grand fleet, and in running up Channel we got into Portland Race. I have
been in many noted places, but this infernal race was worse than all,
and I expected every moment we should founder. The privateer being
deep-waisted, I ordered her ports to be knocked out so as to let the sea
have a clear passage through; our hatches were battened down, but we
were in danger of being washed overboard. The sea appeared like a pot
boiling, and the spray beat over our topsail yards. Hauled off to the
southward, and fortunately got safe out of one of the most damnable
places I ever was in. The Frenchmen were in the utmost terror and cursed
the hour they ever left Brest. By our account we were half way between
the Start and Portland, which was very fair considering everything.
During the night it fell calm and towards morning the wind freshened at
SE with thick weather; at daylight, stood in and sounded fifteen fathoms
near St. Alban’s Head, and, it clearing away, bore up and made sail for
Plymouth. When near the Start we hoisted the union jack over the French
at the gaff end; but the jack blowing away, and the halliards getting
foul, we could not for some time haul down the French colours, which
frightened a brig that was near, and a frigate coming from Torbay under
jury masts fired (I believe) at us but at too great a distance to take
effect. However, we got our colours to rights and I hailed the brig, who
seemed very much alarmed until I informed him we came from the grand
fleet, a prize to the Hind. In the evening we anchored in Cawsand Bay,
and next morning I waited on Sir Richard King, the port admiral, who
behaved in the kindest manner, and on my explaining my reasons for
leaving the fleet he said I did what was very proper.
As no despatches had arrived, I was ordered by Sir Richard to write an
account of what happened in the fleet from the day we joined Lord
Bridport until I left with the prize, and also to give an account of our
proceedings from the time we fell in with Richery’s squadron until our
arrival at Cork. I was put into a room and desired to take my seat at a
table with a quire of foolscap placed before me; and like a fool I
looked, for it was a long time before I knew what to write, or how to
begin. At last I took courage, and filled three or four sheets; bad
grammar, no doubt. Sir Richard read the whole and said it would do very
well—many thanks to him. He laughed heartily when I told him I got into
Portland Race and what a panic the prisoners were in.
I had sent a pilot off to take the brig into Hamoaze and walked down
with Sir Richard to Mutton Cove, as he wished to see her as she passed.
He told me he was once put prize master when a lieutenant, on board of
such another and had left the fleet as I had done and for the same
reason. This made me easy and quieted my fears. Captain Bazely’s father
was port admiral in the Downs, and I wrote to him stating our arrival
and received an answer thanking me for the information respecting his
son. We had not been long at Plymouth before the Hind left the fleet and
put into Portsmouth, and not finding me there supposed we were lost,
until Captain Bazely received a letter from his father saying he had
heard from me, and that we were all well and safe at Plymouth, and in a
few days I received the following letter from Captain Bazely:
Hind, Portsmouth, February 1797.
‘Gardner, my good fellow, I am truly happy to find you are in the land
of the living, and that it was through necessity you put into
Plymouth. We are ordered to Sheerness to dock, where I shall be
devilish glad to see you; so get on board some vessel bound to the
Downs with your party, and be sure to call on my father, who will be
very glad to see you and will send some craft to take you to the Nore.
We are all well.—Believe me to remain, with best wishes,
‘Yours most faithfully,
‘JOHN BAZELY, JUNR.’
After clearing the prize and delivering her up to Mr. Hemmings, the
master attendant at Plymouth and agent for Lord Bridport (who I have
every reason to thank for his great civility while I remained in
Hamoaze, in the many invitations I had to dine at his house, where he
made a point to introduce me to the captains who visited there) I was
put on board the Medusa, 50, commanded by my old messmate Jack Eaton,
who was to take us as far as Portsmouth. On our arrival at Spithead we
were put on board the Weasel, commanded by Captain Lewis, and sailed for
the Nore, where we soon arrived and joined our ship at Sheerness, and I
was well received by the captain and my messmates. Went into dock and
when refitted proceeded to Portsmouth, where we remained but a short
time and sailed with a convoy for Oporto. We had a very pleasant passage
and took out Captain A. Ball on his way to join his ship, who left us
off Oporto. On our return we recaptured a brig in the Bay of Biscay, and
I was put on board as prize master; but from ill health I went back to
my ship and the first lieutenant took charge of the prize in my room.
On our arrival at Spithead, the latter end of April 1797, we found the
fleet in a high state of mutiny. We had orders to fit for foreign
service, and I had directions to go with a party of seamen and marines
to the dockyard for new cables and stores. The mutiny, which in some
measure had been suppressed, broke out afresh on board the London, 98,
Vice-Admiral Colpoys, and some of the mutineers were killed; but the
officers were overpowered and the admiral’s flag struck by the
scoundrels, and the bloody flag of defiance hoisted in its room. I went
with my party to the yard in the morning and began to get off the
stores, when a marine said he would not assist in rousing the cable into
the lighter and advised the others to knock off; upon which I told him
if he did not immediately take hold of the cable with the rest I would
cut him down (which was my intention). This had the effect and he went
to work with the others. When I got on board our men were in a state of
mutiny, and every ship at Spithead and St. Helen’s the same. I had the
first watch that night, and the master relieved me at twelve, and
everything seemed quiet; but about three bells in the morning watch I
was sent for by the captain, and on my coming on deck I found the ship’s
company assembled there and the captain, in the most impressive manner,
requesting them to return to their duty, but all to no purpose. Had we
been the only ship, we should soon have driven the scoundrels to the
devil; but as we were situated, surrounded by line-of-battle ships
acting in the same disgraceful manner, it would have been of little use
to resist. About six a paper was handed up to the captain with the
following order in writing:—
‘It is the unanimous opinion of the ship’s company that Captain Bazely,
Lieutenants Hickey and Gardner, Mr. White, the purser, and Messrs.
Kinneer and Allen, midshipmen, are to quit the ship by 6, or violent
measures will be taken to enforce the order.’
Soon after 6 the barge was manned and armed; every vagabond had a
cutlass, and our trunks were handed in, with orders from the delegates
not to carry them anywhere for us. I had a brace of pistols with a
double charge which I put in my great-coat pockets in case I should want
their assistance. It was blowing a gale of wind at NE when we left the
ship, and near ten o’clock before we landed on Point beach; our things
were handed out, and I desired the bowman and one or two more, who I
knew to be great scoundrels, to take them to Turner’s (living on the
beach, and only a step from the boat) shewing them at the same time my
pistols and saying, ‘You understand me.’ They then most reluctantly took
our things to the place I directed. This was all I wanted, as I heard
some of the ringleaders say as we were quitting the ship ‘that if any of
the boat’s crew assisted in taking our things to any place after landing
they should be severely ducked on their return’; and they were as good
as their word; for those fellows got a fine ducking the moment they got
on board, the others having reported them.
We left the Hind in May 1797, but before I close my account I must
relate a few anecdotes as they come to my recollection. I shall begin
with the surgeon, who was a very worthy fellow and much respected, but
was strange, so that we thought him half cracked, and he had the name of
Benjamin Bullock the Madman (a character in some work that I forget). I
was one morning walking the deck with him when the postman came on board
and presented a letter directed to ‘Robert Anderson, Esq., or Benjamin
Bullock, Esq., Surgeon of H.M. ship Hind. With speed.’ The letter ran
thus: ‘Take care when you are going on shore, and do not on any account
pass the Devil’s Point where Bullocks are put to death daily for the use
of the fleet. So no more at present from yours to command, J. TALGOL,
Slaughter House, Devil’s Point.’
He accused me of writing the letter, but he was mistaken, and from that
day to this I know nothing of the author. He was greatly enraged and
vowed vengeance against me and my friend Harley the purser, who was the
person that gave him the name of Ben Bullock. It happened some time
after that Harley and myself were going on shore and Anderson said he
would take a passage with us. When near the Devil’s Point, which we had
to pass, I gave orders to the boat’s crew to pull with all their might,
‘Give way, my lads, give way until we pass this place.’ Anderson looked
at me and said, ‘What the hell are you afraid of now? You are always
croaking about some damned thing or other.’ ‘My good fellow,’ says I,
‘it is on your account that I am so anxious. Don’t you remember the
friendly letter you had warning you to beware of the Devil’s Point? It
is on this account that I want to pass it in such a hurry, as you may be
taken out and cut up for fresh beef.’ And what made things worse, on our
landing the first object that drew our attention was a large board over
a warehouse, with ‘Bullock and Anderson’ on it in gilt letters of
immense size, to his astonishment and vexation.
At another time, when we had a large party on board I was sitting at the
bottom of the table and Anderson at the head as caterer. I happened to
be in conversation with Harley, who in the heat of argument was
energetically moving his hand up and down; which Anderson observed, and
leaving the head of the table with a knife in each hand, he placed
himself between me and Harley, and holding a knife against our breasts
says he: ‘That’s for thee, and that’s for thou; I know well what you
meant by moving your hand up and down like a cleaver cutting up bullocks
for the fleet, and be damned to you both. Now do it again if you dare.’
After some difficulty we persuaded him to go to the head of the table
again; but those who were strangers to his whims looked on him with an
evil eye.
Our master (Coghlan) was a very droll fellow and fond of carrying sail
in a boat. Being sent from the Sound to the dockyard on duty, it came on
to blow a heavy gale of wind, and we struck yards and topmasts. In the
first watch about six bells I was walking the deck with Captain Lee, who
observed how glad he was our boat was safe, as he had no doubt Mr.
Coghlan had gone on board the flagship in the harbour. He had not long
made the observation, when I thought (it being moonlight) I saw
something in the direction of Drake’s Island and pointed it out to
Captain Lee, who said it could not be a boat, as nobody would be mad
enough to risk his life on such a night. By this time the object drew
near, when to our astonishment we were hailed by Coghlan to throw a
rope, and in a moment he flew alongside. We got the yard and stay
tackles over instantly, got the men in, and ran the boat up in safety
although a heavy sea was running. When Coghlan came upon deck, the
captain asked if he was not ashamed of himself in risking the lives of
the people in the wanton manner he had done. Tim with the greatest
simplicity said, ‘Sir, if you had seen her (meaning the boat) fly from
the top of one sea to another without stopping between, you would really
have admired her. She darted through the breakers when crossing the
Bridge (a dangerous reef of rocks between Drake’s Island and Mount
Edgcumbe) like a race horse. I never was in such a boat in my life.’
Captain Lee, vexed as he was, could not help smiling, at the same time
telling Tim if he did so again strange things would take place.
Coghlan’s name was John, but someone had written to Steel saying his
name was Timothy and it was put so on the list. Coghlan on this wrote to
say it was not his name and requested Steel to alter it; but the same
wag who had written before did so again, and when the list was printed
his name stood as John Timothy Coghlan, and remained so, and we always
called him Tim.[125] He has gone to his long home and has left behind
the character of an honest and worthy fellow. He left the Hind to be
master of the Trent, 36, going to the West Indies. I dined with him a
short time before he sailed, and he was pointing out the different
members of the mess, saying that none of them could live in such a
climate. Poor fellow, he little thought while making that remark that
they all returned and he the only one that sunk the victim of
all-conquering death.
At the time we had nearly got on shore and lost an anchor near the
Mewstone, when working out with the convoy, I was sent the next morning
to acquaint Commissioner Fanshawe[126] of the circumstance, and to
request he would order a lighter with a new cable and to weigh the
anchor we had lost. I recollect he was dressed in an old blue coat with
a red handkerchief about his neck, and in a very crabbed humour. After
staring at me for some time he roared out, ‘I shall do no such thing.
What brought you there? Go and tell your captain if he gets into a hole
he must get out of it again. I shall give him no assistance and you may
be off and tell him so.’ I told him that we were out of the hole and
that I only delivered my orders as I was directed. At the same time I
would thank him to write down the words he had just made use of, as
verbal messages were uncertain. ‘Be off, sir,’ says he, ‘and if your
memory is good enough to recollect what your captain said you cannot
forget what I have stated; so no more palaver’; and grinning at me with
a horrid set of teeth, he concluded by saying, ‘I have other things to
think of than bothering my brains about people who get into a lubberly
situation and don’t know how to get out.’ I looked at him without making
any reply, when, turning on his heel, he said, ‘Aye, you may look’;
Nor more he deigned to say,
But stern as Ajax’ spectre, strode away.
As I am not fond of making mischief, I thought it best to say nothing to
Captain Lee but merely state he refused to send the lighter. This put
the captain in a terrible rage, but the lighter being sent off the next
morning, the matter ended. Commissioner Fanshawe was one of the first
seamen in the navy, and also one of the bravest officers that ever did
honour to the service, a rigid disciplinarian, and to sum up all, a
tight hand of the watch, as the saying is.
Coming from the westward to the Downs and when round the Foreland, the
captain ordered the colours to be hoisted, when up went a swaggering
French ensign and jack, which at first was not taken notice of, but was
soon observed by the captain, who ran forward calling out to me, ‘Look
at the French jack, sir; haul it down directly.’ ‘Sir, said I, ‘the
French ensign is at the mizen peak.’ This he had not seen, and I thought
he would have gone jumping mad. However, they were hauled down; but as
if the devil would have it, instead of our own, up went Dutch colours.
Nobody could keep their countenance, and a general laugh went through
the ship and also in the men of war lying in the Downs who had observed
the transaction.
While at Carrickfergus we were on very friendly terms with the officers
of the Irish militia and dined often at the different messes. I remember
on a rejoicing day calling with some more on the officers of the Cavan
militia. On going upstairs to their messroom, we found several seated
round the fire with a half barrel of gunpowder busily employed making
fireworks for the evening amusement. Our visit was not of long duration,
and I can truly say for myself that I only made one step downstairs and
was off like a shot—
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind.
When in Hamoaze our boatswain was tried by a court martial for repeated
drunkenness and dismissed the service. At the trial the captain of the
Tremendous, 74, was unable to attend from indisposition, and the surgeon
being sent for to attend the court and give in his report, he happened
to make some remarks that the court considered disrespectful; upon which
he was given in charge of Lieutenant Richards, first of the Cambridge,
84, on board of which ship the trial took place, until the court should
determine. He was not long kept in suspense, for on the court opening he
was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment in the Marshalsea for
contempt of court,[127] and sent off that day. People should be careful.
On the passage to Quebec, after parting from our convoy, about eight in
the evening, with little wind and going two knots, and nothing in sight,
a voice was heard astern hailing, ‘On board the Hind, ahoy!’ I must
confess I was a little staggered, and some curious remarks were made by
the seamen. One fellow said, ‘I’ll be damned if we were off the Cape but
I should think it was the Flying Dutchman.’ ‘As to that,’ says another,
‘he has got a roving commission and may cruise where he likes.’ ‘Bad
luck to me,’ says a marine, ‘if it’s not a mermaid.’ ‘And to sum up,’
says old Macarthy, the quartermaster, ‘it may be the poor fellow that
fell overboard the other day.’ However, the voice hailed again, saying,
‘Bear a hand and send the boat, for I’m damned if I can keep up much
longer.’ The jolly boat was immediately lowered down from the stern and
sent in the direction of the voice; and will it be believed that the
fellows were afraid to take into the boat one of the main topmen (who
had fallen overboard out of the main chains, being half asleep) until he
had told his name and answered several ridiculous questions?
At the time we took the privateer, it was given out by our lying
newspapers that the French were starving. On the contrary the French
officers told me that everything was abundant in France, and—if I may
judge from what was on board—their account was correct; for she had
barrels of meat of every description—alamode beef, ham, fowls, and
tongues, casks filled with eggs, coffee, tea, and sugar, all kinds of
cordial, with plenty of brandy and different wines; so that instead of
starvation, there appeared the luxury of Lucullus, when supping in the
Apollo.[128] The French officers belonged to some of the line-of-battle
ships at Brest, but had leave from the French Government to go on board
privateers for a certain time and cruise after our merchantmen. When we
arrived at Plymouth they requested me to state this to the proper
authorities in the hope of getting their parole. This I accordingly did,
but without success, as they were given to understand that being taken
in a privateer they could not be considered as officers entitled to
parole.[129]
I found them very intelligent gentlemen; one of them spoke English
remarkably well and gave a very interesting account of the revolution
and of the leading characters then in power without any partiality. The
opinion, he said, in France was that the nobles and the clergy were the
instigators of anarchy and confusion, and the people did not know how to
put a stop to it. I must here mention that one of our men who I had
placed as a sentry, fell asleep at his post, which was observed by a
French officer who, to his honour, informed me of the circumstance. I
need not say how I thanked him. When they were sent to Mill Prison I
went with them and did everything in my power in recommending them to
the officers belonging to the prison, who promised to make them as
comfortable as they possibly could. I had but little money, which I
divided among them. We shook hands at parting and they gave me their
address, saying how happy they should be to see me in France when the
war was over. One of those gentlemen had been a prisoner before in
England and had his quarters at Petersfield.
RICHARD LEE, Esq., Captain.
An admiral of the blue, K.C.B., Knight of the Tower and Sword. An
excellent officer and seaman. He commanded the Courageux, 74, when
Sir Richard Strahan captured Dumanoir’s squadron. [Died
1837.—Marshall, ii. 568.]
JOHN BAZELY, Esq., Captain.
Dead [1827]. A vice-admiral of the blue. He was one of the best
officers in the navy, and much lamented by numerous friends and
particularly by his old shipmates.
FREDERICK HICKEY, 1st Lieutenant.
A post captain and magistrate at Swansea; an excellent officer.
[Died 1839.—Marshall, vii. 227.]
JAS. A. GARDNER, 2nd Lieutenant.
A commander.
JOHN COGHLAN, Master.
Dead. A most worthy fellow.
[GEORGE] PATON, Master.
Dead. A quiet, good sailor.
CHRISTOPHER NOBLE, Lieutenant of marines.
Dead from his wounds. A major; as brave and generous a fellow as
ever lived.
GEO. WHITE, Purser.
Dead. He had many good qualities, and many bad ones.
ROBERT ANDERSON, Surgeon.
Dead. A very strange and worthy fellow.
ROBERT DUNHAM, Acting Lieutenant.
Dead. A lieutenant. He was made lieutenant in 1781, but broke and
was reinstated in 1795; a very clever fellow, but as obstinate as
the devil.
[JAMES] MOORE, Gunner.
Dead. A very good sailor.
[ARCHIBALD] FREEBURN, Gunner.
Uncertain.
FLEMMING, Boatswain.
Uncertain. Broke by court martial; a very good seaman but drank
hard.
[CHRISTOPHER] HUMPHRIES, Boatswain.
Dead. A very good seaman and much respected.
[ROBERT] BIGGERY [or BAGRIE], Carpenter.
Superannuated; a very worthy fellow.
[GEORGE] PORTER, Mate.
A commander; a smart officer.
[JOHN] NAZER, Mate.
Dead. A lieutenant; a very good and very ugly fellow.
[THOMAS] ALLEN, Midshipman.
Drowned. A fine spirited young man.
[BENJAMIN] BADCOCK, Midshipman.
Drowned. A fine spirited young man.
[JAMES JERVIS] KINNEER, Midshipman.
Drowned in the Lutine, 36; a lieutenant.
FRANCIS GEARY GARDNER LEE, Midshipman.
Sir F. G. G. Lee; a major in the royal marines and
lieutenant-colonel in the Spanish army.
CHUBB, Clerk.
Drowned in the cutter with poor Allen.
[JONAS] TOBY, Clerk.
Dead. A purser. [Purser of the Euryalus at Trafalgar; author of
the plan of the battle which was sent home to Lord Barham, and
published as a separate sheet and in the _Naval Chronicle_, vol.
xiv.]
BLONDE, 32
I was appointed first lieutenant of the Blonde, 32, Captain Daniel
Dobree, and commissioned her at Chatham early in March 1798, and soon
after got a draft of twenty-seven hands and a midshipman from the
Standard, 64, which was all I had to fit her out with, and of that
number, only five knew how to turn a dead-eye in. However, we contrived
to get her hold stowed, sails bent, and topgallant yards across, before
we had any addition of men or officers. At last our complement was
completed by a draft from the Dordrecht,[130] 64, and went to Black
Stakes, where we took in our powder and proceeded to the Downs. We had a
crack ship’s company with our last draft, and in getting topgallant
yards up the morning after we arrived, we crossed ours, sent them down
again, and then swayed away and had them ready for crossing before the
flagship and the rest of the men of war at anchor. Vice-Admiral
Peyton[131] was the port admiral, and had his flag on board the
Overyssel,[132] 64, commanded by my late worthy friend Captain John
Bazely. I expected we should have got a reprimand for being too hasty in
our movements, especially when I saw a boat coming from the flagship;
however, instead of a rub down, it proved to be a visit from Captain
Bazely, who paid us many compliments on the good order the ship appeared
to be in. He told me there was a vacancy on board the flagship for a
lieutenant and that he would apply for me if I wished it, at the same
time stating that he was on bad terms with the admiral, who was at all
times a harsh and disagreeable officer, and in the event of his getting
a frigate (which he was in expectation of) he had no doubt would prevent
me (to annoy him) leaving the flagship, and advised me to remain in the
Blonde until he had an opportunity of serving me.
Having received orders, we proceeded to Spithead and took command of a
small squadron of gun-boats and cutters to guard the Needles passage,
and anchored off Jack in the Basket, near Lymington, which service we
performed very agreeably for several weeks. The rebellion in Ireland
taking place, we were ordered with several men of war and transports to
proceed to Weymouth and embark troops for that country. The king, being
at Weymouth at the time, with the royal family, it was expected he would
review the squadron; but the news from Ireland being very serious, the
troops were embarked in a hurry, and we got under way in company with
the men of war and transports for our destination.