FIRST GOING AFLOAT.
I know not what other persons may have felt on these occasions; but I
must own, that, in spite of all my enthusiasm, when the actual time
came for fairly leaving friends and home, and plunging quite alone and
irrevocably into a new life, I felt a degree of anxiety, and distrust
of myself, which, as these feelings were quite strange, I scarcely
knew how to manage. I had been allowed to choose my own profession,
it is true, and was always eager to be off; yet I almost wished, when
the actual moment arrived, that I had not been taken at my word.
For the first time in my life, I knew what was meant by the word
responsibility, and all the shame of failure stared me in the face.
When at school, nine-tenths of my thoughts had always rambled abroad,
to those unknown regions, upon which my imagination loved to feast, day
and night. Still, I can well remember, my heart sunk within me, and I
felt pretty much as if I were on the verge of death, when the carriage
that was to convey me away, drove up to the door. I still believed that
there was, even on this earth, a new and a much better world before me;
but when I tasked my judgment, to say upon what grounds this belief
rested, the answer was so meagre, that I began to dread I had done a
mighty foolish thing in setting out to seek for it.
“What a scrape I shall be in,” I said to myself, “if the gloomy
representations of these sad fellows the poets be true pictures
of life! What if this existence of ours be but a scene of
gradually-increasing misery! How shall I be able to get on at all,
if a sea life be not more enjoyable than that of the High School of
Edinburgh? and what kind of figure shall I cut, when driven back, by
sheer distress, to petition my father to take me home again, to eat
the bitter bread of idleness, or to seek for some other profession,
wherein all the rubs and tugs may prove just as bad as those of the
sea, and possibly not very much better than those of school?”
I took good care, however, to let none of these unworthy doubts and
alarms find any expression in word or in look; and, with a heart almost
bursting, I took leave of the holyday scenes of the country I had loved
so well, and which, to my young fancy, appeared the most beautiful spot
on earth,—a judgment which, as I before observed, a tolerably extensive
acquaintance with the rest of the world has only tended to confirm.
Of course, I had a regular interview and leave-taking with my capital
friends the fishermen, whom I had long held to be the best-informed
persons of my acquaintance, merely because they knew most about ropes
and ship matters generally. I cannot say that these worthy mariners
stood the test of after-communication, quite so well as the romantic
coast-scenery near which they resided. I remember, on returning from my
first voyage, going down to the beach, in my uniform jacket, and in
no very modest spirit, to shew off my superior nautical attainments to
these poor fellows, who had been sticking fast to their rocks during
the interval, much after the fashion of their own shell-fish. Their
reception, of course, was highly flattering; but their confined views
of the profession, and scanty knowledge of many of its details, made me
look back with wonder to the time when I had hailed them as first-rate
masters in the noble art of seamanship.
On the 16th of May, 1802, I left home; and next day my father said to
me, “Now you are fairly afloat in the world, you must begin to write a
journal;” and, suiting the action to the word, he put a blank book into
one hand, and a pen into the other, with a hint for me to proceed at
once to business. The following is a fair specimen of the result, which
I certainly little imagined was ever destined to attain the honour of
being printed:—
“_May 17._—Journey to London.—Left Dunglass. Breakfasted at the Press
Inn, and changed horses. Got to Belford; changed horses. Alnwick—dined
there, and got to Morpeth, where we slept. Up early; breakfasted at
Newcastle. Stopped at Durham. Walked forward till the chaise should
overtake us; got into the chaise. Stopped to give the horses some
drink. Saw two deep draw-wells. Observed some coal-carts at Newcastle
coal-pits. The wheels are so constructed, that they run down-hill upon
things in the road, which are made for the purpose. The horse follows
the cart, to draw it up the hill, after it has emptied the load.”
The rest of the journal is pretty much in the same style—a record of
insignificant facts which lead to nothing, useless as memorandums
at the time, and of course not more useful at the distance of
eight-and-twenty years. I would give a good deal, at this moment, to
possess, instead of these trashy notices, some traces, no matter how
faint, of what was actually passing in my mind upon the occasion of
this journey. The resolutions we make at such a period, together with
the doubts and fears which distract us, may have a certain amount
of value, if then jotted down in good faith; but if these fleeting
thoughts be once allowed to pass without record, they necessarily lose
most of their force. There is always, indeed, something interesting,
and often much that is useful, in tracing the connexion between
sentiment and action, especially in the elementary stages of life, when
the foundations of character are laid. But the capacity of drawing
such inferences belongs to a very different period of life; and hence
it arises, that early journals are generally so flat and profitless,
unless they be written in a spirit which few people think of till too
late.
I shall have so many better opportunities than the present of speaking
on the copious subject of journal-writing, that I shall merely remark,
in passing, for the consideration of my young readers, that what most
people wish to find recorded there, is not so much a dry statement of
facts, however important these may be, as some account of the writer’s
opinions and his feelings upon the occasion. These, it may be observed,
are like the lights and shades and colours of a painting, which, while
they contribute fully as much to the accuracy of a representation as
the correctness of the mere outline, impress the mind of the spectator
with a still more vivid image of the object intended to be described.
I ought to have mentioned before, that the object of this journey
was to ship me off to sea; and it was arranged that I should join
the flag-ship of Sir Andrew Mitchell, then fitting in the River for
the Halifax station. We, of course, set out for London, as the grand
focus from which every thing in the English world radiates. But I find
nothing in the memorandums of that period worthy of being extracted,
nor do I recollect any incident which excited me strongly, except the
operation of rigging myself out for the first time in midshipman’s
uniform. There was something uncommonly pleasing, I remember, in the
glitter of the dirk and its apparatus; and also in the smart air, as
well as new cut of the dress; but the chief satisfaction arose from the
direct evidence this change of garb afforded that there was no joke
in the matter, but that the real business of life was actually about
to begin. Accordingly, in a tolerable flutter of spirits, I made my
first appearance on the deck of one of his Majesty’s ships. The meagre
journal of that day is as follows:—
“Went to Deptford after breakfast in a hackney-coach—when we got there,
we got out of the coach, walked down the street, and met the captain of
the Leander. Went with him to the clerk of the cheque’s office, and had
my name put in some book or other. Went with him to his lodgings, where
he gave us a list of some things I was to get. Got a boat and went on
board the Leander for the first time. Came home on a stage-coach—got a
boat at London bridge—went up in it to the Adelphi—got out and went to
the hotel.”
In most other professions, the transition from the old to the new
mode of life is more or less gradual; but in that of the sea, it is
so totally abrupt, and without intervening preparation, that a boy
must be either very much of a philosopher, or very much of a goose,
not to feel, at first, well nigh overwhelmed with the change of
circumstances. The luxuries and the kindnesses of home are suddenly
exchanged for the coarse fare of a ship, and the rough intercourse
of total strangers. The solicitude with which he has been watched
heretofore, let the domestic discipline have been ever so strict, is
tenderness itself, compared to the utter indifference, approaching to
dislike, with which a youngster, or ‘squeaker,’ as he is well called,
is received on board. Even if he possess any acquaintances amongst his
own class, they have few consolations in their power; and, generally
speaking, are rather disposed to laugh at the home-sick melancholy of
a new comer, than to cheer him up, when his little heart is almost
breaking.
It so happened that I knew no one on board the ship, excepting two
middies similarly circumstanced with myself. I was introduced also to
a very gruff, elderly, service-soured master’s mate, to whose care,
against his own wishes, I had been consigned by a mutual friend, a
captain with whom he had formerly served. Our own excellent commanding
officer had a thousand other things to look after, far more pressing
than the griefs and cares of a dozen of boys under his charge.
I felt bewildered and subdued, by the utter solitude of my situation,
as my father shook me by the hand, and quitted the ship. I well
recollect the feeling of despair when I looked round me, and was made
conscious of my utter insignificance. “Shall I ever be able,” thought
I, “to fill any respectable part in this vast scene? What am I to do?
How shall I begin? Whom can I consult?” I could furnish no satisfactory
answer to these queries; and though I had not the least idea of
shrinking from what I had undertaken, yet, I confess, I was not far
from repenting that I had been so decided about the matter.
There is a vehement delight, no doubt, in novelty—but we may have
too much of it at once; and certainly, if my advice were asked as to
this point, in the case of another, I should recommend that a boy be
gradually introduced to his future home; and, if possible, placed
under the auspices of some one older than himself, and who, from
having a real interest in him, might soften the needless rigours of
this formidable change. I had no such preparation; and was without
one friend or even acquaintance on board, who cared a straw for me. I
was also very little for my age, spoke broad Scotch, and was, withal,
rather testy in my disposition. The cock-pit, it is true, is a pretty
good place to work the bad humours out of a crotchety young fellow,
and to bring him to his due bearings; but I think I have seen a good
many tenderer plants than I was, crushed down under the severity of
this merciless discipline. Perhaps it is all for the best; because
youngsters who cannot, or will not stand this rough rubbing, are just
as well out of the way, both for themselves and the public.
There is one practice, however, which, as I invariably followed it
myself, I know to be in every boy’s power, and I venture strongly to
recommend it to others in the same situation; nor is it very likely
that many will be exposed to greater trials, in a small way, than I
was at first. The maxim is, always, in writing home, to put the best
face upon matters, and never, if possible, to betray any inevitable
unhappiness. Such a practice is doubly useful—for it contributes
essentially to produce that character of cheerfulness in reality,
which is partly assumed at the moment of writing, in order to save
our friends from distress on our account. It would be wrong, indeed,
to say, in writing home, that we are very happy, when in truth we are
very much the reverse; but, without stating any falsehood, or giving
into any subterfuge—which is still worse—those particular things may
very fairly be dwelt upon which are agreeable, almost to the exclusion
of those which are otherwise. We should learn, in short, to see and
to describe the cheerful things; and, both in our practice and in
description, leave the unpleasant ones to take care of themselves.
For example, I remember, as well as if the incidents had occurred
yesterday, most of the details which are stated in the following
letter, written only the day after I was left to my fate—amongst
strangers—in the unknown world of a man-of-war. I certainly was far
from happy, and might easily have made my friends wretched by selecting
chiefly what was disagreeable. I took a different course.
“_H. M. Ship Leander, June 12, 1802,
Cock Pit._
“DEAR FATHER,
“After you left us, I went down into the mess-room; it is a place
about twenty feet long, with a table in the middle of it, and wooden
seats upon which we sit. When I came down there were a great many cups
and saucers upon the table. A man came in, and poured hot water into
the tea-pot. There are about fourteen of us mess at the same time. We
were very merry in this dark hole, where we had only two candles.
“We come down here, and sit when we like; and at other times go upon
deck. At about ten o’clock we had supper upon bread and cheese, and
a kind of pudding which we liked very much. Some time after this I
went to a hammock, which was not my own, as mine was not ready, there
not being enough of clues at it, but I will have it to-night. I got
in at last. It was very queer to find myself swinging about in this
uncouth manner, for there was only about a foot of space between my
face and the roof—so, of course, I broke my head a great many times on
the different posts in the cock-pit, where all the midshipmen sleep.
After having got in, you may be sure I did not sleep very well, when
all the people were making such a noise, going to bed in the dark,
and the ship in such confusion. I fell asleep at last, but was always
disturbed by the quarter-master coming down to awake the midshipmen
who were to be on guard during the night. He comes up to their
bed-sides and calls them; so I, not being accustomed to it, was always
awaked, too. I had some sleep, however, but, early in the morning, was
again roused up by the men beginning to work.
“There is a large hole which comes down from the decks, all the way
through to the hold, where they let down the casks. The foot of the
hammock that I slept in was just at the hole, so I saw the casks all
coming down close by me. I got up at half-past seven, and went into
the birth (our mess-room), and we were all waiting for breakfast till
eight, when the man who serves and brings in the dishes for the mess
came down in a terrible passion, saying, that as he was boiling the
kettle at the stove, the master-at-arms had thrown water upon the fire
and put it out. All this was because the powder was coming on board.
So we had to want our breakfast for once. But we had a piece of bread
and butter; and as we were eating it, the master-at-arms came down,
and said that our candles were to be taken away: so we had to eat our
dry meal in the dark.
“I then went upon deck, and walked about, looking at the Indiamen
coming up the river, till eleven, when I and one of my companions
went and asked the lieutenant if he would let us go on shore in
the jolly-boat, as it was going at any rate. We intended to take
a walk in some of the fields. We got leave, and some more of the
midshipmen went with us. There are about six men row the boat, and
we sit any where we like. Got on shore, and ran about the park you
were mentioning when in the boat. Then came back to an inn, where
we had some rolls and butter and coffee, to make up for the loss of
our breakfast in the morning. We then took a walk to the church at
Dartford, where we lounged about till we were tired—then came back
through the fields to the boat, which we got into, and made the ship.”
Professional eyes will detect a curious mixture of ignorance and
knowledge in the above production, in which, if the nautical terms—such
as ‘hole’ for hatchway—be not too severely criticised, the information
may pass pretty well for twenty-four hours’ experience.
In a letter written a few days afterwards, from the Nore, I find some
touches of the same kind.
“On Sunday, about three o’clock in the morning, I was awakened by a
great noise of the boatswain’s mates and the captain bawling for all
hands up to unfurl the sails. As I thought I could not sleep much more,
I got up in the dark and went upon deck. All the men were hauling the
anchor in: they were a good while about it. As soon as the anchor was
got in, all the men ran up the masts like so many cats, and went out
on the yard-arms and untied the sails. In a little while all the sails
were set, and we scudded down the river, very quick. Got to the Nore
about twelve o’clock, where we now lie for three or four days.”
In another letter, of the same date, after giving an account of the
“confounded noise made by the men, and the boatswain’s mates ordering
the anchor to be drawn up”—and describing, more correctly than in the
above extract, that the sailors “ran up the shrouds,” I proceed to
plume myself, rather prematurely, upon being already a voyager.
“About twelve o’clock we made the Nore—the first time I have been in
open sea!” I half suspect that the motion of the ship, which, even at
that stage of our progress, began, as I well remember, to overturn the
serenity of my stomach, may have led me to conclude we were at sea. In
the same epistle, in spite of the open ocean, there occur the following
sentences:—
“I like my station very much indeed. Have some very agreeable
messmates, and the schoolmaster is a very pleasant man, who has
travelled a great deal. We have not begun our school yet, as we are
all in confusion, but shall, as soon as we have tripped our anchor for
Halifax.”
The next letter was written from Spithead, and is characteristic enough.
“_H. M. S. Leander, Spithead, June 18._
“I am much better pleased with my situation than I suspected I would
at my first coming on board. We have in our mess four Scotchmen, six
Englishmen, and two Irish, so that we make a very pleasant company
down in the cock-pit. We dine at twelve, and breakfast at eight in
the morning. At breakfast we get tea and sea cake: at dinner we have
either beef, pork, or pudding. But when we come into a harbour or near
one, there are always numbers of boats come out with all sorts of
vegetables and fresh meat, which are not left long in the boat—for the
people all run, and buy up the soft bread, and fresh provisions.
“About nine o’clock on the 17th, we anchored in the Downs—the famous
Downs—but, instead of seeing a large fleet of great ships thundering
out a salute to us on our entrance, there was not one but a Dane and a
Swede; so we had to moor ship in the now solitary Downs. All the hills
along the coast are chalk. I should have liked to have gone on shore
at Dover to get you a piece of the rock, but could not, as the ship
was sailing as we passed it.
“We saw the coast of France, but were not near enough to see any thing
that was going on in the French territories.
“We midshipmen are upon watch every night for four hours together; we
do nothing but walk the quarter-deck, if the ship is not sailing.
There is always half the crew upon deck when the ship is sailing, and
we and the lieutenants order them to do so and so about the ropes
and sails. All the men’s hammocks are brought upon deck, and laid in
places at the side for the purpose, both to give room for the men to
work under the decks, and to give them air. All the decks are washed
and well scrubbed every morning, which is very right, as they are
often dirtied.
“There is a sort of cylinder of sail-cloth, about two feet in
diameter, which is hung above the deck, and is continued down through
the decks to the cock-pit. The wind gets in at the top, and so runs
down and airs the cock-pit, which is a very pleasant thing, down here,
at the bottom of the ship.
“This morning, about eight o’clock, we arrived at Spithead, and saw
the celebrated Portsmouth, but I did not go ashore the first day, as
so many others were going; but I intend to go as soon as I get leave.
As we were coming along we saw the Isle of Wight; it is very pretty
indeed, viewed from the ship, whatever it might be were we on it. I
saw some pretty places there, with plenty of wood round them. The sun
was fast setting on the water in the opposite horizon, which had a
fine effect, and cast a light upon the island, which I cannot describe
to you, as it is such a rich country, and contains so many objects—it
is too pretty to describe. There are some ships at Spithead, both
large and small. In my next letter, if I go to Portsmouth, I will give
you an account of all the harbour and docks, &c. &c. We remain here
for ten days, I believe.”
These extracts, though of course sufficiently boyish, help to shew what
may be made out of the most common-place details, when all things are
totally new both to the writer and the reader. It is on this account
I give a place to these juvenile lucubrations; for it is not about
the particular incidents that we care, in such cases, so much as the
state of feeling and genuine opinions of a young person, exposed,
for the first time, to the actual contact of the world. It would be
unreasonable to expect such ideas to be expressed in so many words;
but they may be picked up, in some degree, by the very terms used in
describing the most ordinary transactions.
The following letter shews how little difficulty people find in
expressing themselves when well charged with their topic. On reading it
over at the distance of nearly thirty years, I cannot help remarking
how different, and yet how much alike, the same person may be at
various periods of his life—how much changed in thought—in sentiment—in
action! It is curious also to discover, how independent the man at one
stage of life is of the same man at another stage—though, after all,
they may possibly be more nearly allied in character, at bottom, than
any two other persons who could be placed in comparison. At the same
time, under the circumstances described in this letter, I really do not
see that I should act differently at this hour.
_“Portsmouth, June 19._
“We were very near all being destroyed, and blown up, last night,
by an alarming fire on board. As I was standing making my hammock,
last night about ten o’clock, near two others making theirs, we were
alarmed by seeing a large burst of sparks come from one corner of the
cock-pit. Without going to see what was the matter, I ran into our
birth, or place where we mess, and got hold of all the pots of beer
which the midshipmen were going to drink. I returned with these, and
threw them on the fire, while others ran for water.
“When I came back, I saw the purser’s steward covered with fire, and
rubbing it off him as fast as he could, with a pile of burning sheets
and blankets lying at his feet. One of us ran up to the quarter-deck,
and seizing the fire-buckets that were nearest, filled them, and
brought them down. We also got some of the men out of their hammocks,
but took good care not to awaken any of the rest, for fear of bustle
and confusion.
“The sentry, as soon as he discovered the smell, went down to the
captain and lieutenants, who immediately came to the cock-pit, and
whispered out ‘Silence!’ They then got more buckets of water, and
quenched the flames, which, as they thought, were only in the purser’s
steward’s cabin. But one of the men opened the door of the steward’s
store-room, and saw a great deal of fire lying on the floor. Water, of
course, was applied, and it also was quenched; the store-room was then
well flooded.
“The captain ordered the purser’s steward to be put in irons directly,
as well as his boy, who had stuck the light up in the cabin. The
captain next went with the master-at-arms into the powder magazine,
which was close to the purser’s steward’s cabin, and found the
bulkhead or partition half-burnt through by the fire in the cabin!
“All this mischief was occasioned by sticking a naked light upon the
beam above the cabin, from whence it had fallen down and set fire to
the sheets. The steward, in trying to smother it with more, had set
fire to the whole bundle, which he then flung in a mass into the
store-room. There was a watch kept all night near the spot. Nobody has
been hurt.
“I am very sorry for the purser’s steward, for he was a very
good-natured and obliging man, and much liked by all of us. He gave us
plums, &c. when we asked them from him. He is broke, I fear. I will
give you the issue in my next letter.”
This incident served, in a small way, to bring me into notice;
for the very next day, to my great satisfaction, I was ordered by
the first lieutenant to go in the jolly-boat, which was manned
alongside, with some message to a ship which he named, lying near us
at Spithead. I hesitated; and upon his asking me why I did not ‘be
off,’ I replied that I did not know which was the ship in question.
“Oh,” said he, looking over the gangway hammocks, “that ship with the
top-gallant-masts struck.”
Now, I had not the remotest idea what the term ‘top-gallant-mast
struck’ might mean; but as the officer seemed impatient, I hurried
down the side. The bow-man shoved the boat off, and away we rowed,
making a very zig-zag course; for, though I had the tiller in my hand,
I knew very imperfectly how to use it. The strokesman of the boat at
last laid his oar across, touched his hat, and said, “Which ship are we
going to, sir?”
I answered, in the words of the first lieutenant, “the one with the
top-gallant-masts struck.”
“Oh, sir,” exclaimed the fellow, smiling, “we have past her some
time—there she lies,” pointing astern.
Round we pulled—and I was much inclined to ask the man to steer the
boat; for, although my old associates, the fishermen on the coast of
Scotland, had edified me a little on this matter, I found it quite a
different affair to take a boat alongside a man-of-war at Spithead,
in a tide’s way, from what it had been to run a cobble on the beach.
Accordingly, I first ran the jolly-boat stem on, and, in trying to
remedy this lubberly blunder, gave orders which had the effect of
bringing the boat head and stern—which is about as wrong in seamanship,
as it would be in a horseman to put his right foot into the stirrup in
mounting, which, of course, would bring him with his face to the tail.
Nevertheless, I crawled up the side, gave my message, and returned
to report the answer. The only salutation I received from the first
lieutenant was in the following words—uttered in a sharp, angry tone:—
“Where the deuce have you been, youngster, all this time? and what
possessed you to go cruising about amongst the whole fleet at such a
rate?”
“I hope I shall learn to do better, sir,” I stammered out.
“There is much room for improvement, I am sure,” he cried.
I was made painfully sensible, by the tartness of this reproach, that
there was no very extraordinary degree of professional sagacity in what
I had recently done about the fire near the magazine. I had been taking
some credit to myself for not bawling out ‘fire! fire!’ and especially
for having thought of the pots of beer—but this brilliant piece of
service seemed now all forgotten!
Officers, and other persons in authority, should therefore be careful
how they strike young folks with their tongues; for, although the
wounds made do not shew upon the skin like those caused by steel or
lead, they often sink deeper into the feelings, and frequently remain
rankling there much longer than was intended, or than is useful.
Of course, I was excessively mortified; but the justice of the
officer’s censure was so obvious, and the ridicule of the seamen in the
boat, even subdued as it was, so fair, that I soon saw I had nothing to
do but to set about learning to steer forthwith, and to lose no time in
finding out what ‘striking top-gallant-masts’ could possibly mean.