, as she tended the right way. Like larks we sprang aloft to loose the topsails, and all was done so silently and so rapidly, that the Frenchmen could not make out what was occurring.
“Gentlemen,” said the captain, politely addressing the officers, “I must trouble you to step below. We have duty in this ship to carry on which will not require your presence.”
“But,” exclaimed the Frenchmen, uttering all the oaths in their ample vocabulary, “you are our prisoners. We do not choose to obey your orders.”
“You mistake; you are ours! Englishmen do not yield unless to greatly superior force,” exclaimed our captain. “Gentlemen, you must go below.”
The Frenchmen laughed scornfully. “Treason! mutiny!” they exclaimed, drawing their sabres, and attempting to make a rush to the gangway; but as they turned, they found themselves confronted by a file of marines, with fixed bayonets presented at them!
Rage, and fury, and disappointed revenge were in the tones of their voices, as they gave vent to their feelings in oaths and execrations while they were being handed below. Not a man of their boat’s crew escaped, for all had come on board to witness the capture, as they supposed, of a British frigate.
During this time the topsails had been let fall, and in less than three minutes were sheeted home. The headsails filled. At the very moment they did so, a stronger puff of wind came right down the harbour. “Cut, cut!” was the word. Round swung her head towards the open sea. Almost with a bound it seemed her stern lifted off the ground. “Hurrah! hurrah! We are free! we are free!” was the joyful cry. Now, come shot or shell, or whatever our foemen choose to send. We have our brave ship under command, and if our stout sticks do but stand, we may yet escape the trap into which we have so unwarily fallen.
Such were the sentiments which were felt, if not expressed, by all on board the frigate. Plenty of sharp eyes were on shore, watching through the gloom of night, as far as they were able, the movements of the English frigate, expecting to see her every moment glide up the harbour, where, of course, troops had been rapidly collected to take possession of the prize, and conduct us within the precincts of a French prison.
The Republicans must soon have discovered that their plan to capture us had not been altogether successful. As we sailed down the harbour, instead of up, as they had expected, lights began to gleam from the various strong forts which lined each side of the harbour below us, and also from the deck of our friend the brig, off Great Tower Point. Then, as we glided on, every moment gathering fresh way, from all directions a hot fire was opened on us. As with the light wind there was blowing it was necessary to be rid of every obstruction, both our barge and the Frenchmen’s boat were cut adrift, though we would gladly have prevented even them from falling into their hands.
There was now no longer any necessity for concealment. The drums beat to quarters, the guns were cast loose, and as we passed down the harbour we began to return the compliments our enemies were so liberally bestowing on us. We had our guns ready in time to give our friend the brig a good dose, but what mischief we inflicted we could not tell; and, to do her justice, she was not slack in her attempts to cripple us. Thus in an instant the harbour, so lately sleeping in silence, and, as it were, shrouded in the solemn gloom of night, was rudely awaked and lighted up with the roar and bright flashes of a hundred guns, which, fast as they could be discharged, sent forth a continuous fire at our seemingly devoted ship. Thus far all had proceeded well; but we were far from free of danger. Shot after shot struck us, several times we were hulled, but not a man had yet been hit, when, to our dismay, the wind grew very scant, and seemed about to head us.
“If it shifts a couple of points more to the southward, we shall have to beat out of this place!” exclaimed the captain of the gun at which I was stationed. “Never mind, lads; we’ll teach these Frenchmen what a British frigate can do in spite of all that.”
Still theJunosteadily held on her course. The wind backed once more and came down the harbour, and on she glided. The enemy’s guns were, however, telling on us with fearful effect—our topsails were riddled with shot, and our rigging much cut up; but as the damage occurred, our active crew flew here and there to repair it, as well as time and the darkness would allow. Now the harbour opened out broadly before us, and the line of open sea could be perceived ahead. Our masts and spars stood unharmed, the firing from the forts grew fainter and fainter. Scarcely a shot reached us. On we stood. The shot began to drop astern. For several minutes not one had struck us. The Frenchmen tried in their rage, but all in vain.
“We are free! we are free indeed! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” burst with one voice from all our crew, and the gallantJunobounded forward on the wide ocean, to show what British daring, judgment, and promptitude will effect, even although the most fearful odds are ranged against success.
I trust that some on board that ship felt also that a merciful Providence had preserved us from a galling and painful lot, which would have endured for many a long year, to do our duty to Heaven and our country. I trust that the example set by the crew of theJunowill serve as an example to all British seamen—never to yield while there is a possibility of escape.
Well, it was amusing to see how the Frenchmen did stamp and rage when they found that, instead of capturing us, they had been taken prisoners; but we treated them very civilly, and after a few shrugs and grimaces, like people having to take physic, we soon had the men singing and jigging away as merry as crickets.
I remained for some time on board theJuno, and left her on a very short notice, and very much also against my own will.
One dark night, as, with a convoy of merchantmen under our charge, we were standing for Gibraltar, the watch below were roused up with the cry of, “All hands shorten sail!” I and others, tossing on our clothes, sprang aloft through the darkness, with a fierce wind blowing in our faces, to reef topsails. Scarcely had I reached the lee foretop-sail yard-arm, and had, as I believed, the earing in my hand, when, how I cannot tell, I found myself jerked off the yard; and ere I could secure a firm grasp of the rope I held, I found myself hurled through the midnight air, clutching emptiness, till I reached the foam-covered water, through which the ship was hurriedly ploughing her way. I heard the cry, “A man overboard! a man overboard!” but the ship had been carrying too much sail, and without shortening it, it was impossible to round-to in order to pick me up. From the frigate, therefore, I knew that I could expect no help. I do not believe that for a moment after I fell I lost my consciousness, though I suspect that before I fell I was more asleep than awake. I had on only my shirt and light duck-trousers, so I threw myself on my back, to consider what was best to be done. There were plenty of vessels, I knew, astern of the frigate, but there was little chance of being seen by any of them, or of their being able to pick me up if they did see me.
How long I could have remained floating on my back I don’t know—some hours, I suppose, in smooth water; but as it was, the squall had blown up a sea, and the spray kept dashing over my head and half drowned me. On a sudden I found my head strike against something with so much force as almost to stun me, and, turning round, I found myself in contact with a large object. I caught hold of it. Ropes were hanging down from it into the water; I climbed up by them, and found that it was the top and parts of the topmast of a ship of large size. I felt thankful that I was not likely to die for some time, unless the weather grew worse; and I did not allow myself to reflect that even a worse death might be in store for me—that of starvation. I had my knife secured by a lanyard round my neck, so I began to haul up the ropes, and endeavoured to form as secure a resting-place for myself as circumstances would allow. When I had done all I could, I looked round through the darkness for the chance of discovering a sail; but none could I see, so I sat down, and, strange to say, fell asleep.
Chapter Fourteen.Tyranny—War and Mutiny, with a Glimpse of Home Comforts between.As I said, I went to sleep hanging on to a piece of wreck in the middle of the Mediterranean. It was not an agreeable position to be in, certainly, but it might have been worse. I might have been in the middle of the Atlantic, or the Bay of Biscay, or near a country inhabited by cannibals, or with nothing to float on, as was the case till I got hold of the shattered mast. I did not feel it a very serious matter, I suppose, for I slept soundly. I knew that the sea at that time was swarming with vessels—men-of-war, transports, store-ships, and merchantmen, sailing in every direction, and I hoped one or the other would pick me up.At last the sun shining in my eyes awoke me, and looking around, I saw, about two miles or so to the eastward, a brig with her foretopmast gone and maintopsail-yard carried away. The damage had been done, I had no doubt, by the squall which had sent me out of my warm hammock into the cold water. The squall had passed over, and the sea was almost as smooth as glass. I had a handkerchief round my waist. I took it off, and, standing as high as I could on the wreck, I waved it above my head. I waited anxiously to see if my signal had produced any effect; but the brig’s crew were all so busily engaged in repairing the damage she had received, that they did not see me. So I sat down again, hoping that by-and-by they might knock off work, and find a moment to look about them. One comfort was, that while the calm lasted the brig was not likely to go far away from me.The time seemed very long, and I was beginning to get hungry too as the hour of breakfast drew on. So I got up again and waved my handkerchief, and could not help shouting, though I well knew that no one at such a distance could hear me. I waved till my arm ached, and still I was unobserved; so I sat down a second time, and began to consider what means existed of attracting the attention of the people aboard the brig. I thought of swimming to her; but I reflected that it would be better to let well alone, and that, as there was a long distance to traverse before I could reach her, I might lose my strength, and sink without being observed. The sun, however, rose higher and higher in the sky, and I grew still more hungry; so for a third time I stood up and waved, and shouted, and played all sorts of curious antics, in my eagerness to attract notice. At length there was a stir aboard, and I thought I saw some one waving in return. I was right. A quarter-boat was lowered, and a fast galley pulled towards me. I was not a little pleased when I saw them coming. They were soon up to me, and though I had not been long floating on the broken mast, I can only say that I left it with very considerable satisfaction. The brig, I found, belonged, as I had suspected, to theJuno’sconvoy. As we approached her, I looked with a scrutinising eye at her hull. I thought I knew her build.“What brig’s that?” I asked, with no little interest.“Why, the oldRainbow, lad,” answered one of the boat’s crew. “A good craft she is still, though she’s seen plenty of work in her day.”So I was indebted for my preservation to my old ship—my sea-cradle, I might call her. I hauled myself up her side, and there on her quarter-deck stood Captain Gale, working away as usual with his people, encouraging them by word and action. He seemed very glad to see me, as I am sure I was to see him.“I see, sir,” said I, after having had a little talk with him, “you have plenty of work to do aboard, so, if I may just have some food to put life into me, I’ll turn to and lend a hand.”“Ready as ever for work, Jack, I see!” said he, smiling. “I am glad the men-of-war haven’t knocked that out of you.”Fortunately the fine weather continued, and by nightfall we were able to rig a jury-mast and make sail on the brig. By the time we reached Gibraltar theJunohad sailed, and, as may be supposed, I being a pressed-man, did not feel myself bound to follow her. I was very well satisfied with the treatment I had received in the navy, and do not think that I should have quitted it for any other vessel but my own brig; but as Captain Gale was willing to take me, I could not resist the temptation of remaining with him. After nearly foundering in a heavy gale, being more than once chased by an enemy’s cruiser, and narrowly escaping being run down by one of our own line-of-battle-ships, we reached Bristol, to which we were then bound, in safety.I had not forgotten my promise to poor James Martin, my shipmate in theSyren, who was killed in our action with the French frigate; and knowing that his family lived at a village within forty or fifty miles of Bristol, I set off to visit them. Except a small amount of pay due to me for the voyage home, I had little enough money in my pocket, so I was obliged to go on foot. I had never seen anything of the interior of England before, and knew nothing of its varied beauties, especially of its rural districts—the rich meadows, the waving corn-fields, the thick woods, and, more than all, the shady lanes and green hedges, full of roses and honeysuckles, with numberless beautiful flowers growing on the mossy bank beneath them. But still deeper impression did the sequestered village make on me, with its open green and neat cottages, surrounded by pretty gardens; and its clear pond, with gravelly bed; and its neighbouring coppice; and its quiet church, with graceful spire; and the neat and unpretending parsonage; and the old minister, with thin cheeks and long white hair, and grave, yet kind loving countenance, to whom all smiled and courtesied or doffed their hats as he passed; and the long low school-house, with rosy, noisy children rushing out of it, and scattering here and there instantly to begin their play; and the buxom mothers and old dames coming out from their doors to watch them, or to chat with each other in the intervals of work; and the sheep on the sunny downs above; and the sparkling stream which came murmuring by, half overgrown with bushes, so that its pleasant sound alone showed its locality; and its deep pool, where the trout loved to lie; and the cattle in the green meadow, seeking for shade under the tall elms, or with lazy strokes of their tails whisking off the flies; and the boys whistling in the fields; and the men, with long white smocks and gay handkerchiefs worked in front, tending the plough or harrow, or driving the lightly-laden waggon or cart with sturdy well-fed horses. And then the air of tranquillity and repose which pervaded the spot, the contentment visible everywhere, made an impression on me which time has never been able to obliterate, and which, in far, far-off regions, has come back on me with greater force than ever, and prevented me from remaining, as many of my companions did, among their half-savage inhabitants, to enjoy the supposed delights of idleness, and has renewed in me the desire to end my days in my fatherland.In such a scene as I have described I found the family of my poor shipmate. I easily made myself known. They had no doubt of the truth of my story, and gave me a kind though tearful welcome. The old mother seized my arm and pushed me into a seat, which she mechanically wiped with her blue apron; the tall sunburned father, with grizzled locks, and dressed in long smock and yellow gaiters, grasped my hand.“And you were with our James when he was struck down in battle, and he thought of us all here! Bless him!”The old man could say no more. I told him how he not only thought of them, but prayed for them, and spoke of the great comfort which the prayers his mother had taught him had been to him, especially in his last mortal agony.The old woman alone wept, but not vehemently. They had long before this heard of his death. My message rather brought comfort than sorrow.After a time George came in—a sturdy young man, with well-knit limbs, and round, good-humoured countenance, with the universal smock, and shoes few legs but such as his could lift. When I spoke of James, his countenance grew sad, and, rising from his three-legged stool, he left the cottage, and did not return for nearly half an hour.One daughter came in from milking the cows at a neighbouring farm. She reminded me of James. How neat and clean she looked, even coming from work! and how modest and retiring in her manner! She might have been pretty—I don’t remember: she was far better than pretty, I judged from all she said. Her sisters were away at service, I found. She asked many questions about James; and though her voice was more than ever subdued when she mentioned his name, my replies seemed to give her satisfaction. But I had the sense gradually to leave off talking of my dead shipmate, and began to tell them of the adventures I had gone through, and of the strange scenes I had witnessed.There was an old black oak desk, or sloping board, near the small latticed window in the thick wall. On the desk was a large well-worn Bible open, with a green spectacle-case to keep down the page. After supper the old man approached it, as was evidently his custom; and, while all sat round in reverential silence, he began to read slowly and distinctly, though not without difficulty, from the Word of God. One thing struck me—that he read not for form’s sake, but that he and his hearers might reap instruction for faith and practice from what he read. He was evidently aware of the truth, that those sacred pages before him were written for our instruction, to be a guide unto our feet, and a light unto our path. Then he prayed—his words came from his heart—for all present, and for guidance and protection for those absent. He did not forget our king and country, and pleaded that God would prosper England’s arms by sea and land in a righteous struggle. Surely those prayers, rising from many a humble hearth, were not unheeded by the King of kings. Then, I say to those who themselves believe, teach, oh, teach the poor to pray! for their own sakes, for your sake, for England’s sake. Such prayers alone can maintain her as she is—great, glorious, and free.The Martins would not let me go to the village inn, as I proposed, but insisted on my taking a shake-down in the common room with George. The rest slept in a room above. The moonlight came through the lattice window. I saw George sitting up in his bed.“Are you asleep, Williams!” he asked, gently.“No,” I replied.“Then tell me now about poor James,” he answered.I was not slack in obeying his wishes, and for many an hour I went on telling him all the anecdotes I could think of connected with James Martin, from the moment I first knew him till I saw him committed to his watery grave.“Thank you, master,” he said quietly when I ceased; and as I lay down I heard many a sob bursting from his sturdy bosom. “That lad may be a Chaw-bacon,” I thought to myself; “but he has got a heart for all the world just like a sailor’s.”By daybreak next morning the family were astir, and went cheerfully about their daily labours. George had some two or three miles to go to the farm on which he found employment; the old man and Susan had work near at hand.I spent a whole day in that quiet village, wandering about among the fields and lanes, and over the downs, till the family assembled again in the evening when their work was done. The next morning I took my departure. I had learned from a shipmate what would certainly be acceptable in a country district, and had brought with me a package of tea and sugar, which I left as a parting gift for poor James’s mother. I remember that I put it down somewhat abruptly on the table after I had shaken hands, exclaiming, “That’s for you, mother!” and with my small bundle at the end of my stick, I rushed out of the cottage, and took the way back to Bristol.That was the only glimpse of English country-life I ever got, till—an old, broken-down man—my career at sea was ended. I was on shore often enough, but what scenes did I witness among docks, and narrow streets, and in the precincts of great commercial towns? What can the sailor who never strays beyond these know of all the civilising influences of a well-ordered country home? As I say, I never forgot that quiet scene, short as was the glimpse I obtained; and it had an influence on me for all my after-life, which, at the time, I could not have suspected. Even at first when I got back to Bristol, and breathed the moral atmosphere with which I was surrounded, I longed to be once more away on the free ocean.The old brig was soon ready again for sea; but as he was about to sail, Captain Gale was taken so ill that he could not proceed, and another master was sent in his stead. I ought to have mentioned that Captain Helfrich had sold her to some Bristol merchants, and had got a large ship instead, which traded round Cape Horn. Captain Grindall was a very plausible man on shore, so he easily deceived the owners; but directly he got into blue water he took to his spirit bottle, and then cursed and swore, and brutally tyrannised over everybody under his orders. I had seen a good deal of cruelty, and injustice, and suffering in the navy, and had heard of more, but nothing could surpass what that man made his crew feel while he was out of sight of land. The first mate, Mr Crosby, who, with Captain Gale, had appeared a quiet sort of man, though rather sulky and ill-tempered at times, imitated the master’s example.We were bound for Barbadoes, in the West Indies. We had not got half-way there, when one of the crew fell sick. Poor fellow! he had not strength to work, but the master and Mr Crosby said that he had, and that they would make him; so they came down into the forepeak and hauled him out of his berth, and drove him with a rope’s end on deck. He tried to work, but fell down; so they lashed him to the main-rigging in the hot sun, and there left him, daring any of us to release him, or to take him even a drop of water. I wonder that treatment did not kill him.Two days after that, when there was some sea on, and the brig was pitching heavily, he fell down again, and Mr Crosby caught sight of him, and kicked him in the rib; and when the second mate, who was a quiet young man, and generally frightened at the other two, tried to interfere, he threatened to knock him down with a handspike. Then, because poor Taylor called them by some name they deserved, they dragged him aft by his hair, and then triced him up to the main-rigging by the heels. I was in the watch below; of the rest of the crew, one was at the helm, another forward, and the others aloft; so that there was no one to interfere. At last, the man forward looked down the fore-scuttle and told us what had happened. We sprung on deck. Taylor was getting black in the face. It was more than we could stand, and in a body we rushed aft, and before the mate could interfere, for the captain was below, we cut him down, and carried him forward. The mate sung out, “Mutiny!” and the captain came on deck with his pistols. But we told him he might shoot one and all of us, but we would not see a messmate murdered before our eyes. Our determined manner somewhat awed the captain, and swearing that he would be even with us before long, he let us have our way. Poor Taylor did not die at once, as we expected he would; but that night he was in a high fever, and raved and shrieked till he made us all tremble with terror.At noon next day the captain observed that Taylor was not on deck. He asked why he did not come. No one answered. “Then I’ll soon learn the cause,” he exclaimed, leaping down forward. In another moment he sprung up again, followed by Taylor. The hair of the latter was all standing on end; his eyeballs were starting from their sockets; he had only his shirt on, with the sleeves rolled up, showing his thin bony arms and legs. He was shrieking terrifically. The captain attempted to kick him back as he appeared above the hatchway; but he evaded the blow, and stood on deck confronting his persecutor. The strength of madness was upon him. He made a spring at the captain, and would have hurled him, I verily believe, overboard; but at that moment the first mate rushing forward, struck the poor fellow a blow on the back of the head with a handspike. He gave one glance at his murderer as he fell, and in a few minutes his limbs stiffened, and he was dead. The captain and mate went aft as he fell, leaving him on the deck, and talked together.After some time the mate sung out, “Rouse that fellow up, some of you there! Ill or not ill, he must do his duty.” None of us spoke or stirred, and at last he came forward and kicked the corpse, as if to make the man get up. We guessed all the time that he knew perfectly well that Taylor was dead. There he lay where he fell, till the second mate, who had been below, came on deck, and, going up to the body, discovered the truth. He, of course, reported the man’s death to the captain.“Heave the carcass overboard, Mr Sims,” was the answer. “Let’s hear no more about the rascal.”Sailors have a dislike to have a dead body in the ship; so, before night set in, we lashed it up in a piece of canvas, and with a shot at the feet, committed it to the sea. Strange as it may appear, when the mate found that we had taken the canvas for this purpose, he made it an excuse for further abuse and ill-treatment. Not a day passed but one or other of us got a kick or a blow from him or the captain. They made one young lad very nearly leap overboard, where he would have been drowned. I hauled him back, and calming him down, showed him the enormity of the sin he was going to commit, and urged him to bear his trials, as they must shortly be over.At last we reached Carlisle Bay, where we brought up off Bridge Town, the capital of the fertile island Barbadoes. The town lies round the bay, and contains some handsome houses and broad streets. This island is more level than most of the West India isles, with the exception of the north-eastern quarter, called Scotland, when there is an elevation of a thousand feet above the sea. It is rather less in size than the Isle of Wight. What a wretched voyage had we had! How miserable and crushed in spirit did I feel! The scene struck me, therefore, as peculiarly beautiful, as, gliding up the bay, we saw spread out before us the blue waters, fringed by the tall, graceful palms; the shining white houses, circling round the shore; the trim, gallant men-of-war; the merchantmen with their many-coloured flags; the numerous boats pulling here and there, manned by shouting, grinning, laughing negroes;—and then the planters’ houses, and woods, and fields of sugar-cane, and farms in the distance, made me feel that such scenes as we had gone through could no longer be enacted with impunity.The moment we dropped our anchor, the captain went on shore; and I found that, to be beforehand with any of us who might inform against him, he had given his own version of Taylor’s death; which, of course, his mate was ready to corroborate. When he returned on board, he gave a triumphant glance forward, as much as to say, I have you still in my power. So he had, as we found when once more we were at sea. I was glad that the young lad Thompson, whom he had so ill-treated, deserted the day before we sailed, and, I believe, entered aboard a man-of-war, where he was safe.While in harbour we had been quiet enough, but we had not been two days at sea before the captain and mate commenced their old system of tyranny. Everybody was ill-treated, and this time I was the chief victim. Kicked and struck on the slightest pretext, and compelled to perform the most disgusting offices, I soon felt myself a degraded being both in body and mind; and when I thought of what I had been on board theJuno, and what I now was, I shrunk from making the comparison. But I was to obtain relief in a way I little expected.I was in the second mate’s watch. Early one morning, about four bells in the middle watch—that is to say, about two o’clock—I had just been relieved from my trick at the helm. The weather was thick and squally, and the night very dark. The look-out was careless, or had bad eyesight; and the mate, knowing this, was constantly going forward himself. I was leisurely going along the deck, when I heard him sing out,—“A sail on the starboard-bow! Luff!—luff all you can!” I sprang forward. The ship was nearer to us than he supposed. Right stem on she came, towering like a huge mountain above us. In an instant the brig’s bows were cut down to the water’s edge. I sung out to those on deck to follow me, and clung on to whatever I could first get hold of. It proved to be the ship’s bobstay. I climbed up it on to the bowsprit, and, as I looked down, I saw her going right over the vessel I had just left—her decks sinking from sight beneath the dark waters. The tall masts, and spars, and sails followed: down, down they went, drawn by an irresistible force! It seemed like some dreadful dream. Before I could secure myself on the bowsprit, they had disappeared in the unfathomable abyss. Not a cry or a groan reached my ears from my drowning shipmates—unwarned, unprepared they died. Such has been many a hapless seaman’s fate. One only escaped. He had hold of the dolphin-striker. I could just distinguish his form through the darkness as he followed me. I slid down to help him, and with difficulty hauled him up on the bowsprit. He seemed horror-struck at what had occurred; and so, indeed, we might both well be, and thankful that we had been preserved. Such was the end of the oldRainbow.I now first sung out, and gave notice of our escape to those on board the ship. Several of the crew had rushed forward, and now helped poor Mr Sims and me off the bowsprit. We heard, meantime, the officers of the ship ordering the boats to be lowered; and she being hove up into the wind, one from each quarter was soon manned and in the water. While the two mates of the ship, anxious to save the lives of their fellow-creatures, pulled about in every direction near where the brig was supposed to have gone down, I was looking over the bows, hoping that some of my poor shipmates might yet survive; but no answering cry was made to the repeated shouts of the boats’ crews. At last the boats returned on board, and I found that the mate and I were the only survivors of theRainbow. Had she not been an old vessel, I do not think that she would so easily have foundered from the blow she received.I found that the ship I was on board of was theRebecca, a large West Indiaman, trading between London and Barbadoes, to which place she was then bound, so that I should have to return there instead of going home. The captain sent for the mate and me into the cuddy-cabin, to inquire about the vessel to which we had belonged. He was a quiet, kind-mannered man, and seemed very much cut up at the loss of the brig, though he said that he could not blame his people for what had occurred. When we had given him all the information he required, he directed that we should have berths and food supplied us. I turned in gladly, though it was some time before I went to sleep, and even then I could not get rid of the recollection of the sinking brig, which had borne me in safety for so many a long year over the wide ocean.The next morning I was told that the mate was very ill. The doctor of the ship had been attending him, but said that his case was hopeless. I sat by him all day. Sometimes he would be perfectly quiet and do nothing but moan; and then he would start up, and shriek out,—“Luff!—luff!—or she’ll be into us!” and then sink down again, overcome with horror at the recollection of the event. Towards night he grew worse, and, after several fearful shrieks, he sunk back and expired.Thus twice in less than two years was I mercifully preserved from destruction. There were a number of passengers on board, who were very kind to me, and took pleasure in asking me questions about my life at sea, and in listening to the accounts of my adventures. Among them was a young gentleman, who, when he heard the name of theRainbowbrig, and that she sailed out of Dublin, made many inquiries about her. He told me that he knew Dublin well, and had often heard of the former owners of theRainbow. He was, I found, going out to Bridge Town, to take the management of a large mercantile house there.“You must come and see me when we get there,” said he one day. “I am not certain, but I think we have met before.”“Where could that have been? I don’t remember you, sir,” I said.“Hadn’t you a very tall seaman aboard the brig when you first went to sea in her?” he asked abruptly.“Yes, of course, sir!” I exclaimed. “Peter Poplar, my best of friends; I owe everything to him.”“So do I, then, I suspect,” said he warmly. “Do you remember a little lad sitting crying on the quays at Dublin, to whom he gave a bundle of old clothes? Yours, I believe, they were.”“Yes,” said I; “I remember, too, how grateful he seemed for them, and how Peter walked away with me that he might not listen to his thanks.”“He had reason to be thankful,” said the gentleman. “That suit of clothes enabled him to obtain a situation, where, by honesty and perseverance, and an earnest wish to promote his kind master’s interests, he rose by degrees to hold the most responsible situation in his establishment. Do you remember the boy’s name?”“No, sir,” I replied. “I am not quite certain.”“Was it Terence, do you think?” he asked.“Yes, sir!” I exclaimed. “Terence it was—Terence McSwiney—that was his name. I remember it now, for he repeated it several times.”“That is my name,” said the gentleman; “and I, Jack, am the very little lad to whom your kind friend gave your old clothes. I would much like to meet him again, to thank him, as I do you, for your share of the favour conferred on me. Of one thing you may be certain—I have not been idle. When not engaged in my master’s business, I was employed in study and in improving my own mind. I never lost an opportunity of gaining knowledge, and never willingly wasted a moment.”Mr McSwiney told me a good deal more about himself, and I felt how very different a life I had led, and how little I had ever done to improve my mind or to gain knowledge. I even then thought that it was too late to begin, and so I went on in my idleness.The day before we reached Carlisle Bay the captain sent for me, and told me that the passengers had been interested in my history, and that, as I had lost all my kit in the brig, they had made a collection to enable me to purchase a new one. This he presented to me in the shape of thirty dollars. I expressed myself, as I felt, very grateful for the kindness I had received.Although Mr McSwiney had once been in the same rank of life to which I belonged, and in one respect even worse off, because I had a suit of clothes on my back when he had none, I did not, in consequence, address him as an equal. He seemed to appreciate my feeling, and I believe that I thereby secured his esteem. He would have taken me to the lodging he had engaged at Bridge Town, but I said, “No, sir, thank you; I will remain on board the ship till I get a berth in some other craft. I have no fancy for living ashore.” I went up to see him several times, and we parted, I believe, with mutual feelings of regard. He had more than repaid me for the benefit I had been formerly the means of doing him, and he as well as I soon found that our habits of thought were so different that we could not associate on really equal terms, however much we might wish the attempt to succeed.Finding a brig, theJane and Mary, short of hands, sailing for the port of Hull, I shipped on board her. I was not much better off in her though, than I had been in theRainbowwith Captain Grindall. The captain and mates did not proceed to such extremities as he and Mr Crosby did, but they were rough, ignorant, ill-tempered men, and treated the crew as brutes, looking upon them as mere machines, out of whom they were to get as much work as their strength would allow. When we reached Hull I was glad to leave theJane and Mary; and without even going on shore for a day’s spree—as most of the other hands did, and accordingly fell in with press-gangs—I transferred myself to a barque trading to Archangel, on the north coast of Russia.By the time I got back, I had had enough of a northern voyage, so for the first time went on shore at Hull. Sailors’ lodging-houses are generally dirty, foul traps, kept by wretches whose great aim is to fleece the guests of everything they may possess at least cost to themselves. I got into one of this class, for, of course, I did not know where to go. A shipmate had invited me to accompany him, saying he had been very well-treated—though I found afterwards he had been supplied with as much food and liquor as he wanted, and indulged in every vice, and then, when he hadn’t a farthing in his pocket, put on board a trader half drunk, and sent to sea. I found myself undergoing very shortly the same sort of treatment he had received; and when I refused to drink more, or yield to other temptations, such fierce, angry scowls were cast on me, that I was anxious to get away. They began, indeed, to quarrel with me; but seeing that had not much effect, they became very civil and polite. In a short time the man of the house—a sturdy ruffian, with a Jewish cast of countenance—went to the cupboard, and I saw him pouring out several tumblers of grog. I pretended not to be watching him, but went on talking to my companions as before. Directly afterwards his wife got up and placed a tumbler by the side of each of us, taking one—“There are your Saturday’s night-caps, my lads,” said she, sitting down opposite to us. “Let us drink to sweethearts and wives, and lovers and friends; a bloody war, and plenty of prize-money!” And with a leer out of her evil eye, she gulped down half the contents of the tumbler between her thick lips.Now I had seen old Growler fumbling with several bottles at the dresser, and as I passed my nose over the tumbler which his wife placed near me, a certain rank odour arose from it which I did not like. How to avoid drinking it I was puzzled, as I did not wish to show the suspicion I felt that it was drugged. Luckily the tumbler stood on a little round table by itself; so I jumped up on a sudden, as if something had stung me, and upset the table with the tumbler and its contents! Old Growler pretended to be very sorry for the accident, and insisted on mixing another. “No, thank you, master,” I answered; “I’ve been very clumsy, and must pay the penalty by the loss of the grog.” The couple looked at each other and then at me with such an evil glance, that I believe had it not been for my companions they would at that moment have turned me out into the street.There were six seamen in the room, lately discharged from different merchantmen. The house was at the end of a dirty, narrow court, all the inhabitants of which were of the lowest description. As we were sitting smoking, a tap was heard at the door. Old Growler went to it. Several questions were asked by a person outside. He came back in a hurry, and beckoned to his wife to come and answer them. “There are some man-of-war’s men outside,” said he. “They say that they are come to look for a deserter. They’ll soon make my missus open the door, so you’ve no time to lose, my lads. Be quick, then; through the door, and stowaway in the coal-shed.” The house had a back-door, or it would not have been fit for old Growler’s purposes; and the door opened into what they called a garden, but it was a bit of dirty barren ground, strewn with broken bricks and crockery, and bits of rotten wood, with some tumble-down sheds on either side of it. In one of these he proposed we should hide. As we opened the door, however, to rush out, we found ourselves confronted by a dozen stout seamen; and before we could make the slightest resistance, we were all of us bound hand and foot. The front-door being opened, an officer and several men entered through it, and a large party of us assembled in Mrs Growler’s kitchen. The lieutenant and midshipman who commanded the press-gang took very coolly the abuse which our worthy host and hostess so liberally bestowed on them. We were allowed to go, two and two at a time, under escort, to collect our traps, and then marched down to a couple of boats waiting for us at the quay. In a short time we were put on board a cutter, with a number of other men who had been picked up in a similar way. There was a good deal of grumbling, and some of the men seemed to have been very hardly dealt with; but I cannot say that my change of lot made me particularly unhappy.Another night’s foray on shore considerably increased our numbers; besides which several volunteers, mostly landsmen, were obtained, and the cutter then sailed to discharge her passengers into the ships most requiring men. I and several others found ourselves going up the side of His Majesty’s shipGlutton, of 50 guns, commanded by Captain Henry Trollope. As I stood on the deck looking about me, previous to being summoned aft, I saw on the other side the tall figure of a man whose back was turned towards me. My heart beat with surprise and joy, for I felt almost sure he must be Peter Poplar. He shortly turned his head. I was right. He was no other than my old friend. I sprung over to him, and warmly grasped his hand. He started when he saw me, stared at me with astonishment, and for a minute could not speak.“Is it really you, Jack?” he at length exclaimed. “Why, lad, I thought you were dead. I was told that you had been lost overboard from theJuno.”“So I was,” said I; “but I was found by an old friend, who in the end played me a somewhat scurvy trick.” And I told him in a few words all that had occurred to me since we had been paid off from theSyren.“Well, I am right glad to see you, lad—that I am,” he exclaimed, again wringing my hand.My yarn was scarcely out when I was summoned to have my name entered on the ship’s books, and to hear my rating, which was that of “able seaman.” TheGluttonhad been an Indiaman, measuring 1400 tons, and had been purchased into the service. She was now armed with the then newly-invented carronades, 68-pounders on the lower, and 32-pounders on the upper deck. This was a weight of metal no ship had, I believe, previously carried; and Captain Trollope was very anxious to try its effect on the ships of the enemy, rightly believing that it would not a little astonish them.Our first cruise was off the coast of Flanders. We had not long to wait before an enemy was seen. On the 15th of July, when the days were longest and the weather fine, early in the afternoon six ships were seen from the mast-head running before the wind; and soon afterwards, further to leeward, appeared a brig and a cutter, which they were apparently bearing down to join. I was at the helm when the captain made out what they were.“Four French frigates and two corvettes. They will just suit us!” said he, shutting up his glass with a smile of satisfaction.“A heavy squadron for one ship to attack,” observed one of the lieutenants.“One!—every man on board will be sorry they ever metus!” said the captain. He knew that the officer who spoke was not one likely to flinch from the work to be done.We were standing directly for the enemy, whose ships were pretty close in with the land. Notwithstanding the apparently overwhelming numbers of the foe, the ship, with the greatest alacrity, was cleared for action.“Shall we really fight them?” asked a youngster of Peter, who was a great favourite with all the midshipmen.“Ay—that we shall, sir,” he answered. “The captain only wishes that there were twice as many ships to fight.”“That’s all right!” exclaimed the young midshipman. “I was afraid that some trick was intended, and that we should soon have to up stick, and run for it.”“No, no; no fear of that! I don’t think our captain is the man to run from anything.”It was now about eight o’clock in the evening, and the French ships, having formed in line, seemed to have no intention of avoiding us. A feeling of pride and confidence animated the bosoms of all our crew as we stood round the short heavy guns with which our ship was armed, while advancing towards an enemy of a force apparently so overwhelming. One French frigate, theBrutus, was a razéed 64-gun ship, and now carried 46 guns. Then there were theIncorruptible, of 32 guns; theMagicienne, of 36; theRépublicain, of 28; and the two corvettes, of 22 guns each.On we stood. Whatever the enemy did, we were not to fire till we got close up to them. There were to be no long shots with us. It had become almost dark before we arrived abreast of the three sternmost ships. “Take care that not a gun is fired till I give the order,” cried the captain. “Steer for that big fellow there.” This was theBrutus, the second from the van. We were within thirty yards of this ship. “Strike to His Britannic Majesty’s shipGlutton!” cried the captain, waving to the Frenchman. This order the Frenchmen were not likely to obey. Up went the French colours at the peaks of all the ships, and immediately they began firing as they could bring their guns to bear. We glided on a few yards nearer the opponent our captain had singled out. “Now, give it them, my lads!” he shouted; and immediately we poured our whole broadside into the hull of our enemy. The effects were as terrific as unexpected—she seemed literally to reel with the force of the concussion. Meantime, the leading ship stood past us to windward, with the intention of cutting us up with her shot; but she got more than she bargained for, in the shape of our larboard-broadside. The heavy shot, nearly every one of which told, shattered her hull, tore open her decks, and damaged her spars. Meantime we were standing on the larboard-tack, with the French commodore to leeward of us, with whom we were exchanging a hot fire—rather hotter than he liked, indeed.The pilot had been anxiously watching the coast—not indeed relishing, probably, the sort of work going on. He now hurried up to the captain: “We shall be on shore to a certainty, sir, if we stand on in this course.”“Never fear,” answered Captain Trollope. “When the Frenchman takes the ground, do you go about.”All this time the enemy’s shot were flying about us terribly, cutting up our spars and rigging; but, strange to say, as I looked around, I did not see one wounded! It was light enough all the time to enable us to see all the enemy’s ships, and yet sufficiently dark to allow the flash of the guns to have its full effect, as we and our many opponents rapidly discharged them at each other. Still the French commodore stood on. Perhaps he hoped to drive us on shore. At last he was compelled to tack. Captain Trollope had been waiting the opportunity. The instant he hove in stays, we, who had been reserving our fire, poured in our broadside, raking him fore and aft with murderous effect.“All hands about-ship!” was now the cry. So cut up was our rigging, however, that we had no little difficulty in getting her about. Our masts also were badly wounded. It was a question whether they would carry our canvas.“Hands aloft!—reef topsails!” was the next order given. Up we sprung, most unwillingly leaving our gnus, while the French ships, one after the other, stood away from us, glad to get out of reach of our fire though they did not fail to give us a parting salute.We were as smart as we could in reefing topsails, but as much of our running-gear was cut up, we were longer than usual; and the Frenchmen, finding that we had ceased firing, took it into their heads. I suppose, that we were going to strike, for they all tacked and once more stood back towards us.“To your guns, my lads! to your guns!” was the cry, as we swung down off the yards; and then didn’t we open fire again upon them in fine style! In a few minutes they had had enough of it, and hauled off as fast as their legs could carry them. If they hadn’t so cruelly wounded our masts and spars we should have caught some of them. We made all the sail we could venture to carry; but they had faster keels than we could boast of, so we had no hope of success.They stood away for Flushing, and I afterwards heard that one of them sunk as soon as she got there, and that all had their decks completely ripped up, besides losing a great number of men, and suffering terribly in other ways. Strange as it may seem, we had not a single man killed, but one captain of marines and one marine only were wounded. We had to go into harbour to repair damages; and when the news of the action reached London, the merchants were so pleased with it, that, in commemoration of it, they presented Captain Trollope with a handsome piece of plate. He deserved it, for a braver or more dashing officer did not exist, as I had many opportunities of proving.Some time after this, occurred those events in the navy which might have proved the destruction of the British Empire. I speak of the mutinies which broke out at the Nore, at Spithead, and elsewhere. The particulars are generally so well-known, that I will not attempt to describe them; but the circumstance I am about to mention is known, I fancy, to very few. It is an example of what courage and determination may effect.On board theGlutton, as in most large ships, we had a number of bad characters—runaway apprentices, lawyers’ clerks, broken-down tradesmen, footmen dismissed for knavery, play-actors, tinkers, gipsies, pickpockets, thieves of all sorts; indeed, the magistrates on shore seemed to think nothing was too bad to send on board a man-of-war. These men were, of course, always ready for mischief of any sort. There is no denying it, the seamen also were often cruelly ill-treated, fleeced on all sides, cheated out of pay, supplied with bad provisions, and barbarously tyrannised over by their officers. Now, on the contrary, a man-of-war’s man is better fed, better lodged, better and more cheaply clothed, and in sickness better taken care of, than any class of labouring-men. When he has completed twenty-one years’ service, he may retire with a pension for life of from tenpence to fourteen-pence a day; and when worn-out by age or infirmity, he may bear up for that magnificent institution, Greenwich Hospital, there among old comrades to end his days in peace.The mutiny I was speaking of had been going on for some time. The just demands of the seamen had been listened to, and their grievances remedied, when the mutiny broke out afresh, and, instigated by evil-disposed persons, the crews either landed their officers or put them under confinement, and made fresh demands, many of which it was impossible to grant. Our ship, with others of Lord Duncan’s squadron, was brought up in Yarmouth Roads. The delegates had been tampering with us. Messages had at different times been sent on board, and I knew that something wrong was going forward; but what it was I could not tell. I was known to be a friend of Peter Poplar’s, and no one doubted his remaining stanch to his captain and officers, so I am proud to say that they would not trust me.One day I found Peter sitting down between decks, looking very grave. I asked him if something was not the matter with him.“A great deal, Jack,” he answered; “I don’t like the look of things. You must know, Jack, that the ships at the Nore have again hoisted the red flag, and the mutineers swear that they’ll make every ship of the fleet join them. What they now want, I don’t know. They have got all the chief grievances redressed, and everything which reasonable men could expect granted. They’ll not be content till all the delegates are made admirals, I suppose.”“Still, I hope that we shall not be following their example,” said I. “We have a good number of black sheep on board, but still, I think, there are enough honest men to keep them in check.”“That’s the very thing I doubt, Jack,” he whispered. “I don’t like the thoughts of peaching on a shipmate, but when villains are plotting treachery, as some on board here are doing, we have but one duty to perform. I must carry the information to the captain. In case they find me out, and heave me overboard, or trice me up at the yard-arm—as they are likely enough to do—if you live take care that my memory is treated with justice. Now, Jack, there is no time to lose; I’ll tell the captain that he may trust to you and a few others, but the greater number of the ship’s company have been won over by the promises of that artful fellow Parker and his mates.” Saying this, Peter walked boldly aft, and, unsuspected, entered the captain’s cabin.He told me afterwards that Captain Trollope received the information very calmly, nor did he seem at all to doubt its correctness. The plan was to wait till the ship was under way to proceed on a cruise in the North Sea, and then to seize the captain and all the officers, and to carry the ship instead to the Nore. Several other ships had already weighed without orders, and had joined the mutineers at the Nore. No preparation, however, was made that I saw for the expected event.The next day Peter and I were sent for into the cabin. “Take up these things, and accompany me,” said the captain to us. There was a compass and a basket of provisions; and I saw that the captain had a pistol-case under his arm. Leaving the cabin, he led the way below to the door of the magazine. If any of the mutineers observed him, I don’t suppose they guessed what he was about.The powder-magazine of a man-of-war has a clear space round it—a sort of ante-room, which is kept clear of everything, so as to decrease the risk of fire reaching it. This ante-room has a grated door before it. The captain produced a key, and opening the grated door, went in, taking from us the articles we carried. He then locked himself in from the inside. This done, he opened the inner door of the magazine, exposing a number of powder-flasks to view. Having arranged his table and chairs, with the compass and his pistols, and some books he had brought, he said quietly, as if to himself, “I’m ready for them!”“Williams,” he continued, “go and request the first lieutenant to come here. Poplar, do you go among the people, and say I directed you to call some of them to see me.”I quickly performed my part of the duty; but Poplar was longer in collecting any of the people. He, however, at last returned with about twenty of them.The first lieutenant seemed very much astonished at the summons, and could not make out what it meant. I fancy, indeed, when he got down there, and saw the captain quietly sitting in the powder-magazine, as if he was going to take up his berth there for the future, for an instant he thought him out of his senses. He did not long continue in that idea when the captain began to address him and the people who were assembled outside the grating.“Turn the hands up, and get the ship under way!” he sung out in a loud voice. “The pilot will carry her through the passage, and then steer an easterly course till you receive further orders.”“Now, men, you’ve heard the orders I have given to the first lieutenant. I intend to have them obeyed. Other ships’ companies have refused to obey orders, and have joined the mutineers at the Nore. This example shall not be followed on board this ship. I’d sooner die than see such disgrace brought on the ship I command. You all know me. The instant I find the course I have given altered—you see the magazine and this pistol—we all go up together!”Some of the mutineers—for Peter had taken care to summon those he most suspected—lingered below; but the boatswain’s whistle sounded shrilly along the decks, and one more glance at the determined eye of the captain sent them flying up to obey its summons. I shall never forget the appearance of that dauntless man as he sat still and alone in that dark place, prepared by a dire necessity to hurl himself and all with him to a terrible destruction. It was a subject truly worthy of the painter’s highest art. We all, indeed, did know him, and knew that, whatever the cost, he was a man to do what he had threatened. The ship was quickly got under way, and while the larger number of the ships of the squadron ran for the Nore against the wishes of their officers, we, to the surprise of all, who little knew what extraordinary influence guided our course, stood out to sea in search of the enemies of our country.
As I said, I went to sleep hanging on to a piece of wreck in the middle of the Mediterranean. It was not an agreeable position to be in, certainly, but it might have been worse. I might have been in the middle of the Atlantic, or the Bay of Biscay, or near a country inhabited by cannibals, or with nothing to float on, as was the case till I got hold of the shattered mast. I did not feel it a very serious matter, I suppose, for I slept soundly. I knew that the sea at that time was swarming with vessels—men-of-war, transports, store-ships, and merchantmen, sailing in every direction, and I hoped one or the other would pick me up.
At last the sun shining in my eyes awoke me, and looking around, I saw, about two miles or so to the eastward, a brig with her foretopmast gone and maintopsail-yard carried away. The damage had been done, I had no doubt, by the squall which had sent me out of my warm hammock into the cold water. The squall had passed over, and the sea was almost as smooth as glass. I had a handkerchief round my waist. I took it off, and, standing as high as I could on the wreck, I waved it above my head. I waited anxiously to see if my signal had produced any effect; but the brig’s crew were all so busily engaged in repairing the damage she had received, that they did not see me. So I sat down again, hoping that by-and-by they might knock off work, and find a moment to look about them. One comfort was, that while the calm lasted the brig was not likely to go far away from me.
The time seemed very long, and I was beginning to get hungry too as the hour of breakfast drew on. So I got up again and waved my handkerchief, and could not help shouting, though I well knew that no one at such a distance could hear me. I waved till my arm ached, and still I was unobserved; so I sat down a second time, and began to consider what means existed of attracting the attention of the people aboard the brig. I thought of swimming to her; but I reflected that it would be better to let well alone, and that, as there was a long distance to traverse before I could reach her, I might lose my strength, and sink without being observed. The sun, however, rose higher and higher in the sky, and I grew still more hungry; so for a third time I stood up and waved, and shouted, and played all sorts of curious antics, in my eagerness to attract notice. At length there was a stir aboard, and I thought I saw some one waving in return. I was right. A quarter-boat was lowered, and a fast galley pulled towards me. I was not a little pleased when I saw them coming. They were soon up to me, and though I had not been long floating on the broken mast, I can only say that I left it with very considerable satisfaction. The brig, I found, belonged, as I had suspected, to theJuno’sconvoy. As we approached her, I looked with a scrutinising eye at her hull. I thought I knew her build.
“What brig’s that?” I asked, with no little interest.
“Why, the oldRainbow, lad,” answered one of the boat’s crew. “A good craft she is still, though she’s seen plenty of work in her day.”
So I was indebted for my preservation to my old ship—my sea-cradle, I might call her. I hauled myself up her side, and there on her quarter-deck stood Captain Gale, working away as usual with his people, encouraging them by word and action. He seemed very glad to see me, as I am sure I was to see him.
“I see, sir,” said I, after having had a little talk with him, “you have plenty of work to do aboard, so, if I may just have some food to put life into me, I’ll turn to and lend a hand.”
“Ready as ever for work, Jack, I see!” said he, smiling. “I am glad the men-of-war haven’t knocked that out of you.”
Fortunately the fine weather continued, and by nightfall we were able to rig a jury-mast and make sail on the brig. By the time we reached Gibraltar theJunohad sailed, and, as may be supposed, I being a pressed-man, did not feel myself bound to follow her. I was very well satisfied with the treatment I had received in the navy, and do not think that I should have quitted it for any other vessel but my own brig; but as Captain Gale was willing to take me, I could not resist the temptation of remaining with him. After nearly foundering in a heavy gale, being more than once chased by an enemy’s cruiser, and narrowly escaping being run down by one of our own line-of-battle-ships, we reached Bristol, to which we were then bound, in safety.
I had not forgotten my promise to poor James Martin, my shipmate in theSyren, who was killed in our action with the French frigate; and knowing that his family lived at a village within forty or fifty miles of Bristol, I set off to visit them. Except a small amount of pay due to me for the voyage home, I had little enough money in my pocket, so I was obliged to go on foot. I had never seen anything of the interior of England before, and knew nothing of its varied beauties, especially of its rural districts—the rich meadows, the waving corn-fields, the thick woods, and, more than all, the shady lanes and green hedges, full of roses and honeysuckles, with numberless beautiful flowers growing on the mossy bank beneath them. But still deeper impression did the sequestered village make on me, with its open green and neat cottages, surrounded by pretty gardens; and its clear pond, with gravelly bed; and its neighbouring coppice; and its quiet church, with graceful spire; and the neat and unpretending parsonage; and the old minister, with thin cheeks and long white hair, and grave, yet kind loving countenance, to whom all smiled and courtesied or doffed their hats as he passed; and the long low school-house, with rosy, noisy children rushing out of it, and scattering here and there instantly to begin their play; and the buxom mothers and old dames coming out from their doors to watch them, or to chat with each other in the intervals of work; and the sheep on the sunny downs above; and the sparkling stream which came murmuring by, half overgrown with bushes, so that its pleasant sound alone showed its locality; and its deep pool, where the trout loved to lie; and the cattle in the green meadow, seeking for shade under the tall elms, or with lazy strokes of their tails whisking off the flies; and the boys whistling in the fields; and the men, with long white smocks and gay handkerchiefs worked in front, tending the plough or harrow, or driving the lightly-laden waggon or cart with sturdy well-fed horses. And then the air of tranquillity and repose which pervaded the spot, the contentment visible everywhere, made an impression on me which time has never been able to obliterate, and which, in far, far-off regions, has come back on me with greater force than ever, and prevented me from remaining, as many of my companions did, among their half-savage inhabitants, to enjoy the supposed delights of idleness, and has renewed in me the desire to end my days in my fatherland.
In such a scene as I have described I found the family of my poor shipmate. I easily made myself known. They had no doubt of the truth of my story, and gave me a kind though tearful welcome. The old mother seized my arm and pushed me into a seat, which she mechanically wiped with her blue apron; the tall sunburned father, with grizzled locks, and dressed in long smock and yellow gaiters, grasped my hand.
“And you were with our James when he was struck down in battle, and he thought of us all here! Bless him!”
The old man could say no more. I told him how he not only thought of them, but prayed for them, and spoke of the great comfort which the prayers his mother had taught him had been to him, especially in his last mortal agony.
The old woman alone wept, but not vehemently. They had long before this heard of his death. My message rather brought comfort than sorrow.
After a time George came in—a sturdy young man, with well-knit limbs, and round, good-humoured countenance, with the universal smock, and shoes few legs but such as his could lift. When I spoke of James, his countenance grew sad, and, rising from his three-legged stool, he left the cottage, and did not return for nearly half an hour.
One daughter came in from milking the cows at a neighbouring farm. She reminded me of James. How neat and clean she looked, even coming from work! and how modest and retiring in her manner! She might have been pretty—I don’t remember: she was far better than pretty, I judged from all she said. Her sisters were away at service, I found. She asked many questions about James; and though her voice was more than ever subdued when she mentioned his name, my replies seemed to give her satisfaction. But I had the sense gradually to leave off talking of my dead shipmate, and began to tell them of the adventures I had gone through, and of the strange scenes I had witnessed.
There was an old black oak desk, or sloping board, near the small latticed window in the thick wall. On the desk was a large well-worn Bible open, with a green spectacle-case to keep down the page. After supper the old man approached it, as was evidently his custom; and, while all sat round in reverential silence, he began to read slowly and distinctly, though not without difficulty, from the Word of God. One thing struck me—that he read not for form’s sake, but that he and his hearers might reap instruction for faith and practice from what he read. He was evidently aware of the truth, that those sacred pages before him were written for our instruction, to be a guide unto our feet, and a light unto our path. Then he prayed—his words came from his heart—for all present, and for guidance and protection for those absent. He did not forget our king and country, and pleaded that God would prosper England’s arms by sea and land in a righteous struggle. Surely those prayers, rising from many a humble hearth, were not unheeded by the King of kings. Then, I say to those who themselves believe, teach, oh, teach the poor to pray! for their own sakes, for your sake, for England’s sake. Such prayers alone can maintain her as she is—great, glorious, and free.
The Martins would not let me go to the village inn, as I proposed, but insisted on my taking a shake-down in the common room with George. The rest slept in a room above. The moonlight came through the lattice window. I saw George sitting up in his bed.
“Are you asleep, Williams!” he asked, gently.
“No,” I replied.
“Then tell me now about poor James,” he answered.
I was not slack in obeying his wishes, and for many an hour I went on telling him all the anecdotes I could think of connected with James Martin, from the moment I first knew him till I saw him committed to his watery grave.
“Thank you, master,” he said quietly when I ceased; and as I lay down I heard many a sob bursting from his sturdy bosom. “That lad may be a Chaw-bacon,” I thought to myself; “but he has got a heart for all the world just like a sailor’s.”
By daybreak next morning the family were astir, and went cheerfully about their daily labours. George had some two or three miles to go to the farm on which he found employment; the old man and Susan had work near at hand.
I spent a whole day in that quiet village, wandering about among the fields and lanes, and over the downs, till the family assembled again in the evening when their work was done. The next morning I took my departure. I had learned from a shipmate what would certainly be acceptable in a country district, and had brought with me a package of tea and sugar, which I left as a parting gift for poor James’s mother. I remember that I put it down somewhat abruptly on the table after I had shaken hands, exclaiming, “That’s for you, mother!” and with my small bundle at the end of my stick, I rushed out of the cottage, and took the way back to Bristol.
That was the only glimpse of English country-life I ever got, till—an old, broken-down man—my career at sea was ended. I was on shore often enough, but what scenes did I witness among docks, and narrow streets, and in the precincts of great commercial towns? What can the sailor who never strays beyond these know of all the civilising influences of a well-ordered country home? As I say, I never forgot that quiet scene, short as was the glimpse I obtained; and it had an influence on me for all my after-life, which, at the time, I could not have suspected. Even at first when I got back to Bristol, and breathed the moral atmosphere with which I was surrounded, I longed to be once more away on the free ocean.
The old brig was soon ready again for sea; but as he was about to sail, Captain Gale was taken so ill that he could not proceed, and another master was sent in his stead. I ought to have mentioned that Captain Helfrich had sold her to some Bristol merchants, and had got a large ship instead, which traded round Cape Horn. Captain Grindall was a very plausible man on shore, so he easily deceived the owners; but directly he got into blue water he took to his spirit bottle, and then cursed and swore, and brutally tyrannised over everybody under his orders. I had seen a good deal of cruelty, and injustice, and suffering in the navy, and had heard of more, but nothing could surpass what that man made his crew feel while he was out of sight of land. The first mate, Mr Crosby, who, with Captain Gale, had appeared a quiet sort of man, though rather sulky and ill-tempered at times, imitated the master’s example.
We were bound for Barbadoes, in the West Indies. We had not got half-way there, when one of the crew fell sick. Poor fellow! he had not strength to work, but the master and Mr Crosby said that he had, and that they would make him; so they came down into the forepeak and hauled him out of his berth, and drove him with a rope’s end on deck. He tried to work, but fell down; so they lashed him to the main-rigging in the hot sun, and there left him, daring any of us to release him, or to take him even a drop of water. I wonder that treatment did not kill him.
Two days after that, when there was some sea on, and the brig was pitching heavily, he fell down again, and Mr Crosby caught sight of him, and kicked him in the rib; and when the second mate, who was a quiet young man, and generally frightened at the other two, tried to interfere, he threatened to knock him down with a handspike. Then, because poor Taylor called them by some name they deserved, they dragged him aft by his hair, and then triced him up to the main-rigging by the heels. I was in the watch below; of the rest of the crew, one was at the helm, another forward, and the others aloft; so that there was no one to interfere. At last, the man forward looked down the fore-scuttle and told us what had happened. We sprung on deck. Taylor was getting black in the face. It was more than we could stand, and in a body we rushed aft, and before the mate could interfere, for the captain was below, we cut him down, and carried him forward. The mate sung out, “Mutiny!” and the captain came on deck with his pistols. But we told him he might shoot one and all of us, but we would not see a messmate murdered before our eyes. Our determined manner somewhat awed the captain, and swearing that he would be even with us before long, he let us have our way. Poor Taylor did not die at once, as we expected he would; but that night he was in a high fever, and raved and shrieked till he made us all tremble with terror.
At noon next day the captain observed that Taylor was not on deck. He asked why he did not come. No one answered. “Then I’ll soon learn the cause,” he exclaimed, leaping down forward. In another moment he sprung up again, followed by Taylor. The hair of the latter was all standing on end; his eyeballs were starting from their sockets; he had only his shirt on, with the sleeves rolled up, showing his thin bony arms and legs. He was shrieking terrifically. The captain attempted to kick him back as he appeared above the hatchway; but he evaded the blow, and stood on deck confronting his persecutor. The strength of madness was upon him. He made a spring at the captain, and would have hurled him, I verily believe, overboard; but at that moment the first mate rushing forward, struck the poor fellow a blow on the back of the head with a handspike. He gave one glance at his murderer as he fell, and in a few minutes his limbs stiffened, and he was dead. The captain and mate went aft as he fell, leaving him on the deck, and talked together.
After some time the mate sung out, “Rouse that fellow up, some of you there! Ill or not ill, he must do his duty.” None of us spoke or stirred, and at last he came forward and kicked the corpse, as if to make the man get up. We guessed all the time that he knew perfectly well that Taylor was dead. There he lay where he fell, till the second mate, who had been below, came on deck, and, going up to the body, discovered the truth. He, of course, reported the man’s death to the captain.
“Heave the carcass overboard, Mr Sims,” was the answer. “Let’s hear no more about the rascal.”
Sailors have a dislike to have a dead body in the ship; so, before night set in, we lashed it up in a piece of canvas, and with a shot at the feet, committed it to the sea. Strange as it may appear, when the mate found that we had taken the canvas for this purpose, he made it an excuse for further abuse and ill-treatment. Not a day passed but one or other of us got a kick or a blow from him or the captain. They made one young lad very nearly leap overboard, where he would have been drowned. I hauled him back, and calming him down, showed him the enormity of the sin he was going to commit, and urged him to bear his trials, as they must shortly be over.
At last we reached Carlisle Bay, where we brought up off Bridge Town, the capital of the fertile island Barbadoes. The town lies round the bay, and contains some handsome houses and broad streets. This island is more level than most of the West India isles, with the exception of the north-eastern quarter, called Scotland, when there is an elevation of a thousand feet above the sea. It is rather less in size than the Isle of Wight. What a wretched voyage had we had! How miserable and crushed in spirit did I feel! The scene struck me, therefore, as peculiarly beautiful, as, gliding up the bay, we saw spread out before us the blue waters, fringed by the tall, graceful palms; the shining white houses, circling round the shore; the trim, gallant men-of-war; the merchantmen with their many-coloured flags; the numerous boats pulling here and there, manned by shouting, grinning, laughing negroes;—and then the planters’ houses, and woods, and fields of sugar-cane, and farms in the distance, made me feel that such scenes as we had gone through could no longer be enacted with impunity.
The moment we dropped our anchor, the captain went on shore; and I found that, to be beforehand with any of us who might inform against him, he had given his own version of Taylor’s death; which, of course, his mate was ready to corroborate. When he returned on board, he gave a triumphant glance forward, as much as to say, I have you still in my power. So he had, as we found when once more we were at sea. I was glad that the young lad Thompson, whom he had so ill-treated, deserted the day before we sailed, and, I believe, entered aboard a man-of-war, where he was safe.
While in harbour we had been quiet enough, but we had not been two days at sea before the captain and mate commenced their old system of tyranny. Everybody was ill-treated, and this time I was the chief victim. Kicked and struck on the slightest pretext, and compelled to perform the most disgusting offices, I soon felt myself a degraded being both in body and mind; and when I thought of what I had been on board theJuno, and what I now was, I shrunk from making the comparison. But I was to obtain relief in a way I little expected.
I was in the second mate’s watch. Early one morning, about four bells in the middle watch—that is to say, about two o’clock—I had just been relieved from my trick at the helm. The weather was thick and squally, and the night very dark. The look-out was careless, or had bad eyesight; and the mate, knowing this, was constantly going forward himself. I was leisurely going along the deck, when I heard him sing out,—“A sail on the starboard-bow! Luff!—luff all you can!” I sprang forward. The ship was nearer to us than he supposed. Right stem on she came, towering like a huge mountain above us. In an instant the brig’s bows were cut down to the water’s edge. I sung out to those on deck to follow me, and clung on to whatever I could first get hold of. It proved to be the ship’s bobstay. I climbed up it on to the bowsprit, and, as I looked down, I saw her going right over the vessel I had just left—her decks sinking from sight beneath the dark waters. The tall masts, and spars, and sails followed: down, down they went, drawn by an irresistible force! It seemed like some dreadful dream. Before I could secure myself on the bowsprit, they had disappeared in the unfathomable abyss. Not a cry or a groan reached my ears from my drowning shipmates—unwarned, unprepared they died. Such has been many a hapless seaman’s fate. One only escaped. He had hold of the dolphin-striker. I could just distinguish his form through the darkness as he followed me. I slid down to help him, and with difficulty hauled him up on the bowsprit. He seemed horror-struck at what had occurred; and so, indeed, we might both well be, and thankful that we had been preserved. Such was the end of the oldRainbow.
I now first sung out, and gave notice of our escape to those on board the ship. Several of the crew had rushed forward, and now helped poor Mr Sims and me off the bowsprit. We heard, meantime, the officers of the ship ordering the boats to be lowered; and she being hove up into the wind, one from each quarter was soon manned and in the water. While the two mates of the ship, anxious to save the lives of their fellow-creatures, pulled about in every direction near where the brig was supposed to have gone down, I was looking over the bows, hoping that some of my poor shipmates might yet survive; but no answering cry was made to the repeated shouts of the boats’ crews. At last the boats returned on board, and I found that the mate and I were the only survivors of theRainbow. Had she not been an old vessel, I do not think that she would so easily have foundered from the blow she received.
I found that the ship I was on board of was theRebecca, a large West Indiaman, trading between London and Barbadoes, to which place she was then bound, so that I should have to return there instead of going home. The captain sent for the mate and me into the cuddy-cabin, to inquire about the vessel to which we had belonged. He was a quiet, kind-mannered man, and seemed very much cut up at the loss of the brig, though he said that he could not blame his people for what had occurred. When we had given him all the information he required, he directed that we should have berths and food supplied us. I turned in gladly, though it was some time before I went to sleep, and even then I could not get rid of the recollection of the sinking brig, which had borne me in safety for so many a long year over the wide ocean.
The next morning I was told that the mate was very ill. The doctor of the ship had been attending him, but said that his case was hopeless. I sat by him all day. Sometimes he would be perfectly quiet and do nothing but moan; and then he would start up, and shriek out,—“Luff!—luff!—or she’ll be into us!” and then sink down again, overcome with horror at the recollection of the event. Towards night he grew worse, and, after several fearful shrieks, he sunk back and expired.
Thus twice in less than two years was I mercifully preserved from destruction. There were a number of passengers on board, who were very kind to me, and took pleasure in asking me questions about my life at sea, and in listening to the accounts of my adventures. Among them was a young gentleman, who, when he heard the name of theRainbowbrig, and that she sailed out of Dublin, made many inquiries about her. He told me that he knew Dublin well, and had often heard of the former owners of theRainbow. He was, I found, going out to Bridge Town, to take the management of a large mercantile house there.
“You must come and see me when we get there,” said he one day. “I am not certain, but I think we have met before.”
“Where could that have been? I don’t remember you, sir,” I said.
“Hadn’t you a very tall seaman aboard the brig when you first went to sea in her?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes, of course, sir!” I exclaimed. “Peter Poplar, my best of friends; I owe everything to him.”
“So do I, then, I suspect,” said he warmly. “Do you remember a little lad sitting crying on the quays at Dublin, to whom he gave a bundle of old clothes? Yours, I believe, they were.”
“Yes,” said I; “I remember, too, how grateful he seemed for them, and how Peter walked away with me that he might not listen to his thanks.”
“He had reason to be thankful,” said the gentleman. “That suit of clothes enabled him to obtain a situation, where, by honesty and perseverance, and an earnest wish to promote his kind master’s interests, he rose by degrees to hold the most responsible situation in his establishment. Do you remember the boy’s name?”
“No, sir,” I replied. “I am not quite certain.”
“Was it Terence, do you think?” he asked.
“Yes, sir!” I exclaimed. “Terence it was—Terence McSwiney—that was his name. I remember it now, for he repeated it several times.”
“That is my name,” said the gentleman; “and I, Jack, am the very little lad to whom your kind friend gave your old clothes. I would much like to meet him again, to thank him, as I do you, for your share of the favour conferred on me. Of one thing you may be certain—I have not been idle. When not engaged in my master’s business, I was employed in study and in improving my own mind. I never lost an opportunity of gaining knowledge, and never willingly wasted a moment.”
Mr McSwiney told me a good deal more about himself, and I felt how very different a life I had led, and how little I had ever done to improve my mind or to gain knowledge. I even then thought that it was too late to begin, and so I went on in my idleness.
The day before we reached Carlisle Bay the captain sent for me, and told me that the passengers had been interested in my history, and that, as I had lost all my kit in the brig, they had made a collection to enable me to purchase a new one. This he presented to me in the shape of thirty dollars. I expressed myself, as I felt, very grateful for the kindness I had received.
Although Mr McSwiney had once been in the same rank of life to which I belonged, and in one respect even worse off, because I had a suit of clothes on my back when he had none, I did not, in consequence, address him as an equal. He seemed to appreciate my feeling, and I believe that I thereby secured his esteem. He would have taken me to the lodging he had engaged at Bridge Town, but I said, “No, sir, thank you; I will remain on board the ship till I get a berth in some other craft. I have no fancy for living ashore.” I went up to see him several times, and we parted, I believe, with mutual feelings of regard. He had more than repaid me for the benefit I had been formerly the means of doing him, and he as well as I soon found that our habits of thought were so different that we could not associate on really equal terms, however much we might wish the attempt to succeed.
Finding a brig, theJane and Mary, short of hands, sailing for the port of Hull, I shipped on board her. I was not much better off in her though, than I had been in theRainbowwith Captain Grindall. The captain and mates did not proceed to such extremities as he and Mr Crosby did, but they were rough, ignorant, ill-tempered men, and treated the crew as brutes, looking upon them as mere machines, out of whom they were to get as much work as their strength would allow. When we reached Hull I was glad to leave theJane and Mary; and without even going on shore for a day’s spree—as most of the other hands did, and accordingly fell in with press-gangs—I transferred myself to a barque trading to Archangel, on the north coast of Russia.
By the time I got back, I had had enough of a northern voyage, so for the first time went on shore at Hull. Sailors’ lodging-houses are generally dirty, foul traps, kept by wretches whose great aim is to fleece the guests of everything they may possess at least cost to themselves. I got into one of this class, for, of course, I did not know where to go. A shipmate had invited me to accompany him, saying he had been very well-treated—though I found afterwards he had been supplied with as much food and liquor as he wanted, and indulged in every vice, and then, when he hadn’t a farthing in his pocket, put on board a trader half drunk, and sent to sea. I found myself undergoing very shortly the same sort of treatment he had received; and when I refused to drink more, or yield to other temptations, such fierce, angry scowls were cast on me, that I was anxious to get away. They began, indeed, to quarrel with me; but seeing that had not much effect, they became very civil and polite. In a short time the man of the house—a sturdy ruffian, with a Jewish cast of countenance—went to the cupboard, and I saw him pouring out several tumblers of grog. I pretended not to be watching him, but went on talking to my companions as before. Directly afterwards his wife got up and placed a tumbler by the side of each of us, taking one—
“There are your Saturday’s night-caps, my lads,” said she, sitting down opposite to us. “Let us drink to sweethearts and wives, and lovers and friends; a bloody war, and plenty of prize-money!” And with a leer out of her evil eye, she gulped down half the contents of the tumbler between her thick lips.
Now I had seen old Growler fumbling with several bottles at the dresser, and as I passed my nose over the tumbler which his wife placed near me, a certain rank odour arose from it which I did not like. How to avoid drinking it I was puzzled, as I did not wish to show the suspicion I felt that it was drugged. Luckily the tumbler stood on a little round table by itself; so I jumped up on a sudden, as if something had stung me, and upset the table with the tumbler and its contents! Old Growler pretended to be very sorry for the accident, and insisted on mixing another. “No, thank you, master,” I answered; “I’ve been very clumsy, and must pay the penalty by the loss of the grog.” The couple looked at each other and then at me with such an evil glance, that I believe had it not been for my companions they would at that moment have turned me out into the street.
There were six seamen in the room, lately discharged from different merchantmen. The house was at the end of a dirty, narrow court, all the inhabitants of which were of the lowest description. As we were sitting smoking, a tap was heard at the door. Old Growler went to it. Several questions were asked by a person outside. He came back in a hurry, and beckoned to his wife to come and answer them. “There are some man-of-war’s men outside,” said he. “They say that they are come to look for a deserter. They’ll soon make my missus open the door, so you’ve no time to lose, my lads. Be quick, then; through the door, and stowaway in the coal-shed.” The house had a back-door, or it would not have been fit for old Growler’s purposes; and the door opened into what they called a garden, but it was a bit of dirty barren ground, strewn with broken bricks and crockery, and bits of rotten wood, with some tumble-down sheds on either side of it. In one of these he proposed we should hide. As we opened the door, however, to rush out, we found ourselves confronted by a dozen stout seamen; and before we could make the slightest resistance, we were all of us bound hand and foot. The front-door being opened, an officer and several men entered through it, and a large party of us assembled in Mrs Growler’s kitchen. The lieutenant and midshipman who commanded the press-gang took very coolly the abuse which our worthy host and hostess so liberally bestowed on them. We were allowed to go, two and two at a time, under escort, to collect our traps, and then marched down to a couple of boats waiting for us at the quay. In a short time we were put on board a cutter, with a number of other men who had been picked up in a similar way. There was a good deal of grumbling, and some of the men seemed to have been very hardly dealt with; but I cannot say that my change of lot made me particularly unhappy.
Another night’s foray on shore considerably increased our numbers; besides which several volunteers, mostly landsmen, were obtained, and the cutter then sailed to discharge her passengers into the ships most requiring men. I and several others found ourselves going up the side of His Majesty’s shipGlutton, of 50 guns, commanded by Captain Henry Trollope. As I stood on the deck looking about me, previous to being summoned aft, I saw on the other side the tall figure of a man whose back was turned towards me. My heart beat with surprise and joy, for I felt almost sure he must be Peter Poplar. He shortly turned his head. I was right. He was no other than my old friend. I sprung over to him, and warmly grasped his hand. He started when he saw me, stared at me with astonishment, and for a minute could not speak.
“Is it really you, Jack?” he at length exclaimed. “Why, lad, I thought you were dead. I was told that you had been lost overboard from theJuno.”
“So I was,” said I; “but I was found by an old friend, who in the end played me a somewhat scurvy trick.” And I told him in a few words all that had occurred to me since we had been paid off from theSyren.
“Well, I am right glad to see you, lad—that I am,” he exclaimed, again wringing my hand.
My yarn was scarcely out when I was summoned to have my name entered on the ship’s books, and to hear my rating, which was that of “able seaman.” TheGluttonhad been an Indiaman, measuring 1400 tons, and had been purchased into the service. She was now armed with the then newly-invented carronades, 68-pounders on the lower, and 32-pounders on the upper deck. This was a weight of metal no ship had, I believe, previously carried; and Captain Trollope was very anxious to try its effect on the ships of the enemy, rightly believing that it would not a little astonish them.
Our first cruise was off the coast of Flanders. We had not long to wait before an enemy was seen. On the 15th of July, when the days were longest and the weather fine, early in the afternoon six ships were seen from the mast-head running before the wind; and soon afterwards, further to leeward, appeared a brig and a cutter, which they were apparently bearing down to join. I was at the helm when the captain made out what they were.
“Four French frigates and two corvettes. They will just suit us!” said he, shutting up his glass with a smile of satisfaction.
“A heavy squadron for one ship to attack,” observed one of the lieutenants.
“One!—every man on board will be sorry they ever metus!” said the captain. He knew that the officer who spoke was not one likely to flinch from the work to be done.
We were standing directly for the enemy, whose ships were pretty close in with the land. Notwithstanding the apparently overwhelming numbers of the foe, the ship, with the greatest alacrity, was cleared for action.
“Shall we really fight them?” asked a youngster of Peter, who was a great favourite with all the midshipmen.
“Ay—that we shall, sir,” he answered. “The captain only wishes that there were twice as many ships to fight.”
“That’s all right!” exclaimed the young midshipman. “I was afraid that some trick was intended, and that we should soon have to up stick, and run for it.”
“No, no; no fear of that! I don’t think our captain is the man to run from anything.”
It was now about eight o’clock in the evening, and the French ships, having formed in line, seemed to have no intention of avoiding us. A feeling of pride and confidence animated the bosoms of all our crew as we stood round the short heavy guns with which our ship was armed, while advancing towards an enemy of a force apparently so overwhelming. One French frigate, theBrutus, was a razéed 64-gun ship, and now carried 46 guns. Then there were theIncorruptible, of 32 guns; theMagicienne, of 36; theRépublicain, of 28; and the two corvettes, of 22 guns each.
On we stood. Whatever the enemy did, we were not to fire till we got close up to them. There were to be no long shots with us. It had become almost dark before we arrived abreast of the three sternmost ships. “Take care that not a gun is fired till I give the order,” cried the captain. “Steer for that big fellow there.” This was theBrutus, the second from the van. We were within thirty yards of this ship. “Strike to His Britannic Majesty’s shipGlutton!” cried the captain, waving to the Frenchman. This order the Frenchmen were not likely to obey. Up went the French colours at the peaks of all the ships, and immediately they began firing as they could bring their guns to bear. We glided on a few yards nearer the opponent our captain had singled out. “Now, give it them, my lads!” he shouted; and immediately we poured our whole broadside into the hull of our enemy. The effects were as terrific as unexpected—she seemed literally to reel with the force of the concussion. Meantime, the leading ship stood past us to windward, with the intention of cutting us up with her shot; but she got more than she bargained for, in the shape of our larboard-broadside. The heavy shot, nearly every one of which told, shattered her hull, tore open her decks, and damaged her spars. Meantime we were standing on the larboard-tack, with the French commodore to leeward of us, with whom we were exchanging a hot fire—rather hotter than he liked, indeed.
The pilot had been anxiously watching the coast—not indeed relishing, probably, the sort of work going on. He now hurried up to the captain: “We shall be on shore to a certainty, sir, if we stand on in this course.”
“Never fear,” answered Captain Trollope. “When the Frenchman takes the ground, do you go about.”
All this time the enemy’s shot were flying about us terribly, cutting up our spars and rigging; but, strange to say, as I looked around, I did not see one wounded! It was light enough all the time to enable us to see all the enemy’s ships, and yet sufficiently dark to allow the flash of the guns to have its full effect, as we and our many opponents rapidly discharged them at each other. Still the French commodore stood on. Perhaps he hoped to drive us on shore. At last he was compelled to tack. Captain Trollope had been waiting the opportunity. The instant he hove in stays, we, who had been reserving our fire, poured in our broadside, raking him fore and aft with murderous effect.
“All hands about-ship!” was now the cry. So cut up was our rigging, however, that we had no little difficulty in getting her about. Our masts also were badly wounded. It was a question whether they would carry our canvas.
“Hands aloft!—reef topsails!” was the next order given. Up we sprung, most unwillingly leaving our gnus, while the French ships, one after the other, stood away from us, glad to get out of reach of our fire though they did not fail to give us a parting salute.
We were as smart as we could in reefing topsails, but as much of our running-gear was cut up, we were longer than usual; and the Frenchmen, finding that we had ceased firing, took it into their heads. I suppose, that we were going to strike, for they all tacked and once more stood back towards us.
“To your guns, my lads! to your guns!” was the cry, as we swung down off the yards; and then didn’t we open fire again upon them in fine style! In a few minutes they had had enough of it, and hauled off as fast as their legs could carry them. If they hadn’t so cruelly wounded our masts and spars we should have caught some of them. We made all the sail we could venture to carry; but they had faster keels than we could boast of, so we had no hope of success.
They stood away for Flushing, and I afterwards heard that one of them sunk as soon as she got there, and that all had their decks completely ripped up, besides losing a great number of men, and suffering terribly in other ways. Strange as it may seem, we had not a single man killed, but one captain of marines and one marine only were wounded. We had to go into harbour to repair damages; and when the news of the action reached London, the merchants were so pleased with it, that, in commemoration of it, they presented Captain Trollope with a handsome piece of plate. He deserved it, for a braver or more dashing officer did not exist, as I had many opportunities of proving.
Some time after this, occurred those events in the navy which might have proved the destruction of the British Empire. I speak of the mutinies which broke out at the Nore, at Spithead, and elsewhere. The particulars are generally so well-known, that I will not attempt to describe them; but the circumstance I am about to mention is known, I fancy, to very few. It is an example of what courage and determination may effect.
On board theGlutton, as in most large ships, we had a number of bad characters—runaway apprentices, lawyers’ clerks, broken-down tradesmen, footmen dismissed for knavery, play-actors, tinkers, gipsies, pickpockets, thieves of all sorts; indeed, the magistrates on shore seemed to think nothing was too bad to send on board a man-of-war. These men were, of course, always ready for mischief of any sort. There is no denying it, the seamen also were often cruelly ill-treated, fleeced on all sides, cheated out of pay, supplied with bad provisions, and barbarously tyrannised over by their officers. Now, on the contrary, a man-of-war’s man is better fed, better lodged, better and more cheaply clothed, and in sickness better taken care of, than any class of labouring-men. When he has completed twenty-one years’ service, he may retire with a pension for life of from tenpence to fourteen-pence a day; and when worn-out by age or infirmity, he may bear up for that magnificent institution, Greenwich Hospital, there among old comrades to end his days in peace.
The mutiny I was speaking of had been going on for some time. The just demands of the seamen had been listened to, and their grievances remedied, when the mutiny broke out afresh, and, instigated by evil-disposed persons, the crews either landed their officers or put them under confinement, and made fresh demands, many of which it was impossible to grant. Our ship, with others of Lord Duncan’s squadron, was brought up in Yarmouth Roads. The delegates had been tampering with us. Messages had at different times been sent on board, and I knew that something wrong was going forward; but what it was I could not tell. I was known to be a friend of Peter Poplar’s, and no one doubted his remaining stanch to his captain and officers, so I am proud to say that they would not trust me.
One day I found Peter sitting down between decks, looking very grave. I asked him if something was not the matter with him.
“A great deal, Jack,” he answered; “I don’t like the look of things. You must know, Jack, that the ships at the Nore have again hoisted the red flag, and the mutineers swear that they’ll make every ship of the fleet join them. What they now want, I don’t know. They have got all the chief grievances redressed, and everything which reasonable men could expect granted. They’ll not be content till all the delegates are made admirals, I suppose.”
“Still, I hope that we shall not be following their example,” said I. “We have a good number of black sheep on board, but still, I think, there are enough honest men to keep them in check.”
“That’s the very thing I doubt, Jack,” he whispered. “I don’t like the thoughts of peaching on a shipmate, but when villains are plotting treachery, as some on board here are doing, we have but one duty to perform. I must carry the information to the captain. In case they find me out, and heave me overboard, or trice me up at the yard-arm—as they are likely enough to do—if you live take care that my memory is treated with justice. Now, Jack, there is no time to lose; I’ll tell the captain that he may trust to you and a few others, but the greater number of the ship’s company have been won over by the promises of that artful fellow Parker and his mates.” Saying this, Peter walked boldly aft, and, unsuspected, entered the captain’s cabin.
He told me afterwards that Captain Trollope received the information very calmly, nor did he seem at all to doubt its correctness. The plan was to wait till the ship was under way to proceed on a cruise in the North Sea, and then to seize the captain and all the officers, and to carry the ship instead to the Nore. Several other ships had already weighed without orders, and had joined the mutineers at the Nore. No preparation, however, was made that I saw for the expected event.
The next day Peter and I were sent for into the cabin. “Take up these things, and accompany me,” said the captain to us. There was a compass and a basket of provisions; and I saw that the captain had a pistol-case under his arm. Leaving the cabin, he led the way below to the door of the magazine. If any of the mutineers observed him, I don’t suppose they guessed what he was about.
The powder-magazine of a man-of-war has a clear space round it—a sort of ante-room, which is kept clear of everything, so as to decrease the risk of fire reaching it. This ante-room has a grated door before it. The captain produced a key, and opening the grated door, went in, taking from us the articles we carried. He then locked himself in from the inside. This done, he opened the inner door of the magazine, exposing a number of powder-flasks to view. Having arranged his table and chairs, with the compass and his pistols, and some books he had brought, he said quietly, as if to himself, “I’m ready for them!”
“Williams,” he continued, “go and request the first lieutenant to come here. Poplar, do you go among the people, and say I directed you to call some of them to see me.”
I quickly performed my part of the duty; but Poplar was longer in collecting any of the people. He, however, at last returned with about twenty of them.
The first lieutenant seemed very much astonished at the summons, and could not make out what it meant. I fancy, indeed, when he got down there, and saw the captain quietly sitting in the powder-magazine, as if he was going to take up his berth there for the future, for an instant he thought him out of his senses. He did not long continue in that idea when the captain began to address him and the people who were assembled outside the grating.
“Turn the hands up, and get the ship under way!” he sung out in a loud voice. “The pilot will carry her through the passage, and then steer an easterly course till you receive further orders.”
“Now, men, you’ve heard the orders I have given to the first lieutenant. I intend to have them obeyed. Other ships’ companies have refused to obey orders, and have joined the mutineers at the Nore. This example shall not be followed on board this ship. I’d sooner die than see such disgrace brought on the ship I command. You all know me. The instant I find the course I have given altered—you see the magazine and this pistol—we all go up together!”
Some of the mutineers—for Peter had taken care to summon those he most suspected—lingered below; but the boatswain’s whistle sounded shrilly along the decks, and one more glance at the determined eye of the captain sent them flying up to obey its summons. I shall never forget the appearance of that dauntless man as he sat still and alone in that dark place, prepared by a dire necessity to hurl himself and all with him to a terrible destruction. It was a subject truly worthy of the painter’s highest art. We all, indeed, did know him, and knew that, whatever the cost, he was a man to do what he had threatened. The ship was quickly got under way, and while the larger number of the ships of the squadron ran for the Nore against the wishes of their officers, we, to the surprise of all, who little knew what extraordinary influence guided our course, stood out to sea in search of the enemies of our country.