and surgeon. Our first lieutenant gave the former the name of Pot Guts,
and the surgeon the cognomen of Bottle Belly. The master saved
everything he could, having a family; and for this he was considered by
some as very near. Now the surgeon was one that loved good living, and
used to eat very hearty and seemed to devour everything with his eyes on
the table. I remember his saying to the master in a satirical manner,
‘Mr. Wills, don’t you intend to purchase a black servant for your good
lady?’ ‘Why,’ says Wills, ‘I had some idea of doing so, but to tell you
the truth I am fearful you would eat him on the passage.’ The surgeon
had nothing further to say. While lying at Port Royal, Wills was caterer
of the mess and went to Kingston to purchase dollar pigs; and going into
a house he saw some people lugging a man downstairs, and on his asking
what was the matter, they told him it was only a man who had died of the
yellow fever. This gave him such a turn that to recover his spirits he
was obliged to drink seven glasses of grog before (to use his own words)
he could make his blood circulate, and for several days he was on the
look-out for the black vomit.
One of the dollar pigs he brought with him was deformed, having a head
as long as his body, and when put into the sty with the others he killed
the whole of them; and some of the seamen got it into their heads that
this pig was the devil. Now Wills was a bit of a methodist and did not
like this, and one morning he had the devil knocked on the head and hove
overboard, observing it was the last time he’d have anything to do with
a shaver like that.
Our first lieutenant used to play many tricks with Wills. Once when the
packet came in, we were looking at her out of the wardroom windows, when
up started Hungerford, who swore that Mrs. Wills and her two daughters
were in a boat under the stern and coming alongside, and that he saw
them leave the packet which had just arrived from England. Out he ran
from the wardroom to escort them, and poor Wills looked stupid with
surprise. A few minutes after the door opened and in came Hungerford
with three naked black fellows, who he introduced as Mrs. Wills and her
two daughters in the newest fashion from England. Wills, angry as he
was, could not help joining in the laugh. When the ship was in
Portsmouth harbour, I went with Hungerford to dine with Wills, who lived
at Portsea. He had on his door a large brass plate with ‘Methuselah
Wills’ engraved thereon in capital letters. When we returned, Hungerford
swore that old Wills had the following inscription on the above brass
plate:—
Methuselah Wills Esquire,
Master in the Royal Navie,
Passed for a first-rate ship of 110 guns,
Him and his wife lives here.
Poor Wills was a very good fellow; he died the senior master on the list
at the age of eighty-three, and lies, with a great many more of my old
shipmates, in Kingston churchyard, near Portsmouth. The last time I saw
him was on the day the Princess Charlotte, 100, was launched. We were in
the dockyard together and had just passed the bridge when it gave way
with the gates belonging to the dock, by which accident near twenty
people were drowned, and we escaped the same fate by about three
minutes.[156]
I must now speak of a very different kind of being—poor unfortunate Jack
Key, our third lieutenant. He had many vices, particularly hard
drinking, but more his own enemy than any others. He was sent to Port
Royal Hospital and invalided, and remained there after we sailed, in
great distress, not being able for some time to get a passage home. One
gentleman with feelings that do honour to him, took pity on the
destitute. This gentleman was Mr. Carroll, assistant surgeon belonging
to the Goliath, who, in the kindest manner, brought him on board his
ship to provide for his wants, and did everything in his power to
relieve him in his miserable situation; but the march of intellect among
the superior officers rendered the good intentions of Mr. Carroll of
little avail, as they ordered poor unhappy Jack out of the ship without
loss of time.[157] Mr. Carroll is now a surgeon in the navy of long
standing, and in extensive practice in Walworth. Key, from his dark
complexion, had the nickname of Cocoa Jack, and was always, when the
weather had the appearance of being bad, seen with a piece of wool
between his finger and thumb ready to put in his ear, which made them
say, ‘We are going to have bad weather; Jack is wool gathering.’
I once relieved Jack at 12 o’clock P.M. When I came on deck he was not
to be found. It was blowing fresh, we were on a wind, the weather
topsail braces gone, the yards fore and aft and the weather backstay
falls overhauled. Why the topmasts did not go was no fault of Jack’s. At
last I found him asleep in the lee scuppers and more than half drunk. On
another occasion, when with the grand fleet off Brest, the signal was
made for the ships to send boats to unload the victuallers, and I was
sent with the launch and an eight-oared cutter for that purpose. As
there was a great swell we had a difficult task to clear them, and it
was late in the evening before we could take our launch in tow, and then
pulled for the ship (I think about 7 P.M.), which was about a league
off. Now Cocoa Jack had the first watch, and the ship was lying-to for
the boat until the captain went to supper; when Jack, thinking we were
too far from the admiral, made sail for some time and left us to shift
for ourselves. At this time the wind freshened and the sea began to
break, and I had serious apprehensions for our safety, and we did not
appear to near the ship, whose distinguishing lights were scarcely
visible. At last after near five hours’ labouring at the oar we got
alongside. On going upon deck I found Jack had gone below without being
relieved, and seated at the wardroom table with cold beef and a bumper
of grog before him. ‘Ah, Tony,’ says he, ‘you have got on board at last?
I had almost given you up.’ Although he was my senior officer I could
not help saying, ‘Damn your old cocoa soul, did you want to drown all
hands of us? Why did you not heave to before?’ ‘Lord help you,’ says he;
‘we have been lying-to these three hours.’ Now what Jack called lying-to
was this: he let go the main-top-bowline, kept the sail shivering but
not aback, and the helm a little a-weather, so that the ship forged
ahead considerably. With all his faults he was a good-tempered fellow,
and I said no more.
Our purser was a glorious fellow for keeping it up; and after taking his
full share of Madeira would then turn to upon rum and water, and about
two or three in the morning would give his last toast, ‘A bloody war and
a sickly season!’ and then retire in a happy state. I once told him when
he had the dry belly-ache after drinking port wine, that it was likely
he’d go to the palisades (the burying ground), but that I would be happy
to do anything for him in England that lay in my power. He gave me a
look that expressed everything but thanks.
I must here relate a circumstance which took place on the evening of the
day we made Deseada. We had a dog on board that in fact belonged to no
one, but the ship’s company were very kind to the poor animal, who used
to get well fed from the different messes, and was quite at home fore
and aft. The evening was fine, with light winds, and the ship going
about three knots, when some wicked fellow (supposed to be the son of a
clergyman) threw the poor dog overboard when several sharks were round
the ship. It was naturally supposed they had made a meal of him, but
that was not the case, as they had more mercy than the ruffian who was
guilty of such cruelty. On the arrival of the squadron at Port Royal one
of our officers went on board (I think) the Captain, 74, when to his
astonishment, who should come jumping round him but the lost dog. On his
relating the circumstance to the officers, they told him that about ten
o’clock of the evening in question they were upwards of two miles astern
of us when they heard a strange noise under their bows. At first they
thought it was a man overboard until they heard the dog bark, when one
of the men went down by a rope and caught hold of the poor creature by
the neck and got him safe on board. A blanket belonging to a sailor was
towing overboard which he got hold of with his paws and held on and by
that means was rescued from a watery grave. His new shipmates wished to
keep him and with them he remained. Of the young man who threw him
overboard, if I were to pronounce an eulogy on his character I should
without flattery say:—
On Newgate steps Jack Chance was found,
And bred up in St. Giles’s pound;
He learned to curse, to swear, to fight,
Did everything but read and write;
And bawdy songs all day would sing,
And they all declared he was just the thing.
Our first lieutenant (Hungerford) was a very droll fellow but fractious
from disappointment. He was in the Trusty, 50, when the late Admiral
Walker commanded her at the time she put into Cadiz, where some of her
officers were arrested and sent to prison by the Spanish Government for
smuggling off money; for which Captain Walker was tried by a court
martial and dismissed the service. He and Hungerford were upon very bad
terms, and happening to meet in High Street, Portsmouth, Hungerford with
a cane began to strike at him, when Captain Walker in his defence,
caught hold of a hod belonging to a mason who was standing by, and made
a blow at Hungerford, which, fortunately for him, missed the mark, and
several officers coming up, a stop was put to any further proceedings.
This business hurt Hungerford in the service and made him many enemies.
Captain Walker was reinstated and died a rear-admiral.[158] He commanded
the Monmouth, 64, in the Dutch action under Duncan and behaved with
uncommon bravery. Hungerford was a very good officer and seaman and an
indefatigable first lieutenant. In watching, quartering, stationing, and
regulating the ship’s company in every respect he showed great ability.
He was a great mimic, and very droll in other respects. I remember at
Port Royal, when he was ill, his pretending to be dumb and mad, and
carrying on the joke for a whole day on purpose to annoy the surgeon. He
put on a white great coat belonging to Captain Rea of the marines, with
his sash and sword, and a large cocked hat and feather, strutting about
the wardroom and making a dead set at Fuller whenever he came in.
However, about seven in the evening he found his tongue and said to me,
‘What a damned fool I made of Bottle Belly; how easily I humbugged him.’
The day we made the east end of Jamaica I had the forenoon watch, and
was walking the deck with Captain Stephens, when Lieutenant Morgan of
the marines called out from the gangway to the gunner’s mate to get a
gun ready and fire into the ship abreast of us. On my asking him what he
meant by such extraordinary conduct, ‘Sir,’ says he, ‘I am not
accountable to you for my actions’; and going up to the captain he told
him he was no longer captain of the Brunswick, but that he would take
pity on him and suffer him to keep possession of his cabin for the
present. The captain looked at me in amazement. ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘Mr.
Morgan is certainly deranged.’ He was then sent below, and on going down
the quarter deck ladder, he roared out to the man at the wheel, ‘Put the
helm a starboard, you damned rascal.’ The captain dined with us that
day, and, after the cloth was removed, Morgan came to the table, and on
something being said to him he took up a glass of wine, part of which he
hove in the captain’s face, and the glass at Jack Key’s head; and when
we seized hold of him, he called me a damned conceited whelp, and that
he always saw a little greatness about me that he never could put up
with. This young man’s brain was turned by diving into things he did not
understand, and it may be said in truth of him:—
A little learning is a dangerous thing,
Drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring.
He was invalided and sent home, and got the retirement, but never
recovered his reason.
Another of our marine officers (Augustus John Field) was a very strange
being. He was on board the Quebec, 32, in the action with the
Surveillante, French frigate, in the American war. Both ships were
dismasted after very hard fighting, when the Quebec unfortunately caught
fire. Her brave captain (Farmer) would not quit, and was blown up in his
ship. Out of the number saved Lieutenant Field was one and got a
considerable lift in his corps for his bravery. He was a very good
fellow in many respects, but drew a long bow and kept it up too much. He
had been through all the changing scenes of life, and told incredible
stories—that he was descended from the Plantagenet family and could
trace his genealogy to Henry the Second. By way of amusement I have seen
him rest the calf of one leg on the knee of the other and then drive
several pins up to the head in the calf of his leg, saying he would
leave them to the mess as a leg-a-cy.
Our ship was full of rats, and one morning he caught four which he had
baked in a pie with some pork chops. When it came to table he began
greedily to eat, saying, ‘What a treat! I shall dine like an alderman.’
One of our lieutenants (Geo. M. Bligh) got up from the table and threw
his dinner up, which made Field say, ‘I shall not offend such delicate
stomachs and shall finish my repast in my cabin,’ which he did and we
wished the devil would choke him. When he had finished, he said one of
the rats was not exactly to his taste as the flesh was black; but
whether from a bruise or from disease, he could not say, but should be
more particular in future in the post mortem examination. I never was
more sick in my life, and am so to this day when I think of it. Our
captain of marines (Rea) was a very worthy fellow. He had great
antipathy to the West Indies, and was always cursing Venables and Penn
for taking possession of Jamaica, and was sorry Oliver Cromwell did not
make them a head shorter for their pains. I have often heard him repeat
the following lines as a morning and evening hymn
Venables and Penn,
Two bloody-minded men,
In an evil hour
Those seas did explore,
And blundering about
This cursed hole found out;
And for so doing,
The devil has them stewing;
And with him they may remain
Till we come this way again,
Which we think howsomdever
(As our boatswain says) will be never;
And let all the mess say Amen!
When cruising off Cape Tiburon I was sent in our cutter to board a
Yankee about two leagues off and to purchase stock. Our surgeon by way
of pastime took the trip with me. As the Yankee had plenty for sale, and
it being a dead calm, I loaded our boat with live and dead stock until
she was pretty deep in the water. On our return, the sharks began to
muster and the live stock to ride rusty. The surgeon said it was a
damned shame to trifle with people’s lives in that manner by overloading
the boat, and cursed the hour he ever came with me; and it by no means
eased his fears when one of the boat’s crew said, ‘Please, your honour,
if we don’t cut the b——s’ throats’ (meaning the live stock) ‘their hoofs
will be through the boat’s bottom, as they are kicking like blazes, and
here’s a bloody shark close alongside us.’ However, we got safe
alongside after a long tug. The surgeon with a woeful countenance told a
lamentable tale, which made Captain Stephens and the rest laugh
heartily. He took good care never to volunteer his services with me in a
boat again. He has often put me in mind of the trip and I hope he will
live long to do so.
We had a tedious passage home, and when off Bermuda it was a gale of
wind and a calm alternately for three days and nights, with thunder and
lightning. On one of the nights I had the middle watch and was obliged
to clue down the topsails upon the cap eight or nine times, blowing a
gale of wind one moment and a calm the next. The night was as dark as
Erebus between the flashes, and then as light as broad day. Through one
flash I saw our surgeon coming on deck rolled up in a white great coat,
and I said to Captain Stephens (who was up most of the night and
standing with me on the gangway):
By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes.
Captain Stephens would always repeat the above when he saw Fuller come
on deck. I have often wondered that no accident happened to the ship
from the lightning, which was beyond everything of the kind I ever saw.
This was the only bad weather we had during the voyage, which was a
lucky circumstance for the Brunswick; for had a gale of wind come on for
any length of time we certainly should have foundered.
And now let me say in the language of the Romans when taking leave of
their deceased friends:—
Vale, Vale, Vale, nos te ordine, quo natura permiserit, cuncti sequemur.
OFFICERS’ NAMES
JOHN HOLLOWAY, Esq., Rear-admiral of the red.
Dead [1826]. An admiral of the red. An old messmate of my father’s
in the Princess Royal with old Vinegar (Hyde Parker), in
1779.—[Marshall, i. 101.]
GEO. HOPEWELL STEPHENS, Esq., Captain.
Dead [1819]. A rear-admiral of the white; a most excellent
officer.
EMANUEL HUNGERFORD, 1st Lieutenant.
Dead. An excellent first lieutenant; strange and droll.
HECTOR MACLEAN, 2nd Lieutenant.
Dead.
JOHN KEY, 2nd and 3rd Lieutenant.
Dead. Cocoa Jack was no man’s enemy but his own.
JAMES ANTHONY GARDNER, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 3rd Lieutenant.
A commander.
[THOMAS] LOWE, 5th Lieutenant.
Dead. A loss to the service.
GEO. MILLAR BLIGH, 7th and 6th Lieutenant.
Dead [1831]. A post captain.—[Marshall, v. 430.]
METHUSELAH WILLS, Master.
Dead. Poor old Wills was crabbed, but a good fellow.
ROBERT COOPER, Purser.
Dead. A very worthy fellow.
SMITHSON WALLER, Purser.
A very generous fellow, but kept it up too much; since dead.
WILLIAM FULLER, Surgeon.
A skilful surgeon, but crabbed as the devil at times; yet a very
good fellow, always obliging, and the first to relieve those in
distress.
[HENRY] REA, Captain of marines.
Dead. Much the gentleman.
AUGUSTUS JOHN FIELD, 1st Lieutenant of marines.
Dead. A very brave fellow, who drew a long bow, but would injure
no one.
[JAMES] HOLMES, 2nd Lieutenant of marines.
Uncertain. A good-natured fellow.
[JOHN] ROBSON, 2nd Lieutenant of marines.
Uncertain. Very quarrelsome, and appeared to be half mad.
ROSS MORGAN, 2nd Lieutenant of marines.
Dead. Invalided for insanity, sent home, and got the retirement.
[WILLIAM] WISEMAN, Gunner.
Dead.
[JOHN] FOLLIE, Boatswain.
Uncertain. Drank hard; a sailor.
[WILLIAM] YELLAND, Carpenter.
Uncertain. Very much respected.
[WILLIAM] HARRISON, Mate.
Uncertain. A very active officer.
[HENRY] EDGEWORTH, Mate.
Uncertain. A very good sailor, but unfortunately drank hard.
METHUSELAH WILLS, Midshipman and then mate; son of the
master.
A lieutenant.
PARDIEU [(?) SIMON PURDUE], Midshipman.
Dead. A commander; an officer, seaman, and gentleman. Highly
respected, but unfortunately given to drinking.
[WILLIAM] ELLIOT, Midshipman.
Killed in battle. A lieutenant; a very worthy young man.
EDWARD MEDLEY, Midshipman.
A lieutenant.
[R. A.] TAYLOR, Midshipman.
Uncertain. Wicked and wild.
[G. J.] ARCHDALE, Midshipman.
Uncertain. Much respected.
[GEORGE] ROBERTS, Midshipman.
Uncertain. A steady youth.
[JOHN] LEMON [or LAMOND], Midshipman.
Uncertain. Very steady.
WILLIAM WADE, Midshipman.
Dead. A lieutenant.
[RICHARD] HORSLEY, Midshipman.
Dead.
[JOHN] HODGES, Midshipman.
Died of yellow fever at Jamaica.
[ROBERT] WILSON, Midshipman.
Died of yellow fever at Jamaica.
[JOHN] CONTENT, Midshipman.
Died of yellow fever at Jamaica. [Borne as coxswain. Aged 39. DD.]
[ROBERT B.] MATTHEWS, Midshipman.
Uncertain. I believe a lieutenant; he was one of those saved from
H.M. ship Apollo that was wrecked on the coast of Portugal [1
April, 1804].
ROBERT ATKINS, Midshipman.
Dead. A lieutenant; steady fellow.
[MICHAEL] GOULD, Clerk.
Uncertain. Very clever. [Midshipman; afterwards captain’s clerk.]
[J. H.] WADDLE, Wrote under the clerk.
Uncertain. This poor fellow was made a butt of and ran away from
the ship. [Borne as L.M. Aged 30.]
[ANDREW] MARSHALL, 1st Assistant Surgeon.
Uncertain. This gentleman did honour to his profession.
DANIEL QUARRIER, 2nd Assistant Surgeon.
An M.D. A surgeon in the navy, and surgeon of the division of
royal marines at Portsmouth; a magistrate for the county, and what
not.
AGENT OF TRANSPORTS
I was employed on this service but a short time in Portsmouth Harbour
and had several transports to superintend, and was in expectation of
sailing to the Mediterranean; but as ill luck would have it, our
destination was altered to that infernal bake-house, Port Royal,
Jamaica. I then thought it time to be off and I wrote to the board to be
superseded, which gave great offence to Sir Rupert George[159] (the
chairman). However, my request was granted and I left a service that I
never would accept of, had I my time to go over again, upon any
consideration. For the short time I was in it I saw enough to convince
me that if an officer did his duty, he would be like the hare with many
friends; and if he acted otherwise, he must lay himself open to any puny
whipster who might wish to take advantage of his good nature. I was
succeeded by Lieutenant Jump, who refused to take charge of the stores,
saying he had enough hanging over his head already (being, as I
understood him, in the transport service before). However, I settled
everything to my satisfaction, returning into store all the articles I
had drawn; struck my swaggering blue pennant[160] and resigned my
command to the above officer, wishing him joy and not envying him his
appointment.
SIGNAL STATION: FAIRLIGHT, NEAR HASTINGS, SUSSEX
_From January 30th, 1806, to December 7th, 1814_
As when high Jove his sharp artillery forms,
And opes his cloudy magazine of storms;
In winter’s bleak uncomfortable reign,
A snowy inundation hides the plain;
He stills the winds and bids the skies to sleep;
Then pours the silent tempest thick and deep;
And first the mountain tops are covered o’er,
Then the green fields and then the sandy shore;
Bent with the weight, the nodding groves are seen,
And one bright waste hides all the works of men;
The circling seas, alone absorbing all,
Drink the dissolving fleeces as they fall.—_Iliad._
In such a season as the above I arrived at Hastings on the 30th of
January 1806. I was appointed to the station by Lord Garlies, one of the
lords of the admiralty, who behaved to me in the kindest manner. After
waiting on Captain Isaac Schomberg, who superintended the Sea Fencibles
from Beachy Head to Dungeness, I proceeded to join my station about
three miles to the eastward of Hastings. When I got to the summit of
Fairlight Down, about 600 feet above the level of the sea, the first
object that struck me was a hut, built of turf, in a ruinous state, and
on the top a figure with a soldier’s jacket on. ‘Hallo!’ says I; ‘Is
this the signal station?’ ‘Yes, zur,’ says he. Why then, thinks I, I’m
damned if I don’t give up the appointment. ‘Where’s the midshipman?’
says I. ‘Midshipman, zur? why, there be only me and another soger, and I
expects to be relieved to-day.’ ‘By whom?’ says I. ‘Vy,’ says he, ‘by
two melishy men, and I thought you and that ere lad’ (meaning my son,
who was with me, and under six years of age) ‘was them till you comed
near.’ I could not help smiling at this, and taking a turn round the
premises I thought I would look at the interior. I did so, but backed
out again in a hurry, from filth and wretchedness. [The detailed
description of these is omitted.]
On coming out I happened to cast my eye to the SE, and there I saw
another signal station; and on making enquiry, I was informed by a
labourer that the station I had just observed was the right one, and
that this was only for the fogeys to look out from; so away I trudged
over several ploughed fields and at last arrived at my destination, in
the room of Lieutenant Francis Gibbon, deceased, who had formerly been a
messmate of mine in the Salisbury.