Hardy,[133] commanding a 64) came on board with several other captains,
and after going round the ship and mustering us at quarters, he
addressed me, saying, ‘Sir, I feel great satisfaction in stating that
the Blonde is in the best order of any ship in the squadron and the
fittest to receive his Majesty, should he go afloat; and for the short
time your ship has been in commission she does great honour to her
captain and officers.’ This he said before the rest of the captains, and
among the number was my old captain (Towry) formerly of the Berwick. In
fitting out the ship at Chatham, I did everything I could to keep on
good terms with the officers of the yard by asking them down to our mess
and paying them every little attention in my power; and by that means I
had an opportunity of getting many things done to beautify the
ship.[134] I had the head painted in colours, the quarters friezed, a
famous stand made for the arms on the quarter deck, and trophies painted
on our scuttle butts, with half circles and circles for our pistols and
cutlasses, which made the old Blonde cut a dashing appearance.
Just as we were getting under way, Captain Hardy sent me four or five
buckets of paint, with his compliments, saying I should stand in need of
it after getting rid of the soldiers, which was really the case, as on
board they were the most helpless and dirty devils I ever beheld—except
the Russians. It was impossible to get them up from between decks
without burning green wood in the stoves, which the devil himself could
not stand, the smoke was so intolerable.[135]
After a quick passage we landed the troops at Waterford, where we
remained a short time and then returned to our station, to guard the
Needles passage for a few weeks. The Europa, 50, being sent to relieve
us, got aground near Gurnet Point, and after lying there some time was
got off and returned to Portsmouth to refit. More troops being ordered
to Ireland, we were put under the orders of Captain Geo. Burdon and
sailed with a small squadron consisting of the following men of war:—
Alkmaar[136] 54 Capt. Geo. Burdon, commodore
Tromp[137] 54 Capt. Worsley
Blonde 32 Capt. Dobree
Weymouth store-ship ——
On the passage we had near got on the Seven Stones. I had the morning
watch, and soon after I relieved the deck I observed breakers upon the
lee bow and beam and at no great distance; the wind about NNW, and our
heads to the westward, blowing fresh with a chop of a sea. The Alkmaar
was ahead, on the weather bow, and the Tromp to windward, the Weymouth
astern of all. We were under double reefed topsail and foresail and no
time to be lost; immediately set topgallant sails, jib and spanker;
hauled on board the main tack, kept her rap full, and when she had fresh
way, put the helm down and she stayed like a top. We made the signal for
standing into danger, and when the Alkmaar put her helm down she missed
stays, and when they got her head round her stern was close to the
breakers. The Tromp, by being to windward and carrying a press of sail
weathered the shoals and parted company. In consequence of foul winds we
put into Scilly for a few days, and then sailed for Dublin, where we
landed the troops.
We were employed upon this service from Dublin to Cork and then to
Guernsey, and up and down Channel with convoy, until August 1799, when
we received orders to proceed to the Baltic to convey the Russian troops
to Holland. Sailed from Spithead, and having taken in pilots proceeded
to Elsinore and then to Reval, with some transports. Found lying in the
roads the Russian fleet consisting of 15 sail of the line besides
frigates, etc., under Admiral Henikoff, and several British men of war
and transports. Having embarked some thousands of the Russian guards we
left Reval for the Texel, in company with British and Russian men of war
and several transports. We had on board a Russian captain, two subs., a
surgeon, and 296 privates, all hoffs, choffs, and koffs. The captain’s
name was Peter Glebhoff, who never pulled his boots off the whole time
he was on board. The men were the most filthy I ever met with. They used
to scrape the tallow out of the bottoms of the lanterns and make it up
into balls, which they would swallow and wash down with a drink of train
oil. They had bread made on purpose, of the coarsest flour mixed with
vinegar, and their cookery it is impossible to describe; so that the
Spartan black broth must have been a luxury (however unpalatable) to
their abominable messes. I have positively seen them pick the vermin off
one another’s jackets, which they would eat without ceremony.
On our arrival at the Texel the whole were immediately landed, and were
soon after in action, and the most of those we had on board put _hors de
combat_ by the next day. Poor Peter Glebhoff, who had been sharpening
his spear at the grinding stone a few days before the landing, and
vowing to sacrifice every Frenchman he met with, was one of the first
that fell. He had been in most of the battles under Suvorof against the
Turks and Poles, and had left a wife and family at Riga to lament his
fate. He was much liked while on board of us and we all felt heartily
sorry for him. I was several times on shore and saw the numerous wagons
of wounded soldiers from the scene of action which by no means
corresponded with the accounts given in our Gazettes.... I had two
cousins, captains in the 17th regiment of foot—one of them (Knight) was
killed just as I was going to see him.
A short time before we left the Texel the Blanche, 32, Captain Ayscough,
got on shore on the Haaks—a dangerous shoal near the Texel, and some of
the boats that were sent to her assistance unfortunately upset, and
several officers and seamen perished, owing to the surf which ran very
high on and near the shoal. The Blanche got off, and returned to the New
Deep, and sunk just as she entered, but none of her crew were lost.[138]
At this time things looked rather queer, and it was found out after hard
fighting that it was not so easy to beat the French out of Holland as at
first expected; and we were ordered to take a cargo of runaway Dutchmen
on board, with their wives and families—about 400 altogether. A short
time before we sailed we saw the Lutine, 36, Captain Launcelot Skynner,
at the back of the Haaks, and, if I am correct, the evening she was
lost[139] and only one saved, who died soon after.
We left the Texel in November 1799, and in standing over to our own
coast had nearly struck by the blunder of our pilots on the Gabbard.
After escaping from this first blunder we anchored near the Shipwash,
another shoal by far more dangerous than the former. It was in the
evening that we took up our quarters in this precious situation,
intending to get under way with the morning tide. I must here mention
that we had two pilots; one of them had been a branch pilot for more
than twenty years. I had the morning watch, and on relieving the deck I
observed to this branch pilot that the weather had a very suspicious
appearance. The wind at this time was favourable for getting to sea, and
we could lay five points to windward of the tail of the shoal. I
strongly urged the pilot to get under way, pointing out the danger of
our situation should the wind get dead on the shoal, but all to no
purpose. He said there was no fear and he must remain where he was, as
he was sure the weather would be fine, and that it was only a light haze
over the moon; upon which I went to the captain and gave my opinion. He
agreed with me, but did not like to take charge out of the pilots’
hands, saying he was fearful, in getting under way, that the ship might
get on shore should she cast the wrong way. Now there was no fear of
that, as a spring on the cable would have cast her the right way, and
the loss of an anchor was of little consequence compared with the risk
of losing the ship and our lives.
Far be it from me to reflect upon Captain Dobree, who was a good officer
and seaman; and taking charge from a pilot was a great responsibility;
but when a pilot is guilty of a gross error, I should never hesitate to
take charge of the ship, if I knew I could do so with safety, which was
the case now. But it was neglected, and as I foretold, the wind soon
after backed round and blew dead upon the shoal, so that we could not
weather either end. At this time we were at single anchor about two or
three cable’s-lengths from the breakers, blowing strong, and the sea
getting up; at half cable; but let go another anchor and veered to a
whole cable on the former, and half cable on the latter, bringing two
anchors ahead. Sent topgallant masts upon deck, and struck yards and
topmasts; the wind increasing to a gale, with a hollow sea and great
strain upon the cables. There was no alternative but to cut away the
masts, which was immediately done; but owing to an error of one of the
officers, who ordered the lanyards of the main stay to be cut before the
lanyards of one side of the main rigging, the main mast, in consequence
fell aft, and carried away the mizen mast, which stove the boats on the
quarters and did considerably damage to the upper works; and some of the
rigging caught fire, from the stove in the cabin having the funnel
knocked off; but this was soon got under, and with great exertion the
wreck was cleared. ‘And now, Master Pilot,’ says I, ‘after getting us in
this damnable situation, what next is to be done?’ The son of a bitch
could make me no answer; but the junior pilot exclaimed ‘—— seize me if
we sha’n’t be on the sands.’ I could not help saying they deserved to be
hanged as drowning was too good for them.
I have already mentioned that we had Dutch troops on board with their
families, and of as much use as Castlereagh would have been with the
same number of his Lancers or Prancers.[140] The few marines we had were
worth a thousand of such live lumber. It was ludicrous to see those
Dutchmen coming upon deck with their hat boxes, boots, trunks, flutes
and music books, ready to go on shore, when the sea was running
mountains high, and a tremendous surf of prodigious height on the sands
close under our stern, and no chance whatever, if the ship parted, of a
soul being saved; which made Captain Dobree observe to me, ‘Where
ignorance is bliss ’tis folly to be wise.’
About half-past ten A.M. we parted the best bower, and let go the sheet
anchor; and at the greatest risk—it was neck or nothing—veered on the
small bower to a whole, and half cable on the sheet, which brought us
very near the shoal but there was no help for it. About twelve o’clock
we observed that the small bower was stranded; and at the moment when
nothing but a miracle could save us, in a terrific squall of thunder,
lightning, hail, and rain, the wind suddenly flew round and blew with
violence off the shoal, which saved H. M. ship Blonde from destruction.
It soon after got moderate; we had an excellent ship’s company, and in
less than three hours we had jury masts rigged and both anchors hove
up—having saved the small bower; made sail and anchored in a safer berth
to await the tide.
About eleven P.M. we were surprised by a boat coming alongside with four
hands, who stated they belonged to a galliot that had struck upon the
tail of the shoal and had beat over into smoother water, where she sunk.
The crew had taken to the boat and were six hours beating about before
they got alongside of us, and thought we were a floating light. As soon
as the morning tide would allow we got under way and followed some
merchantmen—for I am certain the pilots did not know the way without
having a leader—and arrived at Sheerness in the evening;
Ragged, and shabby, and all forlorn,
By wind and weather tattered and torn,
Occasioned by pilots who treated with scorn
The good advice that was given that morn;
For which a rope their necks should adorn,
The damnedest lubbers that ever were born.
Captain Dobree soon after left the ship to proceed with Sir Home Popham
and other captains to Russia, and I acted as captain for several weeks
until another was appointed. Having business on shore, I wrote to the
admiralty requesting to be superseded, which after a little delay was
granted, and Lieutenant Edwin James was appointed in my room. I left the
old Blonde and my worthy messmates early in 1800.
I shall now relate a few anecdotes as they come to my memory. When near
the shoal I have just mentioned, our surgeon’s mate and the ship’s cook
were almost frightened out of their senses. The former, who would fight
any man, or face the devil as soon as let it alone, was not equal to
this; and when the junior pilot said, ‘—— seize me if we shan’t be on
the sands,’ he clapped his hands and ran down to the gun room, with his
hair standing on end, crying out, ‘Lost! Lost! Lost!’—and then flew on
deck again; and when the wind shifted, he cut several capers and said
‘I’m a man again.’ As for the cook, he had saved a sum of money by
keeping shop on board and selling things to the ship’s company. At the
time the best bower parted, he was on the forecastle in the greatest
tribulation; says he, ‘Betty’ (meaning his wife, who was on board) ‘will
go to a better mansion, but I’m doubtful about myself.’ He had hardly
made the observation when the sea broke over the bows that threatened
destruction and with a faltering voice he said, ‘Liver me! Liver
me!’—meaning ‘Deliver me,’ but could not get the word out. ‘Damn your
liver, you croaking son of a bitch,’ says the captain of the forecastle.
‘Go into your coppers and be damned to you, and there you’ll be safe,
and don’t come barking here like a tanner’s dog.’ I was on the
forecastle with Captain Dobree at the time. He looked at me and for my
life I could not help laughing.
While at Sheerness we had two courts martial held on board of us[141];
one on Lieutenant Brice, on charges brought against him by Captain
Charles Brisbane while on the South American station. The charges being
proved, he was sentenced to be dismissed the service and rendered
incapable of serving his Majesty, his heirs or successors. This was most
unfortunate for Lieutenant Brice, as his commission to the rank of
commander only waited the result of his trial. The next was on Captain
George Tripp, for the loss of the Nassau, 64, on the Dutch Coast.[142]
The court having heard all the evidence came to the following
conclusion:—That H.M. ship Nassau was lost through the gross ignorance
and inattention of Captain Tripp, and that he did not set a good example
to those under his command; and for such conduct he was sentenced to be
dismissed from the service as unfit and unworthy, and rendered incapable
of serving his Majesty, his heirs or successors.
I promised (page 12) to speak of Pat Gibson when I came to the Blonde.
He was at this time (1799) purser of the Pallas, 38 (formerly the
Minerva), having given up the Princess Royal as too great an undertaking
for his age, being, as he told me, eighty. The Pallas being alongside
the same hulk, we were constant visitors. As every circumstance, however
trifling, may be interesting, I shall relate a few anecdotes. Gibson was
a tall raw-boned Irishman from the county of Tipperary; very powerful,
with an Herculean grasp, and woe betide those who got into his clutches
if roused to anger. He was a very jovial companion, droll in his manner,
full of anecdote, and sung in the Irish language, of which he was a
perfect master. He used to go on shore to bring off the drunken Irish
who had stayed above their time, and I remember his saying to me,
‘Arrah, don’t you think, my dear fellow, that it’s a hard thing that
nobody can manage those spalpeens but an ould man like me, now eighty
years of age? Och, By the Holy Father, how I knocked their heads
together, and left the mark of my fist upon their ugly podreen faces,
bad luck to them.’
He was at the taking of Quebec and was one of those that assisted in
carrying General Wolfe off the field when mortally wounded. His account
of the battle was very interesting, and in it he fought most manfully.
It was amusing to see him sitting in his cabin with his legs stretched
outside the door singing Irish songs. The steward once interrupted him,
for which he got a thump on the back that sent him the length of the
gunroom, Pat saying, ‘To hell wid you! take dat till the cows come
home.’ There was a countryman of his by the name of Fegan, who, in the
American war, was sent by Sir John Fielding (the celebrated magistrate
of Bow Street) on board the Conquistador, 60, then lying as a guard-ship
at the Nore with Admiral Roddam’s flag. This Fegan was a shrewd, keen
fellow, and made a song on being sent on board of a man of war, and
Gibson was very fond of singing it. I only remember a few verses:—
The beginning of the war they hobbled poor Fegan,
And sent him on board of the Conquistador;
That floating old gin shop, who struck upon her beef bones,
While laying as a guard-ship near the buoy of the Nore.
When first they lugged him before Justice Fielding,[143]
Fegan thus to him did say:
You may be damned, you old blind b——,
I will be back again before Christmas day.
By my sowl, Mr. Fegan, you are a fine fellow,
It’s you that have done the king much wrong;
Call Kit Jourdan, the master at arms, sir,
And put Mr. Fegan in double irons strong.
Step here, boatswain’s mate, and give him a starting;
Says the first lieutenant it’s always my way;
And you shall have many before the day of parting—
I think, Mr. Fegan, you mentioned Christmas day.
Etc., etc., etc.
When I called on him about three months before his death he told me he
was then on his last legs; that he had enjoyed an uninterrupted state of
health for upwards of ninety years; that he never had the headache,
rheumatism, toothache or spasms, and that he had nothing to do with
doctors’ bottles with collars round their necks, and look, says he, if
you can find any of that craft on my chimney-piece. Before I close I
must give another song of his:—
There was a wedding at Baltimore,
Of three score people lacking of four;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.
The priest of the parish got up at the dawn,
To marry brisk Flemming to sweet Susan Bawn;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.
There was Tyghe, and Dermot, and Madam Shevaun,
And they all rode on a long-tailed gar-ron;[144]
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.
There was sneezing galore, with full madders[145] of ale,
Which made maidens stagger and men for to reel;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.
Potatoes and herrings must please the men,
But madam the bride, she must have a fat hen;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.
There was long kail, and pottage, with good pishochbey,[146]
And the rarest colcannon[147] that e’er you did see;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.
When the feasting was o’er, from the room she was led,
Where they lay head and points as if they were dead;
And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,
And you’re welcome, gramachree, welcome all.
· · · · ·
Our master, Henry Webb, was a very worthy fellow, but had strange
fancies. When we were going from the Downs to Portsmouth, and about
three leagues to the southward of Beachy Head, he had the first watch,
and having after supper taken his drop, he dropped asleep while sitting
on the gun-carriage and had a dream that the ship was on shore. Up he
started and ran into the captain, who had gone to bed, and called out,
‘Get up, sir, we are all lost.’ The captain jumped out of bed and went
upon deck in his shirt, and ordered the hands to be turned up, and sent
for me. I flew up with only my trowsers on, found everything in
confusion, and I really thought that madness had seized the whole. ‘Put
the ship about, sir, immediately,’ says the captain. This I complied
with, and when on the other tack I asked him if anything was the matter.
‘Mr. Webb, sir,’ says he, ‘must be sent to the madhouse.’ I confess I
was not well pleased, as I had the middle watch and this happened at six
bells, so I had an hour more than I expected to trudge the deck. I
should have stated that the wind was westerly and we were beating down
Channel with a moderate breeze. The captain was much inclined to bring
Master Webb to a court martial, but we interceded for him and the
business was looked over, but he never heard the last of this, and would
frequently be greeted with the well-known words, ‘Turn out, we are all
lost’—a compliment he could well dispense with.
He gave us a droll account that when at Lisbon he missed the boat that
was to take the officers off in the evening who were on shore upon
leave, and was engaging a shore boat for that purpose; but suspecting
from something the boatmen were saying that their intention was to
murder him, he took to his heels and hid under some logs in the
neighbourhood of Bull Bay and remained there all night in the greatest
terror. When he sallied out in the morning he was covered with filth of
a yellow hue and appeared at a distance as if he had been dipped in
Pactolus! His fright was so great that he was not aware of the bed of
roses he had reposed on for so many hours, until he started in the
morning with blushing honours thick upon him.
On another occasion, coming up in a small fishing boat from Sheerness to
Chatham, he heard two of the men whispering, which he imagined was about
himself, and when making a tack and near the mud, out he jumped and
began to crawl upon his hands and knees as fast as he could for dry
land. The poor fishermen, not knowing what to make of such conduct, ran
the boat on the mud and two of them went after him, but to no purpose,
it being dark. They called repeatedly, but got no answer from Webb, who
was making off in terror and dismay; and what alarmed him more was
hearing the men say, ‘D’ye see him now? Where the hell can he be got to?
He must be hereabouts.’ At last he got out of the mud and set off for
Chatham in a nice pickle, and told his tale; but the boat had arrived
before him and the men in great tribulation had given their version,
being fearful of prosecution, expecting that Webb was smothered or
drowned; and glad enough they were when he arrived at Chatham and also
to join in the laugh against him. One of the fishermen happened to know
him by sight and where he lived, and by that means it got publicity.
In cases like this, and where ghosts were introduced, Webb’s courage
would be put to the test; but in every other respect he was as brave as
a lion. While at the Passage of Waterford, he had a dispute with our
second lieutenant, and a challenge was the consequence, and they asked
me leave to go on shore. As I had the greatest friendship for them both,
I refused their request, and went below to the gunroom. Soon after one
of the midshipmen came down and informed me they were going out of the
ship. Up I went and found them in the jolly boat just shoved off. ‘Come
back,’ says I, ‘immediately, or I’ll make the sentry fire.’ On their
return I told them if they did not make it up instantly, I would try
them by a court martial for going out of the ship contrary to orders and
taking the boat. This had the desired effect, and I had the pleasure of
making up the dispute between two as good fellows as ever lived.
The second lieutenant (Jack Derby) was a noisy droll fellow, always
keeping the mess in a roar of laughter. The first day he joined the ship
we had roast beef for dinner, and when brought to table it was little
better than half done by the neglect of our black cook. Now this cook’s
name was Jack Derby also, whom I sent for, and calling him up to the
head of the table close by Lieutenant Jack Derby, says I, ‘I am sorry,
sir, you should have such a dinner, particularly the first day of your
coming on board; but you have to thank that black son of a bitch, Jack
Derby’—an emphasis on the word—‘whose grog shall be stopped for such
neglect.’ ‘Don’t mention it, sir,’ says he laughing; ‘I shall make a
very good dinner, and suppose my name will be inserted on the ship’s
books as Jack Derby the Second.’