Barbadoes, March 16.
What a day of hurry, confusion, and solicitude! A packet has at length
arrived! From December the 9th, to March the 16th, we have been
separated from you, without hearing one word of our friends, or scarcely
of our country. How shall I convey to you any just idea of the scene
which this day has produced, by the impatient multitude crowding in
anxious eagerness to obtain letters, to see the papers, and to ascertain
the news!
Early in the morning a signal appeared at the fort, implying that a
vessel was in sight. Soon afterwards, this was lowered down, and the
packet signal hoisted in its place; when instead of the pleasing
expectation of seeing a vessel of our fleet, and learning tidings of the
convoy, all were on tiptoe in the still more lively hope of hearing not
only of our unfortunate armada, but of Europe, of England, and —— our
friends! Concerning the fleet we had grown quite weary of conjecture,
and now saw it probable that we might obtain more accurate intelligence
respecting it, by way of England, than by any ship which had been
separated from it upon the passage.
On the packet making the harbour it caused a crowd not unlike what you
may have seen at a sailing or rowing match upon the Thames. Each wishing
to be first, and all being eager to learn the reports, the vessel was
beset on every quarter before she could come to anchor, and the whole
bay became one animated scene of crowded ships and moving boats. Many
who could not go to the packet as she entered the harbour, repaired on
shore to be ready, there, to meet the news. The people of the town,
also, thronged the beach in anxious multitudes. All was busy
expectation. Impatience scarcely allowed the bags to reach the office:
every avenue to which was so closely blockaded that the house was quite
in a state of siege, and the post-master and his mansion in danger of
being taken by storm.
It was about eleven o’clock when the inspector-general, Dr. Master, and
myself, following the common impulse, went to inquire for our letters
and papers; but we could only advance within sight of the post-office
walls,—to approach the door was utterly impossible.
Seeing no prospect of ascertaining whether we had any letters, we
returned from the hot and crowded town to take our dinners quietly on
board, and to enjoy the high feast of reading some newspapers, which our
obliging and attentive friend, Mr. Hinde, had kindly allowed us to put
into our pockets. You will believe that this formed a most exquisite
dessert after our meal, and was of more grateful flavour than all the
fruits and sweets of a tropical soil.
To an Englishman a newspaper is a never-failing source of amusement; and
the high delight thence derived appears to be, in some measure, peculiar
to our nation. If, therefore, even at home, and in a peaceful hour, it
be a great pleasure to take up the Times or the Chronicle of the
morning, I put it to your feelings to judge what must have been our
enjoyment, when I tell you that, at this wide distance from our country,
and after being long shut in ignorance regarding it, we have been
quietly seated, in the shade of a cool cabin, perusing papers in the
regular series of a whole fortnight. We remained for several hours
secluded and in silence, each fearing to speak lest he should disturb
the others. If you had not been already a traveller I could have wished
you a long voyage, that you might know the real value of a Morning
Herald, or an Evening Star—that you might enjoy the high flavour of a
true English feast, seasoned with absence! Send out our friend ****,
that he may be roused from the apathy which so distressfully encroaches
upon his mechanical round of luxury and indulgence! Tell him that if he
were held in disappointed expectation, from day to day, through many
anxious weeks, he would find the amusements which he now partakes with
indifference to be really exquisite; and assure him that the variety of
occurrences, during a temporary privation, might divert him from a life
of indolence and palling pleasure, and convince him that many things,
which he now disregards, are capable of affording far more enjoyment,
than the vapid time-killing routine of parading in Bond-street, treading
upon muslin trains in the crowd of Kensington-gardens, or lounging at
the play and the opera, without hearing five words of the performance!
The arrival of the packet has removed the uncertainty regarding our
convoy, but not so satisfactorily as we had hoped; for we have the
mortification to learn that the fleet, with which we sailed from
Spithead on the 9th of December, and which, for so long past, we have
hourly expected, instead of being safe at Barbadoes, is lying quietly at
anchor in England!
From the papers it is ascertained that the great body of the convoy,
with our commander in chief and the admiral, are returned to St.
Helen’s, after continuing seven tedious weeks at sea, beating against
contrary winds and destructive storms, and that many of the ships, which
had separated, had previously put back to Cork, Kinsale, Plymouth, and
various other ports. This is very distressing and vexatious news, for it
robs us of the pleasing hope with which we had expected our comrades,
and tells us that all still remains —— to be done again! Twice has this
great expedition put to sea, and during many months has it been, daily,
expected to arrive: yet after a long suspense do we now learn that it is
still in an English harbour, only preparing to sail!
A voyage to the East Indies or to China might be performed in less time
than seems to be required for this unhappy fleet to reach its
destination. It was intended to sail so long since as the month of
September, and actually did put to sea in November, and again on the 9th
of December, and its arrival has been impatiently looked for, by the
people of the islands, during more than half a year!
The season is rapidly advancing: the milder temperature of the climate,
and the more favorable period of the year are wearing away, and the wet
months fast approaching: we fear, therefore, that all the ills to be
apprehended from climate may overtake us in the midst of the campaign,
or even before the troops can be brought into action.
When or how the convoy is again to attempt the voyage we do not learn;
but it seems to be the opinion, on your side the water, that the
commander in chief will sail in a frigate without delay, and that the
fleet will follow, in small divisions, as speedily as the ships can be
repaired and made ready for sea. This would undoubtedly be most
advisable; for the waiting to assemble large bodies of vessels, and the
delays and accidents which necessarily happen to them at sea, seem to be
the very bane of the enterprise.
We are still told that the Cork division may be daily expected, yet we
learn that it had not sailed when the packet left Falmouth. From all we
can collect it seems probable that more than six thousand troops, and
upwards of sixty ships, many long since arrived, may have still to wait
through another tedious period at Barbadoes.
We find it among the reports of the day that honors are to be conferred
on the Admiral for braving the weather, during so many weeks at sea, and
returning to port _in England_ with so great a number of the convoy in
safety. On reading this the captain of our ship wittily asked “What
honors are those to receive, then, who fought through all the perilous
storms, and have made good their passage to a port _in the West
Indies_?”
The papers we have received having been printed during the Christmas
holidays, furnish us with no parliamentary news; but we learn from them,
with much regret, that our country experiences a scarcity of corn, and
of specie. Without money and without bread John Bull would make war very
badly indeed! Wheat we find is at the extravagant price of thirteen
shillings per bushel, and bread as high as thirteen-pence half-penny the
quartern loaf. This, we fear, may create dissatisfaction, and lead to
commotions and ill-judged excesses, from the people erroneously
attributing events to causes which have no just connexion with them[5].
I am sorry to have again to tell you that late accounts from Grenada
state the island to be in great danger, and that we hold possession of
it by a very precarious tenure, the troops being pent up in the town,
and not in sufficient force to march against the Brigands. From St.
Vincent we hear, also, that the inhabitants have been obliged to fly to
arms to assist the military, and that still they are not strong enough
to defeat the Charibs. It is further added that the negroes, impatient
of remaining inactive, have petitioned to be sent against the enemy,
threatening to go over to the Charibs if not soon employed to subdue
them.
I had nearly forgotten to mention that a French spy has been detected
among us, who has been, for some time, watching the proceedings of the
fleet at Barbadoes. It were unnecessary to add that his life will be the
forfeit of his temerity.
* * * * *
March 17.
How eventful are the hours which now pass before us! The sons of St.
Patrick have not felt themselves more blessed, nor have they hailed in
more joyous greetings this hallowed day than the anxious multitude at
Barbadoes. It was only yesterday that I took up my pen to announce to
you a glad arrival, and I have now to mention one still more happy.
Before breakfast this morning a signal appeared at the fort, implying
that a ship of war was in sight; and about eight o’clock a proud
frigate, with sails swelling to the breeze, cut her liquid path silently
into the bay, and dropped her anchor in the midst of the fleet. A
general feeling of joy, instantly, spread throughout the harbour. It was
the Arethusa, with Sir Ralph Abercromby, and the officers of his staff
on board. A signal was made from the agent, and all the ships in the bay
immediately manned their yards and rigging, to hail, and to welcome, in
loud salutation, our long-expected commander in chief. Three heart-felt
cheers were, rapturously, shouted from every vessel, and as cordially
echoed by the Arethusa’s company.
The scene thus introduced was novel. It was, also, highly interesting.
The yards, the tops, the masts and rigging of all the vessels being
covered with men, they resembled clusters of bees, as they hang about
the hive at the moment previous to swarming.
Crowded as it was, the harbour resembled a thick forest, the leaves of
which were men, not rustling in the wind, but set in motion by the more
animating breeze of joy and gratulation. Loud shouts of welcome
resounded throughout the bay, and when the General went off in the boat
towards the landing-place, each ship repeated three cheers as he passed;
the multitude upon the beach again shouting his welcome as he stepped on
shore. On reaching the government-house at Pilgrim he was received by a
salute of twenty-one guns. The same number was then repeated from the
fort, which, we remarked, did not fire any salute when the frigate
entered the harbour.
All is now motion and activity. An impulsive sensation vibrates
throughout the bay. Every breast throbs with ardour, and, inspired by
the presence of the commander in chief, all look forward to a successful
campaign. No one imagines that fate has destined him to fall; but each
anticipates the joyous moment, when he shall return to relate, to his
friends in peaceful England, histories of battles won, and islands
conquered. Yet, alas! to how few is it allotted again to visit either
England or their friends! But to such reflections let me be silent! to
speak them were unmilitary! Still the duties I may have to perform will,
sometimes, call up strong associations in my mind, and amidst the busy
din of war, or the loud rejoicings of victory, my heart will often swell
with painful sympathy, in the contemplation of individual sufferings and
affliction.
In his third attempt to reach the islands the commander in chief has
been very successful; the Arethusa having sailed only on the 14th of
February, and, consequently, made the voyage in thirty days.
It is now rumoured that none but the troops, belonging to those
regiments already in the West Indies, are to come out with the fleet;
and that the others are actually sent into cantonments, in England,
there to remain until next September, before they again sail for the
West Indies. Of this we have many doubts; yet might it seem to be a
prudent arrangement: for, advanced as the season now is, it were,
perhaps, wise to postpone the grand object of the expedition until
December; and to employ the troops which are now here in restoring
tranquillity to our disturbed and endangered islands, thus fulfilling
the more immediate, although perhaps the minor objects of the armament.
A body of troops brought out in October or November would have the
season before them for a long campaign, but were they to leave England
now, the length of time required for the voyage and for their being
assembled at Barbadoes, and again prepared for leaving it, would bring
them so near to the wet season, and to the hot and unhealthy period of
the year, that not only would multitudes fall victims to disease, but
impediments, occasioned by the weather, might interrupt the proceedings
before anything important could be effected.
We find that the Cork fleet has, unquestionably, been for several weeks
at sea, and may be daily expected; the Arethusa having spoken several of
the ships of that convoy upon her passage. At the time this frigate came
into the bay two other ships appeared in sight: they are since arrived,
and prove to be the General Cuyler merchantman, of our division (long
supposed to be lost), and the Clarendon transport of the Cork division:
their arrival, and the reported approach of the Cork fleet, add to the
auspicious events of St. Patrick’s day.
The sad uncertainties of a sea voyage are strongly exemplified in the
combined arrival of the General Cuyler and the Clarendon. The one sailed
on the 9th of December, and the other on the 9th of February (periods
more distant than the time usually required for making the voyage); yet,
so favorable had been the elements to the one, and so adverse to the
other, that they both came into Carlisle Bay at the same moment.
The Clarendon, we are told, left the harbour of Cove with a fleet of 132
sail, having ten thousand troops on board; but she parted from the
convoy, in the course of the first night, and has not seen any ship
belonging to it since. She has brought out nearly 200 men of the 99th
regiment, who, we are sorry to find, have been very unhealthy,
notwithstanding the quick passage they have made. From this we are led
to fear that those who are longer detained at sea may arrive in a very
sickly state.
The safety of the General Cuyler spread consolation among us, and very
much augmented the great and general joy diffused by the presence of the
commander in chief. You will feel that I had real pleasure in
felicitating my friend Nichol, who was one of the passengers, when I
tell you that it had obtained universal belief that this ship was lost
at sea, or, at best, taken by the enemy. Indeed, for several weeks past,
such had been the despondent feelings regarding her, that it would have
been a great relief to us to have heard that she was in the enemy’s
possession. She had sailed with us on the 9th of December, and was the
last ship we had spoken in the European seas, which was on the 4th of
January, and on the 10th of February we reached Carlisle Bay; hence,
from our having been five weeks in harbour without hearing of her,
scarcely a hope remained of ever seeing her again. Nor were our
apprehensions far from being realized, for on the 7th of January, only
three days after we had hailed her, she sprung a leak, and during twenty
succeeding days, was merely kept from sinking by the persevering toil
and exertions of the ship’s company and the passengers, all of whom took
their regular watch at the pumps, for six or eight hours each day. With
great difficulty she was preserved afloat: daily their peril increased,
and, for nearly three weeks, they had the melancholy prospect of going
to the bottom. Almost exhausted with fatigue and apprehension, the hope
of being saved had nearly abandoned them, when, fortunately, they made
one of the Canary Islands.
Few occurrences can be so truly distressing, or so strongly calculated
to weigh down the mind with desponding feelings, as this critical, and
very perilous situation at sea. To prevent the threatened fate,
excessive bodily exertions are required, when, from the impression of
terror, a sufficient degree of hope scarcely remains to stimulate or
support the fatigue. Extreme toil is demanded, perhaps, too, in an
exhausting, and ungenial climate, and under the depressing prospect of
the vessel sinking notwithstanding every effort!
The Dutch are said to have a mode of punishment somewhat resembling this
very dangerous and afflicting situation, although infinitely removed
from it, on account of the person who is exposed to it knowing a certain
means of saving himself, provided he has enough of industry to continue
his exertions. The prisoner is confined in a room, into which water is
made constantly to flow, so increasing in depth that he must,
inevitably, be drowned if he be idle: but if he will be industrious and
persevere at the pump, he knows that a certain proportion of labour will
keep down the water, and preserve his life. Surely none but the
amphibious and toiling Hollanders could have invented such a watery
punishment! although it must be allowed to be a most excellent one
against idleness. But in a leaky ship at sea no such certainty is
attainable. The leak may increase, and no human effort be sufficient to
keep the vessel upon the surface; yet all resource is denied, and the
impending doom can, no way, be averted! No mental powers, no bodily
exertion can avail. Safety is not to be procured by any effort of
strength, or wisdom: no opening is left for intellect or enterprise:
each road leads equally to despair; and the event can neither be avoided
nor resisted. On either hand the wretched sufferers see only the wide
jaw of destruction. The leak still increasing, the water continues to
gain upon all the means employed. It grows deeper: the sinking ship
moves heavily on: her weight opposes all the force of wind and sails:
she labours to proceed: her progress is more and more impeded: the slow
motion ceases at intervals: a dread pause succeeds: the ship no longer
moves! A momentary silence,—a death-like stillness prevails throughout
the crew. She sinks to the bottom, and all hands perish in the silent
deep.
You will join in our rejoicings that such, although long threatened, was
not the fate of the General Cuyler. Happily she put into Palmas, and was
saved. At the time of gaining the harbour she had many feet water in the
hold, and, only with great exertion, was kept afloat while the cargo was
removed. A fortnight’s delay was occasioned in repairing her, and
fitting her for the remainder of the voyage. It is upwards of fourteen
weeks since she sailed from England, twelve of which have been actually
passed at sea: most of them in struggling against storms and
gales—against contrary winds, and contending elements!
The passengers are struck with surprise to find that, even at this late
period, their ship is among the _early arrivals_ of the convoy; having
imagined that, during their perilous delay, the whole fleet must have
reached Barbadoes, and the troops have again embarked for their
respective destinations.
On the other hand, all who arrive in the ships from England or Ireland
are astonished to find so many vessels of the convoy at Barbadoes,
having been led to believe, by the reports of those who returned, that
the whole must have either gone back, put into different ports on the
passage, or been lost at sea.