The Navy—Sailor’s carelessness—“The Sailor’s Journal”—The sailor
and “a dilly”—Dress of the sailors—Rough life both for officers
and men—Number of ships in Commission—Pressing—A man killed by
a press-gang—Mutinies—That of the _Danäe_—Mutiny on board the
_Hermione_, and cold-blooded slaughter of the officers—Mutiny in
Bantry Bay—Pay of the officers—French prisoners of war.
IT WAS the fashion then, as it is now, to portray a sailor, as a
harum-scarum, jovial, rollicking, care-for-nought; and doubtless,
in the main, he was, at that time, as unlike as possible to the
blue-riband, savings-bank Jack that he very frequently is now. Prize
money was pretty plentiful; such things as a temperance captain and
ship, were unknown; and the constant active service in which they were
engaged, with its concomitant insecurity to life and limb, must have
made them somewhat reckless, and inclined to enjoy life, after their
fashion, whilst they still possessed that life. Rowlandson—May 30,
1802—drew two of them in a caricature, called “The Sailor’s Journal.”
They are dividing a bowl of punch, one is smoking, the other gives
his mate some extracts from his Journal: “Entered the port of London.
Steered to Nan’s lodgings, and unshipped my Cargo; Nan admired the
shiners—so did the landlord—gave ‘em a handful apiece; emptied a
bottle of the right sort with the landlord to the health of his honour
Lord Nelson. All three set sail for the play; got a berth in a cabin on
the larboard side—wanted to smoke a pipe, but the boatswain wouldn’t
let me; remember to rig out Nan like the fine folks in the cabin right
ahead. Saw Tom Junk aloft in the corner of the upper deck—hailed him;
the signal returned. Some of the land-lubbers in the cockpit began
to laugh—tipped them a little foremast lingo till they sheered off.
Emptied the grog bottle; fell fast asleep—dreamt of the battle of
Camperdown. My landlord told me the play was over—glad of it. Crowded
sail for a hackney coach. Squally weather—rather inclined to be
sea-sick. Gave the pilot a two pound-note, and told him not to mind
the change. In the morning, looked over my Rhino—a great deal of it,
to be sure; but I hope, with the help of a few friends, to spend every
shilling in a little time, to the honour and glory of old England.”
This was the ideal, and typical, sailor; the reality was sometimes as
foolish. _Morning Herald_, June 12, 1805: “One day last week a sailor
belonging to a man-of-war at Plymouth had leave to go on shore; but,
having staid much longer than the allowed time, he received a sharp
reprimand on his return. Jack’s reply was that he was very sorry, but
that he had taken a _dilly_ (a kind of chaise used about Plymouth) for
the purpose of making the utmost haste, but the coachman could not
give him change for half a guinea, and he, therefore, was obliged to
keep him driving _fore_ and _aft_ between Plymouth and the Dock, till
he had _drove_ the half-guinea out! Unfortunately for poor Jack, it so
happened, that when the half-guinea was _drove out_, he was set down at
the spot whence he started, and had just as far to walk, as though he
had not been drove at all.”
When in full uniform, a sailor in the Royal Navy was a sight to
see—with his pig-tail properly clubbed and tied with black silk. We
have already seen them in the picture of Nelson’s funeral car, and the
accompanying illustration is of the same epoch, and shows a British
sailor weeping over Lord Nelson’s death.
It was a rough school, both for officers and men. We may judge somewhat
of what the life of the former was like by Captain Marryat’s novels;
but, lest they should be highly coloured, let us take a few lines from
the first page of the “Memoir of Admiral Sir Edward Codrington”:[73]
[Illustration: BRITISH SAILOR—1805.]
“He spent nine years at sea as a midshipman; and I have repeatedly
heard him say, that during those nine years (so important for the
formation of character) he never was invited to open a book, nor
received a word of advice or instruction, except professional, from any
one. More than that, he was thrown among a set in the gun-room mess,
older than himself, whose amusement it was—a too customary amusement
in those days—to teach the lad to drink, and to lead him into their
own habitual practice in that respect.”
If this was the case with the officers, how did the men fare? Volunteer
recruits did not come from the pick of the labouring class, and the
pressed men soon fell into the ways of those surrounding them. No
doubt they were better off in the Royal Navy than in the Mercantile
Marine; but the ship’s stores of that day consisted but of salt pork,
and beef, the latter being indifferently called _junk_ or _old horse_.
The biscuits, too, were nothing like those now supplied on board Her
Majesty’s ships. Wheat was very dear, and these sailors did not
get the best of that. Inferior corn, bad package, and old age soon
generated weevils, and the biscuit, when these were knocked out, was
often but an empty shell. Bullied by their officers, and brutally
flogged and punished for trifling faults, Jack’s life could not have
been a pleasant one; and we can hardly wonder that he often deserted,
and sometimes mutinied. Yet, whenever a fight was imminent, or did
actually occur, all bad treatment was banished from his mind, and he
fought like a Briton.
And there were many ships to man. Not only were all our dockyards hard
at work building and repairing, but prizes were continually coming in;
and the French men-of-war were better designed than ours—in fact,
it may be said that we learned, at that time, our Naval Architecture
from the prizes we took. In October, 1804, there were in commission
103 ships of the line, 24 fifty-gun vessels, 135 frigates, and 398
sloops—total 660. In March, 1806, there were 721 ships in commission,
of which 128 were of the line. On January 1, 1808, there were 795 in
commission, 144 being ships of the line. Many of these were taken
from the French, as the following exultant paragraph from the _Annual
Register_, August 19, 1808, will show:
“It must be proudly gratifying to the minds of Britons, as it must be
degradingly mortifying to the spirit of Bonaparte, to know that we
have, at this moment, in the British Navy, 68 sail of the line, prizes
taken from the enemies of this country at different periods, besides
21 ships carrying from 40 to 50 guns each, 62 ships from 30 to 40 guns
each, 15 carrying from 20 to 30 guns each, and 66 from 10 to 20 guns
each; making a total of 232 ships.”
To man these ships, &c., some 100,000 men were needful, and as they
would not come of their own will, they must be taken _vi et armis_.
Impressing men for the King’s Naval Service had always been in use
since the fourteenth century, so that it was no novelty; but it must
have been hard indeed for a sailor coming from a long voyage (and they
had long voyages in those days—no rushing three times round the world
in a twelvemonth, and time to spare), full of hope to find his wife and
children well, to be bodily seized, without even so much as landing,
and sent on board a King’s ship, to serve for an indefinite period. A
few extracts from the newspapers will show what a press was like.
_Morning Post_, January 21, 1801: “The press for seamen on the river
and on shore is warmer than was ever known in any former war.”
_Times_, March 11, 1803: “The impress service, particularly in the
Metropolis, has proved uncommonly productive in the number of excellent
seamen. The returns at the Admiralty of the seamen impressed on Tuesday
night amounted to 1,080, of whom no less than two-thirds are considered
prime hands. At Portsmouth, Portsea, Gosport, and Cowes, a general
press took place the same night. Every merchant ship in the harbours
and at Spithead, was stripped of its hands, and all the watermen deemed
fit for His Majesty’s service were carried off. Upwards of six hundred
seamen were collected in consequence of the promptitude of the measures
adopted.... Government, we understand, relies upon increasing our
naval force with ten thousand seamen, either volunteers, or impressed
men, in less than a fortnight, in consequence of the exertions which
are making in all the principal ports. Those collected on the river,
and in London, will be instantly conveyed to Chatham, Sheerness, and
Portsmouth. Several frigates and gun brigs have sailed for the islands
of Jersey and Guernsey with impress warrants.”
_Times_, May 9, 1803: “On Sunday afternoon two gallies, each having
an officer and press-gang in it, in endeavouring to impress some
persons at Hungerford Stairs, were resisted by a party of coal-heavers
belonging to a wharf adjoining, who assailed them with coals and
glass-bottles; several of the gang were cut in a most shocking manner,
on their heads and legs, and a woman who happened to be in a wherry,
was wounded in so dreadful a manner, that it is feared she will not
survive.... The impress on Saturday, both above and below Bridge, was
the hottest that has been for some time; the boats belonging to the
ships at Deptford were particularly active, and it is supposed they
obtained upwards of two hundred men, who were regulated (_sic_) on
board the _Enterprize_ till late at night, and sent in the different
tenders to the Nore, to be put on board such ships whose crews are not
completed.... The impressed men, for whom there was not room on board
the _Enterprize_, on Saturday were put into the Tower, and the gates
shut, to prevent any of them effecting their escape.”
_Morning Herald_, December 11, 1804: “A very smart press took place
yesterday morning upon the river, and the west part of the town. A
great many useful hands were picked up.”
_Morning Post_, May 8, 1805: “The embargo to which we alluded in our
Paper of Monday has taken place. At two o’clock yesterday afternoon,
orders for that purpose were issued at the Custom House, and upwards of
a thousand able seamen are said to have been already procured for the
Navy, from on board the ships in the river.”
_Morning Post_, April 11, 1808: “On Saturday the hottest press ever
known took place on the Thames, when an unprecedented number of able
seamen were procured for His Majesty’s service. A flotilla of small
smacks was surrounded by one of the gangs, and the whole of the hands,
amounting to upwards of a hundred, were carried off.”
These raids on seamen were not always conducted on “rose-water”
principles, and the slightest resistance met with a cracked crown, or
worse. Witness a case tried at the Kingston Assizes, March 22, 1800,
where John Salmon, a midshipman in His Majesty’s navy, was indicted
for the wilful murder of William Jones. The facts of the case were
as follow. The prisoner was an officer on board His Majesty’s ship
_Dromedary_, lying in the Thames off Deptford. He and his lieutenant,
William Wright (who was charged with being present, and assisting),
went on shore on the night of the 19th of February, with nine of the
crew, on the impress service; Wright had a pistol, Salmon a dirk, one
of the sailors a hanger, and the rest were unarmed. After waiting some
time in search of prey, the deceased, and one Brown, accompanied by
two women, passed by; they were instantly seized upon, and carried
to a public-house, from whence they endeavoured to effect their
escape; a scuffle ensued, in the course of which the deceased called
out he had been pricked. At this time three men had hold of him—a
sufficient proof that he was overpowered—and whoever wounded him, most
probably did so with _malice prepense_. The poor fellow was taken,
in this state, to a boat, and thence on board a ship, where, for a
considerable time, he received no medical assistance. The women, who
were with him, accompanied him to the boat, and he told them that the
midshipman had wounded him, and that he was bleeding to death; that
every time he fetched his breath, he felt the air rushing in at the
wound. He was afterwards taken to the hospital, and there, in the face
of death, declared he had been murdered by the midshipman. The case
was thoroughly proved as to the facts, but the prisoner was acquitted
of the capital charge of murder, and I do not know whether he was ever
prosecuted for manslaughter.
Men thus obtained, could scarcely be expected to be contented with
their lot, and, therefore, we are not surprised to hear of more than
one mutiny—the marvel is there were so few. Of course, they are not
pleasant episodes in history, but they have to be written about.
The first in this decade (for the famous mutiny at the Nore occurred in
the previous century), was that on board the _Danäe_, 20 guns, Captain
Lord Proby. It is difficult to accurately ascertain the date, for it is
variously given in different accounts, as March 16th, 17th, and 27th,
1800; but, at all events, in that month the _Danäe_ was cruising off
the coast of France, with some thirty of her crew, and officers, absent
in prizes, and having on board some Frenchmen who had been captured
on board the privateer _Bordelais_, and had subsequently entered the
English service. On board was one Jackson (who had been secretary to
Parker, the ringleader of the Nore Mutiny in 1798), who had been tried
for participation in that mutiny and acquitted, since when, he had
borne a good character, refusing the rank of petty officer which had
been offered to him, giving as a reason, that being an impressed man,
he held himself at liberty to make his escape whenever he had a chance,
whereas, if he took rank, he should consider himself a volunteer.
With him as a ringleader, and a crew probably containing some fellow
sufferers, and the Frenchmen, who would certainly join, on board,
things were ripe for what followed. The ship was suddenly seized, and
the officers overpowered, Lord Proby and the master being seriously
wounded. The mutineers then set all sail, and steered for Brest
Harbour, and on reaching Camaret Bay, they were boarded by a lieutenant
of _La Colombe_, who asked Lord Proby to whom he surrendered. He
replied, to the French nation, but not to the mutineers. _La Colombe_
and the _Danäe_ then sailed for Brest, being chased by the _Anson_ and
_Boadicæa_, and would, in all probability, have been captured, had not
false signals been made by the _Danäe_ that she was in chase. Lord
Proby had previously thrown the private code of signals out of his
cabin window. They were all confined in Dinan prison.
The _Hermione_, also, was carried over to the enemy by a mutinous crew;
but in October, 1800, was cut out of Porto Cavello, after a gallant
resistance, by the boat’s crew of the _Surprise_, Captain Hamilton,
and brought in triumph to Port Royal, Jamaica. On this occasion
justice overtook two of the mutineers, who were hanged on the 14th of
August—one in Portsmouth Harbour, the other at Spithead. Another of
the mutineers, one David Forester, was afterwards caught and executed,
and, before he died, he confessed (_Annual Register_, April 19, 1802),
“That he went into the cabin, and forced Captain Pigot overboard,
through the port, while he was alive. He then got on the quarter deck,
and found the first lieutenant begging for his life, saying he had a
wife and three children depending on him for support; he took hold of
him, and assisted in heaving him overboard alive, and declared he did
not think he would have taken his life had he not first took hold of
him. A cry was then heard through the ship that Lieutenant Douglas
could not be found: he took a lantern and candle, and went into the
gun-room, and found the Lieutenant under the marine officer’s cabin. He
called in the rest of the people, when they dragged him on deck, and
threw him overboard. He next caught hold of Mr. Smith, a midshipman; a
scuffle ensued, and, finding him likely to get away, he struck him with
his tomahawk, and threw him overboard. The next cry was for putting all
the officers to death, that they might not appear as evidence against
them, and he seized on the Captain’s Clerk, who was immediately put to
death.”
I have to chronicle yet one more mutiny, happily not so tragical as the
last, but ending in fearful punishment to the mutineers. It occurred
principally on board the _Temeraire_ then in Bantry Bay, but pervaded
the squadron; and the culprits were tried early in January, 1802,
by a court martial at Portsmouth, for “using mutinous and seditious
words, and taking an active part in mutinous and seditious assemblies.”
Nineteen were found guilty, twelve sentenced to death, and ten,
certainly, hanged.
There seems to have been no grumble about their pay, or food, or
accommodation—a sea life was looked upon as a hard one, and accepted
as such. The officers, at all events, did not get paid too well, for we
read in the _Morning Post_, October 19, 1801: “We understand the Post
Captains in the Navy are to have eight shillings a day instead of six.
And it is supposed that Lieutenants will be advanced to four shillings
instead of three.” They occasionally got a haul in prize money—like
the _Lively_, which in August, 1805, was awarded the sum of £200,000
for the capture of some Spanish frigates.[74]
Spite of everything, the naval power of England reached the highest
point it has ever attained, and no matter whatever grievances they may
have been suffering from, the sailors, from the admiral to the powder
monkey, behaved nobly in action, and, between the Navy and Army, we
had rather more prisoners of war to take care of than was agreeable.
Speaking of an exchange of prisoners, the _Morning Post_, October
15, 1810, says: “There are in France, of all kinds of prisoners and
detained persons, about 12,000; in England there are about 50,000
prisoners,” and the disproportion was so great that terms could not be
come to.
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