"What's the name of the craft you want to get aboard, sir?" asked old
Bob, the one-legged boatman, whose wherry I had hired to carry me out to
Spithead.
"The _Barbara_," I answered, trying to look more at my ease than I felt;
for the old fellow, besides having but one leg, had a black patch over
the place where his right eye should have been, while his left arm was
partially crippled; and his crew consisted of a mite of a boy whose
activity and intelligence could scarcely make up for his want of size
and strength. The ebb tide, too, was making strong out of Portsmouth
Harbour, and a fresh breeze was blowing in, creating a tumbling,
bubbling sea at the mouth; and vessels and boats of all sizes and rigs
were dashing here and there, madly and without purpose it seemed to me,
but at all events very likely to run down the low narrow craft in which
I had ventured to embark. Now and then a man-of-war's boat, with
half-a-dozen reckless midshipmen in her, who looked as if they would not
have the slightest scruple in sailing over us, would pass within a few
inches of the wherry; now a ship's launch with a party of marines,
pulling with uncertain strokes like a huge maimed centipede, would come
right across our course and receive old Bob's no very complimentary
remarks; next a boatful of men-of-war's men, liberty men returning from
leave. There was no use saying anything to them, for there wasn't one,
old Bob informed me, but what was "three sheets in the wind," or "half
seas over,"--in other words, very drunk; still, they managed to find
their way and not to upset themselves, in a manner which surprised me.
Scarcely were we clear of them when several lumbering dockyard lighters
would come dashing by, going out with stores or powder to the fleet at
Spithead.
Those were indeed busy times. Numerous ships of war were fitting out
alongside the quays, their huge yards being swayed up, and guns and
stores hoisted on board, gruff shouts, and cries, and whistles, and
other strange sounds proceeding from them as we passed near. Others lay
in the middle of the harbour ready for sea, but waiting for their crews
to be collected by the press-gangs on shore, and to be made up with
captured smugglers, liberated gaol-birds, and broken-down persons from
every grade of society. Altogether, what with transports, merchantmen,
lighters, and other craft, it was no easy matter to beat out without
getting athwart hawse of those at anchor, or being run down by the still
greater number of small craft under way. Still it was an animated and
exciting scene, and all told of active warfare.
On shore the bustle was yet more apparent. Everybody was in movement.
Yellow post-chaises conveying young captains of dashing frigates, or
admirals' private secretaries, came whirling through the streets as if
the fate of the nation depended on their speed. Officers of all grades,
from post-captains with glittering epaulets to midshipmen with white
patches on their collars and simple cockades in their hats, were
hurrying, with looks of importance, through the streets. Large placards
were everywhere posted up announcing the names of the ships requiring
men, and the advantages to be obtained by joining them: plenty of prize
money and abundance of fighting, with consequent speedy promotion; while
first lieutenants, and a choice band of old hands, were near by to win
by persuasion those who were protected from being pressed. Jack tars,
many with pig-tails, and earrings in their ears, were rolling about the
streets, their wives or sweethearts hanging at their elbows, dressed in
the brightest of colours, huge bonnets decked with flaunting ribbons on
their heads, and glittering brass chains, and other ornaments of glass,
on their necks and arms. As I drove down the High Street I had met a
crowd surrounding a ship's gig on wheels. Some fifty seamen or more
were dragging it along at a rapid rate, leaping and careering, laughing
and cheering. In the stern sheets sat a well-known eccentric
post-captain with the yoke lines in his hands, while he kept bending
forward to give the time to his crew, who were arranged before him with
oars outstretched, making believe to row, and grinning all the time in
high glee from ear to ear. It was said that he was on his way to the
Admiralty in London, the Lords Commissioners having for some
irregularity prohibited him from leaving his ship except in his gig on
duty. Whether he ever got to London I do not know.
On arriving at Portsmouth, I had gone to the Blue Posts, an inn of old
renown, recommended by my brother Harry, who was then a midshipman, and
who had lately sailed for the East India station. It was an inn more
patronised by midshipmen and young lieutenants than by post-captains and
admirals. I had there expected to meet Captain Hassall, the commander
of the _Barbara_, but was told that, as he was the master of a
merchantman, he was more likely to have gone to the Keppel's Head, at
Portsea. Thither I repaired, and found a note from him telling me to
come off at once, and saying that he had had to return on board in a
hurry, as he found that several of his men had no protection, and were
very likely to be pressed, one man having already been taken by a
press-gang, and that he was certain to inform against the others. Thus
it was that I came to embark at the Common Hard at Portsea, and had to
beat down the harbour.
"Do you think as how you'd know your ship when you sees her, sir?" asked
old Bob, with a twinkle in his one eye, for he had discovered my very
limited amount of nautical knowledge, I suspect. "It will be a tough
job to find her, you see, among so many."
Now I had been on board very often as she lay alongside the quay in the
Thames. I had seen all her cargo stowed, knew every bale and package
and case; I had attended to the fitting-up of my own cabin, and was
indeed intimately acquainted with every part of her interior. But her
outside--that was a very different matter, I began to suspect. I saw
floating on the sea, far out in the distance, the misty outlines of a
hundred or more big ships; indeed, the whole space between Portsmouth
and the little fishing village of Ryde seemed covered with shipping, and
my heart sank within me at the thought of having to pick out the
_Barbara_ among them.
The evening was drawing on, and the weather did not look pleasant; still
I must make the attempt. The convoy was expected to sail immediately,
and the interests of my employers, Garrard, Janrin and Company, would be
sacrificed should the sailing of the ship be delayed by my neglect.
These thoughts passed rapidly through my mind and made me reply boldly,
"We must go on, at all events. Time enough to find her out when we get
there."
We were at that time near the mouth of the harbour, with Haslar Hospital
seen over a low sandbank, and some odd-looking sea-marks on one side,
and Southsea beach and the fortifications of Portsmouth, with a church
tower and the houses of the town beyond. A line of redoubts and
Southsea Castle appeared, extending farther southward, while the smooth
chalk-formed heights of Portsdown rose in the distance. As a person
suddenly deprived of sight recollects with especial clearness the last
objects he has beheld, so this scene was indelibly impressed on my mind,
as it was the last near view I was destined to have of old England for
many a long day. For the same reason I took a greater interest in old
Bob and his boy Jerry than I might otherwise have done. They formed the
last human link of the chain which connected me with my native land.
Bob had agreed to take my letters back, announcing my safe arrival on
board--that is to say, should I ever get there. My firm reply, added to
the promise of another five shillings for the trouble he might have,
raised me again in his opinion, and he became very communicative.
We tacked close to a buoy off Southsea beach. "Ay, sir, there was a
pretty blaze just here not many years ago," he remarked. "Now I mind it
was in '95--that's the year my poor girl Betty died--the mother of Jerry
there. You've heard talk of the _Boyne_--a fine ship she was, of
ninety-eight guns. While she, with the rest of the fleet, was at anchor
at Spithead, one morning a fire broke out in the admiral's cabin, and
though officers and men did their best to extinguish it, somehow or
other it got the upper hand of them all; but the boats from the other
ships took most of them off, though some ten poor fellows perished, they
say. One bad part of the business was, that the guns were all loaded
and shotted, and as the fire got to them they went off, some of the
shots reaching Stokes Bay, out there beyond Haslar, and others falling
among the shipping. Two poor fellows aboard the _Queen Charlotte_ were
killed, and another wounded, though she and the other ships got under
way to escape mischief. At about half-past one she burnt from her
cables, and came slowly drifting in here till she took the ground. She
burnt on till near six in the morning, when the fire reached the
magazine, and up she blew with an awful explosion. We knew well enough
that the moment would come, and it was a curious feeling we had waiting
for it. Up went the blazing masts and beams and planks, and came
scattering down far and wide, hissing into the water; and when we looked
again after all was over, not a timber was to be seen."
Bob also pointed out the spot where nearly a century before the _Edgar_
had blown up, and every soul in her had perished, and also where the
_Royal George_ and the brave Admiral Kempenfeldt, with eight hundred
men, had gone down several years before the destruction of the _Boyne_.
"Ay, sir, to my mind it's sad to think that the sea should swallow up so
many fine fellows as she does every year, and yet we couldn't very well
do without her, so I suppose it's all right. Mind your head-sheets,
Jerry, or she'll not come about in this bobble," he observed, as we were
about to tack round the buoy.
Having kept well to the eastward, we were now laying up to windward of
the fleet. There were line-of-battle ships, and frigates, and
corvettes, and huge Indiamen as big-looking as many line-of-battle
ships, and large transports, and numberless merchantmen--ships and
barques, and brigs and schooners; but as to what the _Barbara_ was like
I had not an idea. I fixed on one of the largest of the Indiamen, but
when I told old Bob the tonnage of the _Barbara_ he laughed, and said
she wasn't half the size of the ship I pointed out.
It was getting darkish and coming on to blow pretty fresh, and how to
find my ship among the hundred or more at anchor I could not possibly
tell.
"Well, I thought from your look and the way you hailed me that you was a
sea-faring gentleman, and on course you'd ha' known your own ship," said
old Bob, with a wink of his one eye. "Howsomever, we can beat about
among the fleet till it's dark, and then back to Portsmouth; and then,
do ye see, sir, we can come out to-morrow morning by daylight and try
again. Maybe we shall have better luck. The convoy is sure not to sail
in the night, and the tide won't serve till ten o'clock at earliest."
"This comes of dressing in nautical style, and assuming airs foreign to
me," I thought to myself, though I could not help fancying that there
was some quiet irony in the old man's tone. His plan did not at all
suit my notions. I was already beginning to feel very uncomfortable,
bobbing and tossing about among the ships; and I expected to be
completely upset, unless I could speedily put my foot on something more
stable than the cockleshell, or rather bean-pod, of a boat in which I
sat. I began to be conscious, indeed, that I must be looking like
anything but "a sea-faring gentleman."
"But we _must_ find her," I exclaimed, with some little impetuosity; "it
will never do to be going back, and I know she's here."
"So the old woman said as was looking for her needle in the bundle of
hay," observed old Bob, with provoking placidity. "On course she is,
and we is looking for her: but it's quite a different thing whether we
finds her or not, 'specially when it gets dark; and if, as I suspects,
it comes on to blow freshish there'll be a pretty bobble of a sea here
at the turn of the tide. To be sure, we may stand over to Ryde and haul
the boat up there for the night. There's a pretty decentish public on
the beach, the Pilot's Home, where you may get a bed, and Jerry and I
always sleeps under the wherry. That's the only other thing for you to
do, sir, that I sees on."
Though very unwilling to forego the comforts of my cabin and the society
of Captain Hassall, I agreed to old Bob's proposal, provided the
_Barbara_ was not soon to be found. We sailed about among the fleet for
some time, hailing one ship after another, but mine could not be found.
I began to suspect at last that old Bob did not wish to find her, but
had his eye on another day's work, and pay in proportion, as he might
certainly consider that he had me in his power, and could demand what he
chose. I was on the point of giving up the search, when, as we were
near one of the large Indiamen I have mentioned, a vessel running past
compelled us to go close alongside. An officer was standing on the
accommodation-ladder, assisting up some passengers. He hailed one of
the people in the boat, about some luggage. I knew the voice, and,
looking more narrowly, I recognised, I thought, my old schoolfellow,
Jack Newall. I called him by name. "Who's that?" he exclaimed. "What,
Braithwaite, my fine fellow, what brings you out here?"
When I told him, "It is ten chances to one that you pick her out
to-night," he answered. "But come aboard; I can find you a berth, and
to-morrow morning you can continue your search. Depend on it your ship
forms one of our convoy, so that she will not sail without you."
I was too glad to accept Jack Newall's offer. Old Bob looked rather
disappointed at finding me snatched from his grasp, and volunteered to
come back early in the morning, and take me on board the _Barbara_,
promising in the meantime to find her out.
The sudden change from the little boat tumbling about in the dark to the
Indiaman's well-lighted cuddy, glittering with plate and glass, into
which my friend introduced me--filled, moreover, as it was, with
well-dressed ladies and gentlemen--was very startling. She was the
well-known _Cuffnells_, a ship of twelve hundred tons, one of the finest
of her class, and, curiously enough, was the very one which, two voyages
before, had carried my brother Frederick out to India.
I had never before been on board an Indiaman. Everything about her
seemed grand and ponderous, and gave me the idea of strength and
stability. If she was to meet with any disaster, it would not be for
want of being well found. The captain remembered my brother, and was
very civil to me; and several other people knew my family, so that I
spent a most pleasant evening on board, in the society of the nabobs and
military officers, and the ladies who had husbands and those who had
not, but fully expected to get them at the end of the voyage, and the
young cadets and writers, and others who usually formed the complement
of an Indiaman's passengers in those days. Everything seemed done in
princely style on board her. She had a crew of a hundred men, a
captain, and four officers, mates, a surgeon, and purser; besides
midshipmen, a boatswain, carpenter, and other petty officers. I was
invited to come on board whenever there was an opportunity during the
voyage.
"We are not cramped, you see," observed Newall, casting his eye over the
spacious decks, "so you will not crowd us; and if you cannot bring us
news, we can exchange ideas."
True to his word, old Bob came alongside the next morning, and told me
that he had found out the _Barbara_, and would put me on board in good
time for breakfast.
I found Captain Hassall very anxious at my non-appearance, and on the
point of sending the second officer on shore to look for me, as it was
expected that the convoy would sail at noon; indeed, the _Active_
frigate, which was to convoy us, had Blue Peter flying at her mast-head,
as had all the merchantmen.
"You'd have time to take a cruise about the fleet, and I'll spin you no
end of yarns if you like to come, sir," said old Bob, with a twinkle in
his eye, as his wherry was see-sawing alongside in a manner most
uncomfortable to a landsman.
"No, thank you, Bob; I must hear the end of your yarns when I come back
again to old England; I'll not forget you, depend on it."
Captain Hassall had not recovered his equanimity of temper, which had
been sorely ruffled at having had two of his best men taken off by a
press-gang. He had arrived on board in time to save two more who would
otherwise also have been taken. He inveighed strongly against the
system, and declared that if it was continued he would give up England
and go over to the United States. It certainly created a very bad
feeling both among officers and men in the merchant service. While we
were talking, the frigate which was to convoy us loosed her topsails and
fired a gun, followed soon after by another, as a signal to way. The
merchantmen at once began to make sail, not so quick an operation as on
board the man-of-war. The pipe played cheerily, round went the capstan,
and in short time we, with fully fifty other vessels, many of them
first-class Indiamen, with a fair breeze, were standing down Channel;
the sky bright, the sea blue, while their white sails, towering upwards
to the heavens, shone in the sunbeams like pillars of snow.
The _Barbara_ proved herself a fast sailer, and could easily keep up
with our _Active_ protector, which kept sailing round the
majestic-looking but slow-moving Indiamen, as if to urge them on, as the
shepherd's dog does his flock. We hove-to off Falmouth, that other
vessels might join company. Altogether, we formed a numerous convoy--
some bound to the Cape of Good Hope, others to different parts of
India--two or three to our lately-established settlements in New South
Wales, and several more to China.
I will not dwell on my feelings as we took our departure from the land,
the Lizard lights bearing north half east. I had a good many friends to
care for me, and one for whom I had more than friendship. We had
magnificent weather and plenty of time to get the ship into order;
indeed I, with others who had never been to sea, began to entertain the
notion that we were to glide on as smoothly as we were then doing during
the whole voyage. We were to be disagreeably undeceived. A gale sprang
up with little warning about midnight, and hove us almost on our
beam-ends; and though we righted with the loss only of a spar or two, we
were tumbled about in a manner subversive of all comfort, to say the
least of it.
When morning broke, the hitherto trim and well-behaved fleet were
scattered in all directions, and several within sight received some
damage or other. The wind fell as quickly as it had risen, and during
the day the vessels kept returning to their proper stations in the
convoy. When night came on several were still absent, but were seen
approaching in the distance. Our third mate had been aloft for some
time, and when he came into the cabin he remarked that he had counted
more sail in the horizon than there were missing vessels. Some of the
party were inclined to laugh at him, and inquired what sort of craft he
supposed they were, phantom ships or enemy's cruisers.
"I'll tell you what, gentlemen,--I think that they are very probably the
latter," said the captain. "I have known strange things happen; vessels
cut out at night from the midst of a large convoy, others pillaged and
the crews and passengers murdered, thrown overboard, or carried off. We
shall be on our guard, and have our guns loaded, and if any gentry of
this sort attempt to play their tricks on us they will find that they
have caught a tartar."