GARDNER, wrote in the office.
Dead. A very good little fellow; no relation of mine.
GEO. GRAY, Gunner.
Dead. Much respected.
JOHNNY BONE, Boatswain.
Dead, from drink; Cap-a-bar.
WATSON, Boatswain.
Uncertain. Broke by court martial. Said to have been boatswain
with the notorious John Paul Jones when he took Sir Richard
Pearson and my old captain (Piercy) in the American War.
DOUGLAS, Carpenter.
Dead. Builder at Antigua; much respected.
BARFLEUR, 98
When the Edgar was paid off, Commissioner Martin[71] of the dockyard at
Portsmouth, recommended me to the Barfleur, Vice-Admiral Roddam (red at
the fore) port admiral, and Robert Calder, Esq., captain. I had not been
long on board when Captain Calder took it into his head to recommend
several of us to the Solebay, 32, fitting at Spithead for the West
Indies, and I was one of the number. This did not suit my inclination,
and I requested my mother to make the circumstance known to the
commissioner, who promised her that I should not be sent out against my
will. I waited with great anxiety the result, and never shall I forget
the manner Captain Calder addressed me the moment he came on board.
‘Your mother is a fool, sir; you shall not stay in my ship; take your
hat off, sir’ (for we were always obliged to stand with our hats off
while speaking to him and I was rather slack in doffing mine); ‘I will
give you one month to provide yourself with another ship, you are
disgraced here;’ and then turning on his heel went into his cabin. With
rage and indignation at such an unwarrantable attack, I sent in to say I
would be glad to speak to him if he was at leisure. This he immediately
granted, and I was told after by Jefferys, the clerk, who was in the
cabin, that he thought I had made up my mind to go, but he was mistaken.
I told him I came to return him thanks for his kindness in allowing me
to remain in his ship for a month until I could provide myself with
another, but if he pleased I would rather have my discharge immediately.
He looked at me for some time before he made an answer; at last he
roared out in fury, ‘You shall not go at all, sir; and mind what you are
about.’ I answered that I always did mind what I was about. This
increased his rage, and turning to the first lieutenant (Dolling), who
had just come into the cabin, ‘That’s a troublesome chap, sir, take care
of him.’ Now it happened that I had leave to go on shore before Captain
C. came on board and only waited till I saw him, and was going into the
boat, when Lieutenant Dolling came waddling up to me with the
intelligence that I was under arrest, and to consider myself a prisoner
at large; and so I was for upwards of ten weeks, and the devil thank
Bobby Calder for his kindness.
The Spanish armament taking place, we were ordered to Spithead, and
hoisted the flag (blue at the main) of the Honourable Samuel Barrington,
Sir John Jervis (rear-admiral of the blue) captain of the fleet, and
Captain Calder in command of the ship. Sailed for Torbay, and took
command of the fleet assembled there, until the arrival of Lord Howe,
which took place soon after, as admiral of the fleet, the union jack
being hoisted on board the Queen Charlotte, 110.[72] His Royal Highness
the Duke of Cumberland, admiral of the white, attended by Prince William
Henry, who commanded the Valiant, 74, came on board to visit Admiral
Barrington, who had formerly sailed with the duke. Admiral Barrington
having shifted his flag to the Royal George, 110, we hoisted that of
Rear-Admiral Sir John Jervis, K.B., and sailed to the westward with the
grand fleet, and found the old Barfleur an excellent sea boat. After
cruising several weeks the fleet returned, and when off Plymouth we
struck the flag of Sir John Jervis, and proceeded to the Downs and
hoisted the flag (blue at the fore) of Vice-Admiral Elliot, and sailed
with thirteen sail of the line for Spithead, where we found Lord Howe
with the remainder of the fleet, Captain Calder having been appointed to
the Stately, 64. Captain Robert Carthew Reynolds took command of the
Barfleur as flag captain. The chief part of the midshipmen being removed
to the Stately, Captain Calder sent for me and introduced me to Captain
Reynolds, and spoke to him in the highest terms of my conduct, and among
other things said I was particularly active in going aloft, and if I
wished to leave the Barfleur he would keep a vacancy open on his books;
but that the Barfleur being a flagship and my pay better, he thought it
the most eligible of the two to remain. This was a civil way of parting
to outward appearance friends.
The Spanish business being settled we remained at Spithead but struck
our flag. Soon after a mutiny broke out in the ship, which was soon put
a stop to, and the crews of the ships at Spithead (as many as liked)
paid off. The Russian armament commencing, Lord Hood hoisted his flag on
board the Victory, 100, and took command of the fleet, consisting of
thirty-six sail of the line moored in two lines abreast, the frigates
between, which had a most beautiful appearance, and thousands from all
parts of the country came to gaze, and went back as wise as ever.
Rear-Admiral Jonathan Faulknor[73] (red at the mizen) having hoisted his
flag on board of us, that excellent officer Captain Reynolds left the
ship and was succeeded by Captain John Bourmaster, one of the best men
that ever lived. We remained a considerable time at Spithead until the
business was settled, and then went into harbour to be paid off.
I shall now relate as well as I remember a few circumstances that took
place in the Barfleur during the time I belonged to her. When we had the
command in Torbay, before the arrival of Lord Howe, we exercised great
guns and small arms every day, with loosing and furling sails, and it
was remarked by the fleet that they never looked at the Barfleur without
seeing the men crawling up the rigging ready for some manœuvre and
keeping them constantly on the alert. I have absolutely been midshipman
in the foretop when the sail has been loosed and furled nineteen times;
and long Lloyd (one of our lieutenants) calling out from the gratings on
the bowsprit, ‘Mr. Gardner, will you have your hammock sent up to
you?’—a common expression in the navy. I could not help answering, ‘I’ll
thank you, sir, for I’m damnation tired.’ He was a good fellow and only
laughed.
Our ship’s company were never surpassed. We had the pickings of the East
India men, and our waisters could take helm and lead, and certainly we
could have beaten with ease any two ships of a foreign power of our
rate, and a braver officer never stepped between stem and stern than
Bobby Calder. I had great reason to dislike him, but I will do him
justice as well as my humble abilities will allow. An error in judgment
is what every man is liable to. Even Napoleon, the greatest man the
world ever produced, was guilty of three great errors: the first in not
entirely crushing the Russian army when he had it in his power after
defeating the Emperor Alexander at Austerlitz; the second in not
reinstating the Poles; and the third in not marrying a Frenchwoman after
his divorce from Josephine. Another great general also made a few
blunders; and his retreat from a certain citadel was, I have been told,
anything but superior to that of the ten thousand under Xenophon.[74]
But to return. Sir Robert Calder was found guilty of an error in
judgment by the sentence of a court martial; but no man can deny that he
was a brave and meritorious officer, possessing the first-rate[75]
abilities of a British admiral.
To some the pow’rs of bloody war belong,
To some, sweet music and the charm of song;
To few, and wondrous few, has Jove assigned
A wise, extensive, all considering mind.
The newspapers at the time were teeming with abuse; but the braying of
those asses soon sunk, and had no other effect than to shew the
malignity of their leading articles. One of the blackguard papers was
particularly vindictive. It was edited
by wicked Daniel,
Who snaps like a cur, and fawns like a spaniel.
From the number of flag officers and captains that were in the Barfleur,
we had so many of their followers of every description that it is
difficult to remember the whole, and we had six or seven different first
lieutenants. However, I shall give as correct a list as possible, but
not exactly in rotation. But first I must relate a few anecdotes; and
with heart-felt respect for your memory, come forward my old friend
Billy Culmer. This gentleman was one of the mates and is or was so well
known in the navy that it would be superfluous to say anything
respecting him, but for a few anecdotes not generally known which may be
interesting.[76]
Billy in person was about five feet eight or nine, and stooped; hard
features marked with the smallpox; blind in an eye, and a wen nearly the
size of an egg under his cheek bone. His dress on a Sunday was a mate’s
uniform coat, with brown velvet waistcoat and breeches; boots with black
tops; a gold-laced hat, and a large hanger by his side like the sword of
John-a-Gaunt. He was proud of being the oldest midshipman in the navy
(for he had been in that capacity with Lord Hood since 1757[77]), and
looked upon young captains and lieutenants with contempt. Being on shore
at Gosport on a Sunday in the above costume, he tried to get into a
tavern when the people were at church, and was thundering at the door to
no purpose, when the late Captain N. H. Eastwood of the Royal Navy
happened to be passing at the time in plain clothes, made some
observations on his conduct, and said, ‘Mr. Culmer, you are a disgrace
to the service.’ Billy at this jumped off the steps, and with his usual
oath ‘Damn my two eyes,’—though he had but one—‘but I’ll slit your
gullet, you wa wa——,’ and with two or three desperate efforts to draw
his sword, he at last succeeded, like Hudibras, in getting it out, and
then gave chase to Eastwood, whose lean figure, moving like a ghost, had
got the start and was fortunate enough to get into his own house just as
Billy came up puffing and blowing and bellowing out, ‘Stop that lanky
son of a —— till I make a razee of him.’
In the American War Billy belonged to the Buffalo, 60. I am not certain
that he was on board at the time the Dogger Bank action was fought;
however, he used to celebrate the praises of his old ship, which bore a
distinguished part in that well-fought battle. The Dutch fleet commanded
by Admiral Zoutman had a convoy under charge, when our fleet under
Vice-Admiral Hyde Parker fell in with them on the Dogger Bank and bore
down immediately to give battle. The Dutch admiral formed his line to
windward of his convoy, and waited for our fleet, and to his honour be
it said that he never fired a gun until our admiral had formed his line
within pistol shot, when up went the colours of both nations and then
the action began. After several hours’ desperate fighting the Dutch bore
away with their convoy for the Texel, and we were so crippled that it
was impossible to follow them.
Billy would upon all occasions when sea fights were spoken of sing the
following song in honour of his old ship. It was made by a seaman of the
Princess Amelia.
’Twas on the fifth of August by dawning of the day,
We spied some lofty sail, my boys, who to leeward of us lay;
They proved to be Dutchmen, with eight sail neat and fine,
We soon bore down upon them, and then we formed the line.
Bold Admiral Hyde Parker commanded us that day,
Who in the noble Fortitude to the windward of us lay;
To engage the Dutchmen closely the signal then he made,
And at his fore topgallant mast the bloody flag displayed.
And when our ships they did engage with seven sail neat and fine,
The Buffalo being one of them, her valour it did shine;
For she engaged six glasses, her shot did on them play,
Though she had three upon her she made them bear away.
There were the noble Berwick, Preston and Dolphin too,
Likewise the Bienfaisant, my boys, who made the Dutch to rue;
The old Princess Amelia was not backward on that day,
She lost her valiant captain all in the bloody fray.
Then our ship being so disabled and our rigging shot away,
And twenty of our brave fellows killed in the bloody fray;
And sixty-four were wounded, a dreadful sight to see,
But yet the rest were willing to engage the enemy, &c.
Billy was once singing the above ditty with a voice as melodious as that
of the raven, when old Bob Perkins (a droll old guardo midshipman) began
another that annoyed him sadly; but taking great care to be in a place
where Billy could not easily get at him, says he, ‘Mr. Culmer, you never
were a midshipman before you joined the Barfleur, and it’s well
authenticated that you were cook of the celebrated Huffey so well known
in days of yore.’ He then began singing the following sonnet:—
Billy the cook got drunk,
Fell down the fore ladder,
And broke his gin bladder,
Then lived upon swipes and salt junk.
Billy the cook got drunk,
Fell into a sty,
And knocked out his eye,
Then into the sick bay he slunk.
As [Billy] had the meanest opinion of any one that would lay by for
sickness, the last line of the above threw him into such a rage that
Perkins, not finding his situation tenable, was obliged to make a hasty
retreat; but not before
he got a switch
As quick as lightning on the breech,
which hastened his way down the cockpit ladder. [Billy] was once sitting
in the gunroom cleaning a pair of huge yellow buckles, when the same
Perkins chalked on a board in large letters, ‘To be seen alive—The old
blind sea monster, cleaning buckles as large as the main hatchway.’ The
moment he got sight of the inscription, [Billy] caught hold of a cutlass
from the stand and cleared the gunroom in an instant, and had very near
given it to Perkins, whom he suspected. He had a custom, when half seas
over, of sounding a horn like a huntsman and calling the hounds, and
used to swear he would be in at the death.
When he went to pass for lieutenant, one of the midshipmen and Marr the
boatswain went up to London with him. They found it no easy matter to
keep him in order, and he once swore to have them taken up as runaway
soldiers. When he went to the navy board to undergo his examination he
asked the commissioners the meaning of the word ‘azimuth’ and told them
he could never find any wa wa that knew a word about it. Some of the
board had been shipmates with him and were well acquainted with his
ways; and when putting him right when answering a question, he would
say, ‘Go on, go on, my boy, that’s the way; you are very right,’ as if
he was passing them; and when they told him they had no more questions
to ask, he said he was glad of it and would go back to his ship like a
lark.
One night soon after his return, when he had the first watch, some of
the midshipmen reefed his blankets—this is done by making the ends fast
and forming by numerous turns the blanket into the shape of a ring very
difficult to undo. As soon as he was relieved he went to his hammock and
groping about (for he never would take a light into the tier), he was
heard to mutter, ‘What the hell have they done with the ends?’ and at
last roared out, ‘A horse’s collar, by God.’ After several fruitless
attempts to shake the reef out, he went upon deck and brought down the
ship’s corporal and quartermaster with a light, and ordered them to
clear his blankets; but they were as unable as himself, while the
midshipmen in the tier were convulsed with laughter, and Billy, foaming
with rage, drove away the corporal and quartermaster, calling them
lubberly wa wa ——s. At this time a cry was heard from a remote part of
the tier, ‘Lay out, you lubberly rascal, and shake the reef out.’ At
this Billy lost all patience, and after damning his two eyes he
unshipped the orlop gratings and got some billets of wood out of the
hold, and in less than a minute the tier was cleared. Soon after some of
the watch came down and put his bedding to rights and all was quiet. The
same compliment that Cicero paid to Cæsar may also be paid to Billy,
“that he remembered everything but an injury.” The next morning he
thought nothing of the matter.
Speaking about the Roman history respecting the battle of Actium between
Augustus and Antony, he said he was in the battle and remembered all
about it. The fact was he mistook the name and thought it was some place
where he had been in the American war. He never heard the last of this,
and when speaking of any battle where he had been present, was always
asked if it took place thirty years before Christ. Captain Calder once
sent for him to go in the launch for beer to Weevil.[78] ‘Go back,’ says
he to the quartermaster, ‘and tell Captain C. that Mr. Wood’ (meaning
Lord Hood, who he never called by his right name) ‘never sent me away at
seven bells and I shan’t go now without my dinner. As soon as I have got
that I will go like a lark—damn my two eyes.’ Of course this was not
told the captain.
While we had Admiral Roddam’s flag in the harbour, a Dutch ship of the
line anchored at Spithead and used to fire the morning and evening gun,
without our taking notice of the circumstance. However, Bobby Calder
soon found it out and came on board in a terrible rage, and gave the
commanding officer (Prowse) a severe lecture, and told us all to prepare
for a court martial for neglect in not reporting the transaction; at the
same time sending a message to the Dutchman that if he persisted in such
conduct a ship of the line would be sent alongside of him. This the
Dutchman did not relish and took himself off as quick as possible.
Captain Calder was a man that had the service at heart and was a very
strict disciplinarian. We dared not appear on deck without our full
uniform, and a round hat was never allowed; our side arms always on the
quarter deck ready for duty, and when exercising sails the midshipmen in
the tops were to be in full dress. I remember when the signal was made
for all lieutenants while lying in Torbay, that several came on board
not exactly in uniform. He, without hearing a word they had to say,
turned them out of the ship with a severe reprimand—old Lieutenant Noah
Webb (with his crossjack brace[79] eye), who commanded a cutter at the
head of them; and when the late Sir Joseph Yorke (then a lieutenant)
came on board at Spithead with strings in his shoes, Captain Calder came
running out of his cabin and desired him to quit the ship immediately;
and though Sir Joseph told him he was not on duty, it was all to no
purpose; he kept following him to the gangway saying, ‘My hat’s off,
sir; you must go out of the ship,’ which the other was obliged to do in
high dudgeon.
In working the ship no one was allowed to speak but himself, and I have
seen the Barfleur brought to an anchor and the sails furled like magic,
without a voice being heard except his own.[80]
Sedate and silent move the numerous bands;
No sound, no whisper but their chiefs commands;
These only heard, with awe the rest obey,
As if some god had snatched their voice away.—_Iliad._
No ship in the navy was in such high order. The midshipmen’s berths were
fitted up in great style (the beginning of luxury which the war soon
after put a stop to), with rules and regulations. If a candle was taken
off the table a fine of sixpence must be paid; and a shilling, if a hat
was hung up in the berth or left on the chairs. This was all very well
for the dandy aristocracy, but did not suit some of us that formerly
belonged to the old Edgar; and Dick Heycock was the first to kick, and
refused to abide by the regulations laid down by a proud and usurping
few; and we carried our point, and things went on much better when the
petty tyranny was abolished. Captain Calder would always bring the
nobility that visited the ship to see the midshipmen’s berths, and used
to say: ‘This is the place where all the admirals and captains in the
service are tried every day, and where no one escapes being hauled over
the coals.’
No man could be more attentive at his table, and he would particularly
address himself to the midshipmen, and even ask their opinion upon
different subjects, to give them confidence. Mrs. Calder was very fond
of boat-sailing, and we had a large double banked cutter in which she
would go to Spithead when blowing very fresh, and carrying sail as if in
chase until the boat’s gunwale was under, so that everyone thought she
was mad; and very few liked the trip except in fine weather, as she
would always feel offended if any attempt was made to take in sail.
Among the many first lieutenants, we had one that was very pedantic. I
shall not mention his name, but his nickname was Soap-Suds. The signal
being made for all midshipmen, the order[81] was that a preparative flag
would be hoisted before any manœuvre began, but when hauled down it was
immediately to take place. Now not content with what was written in the
order book, he addressed the midshipmen as follows: ‘The idea strikes me
thus, that when the preparative is hauled down, the evo-lu-ti-on will
most certainly commence, and this pennant is your signal.’
We had another strange first lieutenant—this was Billy Chantrell, well
known in the service. In giving his orders at night he used to say,
‘Call me at six, and don’t come bothering me about blowing and raining
and all that damned nonsense.’ I was with him in three ships and never
met with so droll and strange a fellow. In passing Fairlight, near
Hastings, on our way from the Downs to Spithead, Chantrell, pointing out
to me the cliff near the church on Fairlight Down, said, ‘Jemmy, how
would you like to be perched up there in the winter?’ Little did he
imagine that in some years after, when the war broke out and signal
stations were erected along the coast, he should be the first officer
appointed to this very spot, and I, the last; which was the fact.