THE “PRINCESS ROYAL”
I joined the _Princess Royal_, commanded by my uncle, Lord Clarence
Paget, and found that beautiful 91-gun line-of-battle ship lying at
Spithead, preparing for sea. The family butler was deputed to see me
safely on board and report on his return. He had been long a servant
of my father--I believe he had been his valet at Cambridge;--and many
were the hours he had spent with my brothers and myself ferreting and
hunting with terriers; and we were all much attached to him.
It was blowing a fresh gale when we took our wherry from the Hard at
Portsmouth, and the double-fare flag was flying on the official tower;
but go we must, though our boatman seemed to suggest that we should
have a bad time of it outside; and so it turned out, for, besides being
drenched to the skin on a cold December day, the butler and I, when
we got alongside the noble ship, were sea-sick. My first obeisance
to the Quarter-Deck--(I had been warned to be very particular about
this)--must have lacked finish. My troubles were not over with that
ceremony. I had hardly finished saluting the officer of the watch when
a blue-jacket fell from out of the main-rigging on to a quarter-deck
gun within a yard of me. He was killed instantly, and the sight was
very painful.
This was a sad beginning.
My next step was to go below and endeavour to look pleasant on being
introduced to my messmates. Many were the eyes I felt glaring at me to
see what the new cadet was made of. Didn’t this poor boy wish himself
elsewhere? Once in my hammock that night, I was thankful to find myself
in seclusion.
[Illustration: H.M.S. ‘Princess Royal,’ of 91 guns, 1853.]
For several nights I was on the look-out for the cutting-down process
that must be practised on me. I had not long to wait. “Cutting down,” I
may explain, means that when you are fast asleep your hammock, either
at one end or the other, is let down by the run. If it were let down by
the head, your neck might be broken. To be suddenly aroused from sleep
by finding yourself balancing by the head on a hard deck is not an
enviable position. It was ordained only if the boy was obnoxious; but
the alternative, as I found to my chagrin, is not pleasant. Luckily,
a marine sentry came to my rescue. He helped to get my hammock up
again, and condoled with me.
Those marines were fine fellows. They were always considered the
special safeguard of the officers in a man-of-war. In case of mutiny or
other trouble, they stood by the officers of the ship. In the _Princess
Royal_ I had, on joining, an excellent old soldier told off to look
after me and be my servant. For many months after joining I was too
small to swing myself into my hammock (I could not reach anything handy
even by jumping), and he invariably came at the appointed time to give
me a leg-up. I was much attached to him. Many a time, when some bigger
midshipman took it into his head to take some of my washing water
away for his own selfish use, my marine came to the rescue in support
of his small master. Seven shillings a month were his wages, and on
washing days, I think, he received an extra _douceur_. Poor man: he
got into trouble later, and had to leave me. I recollect well going
to visit him in irons, under charge of a sentry; he was then under
sentence of four dozen lashes for having been drunk on board; and some
years afterwards, while I was fitting out in a ship at Portsmouth, in
passing along the road I heard the voice of this dear old Joey calling
me by name; but so drunk was he that he could not follow me, and I
escaped. Sometimes, when half-starved in the gun-room mess, I went
into my marine’s mess and got some ship’s biscuits, which, with pickled
gerkins, I supped off. We certainly were shockingly fed in those days.
Growing youths, much imbued with sea air, used to fare very badly; but
when it is considered how little was paid in the shape of mess money
it is no wonder. On joining you found £10 as an entrance fee; and the
mess subscription was one shilling a day, with your rations thrown in.
The rations were the same as those allowed to the ship’s company: a
pound of very bad salt junk (beef), or of pork as salt as Mrs. Lot,
execrable tea, sugar, and biscuit that was generally full of weevils,
or well overrun with rats, or (in the hot climates) a choice retreat
for the detestable cockroach. In one ship--I think it was the _Nankin_
frigate--cockroaches swarmed. Sugar or any other sweet matter was their
attraction; and at night, when they were on the move, I have seen
strings of the creatures an inch and a half long making a route over
you in your hammock. Some ships were overrun with them. Rats also were
a dreadful nuisance: they invariably nested among the biscuit bags. We
mids used to lie awake and watch them coming up at night from the hold
on to the cockpit deck; and, well armed with shoes, hair-brushes, and
so on, we persecuted them.
Spithead, at the time I joined my ship, afforded an interesting
spectacle. Men-of-war of all classes were gradually collecting, and the
dockyards were very busy; but we were short of men--so much so that
all available coastguard-men were requisitioned to complete our crews,
which in those days were for the most part collected from the streets.
The war with Russia which (keen-sighted diplomatists warned our
Government) must come, and that soon, necessitated active preparations.
The newly-joined men were being trained in great-gun drill, and target
practice was always going on.
My ship was a battleship of about 3400 tons, and said to be quite the
prettiest of her class. We were afterwards styled the _Pretty Royal_;
which so much pleased the middies that we all bought eyeglasses, and
wore them, when not on duty, by way of swagger. We carried 32-pounders
on the main and the upper deck, and 56-pounders on the lower deck,
throwing hollow shot; with one solid 68-pounder on the forecastle. Our
full-steam speed under favourable conditions was nine knots; but this
speed under steam was of rare occurrence--eight knots was usual. We had
a complement of 850 men and officers.
In the gun-room (or midshipmen’s) mess we numbered about twenty-four,
all told. I grieve to say that we had a few very bad specimens
of the British officer: bad both professionally and socially.
Though discipline was generally very strict on deck and on duty,
irregularities went on below that were winked at, and in later
days would not have been tolerated. There was a remnant of the bad
style of earlier days, without any of the higher qualities of the
old naval officer to temper it. One heard now and then of notorious
characters that seemed always just to escape retribution; though
long before the end of the war three of my messmates, if not more,
were “hoisted out” by court-martial or otherwise. Bullying also was
common. On one occasion I was so much irritated by a lout of an Irish
assistant-surgeon that I lost my poor little temper and gave him the
lie. Being overheard by one of the senior mates, I was immediately
kicked out of the gun-room and ordered to mess on my chest for three
days. The punishment was carried out to the full. The most fiendish
case of bullying it ever was my lot to endure was perpetrated by one
Berkley. I glory now in presenting his name to the British people. He
was one of the senior mates. It was his wont to regale himself with
port wine and walnuts of an afternoon. On one occasion (possibly it
may have been oftener) he sent for me, and he lashed me to a ring-bolt
in the ship’s side, ordering me to say, “Down, proud spirit: up, good
spirit, and make me a good boy.” I had to suit the action to the word
by moving the hand and arm down and up the body. I had to repeat
the formula a hundred times, while he jotted down my penances with
a pencil on his slate. I have always considered myself lucky that I
did not cross that man’s path in after life. In my last experience
with this creature, I got the better of him. The _Princess Royal_ was
paying off, and the ship’s company and officers were hulked in one of
the old ships in Portsmouth harbour. I think all our middies, except
myself and two others, were away. A signal was made from the flagship
for a midshipman to copy orders; and, though I was just going home on
Admiralty leave, having packed my portmanteau and proceeded to change
into mufti, Berkley sent for me to obey the summons for this signal,
he knowing perfectly well that I was just about to go on shore. My
answer to the message was that I would come up immediately, but that,
as I had changed my uniform for mufti, I requested five minutes within
which to don proper dress. In less than that time I had carried out my
view of the matter by hailing a wherry under the stern port, popping
my portmanteau into the boat, and telling the boatman to pull for his
life to the Hard, keeping his boat well in a line with the stern of
the hulk. Luckily, the tide was in my favour; but, to my horror, when
nigh half-way to the Hard, I discovered the jolly-boat pulling after
me like the very devil. “Give way, you beggar! Double fare! Only land
me at the Hard before this infernal boat can overtake us!” We just did
it. The portmanteau was whipped up on the boatman’s shoulders, and
thrown into a fly that, luckily, saw the little game going on; and off
we galloped to the station. I did him--Mr. Berkley:--that was all I
wanted. He was promoted, and had left before I returned from leave; and
from that day to this we have never crossed each other’s path.
One of the amusements with which the seniors entertained themselves
was slitting the end of your nose open with a penknife. The idea was
that you could not properly be a Royal, bearing the name of your ship,
without a slight effusion of blood. The end of one’s nose was well
squeezed, and thus there was little pain. A ceremony something after
the style of blooding one over one’s first fox was gone through.
Every officer was limited in regard to his wine bill: you could not
exceed a certain monthly sum. A middy was allowed about 15s.; the
seniors, more; but, as many of them were of thirsty habit, some means
had to be found to procure more wine or spirits after the bill was
stopped, which usually occurred about the middle of the month. There
were several methods. As on one occasion I had to suffer severely for
the faults of others, I will tell a story.
The youngsters had to draw lots as to who should go and represent to
a Naval Instructor fresh from one of the Universities that it was the
birthday of some one in the gun-room, that his wine bill was stopped,
and that he had no means of procuring any liquor if Mr. Verdant Green
were not able to oblige by lending some. The lot fell upon me. I
felt I was running fresh risks; but go I must. I soon found my man,
and forthwith told my story and made my request. Instead of my being
answered as I expected, by a “Yes” or by a “No,” my green friend
went straight to the Commander’s cabin, tapped at his door, and in
my hearing asked whether this were permissible, or in contravention
to naval discipline and custom. The Commander settled the matter by
ordering me to the mast-head on the spot and stopping my leave for six
weeks. One would have thought the original delinquent would have pitied
me on my return from the cross-trees; but I was told that I must have
acted in a clumsy manner, and that I was a useless cub. The worst of
an escapade such as this is that it gets you into the bad books of the
Commanding Officer.
Soon after I had joined the _Princess Royal_, my uncle made me his
A.D.C., and gave me charge of his 12-oared cutter, a boat which
he preferred to the usual 6-oared galley. It was, I think, on the
first occasion of my taking charge of this boat that I was sent
into Portsmouth Harbour to fetch my captain and bring him off to
Spithead. On my way to the King’s Stairs, while passing “the Point,”
a locality (beset with public-houses) where the immortal Nelson left
the English shore for the last time, the coxswain suddenly accosted
me. “My sister,” he said, “keeps a pub close by, and it is quite the
right thing that you should treat the boat’s crew to a glass of grog
all round.” Feeling that I had plenty of spare time, and that it
would be mean to refuse this very strong request, I gave permission
to beach the boat, and forthwith produced the last of my pocket-money
(a ten-shilling bit), in order that the crew might be regaled. They
returned one man short. I could not wait to search for him, and I
thought it just possible that his Lordship might not discover one oar
_minus_: so I arranged that, on whichever side of the boat the captain
took his seat, my vacant thwart should be on the other. All went well
until we were nigh our ship; though I must own to many moments of
anxiety during the long pull off to Spithead. Alas! He noticed the
absence of a man as the men tossed their oars in. I could have died
on the spot. Of course, we were all paraded on the quarter-deck. The
coxswain made some plausible excuse; but I myself was threatened with
immediate expulsion and watch-and-watch for a fortnight--four hours on
duty and four hours off duty throughout the day and night. Within a
few days, however, my uncle, having found a soft place in his heart,
sent for me and let me off. I fancy that, being an old hand, he had
seen how the land lay, and had taken pity on my youth, thinking that
his coxswain had had more to do with the episode than I. Needless to
state, the coxswain’s sister was a Mrs. Harris. She had been designed
in order that a bad hat whom the coxswain and the crew detested should
be given an opportunity to run. In later days, when the affair had well
blown over, this information was imparted to me by the coxswain.
On the 11th of February 1854, the Baltic Fleet was ready for sea. Three
divisions (of squadrons) were formed, under Vice-Admiral Sir Charles
Napier, Commander-in-Chief, Vice-Admiral Corry, and Rear-Admiral
Chads; and a most imposing sight it was. Besides the line-of-battle
ships, there were frigates and paddle-sloops. These frigates were
lovely ships: the _Imperieuse_ and the sister vessel, the _Euryalus_,
were beautiful models, carrying 51 guns. There was a very fine 40-gun
frigate whose name I cannot recall: she was commanded by one of the
best and most popular officers in the service, Captain Yelverton. I
had the honour, many years afterwards, of serving under him when he
was Commander-in-Chief in the Mediterranean; and nothing could have
exceeded the happiness of the fleet at that time. There was great
rivalry in those days (and even long before) among some of the ships.
Sail drill was the principal cause of it. The ships’ companies became
so intensely jealous if one or more ships had completed an evolution
in less time, that when general leave to go ashore was granted strict
orders were given that leave should not be granted to those respective
ships at the same time, for fear of a free fight between their men. I
well recollect serious rows when they did meet one another. To my idea,
nothing could have been finer than the display of competitive feeling.
Some of the ships used to have all sorts of dodges (as we called them)
to enable time to be saved during drill, and when I was Flag-Lieutenant
on the station I was ordered to watch minutely, to see if all was fair
play. The paddle-wheel sloops and frigates were comfortable vessels
(one in particular, the _Terrible_, carrying 21 guns--and heavy ones
they were). The _Gorgon_ and the _Basilisk_ rendered good service
during the war. These were smaller, and carried 14 or 16 guns, I think.
Of the liners, the _Duke of Wellington_, the flagship, bore the palm.
She carried 131 guns, and was a beautiful sailer as well as steamer.
The _St. Jean D’Arc_, of 101 guns, was a lovely ship. The _Acre_,
commanded by Harry Keppel, was always what we termed our chummy ship:
the _Princess Royal_ was generally next her in the line.
Then came the great event of the day. The Queen arrived from Osborne
in the _Fairy_, to review the Fleet before it weighed anchor. The very
fact of Her Majesty announcing her intention to bid us Good-bye caused
intense excitement through the Fleet, and I recollect well how highly
this mark of honour was appreciated. We were all anchored in three
lines, and the lovely little _Fairy_ threaded her way through the ships
as we manned yards and cheered to the echo. After this inspection the
Queen summoned all her Admirals and Captains in command on board the
_Fairy_, and personally took leave of them all. I was lucky enough to
be present, as I had charge of my Captain’s cutter; and Her Majesty,
on being told that one of her godsons was present, immediately ordered
me to be sent for. It can be imagined that it was a most nervous
moment for a boy of my age--scarcely thirteen--when I was hailed to go
alongside the _Fairy_, as the Queen wished to see me. I remember well
my coxswain pulling off a piece of flannel I had round my neck (as
I was suffering from a severe sore throat, and the weather was very
cold) before I left my boat to step over the side of the Queen’s yacht.
After the Admirals and Captains had made their last obeisance, my turn
came. Standing cap in hand, I made my bow; and Her Majesty said to me,
“How do you do, Mr. Montagu? I have not seen you since you were quite
a little boy;” and then asked after my mother, who had not many years
previously been one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. I then had the
honour of shaking hands with His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales,
who was standing near, for the first time, and with the Princess Royal
and the Princess Alice, all of whom said some kind words. I felt very
proud indeed, after having got over my nervousness; and many were the
interrogations when I returned on board. Yes: this was all a great
honour; and so impressed was I at the time that nothing of this great
reception has escaped my memory, nor the scene as I witnessed it at
the time. His Royal Highness the Prince Consort also, I think, was on
board; but I did not have the honour of seeing him. Shortly after this
the Fleet weighed. Her Majesty placed herself at the head of the Fleet,
and forthwith led us out to sea. When the _Fairy_ left us a parting
signal was flown on board the _Fairy_, the whole Fleet cheering Her
Majesty’s departure. It was one of the grandest scenes imaginable: God
be praised for having spared our gracious Sovereign to be reigning
over her loving subjects still. In a man-of-war we are all constantly
reminded of our Sovereign and the honour due to her station. At eight
o’clock, when the colours are hoisted, the band plays our National
Anthem, and all officers and men salute the colours as they are hoisted
to the Peak. The Quarter-Deck is always saluted when officer or man
comes on to it: simply because it is the Queen’s Quarter-Deck, and is
honoured as such. At every mess, when the wine is passed round, our
first duty is to recollect our Sovereign and raise our glasses to “The
Queen (God bless her)!” All these matters tend to keep us in perpetual
recollection of our Queen and the duties we owe to Her Majesty; and it
is indeed a fine sentiment.
The _Princess Royal_ called in at the Downs, and embarked an officer;
and our last letters were sent on shore. On our way across the North
Sea the Fleet was scattered in a fog. Our first rendezvous was Wingo
Sound; and by degrees the ships rejoined, and we made that place our
first anchorage. The ice farther north had not broken up: so there was
a good deal of delay and cruising about.
The Fleet generally was sailing under very easy canvas (double-reefed
topsails), as the wind was pretty strong, and we used to wear in
succession after a few hours’ sail on one tack. Day after day this went
on; and the only interest I took in it was in watching the ships while
the evolution of wearing was going on: turning through the curve of
a half circle, endeavouring to keep their proper distances apart. Of
course, some of the ships carried more sail than others, as there was
a material difference in their respective speeds. It was monotonous
work, and, the weather being still cold and occasionally pretty rough,
many of us suffered a good deal from sea-sickness and ennui. The paddle
steamers used to ply across to Copenhagen, or other port, for fresh
food; but I do not think the blue-jackets got much of this fare, and
I know the gun-room mess did not. Indeed, we had a very wearisome
fortnight during breezy weather, jogging about under easy sail off
Gotska Sands. All was done in quite the old naval style, and gave me an
insight into “the good old days.” A great deal of salt pork and salt
junk, with a moderate allowance of water, was our fare; and all were
desirous of pushing on.
I find myself writing about this time, evidently very homesick:--
People tell me I shall like the Service better as I get on, but one
gives up home and all its joys for coming to sea, or otherwise for
honour; one can do without honour but not without home, besides,
why should I not get honour at home as well as at sea?
I quote this because it is curious to see how a boy’s mind wavers; for
shortly afterwards, having seen a few shots fired at Hango at some
Russian forts, I wrote home:--
I like the Service better every day. I begin to understand things,
and they interest me.
We rode out a heavy gale in Kioge Bay, while some of the ships,
dragging their anchors, were steaming ahead, with topmasts struck and
two anchors down.