obliged to remain five weeks longer before they could get another
vessel, owing to the unfavourable winds which set in a few days after
they lost their passage. Their disappointment was rendered still more
galling by news from Lisbon, that the ship in which they were to
have sailed had arrived in the Tagus on the sixth day after she left
Portsmouth. The further consequences I will now describe.
After many visits to the Transport-Agents' office, and much grumbling
from the little _official_ himself, the Subalterns received an order
for a passage in a very fine ship, and were soon on board. Here
they found the cabin occupied only by a lieutenant of dragoons, who
commanded a detachment of his regiment, also on board with their horses.
This lieutenant, who acted so prominent a part in the _rough passage_,
is worthy of an outline. He was a subaltern of four or five years
standing, but had yet known no more of service than the barrack
parade and a good mess-dinner were capable of affording. He was the
son of a rich London tradesman—a legitimate child of Cockaigne; and
as powerfully impressed with the peculiarities of that distinguished
land as any of his countrymen. He could point out every feature
of metropolitan amusement, from half-price at _Common_-Garden, to
the Panorama in Leicester-Square—could repeat the biography of
all Mr. Pidcock's menagerial subjects, together with those of the
Tower—understood the Sunday park-ride, and knew to a fraction the
charges of all respectable horse-hirers in London—could discuss a plate
of a-la-mode at the Three Cantons, or ticket his way to a Guildhall
dinner—was well acquainted with Gog and Magog, and could criticize
a peal of triple bob-majors with any citizen within the sound of
Bow-bells. From his face, (although full twenty-seven years old,)
one could tell that his taste had begun upon lolly-pops, improved in
raspberry-puffs, and ultimately expanded in the sugary bosom of a
twelfth-cake. He was married withal; and had but just tasted the sweets
of his honey-moon, when he was ordered to embark for Portugal. This
last circumstance had imparted to his countenance a strong tinge of
melancholy, calculated to remind the beholder of Liston, in the part
of Romeo; indeed the sudden retreat of his chin and forehead, from
the centre of the facial line, made him infinitely more interesting
than even that performer could ever have been in his most sentimental
characters. He had a purse pretty well filled with guineas, purchased
at twenty-five shillings each, and a good stock of little luxuries for
a sea-table; therefore was he civil and good-natured, as your true and
genuine _cockaignee_ (vulgarly spelt cockney) always is, when amongst
strangers out of his own land.
When the other two Subalterns arrived on board, they were received
by the Dragoon (whom we shall call Mr. Dickens) with all that
condescending civility, which imaginary importance deigns to bestow
upon imagined inferiority. He requested them to taste his peculiarly
fine German sausage at _tea_; showed them his canteen, and praised the
manufacture of it; promised to let them see his horses in the hold next
day; and having himself taken the best birth in the cabin, recommended
others for their acceptance.
The ship sailed next morning along with a numerous fleet, under
convoy of the Hibernia and San Joseph, for Lisbon, and things went on
agreeably enough, Lieutenant Dickens having all his own way. On the
fourth day after sailing, they came in sight of the high hills, and
bold coast of Portugal, within a few leagues of Oporto. It was a most
delightful day; the goatherds could be plainly seen on the hills; and
they no doubt admired the magnificence of the fleet, which glided under
them like a flock of huge sea-birds. The water was calm, but there was
a sufficient breeze in the sails (which were all set before the wind)
to make the passengers imagine that the objects on shore passed rapidly
by—and Lieutenant Dickens looking out from the forecastle, through a
newly purchased field glass, for the boats of oranges, which (as the
master of the vessel said) would put off from Oporto to the fleet,
wonderfully improved the picture—in his own eyes.
Nothing could be more favourable than the voyage so far; and the
officers of course expected to be on shore at Lisbon, in two days more
at farthest.
In these expectations they were enjoying a pleasant dinner—the
Lieutenant, from the prospect of landing, having become more
condescendingly agreeable, and less inclined to muse upon his departed
honey-moon. The calm sea and the sight of the land had the effect of
removing from all stomachs those squeamish sensations which the rolling
of the ship in the middle of the Bay of Biscay had produced, and the
wine circulated well after a substantial dinner was duly disposed of.
In the course of the evening the Dragoon became peculiarly
communicative, and began to comment, not only on things in general, but
on things in particular: the state of the army and the state of the
nation were reviewed; and in one of his harangues he roundly asserted
that “the Hirish made very good private soldiers; but the _hidear_ was
preposterous to say that they were fit to command in the _haumy_.” To
this one of the Subalterns (who happened to have been born in Ireland)
replied in warm but inoffensive language, recapitulating the names of
some hundreds of distinguished Irish officers, at the head of whom he
placed Lord Wellington, under whose command they were, even at that
moment. The Dragoon was somewhat posed at this, but rallied.
“Haw, Sir!” said he, “you mention a vast number; but I still do not
_halter_ my _hopinion_. Lord Wellington is a very _fortunate_ man,
Sir; but he is nothing of a commander; and before three months, Sir,
we shall all be driven out of the Peninsula_r_—that _hevery_ body must
allow.”
“_I_ will not allow it,” replied Mr. Smith; “for one.”
“Nor I, for another,” rejoined Mr. Brown.
“'Pon my honour, gentlemen, you know nothing, either of politics or of
the _haumy_; you _should_ read the papers.” With this observation the
Dragoon arose from the table, put on his foraging cap, and went on deck.
Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown had not sat half an hour after the departure of
the Dragoon, and had scarcely concluded their remarks on the arrogance
of his manners as well as the absurdity of his opinions, when an
unusual bustle was heard on deck. They went up to learn the cause, and
found that a south-west wind had set in, and it was coming on to blow
hard. It was nearly dusk; but they could perceive that the fleet had
tacked about from the land, and was bearing out to sea. A total change
of feeling took possession of every mind; and sleep became the only
resource to those who had hoped for a speedy landing.
Next morning, what a change! Where were the sunny hills—the dark shade
of the rocks on the darker water? where the blue tranquil sky that but
the day before anticipated the serenity of May? Vanished!—Over the
stern of the ship, on the gloomy horizon, something like a raincloud
was seen,—the land they were leaving: all overhead was one murky
mass of mist; around, the increasing surges were contending against
a fierce wind; the yielding vessel, half way on her side, plunging
rapidly through the white and crackling foam—her body vibrating as
each wave struck against her sides. And where were the ships that
covered the peaceful seas with their white sails, but yesterday?
Gone—dispersed! each alone in a wide circle of the ocean, surrounded by
the threatenings of the storm. Like some young voyager—perhaps, within
her very planks—whose hours were passed in sailing along the peaceful
and shining shores of pleasure, dreaming of beautiful things to come—in
a moment separated from its happy associations; alone on the stormy sea
of life,—friends all gone,—prospects wholly changed! But why do I say
_perhaps?_ It was _really_ the case with the three Subalterns: with
this bad weather came their troubles: their prospects changed even with
the wind.
Before the day closed a violent gale set in, and for four succeeding
weeks there was but little remission of its force; a lull for a day or
so, after it had blown for eight or ten, was the only change in the
determined south-west wind; and often was it terrible in its wrath,
carrying away sail after sail, and obliging the ship to go under her
bare poles, or one close-reefed topsail. All this time they were
tacking to and fro through the Atlantic Ocean.
To Lieutenant Dickens this sudden change of weather was scarcely
supportable. His temper became as foul as the wind; he grew bilious,
squeamish, sick, and irritable; he found fault with every thing, and
kicked his dog. A certain degree of coolness took place between him and
the other Subalterns, originating in the previous night's conversation,
and fostered by the change of weather: the parties scarcely spoke to
each other; and in this most unpleasant situation they continued for
eight or nine days.
Quarrels are disagreeable things on shore; but on board ship, where
of necessity the hostile parties are compelled to be in each others'
presence, they are the most irksome of all unpleasant matters: and if
they are to be avoided scrupulously in the army, while on shore, there
is ten times more reason for keeping clear of them while on ship board:
young officers cannot be too mindful of this; let them be affable,
obliging, not too reserved, but by no means too familiar. These rules
apply to society in general, but to society on board ship peculiarly.
It is no very desirable thing to remain several weeks shut up in a
vessel with an opponent—to sleep in the same cabin with him; and at
every heel of the ship in bad weather, roll about with him on the deck,
and fall with your head in his face, or his in yours. This can be
easily avoided on shore; but at sea—Oh, Heaven defend us from the trial!
The cabin company remained for eight or nine days in this disjointed
state: at last all the fresh provision was exhausted; for, in the
hopes of soon going on shore, a considerable waste took place during
the fine weather. The master of the transport, who was, in gentlemanly
qualities, an exception to the generality of men in his station, now
offered his table to the officers at a moderate charge per week—wine as
cheap as it was in Portugal; with the understanding that the allowance
of rations should not be drawn, but given to the ship. This relieved
in a great measure the whole mess from the unpleasantness of their
situation, but did not entirely restore good feeling: all parties spoke
occasionally to each other, but they were extremely formal and distant.
However, an admirable mess, with good wine, and a jolly gentlemanly
host, made things as comfortable as could be expected; and had it not
been for the cross-grained nature of the _cockaignee_, the remainder of
the voyage would have passed happily; for although it was often found
necessary to dine _à la Turque_, upon the floor, and lash their limbs
every night to the births, to keep them from falling out—although the
creaking of the bulk-heads,—the thunder of the waves against the ship's
side—the half filling of the cabin frequently by a sea, and the eternal
southwest wind, were all excessively tormenting; yet there was a
hilarity, which arose from this new order of things, under the guidance
of the master, that very soon began to reconcile the officers to their
fate. But the spirit of discord hovered round the ship, and through the
agency of Mr. Dickens, his disciple, turned all comfort once more awry.
The master's cabin was a neat little apartment on one side of the
vessel, near to the great cabin, fitted up for officers; and here the
party messed. This small room, furnished in a warm and comfortable
manner, formed a pleasing contrast to the wide cold cabin of the
officers, stripped of every thing (which is technically called by the
transport board, “fitting up”) except a huge deal table, a few oak
chairs, and births on each side, made of half-planed deal. Lieutenant
Dickens, who was very fond of playing a handsome flageolet, to the
great annoyance of all on board who had “music in their souls,” when
the ship was on the starboard tack and heeling much on one side, would
fix himself all day in the seat which was next the vessel's planks; for
the deck was too raw—too cold—too sailorish for his nerves to bear. In
this seat he would tongue over and over such tunes as “_Malbrooke_,”
and “_Away with Melancholy_,” as if he were teaching a bulfinch to
pipe—bar after bar, until the man at the helm above him was ear-cracked
by the monotonous sounds. One day, it so happened, that Mr. Dickens did
not remain in this lee-seat after breakfast, but sat on deck wrapped
up in his horse cloak, feeling himself too bilious to remain below.
However, he was not so bilious as to remain on deck when dinner was
announced: down he went, ready to eat any thing, or any body, that
came in his way. Mr. Smith was sitting in the leeward seat, occupied
in writing, that being the most steady for the purpose, and in this
seat he had sat for the whole of the day. Being intent upon the paper,
he did not observe the Dragoon enter the cabin, or perhaps he would
have given up the seat, merely because it was the custom of the other
to sit in it at dinner; but as he did not observe the gentleman, he
continued to write. At this moment, the cook entered with a tureen of
soup, smoking hot, and an unlucky sea having struck the vessel as he
was placing it for dinner, away he and the soup went sliding under the
table. A quantity of the savoury fluid bedaubed the face and breast of
the Dragoon—its warmth tickled him rather unpleasantly, and acting on
a bilious cockaignee temperament, produced a petulant attack upon Mr.
Smith. He insolently “desired” that gentleman to quit _his_ seat. This
was received as it should have been: Mr. S. remarked that the table at
which they sat was that of the master, and one seat was just the same
as another; but that as Mr. D. had demanded it so impertinently, he was
determined not to give it up. The Dragoon retorted with great asperity,
and, frothing with passion, called Mr. S. an insolent “fellow.” Mr. S.
(who was only a lad of nineteen) lost his temper, and retorted with
warmth, still keeping the seat. The dragoon instantly lodged a blow
upon Mr. S.'s face, which, from the situation of the parties, could
not be returned; but the master, who had now come into the cabin, took
the Dragoon by the shoulder, and declared that he should not sit at his
table after having behaved so outrageously. However, Mr. S., although
so much younger than Mr. D., had prudence enough to remain quiet, on
account of the master; but firmly resolved to take effectual steps, as
soon as they should land, to obtain satisfaction.
The indignation which Mr. Brown felt at this conduct on the part
of the Dragoon, was very great, and it increased every moment; but
he contented himself with pointedly remarking upon the unfair and
unofficer-like act of striking Mr. Smith while in a situation where
it was evident he could not defend himself. A week went on in sullen
silence between the Dragoon and the other members of the mess. One
day, however, Mr. Brown called for a glass of water, which was brought
him by the cabin-boy. It was rather muddy; but those who have made
long voyages know that water is an article in which sailors must not
be very nice. The Dragoon, as soon as Mr. Brown had swallowed the
draught, called for another, and putting it to his nose, uttered the
word “beastly” in the most pointed manner; at the same time casting a
significant sneer at him who could be so little of a man of _taste_, as
to drink such water. Brown, who was a high-minded fellow, that would
take an insult from no man, grew red with rage, but said nothing.
Dickens went immediately on deck, the gale having slackened a good
deal. Brown at last could contain his indignation no longer; he ran
upon deck; demanded satisfaction, and was received with insolence. Rage
overcame Brown, and he gave the Dragoon, in the sight of his own men, a
severe thrashing: it was done quickly, and would have been more severe,
but for the prompt and generous interference of Mr. Smith—the man who
yet had the mark of the blow upon his face!
This brought the Dragoon's manners into complete subjection: there was
no more insolence, but a most determined silence on his part for the
remainder of the voyage, which lasted upwards of a fortnight longer.
The weather, however, grew fine for a week before the ship made the
rock of Lisbon, and the opponents thus could keep more asunder.
It was clearly understood by all parties, that a meeting would take
place as soon as they went on shore; and the Dragoon, in preparation
for this, one fine day, when about fifty miles off the Tagus,—the ship
quite steady—“paraded” his pistols on deck (a _handsome_ pair,) oiled
the locks, &c. and fired several shots at a mark! This only smelled
of powder: not a grain of courage could have been conjoined with such
genuine Cockaigne bravado; as the subsequent conduct of Dickens amply
proved. Even on the very night of the day on which he made this display
of his pistols, the natural man came out of his fustian case, and undid
the doings of the artificial. Thus it was:—About half-past ten at
night, as all but Lieutenant Dickens were on deck, enjoying the beauty
of the scene, which was glistening with moonlight—the air temperate and
serene—the vessel moving steadily, with a fair breeze on her quarter,
at about four knots an hour—the watch and the dragoons lounging about
the forecastle and main deck—the officers and the master smoking segars
on the quarter-deck—and all particularly happy in the prospect of
soon terminating their voyage; even the horses in the hold, appearing
to be sensible of the great change from hurricane to calm, neighing
playfully, and biting each others' necks, after having, (poor animals!)
suffered severely during the voyage, in the course of which several of
them had died. Such was the state of things on board, when one of the
watch informed the master that a strange sail was bearing down on them.
In a few minutes she was within about half a quarter of a mile, and
they could see her, like a fairy castle, floating on the moon-bright
water. She was a square-rigged ship, as they could plainly see from the
outline of the dark mass, which was well thrown out upon the moonlight
behind her. The master no longer doubted his danger, and declared that
the approaching vessel was a French privateer of eight or ten guns.
It was immediately determined to fight in case he attacked them; as
there were six-and-thirty hands on board, including the soldiers, and
as they carried four carronades, and had plenty of small arms. For
this purpose all the men armed themselves, and were mustered on deck,
determined to resist being boarded, and to maintain a running-fight....
Can it be credited? the _Commanding-officer_, Lieutenant Dickens,
was the only individual who remained below!—he was in bed, and too
_bilious_ to fight; particularly at such an unseasonable hour: yet
it was on this very day that he had wasted his powder in firing at a
mark! However, there is no accounting for illness; the bile is a most
treacherous enemy.
The strange sail was now within about five hundred yards of the
transport, and closing fast upon her: the matches were lighted and
the sailors at the guns; the soldiers with the two officers drawn up
on the quarter-deck, and armed with cutlasses, carbines, and pistols.
She now steadily approached within pistol-shot: her men could be seen
moving to and fro on her decks, and the bubbling of the froth at her
bow plainly heard: all but the waters were silent; when a voice from
the strange ship hailed in English, “What are you?”—“An Englishman,”
was the immediate reply, and up went the British colours to the mizen
gaff. A broadside was of course expected, or a summons to surrender,
when—up went the stranger's colours; and the red cross, transparent
in the moonlight, showed at once that the “privateer” was a British
ship! Thus terminated all anxiety on both sides; for the same fears and
preparations had been felt and made by the stranger, as by the Horse
ship. Both continued their course together, and next day entered the
mouth of the Tagus.
That beautiful river was now before them, and nothing ruffled the pure
delight which the three subalterns felt, but the recollection of the
quarrel, and the expectation of its consequences. In two hours they
were winding smoothly along the course of the Tagus, all eyes employed
in gazing on the romantic scene—the mountains upon each side studded
here and there with white convents, whose bells answered each other
from hill to hill—the yellow sands glistening along the shore—the
blue mountains in the distance—the fertile country;—on the right the
city of the seven hills, white Lisbon, five or six miles in front—the
wide bed of the river as far as the eye could reach, bespread with
fishing-boats, their peaked sails like so many butterflies gliding
along—the covered, Venetian-looking barges, passing and re-passing—the
clear sky and the warm sun—all sweetly engaged the attention of the
party on board, and made them for a moment forget their hostility.
The ship was now very near the fort or castle of Belem, within a
league of Lisbon; when Mr. Smith gave his sword to the soldier who had
waited on him during the voyage, and was surprised beyond measure,
when the man brought it back, and said that Lieutenant Dickens had
ordered him not to clean it. This fresh insult irritated him very
much, and he remonstrated warmly with Mr. D. on the subject. In his
anger, passing him to go down to his cabin, he pushed the Dragoon
officer aside. However, the latter seemed to feel compunction, and
seized this opportunity, declaring before the master of the vessel,
and the officers, that he was extremely sorry for the blow he had so
intemperately given Mr. Smith, and begged his pardon: but he assured
all present, that he was determined on a meeting with Mr. Brown. This
apology was treated with silence by Mr. Smith; and the Lieutenant
showed but little knowledge of duelling affairs, when he supposed that
an apology could have sufficed.
Matters were now brought to a close on board: the ship dropped anchor
opposite the Fish-market Quay, when the three subalterns and the master
went on shore. Thus ended the rough passage, but the stormy quarrel
which began at sea was yet unsettled; and as I have gone so far with
the story, I may as well go a little farther.
The party, in proceeding from the ship to the land, were of course
disinclined for conversation. Not a word was spoken, until Lieutenant
Dickens addressed the master thus—“Have they any hackney-coaches at
Lisbon.”
“No coaches, but a sort of covered chaises.”
“Hah! that will do. We can soon be out of the town. I shall want one
this evening.”
This evidently alluded to the expected duel.