GREENWICH HOSPITAL,

TOUGH YARNS.

The grand depository of human fragments,—the snug harbour fordockedremnants,—Greenwich Hospital! Who is there that has stood upon that fine terrace, when the calm of evening has shed its influence on the spirit, and nature’s pencil intermingling light and shade has graced the landscape with its various tints, without feeling delighted at the spectacle? No sound is heard to break the stillness of the hour, save when the sea-boy trills his plaintive ditty, studious to grace the turnings of his song, for it was his mother taught it him, and her he strives to imitate. To him the tide rolls on unheeded; he sees not the tall mast, the drooping sail; ah, no! his heart is in the cottage where he knew his first affection, when with a smile of infantile delight he drew his nourishment from that fond bosom lately bedewed with tears at parting.

Who is there that has not exulted in the scene, when the proud ship has spread her canvass to the breeze to carry forth the produce of our country to distant lands? or when returning to her own home-shores, laden with the luxuries of foreign climes, the gallant tars have

“Hailed each well-known object with delight!”

Ay, there they stand! the veterans of the ocean, bidding defiance to care and sorrow, full of mirth and jollity although they are moored intiers. They are critics too,deepcritics; but they cannot fancy the steam vessel with a chimney for a mast, and fifty yards of smoke for a pendant. These are the men that Smollett pictured,—the Jack Rattlins and the Tom Pipes of former years. Ay, those wererattlingdays andpipingtimes! There is no place upon earth, except Greenwich, in which we can now meet with them, or find the weather-roll or lee-lurch to perfection. They are all thorough-bred, and a thorough-bred seaman is one of the drollest compounds in existence; a mixture of all that is ludicrous and grave,—of undaunted courage and silly fear. I do not mean the every-day sailor, but the bold, daring, intrepid man-of-war’s man; he who in the heat of action primed his wit and his gun together, without a fear of either missing fire.

The real tar has a language peculiarly his own, and his figures of speech are perfectstopper-knots to the understanding of a landsman. If he speaks of his ship, his eloquence surpasses the orations of a Demosthenes, and he revels in the luxuriance of metaphor. The same powers of elocution, with precisely the same terms, are applied to his wife, and it is a matter of doubt as to which engrosses the greatest portion of his affection,—to him they are bothlady-ships. Hear him expatiate on hislittle barkey, as he calls his wooden island, though she may carry a hundred-and-fifty guns and a crew of a thousand men. “Oh! she’s thefleetestof thefleet; sits on the water like a duck; stands under her canvass as stiff as a crutch; and turns to windward like a witch!” Of his wife he observes, “What a clean run from stem to starn! She carries her t’gall’nt sails through every breeze, and in working hank for hank never misses stays!” He will point to the bows of his ship, and swear she is as sharp as a wedge, never stops at a sea, but goes smack through all. He looks at his wife, admires her head-gear, and out-riggers, her braces and bow-lines; compares her eyes to dolphin-strikers, boasts of her fancy and fashion-pieces, and declares that she darts along with all the grace of abonnetta. When he parts with his wife to go on a cruise, no tear moistens his cheek, no tremulous agitation does discredit to his manhood:there is the honest pressure of the hand, the fervent kiss, and then he claps on the topsail-halliards, or walks round at the capstan to the lively sounds of music. But when he quits his ship, the being he has rigged with his own fingers, that has stood under him in many a dark and trying hour, whilst the wild waves have dashed over them with relentless fury, then—then—the scuppers of his heart are unplugged and overflow with the soft droppings of sensibility. How often has he stood upon that deck and eyed the swelling sails, lest the breezes of heaven should

“Visit their face too roughly!”

How many hours has he stood at that helm and watched her coming up and falling off! and when the roaring billows have threatened to ingulf her in the bubbling foam of the dark waters, he has eased her to the sea with all the tender anxiety that a mother feels for her first-born child. With what pride has he beheld her top the mountain wave and climb the rolling swell, while every groan of labour that she gave carried a taut strain upon his own heart-strings!

Place confidence in what he says, and he will use no deception; doubt his word, and he will indulge you with some of the purest rhodomontade that ingenious fancy can invent. He will swearthat he had a messmate who knew the man in the moon, and on one occasion went hand-over-hand up a rainbow to pay him a visit. He himself was once powder-monkey in the Volcano bomb, and he will tell you a story of his falling asleep in the mortar at the bombardment of Toulon, and hisbodybeing discharged from its mouth instead of acarcass. With all the precision of an engineer, he will describe his evolutions in the air when they fired him off, and the manner in which he was saved from being dashed to pieces in his fall. All this he repeats without a smile upon his countenance, and he expects you to believe it: but you may soon balance the account, for tell him what absurdity you will, he receives it with the utmost credulity and is convinced of its truth. His courage is undoubted, for he will stand on the deck undismayed amidst the blood and slaughter of battle; yet on shore, he is seized with indescribable apprehensions at the sight of a coffin. The wailings of distress find a ready passport to his heart; but to disguise the real motives which prompt immediate aid, he swears that the object of his charity does not deserve a copper, yet gives a pound with only this provision,—that the individual relieved does not bother him about gratitude. You may know him from a thousand; for though in his dress conspicuously neat, and his standing and running riggingin exact order, yet they are arranged with a certain careless ease, as if he had but just come down from reefing topsails. The truck at the mast-head does not sit better than his tarpaulin hat, neither does the shoe upon the pea of the anchor fit tighter than his long quartered pumps. Grog is his ambrosia, hisnecktar; and he takes it cold, without sugar, that he may have the full smack of the rum.

And these are the characters at Greenwich Hospital, who after fighting the battles of their country are honoured with a palace. Oh, it was a proud display of national gratitude to such brave defenders! England has been compared to a huge marine animal, whose ports were its mouths, and whose navy formed its claws. What then is Greenwich but a receptacle for superannuated claws? I dearly love to get amongst them,—nearly two thousand shattered emblems of Britain’s triumphs,—the returned stores of our naval glory. Ay, there they are with their snug little cabins, like turtles under their shells. But let us enter the

Painted Wall,

formerly the refectory for the pensioners, but now devoted to the commemoration of their gallant achievements. There are the portraits ofthe heroes of the olden time, whose memorials cannot perish; and there too is old Van Tromp, the Dutchman, who is honoured with a distinguished place amongst the brave of England’s pride.

Here the oldbladesare acutabove the common; the small iron-bound officers who attend on visiters and point out the well-remembered features of commanders long since numbered with the dead.

“That ’ere, sir, on your right, is the battle of Trafflygar,” said a short thickset man, apparently between sixty and seventy years of age. His countenance was one of mild benevolence, and yet there was a daring in his look that told at once a tale of unsubdued and noble intrepidity; whilst the deep bronze upon his skin was finely contrasted with the silky white locks that hung straggling on his brow.—“That ’ere, sir, is the battle of Trafflygar, in which I had the honour to be one.”

“Were you with Nelson?” inquired I.

“I was, your honour,” he replied, “and those were the proudest days of my life. I was with him when he bore up out of the line off Cape St. Vincent, and saved old Jarvis from disgrace. I was one of the boarders, too, when we took the Saint Joseph,—there’s the picture, there in the middle of the hall;—and I was with him in thatship there,—the Victory,—though it arn’t a bit like her,—and stationed on the quarter-deck at Trafflygar.”

This was spoken with such an air of triumph, that the old man’s features were lighted up with animation; it called to his remembrance scenes in which he had shared the glory of the day and saved his country. His eye sparkled with delight, as if he again saw the British ensign floating in the breeze as the proud signal for conquest; or was labouring at the oar with his darling chief, like a tutelar deity of old, guiding the boat through the yielding element, and leading on to some daring and desperate enterprise.

“I don’t like the picture,” said I; “the perspective is bad, and the ship is too long and flat; besides the colour is unnatural.”

“Why, as for the matter of theprospective, sir,” replied the veteran, “that’s just what his present Majesty, God bless him! obsarved when he came to look at it; and for the colour, says the king, says he, ‘why the painter must have thought he’d been cooking, for he’s shoved the Victory into the hottest of the fire and done her brown;’ it was too bad, your honour, to singe her in that ’ere fashion, like agoose. Mayhap, your honour arn’t seen them there paintings of the battle at a place they call Exeter Hall, in the Strand. Now they are some-ut ship-shape, and theheatof theengagementwarmsa fellow’s heart to look at. An ould tar of the name of Huggins painted ’em, and I’m sure it’s right enough, for he’s made the Victoryhuggingthe enemy just as a bear would a baby. I could stand and look at them pictures for hours, till I fancied myself once more in the midst of it, measuring out fathoms of smoke and giving ’em full weight of metal. The Victory has just fell aboard the French Redhotable and the Golision, as they calls it, gives each of ’em alustdifferent ways that looked so natural-like, that I felt myself getting a heel to port in the ould Victory as I looked at her. Then there’s the gale o’wind arter the battle; why, blow my ould wig, but you may feel the breeze and shake yourself from the spray. God bless his Majesty!—for they are the king’s, your honour;—long may he live to view ’em, and long may Hugginshugto windward under royal favour! I went to see him,—not the king, your honour, but Muster Huggins, and when he found I was ‘the Old Sailor,’ what gave some account of the life of a man-of-war’s man in ‘Greenwich Hospital,’ he whips out his old quid, flings it into the fire, and we sported a fresh bit o’bacca on the strength of it.—That was a welcome worthy a great man, and he could’nt ha’ done more for the king, though I arn’t quite sure that his Majesty does chaw his pig-tail.”

There certainly was ample scope for the remarksof my old friend, and I could not but consider the picture a complete failure. “And so you were at Trafalgar,” said I.

“Ay, and a glorious day it was, too, for Old England,” replied the tar. “Never shall I forget the enthusiasm which animated every breast, as we bore down to engage; it was indeed a noble sight, and so your honour would have said, if you had but have seen the winged giants of the deep as they marched majestically before the breeze, all ready to hurl their thunders at the foe. But the best scenes were at the quarters, where the bold captains of each gun stood cool and undaunted, waiting for the word: but for the matter o’ that, every soul, fore and aft, seemed to be actuated by one and the same spirit. ‘Look there, Ben,’ said Sam Windsail, pointing out of the port-hole at the Royal Sovereign, just entering into action, ‘look there, my Briton; see how she moves along, like a Phœnix in the midst of fire,—there’s a sight would do any body’s heart good. I’d bet my grog, (and that’s thelick-sirof life) I say I’d bet my grog agen a marine’s button, that old Colly’s having a desperate bowse at his breeches; he’s clapping on a taut hand, I’ll be bound for him.’ Just then the Sovereign hauled up a little, and opened her fire. ‘Didn’t I say so,’ continued Sam; ‘look at that! my eyes but he makes ’em sheer agen! Well behaved my sons of thunder! Theold gemman knows the French are fond of dancing, so he’s giving them a fewballsandrouts! Ay, ay, we shall be at it presently, never fear; our old chap arn’t the boy to be long idle, but then, d’ye mind, he never does things byhalves; so he loves closequarters, and as he is rathernearwith his cartridges, why he doesn’t like to throw a shot away. Howsomever, he’ll go it directly, like a doctor’s written orders,—this powder and these pills to be taken immediately,—eh, Ben? Next comes funny-section, or flay-bottomy, as the surgeons call it:—my eyes, there goes old Colly’s breeches agen, he’ll make a breach in the enemy’s line directly; ay, he’s a right arnest sallymander.’ By this time, your honour, we’d got within gun-shot, and the enemy opened a tremendous fire upon the leading ships of our division, which played up old Scratch upon the fokstle, poop, and main-deck; for as we bore down nearly stem on, and there was but a light breeze, they raked us fore and aft.

“But I should have told you, sir, that just before going into action, the admiral walked round the quarters attended by the captain and, I thinks, Mr. Quillem, the first leftenant, but I won’t be sure. The gunner, Mr. Rivers, was along with ’em, I know, and a worthy old gemman he was; his son, a midshipman, was stationed on the same deck with us,—a fine spirited youth, with his lighthair flowing about his ears and his little laughing eyes,—up to all manner of mischief. Well, round they came, and the hero seemed proud of his men; he stopped occasionally to speak to one and to another, and his keen eye saw in a moment if any thing wasn’t ship-shape. His countenance was rather stern, but there was a look of confidence that told us at once the day was our own;—nay, for the matter o’ that, Sam Windsail began to reckon what he should buy for Poll with his prize-money.

“When they reached the quarters where young Rivers was stationed, Nelson looked at the son and then at the father, as much as to say, ‘he’s a fine youth, you ought to be proud of him,’ as no doubt the old gemman was, for he knew his gallant boy would do his duty. But still the tender solicitude of a parent’s heart is not to be repressed, however it may be concealed; and as he followed the admiral, his head was frequently turned back to take another look at his child, and perhaps he thought ‘mayhap it may be the last.’ Well, as I was saying before, the enemy’s balls began to rattle into us like hail-stones through a gooseberry bush, and many a poor fellow was laid low. ‘Arrah, bad manners to ’em, what do they mane by that?’ cried Tim Doyle, as a whole shoal of shot travelled in one another’s wake, and swept the entire range of the deck. ‘Come, don’t beskulking down there, Jack Noggin,’ continued Tim, ‘but lay hoult of the tackle-fall.’ Jack never moved. ‘Och bother, don’t you mane to get up?’ But poor Jack’s glass was run, his cable was parted; so we launched his hull out at the port, stock and fluke.

“Mayhap you never saw a battle, sir. It is no child’s play, take my word for it. But the worst time is just before engaging, when silence reigns fore and aft, and a poor fellow douses his jacket without knowing whether he shall ever clap his rigging on agen. Then it is that home with all its sweet remembrances clings round the heart. Parents, or wife, or children, become doubly dear, and the fond ties of kindred are linked by stronger bonds. Howsomever, as soon as the first shot is fired, and we get within a sort of shake-hands distance of the enemy, every other thought gives way to a steady discharge of duty.

“Well, d’ye see, close upon our quarter came the Trimmer-rare, 98, and as we hauled up a little, we brought our larboard broadside to bear upon the great Spanish four-decker;—there, that’s she in the picture showing her galleries, just by the Victory’s starn:—so we brought our broadside to bear, and oh, if you had but have seen the eager looks of the men as they pointed their guns, determined to make every shot tell,—and a famous mark she was, too, looming out of the waterlike Beachy-head in a fog. ‘Stand by,’ says Sam Windsail, looking along the sight with the match in his hand; ‘stand by, my boy; so, so,—elevate her breech a bit,—that will do. Now, then, for the Santizzy-mama-Trinny-daddy, and I lay my life I knock day-light through his ribs. Fire!’ and the barking irons gave mouth with all their thunder. A few minutes afterward, and slap we poured another raking broadside into the Spaniard, and then fell aboard a French seventy-four.

“Well, there, d’ye see, we lay, rubbing together with the muzzles of the lower deckers touching one another. When our guns were run in for loading, the ports were instantly occupied by the small-arm men, and several attempts were made to board the enemy. At this time one of the Frenchmen kept thrusting at us with a boarding-pike, and pricked Tim Doyle in the face. ‘Och, the divil’s cure to you,’ bawled Tim; ‘what do you mane by poking at me in that way. A joke’s a joke, but poking a stick in a fellow’s eye is no joke, any how; be aisey then, darlint, and mind your civility.’ As soon as we had fired, in came the pike agen, and Tim got another taste of it. ‘Och bother,’ said Tim, ‘if that’s your tratement of a neighbour, the divil wouldn’t live next door to yes! But faith, I’ll make you come out o’ that, and may be you’ll be after just paying me a visit.’ So he catcheshold of a boat-hook that was triced up in a-midships, and watching his opportunity, he hooked Johnny Crapeau by the collar and lugged him out of one port-hole in at the other, without allowing him time to bid his shipmates good-by. ‘Is it me you’d be poking at, ye blackguard?’ said Tim, giving him a thump with his fist. ‘Is it Tim ye wanted to spit like a cock-sparrow or a tom-tit? Arrah, swate bad luck to yes,—sit down and make yer life aisey; by the powers there’ll be a pair o’ ye presently.’ But Tim was disappointed, for they let down the lower deck ports for fear we should board them through the port-holes.

“Soon after, both ships dropped aboard the Trimmer-rare; and then we ploughed up the Frenchman’s decks with our shot, whilst she lay grinding and groaning in betwixt us. It was just now that young Rivers was struck, and his leg knocked away; but his spirit remained unsubdued, and as they took him down to the cock-pit, he cheered with all his might, and shortly after the hero himself was conveyed below. At first, the news of his being wounded seemed to stagnate all hands, and each stood looking at the other in fearful anxiety; but in a few minutes, resolution again returned, the shots were rammed home with redoubled strength, though at times the men would struggle with their feelings, and give vent to their grief and indignation. At every opportunityinquiries were made, and when the news of his death reached our quarters,—‘He’s gone!’ said Sam, ‘his anchor’s a-weigh, and the blessed spirits are towing him to immortality.’

“But who is there, your honour, that remembers Nelson now? Even the car that carried his body to its last moorings has been broken up as useless lumber, though I did hear that a gemman offered two thousand guineas for it. Some parts are down in the store-rooms, and some has been burnt for fire-wood. There’s his picture and his statue to be sure, but I think they should have spared the car. Nelson was strict to his duty, and made all hands perform theirs; and when he punished one man, it was that he might not have to punish twenty, and every soul fore and aft knew what they had to do. The brave, the generous, the humane Collingwood too,—there’s his picture, your honour, he is almost forgotten. Collingwood detested flogging; and when any captain came to him with a complaint of being short-handed through desertion, he would stand and hitch up his breeches, saying, ‘Use your men better, sir; use your men better, and then they wouldn’t leave you. My men, sir, never run; because they know they cannot get better treatment elsewhere.’ He was also an avowed enemy to impressment, being well convinced that the British navy might be manned with volunteers, ifJack’s peculiarities were only managed with kindness. But they are gone, sir, they are gone, and their authority is over; yet there are a few rough knots who can remember them,—ay, and cherish the remembrance in their hearts.

“Mr. Rivers is still living,—and there he is, your honour,” said the veteran, pointing to an active man in lieutenant’s uniform, who flourished his wooden pin as he descended the stone steps; “there he is, for he’s now lieutenant of the college, and has a fine family just over the way there in the square. They ought to have made him a commander, at any rate, for I’ve seen him unbuckle his wooden leg and go aloft as quick as any topman in the ship; and there was but few could beat him at dancing, for it was quite delightful to see how he handled his timber support, and how the ladies and gemmen sheered out of his way for fear of their toes. Ah, there he goes agen, all life and spirit,—spinning his tough yarns and cracking his jokes, as full of fun as ever;—he’s much prized by the governors, because he takes all the trouble off their hands.”

“Is the portrait of Nelson considered a good likeness?” I inquired.

“My sight gets rather dim, sir,” replied the veteran; “but before they put it up, when I could see it closer, I did not think it very like. Lord Collingwood’s is by far the best.”

At this moment I felt somewhat of a mischievous inclination to try the old man’s temper, and therefore remarked, “Ay, he looks stern and scowling. Nelson was a brave man, no doubt, but then he was tyrannical and cruel.”

The hoary tar turned round and stared me full in the face: a storm was gathering in his heart, or rather, like a vessel taken aback in a sudden squall, he stood perplexed as to which tack he should stand on. But it was only for a moment, and as his features relaxed their sternness he replied, “No matter, your honour,—no matter. You have been generous and kind, and I’m no dog to bite the hand that deals out bounty.”

This seemed to be uttered with the mingling emotions of defiance and melancholy, and to urge him further, I continued,—“But, my friend, what can you say of the treatment poor Caraccioli experienced? You remember that, I suppose?”

“I do, indeed,” he replied. “Poor old man! how earnestly he pleaded for the few short days which nature at the utmost would have allowed him! But, sir,” added he, grasping my arm, “do you know what it is to have a fiend at the helm, who when Humanity cries ‘port!’ will clap it hard a-starboard in spite of you?—one who in loveliness and fascination is like an angel of light, but whose heart resembles an infernal machine, readyto explode whenever passion touches the secret spring of vengeance?”

I had merely put the question to him by way of joke, little expecting the result; but I had to listen to a tale of horror. “You give a pretty picture, truly, old friend,” said I; “and pray who may this fiend be?”

“A woman, your honour,—one full of smiles and sweetness; but she could gaze with indifference on a deed of blood, and exult over the victim her perfidy betrayed. It is a long story, sir, but I must tell it you that you may not think Nelson was cruel or unjust. His generous heart was deceived, and brought a stain upon the British flag, which he afterwards washed out with his blood. Obedience is the test of a seaman’s duty—to reverence his king, and to fight for his country. This I have done, and therefore speak without fear, though I know nothing of parliaments and politics.

“Well, your honour, it was at the time when there was a mutiny among the people at Naples, and Prince Caraccioli was compelled to join one of the parties against the court; but afterwards a sort of amnesty, ordamnificationI think they call it, was passed by way of pardon to the rebels, many of whom surrendered, but they were all made prisoners and numbers of them were executed.

“Well, one day I was standing at the gangway getting the barge’s sails ready, when a shore-boat came alongside full of people, who were making a terrible noise. At last they brought a venerable old man up the side; he was dressed as a peasant, and his arms were pinioned so tight behind that he seemed to be suffering considerable pain. As soon as they had all reached the deck, the rabble gathered round him, some cursing, others buffeting, and one wretch, unmindful of his gray hairs, spat upon him. This was too much to see and not to speak about; the man was their prisoner and they had him secure,—the very nature of his situation should have been sufficient protection; so I gave the unmannerly fellow a tap with this little fist,” holding up a hand like a sledge-hammer, “and sent him flying into the boat again without the aid of a rope. ‘Well done, Ben!’ exclaimed a young midshipman, who is now a post-captain; ‘Well done, my boy, I owe you a glass of grog for that; it was the best summerset I ever saw in my life.’ ‘Thank you for yourglasso’grog, sir,’ said I, ‘you see I’ve made atumbleralready;’ and indeed, your honour, he spun head over heels astonishingly clever. I was brought up to the quarter-deck for it, to be sure, because they said I had used thewhy-hit-armis; but I soon convinced them I had only used my fist, and theyoung officer who saw the transaction stood my friend, and so I got off.

“Well, there stood the old man as firm as the rock of Gibraltar; not a single feature betraying the anguish he must have felt. His face was turned away from the quarter-deck, and his head was uncovered in the presence of his enemies. The Neapolitans still kept up an incessant din, which brought the first-lieutenant to the gang-way; he advanced behind the prisoner, and pushing aside the abusive rabble, swore at them pretty fiercely for their inhumanity, although at the same time seizing the old man roughly, he brought him in his front. ‘What traitor have we here?’ exclaimed the lieutenant; but checking himself on viewing the mild countenance of the prisoner, he gazed more intently upon him. ‘Eh, no!—it surely cannot be:—and yet it is!’—his hat was instantly removed with every token of respect, as he continued—‘it is the prince!’

“The old man with calm dignity bowed his hoary head to the salute, and at this moment Nelson himself, who had been disturbed by the shouting of the captors, came from his cabin to the quarter-deck, and advancing quickly to the scene, he called out in his hasty way when vexed, ‘Am I to be eternally annoyed by the confusion these fellows create! What is the matter here?’ But when his eye had caught the time-and-toilworn features of the prisoner, he sprang forward, and with his own hands commenced unbinding the cords. ‘Monsters,’ said he, ‘is it thus that age should be treated?—Cowards, do you fear a weak and unarmed old man?—Honoured prince, I grieve to see you degraded and injured by such baseness,—and now,’ he added, as the last turn released his arms, ‘dear Caraccioli, you are free!’ I thought a tear rolled down Nelson’s cheek as he cast loose the lashings, which having finished, he took the prince’s hand and they both walked aft together.

“They say the devil knows precisely thenickof time when the most mischief is to be done, and so it happened now; for a certain lady followed Nelson from the cabin, and approached him with her usual bewitching smile. But oh! your honour, how was that smile changed to the black scowl of a demon when she pierced the disguise of the peasant, and recognised the prince, who on some particular occasion had thwarted her views and treated her with indignity. It had never been forgiven, and now—he was in her power. Forcibly she grasped Nelson by the arm and led him from the deck.

“‘His doom is sealed,’ said one of the lieutenants, conversing in an undertone with a brother officer, ‘no power on earth can save him.’ ‘On earth,’ rejoined the other, ‘no, nor in the air, nor in the ocean; for I suspect he will meet his deathin the one, and find his grave in the other.’ ‘Yet surely,’ said the surgeon, who came up, ‘the admiral will remember his former friendship for the prince, who once served under him. Every sympathetic feeling which is dear to a noble mind must operate to avert his death.’ ‘All the virtues in your medicine-chest, doctor,’ rejoined the first, ‘would not preserve him many hours from destruction, unless you could pour an opiate on the deadly malignity of ——,’ here he put his finger upon his lip, and walked away.

“Well, your honour, the old man was given up to his bitter foes, who went through the mockery of a court-martial,—for they condemned him first and tried him afterwards. In vain he implored for mercy; in vain he pleaded the proclamation, and pointed to his hoary head; in vain he solicited the mediation of Nelson, for a revengeful fury had possession of his better purposes, and damned the rising tide of generosity in the hero’s soul; in vain he implored the pardon and intercession of ——; but here I follow the example of my officer, and lay my finger on my lip.

“The president of the court-martial was Caraccioli’s personal enemy, and the poor old man was not allowed time to make a defence; he was sentenced to be hung, and his body to be thrown into the sea. I was near him, your honour, when he entreated Mr. Parkinson, one of the lieutenants,to go to Nelson and implore that he might be shot. Oh, if you had but have seen him grasp the officer’s hand as he said, ‘I am an old man, sir, and I have no family to leave behind to lament my death. Indeed I am not anxious to prolong my life, for at the utmost my days would be but few; but the disgrace of hanging,—to be exposed to the gaze of my enemies,—is really dreadful to me!’

“But every attempt to obtain a mitigation or a change of the sentence was unavailing, and at five o’clock that afternoon the brave old man, the veteran prince, in his eightieth year, hung suspended from the fore-yard-arm of a Neapolitan frigate he had once commanded,—for he was an admiral, your honour. Never shall I forget the burst of indignation with which the signal-gun was heard by our crew, and a simultaneous execration was uttered fore and aft.

“Nelson walked the deck with unusual quickness; nay, he almost ran, and every limb seemed violently agitated. He heard the half-suppressed murmurs of the men, and a conviction of dishonour seemed to be awakening in his mind. But oh, sir, where was pity, where was feminine delicacy and feeling? The lady approached him in the most seducing manner and attracted his attention: he stopped short, looked at her for a moment with stern severity, and again walked on. ‘Whatails you, Bronté?’ said she; ‘you appear to be ill,’ and the witchery of her commanding look subdued the sternness of his features;—he gazed upon her and was tranquil. ‘See!’ said she, pointing out at the port to where the body of Caraccioli was still writhing in convulsive agony, ‘see! his mortal struggles will soon be over. Poor prince! I grieve we could not save him. But come, Bronté, man the barge, and let us go and take a parting look at our old friend.’ I shuddered, your honour, and actually looked down at her feet to see if I could make out any thing like a cloven hoof. ‘The devil!’ exclaimed a voice in a half-whisper behind me that made me start, for I thought the speaker had certainly made the discovery; but it was only one of the officers giving vent to his pious indignation.

“Well, the barge was manned, and away we pulled with Nelson and the lady round the ship where the unfortunate prince was hanging. He had no cap upon his head, nor was his face covered; but his white hair streamed in the breeze above the livid contortions which the last death-pang had left upon his features. The Neapolitans were shouting and insulting his memory; but they were rank cowards, for the truly brave will never wreak their vengeance on a dead enemy.

“Nelson and the lady conversed in whispers; but it was plain to be seen his spirit was agonized,and his fair but frail companion was employing every art to soothe him. She affected to weep, but there was a glistening pleasure in her eyes as she looked at the corpse, which had well nigh made the boat’s crew set all duty at defiance. Nelson,—and no man was better acquainted with the characteristics of a sailor,—saw this, and ordered to be pulled on board. She upbraided him for what she called his weakness, but his soul was stirred beyond the power of her influence to control his actions.

“The body of the prince was taken out to a considerable distance in the bay, where it was thrown overboard with three heavy double-headed shot lashed between the legs; and, as the lieutenant said, ‘he met his death in the air, and had his grave in the ocean.’

“About a fortnight after this, a pleasure party was made up by the royal family and nobility for an excursion on the water, and the barge, with Nelson and the lady, took the lead. It was a beautiful sight to see the gilded galleys with their silken canopies and bright pennons flashing in the sun, and reflecting their glittering beauties on the smooth surface of the clear blue waters, whilst the measured sweep of the oars kept time with the sweet sounds of music. Not a cloud veiled the sky, scarcely a breath curledthe transparent crest of the gentle billow; all was gayety, and mirth, and laughter.

“After pulling for several miles about the bay, we were returning towards the shore, when a curious-looking dark object,—something like a ship’s buoy, appeared floating a-head of the barge. The bowmen were ordered to lay-in their oars, and see what it was; so the oars were laid in, and they stood ready with their boat-hooks, the coxswain steering direct on to it. As soon as the barge was near enough, the bowmen grappled it with their boat-hooks, but in an instant their hold was loosened again, and ‘A dead body! a dead body!’ was uttered in a suppressed tone by both. The boat held on her way, and as the corpse passed astern, the face turned towards the lady and showed the well-remembered countenance of poor Caraccioli. Yes, as the officer had said, ‘the ocean had been his grave;’ but that grave had given up its dead, and the lady seldom smiled afterwards.

“Nelson hailed one of the cutters that were in attendance, and directed that the body should be taken on board and receive the funeral ceremonies suitable to the rank which the unfortunate prince had held whilst living. The music ceased its joyous sounds for notes of melancholy wailing, and the voice of mirth was changed to lamentation and sadness.

“Years passed away, and Nelson fell in the hour of victory; but the lady, ah! her end was terrible. The murdered prince was ever present to her mind; and as she lay upon her death-bed, like a stranded wreck that would never more spread canvass to the breeze, her groans, her shrieks were still on Caraccioli. ‘I see him!’ she would cry, ‘there, there!—look at his white locks and his straining eye-balls! England,—England is ungrateful, or this would have been prevented! But I follow—I follow!’—and then she would shriek with dismay and hide herself from sight. But she is gone, your honour, to give in her dead-reckoning to the Judge of all. She died in a foreign land, without one real friend to close her eyes; and she was buried in a stranger’s grave, without one mourner to weep upon the turf which covered her remains.”

Here the veteran ceased, and folding his arms, he held down his head as if communing with his own heart and struggling to dispel the visions which his narration had conjured up. I cautiously refrained from disturbing him, till by a sudden gulp or sea-sigh, like the expiring gale when at its last gasp, he gave indications of having becalmed his feelings, and we moved onwards up the steps into the body of the Hall, till we stood before the fine painting of the Battle of the Nile, by G. Arnald.

“There, your honour,” exclaimed the veteran, whilst his eye sparkled with glowing recollections, “look there, your honour; isn’t that a sight to awaken old remembrances! It’s worth a hundred of that yonder, which is neither ship-shape nor Bristol fashion, as I take it, for an officer in boarding to be rigged out as if he was going to a ball. Mayhap, howsomever, it may be all well enough for landsmen and marines to look at, because it’s pretty; but the eye of a seaman only glances at it with contempt.” The subject of his last observations, was a painting of Nelson boarding the San Josef of 112 guns in the battle off St. Vincent. “I told you before I was with him in bothdoos; but, Lord love your heart, it was another sort of a concarn than that ’ere; for there warn’t no fighting on the quarter-deck of the three-decker,—all the fighting were in the San Nickylas as we boarded first. But here’s a pretty picture, your honour,” pointing to a small but beautiful painting of the re-capture of the Hermione frigate by Sir Edward Hamilton, “and it tells a tale too! Well, thank God, I never sailed with a tyrannical captain! and there was one,—a lord,—who used to boast he had flogged every man in his ship.”

“I never knew that Sir Edward Hamilton was severe,” said I, “for I had always been given tounderstand that he was a smart but humane officer.”

“I didn’t mean him, sir,” replied the veteran, “it was another sort of person; but he was murdered, and in cold blood too. I have heard the tale often, for old Hughes, who died boatswain of the Laurel frigate, was an old shipmate of mine, and he was in the Hermione at the time of the mutiny. ’Twas a shocking affair,” added the old man, shaking his head, “and who could think that whilst the beautiful moon was shedding her pale light,—not but I’m thinking the moon has no business in that ’ere picture, any more than it had to be up such a night as that at all; but the painters can stick a moon just where they like, though it destroys the tale they have to tell. Besides, captain Hamilton wouldn’t be likely to want even so much as the blink of a purser’s lantern to show the Spaniards he was coming.”

I assented to the argument, and was struck with the truth it conveyed; the moon certainly gave a charming light to the picture, but the eye of practical experience detected the incongruity, though perhaps not till that very moment when the heart was more immediately interested in the subject. The circumstances connected with the re-capture of the Hermione, and her having previously fallen into the enemy’s hands, were revived in my memory; but I felt a strong desire tohear the story from my agedchaperon, and after a few observations he indulged me.

“Them as wishes to know what a seaman can do, sir,” said the old man, “should study a little of their cha-rackter. Thank God, the day’s gone by when the cat was considered the best means of freshening a poor devil’s way, or keeping a good man to his duty. I can remember when I was a young top-man, and the hands were turned up, there was always a boatswain’s mate stationed at each hatchway to start the last man on the ladder, and sometimes half a dozen of the hindmost would get well started before they set foot on deck; it was harassing work and produced great discontent, because, d’ye mind, as there must always be somebody last, it stands to reason there was no escaping. Well, as I said, this, with many other grievances, occasioned the men to be dissatisfied, and brought about that toast which I am sorry to say was but too common between decks, though certainly there was a goodish scope of provocation when all the bearings of the thing is correctly worked;—I mean the toast, ‘A dark night, a sharp knife, and a bloody blanket!’ Now, your honour, ’tis impossible to tell which man saves his strength, when a gang is tailing-on to a taut rope; but a lubber who skulks in the lee-rigging when he ought to be shinning away aloft to take in a reef or toss up a sail is soon foundout, and mayhap a cuff or two would make him quicker in turning to windward; but when the end of a rope flies about indiscriminately and every body is in constant dread of the gangway, it becomesgratingto the feelings. Not, sir, that I hold with the attempts to make Jack Nasty-face a gentleman; for if so be as they goes to destroy the peculiarities which mark a regular man-o’-war’s-man, they’ll have to make a few curious entries in the log-book before they’ve done.”

“But about the Hermione,” said I; “she has a beautiful appearance in the picture; her yards are nicely squared, and she looks all ready for sea. But, come, let’s hear how the Spaniards captured her.”

“Captured her!” exclaimed the veteran; “no, no, they didn’t capture her; she was run away with by her own crew, and a horrible deed of blood they made of it. It was in the month of September, —97; the frigate was cruising off the west-end of Porto Rico, just jogging off and on, and now and then taking a peep into Port-au-Prince, and that way, to look arter the enemy. She was commanded by Captain P——, whose very natur was that of a tyrant, and a cruel one too; for by all accounts, he scored the smallest offence upon the bare back of the offender, and very often punished, because the whim took him in the head, for no offence at all. The ship’s companywere none of the best, to be sure; there was a sprinkling of all nations, and not a few with C. P. alongside o’their names.”

“C. P.” said I; “what does C. P. mean.”

“Why, your honour, it just means this here,” replied the old man. “You must understand that when some know-nothing rascal had been caught in a crowd, and suspected of dipping his grappling hooks—” here the veteran crook’d his fingers,—“into a neighbour’s pocket, if so be they couldn’t bring it slap home to him, the magistrates sent him on board a man-o’-war to teach him honesty, and thus a pretty set of the scum and scrapings of villany,—a sort of devil’s own,—contaminated the sarvice; and the C. P. was a kind of curse o’ Cromwell upon ’em—a mark of Cain, denoting they were shipped by theCivil Power, and the master-at-arms had ’special orders to watch their motions.”

“And did this really take place?” inquired I; “was the navy made a condemned service for convicts?”

“It was, indeed,” replied the old pensioner, “till it got to be a kind of Solomon’s proverb, that ‘a king’s ship and the gallows refused nobody,’ and the tars that had always done their duty in battle and in storm, felt it a great degradation to be mustered with felons and jail-birds, and rely upon it, your honour, it prevented many a brave ladfrom volunteering; for who would go for to enter the sarvice, when almost every ship had a black list as long as the main-top bowline. Besides, there was another concarn that bred evils as fast as barnacles grows on the bottom of a dull sailer. D’ye mind, the fellows didn’t love work, and when there was a fresh breeze, they either skulked down below, or got kicked about upon deck like a Muscovy duck in the lee scuppers, and a captain was often obliged to flog even against his own inclination. In course of time, the lubberly sons of —— chafed his temper till the strands parted, and then he became severe, and from severity proceeded to cruelty, till discrimination was foundered, and the cat’s tails were felt by the good man as well as the bad. Now this was very likely the case with Captain P——, and I’m the more strengthened in the likelihoods of it by what followed; for though in the heat of passion reason is shrivelled and scorched up like the fag-end of an exploded cartridge, and a man may be driven to dye his hands in the blood of a countryman, yet when passion has grown cool and the beatings of the heart have become steady and true, like the droppings of the sand in the half-hour glass, none but a murderer,—a detestable, cowardly, craven-breasted murderer,—would bury his knife in the body of youth. Shame! shame!” exclaimed the veteran, as he shook his hoary head, and hischeeks assumed a flush of abhorrent indignation; “shame! shame!—but I forget all this time I arn’t telling you the story. Captain P——, sir, always came out of his cabin arter dinner,—you mind me, sir,arter dinner,—and had the hands turned up to reef top-sails; and if they were more than two minutes and a half about it, he flogged the last man who came off each yard. Well, on the day before the mutiny,—I think I told you there was a mutiny, but if not I tell you so now,—on the day before the mutiny, the hands were turned up as usual and the mizen-topmen were rather slack in stays; so he, that’s the captain, your honour,—swore he would flog the last man off the mizen-top-sail yard. Now you must understand, the smartest seamen are always at the yard-arms to haul out the earings, and consequently, unless they can spring over the heads of the other topmen, they must be the last to lie-in. Well, so it happened this evening, and the two captains of the top, knowing that their commander would keep his word, made a spring for the top-mast rigging; in their haste and fear they missed their grasp, and fell on to the quarter-deck. They were both young, active men, and were much beloved by the ship’s company; they had gone aloft full of spirit and vigour, desirous to obey orders; the last beams of the sun, as it just touched the verge of the horizon, shone upon their lightbut manly frames stretching out to secure the leeches of the sail to the yard; and before the upper limb of the bright luminary had disappeared, they laid stretched on the deck, each a lifeless and mangled corpse! It’s hard lines that, your honour;” and the veteran held down his head in mournful cogitation.

“Hard lines indeed, old friend,” said I; “and really it seems surprising that men should so far forget the social ties, which in every station ought to bind together the brethren of thedust, as to commit deliberate acts of cruelty.”

“Mayhap you’re right, sir,” answered the pensioner, “though I can’t say exactly as I understands it all. As for beingdustmen, we arn’t got no such great matter of dust at sea, because of the soakings we get; and sailors are apt to moisten theirclaya bit when they can lay hold of the stuff. But with regard to the cruelty! there unfortunately was too much of it. But to return to my story. The poor lads were carried below, and many a half stifled curse was muttered as their shipmates touched the shattered limbs, and stained their hands in the blood of innocence. A silent, but deep feeling of revenge passed from heart to heart; the face was calm and smooth, but there was a storm in the breast that raged with fury. Well, your honour, the surgeon reported to Mr. Spriggs, the first-lieutenant, thatthe lads were both dead; and he—that’s the first-lieutenant,—told the captain, who immediately said, ‘Throw the lubbers overboard.’ And this was done,—for to have read any sarvice over them would have been insult and mockery; and thus were two human beings sent out of the world worse than dogs. Not that I think a cast of the parson’s office is of any great consequence to a dead man; but nevertheless, the living like to see things o’that kind done somewhat ship-shape, and besides there’s many a warm glow of friendship lighted up among messmates, when natur stirs within ’em over an ocean grave. The words ‘We commit his body to the deep,’ that deep whose surface is as familiar to a seaman, as the face of the mother is to the infant, and under ‘the sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection,’—oh, your honour, I can’t explain what I mean, but take an old tar’s word that there’s none so sensible of the power of the Almighty as them who are constantly hearing his voice upon the waters, and who so often witness the opening of his hands to loose the tempest.” The veteran paused for a moment or two, gazing intently upon the picture, as if the scene he had described was present to his view; he then continued, “The hands were called on deck and very threatening language used to them, and some were particularly pointed out as the next to be seized up atthe gangway. That night, when the watch below was turned in, there was a secret meeting of the petty officers, and a plan was arranged for taking possession of the ship; no one mentioned murder, but each one knew by the wolfish strugglings of vengeance in his breast, that blood must be shed before their purpose could be achieved. The ringleaders were Frenchrefugers, who were fighting against their own country and had no love for ours,—fellows that it was dangerous to trust; and yet what is very remarkable, the captain does not appear to have suspected evil designs, so confident was he of his own supposed superiority in preserving discipline. But there was one whose eyes looked on with anxious apprehensions,—for like the soundings to the pilot, those eyes had studied the various changes in the features of man to fathom out the depths of the heart,—it was woman, your honour. Fanny Martin was the boatswain’s wife, and though without larning and that sort of eddyfication, she loved her husband and trembled for his safety; for he had had some words with one of the master’s-mates of the name of Farmer, and she strongly suspected Farmer was bent upon mischief, particularly as she saw him during the next day holding mysterious communications with the people, and having the keys of the spirit-room to getup the grog, he had distributed extra allowance amongst the disaffected.

“Well, your honour, during the day she kept her secret, and watchfully observed what was going on. In the evening she sat upon the fokstle with her husband, who was a hasty, passionate man, and as they watched the declining sun bathing his golden beams in the blue waters, she gave such intimations as partially aroused the boatswain to something like a sense of the truth. She talked to him of the village which had been the home of their childhood, she recalled to his recollection their early love,—for women enter all these things in the log-book of memory, with a sort of natural instinct,—and when she had awakened a feeling of tenderness, she pointed out to him the horrible suspicions which tortured her. But though distrust was stirred up, yet the haughty and rough seaman disdained to acknowledge its effects, or take any steps to prevent the mischief that was brewing, like a white squall in a clear sky. And who that looked upon the beautiful creatur,—for she was a sweet ship, your honour,—I say, who could look upon the beautiful creatur as she lay gently rolling on the glassy surface of the light swell, like a handsome woman viewing her shapes in a clear mirror,—who would have thought, in that still, calm evening hour, that the red eyes of murderous vengeance wereglaring on the scene? But the sun set upon those who were never to see it rise again, and the mountain islands faded away in the gloom, never more to be gazed at by the doomed ones.

“Night came; the officer of the watch was walking the deck, and the look-outs were alone seen as they stood at their several posts. Suddenly there was a simultaneous shout came rolling up the fore-hatchway, arousing the sleepers and alarming those who were awake. The lieutenant of the watch, Mr. Douglass, ran forward on the main-deck, but was immediately driven back by the shot which the seamen were throwing about. The first-lieutenant hurried to the spot; but whilst descending the fore-ladder, he received a severe wound in the arm from the blow of a tomahawk, and seeing there was no use in going down in the dark amongst ’em, he made a grab at the man next him, and dragged the fellow on to the main-deck. But Farmer, the master’s-mate, rushed upon the lieutenant and rescued the prisoner, who joined his shipmates down below. Both lieutenants returned to the quarter-deck for arms, but the mutineers had taken care to remove the cutlasses and boarding pikes out of the way; the officers could find nothing but a handspike or two, and the first-lieutenant, with no other means of defence than his dirk, again went forward among the men.

“By this time, the marines had mustered aft on the quarter-deck, and the captain, hearing the noise, ran up the companion and found the utmost confusion prevailing; the marines’ muskets and side-arms had been seized, and the sodgers crowded together without knowing what to do, for their officer was hove down sick in his cot. Captain P—— called for the first-lieutenant, and being told that he had gone forward, he immediately followed; the shot, however, drove him back for the moment, but he again advanced along the main-deck with a pistol in each hand, and three or four marines with lights. But I must tell your honour the rest in Hughes’s own words, for he witnessed the whole, and I’m thinking the horrors of that night never left his mind. Whether he took part or not in the transactions was never known, but he afterwards gave evidence agin many of the mutineers, and was the chief cause of their being hung at the fore yard-arm of the old Gladiator, at Portsmouth. I sailed with him three years, and never saw him smile; sometimes he would rave when darkness shut out every object from the sight, and the mind had nothing to rest on but the gloomy imaginings of a tortured spirit. They said he had been well edecated, and I know he was always reading at every moment he was off deck and could spare time from duty,—sometimes for hours togetherwith the Bible in his hands, and at other times with a book he called Wolltear. He used to swear a good round stick, too, but he always spliced a bit of a prayer to the fag-end of his oaths; though occasionally he would turn ’em end-for-end, and begin with the prayer first, knotting it with a double-wall damme, which he afterwards crowned with an Amen.” He paused for a minute, and then he commenced with the following statement of

The Mutiny.

“I was standing ’tween the bits, (says Hughes,) when the first-lieutenant came forward the second time, and his bare dirk was in his hand. ‘Return to your duty, men, and don’t disgrace your country,’ said Mr. Spriggs; but they again shouted, and Bill Oates threw a billet of wood at the officer, which knocked his legs from under him. At that instant the captain’s coxswain rushed at the lieutenant, one of the fokstle men seized the dirk, and together they held him down.

“‘Villains!’ said the lieutenant, ‘mutinous dogs! will you murder me?’ and he made a desperate struggle to rise, whilst his voice seemed to be getting more husky and thick, as if they were strangling him. All at once he gave a shriek, and I thought the running bowline had slipped; thenthere was a low, moaning, gurgling sound, a convulsive throe of the body,—and he lay quite still. The coxswain and his companion came away just as the captain ran from aft with the lights. The marines raised the poor lieutenant up by the arms, but, oh God! the lights gleamed upon a stream of blood, and a deep gash in the throat opened its yawning mouth,—the head of the lieutenant fell backward between his shoulder blades, for it was nearly severed from the body. The captain gazed at the corpse for a moment, then raising his pistols, he snapped the triggers at Farmer, who laughed,—no, it warn’t a laugh, it was a yell of defiance,—the charges had been drawn.

“The men led by Farmer on the starboard side, and the coxswain on the larboard side, moved in two compact bodies aft, driving the captain, the two lieutenants, the boatswain, and the midshipmen of the watch afore ’em. By the main ladder the latter party faced about, and the captain, seeing the coxswain acting as a ringleader, upbraided him for his ingratitude, for he had always been a great favourite with Captain P——, and had followed him from ship to ship, receiving many marks of kindness for upwards of five years. The coxswain cheered on the men, and darting at the captain, stabbed him severely with a bay’net: this was the signal for massacre.The captain retreated to his cabin, which was soon filled with the mutineers, and every one seemed anxious to have a cut at him. He staggered to his chair and sat down, whilst those who had been the victims of his cruelty and oppression, mangled him in the fleshy parts of his body, and every wound was accompanied by a bitter taunt, or a hellish imprecation. He implored for no mercy, for he saw it would be useless;—he did not deprecate their vengeance, for the hand he had prized most was the first to stab, and therefore it was in vain to hope for life. He continued sternly silent, till he fell from his chair through weakness, caused by the out-flowing of the tide of existence. A horrible shout shook the cabin when they saw him prostrate, and raising him in their arms, they sallied aft and launched the body out of the stern windows. I heard it splash as it fell upon the dark waters,—I heard his shout of ‘murder’ and ‘revenge’ repeatedly as he went astern, but the waves closed over him, and he was seen no more.

“A short but ineffectual struggle took place upon the quarter-deck, where the marines still adhered to the officers; but they were soon subdued, and after being horribly mutilated, were thrown overboard. As soon as the mutineers had obtained possession, Farmer took command, and it was intended to haul in for St. Domingo;but fearing that daylight would bring ’em in with some of the British cruisers, it was agreed upon to up-helm and run down to the Spanish main.

“The work of destruction was not, however, yet complete;—the boatswain had been discovered in his store-room, (where he had concealed himself at the earnest entreaties of his wife,) and dragged upon deck. Poor Fanny Martin implored Farmer to spare his life; but the boatswain set the mutineers at defiance, and swore they would one day or other be frying in hell for their wickedness.

“‘Fore yard-arm, there!’ cried out Farmer, ‘have you got a good seizing for that block?’

“The boatswain turned pale, for he well knew the hint this was meant to convey, though his wife did not; and grasping Farmer by the arm, he exclaimed ‘No, you never can mean that!—Bill, we’ve sailed together and fought together;—did you ever know me shrink from the gale, or tremble at my gun? Here am I,—ready to live or die, just as your breath may turn the vane,—indeed I ax no mercy for myself,—’

“‘Is the yard-rope rove?’ inquired Farmer, trying to free himself from the other’s hold.

“‘Ay, ay,’ was the response from the fokstle.

“‘Then,’ continued Farmer, ‘Martin, say any prayers you know, for by every fiend in ——, you swing up there in ten minutes from this time.’

“‘Consider, Farmer,’ expostulated the boatswain, ‘we’ve been messmates and have shared each other’s dangers; you may take my life, but do not, do not disgrace me in my death;—nay, you cannot hang me like a dog!’

“Poor Fanny had remained silently clinging to her husband during this conversation, insensible to its true meaning; but when the last expression escaped the boatswain’s lips, the truth flashed upon her, and wildly shrieking, she fell at Farmer’s feet, embraced his knees, and in the most frantic and abject terms implored for her husband’s life.

“‘Force her away,’ commanded Farmer, in a voice of thunder to some of the seamen who had gathered round, ‘and, Martin, to your prayers; the sand is fast running through the glass,—to your prayers, man—to your prayers, I say,’ and the wretch laughed like a demon.

“‘Avast, avast, Bill,’ said the boatswain, ‘I am yet an officer, and don’t disgrace the cloth! Stand back, you lubberly son of a ——’ he exclaimed, throwing from him with herculean strength one of his own mates, who was attempting to put the noose over his head, and then addressing the people, he uttered in a clear voice, ‘Shipmates, I only ask to die like a man. If my death-warrant is sealed, what matters it to you whether I go out of the world by a musket-ball or in a sling.—Nay,shipmates, you cannot do it,—and in the presence of her, too,’—his voice faltered for a moment,—‘it would be a disgrace to a blue jacket for ever.—But,’ observing their unchanged countenances, ‘I see my appeal is vain, and I must bear it as a brave man ought. Farmer this will be a leak to sink your soul in that day when we come to pass our accounts. I know but little of prayers; I’ve served my country with faithfulness, and every action of my life is known to the Almighty. If I’ve done my duty to my king,—to my fellow creatures, and to she who now witnesses my murder, God already knows it, so it’s of no use overhauling them consarns now; and if I have not done it, then I take it five minutes will hardly mend the matter. Fanny,’ he continued, softening his voice, ‘you have been my friend, my companion, in fair weather and in foul; they will not, cannot injure you, girl; and when you go back to where I need not name, tell the old folks,’—here his voice again faltered and his lips quivered, which gave rise to an obscene jest from a bystander,—‘Be decent, fellow,’ he continued, ‘a brave man never insults his prisoner. My conscience is clear from having ever wilfully done wrong;—will yours be so when the last death-grapple comes?’

“‘Cease this d—— folly!’ exclaimed Farmer; ‘your time is nearly up, and by heaven—’

“‘Swear not by heaven, Bill,’ said the boatswain solemnly, ‘you have done with it, and it has done with you. Come, Fanny, one clasp to my heart before we are separated,’ and he threw his arms round his sinking wife, who seemed scarce conscious of her existence.

“‘Waist there! is the yard-rope manned?’ exclaimed Farmer.

“‘Ay, ay, all ready,’ was the response.

“‘Will you not take her below?’ said the boatswain beseechingly.

“‘No, no,’ vociferated some of the topmen; ‘she has often seen us dance aloft, and now she shall see you.’

“‘Farmer, will you suffer this?’ said the boatswain.

“‘They will have it so,’ returned the master’s-mate, doggedly.

“‘Then, by that Heaven which you have abjured, they shall be disappointed. I will not perish like a dog.’

“He sprang forward, and with his heavy blows felled several to the deck. At first, old remembrances of his prowess made the mutineers give way before his impetuous attack, but it was only momentary; a dozen cutlasses gleamed in the air; there was a whizzing noise of flourishing tomahawks, and the boatswain fell dead beneath the blows, covered with wounds. Happily his wifehad fainted; she had seen her husband struck, but she was spared the pang of witnessing his bloody corpse being thrown overboard, which was done immediately. ‘Oh, God! where is thine eye of retribution!—(Hughes would cry out)—lay bare thine arm! But thou hast poured out the phials of thy wrath, and justice has received her due!’

“Well, messmate, whilst this was passing at the starboard gangway, the coxswain and his gang were making quick work of the other officers. They had secured the two lieutenants, the purser, the doctor, the captain’s clerk, and a little lad—a midshipman, who with the gallantry of riper years stood undauntedly among the rest, and there were also four or five seamen who had made themselves obnoxious to the mutineers; they were all butchered, mangled, cut to pieces, and committed to the deep. The little midshipman was stabbed through the heart,—I saw it myself; the boy fell shouting, and with that shout expired. But there was yet another victim. I told you the marine officer was sick in his hammock, and being weak from long illness could offer no resistance; indeed, he scarcely knew what was doing. Now, messmate, may perdition alight upon their bloody heads for that horrid cruelty! They brought the young officer on deck; his ghastly features, pale and wasted from disease, excited no pity, andwith the balance trembling between life and death he was thrown over the taffrail, and left to struggle for a few useless moments, when he sunk beneath the waves, and his murder was added to the black catalogue of hellish guilt.

“Day dawned, and dawned in splendour. The sun upon the horizon shed his red light, rendering the gory deck more bloody in its aspect; and there stood the mutineers, contemplating the horrible deeds they had so lately perpetrated, and scanning each other with looks of silent mistrust, as if every man suspected that his shipmate would betray him. Farmer stood upon the after-gun on the starboard side, one elbow resting on the hammock-rail and his head reclined upon his hand; the flush of intemperance was on his cheeks, and his restless eye wandered hither and thither, as if tracking the crimson stains of carnage that his villany had caused. The horizon was now one flood of clear transparent light, the blue waters marking the line between the dark ocean and crystal sky. The gallant frigate danced merrily before the breeze, but excepting the squaring of the yards, no additional canvass had been spread to accelerate her way.

“Suddenly a man on the fokstle exclaimed ‘Sail, O!’ Farmer started from his reverie, and every limb of his body was for an instant palsied; whilst the seamen, as if struck by an enchanter’swand, stood motionless and still. ‘Sail, O!’ repeated the man. It aroused them from their stupor; a thousand sickly apprehensions rushed upon their minds, and all was instantly bustle and alarm. Farmer walked forward, and then hailed one of the quarter-masters to bring him the glass out of the cabin. The glass was brought,—it was the captain’s; and as he took it in his hand, it was plainly seen by the quick changes of his countenance, that there was a tempest in his soul.

“The sail was now distinctly visible about two points on the larboard beam, her hull rising from the water, and her masts showing she was a ship, whilst their position indicated she was crossing the frigate’s track. Farmer raised the glass to his eye; there was a breathless silence fore-and-aft. His look was long and earnest; not a muscle of his features moved, his very pulsation seemed to be suspended: at last, he gave a shivering gasp, and drew his breath convulsively. The coxswain approached, and took his spell at the glass, but his glance was only momentary; he returned it to Farmer. They looked in each other’s face, but neither spoke his thoughts.

“‘Bring Mr. Southcott on deck,’ exclaimed Farmer, ‘and see that he is well guarded.’

“In a few minutes Mr. Southcott, the master, was brought on to the fokstle, between two seamenwith naked cutlasses and loaded pistols. The undaunted officer, expecting that the hour of his death had arrived, stood firm and erect in front of the mutineer, and his steady gaze fixed so intently upon him, that Farmer shrunk from before it. At length the latter said, ‘No harm is meant you, Mr. Southcott; but have the goodness to take the glass, and tell me what you make out yon ship to be,’ pointing towards it.

“‘Is there a sail?’ exclaimed the master. ‘Ay, I see it;—thank Heaven!’ and he took the glass.

“‘Her yards show square,’ said Farmer.

“‘They do,’ replied the master; ‘but the merchantmen now spread a broad cloth in these seas.’

“‘She has a middle and a royal stay-sail set,’ continued Farmer. The master assented.

“‘She is carrying every thing that can draw a cap-full of wind,’ said Farmer.

“‘She is so,’ replied the master; ‘but West-Indiamen have many flying kites nowadays.’

“‘Mr. Southcott,’ exclaimed Farmer in his harsh hoarse voice, ‘you know that yon hooker is no West-Indiaman. You would deceive me, sir—That new cloth in the main-top-sail, that milk-white flying jib, and the cloud of canvass that flutters from the main-yard tell me that it is the——’

“‘What?’ exclaimed the master, suddenly starting from the recumbent posture in which hehad been looking at the ship, and again fixing his eyes upon his traitorous mate.

“‘Sail, O!’ shouted a man from the starboard cat-head; ‘a brig under the land, and a ship in-shore of her.’

“‘Yes, yes,’ said Farmer, ‘’tis the Favourite and the Drake; but their legs were never made to catch us. Come, Mr. Southcott, the name of the stranger yonder,’ pointing to the vessel first seen. ‘I wish the men to hear it from your lips, that they may think of running gantlines and hangman’s knots, and know their doom if they surrender.’ He again applied the glass to his eye; ‘she has bore up a couple of points, and is setting her studding-sails. Speak, sir! is it not the Mermaid?—You are silent, but it matters not. Take him below.’

“‘Yes, Farmer,’ said the master, ‘thank God, it is the Mermaid, and therefore you cannot hope to escape. Your captain and officers are murdered by your orders—’

“‘Nay, nay, not by my orders, Mr. Southcott,’ said Farmer. ‘We have all been tarred with the same brush; but what would you propose?’

“‘Resign the command you have assumed to me,’ replied the master; ‘and men!’ he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘mistaken men, return to your—’

“‘Silence, sir!’ thundered Farmer, clapping hishand to the master’s mouth; and then turning to the men who had crowded up from below and filled the fokstle and gangways, he said, ‘Shipmates, yon sail is our old consort, the Mermaid. Mr. Southcott proposes you should surrender, and of course all of us know our doom. But though, mayhap, some may be spared by royal mercy—such mercy as you have already had, which of you can point out the men? No, no, my lads, we’ve gone too far to retract; and for my part, I would rather flash a pistol in the magazine than again serve under British bunting, even if my life were sure. What do you say, men?’

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