grandmother, Mrs. Gilchrist, prompted her to apply her small income to
the exigencies of her grandchildren. By the aid thus opportunely
afforded, a tutor was provided, of whom my most vivid recollection is a
stinging box on the ear, in reply to a query as to the difference
between an interjection and a conjunction; this solution of the
difficulty effectually repressing further philological inquiry on my
part.
We were, after a time, temporarily provided with a French tutor, a
Monsieur Durand, who, being a Papist, was regarded with no complacent
eye by our not very tolerant Presbyterian neighbours. I recollect this
gentleman getting into a scrape, which, but for my father’s countenance,
might have ended in a Kirk Session.
As a matter of course, Monsieur Durand did not attend church. On one
side of the churchyard was the Culross Abbey cherry-garden, full of fine
fruit, of which he was very fond, as were also the magpies, which
swarmed in the district. One Sunday, whilst the people were at church,
the magpies, aware no doubt of their advantage, made a vigorous
onslaught on the cherries—provoking the Frenchman, who was on the watch,
to open fire on the intruders from a fowling-piece. The effect of this
reached farther than the magpies. To fire a gun on the Sabbath was an
abomination which could only have emanated from a disciple of the
Scarlet Lady, and neither before nor after did I witness such a hubbub
in the parish. Whatever pains and penalties were to be found in Scottish
church law were eagerly demanded for Monsieur Durand’s benefit, and it
was only by my father’s influence that he was permitted to escape the
threatened martyrdom. Annoyed at the ill-feeling thus created, he
relinquished his engagement before we had acquired the rudiments of the
French language.
Even this inadequate tuition was abruptly ended by my father taking me
with him to London. His object in visiting the metropolis was to induce
the Government to make use of coal-tar for protecting the bottoms of
inferior ships of war—for in those days copper sheathing was unknown.
The best substitute—by no means a general one—was to drive large-headed
iron nails over the whole ship’s bottom, which had thus the appearance
of being “hobnailed.” Even this indifferent covering was accorded to
superior vessels only, the smaller class being entirely left to the
ravages of the worm. It was for the protection of these small vessels
that my father hoped to get his application adopted, and there is no
doubt of the benefit which would have resulted had the experiment been
permitted.
But this was an innovation, and the Board of Admiralty being then, as
too often since, opposed to everything inconsistent with ancient
routine, refused to entertain his proposal. It was only by means of
political influence that he at length induced the Navy Board to permit
him, at his own expense, to cover with his composition one side of the
buoy at the Nore. The result was satisfactory, but he was not allowed to
repeat the process. As compared with the exposure at that time of ships’
bottoms to rapid destruction, without any effort to protect them, my
father’s plan was even a greater improvement than is the modern
substitution of copper-sheathing for the “hobnail” surface which it
tardily superseded.
Failing to induce the Government to protect their ships of war, he
applied to the mercantile interest, but with no better success. I
remember going with my father to Limehouse, in the hope of inducing a
large shipbuilder there to patronise his composition; but the
shipbuilder had even a greater horror of innovation than the Admiralty
authorities. His reply was remarkable. “My Lord,” said he, “we live by
repairing ships as well as by building them, and the worm is our best
friend. Rather than use your preparation, I would cover ships’ bottoms
with honey to attract worms!”
Foiled in London, my father set on foot agencies at the outports, in the
hope of inducing provincial shipbuilders to adopt his preservative.
Prejudice, however, was not confined to the metropolis, and the
objection of the Limehouse man was everywhere encountered. Neither they,
nor any artisans in wood, would patronise a plan to render their work
durable.
Unsuccessful everywhere, my father turned his attention to myself. My
destination was originally the army, whether accordant with my taste or
not—for he was not one of those who considered it necessary to consult
the inclinations of his children in the choice of a profession; but
rather how he could best bring family influence to bear upon their
future interests. Unfortunately for his passive obedience theory, my
_penchant_ was for the sea; any hint, however, to this effect was
peremptorily silenced by parental authority, against which it was
useless to contend.
My uncle, the Hon. Captain, afterwards Admiral, Sir Alexander Cochrane,
had the sagacity to perceive, that as inclination became more rooted
with my growth, passive obedience on this point might one day come to an
end. Still further, he was kind enough to provide against such
contingency, should it arise. Unknown to my father, he had entered my
name on the books of various vessels under his command; so that,
nominally, I had formed part of the complement of the _Vesuvius_,
_Carolina_, _La Sophie_, and _Hind_; the object—common in those
days—being, to give me a few years’ standing in the service, should it
become my profession in reality.
Having, however, a relative in the army, who possessed influence at the
Horse Guards, a military commission was also procured for me; so that I
had simultaneously the honour of being an officer in his Majesty’s 104th
Regiment, and a nominal seaman on board my uncle’s ship.
By way of initiation into the mysteries of the military profession, I
was placed under the tuition of an old sergeant, whose first lessons
well accorded with his instructions, not to pay attention to my foibles.
My hair, cherished with boyish pride, was formally cut, and plastered
back with a vile composition of candle-grease and flour, to which was
added the torture incident to the cultivation of an incipient _queue_.
My neck, from childhood open to the lowland breeze, was encased in an
inflexible leathern collar or stock, selected according to my
preceptor’s notions of military propriety; these almost verging on
strangulation. A blue semi-military tunic, with red collar and cuffs, in
imitation of the Windsor uniform, was provided, and to complete the
_tout ensemble_, my father, who was a determined Whig partisan, insisted
on my wearing yellow waistcoat and breeches; yellow being the Whig
colour, of which I was admonished never to be ashamed. A more certain
mode of calling into action the dormant obstinacy of a sensitive,
high-spirited lad, could not have been devised than that of converting
him into a caricature, hateful to himself, and ridiculous to others.
As may be imagined, my costume was calculated to attract attention, the
more so from being accompanied by a stature beyond my years. Passing one
day near the Duke of Northumberland’s palace at Charing-Cross, I was
beset by a troop of ragged boys, evidently bent on amusing themselves at
the expense of my personal appearance, and, in their peculiar slang,
indulging in comments thereon far more critical than complimentary.
Stung to the quick, I made my escape from them, and rushing home, begged
my father to let me go to sea with my uncle, in order to save me from
the degradation of floured head, pigtail, and yellow breeches. This
burst of despair aroused the indignation of the parent and the Whig, and
the reply was a sound cuffing. Remonstrance was useless; but my dislike
to everything military became confirmed; and the events of that day
certainly cost His Majesty’s 104th Regiment an officer, notwithstanding
that my military training proceeded with redoubled severity.
At this juncture, my father’s circumstances became somewhat improved by
a second marriage[22], so that my brother Basil and myself were sent to
Mr. Chauvet’s academy in Kensington Square, in order to perfect our
military education—Basil, like myself, being destined for the army. At
this excellent school we only remained six months; for with slightly
increased resources my father resumed his ruinous manufacturing
pursuits, so that we were compelled by the “_res angusta domi_” to
return to Scotland.[23]
-----
Footnote 22:
My father’s second countess was Mary, daughter of Samuel Raymond,
Esq., and relict of the Rev. Mr. Mayne. This lady died, without issue,
in December 1808.
Footnote 23:
Lord Dundonald about this time entered upon a series of experiments
which, as usual, were productive of more benefit to his country than
himself, viz. an improved mode of preparing hemp and flax for the
manufacture of sailcloth. For this he subsequently took out a patent,
and submitted his process, together with samples of the manufacture,
to the Admiralty. So sensible was the Board of the advantages of the
plan, that it was subsequently stipulated in every contract that hemp
should be steeped and boiled in the way recommended in his lordship’s
patent. Since that period, the use of sailcloth so manufactured has
become general. Formerly, it was sold by weight, the worthless
material of which it was composed being saturated with a composition
of flour and whitening, so that the first shower of rain on a new sail
completely white washed the decks. Of so flimsy a nature were the
sails when this composition was washed out, that I have taken an
observation of the sun through the foretopsail, and brought it to a
horizon through the foresail.
-----
Four years and a half were now wasted without further attempt to secure
for us any regular training. We had, however, during the short advantage
enjoyed at Kensington, studied diligently, and were thus enabled to make
some progress by self-tuition, our tutor’s acquirements extending only
to teaching the rudiments to the younger branches of the family. Knowing
that my future career depended on my own efforts, and more than ever
determined not to take up my military commission, I worked assiduously
at the meagre elements of knowledge within my reach, in the hope that by
unremitting industry my father might be convinced that opposition to his
views was no idle whim, but the result of conviction that I should not
excel in an obnoxious profession.
Pleased with my progress, and finding my resolution in favour of the
naval service unalterable, he at length consented that my commission
should be cancelled, and that the renewed offer of my uncle to receive
me on board his frigate should be accepted.
The difficulty was to equip me for sea, but it was obviated by the Earl
of Hopetoun considerately advancing 100_l._ for the purpose. With this
sum the requisite outfit was procured, and a few days placed me in a
position to seek my fortune, with my father’s gold watch as a
keepsake—the only patrimony I ever inherited.
The Dowager Countess of Dundonald, then meditating a journey to London,
offered to take me with her. On our arrival in the metropolis, after
what was at that time the formidable achievement of a tour through
Wales, her ladyship went to reside with her brother, General James
Stuart, in Grosvenor Street; but, anxious to become initiated in the
mysteries of my profession, I preferred going on board the _Hind_ at
Sheerness; joining that ship on the 27th of June 1793, at the mature
age, for a midshipman, of seventeen years and a half.
CHAP. II.
CRUISE OF THE _HIND_.
A LIEUTENANT OF THE OLD SCHOOL.—HIS IDEAS ON SEA-CHESTS.—DOCKYARDS SIXTY
YEARS AGO.—PRIZE-MONEY, THE LEADING MOTIVE OF SEAMEN.—VOYAGE TO
NORWAY.—NORWEGIAN CUSTOMS.—A MIDSHIPMAN’S GRIEVANCES.—A PARROT
TURNED BOATSWAIN.—INEFFECTIVE ARMAMENTS.—MEN BEFORE
DOCKYARDS.—TRAINING OF OFFICERS.
My kind uncle, the Hon. John Cochrane, accompanied me on board the
_Hind_ for the purpose of introducing me to my future superior officer,
Lieutenant Larmour, or, as he was more familiarly known in the service,
Jack Larmour—a specimen of the old British seaman, little calculated to
inspire exalted ideas of the gentility of the naval profession, though
presenting at a glance a personification of its efficiency. Jack was, in
fact, one of a not very numerous class, whom, for their superior
seamanship, the Admiralty was glad to promote from the forecastle to the
quarter-deck, in order that they might mould into ship-shape the
questionable materials supplied by parliamentary influence—even then
paramount in the Navy to a degree which might otherwise have led to
disaster. Lucky was the commander who could secure such an officer for
his quarter-deck.
On my introduction, Jack was dressed in the garb of a seaman, with
marlinspike slung round his neck, and a lump of grease in his hand, and
was busily employed in setting up the rigging. His reception of me was
anything but gracious. Indeed, a tall fellow, over six feet high, the
nephew of his captain, and a lord to boot, were not very promising
recommendations for a midshipman. It is not impossible that he might
have learned from my uncle something about a military commission of
several years’ standing; and this, coupled with my age and stature,
might easily have impressed him with the idea that he had caught a
scapegrace with whom the family did not know what to do, and that he was
hence to be saddled with a “hard bargain.”
After a little constrained civility on the part of the first lieutenant,
who was evidently not very well pleased with the interruption to his
avocation, he ordered me to “get my traps below.” Scarcely was the order
complied with, and myself introduced to the midshipman’s berth, than I
overheard Jack grumbling at the magnitude of my equipments. “This Lord
Cochrane’s chest? Does Lord Cochrane think he is going to bring a cabin
aboard? The service is going to the devil! Get it up on the main-deck.”
The order being promptly obeyed, amidst a running fire of similar
objurgations, the key of the chest was sent for, and shortly afterwards
the sound of sawing became audible. It was now high time to follow my
property, which, to my astonishment, had been turned out on the
deck—Jack superintending the process of sawing off one end of the chest
just beyond the keyhole, and accompanying the operation by sundry
uncomplimentary observations on midshipmen in general, and on myself in
particular.
The metamorphose being completed to the lieutenant’s satisfaction,
though not at all to mine, for my neat chest had become an unshapely
piece of lumber, he pointed out the “lubberliness of shore-going people
in not making keyholes where they could be most easily got at,” viz. at
the end of a chest instead of the middle! The observation was, perhaps,
made to test my temper, but, if so, it failed in its object. I thanked
him for his kindness in imparting so useful a lesson, and left him
evidently puzzled as to whether I was a cool hand or a simple one.
Poor Jack! his limited acquaintance with the world—which, in his
estimation, was bounded by the taffrail and the bowsprit—rendered him an
indifferent judge of character, or he might have seen in me nothing but
an ardent desire diligently to apply myself to my chosen profession—with
no more pride in my heart than money in my pocket. A short time,
however, developed this. Finding me anxious to learn my duty, Jack
warmly took me by the hand, and as his only ideas of relaxation were to
throw off the lieutenant and resume the functions of the able seaman, my
improvement speedily rewarded my kind though rough teacher, by
converting into a useful adjunct one whom he had, perhaps not
unjustifiably, regarded as a nuisance. We soon became fast friends, and
throughout life few more kindly recollections are impressed on my memory
than those of my first naval instructor, honest Jack Larmour.
Another good friend in need was Lieutenant Murray, a son of Lord
Dunmore, who observing that my kit had been selected rather with a
regard to economy than fitness, kindly lent me a sum of money to remedy
the deficiency.
The period at which I joined the service was that during which events
consequent on the first French revolution reached a crisis, inaugurating
the series of wars which for twenty years afterwards devastated Europe.
Whatever might have been the faults of the British Government in those
days, that of being unprepared for the movements of revolutionary
neighbours was not amongst them, for the energy of the Government kept
pace with the patriotism of the nation. That fearful system of naval
jobbery, which unhappily characterised the subsequent progress of the
war, crowding the seas with worthless vessels, purchased into the
service in exchange for borough influence—had not as yet begun to thwart
the unity of purpose and action by which the whole realm was at first
roused into action.
With few of those costly appliances in the dockyards which at the
present day absorb vast sums voted by the nation for the support of the
navy, to the exclusion of its real strength—_trained men_—the naval
ports presented a scene of activity in every way commensurate with the
occasion by which it had been called into existence. Their streets
abounded with seamen eager to share in anticipated prize-money—for
whatever may be the ideas of modern statesmen on this subject,
prize-money formed then, as it will ever form, the principal motive of
seamen to encounter the perils of war.
On this point there is, at the present day, a tendency to dangerous
doctrine; and a word respecting it will not be out of place. I have seen
it openly proclaimed that seamen will fight for fighting’s sake, and
without expectation of reward. If the propounders of such an opinion
were to ask themselves the question, whether they engage in professional
or commercial pursuits from pure patriotism, and without hope of further
remuneration, their own reply would show them the fallacy of ascribing
to seamen a want of those motives which impel all men to adventure and
exertion. Human nature is the same in all its grades, and will remain
so, despite romantic notions of its disinterestedness and patriotism.
The result of my own experience is, that seamen fight from two leading
motives: 1st. Prize-money; 2nd. From a well-grounded belief in their own
physical and disciplinary superiority, which refuses to be beaten, and
is not satisfied with less than conquest. Take away the first motive,
and we may find difficulty, on an emergency, in getting men to
accomplish the second.
The bounty system, which has superseded the press-gang, is a direct
proof of money being admitted as the seaman’s inciting motive to engage
in war. The press-gang itself was a no less decisive proof, for it
rarely had to be resorted to, except in case of unpopular officers,
inefficient vessels, or out-of-the-way stations, where the chances of
prize-money were few. For ships commanded by well-known officers, and
with a favourable chance of making prizes, the press-gang was
unnecessary. This circumstance forms no indifferent comment on the real
motives which induce seamen voluntarily to enter the service. On this
most important subject more will be said hereafter.
To return to our cruise. The destination of the _Hind_ was the coast of
Norway, to the _fiords_ of which country the Government had reason to
suspect that French privateers might resort, as lurking-places whence to
annoy our North Sea and Baltic commerce. To ascertain this was our
primary object. The second was to look out for an enemy’s convoy,
shortly expected from the West Indies by the northern route round the
Orkneys.
We had not, however, the luck to fall in with either convoy or
privateers, though for the latter every inlet was diligently searched.
The voyage was, therefore, without incident, further than the gratifying
experience of Norse hospitality and simplicity; qualities which, it is
to be feared, may have vanished before the influence of modern rapidity
of communication, without being replaced by others equally satisfactory.
To us youngsters, this Norwegian trip was a perpetual holiday, for my
uncle, though a strict disciplinarian, omitted no opportunity of
gratifying those under his command, so that we spent nearly as much time
on shore as on board; whilst the few hours occupied in running along the
coast from one inlet to another supplied us with a moving panorama,
scarcely less to our taste than were the hospitalities on shore.
Our great amusement was sleighing at racing speed, to the musical
jingling of bells, without a sound from the catlike fall of the horse’s
feet on the snow. Other variations in the routine of pleasure, were
shooting and fishing, though these soon became secondary objects, as the
abundance of fish and game rendered their capture uninteresting.
But the principal charm was the primitive aspect of a people apparently
sprung from the same stock as ourselves, and presenting much the same
appearance as our ancestors may be supposed to have done a few centuries
before, without any symptoms of that feudal attachment which then
prevailed in Britain. I have never seen a people more contented and
happy; not because their wants were few, for even luxuries were
abundant, and in common use.
Much, however, cannot be said for Norwegian gallantry at that period. On
one occasion my uncle took me to a formal dinner at the house of a
magnate named Da Capa. The table literally groaned beneath the feast;
but a great drawback to our enjoyment of the good things set before us,
was that, during a five hours’ succession of dishes, the lady of the
house stood at the head of the table, and performed the laborious duty
of carver throughout the tedious repast. Her flushed countenance after
the intervals between the various removes, moreover, warranted the
suspicion that the very excellent cookery was the result of her
supervision. It is to be hoped that the march of civilisation has
altered this custom for the better.
It is possible that these remarks may be considered somewhat profound
for a midshipman of three months’ standing; but it must be remembered
that, from previous hard necessity, no less than maturity, they are
those of a reflective midshipman. At any rate, the remarks were duly
jotted down, and to this day their reperusal calls forth somewhat of the
freshness of boyhood to a mind worn down, not so much with age as with
unmerited injuries, which have embittered a long life, and rendered even
the failings of age premature.
From boyish impressions to a midshipman’s grievances is but a step. At
the first moment of my setting foot on board the _Hind_ it had been my
determination never to commit an act worthy of punishment; but it was
equally the determination of Jack Larmour to punish me for my resolution
the first time he caught me tripping. This was certain, for Jack was
open and above board, and declared that “he never heard of such a thing
as a faultless midshipman!” For a long time he watched in vain, but
nothing occurred more than to warrant his swearing twice as much at me
as at any other of my messmates, Jack never troubling himself to swear
at a waister. To use his own words, it “was expending wind for nothing.”
One day, when his back was turned, I had stolen off deck for a few
minutes, but only to hear on my return the ominous words, “Mast-head,
youngster!” There was no alternative but to obey. Certainly not
cheerfully—for the day was bitterly cold, with the thermometer below
zero. Once caught, I knew my punishment would be severe, as indeed it
was, for my sojourn at the mast-head was protracted almost to the limit
of human endurance, my tormentor being evidently engaged in calculating
this to a nicety. He never mast-headed me again.
By way of return for the hospitality of the Norwegian people, the
frigate was freely thrown open to their inspection. On one of their
frequent visits, an incident occurred not unworthy of record.