being a conjuror) as well as Lieutenant Hamilton; and although he said
it was his intention to send me on board the Commerce de Marseilles to
assist in fitting her out at Spithead (notwithstanding that my right arm
was hurt and obliged to wear it in a sling), I wrote to Captain Knight
on the subject, who immediately granted my request. On my stating this
to Lieutenant Hamilton, he said he should still oppose it, adding with a
sneer that my promotion he supposed would not be so rapid as I expected.
Without taking notice of his remarks I went on shore to take my place in
the coach, and on my return the next morning to get my things I found
that the ship had gone into dock, and that my chest, and that of another
gentleman’s who had lately joined, had not been removed to the hulk, but
left in the ship, where it was broke open, and everything I possessed,
with the exception of my quadrant, stolen. The other poor fellow
suffered the same misfortune.
This was a heart-breaking circumstance to me, as I had just fitted
myself out, and, with what I brought home, my loss was considerable. I
had nothing left but what I stood in, and most of my pay that I received
for the Berwick was expended. My messmates said they were very sorry for
the loss I had sustained. Instead of being sorry, they ought to have
been ashamed of their gross neglect. One of them had been in the
Barfleur with me, and if possible, was more to blame than the rest who
were strangers. I am not vindictive, but from that day to this I have
hated the sight of a Portsmouth dockyard man. I had little time and less
money to get fitted out again before the examination took place, which
was early in January; so up to London I went ‘with a heart rather sad.’
I had on a mate’s coat, a red waistcoat and grey trowsers, in which
costume I passed my examination. I was so down in spirits before I went
in that I made sure I should be turned back. My old and lamented friend
and messmate, the late Captain Eaton, went with me and positively pushed
me into the room where the commissioners were seated, saying, ‘Damn your
eyes,[114] Tony, what are you afraid of?’
One of the commissioners (Harmood) was an intimate friend of my
father’s; and Sir Samuel Marshall, the deputy comptroller of the navy,
was a particular friend of Admiral Parry, my mother’s uncle. To these I
was recommended; but notwithstanding I could not get the better of my
dread, until Commissioner Harmood, after a few questions had been put to
me, said, ‘I think we need not ask any more.’ Captain Clayton, another
of the commissioners, in reply said, ‘I shall merely ask one question
more. You have a close-reefed main topsail set, blowing a gale of wind;
you cannot carry it. Pray, sir, how will you take it in, without
splitting the sail?’ Having answered this, but not exactly to his
satisfaction, as I started the weather sheet first, and he the lee one,
I was told they had done with me, and glad enough I was; particularly
so, when they said the certificates I produced ought to get me a
commission without interest.
On this hint I transmitted them the next day to Earl Spencer, the first
lord of the admiralty. This was on the 9th January 1795, and I returned
to Portsmouth on the 14th; but before I went on board I took a stroll in
the dockyard, where I met two old messmates, the late Captains Lamb and
Wolridge, and on my asking them for news, they said they had just left
the commissioner’s office and had heard nothing. However I thought I
would just call at the office and take a look, and on my entering the
hall where the letters are placed on a table, the first I observed was
directed to Lieutenant J. A. Gardner, H.M. ship Victory. I looked at it
several times, rubbed my eyes and looked and looked again at what I
thought an illusion; but I found what I considered shadow to be
substance; for on opening the letter it ran thus: ‘That Earl Spencer had
received my memorial on the 11th, and that my appointment as lieutenant
had passed the board on the 12th January.’ This eased my mind of a load,
and my prospects, that were dark and dismal from the loss I had
sustained, brightened up, and with a light heart I waited on Captain
Knight to thank him for granting me leave and to show him my letter. He
wished me joy and expressed great indignation at the loss of my effects.
I must here state that, besides what I brought home from abroad, I lost
twenty new shirts, two suits of uniform, trowsers, waistcoats, boots,
etc., etc., in fact everything but my quadrant; and that no doubt would
have gone also, but my name was engraved on the brass.
On my return to the Victory to report myself, Lieutenant Hamilton was
all politeness. I was asked down to the wardroom, and Lieutenant
Vincent, who had been a midshipman with me in the Salisbury, but who had
hardly spoken to me before, forgot his pomposity and was as friendly as
in times of old; but I disdained their kindness as well as the dinner
they asked me to, and went on shore without taking leave of the men who
suffered, by base neglect, an absent messmate to be plundered by
rascally dockyard men. I was so short a time on board the Victory that I
remember but few, and a great number were on leave who I never saw. Some
of those in the mess I knew little of, and only remember the names of
four.
With the Victory ends my servitude of mate and midshipman, but I never
can forget the many happy days I passed in that capacity. It was some
time before I knew what ship I was appointed to; but on the receipt of a
letter from Mr. Harrison, Lord Spencer’s private secretary, I was
informed that it was to the Hind, 28, at Sheerness, and that I was to
come to London to be sworn in without loss of time.
LORD HOOD, Admiral of the blue.
Dead [1816]. An admiral of the white and Governor of Greenwich
Hospital; a most able tactician.—[_D.N.B._]
JOHN KNIGHT, Esq., Captain.
Dead [1831]. An admiral of the red and K.C.B.; a very able
officer; see his charts.—[Marshall, i. 154.]
EDWARD HAMILTON, 1st Lieutenant.
A vice-admiral; a baronet and K.C.B. He recaptured the Hermione.
[Died, an admiral, 1851.—_D.N.B._]
MARTIN HINTON, 2nd Lieutenant.
Dead. A commander; a good sailor.
RICHARD BUDD VINCENT, 3rd Lieutenant.
Dead. See Salisbury.
JOHN MCARTHUR, Secretary.
A very clever fellow, and one of the first swordsmen in Europe
[Died 1840.—_D.N.B._]
LAWFORD MILES, Lieutenant of Marines.
Dead. A captain; good-natured and thoughtless.
WILLIAM RIVERS, Gunner.
Dead. See Barfleur.
JOHN MARR, Boatswain.
Dead. See Barfleur.
GEO. WOLFE, Midshipman or mate.
Dead [1825]. A post captain; a worthy fellow—[Marshall, iii. 310.]
H[ENRY] VANSITTART, Midshipman.
A rear-admiral. [Died, a vice-admiral, 1843.—O’Byrne.]
G. E. HAMOND, Midshipman.
A vice-admiral, Bart., and K.C.B. [Died, an admiral and G.C.B.
1862.—_D.N.B._]
RICHARD W. SIMMONDS. Midshipman.
Dead. See Barfleur.
WILLIAM PYE, Schoolmaster.
Dead. See Salisbury and Barfleur.
J. A. GARDNER, Midshipman.
A commander.
I remember no more.
HIND, 28
After being sworn in at the admiralty,[115] I left London to join the
Hind, 28, Captain Richard Lee, at Sheerness, in January 1795. The Medway
and Thames being frozen over, there was no communication with the men of
war.[116] I proceeded on my journey by coach as far as Sittingbourne,
and then walked most of the way through deep snow to the King’s ferry,
which was also frozen over. At this time my health was very bad, and
coming from a fine climate to one noted for gloomy skies, fog, rain,
bitter cold and everything else that was damnable, I had nearly sunk
under it, and I have to acknowledge how much I was obliged to Mr.
Poulden, an officer in the navy, and brother to Captain Poulden,[117]
R.N., for his kind attention. He was a fellow traveller going also to
join his ship at Sheerness. The snow was several feet deep, and the cold
dreadful, and it was with the greatest difficulty and fatigue that we
reached the public-house near the ferry without being frost-bitten.
You who are not too young (for it’s difficult now to find an old
person), must remember the cruel winter the latter end of 1794 and
beginning of 1795.[118] To my surprise I met at the public-house an old
messmate of mine (a Mr. Simmonds) formerly of the Panther, and going
also to join his ship. We were half-starved and waited a considerable
time for our host to bring in the dinner, which he did at last. To our
horror and amazement, it consisted of a leg of pork of enormous size,
without a bit of lean, and coarse white cabbage boiled with it, and as
greasy as the devil. I shall never forget the consternation we were in;
nothing else could be had, and what made it more vexatious was the
praises the great fat fool of a John Bull landlord was passing on it. We
were obliged to swallow this greasy morsel from downright hunger, and
from its rancid taste in danger of cholera morbus.
The passage being frozen, we had no other resource than to cross the ice
on foot, which we did at great hazard, it cracking and bending all the
way. I had a small portmanteau, for which I paid a soldier to carry, as
he was going the same way; but when we had crossed, his heart failed him
and he refused to follow (for we passed over one by one), and it was a
long time before we could prevail on him to make the attempt; but by
promising him a shilling or two more he took courage until he got half
way over, when he imagined the ice was giving way, and there he stood
panic-struck. We really felt for the poor fellow, but at last he made a
desperate effort and got safe over though dreadfully frightened. After a
dismal walk we got to Sheerness, emphatically styled by the late Captain
Gunter, R.N., ‘the —— hole of the world.’
I found Captain Lee in lodgings; he seemed much surprised at seeing me
as he had no communication with the admiralty for a long time. He seemed
astonished at my walking across the ferry, which he considered a very
hazardous undertaking. After waiting a few days we forced a passage
through the ice and got on board and soon after, followed his worship,
old Stamp, the Mayor of Queenborough, as pilot, and well known as a most
respectable boroughmonger of large property and powerful interest, and
would be a pilot merely because he liked it. We soon got under way, and
in a few hours anchored in the Downs, where we found the Leopard, 50
(the flagship), and several men of war. We remained but a short time and
then proceeded to Spithead with a convoy.
We were on this service up and down Channel, and to Ireland, for several
months without anything material happening, until being off Waterford,
after seeing the convoy safe, we saw a suspicious lugger, which we gave
chase to and, after a run of forty leagues, had the good fortune to
capture—the Speedwell, smuggling lugger, pierced for eighteen guns which
she had thrown overboard, as we counted the carriages that were disposed
of soon after the guns. Her cargo consisted of spirits, tobacco, tea,
nankins, etc., with thirty-nine gigantic smugglers; one we supposed was
killed, as her muster roll had forty. We pressed the crew and took the
vessel to Belfast, where her cargo was sold. Captain Lee, who was a good
calculator, offered the first lieutenant, Hickey, and myself £58 15_s._
apiece for our prize money, which after some consideration we accepted;
but when the prize money was paid, the share of a lieutenant was only
£50, so that he lost by the spec. £17 10_s._, besides losing with the
marine officer. We kept the crew as part of our ship’s company, but they
contrived to desert at different times with the exception of four.
I well remember while lying in Dublin Bay, and being at breakfast with
Captain Lee, in course of conversation he observed that the four
remaining smugglers were the best men in the ship and that he was very
proud of them. He had hardly made the observation when the officer of
the watch reported that the jolly boat was missing; the hands were
immediately turned up to muster, when it was found that the four
worthies had set off in the boat, when or where nobody could tell. The
captain looked at us, and we at him, but no one could keep countenance.
It could not be proved in whose watch the boat was taken. We found her
at Dunleary, but never heard of the deserters.
While at Carrickfergus the assizes were held and we had an invitation to
dine with the grand jury. We passed a very pleasant day; upwards of two
hundred were present, and several excellent songs were sung by one of
the counsellors, who was considered equal to Braham or Incledon.[119]
Having proceeded to Plymouth with a convoy we remained some time in the
Sound, when the Medusa, 50, Captain James Norman, arrived with the West
India convoy, part of which had been captured by the enemy’s cruisers,
and we were put under his orders to proceed with the convoy to the
Downs.
It is well remembered by those who are not too young that the latter end
of 1795 was a very tempestuous season, and it was a long time before an
opportunity offered to sail; we once made the attempt and had nearly got
on shore near the Mewstone. In working out, our main topsail yard was
carried away in a squall, and we were obliged to anchor; but the gale
increasing, the cable was cut, and we again anchored in the Sound. On
November 3, the wind being favourable, the commodore made the signal to
get under way, and we were ordered to lead up Channel. On the night of
the 5th (it being light winds the whole of the time from our leaving the
Sound), between Beachy Head and Dungeness it came on to blow a complete
hurricane, with heavy rain at south; and on the morning of the 6th, it
blew, if possible, harder, and our situation on a lee shore dreadfully
alarming, in Rye Bay, with only storm staysails, which at last blew out
of the bolt rope; the main topsail also split to pieces from the fourth
reef, leaving not a wreck behind, and we expected the ship would upset
under bare poles.
As second lieutenant, I was stationed on the forecastle, and seeing a
light right ahead I pointed it out to Tim Coghlan, our master, who swore
it was Dungeness light and that we were all lost; at the same time
asking me for the key of the case, as he was going to step down for a
lunch, being infernally hungry and thirsty. I asked Captain Lee, who was
on deck all night—for he was an officer that never flinched, and where
there was danger he was always to be seen cool and intrepid—to take some
refreshment. ‘Why,’ says he, ‘I don’t know what to say about the eating
part of the business, but I think we shall get plenty to drink, and that
presently.’
Had the gale continued at south, nothing could have saved us. With a
tremendous sea, and breakers at no great distance, there was no chance
of reaching the Downs as we could not get round Dungeness; when in a
dreadful squall of thunder, lightning, hail and rain, the wind shifted
to north or NNW, which is off the land, and blew with the utmost
violence. But towards daylight it got more moderate and we stood for the
Downs, where we anchored with part of the convoy in a shattered
condition, the remainder coming in soon after. Two of them were lost on
the French coast when the wind shifted to the northward.
Captain Lee soon after left the ship, with the good wishes of every
officer and man on board. He was a brave, generous, and meritorious
officer, an excellent sailor and skilful pilot for the British, as well
as Irish Channels, and well deserving of the honours he now enjoys. He
was succeeded by Captain John Bazely, who was one of the best officers
in the navy for skill, activity, and high sense of honour, well read,
and possessing an excellent understanding, and his death will long be
lamented as a loss to the service and to society.
November 19th, another tremendous gale came on at SSW, which lasted the
whole of the day and most of the night. This was the gale that Admiral
Christian’s[120] fleet suffered so much in. We expected every minute to
part, and about the last quarter flood we began to drive; but before we
could let go our sheet anchor she brought up. The Glebb, 74, the
flagship of the Russian admiral (Henikoff) lying abreast of us, parted
and brought up with her last anchor within half a mile of the Break. The
Montagu, 74, under jury masts, from the westward, anchored in our
wake,[121] and run her cable out to the clinch before she brought up.
Had she parted, God knows what would have become of us, as it was the
height of the gale, with thick weather, and nothing could have prevented
her being on board of us, as all her sails were blown from the yards.
Had the gale lasted much longer it would been of serious consequence to
the ships in the Downs.
Sailed with a convoy to the westward, which service we were employed on,
cruising occasionally in the Channel and Bay, for several months. In May
1796, coming into Plymouth Sound from a cruise, and blowing hard, we
anchored astern of the Alfred, 74, who had driven without our being
aware of it, so that we found ourselves in an awkward berth without room
to moor. We then attempted to get under way, but the gale increasing
from the SW, we were unable to weather Mount Batten and came to again.
We soon after parted, and let go another anchor and brought up between
two rocks in a perilous situation, with two anchors ahead; but
fortunately it got more moderate, and, observing there was an undertow,
so that when she pitched there appeared no strain upon the cables, we
thought there was no occasion to cut away our masts; and our opinion was
right, notwithstanding the wish of the knowing ones who came down by
hundreds and chalked in large letters on the rocks—‘Cut away your
masts.’ This was dictating with a vengeance by a set of vagabond
landsmen, fellows that could rob a house easier than knot a rope yarn,
and be damned to them. A lighter with an anchor and cable came out soon
after; and the wind shifting, we got under way and anchored in a safe
berth.
Sailed to the westward and cruised in the Bay, and on our return to the
Sound received orders to proceed to Spithead and fit for foreign
service, and about the latter end of August sailed with a small convoy
for Quebec. Nothing particular happened until we got on the Banks of
Newfoundland, when we fell in with a French squadron under Admiral
Richery. It was in the forenoon watch, blowing very hard, the wind WNW
with a heavy sea, under a close-reefed main topsail and foresail, when
we observed a ship of the line to windward with her head to the SW,
under the same sail. Made the private signal, which was not answered.
Most of our convoy had parted company in the gale. Bore up and made
sail. The enemy also bore up and made all sail in chase until sunset,
when he gave over chase and hauled his wind to the northward. We hauled
our wind also, and stood to the southward. Separated from the remainder
of the convoy during the night, it blowing strong with thick weather.
There was great exultation at our outsailing the enemy, and some on
board were wishing to have another trial, and their wishes were not
disappointed; for in three days after, about six in the morning, two
line-of-battle ships were observed astern about two leagues off.
The private signal was made, but not answered. We were under
close-reefed topsails and foresail, steering WSW, the wind NW. The enemy
made sail and stood after us. We immediately let two reefs out of the
topsails, set topgallant sails and hauled the main tack on board, with
jib a third in[122] and spanker. It was neck or nothing, and those who
wished for another chase looked rather glum and had not quite so good an
opinion of our sailing on a wind as they had when before it. For my part
I expected we should upset, and it was with uncommon alacrity in making
and shortening sail between the squalls that we escaped upsetting or
being taken. The enemy knew well what he was about, for he kept rather
on our lee quarter with his fore topmast studding sail boom run out, and
the sail ready for setting in case we had kept away. At one time his
weather main topsail sheet gave way and he was only ten minutes in
setting the sail again; his jib also split, which he unbent and had
another set in twenty minutes, which did him great credit. Luckily for
us the sea was nearly abeam; had we been on the other tack we must have
been taken, as we should then have bowed[123] the sea. I remember
heaving the log and she was going ten knots. But notwithstanding our
good sailing the enemy gained on us fast, and we should have been
captured for a certainty if the Frenchman had possessed more patience.
Festina lente, not too fast;
For haste, the proverb says, makes waste.
And so it happened; for a little before six, when he was within gunshot,
the greedy fellow let another reef out of his topsails, and just as he
had them hoisted, away went his fore yard, jib-boom, fore topmast and
main topgallant mast. The other line-of-battle ship was hull down
astern. The chase lasted twelve hours, during which time we ran near
forty leagues. Shortened sail and wore ship, and as we passed to
windward, we counted fifteen ports of a side on his lower deck.
Nothing further happened, except losing a poor fellow overboard in the
Gulf of St. Lawrence, until we got to Quebec. The convoy also escaped
and came in soon after; one of them was chased, but by fixing a pole on
a tub with a lantern on the top, and steering another course in the
night, escaped. We remained at Quebec until the latter end of November,
and then sailed with a couple of fur ships for England under convoy. We
left Quebec in the evening. I had the first watch, and I never shall
forget the cold as long as I live.
Nothing remarkable happened until we got to the southward of Cape Clear,
which bore north according to our dead reckoning, and if I remember
correctly on the 23rd of December 1796, about eight in the evening we
saw a squadron of men of war, one of them with a top light, standing to
the northward, the wind about west, and at no great distance. We
immediately hauled off to the southward, put out all our lights and
hailed the two vessels under our charge to do the same. After standing
to the southward some time, we altered our course and saw no more of
them. The wind soon after shifted to the eastward and blew a heavy gale.
Lost sight of our convoy and after buffeting about for some days we were
obliged, for want of fuel, to put into Cork, where we found several men
of war preparing to sail in consequence of the French being off Bantry
Bay. All the carriages and horses that could be found were put in
requisition to take the troops to that quarter, and when we had
completed our stores and water we sailed with a squadron of frigates
under Captain Jon. Faulknor to the southward in quest of the enemy, but
they had left Bantry, where Lord Bridport was off with the grand fleet,
who we joined with our squadron. I believe this was the time that
General Grouchy with eight thousand men (before the arrival of our
fleet) anchored in the bay; but from fear, or some other cause, thought
it safer to set off than to land; and at Bantry, as well as at Waterloo,
shewed great want of judgment.[124]
We were attached to the grand fleet as a repeating frigate; and in
January 1797, we chased by signal and captured the French privateer La
Favorite, of eight guns and sixty men, out but a short time from Brest
and had taken nothing. After removing the chief part of the prisoners, I
was put on board as prize master with two midshipmen and twelve men,
with orders to stay by the fleet; but on examining her defects I found
her in a very bad condition, upon which I separated from the fleet in
the evening and stood for the Channel (being then in the Bay). We had
nearly been run down by a three-decker—I believe the Prince George,
commanded by the late Sir Joseph Yorke—in the rear of the fleet, and the
night being as black as Erebus we had a narrow escape. Portsmouth being
the place of rendezvous, we stood up Channel with the wind at SW the day
after leaving the fleet, blowing a gale, under a close-reefed main
topsail and foresail.