CHAPTER XLI 96
CHAPTER XLII 105
CHAPTER XLIII 111
CHAPTER XLIV 117
CHAPTER XLV 123
CHAPTER XLVI 128
CHAPTER XLVII 134
CHAPTER XLVIII 140
CHAPTER XLIX 146
CHAPTER L 153
CHAPTER LI 160
CHAPTER LII 169
CHAPTER LIII 175
CHAPTER LIV 180
CHAPTER LV 186
CHAPTER LVI 195
CHAPTER LVII 203
CHAPTER LVIII 209
CHAPTER LIX 217
CHAPTER LX 221
CHAPTER LXI 225
CHAPTER LXII 232
CHAPTER LXIII 238
CHAPTER LXIV 244
CHAPTER LXV 255
_THE THREE CUTTERS_
CHAPTER I 267
CHAPTER II 279
CHAPTER III 287
CHAPTER IV 293
CHAPTER V 302
CHAPTER VI 313
CHAPTER VII 321
Peter Simple
Chapter XXXI
Captain Kearney–The dignity ball.
The next morning at daylight we exchanged numbers, and saluted the flag, and by eight o’clock they all anchored. Mr Falcon went on board the admiral’s ship with despatches, and to report the death of Captain Savage. In about half an hour he returned, and we were glad to perceive, with a smile upon his face, from which we argued that he would receive his acting order as commander, which was a question of some doubt, as the admiral had the power to give the vacancy to whom he pleased, although it would not have been fair if he had not given it to Mr Falcon; not that Mr Falcon would not have received his commission, as Captain Savage dying when the ship was under no admiral’s command, he _made himself_; but still the admiral might have sent him home, and not have given him a ship. But this he did, the captain of the _Minerve_ being appointed to the _Sanglier_, the captain of the _Opossum_ to the _Minerve_, and Captain Falcon taking command of the _Opossum_. He received his commission that evening, and the next day the exchanges were made. Captain Falcon would have taken me with him, and offered so to do; but I could not leave O’Brien, so I preferred remaining in the _Sanglier_.
We were all anxious to know what sort of a person our new captain was, whose name was Kearney; but we had no time to ask the midshipmen, except when they came in charge of the boats which brought his luggage; they replied generally, that he was a very good sort of fellow, and there was no harm in him. But when I had the night watch with Swinburne, he came up to me, and said, “Well, Mr Simple, so we have a new captain. I sailed with him for two years in a brig.”
“And pray, Swinburne, what sort of a person is he?”
“Why, I’ll tell you, Mr Simple: he’s a good-tempered, kind fellow enough, but–”
“But what?”
“Such a _bouncer_!!”
“How do you mean? He’s not a very stout man.”
“Bless you, Mr Simple, why you don’t understand English. I mean that he’s the greatest liar that ever walked a deck. Now, Mr Simple, you know I can spin a yarn occasionally.”
“Yes, that you can, witness the hurricane the other night.”
“Well, Mr Simple, I cannot _hold a candle_ to him. It a’n’t that I might not stretch now and then, just for fun, as far as he can, but, d—-n it, he’s always on the stretch. In fact, Mr Simple, he never tells the truth except _by mistake_. He’s as poor as a rat, and has nothing but his pay; yet to believe him, he is worth at least as much as Greenwich Hospital. But you’ll soon find him out, and he’ll sarve to laugh at behind his back, you know, Mr Simple, for that’s _no go_ before his face.”
Captain Kearney made his appearance on board the next day. The men were mustered to receive him, and all the officers were on the quarter-deck. “You’ve a fine set of marines here, Captain Falcon,” observed he; “those I left on board of the _Minerve_ were only fit to be _hung_; and you have a good show of reefers too–those I left in the _Minerve_ were not _worth hanging_. If you please, I’ll read my commission, if you’ll order the men aft.” His commission was read, all hands with their hats off from respect to the authority from which it proceeded. “Now, my lads,” said Captain Kearney, addressing the ship’s company, “I’ve but few words to say to you. I am appointed to command this ship, and you appear to have a very good character from your late first lieutenant. All I request of you is this: be smart, keep sober, and always _tell the truth_–that’s enough. Pipe down. Gentlemen,” continued he, addressing the officers, “I trust that we shall be good friends; and I see no reason that it should be otherwise.” He then turned away with a bow, and called his coxswain–“Williams, you’ll go on board, and tell my steward that I have promised to dine with the governor to-day, and that he must come to dress me; and, coxswain, recollect to put the sheepskin mat on the stern gratings of my gig–not the one I used to have when I was on shore in my _carriage_, but the blue one which was used for the _chariot_–you know which I mean.” I happened to look Swinburne in the face, who cocked his eye at me, as much as to say–“There he goes.” We afterwards met the officers of the _Minerve_, who corroborated all that Swinburne had said, although it was quite unnecessary, as we had the captain’s own words every minute to satisfy us of the fact.
Dinner parties were now very numerous, and the hospitality of the island is but too well known. The invitations extended to the midshipmen, and many was the good dinner and kind reception which I had during my stay. There was, however, one thing I had heard so much of, that I was anxious to witness it, which was a _dignity ball_. But I must enter a little into explanation, or my readers will not understand me. The coloured people of Barbadoes, for reasons best known to themselves, are immoderately proud, and look upon all the negroes who are born on other islands as _niggers_; they have also an extraordinary idea of their own bravery, although I never heard that it has ever been put to the proof. The free Barbadians are, most of them, very rich, and hold up their heads as they walk with an air quite ridiculous. They ape the manners of the Europeans, at the same time that they appear to consider them as almost their inferiors. Now, a _dignity_ ball is a ball given by the most consequential of their coloured people, and from the amusement and various other reasons, is generally well attended by the officers both on shore and afloat. The price of the tickets of admission was high–I think they were half a joe, or eight dollars each.
The governor sent out cards for a grand ball and supper for the ensuing week, and Miss Betsy Austin, a quadroon woman, ascertaining the fact, sent out her cards for the same evening. This was not altogether in _rivalry_, but for another reason, which was, that she was aware that most of the officers and midshipmen of the ships would obtain permission to go to the governor’s ball, and, preferring hers, would slip away and join the party, by which means she ensured a full attendance.
On the day of invitation our captain came on board, and told our new first lieutenant (of whom I shall say more hereafter) that the governor insisted that all _his_ officers should go–that he would take no denial, and, therefore, he presumed, go they must; that the fact was, that the governor was a _relation_ of his wife, and under some trifling obligations to him in obtaining for him his present command. He certainly had spoken to the _prime minister_, and he thought it not impossible, considering the intimate terms which the minister and he had been on from childhood, that his solicitation might have had some effect; at all events, it was pleasant to find that there was some little gratitude left in this world. After this, of course, every officer went, with the exception of the master, who said that he’d as soon have two round turns in his hawse as go to see people kick their legs about like fools, and that he’d take care of the ship.
The governor’s ball was very splendid, but the ladies were rather sallow, from the effects of the climate. However, there were exceptions, and on the whole it was a very gay affair; but we were all anxious to go to the _dignity_ ball of Miss Betsy Austin. I slipped away with three other midshipmen, and we soon arrived there. A crowd of negroes were outside of the house; but the ball had not yet commenced, from the want of gentlemen, the ball being very correct, nothing under mulatto in colour being admitted. Perhaps I ought to say here, that the progeny of a white and a negro is a mulatto, or half and half–of a white and mulatto, a _quadroon_, or one-quarter black, and of this class the company were chiefly composed. I believe a quadroon and white make the _mustee_ or one-eighth black, and the mustee and white the mustafina, or one-sixteenth black. After that, they are _whitewashed_, and considered as Europeans. The pride of colour is very great in the West Indies, and they have as many quarterings as a German prince in his coat of arms; a quadroon looks down upon a mulatto, while a mulatto looks down upon a _sambo_, that is, half mulatto half negro, while a sambo in his turn looks down upon a _nigger_. The quadroons are certainly the handsomest race of the whole, some of the women are really beautiful; their hair is long and perfectly straight, their eyes large and black, their figures perfection, and you can see the colour mantle in their cheeks quite as plainly, and with as much effect, as in those of a European. We found the door of Miss Austin’s house open, and ornamented with orange branches, and on our presenting ourselves were accosted by a mulatto gentleman, who was, we presumed, “usher of the black rod.” His head was well powdered, he was dressed in white jean trousers, a waistcoat not six inches long, and a half-worn post-captain’s coat on, as a livery, With a low bow, he “took de liberty to trouble de gentlemen for de card for de ball,” which being produced, we were ushered on by him to the ball-room, at the door of which Miss Austin was waiting to receive her company. She made us a low courtesy, observing, “She really happy to see de _gentlemen_ of de ship, but hoped to see de _officers_ also at her _dignity_.”
This remark touched our _dignity_, and one of my companions replied, “That we midshipmen considered ourselves officers, and no _small_ ones either, and that if she waited for the lieutenants she must wait until they were tired of the governor’s ball, we having given the preference to hers.” This remark set all to rights; sangaree was handed about, and I looked around at the company. I must acknowledge, at the risk of losing the good opinion of my fair countrywomen, that I never saw before so many pretty figures and faces. The _officers_ not having yet arrived, we received all the attention, and I was successively presented to Miss Eurydice, Miss Minerva, Miss Sylvia, Miss Aspasia, Miss Euterpe, and many others, evidently borrowed from the different men-of-war which had been on the station. All these young ladies gave themselves all the airs of Almack’s. Their dresses I cannot pretend to describe–jewels of value were not wanting, but their drapery was slight; they appeared neither to wear nor to require stays, and on the whole, their figures were so perfect that they could only be ill dressed by having on too much dress. A few more midshipmen and some lieutenants (O’Brien among the number) having made their appearance, Miss Austin directed that the ball should commence. I requested the honour of Miss Eurydice’s hand in a cotillon, which was to open the ball. At this moment stepped forth the premier violin, master of the ceremonies and ballet-master, Massa Johnson, really a very smart man, who gave lessons in dancing to all the “‘Badian ladies.” He was a dark quadroon, his hair slightly powdered, dressed in a light blue coat thrown well back, to show his lily-white waistcoat, only one button of which he could afford to button to make full room for the pride of his heart, the frill of his shirt, which really was _un Jabot superb_, four inches wide, and extending from his collar to the waistband of his nankeen tights, which were finished off at his knees with huge bunches of ribbon; his legs were encased in silk stockings, which, however, was not very good taste on his part, as they showed the manifest advantage which an European has over a coloured man in the formation of the leg: instead of being straight, his shins curved like a cheese-knife, and, moreover, his leg was planted into his foot like the handle into a broom or scrubbing-brush, there being quite as much of the foot on the heel side as on the toe side. Such was the appearance of Mr Apollo Johnson, whom the ladies considered as the _ne plus ultra _of fashion, and the _arbiter elegantiarum_. His _bow-tick_, or fiddle-stick, was his wand, whose magic rap on the fiddle produced immediate obedience to his mandates. “Ladies and gentle, take your seats.” All started up. “Miss Eurydice, you open de ball.”
Miss Eurydice had but a sorry partner, but she undertook to instruct me. O’Brien was our _vis-a-vis_ with Miss Euterpe. The other gentlemen were officers from the ships, and we stood up twelve, checkered brown and white, like a chess-board. All eyes were fixed upon Mr Apollo Johnson, who first looked at the couples, then at his fiddle, and lastly, at the other musicians, to see if all was right, and then with a wave of his _bow-tick_ the music began. “Massa lieutenant,” cried Apollo to O’Brien, “cross over to opposite lady, right hand and left, den figure to Miss Eurydice–dat right; now four hand round. You lilly midshipman, set your partner, sir; den twist her round; dat do; now stop. First figure all over.”
At this time I thought I might venture to talk a little with my partner, and I ventured a remark; to my surprise she answered very sharply, “I come here for dance, sar, and not for chatter; look, Massa Johnson, he tap um bow-tick.”
The second figure commenced, and I made a sad bungle; so I did of the third, and fourth, and fifth, for I never had danced a cotillon. When I handed my partner to her place, who certainly was the prettiest girl in the room, she looked rather contemptuously at me, and observed to a neighbour, “I really pity de gentleman as come from England dat no know how to dance nor nothing at all, until em hab instruction at Barbadoes.”
A country dance was now called for, which was more acceptable to all parties, as none of Mr Apollo Johnson’s pupils were very perfect in their cotillon, and none of the officers, except O’Brien, knew anything about them. O’Brien’s superior education on this point, added to his lieutenant’s epaulet and handsome person, made him much courted; but he took up with Miss Eurydice after I had left her, and remained with her the whole evening; thereby exciting the jealousy of Mr Apollo Johnson, who, it appears, was amorous in that direction. Our party increased every minute; all the officers of the garrison, and, finally, as soon as they could get away, the governor’s aid-de-camps, all dressed in _mufti_ (i.e., plain clothes). The dancing continued until three o’clock in the morning, when it was quite a squeeze, from the constant arrival of fresh recruits from all the houses of Barbadoes. I must say, that a few bottles of eau de Cologne thrown about the room would have improved the atmosphere. By this time the heat was terrible, and the _mopping_ of the ladies’ faces everlasting. I would recommend a DIGNITY ball to all stout gentlemen who wish to be reduced a stone or two. Supper was now announced, and having danced the last country dance with Miss Minerva, I of course had the pleasure of handing her into the supper-room. It was my fate to sit opposite to a fine turkey, and I asked my partner if I should have the pleasure of helping her to a piece of the breast. She looked at me very indignantly, and said, “Curse your impudence, sar, I wonder where you larn manners. Sar, I take a lilly turkey _bosom_, if you please. Talk of _breast_ to a lady, sar;–really quite _horrid_.” I made two or three more barbarous mistakes before the supper was finished. At last the eating was over, and I must say a better supper I never sat down to. “Silence, gentlemen and ladies,” cried Mr Apollo Johnson. “Wid the permission of our amiable hostess, I will propose a toast. Gentlemen and ladies–You all know, and if be so you don’t, I say that there no place in the world like Barbadoes. All de world fight against England, but England nebber fear; King George nebber fear, while _Barbadoes ‘tand ‘tiff_. ‘Badian fight for King George to last drop of him blood. Nebber see the day ‘Badian run away; you all know dem Frenchmans at San Lucee, give up Morne Fortunee, when he hear de ‘Badian volunteer come against him. I hope no ‘fence present company, but um sorry to say English come here too jealous of ‘Badians. Gentlemen and lady–Barbadian born ab only one fault–he _really too brave_. I propose health of ‘Island of Barbadoes.'” Acclamations from all quarters followed this truly modest speech, and the toast was drunk with rapture; the ladies were delighted with Mr Apollo’s eloquence, and the lead which he took in the company.
O’Brien then rose and addressed the company as follows:–
“Ladies and gentlemen–Mr Poll has spoken better than the best parrot I ever met with in this country, but as he has thought proper to drink the ‘Island of Barbadoes,’ I mean to be a little more particular. I wish, with him, all good health to the island; but there is a charm without which the island would be a desert–that is, the society of the lovely girls which now surround us, and take our hearts by storm–” (here O’Brien put his arm gently round Miss Eurydice’s waist, and Mr Apollo ground his teeth so as to be heard at the furthest end of the room)”– therefore, gentlemen, with your permission, I will propose the health of the ”Badian Ladies.'” This speech of O’Brien’s was declared, by the females at least, to be infinitely superior to Mr Apollo Johnson’s. Miss Eurydice was even more gracious, and the other ladies were more envious.
Many other toasts and much more wine was drunk, until the male part of the company appeared to be rather riotous. Mr Apollo, however, had to regain his superiority, and after some hems and hahs, begged permission to give a sentiment. “Gentlemen and ladies, I beg then to say–
“Here’s to de cock who make lub to de hen, Crow till he hoarse and make lub again.”
This _sentiment_ was received with rapture; and after silence was obtained, Miss Betsy Austin rose and said–“Unaccustomed as she was to public ‘peaking, she must not sit ’till and not tank de gentleman for his very fine toast, and in de name of de ladies she begged to propose another sentimen’, which was–
“Here to de hen what nebber refuses, Let cock pay compliment whenebber he chooses.”
If the first toast was received with applause, this was with enthusiasm; but we received a damper after it was subsided, by the lady of the house getting up and saying–“Now, gentlemen and ladies, me tink it right to say dat it time to go home; I nebber allow people get drunk or kick up bobbery in my house, so now I tink we better take parting-glass, and very much obliged to you for your company.”
As O’Brien said, this was a broad hint to be off, so we all now took our parting-glass, in compliance with her request, and our own wishes, and proceeded to escort our partners on their way home. While I was assisting Miss Minerva to her red crape shawl, a storm was brewing in another quarter, to wit, between Mr Apollo Johnson and O’Brien. O’Brien was assiduously attending to Miss Eurydice, whispering what he called soft blarney in her ear, when Mr Apollo, who was above spirit-boiling heat with jealousy, came up, and told Miss Eurydice that he would have the honour of escorting her home.
“You may save yourself the trouble, you dingy gut-scraper,” replied O’Brien; “the lady is under my protection, so take your ugly black face out of the way, or I’ll show you how I treat a ”Badian who is really too brave.'”
“So ‘elp me Gad, Massa Lieutenant, ‘pose you put finger on me, I show you what ‘Badian can do.”
Apollo then attempted to insert himself between O’Brien and his lady, upon which O’Brien shoved him back with great violence, and continued his course towards the door. They were in the passage when I came up, for hearing O’Brien’s voice in anger, I left Miss Minerva to shift for herself.
Miss Eurydice had now left O’Brien’s arm, at his request, and he and Mr Apollo were standing in the passage, O’Brien close to the door, which was shut, and Apollo swaggering up to him. O’Brien, who knew the tender part of a black, saluted Apollo with a kick on the shins which would have broken my leg. Massa Johnson roared with pain, and recoiled two or three paces, parting the crowd away behind him. The blacks never fight with fists, but butt with their heads like rams, and with quite as much force. When Mr Apollo had retreated, he gave his shin one more rub, uttered a loud yell, and started at O’Brien, with his head aimed at O’Brien’s chest, like a battering-ram. O’Brien, who was aware of this plan of fighting, stepped dexterously on one side, and allowed Mr Apollo to pass by him, which he did with such force, that his head went clean through the panel of the door behind O’Brien, and there he stuck as fast as if in a pillory, squeaking like a pig for assistance, and foaming with rage. After some difficulty he was released, and presented a very melancholy figure. His face was much cut, and his superb _Jabot_ all in tatters; he appeared, however, to have had quite enough of it, as he retreated to the supper-room, followed by some of his admirers, without asking or looking after O’Brien.
But if Mr Apollo had had enough of it, his friends were too indignant to allow us to go off scot free. A large mob was collected in the street, vowing vengeance on us for our treatment of their flash man, and a row was to be expected. Miss Eurydice had escaped, so that O’Brien had his hands free. “Cam out, you hangman tiefs, cam out; only wish had rock stones, to mash your heads with,” cried the mob of negroes. The officers now sallied out in a body, and were saluted with every variety of missile, such as rotten oranges, cabbage-stalks, mud, and cocoa-nut shells. We fought our way manfully, but as we neared the beach the mob increased to hundreds, and at last we could proceed no further, being completely jammed up by the niggers, upon whose heads we could make no more impression than upon blocks of marble. “We must draw our swords,” observed an officer. “No, no,” replied O’Brien, “that will not do; if once we shed blood, they will never let us get on board with our lives. The boat’s crew by this time must be aware that there is a row.” O’Brien was right. He had hardly spoken, before a lane was observed to be made through the crowd in the distance, which in two minutes was open to us. Swinburne appeared in the middle of it, followed by the rest of the boat’s crew, armed with the boat’s stretchers, which they did not aim at the _heads_ of the blacks, but swept them like scythes against their _shins_. This they continued to do, right and left of us, as we walked through and went down to the boats, the seamen closing up the rear with their stretchers, with which they ever and anon made a sweep at the black fellows if they approached too near. It was now broad daylight, and in a few minutes we were again safely on board the frigate. Thus ended the first and last dignity ball that I attended.
Chapter XXXII
I am claimed by Captain Kearney as a relation–Trial of skill between first lieutenant and captain with the long bow–The shark, the pug-dog, and the will–A quarter-deck picture.
As the admiral was not one who would permit the ships under his command to lie idle in port, in a very few days after the dignity ball which I have described, all the squadron sailed on their various destinations. I was not sorry to leave the bay, for one soon becomes tired of profusion, and cared nothing for either oranges, bananas, or shaddocks, nor even for, the good dinners and claret at the tables of the army mess and gentlemen of the island. The sea breeze soon became more precious to us than anything else, and if we could have bathed without the fear of a shark, we should have equally appreciated that most refreshing of all luxuries under the torrid zone. It was therefore with pleasure that we received the information that we were to sail the next day to cruise off the French island of Martinique. Captain Kearney had been so much on shore that we saw but little of him, and the ship was entirely under the control of the first lieutenant, of whom I have hitherto not spoken. He was a very short, pock-marked man, with red hair and whiskers, a good sailor, and not a bad officer; that is, he was a practical sailor, and could show any foremast man his duty in any department–and this seamen very much appreciate, as it is not very common; but I never yet knew an officer who prided himself upon his practical knowledge, who was at the same time a good navigator, and too often, by assuming the Jack Tar, they lower the respect due to them, and become coarse and vulgar in their manners and language. This was the case with Mr Phillott, who prided himself upon his slang, and who was at one time “hail fellow well met” with the seamen, talking to them, and being answered as familiarly as if they were equals, and at another, knocking the very same men down with a handspike if he was displeased. He was not bad-tempered, but very hasty; and his language to the officers was occasionally very incorrect; to the midshipmen invariably so. However, on the whole, he was not disliked, although he was certainly not respected as a first lieutenant should have been. It is but fair to say, that he was the same to his superiors as he was to his inferiors, and the bluntness with which he used to contradict and assert his disbelief of Captain Kearney’s narratives often produced a coolness between them for some days.
The day after we sailed from Carlisle Bay I was asked to dine in the cabin. The dinner was served upon plated dishes, which looked very grand, but there was not much in them. “This plate,” observed the captain, “was presented to me by some merchants for my exertions in saving their property from the Danes when I was cruising off Heligoland.”
“Why, that lying steward of yours told me that you bought it at Portsmouth,” replied the first lieutenant: “I asked him in the galley this morning.”
“How came you to assert such a confounded falsehood, sir?” said the captain to the man who stood behind his chair.
“I only said that I thought so,” replied the steward.
“Why, didn’t you say that the bill had been sent in, through you, seven or eight times, and that the captain had paid it with a flowing sheet?”
“Did you dare say that, sir?” interrogated the captain, very angrily.
“Mr Phillott mistook me, sir?” replied the steward. “He was so busy damning the sweepers, that he did not hear me right. I said, the midshipmen had paid their crockery bill with the fore-topsail.”
“Ay! ay!” replied the captain, “that’s much more likely.”
“Well, Mr Steward,” replied Mr Phillott, “I’ll be d—-d if you ar’n’t as big a liar as your–” (master, he was going to plump out, but fortunately the first lieutenant checked himself, and added)–“as your father was before you.”
The captain changed the conversation by asking me whether I would take a slice of ham. “It’s real Westphalia, Mr Simple; I have them sent me direct by Count Troningsken, an intimate friend of mine, who kills his own wild boars in the Hartz mountains.”
“How the devil do you get them over, Captain Kearney?”
“There are ways and means of doing everything, Mr Phillott, and the First Consul is not quite so bad as he is represented. The first batch was sent over with a very handsome letter to me, written in his own hand, which I will show you some of these days. I wrote to him in return, and sent to him two Cheshire cheeses by a smuggler, and since that they came regularly. Did you ever eat Westphalia ham, Mr Simple?”
“Yes,” replied I; “once I partook of one at Lord Privilege’s.”
“Lord Privilege! why he’s a distant relation of mine, a sort of fifth cousin,” replied Captain Kearney.
“Indeed, sir!” replied I.
“Then you must allow me to introduce you to a relation, Captain Kearney,” said the first lieutenant; “for Mr Simple is his grandson.”
“Is it possible? I can only say, Mr Simple, that I shall be most happy to show you every attention, and am very glad that I have you as one of my officers.”
Now although this was all false, for Captain Kearney was not in the remotest manner connected with my family, yet having once asserted it, he could not retract, and the consequence was, that I was much the gainer by his falsehood, as he treated me very kindly afterwards, always calling me _cousin_.
The first lieutenant smiled and gave me a wink, when the captain had finished his speech to me, as much as to say, “You’re in luck,” and then the conversation changed. Captain Kearney certainly dealt in the marvellous to admiration, and really told his stories with such earnestness, that I actually believe that he thought he was telling the truth. Never was there such an instance of confirmed habit. Telling a story of a cutting-out expedition, he said, “The French captain would have fallen by my hand, but just as I levelled my musket, a ball came, and cut off the cock of the lock as clean as if it was done with a knife–a very remarkable instance,” observed he.
“Not equal to what occurred in a ship I was in,” replied the first lieutenant, “when the second lieutenant was grazed by a grape-shot, which cut off one of his whiskers, and turning round his head to ascertain what was the matter, another grape-shot came and took off the other. Now that’s what I call a _close shave_.”
“Yes,” replied Captain Kearney, “very close, indeed, if it were true; but you’ll excuse me, Mr Phillott, but you sometimes tell strange stories. I do not mind it myself, but the example is not good to my young relation here, Mr Simple.”
“Captain Kearney,” replied the first lieutenant, laughing very immoderately, “do you know what the pot called the kettle?”
“No, sir, I do not,” retorted the captain, with offended dignity. “Mr Simple, will you take a glass of wine?”
I thought that this little _brouillerie_ would have checked the captain; it did so, but only for a few minutes, when he again commenced. The first lieutenant observed that it would be necessary to let water into the ship every morning, and pump it out, to avoid the smell of the bilge-water. “There are worse smells than bilge-water,” replied the captain. “What do you think of a whole ship’s company being nearly poisoned with otto of roses? Yet that occurred to me when in the Mediterranean. I was off Smyrna, cruising for a French ship, that was to sail to France, with a pasha on board, as an ambassador. I knew she would be a good prize, and was looking sharp out, when one morning we discovered her on the lee bow. We made all sail, but she walked away from us, bearing away gradually till we were both before the wind, and at night we lost sight of her. As I knew that she was bound to Marseilles, I made all sail to fall in with her again. The wind was light and variable; but five days afterwards, as I lay in my cot, just before daylight, I smelt a very strong smell, blowing in at the weather port, and coming down the skylight, which was open; and after sniffing at it two or three times, I knew it to be otto of roses. I sent for the officer of the watch, and asked him if there was anything in sight. He replied ‘that there was not;’ and I ordered him to sweep the horizon with his glass, and look well out to windward. As the wind freshened, the smell became more powerful. I ordered him to get the royal yards across, and all ready to make sail, for I knew that the Turk must be near us. At daylight there he was, just three miles ahead in the wind’s eye. But although he beat us going free, he was no match for us, on a wind, and before noon we had possession of him and all his harem. By-the-by, I could tell you a good story about the ladies. She was a very valuable prize, and among other things, she had a _puncheon_ of otto of roses on board–.”
“Whew!” cried the first lieutenant. “What! a whole puncheon?”
“Yes,” replied the captain, “a Turkish puncheon–not quite so large, perhaps, as ours on board; their weights and measures are different. I took out most of the valuables into the brig I commanded–about 20,000 sequins–carpets–and among the rest, this cask of otto of roses, which we had smelt three miles off. We had it safe on board, when the mate of the hold, not slinging it properly, it fell into the spirit-room with a run, and was stove to pieces. Never was such a scene; my first lieutenant and several men on deck fainted; and the men in the hold were brought up lifeless; it was some time before they were recovered. We let the water into the brig, and pumped it out, but nothing would take away the smell, which was so overpowering, that before I could get to Malta I had forty men on the sick list. When I arrived there, I turned the mate out of the service for his carelessness. It was not until after having smoked the brig, and finding that of little use, after having sunk her for three weeks, that the smell was at all bearable; but even then it could never be eradicated, and the admiral sent the brig home, and she was sold out of the service. They could do nothing with her at the dockyards. She was broken up, and bought by the people at Brighton and Tunbridge Wells, who used her timbers for turning fancy articles, which, smelling as they did, so strongly of otto of roses, proved very profitable. Were you ever at Brighton, Mr Simple?”
“Never, sir.”
Just at this moment, the officer of the watch came down to say that there was a very large shark under the counter, and wished to know if the captain had any objection to the officers attempting to catch it.
“By no means,” replied Captain Kearney; “I hate sharks as I do the devil. I nearly lost L14,000 by one, when I was in the Mediterranean.”
“May I inquire how, Captain Kearney?” said the first lieutenant, with a demure face; “I’m very anxious to know.”
“Why the story is simply this,” replied the captain. “I had an old relation at Malta, whom I found out by accident–an old maid of sixty, who had lived all her life on the island. It was by mere accident that I knew of her existence. I was walking upon Strada Reale, when I saw a large baboon that was kept there, who had a little fat pug-dog by the tail, which he was pulling away with him, while an old lady was screaming out for help: for whenever she ran to assist her dog, the baboon made at her as if he would have ravished her, and caught her by the petticoats with one hand, while he held the pug-dog fast by the other. I owed that brute a spite for having attacked me one night when I passed him, and perceiving what was going on, I drew my sword and gave Mr Jacko such a clip as sent him away howling, and bleeding like a pig, leaving me in possession of the little pug, which I took up and handed to his mistress. The old lady trembled very much, and begged me to see her safe home. She had a very fine house, and after she was seated on the sofa, thanked me very much for my gallant assistance, as she termed it, and told me her name was Kearney: upon this I very soon proved my relationship with her, at which she was much delighted, requesting me to consider her house as my home. I was for two years afterwards on that station, and played my cards very well; and the old lady gave me a hint that I should be her heir, as she had no other relations that she knew anything of. At last I was ordered home, and not wishing to leave her, I begged her to accompany me, offering her my cabin. She was taken very ill a fortnight before we sailed, and made a will, leaving me her sole heir; but she recovered, and got as fat as ever. Mr Simple, the wine stands with you. I doubt if Lord Privilege gave you better claret than there is in that bottle; I imported it myself ten years ago, when I commanded the _Coquette_.”
“Very odd,” observed the first lieutenant–“we bought some at Barbadoes with the same mark on the bottles and cork.”
“That may be,” replied the captain; “old-established houses all keep up the same marks; but I doubt if your wine can be compared to this.”
As Mr Phillott wished to hear the end of the captain’s story, he would not contradict him this time, by stating what he knew to be the case, that the captain had sent it on board at Barbadoes; and the captain proceeded.
“Well, I gave up my cabin to the old lady, and hung up my cot in the gun-room during the passage home.
“We were becalmed abreast of Ceuta for two days. The old lady was very particular about her pug-dog, and I superintended the washing of the little brute twice a week; but at last I was tired of it, and gave him to my coxswain to bathe. My coxswain, who was a lazy fellow, without my knowledge, used to put the little beast into the bight of a rope, and tow him overboard for a minute or so. It was during this calm that he had him overboard in this way, when a confounded shark rose from under the counter, and took in the pug-dog at one mouthful. The coxswain reported the loss as a thing of no consequence; but I knew better, and put the fellow in irons. I then went down and broke the melancholy fact to Miss Kearney, stating that I had put the man in irons, and would flog him well. The old lady broke out into a most violent passion at the intelligence, declared that it was my fault, that I was jealous of the dog, and had done it on purpose. The more I protested, the more she raved; and at last I was obliged to go on deck to avoid her abuse and keep my temper. I had not been on deck five minutes before she came up– that is, was shoved up–for she was so heavy that she could not get up without assistance. You know how elephants in India push the cannon through a morass with their heads from behind; well, my steward used to shove her up the companion-ladder just in the same way, with his head completely buried in her petticoats. As soon as she was up, he used to pull his head out, looking as red and hot as a fresh-boiled lobster. Well, up she came, with her will in her hand, and, looking at me very fiercely, she said, ‘Since the shark has taken my dear dog, he may have my will also,’ and, throwing it overboard, she plumped down on the carronade slide. ‘It’s very well, madam,’ said I, ‘but you’ll be cool by-and-by, and then you’ll make another will.’ ‘I swear by all the hopes that I have of going to heaven that I never will!’ she replied. ‘Yes, you will, madam,’ replied I. ‘Never, so help me God! Captain Kearney; my money may now go to my next heir, and that, you know, will not be you.’ Now, as I knew very well that the old lady was very positive and as good as her word, my object was to recover the will, which was floating about fifty yards astern, without her knowledge. I thought a moment, and then I called the boatswain’s mate to _pipe all hands to bathe_. ‘You’ll excuse me, Miss Kearney,’ said I, ‘but the men are going to bathe, and I do not think you would like to see them all naked. If you would, you can stay on deck.’ She looked daggers at me, and, rising from the carronade slide, hobbled to the ladder, saying, ‘that the insult was another proof of how little I deserved any kindness from her.’ As soon as she was below, the quarter-boats were lowered down, and I went in one of them and picked up the will, which still floated. Brigs having no stern-windows, of course she could not see my manoeuvre, but thought that the will was lost for ever. We had very bad weather after that, owing to which, with the loss of her favourite pug, and constant quarrelling with me–for I did all I could to annoy her afterwards–she fell ill, and was buried a fortnight after she was landed at Plymouth. The old lady kept her word; she never made another will. I proved the one I had recovered at Doctors’ Commons, and touched the whole of her money.”
As neither the first lieutenant nor I could prove whether the story was true or not, of course we expressed our congratulations at his good fortune, and soon afterwards left the cabin to report his marvellous story to our messmates. When I went on deck, I found that the shark had just been hooked, and was hauling on board. Mr Phillott had also come on deck. The officers were all eager about the shark, and were looking over the side, calling to each other, and giving directions to the men. Now, although certainly there was a want of decorum on the quarter-deck, still, the captain having given permission, it was to be excused; but Mr Phillott thought otherwise, and commenced in his usual style, beginning with the marine officer.
“Mr Westley, I’ll trouble you not to be getting upon the hammocks. You’ll get off directly, sir. If one of your fellows were to do so, I’d stop his grog for a month, and I don’t see why you are to set a bad example; you’ve been too long in barracks, sir, by half. Who is that? Mr Williams and Mr Moore–both on the hammocks, too. Up to the foretopmast head, both of you, directly. Mr Thomas, up to the main; and I say, you youngster, stealing off, perch yourself upon the spanker-boom, and let me know when you’ve rode to London. By God! the service is going to hell! I don’t know what officers are made of now-a-days. I’ll marry some of you young gentlemen to the gunner’s daughter before long. Quarter-deck’s no better than a bear-garden. No wonder, when lieutenants set the example.”
This latter remark could only be applied to O’Brien, who stood in the quarter-boat giving directions, before the tirade of Mr Phillott stopped the amusement of the party. O’Brien immediately stepped out of the boat, and going up to Mr Phillott, touched his hat, and said, “Mr Phillott, we had the captain’s permission to catch the shark, and a shark is not to be got on board by walking up and down on the quarter-deck. As regards myself, as long as the captain is on board, I hold myself responsible to him alone for my conduct; and if you think I have done wrong, forward your complaint; but if you pretend to use such language to me, as you have to others, I shall hold you responsible. I am here, sir, as an officer and a gentleman, and will be treated as such; and allow me to observe, that I consider the quarter-deck more disgraced by foul and ungentlemanly language, than I do by an officer accidentally standing upon the hammocks. However, as you have thought proper to interfere, you may now get the shark on board yourself.”
Mr Phillott turned very red, for he never had come in contact in this way with O’Brien. All the other officers had submitted quietly to his unpleasant manner of speaking to them. “Very well, Mr O’Brien; I shall hold you answerable for this language,” replied he, “and shall most certainly report your conduct to the captain.”
“I will save you the trouble; Captain Kearney is now coming up, and I will report it myself.”
This O’Brien did, upon the captain’s putting his foot on the quarter-deck.
“Well,” observed the captain to Mr Phillott, “what is it you complain of?”
“Mr O’Brien’s language, sir. Am I to be addressed on the quarter-deck in that manner?”
“I really must say, Mr Phillott,” replied Captain Kearney, “that I do not perceive anything in what Mr O’Brien said, but what is correct. I command here; and if an officer so nearly equal in rank to yourself has committed himself, you are not to take the law into your own hands. The fact is, Mr Phillott, your language is not quite so correct as I could wish it. I overheard every word that passed, and I consider that _you_ have treated _your superior_ officer with disrespect–that is, _me_. I gave permission that the shark should be caught, and with that permission, I consequently allowed those little deviations from the discipline of the service which must inevitably take place. Yet you have thought proper to interfere with my permission, which is tantamount to an order, and have made use of harsh language, and punished the young gentlemen for obeying my injunctions. You will oblige me, sir, by calling them all down, and in restraining your petulance for the future. I will always support your authority when you are correct; but I regret that in this instance you have necessitated me to weaken it.”
This was a most severe check to Mr Phillott, who immediately went below, after hailing the mastheads and calling down the midshipmen. As soon as he was gone we were all on the hammocks again; the shark was hauled forward, hoisted on board, and every frying-pan in the ship was in requisition. We were all much pleased with Captain Kearney’s conduct on this occasion; and, as O’Brien observed to me, “He really is a good fellow and clever officer. What a thousand pities it is, that he is such a confounded liar!” I must do Mr Phillott the justice to say that he bore no malice on this occasion, but treated us as before, which is saying a great deal in his favour, when it is considered what power a first lieutenant has of annoying and punishing his inferiors.
Chapter XXXIII
Another set-to between the captain and first lieutenant–Cutting-out expedition–Mr Chucks mistaken–He dies like a gentleman–Swinburne begins his account of the battle off St Vincent.
We had not been more than a week under the Danish island of St Thomas when we discovered a brig close in-shore. We made all sail in chase, and soon came within a mile and a half of the shore, when she anchored under a battery, which opened its fire upon us. Their elevation was too great, and several shots passed over us and between our masts.
“I once met with a very remarkable circumstance,” observed Captain Kearney. “Three guns were fired at a frigate I was on board of from a battery, all at the same time. The three shots cut away the three topsail ties, and down came all our topsail yards upon the cap at the same time. That the Frenchmen might not suppose that they had taken such good aim, we turned up our hands to reef topsails; and by the time that the men were off the yards the ties were spliced and the topsails run up again.”
Mr Phillott could not stand this most enormous fib, and he replied, “Very odd, indeed, Captain Kearney; but I have known a stranger circumstance. We had put in the powder to the four guns on the main deck when we were fighting the Danish gun-boats in a frigate I was in, and, as the men withdrew the rammer, a shot from the enemy entered the muzzle, and completed the loading of each gun. We fired their own shot back upon them, and this occurred three times running.”
“Upon my word,” replied Captain Kearney, who had his glass upon the battery, “I think you must have dreamt that circumstance, Mr Phillott.”
“Not more than you did about the topsail ties, Captain Kearney.”
Captain Kearney at that time had the long glass in his hand, holding it up over his shoulder. A shot from the battery whizzed over his head, and took the glass out of his hand, shivering it to pieces. “That’s once,” said Captain Kearney, very coolly; “but will you pretend that that could ever happen three times running? They might take my head off, or my arm, next time, but not another glass; whereas the topsail ties might be cut by three different shot. But give me another glass, Mr Simple: I am certain that this vessel is a privateer. What think you, Mr O’Brien?”
“I am every bit of your opinion, Captain Kearney,” replied O’Brien; “and I think it would be a very pretty bit of practice to the ship’s company to take her out from under that footy battery.”
“Starboard the helm, Mr Phillott; keep away four points, and then we will think of it to-night.”
The frigate was now kept away, and ran out of the fire of the battery. It was then about an hour before sunset, and in the West Indies the sun does not set as it does in the northern latitudes. There is no twilight: he descends in glory, surrounded with clouds of gold and rubies in their gorgeous tints; and once below the horizon, all is dark. As soon as it was dark, we hauled our wind off shore; and a consultation being held between the captain, Mr Phillott, and O’Brien, the captain at last decided that the attempt should be made. Indeed, although cutting-out is a very serious affair, as you combat under every disadvantage, still the mischief done to our trade by the fast-sailing privateers was so great in the West Indies, that almost every sacrifice was warrantable for the interests of the country. Still, Captain Kearney, although a brave and prudent officer–one who calculated chances, and who would not risk his men without he deemed that necessity imperiously demanded that such should be done–was averse to this attack, from his knowledge of the bay in which the brig was anchored; and although Mr Phillott and O’Brien both were of opinion that it should be a night attack, Captain Kearney decided otherwise. He considered, that although the risk might be greater, yet the force employed would be more consolidated, and that those who would hold back in the night dare not do so during the day. Moreover, that the people on shore in the battery, as well as those in the privateer, would be on the alert all night, and not expecting an attack during the day, would be taken off their guard. It was therefore directed that everything should be in preparation during the night, and that the boats should shove off before daylight, and row in-shore, concealing themselves behind some rocks under the cliffs which formed the cape upon one side of the harbour; and, if not discovered, remain there till noon, at which time it was probable that the privateer’s men would be on shore, and the vessel might be captured without difficulty.
It is always a scene of much interest on board a man-of-war when preparations are made for an expedition of this description; and, as the reader may not have been witness to them, it may perhaps be interesting to describe them. The boats of men-of-war have generally two crews; the common boats’ crews, which are selected so as not to take away the most useful men from the ship; and the service, or fighting boats’ crews, which are selected from the very best men on board. The coxswains of the boats are the most trustworthy men in the ship, and, on this occasion, have to see that their boats are properly equipped. The launch, yawl, first and second cutters, were the boats appointed for the expedition. They all carried guns mounted upon slides, which ran fore and aft between the men. After the boats were hoisted out, the guns were lowered down into them and shipped in the bows of the boats. The arm-chests were next handed in, which contain the cartridges and ammunition. The shot were put into the bottom of the boats; and so far they were all ready. The oars of the boats were fitted to pull with grummets upon iron thole-pins, that they might make little noise, and might swing fore and aft without falling overboard when the boats pulled alongside the privateer. A breaker or two (that is, small casks holding about seven gallons each) of water was put into each boat, and also the men’s allowance of spirits, in case they should be detained by any unforeseen circumstances. The men belonging to the boats were fully employed in looking after their arms; some fitting their flints to their pistols, others, and the major part of them, sharpening their cutlasses at the grindstone, or with a file borrowed from the armourer,–all were busy and all merry. The very idea of going into action is a source of joy to an English sailor, and more jokes are made, more merriment excited, at that time than at any other. Then, as it often happens that one or two of the service boats’ crews may be on the sick list, urgent solicitations are made by others that they may supply their places. The only parties who appear at all grave are those who are to remain in the frigate, and not share in the expedition. There is no occasion to order the boats to be manned, for the men are generally in long before they are piped away. Indeed, one would think that it was a party of pleasure, instead of danger and of death, upon which they were about to proceed.
Captain Kearney selected the officers who were to have the charge of the boats. He would not trust any of the midshipmen on so dangerous a service. He said that he had known so many occasions in which their rashness and foolhardiness had spoilt an expedition; he therefore appointed Mr Phillott, the first lieutenant, to the launch; O’Brien to the yawl; the master to the first, and Mr Chucks, the boatswain, to the second cutter. Mr Chucks was much pleased with the idea of having the command of a boat, and asked me to come with him, to which I consented, although I had intended, as usual, to have gone with O’Brien.
About an hour before daylight we ran the frigate to within a mile and a half of the shore, and the boats shoved off; the frigate then wore round, and stood out in the offing, that she might at daylight be at such a distance as not to excite any suspicion that our boats were sent away, while we in the boats pulled quietly in-shore. We were not a quarter of an hour before we arrived at the cape forming one side of the bay, and were well secreted among the cluster of rocks which were underneath. Our oars were laid in; the boats’ painters made fast; and orders given for the strictest silence. The rocks were very high, and the boats were not to be seen without any one should come to the edge of the precipice; and even then they would, in all probability, have been supposed to have been rocks. The water was as smooth as glass, and when it was broad daylight, the men hung listlessly over the sides of the boats, looking at the corals below, and watching the fish as they glided between.
“I can’t say, Mr Simple,” said Mr Chucks to me in an under tone, “that I think well of this expedition; and I have an idea that some of us will lose the number of our mess. After a calm comes a storm; and how quiet is everything now! But I’ll take off my great coat, for the sun is hot already. Coxswain, give me my jacket.”
Mr Chucks had put on his great coat, but not his jacket underneath, which he had left on one of the guns on the main deck, all ready to change as soon as the heavy dew had gone off. The coxswain handed him the jacket, and Mr Chucks threw off his great coat to put it on; but when it was opened it proved, that by mistake he had taken away the jacket, surmounted by two small epaulettes, belonging to Captain Kearney, which the captain’s steward, who had taken it out to brush, had also laid upon the same gun.
“By all the nobility of England!” cried Mr Chucks, “I have taken away the captain’s jacket by mistake. Here’s a pretty mess! if I put on my great coat I shall be dead with sweating; if I put on no jacket I shall be roasted brown; but if I put on the captain’s jacket I shall be considered disrespectful.”
The men in the boats tittered; and Mr Phillott, who was in the launch next to us, turned round to see what was the matter; O’Brien was sitting in the stern-sheets of the launch with the first lieutenant, and I leaned over and told them.
“By the powers! I don’t see why the captain’s jacket will be at all hurt by Mr Chucks putting it on,” replied O’Brien; “unless, indeed, a bullet were to go through it, and then it won’t be any fault of Mr Chucks.”
“No,” replied the first lieutenant; “and if one did, the captain might keep the jacket, and swear that the bullet went round his body without wounding him. He’ll have a good yarn to spin. So put it on, Mr Chucks; you’ll make a good mark for the enemy.”
“That I will stand the risk of with pleasure,” observed the boatswain to me, “for the sake of being considered a gentleman. So here’s on with it.”
There was a general laugh when Mr Chucks pulled on the captain’s jacket, and sank down in the stern-sheets of the cutter, with great complacency of countenance. One of the men in the boat that we were in thought proper, however, to continue his laugh a little longer than Mr Chucks considered necessary, who, leaning forward, thus addressed him: “I say, Mr Webber, I beg leave to observe to you, in the most delicate manner in the world–just to hint to you–that it is not the custom to laugh at your superior officer. I mean just to insinuate, that you are a d—-d impudent son of a sea cook; and if we both live and do well, I will prove to you, that if I am to be laughed at in a boat with the captain’s jacket on, that I am not to be laughed at on board the frigate with the boatswain’s rattan in my fist; and so look out, my hearty, for squalls, when you come on the forecastle; for I’ll be d—-d if I don’t make you see more stars than God Almighty ever made, and cut more capers than all the dancing-masters in France. Mark my words, you burgoo-eating, pea-soup-swilling, trowsers-scrubbing son of a bitch.”
Mr Chucks, having at the end of this oration raised his voice above the pitch required by the exigency of the service, was called to order by the first lieutenant, and again sank back into the stern-sheets with all the importance and authoritative show peculiarly appertaining to a pair of epaulettes.
We waited behind the rocks until noonday, without being discovered by the enemy; so well were we concealed. We had already sent an officer, who, carefully hiding himself by lying down on the rocks, had several times reconnoitred the enemy. Boats were passing and repassing continually from the privateer to the shore; and it appeared that they went on shore full of men, and returned with only one or two; so that we were in great hopes that we should find but few men to defend the vessel. Mr Phillott looked at his watch, held it up to O’Brien, to prove that he had complied exactly with the orders he had received from the captain, and then gave the word to get the boats under weigh. The painters were cast off by the bowmen, the guns were loaded and primed, the men seized their oars, and in two minutes we were clear of the rocks, and drawn up in a line within a quarter of a mile from the harbour’s mouth, and not half a mile from the privateer brig. We rowed as quickly as possible, but we did not cheer until the enemy fired the first gun; which he did from a quarter unexpected, as we entered the mouth of the harbour, with our union jack trailing in the water over our stern, for it was a dead calm. It appeared, that at the low point under the cliffs, at each side of the little bay, they had raised a water battery of two guns each. One of these guns, laden with grape shot, was now fired at the boats, but the elevation was too low, and although the water was ploughed up to within five yards of the launch, no injury was received. We were equally fortunate in the discharge of the other three guns; two of which we passed so quickly, that they were not aimed sufficiently forward, so that their shot fell astern; and the other, although the shot fell among us, did no further injury than cutting in half two of the oars of the first cutter.
In the meantime, we had observed that the boats had shoved off from the privateer as soon as they had perceived us, and had returned to her laden with men; the boats had been despatched a second time, but had not yet returned. They were now about the same distance from the privateer as were our boats, and it was quite undecided which of us would be first on board. O’Brien perceiving this, painted out to Mr Phillott that we should first attack the boats, and afterwards board on the side to which they pulled; as, in all probability, there would be an opening left in the boarding nettings, which were tied up to the yard-arms, and presented a formidable obstacle to our success. Mr Phillott agreed with O’Brien: he ordered the bowmen to lay in their oars and keep the guns pointed ready to fire at the word given, and desiring the other men to pull their best. Every nerve, every muscle was brought into play by our anxious and intrepid seamen. When within about twenty yards of the vessel, and also of the boats, the orders were given to fire–the carronade of the launch poured out round and grape so well directed, that one of the French boats sunk immediately; and the musket balls with which our other smaller guns were loaded, did great execution among their men. In one minute more, with three cheers from our sailors, we were all alongside together, English and French boats pell-mell, and a most determined close conflict took place. The French fought desperately, and as they were overpowered, they were reinforced by those from the privateer, who could not look on and behold their companions requiring their assistance, without coming to their aid. Some jumped down into our boats from the chains, into the midst of our men; others darted cold shot at us, either to kill us or to sink our boats; and thus did one of the most desperate hand-to-hand conflicts take place that ever was witnessed. But it was soon decided in our favour, for we were the stronger party and the better armed; and when all opposition was over, we jumped into the privateer, and found not a man left on board, only a large dog, who flew at O’Brien’s throat as he entered the port.
“Don’t kill him,” said O’Brien, as the sailors hastened to his assistance; “only take away his gripe.”
The sailors disengaged the dog, and O’Brien led him up to a gun, saying, “By Jasus, my boy, you are my prisoner.”
But although we had possession of the privateer, our difficulties, as it will prove, were by no means over. We were now exposed not only to the fire of the two batteries at the harbour-mouth which we had to pass, but also to that of the battery at the bottom of the bay, which had fired at the frigate. In the meantime, we were very busy in cutting the cable, lowering the topsails, and taking the wounded men on board the privateer, from out of the boats. All this was, however, but the work of a few minutes. Most of the Frenchmen were killed; our own wounded amounted to only nine seamen and Mr Chucks, the boatswain, who was shot through the body, apparently with little chance of surviving. As Mr Phillott observed, the captain’s epaulettes had made him a mark for the enemy, and he had fallen in his borrowed plumes.
As soon as they were all on board, and laid on the deck–for there were, as near as I can recollect, about fourteen wounded Frenchmen as well as our own–tow-ropes were got out forwards, the boats were manned, and we proceeded to tow the brig out of the harbour.
It was a dead calm, and we made but little way, but our boat’s crew, flushed with victory, cheered, and rallied, and pulled with all their strength. The enemy perceiving that the privateer was taken, and the French boats drifting empty up the harbour, now opened their fire upon us, and with great effect. Before we had towed abreast of the two water batteries, we had received three-shots between wind and water from the other batteries, and the sea was pouring fast into the vessel. I had been attending to poor Mr Chucks, who lay on the starboard side, near the wheel, the blood flowing from his wound, and tracing its course down the planks of the deck, to a distance of some feet from where he lay. He appeared very faint, and I tied my handkerchief round his body, so as to stop the effusion of blood, and brought him some water, with which I bathed his face, and poured some into his mouth. He opened his eyes wide, and looked at me.
“Ah, Mr Simple,” said he, faintly, “is it you? It’s all over with me; but it could not be better–could it?”
“How do you mean?” inquired I.
“Why, have I not fallen dressed like an officer and a gentleman?” said he, referring to the captain’s jacket and epaulettes. “I’d sooner die now with this dress on, than recover to put on the boatswain’s uniform. I feel quite happy.”
He pressed my hand, and then closed his eyes again, from weakness. We were now nearly abreast of the two batteries on the points, the guns of which had been trained so as to bear upon our boats that were towing out the brig. The first shot went through the bottom of the launch, and sank her; fortunately, all the men were saved; but as she was the boat that towed next to the brig, great delay occurred in getting the others clear of her, and taking the brig again in tow. The shot now poured in thick, and the grape became very annoying. Still our men gave way, cheering at every shot fired, and we had nearly passed the batteries, with trifling loss, when we perceived that the brig was so full of water that she could not swim many minutes longer, and that it would be impossible to tow her alongside of the frigate. Mr Phillott, under these circumstances, decided that it would be useless to risk more lives, and that the wounded should be taken out of the brig, and the boats should pull away for the ship. He desired me to get the wounded men into the cutter, which he sent alongside, and then to follow the other boats. I made all the haste I could, not wishing to be left behind; and as soon as all our wounded men were in the boats, I went to Mr Chucks, to remove him. He appeared somewhat revived, but would not allow us to remove him.
“My dear Mr Simple,” said he, “it is of no use; I never can recover it, and I prefer dying here. I entreat you not to move me. If the enemy take possession of the brig before she sinks, I shall be buried with military honours; if they do not, I shall at least die in the dress of a gentleman. Hasten away as fast as you can, before you lose more men. Here I stay–that’s decided.”
I expostulated with him, but at that time two boats full of men appeared, pulling out of the harbour to the brig. The enemy had perceived that our boats had deserted her, and were coming to take possession. I had therefore no time to urge Mr Chucks to change his resolution, and not wishing to force a dying man, I shook his hand and left him. It was with some difficulty I escaped, for the boats had come up close to the brig; they chased me a little while, but the yawl and the cutter turning back to my assistance, they gave up the pursuit. On the whole, this was a very well arranged and well conducted expedition. The only man lost was Mr Chucks, for the wounds of the others were none of them mortal. Captain Kearney was quite satisfied with our conduct, and so was the admiral, when it was reported to him. Captain Kearney did indeed grumble a little about his jacket, and sent for me to inquire why I had not taken it off Mr Chucks, and brought it on board. As I did not choose to tell him the exact truth, I replied, “That I could not disturb a dying man, and that the jacket was so saturated with blood, that he never could have worn it again,” which was the case.
“At all events, you might have brought away my epaulettes,” replied he; “but you youngsters think of nothing but gormandizing.”
I had the first watch that night, when Swinburne, the quarter-master, came up to me, and asked me all the particulars of the affair, for he was not in the boats. “Well,” said he, “that Mr Chucks appeared to be a very good boatswain in his way, if he could only have kept his rattan a little quiet. He was a smart fellow, and knew his duty. We had just such another killed in our ship, in the action off Cape St Vincent.”
“What! were you in that action?” replied I.
“Yes, I was, and belonged to the _Captain_, Lord Nelson’s ship.”
“Well, then, suppose you tell me all about it.”
“Why, Mr Simple, d’ye see, I’ve no objection to spin you a yarn, now and then,” replied Swinburne, “but, as Mr Chucks used to say, allow me to observe, in the most delicate manner in the world, that I perceive that the man who has charge of your hammock, and slings you a clean one now and then, has very often a good glass of grog for his _yarns_, and I do not see but that mine are as well worth a glass of grog as his.”
“So they are, Swinburne, and better too, and I promise you a good stiff one to-morrow evening.”
“That will do, sir: now then, I’ll tell you all about it, and more about it too than most can, for I know how the action was brought about.”
I have the log, marked the board, and then sat down abaft on the signal chest with Swinburne, who commenced his narrative as follows:–
“You must know, Mr Simple, that when the English fleet came down the Mediterranean, after the ‘vackyation of Corsica, they did not muster more than seventeen sail of the line, while the Spanish fleet from Ferrol and Carthagena had joined company at Cadiz, and ‘mounted to near thirty. Sir John Jervis had the command of our fleet at the time, but as the Dons did not seem at all inclined to come out and have a brush with us, almost two to one, Sir John left Sir Hyde Parker, with six sail of the line, to watch the Spanish beggars, while he went in to Lisbon with the remainder of the fleet, to water and refit. Now, you see, Mr Simple, Portugal was at that time what they calls neutral, that is to say, she didn’t meddle at all in the affair, being friends with both parties, and just as willing to supply fresh beef and water to the Spaniards as to the English, if so be the Spaniards had come out to ax for it, which they dar’n’t. The Portuguese and the English have always been the best of friends, because we can’t get no port wine anywhere else, and they can’t get nobody else to buy it of them; so the Portuguese gave up their arsenal at Lisbon, for the use of the English, and there we kept all our stores, under the charge of that old dare-devil, Sir Isaac Coffin. Now it so happened, that one of the clerks in old Sir Isaac’s _office_, a Portuguese chap, had been some time before that in the office of the Spanish ambassador; he was a very smart sort of a chap, and sarved as interpreter, and the old commissioner put great faith in him.”
“But how did you learn all this, Swinburne?”
“Why, I’ll tell you, Mr Simple. I steered the yawl as coxswain, and when admirals and captains talk in the stern-sheets, they very often forget that the coxswain is close behind them. I only learnt half of it that way; the rest I put together when I compared logs with the admiral’s steward, who, of course, heard a great deal now and then. The first I heard of it was when old Sir John called out to Sir Isaac, after the second bottle, ‘I say, Sir Isaac, who killed the Spanish messenger?’ ‘Not I, by God!’ replied Sir Isaac; ‘I only left him for dead;’ and then they both laughed, and so did Nelson, who was sitting with them. Well, Mr Simple, it was reported to Sir Isaac that his clerk was often seen taking memorandums of the different orders given to the fleet, particularly those as to there being no wasteful expenditure of his Majesty’s stores. Upon which, Sir Isaac goes to the admiral, and requests that the man might be discharged. Now, old Sir John was a sly old fox, and he answered, ‘Not so, commissioner; perhaps we may catch them in their own trap.’ So the admiral sits down, and calls for pen and ink, and he flourishes out a long letter to the commissioner, stating that all the stores of the fleet were expended, representing as how it would be impossible to go to sea without a supply, and wishing to know when the commissioner expected more transports from England. He also said that if the Spanish fleet were now to come out from Cadiz, it would be impossible for him to protect Sir H. Parker with his six sail of the line, who was watching the Spanish fleet, as he could not quit the port in his present condition. To this letter the commissioner answered that, from the last accounts, he thought that in the course of six weeks or two months they might receive supplies from England, but that sooner than that was impossible. These letters were put in the way of the d—-d Portuguese spy-clerk, who copied them, and was seen that evening to go into the house of the Spanish ambassador. Sir John then sent a message to Ferro–that’s a small town on the Portuguese coast to the southward–with a despatch to Sir Hyde Parker, desiring him to run away to Cape St Vincent, and decoy the Spanish fleet there, in case they should come out after him. Well, Mr Simple, so far d’ye see the train was well laid. The next thing to do was to watch the Spanish ambassador’s house, and see if he sent away any despatches. Two days after the letters had been taken to him by this rascal of a clerk, the Spanish ambassador sent away two messengers–one for Cadiz and the other for Madrid, which is the town where the King of Spain lives. The one to Cadiz was permitted to go, but the one to Madrid was stopped by the directions of the admiral, and this job was confided to the commissioner, Sir Isaac, who settled it somehow or another; and this was the reason why the admiral called out to him, ‘I say, Sir Isaac, who killed the messenger?’ They brought back his despatches, by which they found out that advice had been sent to the Spanish admiral–I forget his name, something like _Magazine_–informing him of the supposed crippled state of our squadron. Sir John, taking it for granted that the Spaniards would not lose an opportunity of taking six sail of the line– more English ships than they have ever taken in their lives–waited a few days to give them time, and then sailed from Lisbon for Cape St Vincent, where he joined Sir Hyde Parker, and fell in with the Spaniards sure enough, and a pretty drubbing we gave them. Now, it’s not everybody that could tell you all that, Mr Simple.”
“Well, but now for the action, Swinburne.”
“Lord bless you, Mr Simple! it’s now past seven bells, and I can’t fight the battle of St Vincent in half an hour; besides which, it’s well worth another glass of grog to hear all about that battle.”
“Well, you shall have one, Swinburne; only don’t forget to tell it to me.”
Swinburne and I then separated, and in less than an hour afterwards I was dreaming of despatches–Sir John Jervis–Sir Isaac Coffin–and Spanish messengers.
Chapter XXXIV
O’Brien’s good advice–Captain Kearney again deals in the marvellous.
I do not remember any circumstance in my life which, at that time, lay so heavily on my mind as the loss of poor Mr Chucks, the boatswain, who, of course, I took it for granted I should never see again. I believe that the chief cause was that at the time I entered the service, and every one considered me to be the fool of the family, Mr Chucks and O’Brien were the only two who thought of and treated me differently; and it was their conduct which induced me to apply myself and encouraged me to exertion. I believe that many a boy, who, if properly patronized, would turn out well, is, by the injudicious system of browbeating and ridicule, forced into the wrong path, and, in his despair, throws away all self-confidence, and allows himself to be carried away by the stream to perdition. O’Brien was not very partial to reading himself. He played the German flute remarkably well, and had a very good voice. His chief amusement was practising, or rather playing, which is a very different thing; but although he did not study himself, he always made me come into his cabin for an hour or two every day, and, after I had read, repeat to him the contents of the book. By this method he not only instructed me, but gained a great deal of information himself; for he made so many remarks upon what I had read, that it was impressed upon both our memories.
“Well, Peter,” he would say, as he came into the cabin, “what have you to tell me this morning? Sure it’s you that’s the schoolmaster, and not me–for I learn from you every day.”
“I have not read much, O’Brien, to-day, for I have been thinking of poor Mr Chucks.”
“Very right for you so to do, Peter. Never forget your friends in a hurry. You’ll not find too many of them as you trot along the highway of life.”
“I wonder whether he is dead?”
“Why, that’s a question I cannot answer. A bullet through the chest don’t lengthen a man’s days, that’s certain; but this I know, that he’ll not die if he can help it, now that he’s got the captain’s jacket on.”
“Yes; he always aspired to be a gentleman, which was absurd enough in a boatswain.”
“Not at all absurd, Peter, but very absurd of you to talk without thinking. When did any one of his shipmates ever know Mr Chucks to do an unhandsome or mean action? Never; and why? Because he aspired to be a gentleman, and that feeling kept him above it. Vanity’s a confounded donkey, very apt to put his head between his legs, and chuck us over; but pride’s a fine horse, who will carry us over the ground, and enable us to distance our fellow-travellers. Mr Chucks has pride, and that’s always commendable, even in a boatswain. How often have you read of people rising from nothing, and becoming great men? This was from talent, sure enough; but it was talent with pride to force it onward, not talent with vanity to check it.”
“You are very right, O’Brien; I spoke foolishly.”
“Never mind, Peter, nobody heard you but me; so it’s of no consequence. Don’t you dine in the cabin to-day?”
“Yes.”
“So do I. The captain is in a most marvellous humour this morning. He told me one or two yarns that quite staggered my politeness and my respect for him on the quarter-deck. What a pity it is that a man should have gained such a bad habit!”
“He’s quite incurable, I’m afraid,” replied I; “but, certainly, his fibs do no harm; they are what they call white lies. I do not think he would really tell a lie–that is, a lie which would be considered to disgrace a gentleman.”
“Peter, _all_ lies disgrace a gentleman, white or black, although I grant there is a difference. To say the least of it, it is a dangerous habit; for white lies are but the gentlemen ushers to black ones. I know but of one point on which a lie is excusable, and that is, when you wish to deceive the enemy. Then your duty to your country warrants your lying till you’re black in the face; and, for the very reason that it goes against your grain, it becomes, as it were, a sort of virtue.”
“What was the difference between the marine officer and Mr Phillott that occurred this morning?”
“Nothing at all in itself. The marine officer is a bit of a gaby, and takes offence where none is meant. Mr Phillott has a foul tongue; but he has a good heart.”
“What a pity it is!”
“It is a pity, for he’s a smart officer; but the fact is, Peter, that junior officers are too apt to copy their superiors, and that makes it very important that a young gentleman should sail with a captain who is a gentleman. Now, Phillott served the best of his time with Captain Ballover, who is notorious in the service for foul and abusive language. What is the consequence? That Phillott and many others who have served under him have learnt his bad habit.”
“I should think, O’Brien, that the very circumstance of having had your feelings so often wounded by such language when you were a junior officer, would make you doubly careful not to make use of it to others, when you had advanced in the service.”
“Peter, that’s just the _first_ feeling, which wears away after a time; but at last, your own sense of indignation becomes blunted, and becoming indifferent to it, you forget also that you wound the feelings of others, and carry the habit with you, to the great injury and disgrace of the service. But it’s time to dress for dinner, so you’d better make yourself scarce, Peter, while I tidivate myself off a little, according to the rules and regulations of His Majesty’s service, when you are asked to dine with the skipper.”
We met at the captain’s table, where we found, as usual, a great display of plate, but very little else, except the ship’s allowance. We certainly had now been cruising some time, and there was some excuse for it; but still, few captains would have been so unprovided. “I’m afraid, gentlemen, you will not have a very grand dinner,” observed the captain, as the steward removed the plated covers of the dishes; “but when on service we must rough it out how we can. Mr O’Brien, pea-soup? I recollect faring harder than this through one cruise in a flush vessel. We were thirteen weeks up to our knees in water, and living the whole time upon raw pork–not being able to light a fire during the cruise.”
“Pray, Captain Kearney, may I ask where this happened?”
“To be sure. It was off Bermudas: we cruised for seven weeks before we could find the Islands, and began verily to think that the Bermudas were themselves on a cruise.”
“I presume, sir, you were not so sorry to have a fire to cook your provisions when you came to an anchor?” said O’Brien.
“I beg your pardon,” replied Captain Kearney; “we had become so accustomed to raw provisions and wet feet, that we could not eat our meals cooked, or help dipping our legs over the side, for a long while afterwards. I saw one of the boat-keepers astern catch a large barracouta and eat it alive–indeed, if I had not given the strictest orders, and flogged half-a-dozen of them, I doubt whether they would not have eaten their victuals raw to this day. The force of habit is tremendous.”
“It is, indeed,” observed Mr Phillott, drily, and winking to us, referring to the captain’s incredible stories.
“It is, indeed,” repeated O’Brien; “we see the ditch in our neighbour’s eye, and cannot observe the log of wood in our own;” and O’Brien winked at me, referring to Phillott’s habit of bad language.
“I once knew a married man,” observed the captain, “who had been always accustomed to go to sleep with his hand upon his wife’s head, and would not allow her to wear a nightcap in consequence. Well, she caught cold and died, and he never could sleep at night until he took a clothes-brush to bed with him, and laid his hand upon that, which answered the purpose–such was the force of habit.”
“I once saw a dead body galvanized,” observed Mr Phillott: “it was the body of a man who had taken a great deal of snuff during his lifetime, and as soon as the battery was applied to his spine, the body very gently raised its arm, and put its fingers to its nose, as if it was taking a pinch.”
“You saw that yourself, Mr Phillott?” observed the captain, looking at the first lieutenant earnestly in the face.
“Yes, sir,” replied Mr Phillott, coolly.
“Have you told that story often?”
“Very often, sir.”
“Because I know that some people, by constantly telling a story, at last believe it to be true; not that I refer to you, Mr Phillott; but still, I should recommend you not to tell that story where you are not well known, or people may doubt your credibility.”
“I make it a rule to believe everything myself,” observed Mr Phillott, “out of politeness, and I expect the same courtesy from others.”
“Then, upon my soul! when you tell that story, you trespass very much upon our good manners. Talking of courtesy, you must meet a friend of mine, who has been a courtier all his life; he cannot help bowing, I have seen him bow to his horse and thank him after he had dismounted– beg pardon of a puppy for treading on his tail; and one day, when he fell over a scraper, he took his hat off, and made it a thousand apologies for his inattention.”
“Force of habit again,” said O’Brien.
“Exactly so. Mr Simple, will you take a slice of this pork? and perhaps you’ll do me the honour to take a glass of wine? Lord Privilege would not much admire our dinner to-day, would he, Mr Simple?”
“As a variety he might, sir, but not for a continuance.”
“Very truly said. Variety is charming. The negroes here get so tired of salt fish and occra broth, that they eat dirt by way of a relish. Mr O’Brien, how remarkably well you played that sonata of Pleydel’s this morning.”
“I am happy that I did not annoy you, Captain Kearney, at all events,” replied O’Brien.
“On the contrary, I am very partial to good music. My mother was a great performer. I recollect once, she was performing a piece on the piano in which she had to imitate a _thunderstorm_. So admirably did she hit it off, that when we went to tea all the cream was _turned sour_, as well as three casks of _beer_ in the cellar.”
At this assertion Mr Phillott could contain himself no longer; he burst out into a loud laugh, and having a glass of wine to his lips, spattered it all over the table, and over me, who unfortunately was opposite to him.
“I really beg pardon, Captain Kearney, but the idea of such an expensive talent was too amusing. Will you permit me to ask you a question? As there could not have been thunder without lightning, were any people killed at the same time by the electric fluid of the piano?”
“No sir,” replied Captain Kearney, very angrily; “but her performance _electrified_ us, which was something like it. Perhaps, Mr Phillott, as you lost your last glass of wine, you will allow me to take another with you?”
“With great pleasure,” replied the first lieutenant, who perceived that he had gone far enough.
“Well, gentlemen,” said the captain, “we shall soon be in the land of plenty. I shall cruise a fortnight more, and then join the admiral at Jamaica. We must make out our despatch relative to the cutting out of the _Sylvia_ (that was the name of the privateer brig), and I am happy to say that I shall feel it my duty to make honourable mention of all the party present. Steward, coffee.”
The first lieutenant, O’Brien, and I, bowed to this flattering avowal on the part of the captain; as for me, I felt delighted. The idea of my name being mentioned in the “Gazette,” and the pleasure that it would give to my father and mother, mantled the blood in my cheeks till I was as red as a turkey-cock.
“_Cousin_ Simple,” said the captain, good-naturedly, “you have no occasion to blush; your conduct deserves it; and you are indebted to Mr Phillott for having made me acquainted with your gallantry.”
Coffee was soon over, and I was glad to leave the cabin, and be alone, that I might compose my perturbed mind. I felt too happy. I did not, however, say a word to my messmates, as it might have created feelings of envy or ill-will. O’Brien gave me a caution not to do so, when I met him afterwards, so that I was very glad that I had been so circumspect.
Chapter XXXV
Swinburne continues his narrative of the battle off Cape St Vincent.
The second night after this, we had the middle watch, and I claimed Swinburne’s promise that he would spin his yarn, relative to the battle of St Vincent. “Well, Mr Simple, so I will; but I require a little priming, or I shall never go off.”
“Will you have your glass of grog before or after?”
“Before, by all means, if you please, sir. Run down and get it, and I’ll heave the log for you in the meantime, when we shall have a good hour without interruption, for the sea-breeze will be steady, and we are under easy sail.” I brought up a stiff glass of grog, which Swinburne tossed off, and as he finished it, sighed deeply as if in sorrow that there was no more. Having stowed away the tumbler in one of the capstern holes for the present, we sat down upon a coil of ropes under the weather bulwarks, and Swinburne, replacing his quid of tobacco, commenced as follows–
“Well, Mr Simple, as I told you before, old Jervis started with all his fleet for Cape St Vincent. We lost one of our fleet–and a three-decker too–the _St George_; she took the ground, and was obliged to go back to Lisbon; but we soon afterwards were joined by five sail of the line, sent out from England, so that we mustered fifteen sail in all. We had like to lose another of our mess, for d’ye see, the old _Culloden_ and _Colossus_ fell foul of each other, and the _Culloden_ had the worst on it; but Troubridge, who commanded her, was not a man to shy his work, and ax to go in to refit, when there was a chance of meeting the enemy– so he patched her up somehow or another, and reported himself ready for action the very next day. Ready for action he always was, that’s sure enough, but whether his ship was in a fit state to go into action is quite another thing. But as the sailors used to say in joking, he was a _true bridge_, and you might trust to him; which meant as much as to say, that he knew how to take his ship into action, and how to fight her when he was fairly in it. I think it was the next day that Cockburn joined us in the _Minerve_, and he brought Nelson along with him with the intelligence that the Dons had chased him, and that the whole Spanish fleet was out in pursuit of us. Well, Mr Simple, you may guess we were not a little happy in the _Captain_, when Nelson joined us, as we knew that if he fell in with the Spaniards our ship would cut a figure–and so she did sure enough. That was on the morning of the 13th, and old Jervis made the signal to prepare for action, and keep close order, which means, to have your flying jib-boom in at the starn windows of the ship ahead of you; and we did keep close order, for a man might have walked right round from one ship to the other, either lee or weather line of the fleet. I sha’n’t forget that night, Mr Simple, as long as I live and breathe. Every now and then we heard the signal guns of the Spanish fleet booming at a distance to windward of us, and you may guess how our hearts leaped at the sound, and how we watched with all our ears for the next gun that was fired, trying to make out their bearings and distance, as we assembled in little knots upon the booms and weather-gangway. It was my middle watch, and I was signalman at the time, so of course I had no time to take a caulk if I was inclined. When my watch was over I could not go down to my hammock, so I kept the morning watch too, as did most of the men on board: as for Nelson, he walked the deck the whole night, quite in a fever. At daylight it was thick and hazy weather, and we could not make them out; but, about five bells, the old _Culloden_, who, if she had broke her nose, had not lost the use of her eyes, made the signal for a part of the Spanish fleet in sight. Old Jervis repeated the signal to prepare for action, but he might have saved the wear and tear of the bunting, for we were all ready, bulk-heads down, screens up, guns shotted, tackles rove, yards slung, powder filled, shot on deck, and fire out–and what’s more, Mr Simple, I’ll be d—-d if we weren’t all willing too. About six bells in the forenoon, the fog and haze all cleared away at once, just like the raising of the foresail that they lower down at the Portsmouth theatre, and discovered the whole of the Spanish fleet. I counted them all. ‘How many, Swinburne?’ cries Nelson. ‘Twenty-six sail, sir,’ answered I. Nelson walked the quarter-deck backwards and forwards, rubbing his hands, and laughing to himself, and then he called for his glass, and went to the gangway with Captain Miller. ‘Swinburne, keep a good look upon the admiral,’ says he. ‘Ay, ay, sir,’ says I. Now you see, Mr Simple, twenty-six sail against fifteen were great odds upon paper; but we didn’t think so, because we know’d the difference between the two fleets. There was our fifteen sail of the line, all in apple-pie order, packed up as close as dominoes, and every man on board of them longing to come to the scratch; while there was their twenty-six, all _somehow nohow_, two lines here and _no lines_ there, with a great gap of water in the middle of them. For this gap between their ships we all steered, with all the sail we could carry because, d’ye see, Mr Simple, by getting them on both sides of us, we had the advantage of fighting both broadsides, which is just as easy as fighting one, and makes shorter work of it. Just as it struck seven bells, Troubridge opened the ball _setting_ to half a dozen of the Spaniards, and making them _reel_ ‘Tom Collins’ whether or no. Bang–bang–bang, bang! Oh, Mr Simple, it’s a beautiful sight to see the first guns fired that are to bring on a general action. He’s the luckiest dog, that Troubridge,’ said Nelson, stamping with impatience. Our ships were soon hard at it, hammer and tongs (my eyes, how they did pelt it in!), and old Sir John, in the _Victory_, smashed the cabin windows of the Spanish admiral, with such a hell of a raking broadside, that the fellow bore up as if the devil kicked him. Lord a mercy, you might have drove a Portsmouth waggon into his starn–the broadside of the _Victory_ had made room enough. However, they were soon all smothered up in smoke, and we could not make out how things were going on–but we made a pretty good guess. Well, Mr Simple, as they say at the play, that was act the first, scene the first; and now we had to make our appearance, and I’ll leave you to judge, after I’ve told my tale, whether the old _Captain_ wasn’t principal performer, and _top sawyer_ over them all. But stop a moment, I’ll just look at the binnacle, for that young topman’s nodding at the wheel.–I say, Mr Smith, are you shutting your eyes to keep them warm, and letting the ship run half a point out of her course? Take care I don’t send for another helmsman, that’s all, and give the reason why. You’ll make a wry face upon six-water grog to-morrow, at seven bells. D—-n your eyes, keep them open–can’t you?”
Swinburne, after this genteel admonition to the man at the wheel, reseated himself and continued his narrative.
“All this while, Mr Simple, we in the _Captain_ had not fired a gun; but were ranging up as fast as we could to where the enemy lay in a heap. There were plenty to pick and choose from; and Nelson looked out sharp for a big one, as little boys do when they have to choose an apple; and, by the piper that played before Moses! it was a big one that he ordered the master to put him alongside of. She was a four-decker, called the _Santissima Trinidad_. We had to pass some whoppers, which would have satisfied any reasonable man; for there was the _San Josef_, and _Salvador del Mondo_ and _San Nicolas_: but nothing would suit Nelson but this four-decked ship; so we crossed the hawse of about six of them, and as soon as we were abreast of her, and at the word ‘Fire!’ every gun went off at once, slap into her, and the old _Captain_ reeled at the discharge, as if she was drunk. I wish you’d only seen how we pitched it into this _Holy Trinity_; she was _holy_ enough before we had done with her, riddled like a sieve, several of her ports knocked into one, and every scupper of her running blood and water. Not but what she stood to it as bold as brass, and gave us nearly gun for gun, and made a very pretty general average in our ship’s company. Many of the old captains went to kingdom-come in that business, and many more were obliged to bear up for Greenwich Hospital.
“‘Fire away, my lads–steady aim!’ cries Nelson. ‘Jump down there, Mr Thomas; pass the word to reduce the cartridges, the shot go clean through her. Double shot the guns there, fore and aft.’
“So we were at it for about half an hour, when our guns became so hot from quick firing, that they bounced up to the beams overhead, tearing away their ringbolts, and snapping their breechings like rope-yarns. By this time we were almost as much unrigged as if we had been two days paying off in Portsmouth harbour. The four-decker forged ahead, and Troubridge, in the jolly old _Culloden_, came between us and two other Spanish ships, who were playing into us. She was as fresh as a daisy, and gave them a dose which quite astonished them. They shook their ears, and fell astern, when the _Blenheim_ laid hold of them, and mauled them so that they went astern again. But it was out of the frying-pan into, the fire: for the _Orion, Prince George_, and one or two others, were coming up, and knocked the very guts out of them. I’ll be d—-d if they forget the 14th of April, and sarve them right, too. Wasn’t a four-decker enough for any two-decker, without any more coming on us? and couldn’t the beggars have matched themselves like gentlemen? Well, Mr Simple, this gave us a minute or two to fetch, our breath, let the guns cool, and repair damages, and swab the blood from the decks; but we lost our four-decker, for we could not get near her again.”
“What odd names the Spaniards give to their ships, Swinburne?”
“Why yes, they do; it would almost appear wicked to belabour the _Holy Trinity_ as we did. But why they should call a four-decked ship the _Holy Trinity_, seeing as how there’s only three of them, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I can’t tell. Bill Saunders said that the fourth deck was for the Pope, who was as great a personage as the others; but I can’t understand how that can be. Well, Mr Simple, as I was head signalman, I was perched on the poop, and didn’t serve at a gun. I had to report all I could see, which was not much, the smoke was so thick; but now and then I could get a peep, as it were through the holes in the blanket. Of course I was obliged to keep my eye as much as possible upon the admiral, not to make out his signals, for Commodore Nelson wouldn’t thank me for that; I knew he hated a signal when in action, so I never took no notice of the bunting, but just watched to see what he was about. So while we are repairing damages, I’ll just tell you what I saw of the rest of the fleet. As soon as old Jervis had done for the Spanish admiral, he hauled his wind on the larboard tack, and followed by four or five other ships, weathered the Spanish line, and joined Collingwood in the _Excellent_. Then they all dashed through the line; the _Excellent_ was the leading ship, and she first took the shine out of the _Salvador del Mondo_, and then left her to be picked up by the other ships, while she attacked a two-decker, who hauled down her colours–I forget her name just now. As soon as the _Victory_ ran alongside of the _Salvador del Mondo_, down went her colours, and _excellent_ reasons had she for striking her flag. And now, Mr Simple. The old _Captain_ comes into play again. Having parted company with the four-decker, we had recommenced action with the _San Nicolas_, a Spanish eighty, and while we were hard at it, old Collingwood comes up in the _Excellent_. The _San Nicolas_, knowing that the _Excellent’s_ broadside would send her to old Nick, put her helm up to avoid being raked: in so doing, she fell foul of the _San Josef_, a Spanish three-decker, and we being all cut to pieces and unmanageable–all of us indeed reeling about like drunken men–Nelson ordered his helm a-starboard, and in a jiffy there we were, all three hugging each other, running in one another’s guns, smashing our chain-plates, and poking our yard-arms through each other’s canvas.
“‘All hands to board!’ roared Nelson, leaping on the hammocks and waving his sword.
“‘Hurrah! hurrah!’ echoed through the decks, and up flew the men, like as many angry bees out of a bee-hive. In a moment pikes, tomahawks, cutlasses, and pistols were seized (for it was quite unexpected, Mr Simple), and our men poured into the eighty-gun ship, and in two minutes the decks were cleared and all the Dons pitched below. I joined the boarders and was on the main deck when Captain Miller came down, and cried out ‘On deck again immediately.’ Up we went, and what do you think it was for, Mr Simple? Why to board a second time; for Nelson having taken the two-decker, swore that he’d have the three-decker as well. So away we went again, clambering up her lofty sides how we could, and dropping down on her decks like hailstones. We all made for the quarter-deck, beat down every Spanish beggar that showed fight, and in five minutes more we had hauled down the colours of two of the finest ships in the Spanish navy. If that wasn’t taking the shine out of the Dons, I should like to know what is. And didn’t the old captains cheer and shake hands, as Commodore Nelson stood on the deck of the _San Josef_, and received the swords of the Spanish officers! There was enough of them to go right round the capstern, and plenty to spare. Now, Mr Simple, what do you think of that for a spree?”
“Why, Swinburne, I can only say that I wish I had been there.”
“So did every man in the fleet, Mr Simple, I can tell you.”
“But what became of the _Santissima Trinidad_?
“Upon my word, she behaved one _deck_ better than all the others. She held out against four of our ships for a long while, and then hauled down her colours, and no disgrace to her, considering what a precious hammering she had taken first. But the lee division of the Spanish weather fleet, if I may so call it, consisting of eleven sail of the line, came up to her assistance, and surrounded her, so that they got her off. Our ships were too much cut up to commence a new action, and the admiral made the signal to secure the prizes. The Spanish fleet then did what they should have done before–got into line; and we lost no time in doing the same. But we both had had fighting enough.”
“But do you think, Swinburne, that the Spaniards fought well?”
“They’d have fought better, if they’d only have known how. There’s no want of courage in the Dons, Mr Simple, but they did not support each other. Only observe how Troubridge supported us. By God, Mr Simple, he was the _real fellow_, and Nelson knew it well. He was Nelson’s right-hand man; but you know, there wasn’t room for _two_ Nelsons. Their ships engaged held out well, it must be acknowledged, but why weren’t they all in their proper berths? Had they kept close order of sailing, and had all fought as well as those who were captured, it would not have been a very easy matter for fifteen ships to gain a victory over twenty-six. That’s long odds, even when backed with British seamen.”
“Well, how did you separate?”
“Why, the next morning the Spaniards had the weathergage, so they had the option whether to fight or not. At one time they had half a mind, for they bore down to us; upon which we hauled our wind to show them we were all ready to meet them, and then they thought better of it, and rounded-to again. So as they wouldn’t fight, and we didn’t wish it, we parted company in the night; and two days afterwards we anchored, with our four prizes, in Lagos Bay. So now you have the whole of it, Mr Simple, and I’ve talked till I’m quite hoarse. You haven’t by chance another drop of the stuff left to clear my throat? It would be quite a charity.”
“I think I have, Swinburne; and as you deserve it, I will go and fetch it.”
Chapter XXXVI
A letter from Father M’Grath, who diplomatizes–When priest meets priest, then comes the tug of war–Father O’Toole not to be made a tool of.
We continued our cruise for a fortnight, and then made sail for Jamaica, where we found the admiral at anchor at Port Royal, but our signal was made to keep under weigh, and Captain Kearney, having paid his respects to the admiral, received orders to carry despatches to Halifax. Water and provisions were sent on board by the boats of the admiral’s ships, and, to our great disappointment, as the evening closed in, we were again standing out to sea, instead of, as we had anticipated, enjoying ourselves on shore; but the fact was, that orders had arrived from England to send a frigate immediately up to the admiral at Halifax, to be at his disposal.
I had, however, the satisfaction to know that Captain Kearney had been true to his word in making mention of my name in the despatch, for the clerk showed me a copy of it. Nothing occurred worth mentioning during our passage, except that Captain Kearney was very unwell nearly the whole of the time, and seldom quitted his cabin. It was in October that we anchored in Halifax harbour, and the Admiralty, expecting our arrival there, had forwarded our letters. There were none for me, but there was one for O’Brien, from Father M’Grath, the contents of which were as follows:–
“MY DEAR SON,–And a good son you are, and that’s the truth on it, or devil a bit should you be a son of mine. You’ve made your family quite contented and peaceable, and they never fight for the _praties_ now– good reason why they shouldn’t, seeing that there’s a plenty for all of them, and the pig craturs into the bargain. Your father and your mother, and your brother, and your three sisters, send their duty to you, and their blessings too–and you may add my blessing, Terence, which is worth them all; for won’t I get you out of purgatory in the twinkling of a bed-post? Make yourself quite aisy on that score, and lave it all to me; only just say a _pater_ now and then, that when St Peter lets you in, he mayn’t throw it in your teeth, that you’ve saved your soul by contract, which is the only way by which emperors and kings ever get to heaven. Your letter from Plymouth came safe to hand: Barney, the post-boy, having dropped it under foot, close to our door, the big pig took it into his mouth and ran away with it; but I caught sight of him, and _speaking_ to him, he let it go, knowing (the ‘cute cratur!) that I could read it better than him. As soon as I had digested the contents, which it was lucky the pig did not instead of me, I just took my meal and my big stick, and then set off for Ballycleuch.
“Now you know, Terence, if you haven’t forgot–and if you have, I’ll just remind you–that there’s a flaunty sort of young woman at the poteen shop there, who calls herself Mrs O’Rourke, wife to a Corporal O’Rourke, who was kilt or died one day, I don’t know which, but that’s not of much consequence. The devil a bit do I think the priest ever gave the marriage-blessing to that same; although she swears that she was married on the rock of Gibraltar–it may be a strong rock fore I know, but it’s not the rock of salvation like the seven sacraments, of which marriage is one. _Benedicite_! Mrs O’Rourke is a little too apt to fleer and jeer at the priests; and if it were not that she softens down her pertinent remarks with a glass or two of the real poteen, which proves some respect for the church, I’d excommunicate her body and soul, and every body and every soul that put their lips to the cratur at her door. But she must leave that off, as I tell her, when she gets old and ugly, for then all the whisky in the world sha’n’t save her. But she’s a fine woman now, and it goes agin my conscience to help the devil to a fine woman. Now this Mrs O’Rourke knows everybody and everything that’s going on in the country about; and she has a tongue which has never had a holiday since it was let loose.
“‘Good morning to ye, Mrs O’Rourke,’ says I.
“‘An’ the top of the morning to you, Father M’Grath,’ says she, with a smile; ‘what brings you here? Is it a journey that you’re taking to buy the true wood of the cross? or is it a purty girl that you wish to confess, Father M’Grath? or is it only that you’re come for a drop of poteen, and a little bit of chat with Mrs O’Rourke?’
“‘Sure it’s I who’d be glad to find the same true wood of the cross, Mrs O’Rourke, but it’s not grown, I suspect, at your town of Ballycleuch; and it’s no objection I’d have to confess a purty girl like yourself, Mrs O’Rourke, who’ll only tell me half her sins, and give me no trouble; but it’s the truth, that I’m here for nothing else but to have a bit of chat with yourself, dainty dear, and taste your poteen, just by way of keeping my mouth nate and clane.’
“So Mrs O’Rourke poured out the real stuff, which I drank to her health; and then says I, putting down the bit of a glass, ‘So you’ve a stranger come, I find, in your parts, Mrs O’Rourke.’
“‘I’ve heard the same,’ replied she. So you observe, Terence, I came to the fact all at once by a guess.
“‘I am tould,’ says I, ‘that he’s a Scotchman, and spakes what nobody can understand.’
“‘Devil a bit,’ says she, ‘he’s an Englishman, and speaks plain enough.’
“‘But what can a man mane, to come here and sit down all alone?’ says I.
“‘All alone, Father M’Grath!’ replied she; ‘is a man all alone when he’s got his wife and childer, and more coming, with the blessing of God?’
“‘But those boys are not his own childer, I believe,’ says I.
“‘There again you’re all in a mistake, Father M’Grath,’ rejoins she. ‘The childer are all his own, and all girls to boot. It appears that it’s just as well that you come down, now and then, for information, to our town of Ballycleuch.’
“‘Very true, Mrs O’Rourke,’ says I; ‘and who is it that knows everything so well as yourself?’ You observe, Terence, that I just said everything contrary and _arce versa_, as they call it, to the contents of your letter; for always recollect, my son, that if you would worm a secret out of a woman, you’ll do more by contradiction than you ever will by coaxing–so I went on: ‘Anyhow, I think it’s a burning shame, Mrs O’Rourke, for a gentleman to bring over with him here from England a parcel of lazy English servants, when there’s so many nice boys and girls here to attind upon them.’
“‘Now there you’re all wrong again, Father M’Grath,’ says she. ‘Devil a soul has he brought from the other country, but has hired them all here. Arn’t there Ella Flanagan for one maid, and Terence Driscol for a footman? and it’s well that he looks in his new uniform, when he comes down for the newspapers; and arn’t Moggy Cala there to cook the dinner, and pretty Mary Sullivan for a nurse for the babby as soon as it comes into the world?’
“‘Is it Mary Sullivan you mane?’ says I; ‘she that was married about three months back, and is so quick in child-getting, that she’s all but ready to fall to pieces in this same time?’
“‘It’s exactly she,’ says Mrs O’Rourke; ‘and do you know the reason?’
“‘Devil a bit,’ says I; ‘how should I?’
“‘Then it’s just that she may send her own child away, and give her milk to the English babby that’s coming; because the lady is too much of a lady to have a child hanging to her breast.’
“‘But suppose Mary Sullivan’s child ar’n’t born till afterwards, how then?” says I. ‘Speak, Mrs O’Rourke, for you’re a sensible woman.’
“‘How then?’ says she. ‘Och! that’s all arranged; for Mary says that she’ll be in bed a week before the lady, so that’s all right, you’ll perceive, Father M’Grath.’
“‘But don’t you perceive, sensible woman as you are, that a young woman, who is so much out of her reckoning as to have a child three months after her marriage, may make a little mistake in her lying-in arithmetic, Mrs O’Rourke.’
“‘Never fear, Father M’Grath, Mary Sullivan will keep her word; and sooner than disappoint the lady, and lose her place, she’ll just tumble