TOUGH YARNS;

                                A SERIES

                                   OF

                        NAVAL TALES AND SKETCHES

                          TO PLEASE ALL HANDS,

     From the Swabs on the Shoulders down to the Swabs in the Head.


                          _BY THE OLD SAILOR_,
                  AUTHOR OF “GREENWICH HOSPITAL,” ETC.

                            IN TWO VOLUMES.

                                VOL. I.


                            _PHILADELPHIA_:
                         E. L. CAREY & A. HART.

                              _BALTIMORE_:
                           CAREY, HART & Co.

                               _BOSTON_:
                          WILLIAM D. TICKNOR.
                                 1835.




                         E. G. DORSEY, PRINTER,
                          _12 Library Street_.




                                   TO

                        CAPTAIN MARRYATT, R. N.

                               AUTHOR OF

        ‘_The King’s Own_,’ ‘_Newton Foster_,’ ‘_Peter Simple_,’
                             _etc._, _etc._

                       THESE PAGES ARE DEDICATED

                                   BY

                                               _THE OLD SAILOR_.




           CONTENTS OF VOL. I.


                                 PAGE

    _Greenwich Hospital_,           9

    _Tom Brookes_,                145

    _Daddy Davy, the Negro_,      159




                               PREFACE.


Once more I present myself before the Public in a Book; and whatever
all hands may think of it, I can assure them it is no joke to keep
one’s brains like a winch, continually spinning yarns. However, as
my “GREENWICH HOSPITAL” met with a favourable reception, I have been
induced to try another launch--and--here I am at the service of my
readers.

                                                  _THE OLD SAILOR._




                             TOUGH YARNS.




                          GREENWICH HOSPITAL,


The grand depository of human fragments,--the snug harbour for _docked_
remnants,--Greenwich Hospital! Who is there that has stood upon that
fine terrace, when the calm of evening has shed its influence on the
spirit, and nature’s pencil intermingling light and shade has graced
the landscape with its various tints, without feeling delighted at the
spectacle? No sound is heard to break the stillness of the hour, save
when the sea-boy trills his plaintive ditty, studious to grace the
turnings of his song, for it was his mother taught it him, and her he
strives to imitate. To him the tide rolls on unheeded; he sees not the
tall mast, the drooping sail; ah, no! his heart is in the cottage where
he knew his first affection, when with a smile of infantile delight he
drew his nourishment from that fond bosom lately bedewed with tears at
parting.

Who is there that has not exulted in the scene, when the proud ship
has spread her canvass to the breeze to carry forth the produce of our
country to distant lands? or when returning to her own home-shores,
laden with the luxuries of foreign climes, the gallant tars have

    “Hailed each well-known object with delight!”

Ay, there they stand! the veterans of the ocean, bidding defiance to
care and sorrow, full of mirth and jollity although they are moored in
_tiers_. They are critics too, _deep_ critics; but they cannot fancy
the steam vessel with a chimney for a mast, and fifty yards of smoke
for a pendant. These are the men that Smollett pictured,--the Jack
Rattlins and the Tom Pipes of former years. Ay, those were _rattling_
days and _piping_ times! There is no place upon earth, except
Greenwich, in which we can now meet with them, or find the weather-roll
or lee-lurch to perfection. They are all thorough-bred, and a
thorough-bred seaman is one of the drollest compounds in existence; a
mixture of all that is ludicrous and grave,--of undaunted courage and
silly fear. I do not mean the every-day sailor, but the bold, daring,
intrepid man-of-war’s man; he who in the heat of action primed his wit
and his gun together, without a fear of either missing fire.

The real tar has a language peculiarly his own, and his figures of
speech are perfect _stopper_-knots to the understanding of a landsman.
If he speaks of his ship, his eloquence surpasses the orations of a
Demosthenes, and he revels in the luxuriance of metaphor. The same
powers of elocution, with precisely the same terms, are applied to his
wife, and it is a matter of doubt as to which engrosses the greatest
portion of his affection,--to him they are both _lady-ships_. Hear
him expatiate on his _little barkey_, as he calls his wooden island,
though she may carry a hundred-and-fifty guns and a crew of a thousand
men. “Oh! she’s the _fleetest_ of the _fleet_; sits on the water like
a duck; stands under her canvass as stiff as a crutch; and turns to
windward like a witch!” Of his wife he observes, “What a clean run from
stem to starn! She carries her t’gall’nt sails through every breeze,
and in working hank for hank never misses stays!” He will point to the
bows of his ship, and swear she is as sharp as a wedge, never stops
at a sea, but goes smack through all. He looks at his wife, admires
her head-gear, and out-riggers, her braces and bow-lines; compares her
eyes to dolphin-strikers, boasts of her fancy and fashion-pieces, and
declares that she darts along with all the grace of a _bonnetta_. When
he parts with his wife to go on a cruise, no tear moistens his cheek,
no tremulous agitation does discredit to his manhood: there is the
honest pressure of the hand, the fervent kiss, and then he claps on the
topsail-halliards, or walks round at the capstan to the lively sounds
of music. But when he quits his ship, the being he has rigged with his
own fingers, that has stood under him in many a dark and trying hour,
whilst the wild waves have dashed over them with relentless fury,
then--then--the scuppers of his heart are unplugged and overflow with
the soft droppings of sensibility. How often has he stood upon that
deck and eyed the swelling sails, lest the breezes of heaven should

    “Visit their face too roughly!”

How many hours has he stood at that helm and watched her coming up and
falling off! and when the roaring billows have threatened to ingulf
her in the bubbling foam of the dark waters, he has eased her to the
sea with all the tender anxiety that a mother feels for her first-born
child. With what pride has he beheld her top the mountain wave and
climb the rolling swell, while every groan of labour that she gave
carried a taut strain upon his own heart-strings!

Place confidence in what he says, and he will use no deception; doubt
his word, and he will indulge you with some of the purest rhodomontade
that ingenious fancy can invent. He will swear that he had a messmate
who knew the man in the moon, and on one occasion went hand-over-hand
up a rainbow to pay him a visit. He himself was once powder-monkey
in the Volcano bomb, and he will tell you a story of his falling
asleep in the mortar at the bombardment of Toulon, and his _body_
being discharged from its mouth instead of a _carcass_. With all the
precision of an engineer, he will describe his evolutions in the air
when they fired him off, and the manner in which he was saved from
being dashed to pieces in his fall. All this he repeats without a smile
upon his countenance, and he expects you to believe it: but you may
soon balance the account, for tell him what absurdity you will, he
receives it with the utmost credulity and is convinced of its truth.
His courage is undoubted, for he will stand on the deck undismayed
amidst the blood and slaughter of battle; yet on shore, he is seized
with indescribable apprehensions at the sight of a coffin. The wailings
of distress find a ready passport to his heart; but to disguise the
real motives which prompt immediate aid, he swears that the object of
his charity does not deserve a copper, yet gives a pound with only this
provision,--that the individual relieved does not bother him about
gratitude. You may know him from a thousand; for though in his dress
conspicuously neat, and his standing and running rigging in exact
order, yet they are arranged with a certain careless ease, as if he had
but just come down from reefing topsails. The truck at the mast-head
does not sit better than his tarpaulin hat, neither does the shoe upon
the pea of the anchor fit tighter than his long quartered pumps. Grog
is his ambrosia, his _necktar_; and he takes it cold, without sugar,
that he may have the full smack of the rum.

And these are the characters at Greenwich Hospital, who after fighting
the battles of their country are honoured with a palace. Oh, it
was a proud display of national gratitude to such brave defenders!
England has been compared to a huge marine animal, whose ports were
its mouths, and whose navy formed its claws. What then is Greenwich
but a receptacle for superannuated claws? I dearly love to get
amongst them,--nearly two thousand shattered emblems of Britain’s
triumphs,--the returned stores of our naval glory. Ay, there they are
with their snug little cabins, like turtles under their shells. But let
us enter the

                             Painted Wall,

formerly the refectory for the pensioners, but now devoted to the
commemoration of their gallant achievements. There are the portraits
of the heroes of the olden time, whose memorials cannot perish; and
there too is old Van Tromp, the Dutchman, who is honoured with a
distinguished place amongst the brave of England’s pride.

Here the old _blades_ are a _cut_ above the common; the small
iron-bound officers who attend on visiters and point out the
well-remembered features of commanders long since numbered with the
dead.

“That ’ere, sir, on your right, is the battle of Trafflygar,” said
a short thickset man, apparently between sixty and seventy years of
age. His countenance was one of mild benevolence, and yet there was
a daring in his look that told at once a tale of unsubdued and noble
intrepidity; whilst the deep bronze upon his skin was finely contrasted
with the silky white locks that hung straggling on his brow.--“That
’ere, sir, is the battle of Trafflygar, in which I had the honour to be
one.”

“Were you with Nelson?” inquired I.

“I was, your honour,” he replied, “and those were the proudest days of
my life. I was with him when he bore up out of the line off Cape St.
Vincent, and saved old Jarvis from disgrace. I was one of the boarders,
too, when we took the Saint Joseph,--there’s the picture, there in
the middle of the hall;--and I was with him in that ship there,--the
Victory,--though it arn’t a bit like her,--and stationed on the
quarter-deck at Trafflygar.”

This was spoken with such an air of triumph, that the old man’s
features were lighted up with animation; it called to his remembrance
scenes in which he had shared the glory of the day and saved his
country. His eye sparkled with delight, as if he again saw the British
ensign floating in the breeze as the proud signal for conquest; or was
labouring at the oar with his darling chief, like a tutelar deity of
old, guiding the boat through the yielding element, and leading on to
some daring and desperate enterprise.

“I don’t like the picture,” said I; “the perspective is bad, and the
ship is too long and flat; besides the colour is unnatural.”

“Why, as for the matter of the _prospective_, sir,” replied the
veteran, “that’s just what his present Majesty, God bless him! obsarved
when he came to look at it; and for the colour, says the king, says
he, ‘why the painter must have thought he’d been cooking, for he’s
shoved the Victory into the hottest of the fire and done her brown;’
it was too bad, your honour, to singe her in that ’ere fashion, like
a _goose_. Mayhap, your honour arn’t seen them there paintings of
the battle at a place they call Exeter Hall, in the Strand. Now they
are some-ut ship-shape, and the _heat_ of the engagement _warms_ a
fellow’s heart to look at. An ould tar of the name of Huggins painted
’em, and I’m sure it’s right enough, for he’s made the Victory
_hugging_ the enemy just as a bear would a baby. I could stand and look
at them pictures for hours, till I fancied myself once more in the
midst of it, measuring out fathoms of smoke and giving ’em full weight
of metal. The Victory has just fell aboard the French Redhotable and
the Golision, as they calls it, gives each of ’em a _lust_ different
ways that looked so natural-like, that I felt myself getting a heel
to port in the ould Victory as I looked at her. Then there’s the gale
o’wind arter the battle; why, blow my ould wig, but you may feel the
breeze and shake yourself from the spray. God bless his Majesty!--for
they are the king’s, your honour;--long may he live to view ’em, and
long may Huggins _hug_ to windward under royal favour! I went to see
him,--not the king, your honour, but Muster Huggins, and when he
found I was ‘the Old Sailor,’ what gave some account of the life of a
man-of-war’s man in ‘Greenwich Hospital,’ he whips out his old quid,
flings it into the fire, and we sported a fresh bit o’bacca on the
strength of it.--That was a welcome worthy a great man, and he could’nt
ha’ done more for the king, though I arn’t quite sure that his Majesty
does chaw his pig-tail.”

There certainly was ample scope for the remarks of my old friend, and
I could not but consider the picture a complete failure. “And so you
were at Trafalgar,” said I.

“Ay, and a glorious day it was, too, for Old England,” replied the tar.
“Never shall I forget the enthusiasm which animated every breast, as we
bore down to engage; it was indeed a noble sight, and so your honour
would have said, if you had but have seen the winged giants of the deep
as they marched majestically before the breeze, all ready to hurl their
thunders at the foe. But the best scenes were at the quarters, where
the bold captains of each gun stood cool and undaunted, waiting for
the word: but for the matter o’ that, every soul, fore and aft, seemed
to be actuated by one and the same spirit. ‘Look there, Ben,’ said
Sam Windsail, pointing out of the port-hole at the Royal Sovereign,
just entering into action, ‘look there, my Briton; see how she moves
along, like a Phœnix in the midst of fire,--there’s a sight would do
any body’s heart good. I’d bet my grog, (and that’s the _lick-sir_ of
life) I say I’d bet my grog agen a marine’s button, that old Colly’s
having a desperate bowse at his breeches; he’s clapping on a taut hand,
I’ll be bound for him.’ Just then the Sovereign hauled up a little, and
opened her fire. ‘Didn’t I say so,’ continued Sam; ‘look at that! my
eyes but he makes ’em sheer agen! Well behaved my sons of thunder! The
old gemman knows the French are fond of dancing, so he’s giving them
a few _balls_ and _routs_! Ay, ay, we shall be at it presently, never
fear; our old chap arn’t the boy to be long idle, but then, d’ye mind,
he never does things by _halves_; so he loves close _quarters_, and as
he is rather _near_ with his cartridges, why he doesn’t like to throw
a shot away. Howsomever, he’ll go it directly, like a doctor’s written
orders,--this powder and these pills to be taken immediately,--eh, Ben?
Next comes funny-section, or flay-bottomy, as the surgeons call it:--my
eyes, there goes old Colly’s breeches agen, he’ll make a breach in the
enemy’s line directly; ay, he’s a right arnest sallymander.’ By this
time, your honour, we’d got within gun-shot, and the enemy opened a
tremendous fire upon the leading ships of our division, which played up
old Scratch upon the fokstle, poop, and main-deck; for as we bore down
nearly stem on, and there was but a light breeze, they raked us fore
and aft.

“But I should have told you, sir, that just before going into action,
the admiral walked round the quarters attended by the captain and, I
thinks, Mr. Quillem, the first leftenant, but I won’t be sure. The
gunner, Mr. Rivers, was along with ’em, I know, and a worthy old
gemman he was; his son, a midshipman, was stationed on the same deck
with us,--a fine spirited youth, with his light hair flowing about
his ears and his little laughing eyes,--up to all manner of mischief.
Well, round they came, and the hero seemed proud of his men; he stopped
occasionally to speak to one and to another, and his keen eye saw in
a moment if any thing wasn’t ship-shape. His countenance was rather
stern, but there was a look of confidence that told us at once the day
was our own;--nay, for the matter o’ that, Sam Windsail began to reckon
what he should buy for Poll with his prize-money.

“When they reached the quarters where young Rivers was stationed,
Nelson looked at the son and then at the father, as much as to say,
‘he’s a fine youth, you ought to be proud of him,’ as no doubt the old
gemman was, for he knew his gallant boy would do his duty. But still
the tender solicitude of a parent’s heart is not to be repressed,
however it may be concealed; and as he followed the admiral, his head
was frequently turned back to take another look at his child, and
perhaps he thought ‘mayhap it may be the last.’ Well, as I was saying
before, the enemy’s balls began to rattle into us like hail-stones
through a gooseberry bush, and many a poor fellow was laid low. ‘Arrah,
bad manners to ’em, what do they mane by that?’ cried Tim Doyle, as
a whole shoal of shot travelled in one another’s wake, and swept the
entire range of the deck. ‘Come, don’t be skulking down there, Jack
Noggin,’ continued Tim, ‘but lay hoult of the tackle-fall.’ Jack never
moved. ‘Och bother, don’t you mane to get up?’ But poor Jack’s glass
was run, his cable was parted; so we launched his hull out at the port,
stock and fluke.

“Mayhap you never saw a battle, sir. It is no child’s play, take my
word for it. But the worst time is just before engaging, when silence
reigns fore and aft, and a poor fellow douses his jacket without
knowing whether he shall ever clap his rigging on agen. Then it is that
home with all its sweet remembrances clings round the heart. Parents,
or wife, or children, become doubly dear, and the fond ties of kindred
are linked by stronger bonds. Howsomever, as soon as the first shot is
fired, and we get within a sort of shake-hands distance of the enemy,
every other thought gives way to a steady discharge of duty.

“Well, d’ye see, close upon our quarter came the Trimmer-rare, 98,
and as we hauled up a little, we brought our larboard broadside to
bear upon the great Spanish four-decker;--there, that’s she in the
picture showing her galleries, just by the Victory’s starn:--so we
brought our broadside to bear, and oh, if you had but have seen the
eager looks of the men as they pointed their guns, determined to make
every shot tell,--and a famous mark she was, too, looming out of the
water like Beachy-head in a fog. ‘Stand by,’ says Sam Windsail,
looking along the sight with the match in his hand; ‘stand by, my boy;
so, so,--elevate her breech a bit,--that will do. Now, then, for the
Santizzy-mama-Trinny-daddy, and I lay my life I knock day-light through
his ribs. Fire!’ and the barking irons gave mouth with all their
thunder. A few minutes afterward, and slap we poured another raking
broadside into the Spaniard, and then fell aboard a French seventy-four.

“Well, there, d’ye see, we lay, rubbing together with the muzzles of
the lower deckers touching one another. When our guns were run in for
loading, the ports were instantly occupied by the small-arm men, and
several attempts were made to board the enemy. At this time one of the
Frenchmen kept thrusting at us with a boarding-pike, and pricked Tim
Doyle in the face. ‘Och, the divil’s cure to you,’ bawled Tim; ‘what
do you mane by poking at me in that way. A joke’s a joke, but poking a
stick in a fellow’s eye is no joke, any how; be aisey then, darlint,
and mind your civility.’ As soon as we had fired, in came the pike
agen, and Tim got another taste of it. ‘Och bother,’ said Tim, ‘if
that’s your tratement of a neighbour, the divil wouldn’t live next door
to yes! But faith, I’ll make you come out o’ that, and may be you’ll be
after just paying me a visit.’ So he catches hold of a boat-hook that
was triced up in a-midships, and watching his opportunity, he hooked
Johnny Crapeau by the collar and lugged him out of one port-hole in
at the other, without allowing him time to bid his shipmates good-by.
‘Is it me you’d be poking at, ye blackguard?’ said Tim, giving him a
thump with his fist. ‘Is it Tim ye wanted to spit like a cock-sparrow
or a tom-tit? Arrah, swate bad luck to yes,--sit down and make yer life
aisey; by the powers there’ll be a pair o’ ye presently.’ But Tim was
disappointed, for they let down the lower deck ports for fear we should
board them through the port-holes.

“Soon after, both ships dropped aboard the Trimmer-rare; and then
we ploughed up the Frenchman’s decks with our shot, whilst she lay
grinding and groaning in betwixt us. It was just now that young
Rivers was struck, and his leg knocked away; but his spirit remained
unsubdued, and as they took him down to the cock-pit, he cheered
with all his might, and shortly after the hero himself was conveyed
below. At first, the news of his being wounded seemed to stagnate all
hands, and each stood looking at the other in fearful anxiety; but
in a few minutes, resolution again returned, the shots were rammed
home with redoubled strength, though at times the men would struggle
with their feelings, and give vent to their grief and indignation. At
every opportunity inquiries were made, and when the news of his death
reached our quarters,--‘He’s gone!’ said Sam, ‘his anchor’s a-weigh,
and the blessed spirits are towing him to immortality.’

“But who is there, your honour, that remembers Nelson now? Even the
car that carried his body to its last moorings has been broken up as
useless lumber, though I did hear that a gemman offered two thousand
guineas for it. Some parts are down in the store-rooms, and some has
been burnt for fire-wood. There’s his picture and his statue to be
sure, but I think they should have spared the car. Nelson was strict
to his duty, and made all hands perform theirs; and when he punished
one man, it was that he might not have to punish twenty, and every soul
fore and aft knew what they had to do. The brave, the generous, the
humane Collingwood too,--there’s his picture, your honour, he is almost
forgotten. Collingwood detested flogging; and when any captain came to
him with a complaint of being short-handed through desertion, he would
stand and hitch up his breeches, saying, ‘Use your men better, sir; use
your men better, and then they wouldn’t leave you. My men, sir, never
run; because they know they cannot get better treatment elsewhere.’ He
was also an avowed enemy to impressment, being well convinced that the
British navy might be manned with volunteers, if Jack’s peculiarities
were only managed with kindness. But they are gone, sir, they are gone,
and their authority is over; yet there are a few rough knots who can
remember them,--ay, and cherish the remembrance in their hearts.

“Mr. Rivers is still living,--and there he is, your honour,” said
the veteran, pointing to an active man in lieutenant’s uniform, who
flourished his wooden pin as he descended the stone steps; “there he
is, for he’s now lieutenant of the college, and has a fine family
just over the way there in the square. They ought to have made him a
commander, at any rate, for I’ve seen him unbuckle his wooden leg and
go aloft as quick as any topman in the ship; and there was but few
could beat him at dancing, for it was quite delightful to see how he
handled his timber support, and how the ladies and gemmen sheered out
of his way for fear of their toes. Ah, there he goes agen, all life and
spirit,--spinning his tough yarns and cracking his jokes, as full of
fun as ever;--he’s much prized by the governors, because he takes all
the trouble off their hands.”

“Is the portrait of Nelson considered a good likeness?” I inquired.

“My sight gets rather dim, sir,” replied the veteran; “but before they
put it up, when I could see it closer, I did not think it very like.
Lord Collingwood’s is by far the best.”

At this moment I felt somewhat of a mischievous inclination to try
the old man’s temper, and therefore remarked, “Ay, he looks stern and
scowling. Nelson was a brave man, no doubt, but then he was tyrannical
and cruel.”

The hoary tar turned round and stared me full in the face: a storm
was gathering in his heart, or rather, like a vessel taken aback in
a sudden squall, he stood perplexed as to which tack he should stand
on. But it was only for a moment, and as his features relaxed their
sternness he replied, “No matter, your honour,--no matter. You have
been generous and kind, and I’m no dog to bite the hand that deals out
bounty.”

This seemed to be uttered with the mingling emotions of defiance and
melancholy, and to urge him further, I continued,--“But, my friend,
what can you say of the treatment poor Caraccioli experienced? You
remember that, I suppose?”

“I do, indeed,” he replied. “Poor old man! how earnestly he pleaded for
the few short days which nature at the utmost would have allowed him!
But, sir,” added he, grasping my arm, “do you know what it is to have
a fiend at the helm, who when Humanity cries ‘port!’ will clap it hard
a-starboard in spite of you?--one who in loveliness and fascination is
like an angel of light, but whose heart resembles an infernal machine,
ready to explode whenever passion touches the secret spring of
vengeance?”

I had merely put the question to him by way of joke, little expecting
the result; but I had to listen to a tale of horror. “You give a pretty
picture, truly, old friend,” said I; “and pray who may this fiend be?”

“A woman, your honour,--one full of smiles and sweetness; but she
could gaze with indifference on a deed of blood, and exult over the
victim her perfidy betrayed. It is a long story, sir, but I must tell
it you that you may not think Nelson was cruel or unjust. His generous
heart was deceived, and brought a stain upon the British flag, which
he afterwards washed out with his blood. Obedience is the test of a
seaman’s duty--to reverence his king, and to fight for his country.
This I have done, and therefore speak without fear, though I know
nothing of parliaments and politics.

“Well, your honour, it was at the time when there was a mutiny among
the people at Naples, and Prince Caraccioli was compelled to join one
of the parties against the court; but afterwards a sort of amnesty, or
_damnification_ I think they call it, was passed by way of pardon to
the rebels, many of whom surrendered, but they were all made prisoners
and numbers of them were executed.

“Well, one day I was standing at the gangway getting the barge’s sails
ready, when a shore-boat came alongside full of people, who were
making a terrible noise. At last they brought a venerable old man up
the side; he was dressed as a peasant, and his arms were pinioned so
tight behind that he seemed to be suffering considerable pain. As
soon as they had all reached the deck, the rabble gathered round him,
some cursing, others buffeting, and one wretch, unmindful of his gray
hairs, spat upon him. This was too much to see and not to speak about;
the man was their prisoner and they had him secure,--the very nature
of his situation should have been sufficient protection; so I gave
the unmannerly fellow a tap with this little fist,” holding up a hand
like a sledge-hammer, “and sent him flying into the boat again without
the aid of a rope. ‘Well done, Ben!’ exclaimed a young midshipman,
who is now a post-captain; ‘Well done, my boy, I owe you a glass of
grog for that; it was the best summerset I ever saw in my life.’
‘Thank you for your _glass_ o’grog, sir,’ said I, ‘you see I’ve made a
_tumbler_ already;’ and indeed, your honour, he spun head over heels
astonishingly clever. I was brought up to the quarter-deck for it, to
be sure, because they said I had used the _why-hit-armis_; but I soon
convinced them I had only used my fist, and the young officer who saw
the transaction stood my friend, and so I got off.

“Well, there stood the old man as firm as the rock of Gibraltar; not a
single feature betraying the anguish he must have felt. His face was
turned away from the quarter-deck, and his head was uncovered in the
presence of his enemies. The Neapolitans still kept up an incessant
din, which brought the first-lieutenant to the gang-way; he advanced
behind the prisoner, and pushing aside the abusive rabble, swore at
them pretty fiercely for their inhumanity, although at the same time
seizing the old man roughly, he brought him in his front. ‘What traitor
have we here?’ exclaimed the lieutenant; but checking himself on
viewing the mild countenance of the prisoner, he gazed more intently
upon him. ‘Eh, no!--it surely cannot be:--and yet it is!’--his hat was
instantly removed with every token of respect, as he continued--‘it is
the prince!’

“The old man with calm dignity bowed his hoary head to the salute, and
at this moment Nelson himself, who had been disturbed by the shouting
of the captors, came from his cabin to the quarter-deck, and advancing
quickly to the scene, he called out in his hasty way when vexed, ‘Am
I to be eternally annoyed by the confusion these fellows create! What
is the matter here?’ But when his eye had caught the time-and-toil
worn features of the prisoner, he sprang forward, and with his own
hands commenced unbinding the cords. ‘Monsters,’ said he, ‘is it thus
that age should be treated?--Cowards, do you fear a weak and unarmed
old man?--Honoured prince, I grieve to see you degraded and injured by
such baseness,--and now,’ he added, as the last turn released his arms,
‘dear Caraccioli, you are free!’ I thought a tear rolled down Nelson’s
cheek as he cast loose the lashings, which having finished, he took the
prince’s hand and they both walked aft together.

“They say the devil knows precisely the _nick_ of time when the most
mischief is to be done, and so it happened now; for a certain lady
followed Nelson from the cabin, and approached him with her usual
bewitching smile. But oh! your honour, how was that smile changed
to the black scowl of a demon when she pierced the disguise of the
peasant, and recognised the prince, who on some particular occasion had
thwarted her views and treated her with indignity. It had never been
forgiven, and now--he was in her power. Forcibly she grasped Nelson by
the arm and led him from the deck.

“‘His doom is sealed,’ said one of the lieutenants, conversing in an
undertone with a brother officer, ‘no power on earth can save him.’ ‘On
earth,’ rejoined the other, ‘no, nor in the air, nor in the ocean; for
I suspect he will meet his death in the one, and find his grave in
the other.’ ‘Yet surely,’ said the surgeon, who came up, ‘the admiral
will remember his former friendship for the prince, who once served
under him. Every sympathetic feeling which is dear to a noble mind must
operate to avert his death.’ ‘All the virtues in your medicine-chest,
doctor,’ rejoined the first, ‘would not preserve him many hours from
destruction, unless you could pour an opiate on the deadly malignity of
----,’ here he put his finger upon his lip, and walked away.

“Well, your honour, the old man was given up to his bitter foes, who
went through the mockery of a court-martial,--for they condemned him
first and tried him afterwards. In vain he implored for mercy; in vain
he pleaded the proclamation, and pointed to his hoary head; in vain he
solicited the mediation of Nelson, for a revengeful fury had possession
of his better purposes, and damned the rising tide of generosity in the
hero’s soul; in vain he implored the pardon and intercession of ----;
but here I follow the example of my officer, and lay my finger on my
lip.

“The president of the court-martial was Caraccioli’s personal enemy,
and the poor old man was not allowed time to make a defence; he was
sentenced to be hung, and his body to be thrown into the sea. I was
near him, your honour, when he entreated Mr. Parkinson, one of the
lieutenants, to go to Nelson and implore that he might be shot. Oh, if
you had but have seen him grasp the officer’s hand as he said, ‘I am an
old man, sir, and I have no family to leave behind to lament my death.
Indeed I am not anxious to prolong my life, for at the utmost my days
would be but few; but the disgrace of hanging,--to be exposed to the
gaze of my enemies,--is really dreadful to me!’

“But every attempt to obtain a mitigation or a change of the sentence
was unavailing, and at five o’clock that afternoon the brave old man,
the veteran prince, in his eightieth year, hung suspended from the
fore-yard-arm of a Neapolitan frigate he had once commanded,--for
he was an admiral, your honour. Never shall I forget the burst of
indignation with which the signal-gun was heard by our crew, and a
simultaneous execration was uttered fore and aft.

“Nelson walked the deck with unusual quickness; nay, he almost ran,
and every limb seemed violently agitated. He heard the half-suppressed
murmurs of the men, and a conviction of dishonour seemed to be
awakening in his mind. But oh, sir, where was pity, where was feminine
delicacy and feeling? The lady approached him in the most seducing
manner and attracted his attention: he stopped short, looked at her
for a moment with stern severity, and again walked on. ‘What ails
you, Bronté?’ said she; ‘you appear to be ill,’ and the witchery of
her commanding look subdued the sternness of his features;--he gazed
upon her and was tranquil. ‘See!’ said she, pointing out at the port to
where the body of Caraccioli was still writhing in convulsive agony,
‘see! his mortal struggles will soon be over. Poor prince! I grieve we
could not save him. But come, Bronté, man the barge, and let us go and
take a parting look at our old friend.’ I shuddered, your honour, and
actually looked down at her feet to see if I could make out any thing
like a cloven hoof. ‘The devil!’ exclaimed a voice in a half-whisper
behind me that made me start, for I thought the speaker had certainly
made the discovery; but it was only one of the officers giving vent to
his pious indignation.

“Well, the barge was manned, and away we pulled with Nelson and the
lady round the ship where the unfortunate prince was hanging. He had
no cap upon his head, nor was his face covered; but his white hair
streamed in the breeze above the livid contortions which the last
death-pang had left upon his features. The Neapolitans were shouting
and insulting his memory; but they were rank cowards, for the truly
brave will never wreak their vengeance on a dead enemy.

“Nelson and the lady conversed in whispers; but it was plain to be
seen his spirit was agonized, and his fair but frail companion was
employing every art to soothe him. She affected to weep, but there
was a glistening pleasure in her eyes as she looked at the corpse,
which had well nigh made the boat’s crew set all duty at defiance.
Nelson,--and no man was better acquainted with the characteristics of a
sailor,--saw this, and ordered to be pulled on board. She upbraided him
for what she called his weakness, but his soul was stirred beyond the
power of her influence to control his actions.

“The body of the prince was taken out to a considerable distance in the
bay, where it was thrown overboard with three heavy double-headed shot
lashed between the legs; and, as the lieutenant said, ‘he met his death
in the air, and had his grave in the ocean.’

“About a fortnight after this, a pleasure party was made up by the
royal family and nobility for an excursion on the water, and the barge,
with Nelson and the lady, took the lead. It was a beautiful sight to
see the gilded galleys with their silken canopies and bright pennons
flashing in the sun, and reflecting their glittering beauties on the
smooth surface of the clear blue waters, whilst the measured sweep of
the oars kept time with the sweet sounds of music. Not a cloud veiled
the sky, scarcely a breath curled the transparent crest of the gentle
billow; all was gayety, and mirth, and laughter.

“After pulling for several miles about the bay, we were returning
towards the shore, when a curious-looking dark object,--something like
a ship’s buoy, appeared floating a-head of the barge. The bowmen were
ordered to lay-in their oars, and see what it was; so the oars were
laid in, and they stood ready with their boat-hooks, the coxswain
steering direct on to it. As soon as the barge was near enough, the
bowmen grappled it with their boat-hooks, but in an instant their
hold was loosened again, and ‘A dead body! a dead body!’ was uttered
in a suppressed tone by both. The boat held on her way, and as the
corpse passed astern, the face turned towards the lady and showed the
well-remembered countenance of poor Caraccioli. Yes, as the officer had
said, ‘the ocean had been his grave;’ but that grave had given up its
dead, and the lady seldom smiled afterwards.

“Nelson hailed one of the cutters that were in attendance, and directed
that the body should be taken on board and receive the funeral
ceremonies suitable to the rank which the unfortunate prince had
held whilst living. The music ceased its joyous sounds for notes of
melancholy wailing, and the voice of mirth was changed to lamentation
and sadness.

“Years passed away, and Nelson fell in the hour of victory; but the
lady, ah! her end was terrible. The murdered prince was ever present
to her mind; and as she lay upon her death-bed, like a stranded wreck
that would never more spread canvass to the breeze, her groans,
her shrieks were still on Caraccioli. ‘I see him!’ she would cry,
‘there, there!--look at his white locks and his straining eye-balls!
England,--England is ungrateful, or this would have been prevented!
But I follow--I follow!’--and then she would shriek with dismay and
hide herself from sight. But she is gone, your honour, to give in her
dead-reckoning to the Judge of all. She died in a foreign land, without
one real friend to close her eyes; and she was buried in a stranger’s
grave, without one mourner to weep upon the turf which covered her
remains.”

Here the veteran ceased, and folding his arms, he held down his head as
if communing with his own heart and struggling to dispel the visions
which his narration had conjured up. I cautiously refrained from
disturbing him, till by a sudden gulp or sea-sigh, like the expiring
gale when at its last gasp, he gave indications of having becalmed his
feelings, and we moved onwards up the steps into the body of the Hall,
till we stood before the fine painting of the Battle of the Nile, by G.
Arnald.

“There, your honour,” exclaimed the veteran, whilst his eye sparkled
with glowing recollections, “look there, your honour; isn’t that a
sight to awaken old remembrances! It’s worth a hundred of that yonder,
which is neither ship-shape nor Bristol fashion, as I take it, for an
officer in boarding to be rigged out as if he was going to a ball.
Mayhap, howsomever, it may be all well enough for landsmen and marines
to look at, because it’s pretty; but the eye of a seaman only glances
at it with contempt.” The subject of his last observations, was a
painting of Nelson boarding the San Josef of 112 guns in the battle
off St. Vincent. “I told you before I was with him in both _doos_;
but, Lord love your heart, it was another sort of a concarn than
that ’ere; for there warn’t no fighting on the quarter-deck of the
three-decker,--all the fighting were in the San Nickylas as we boarded
first. But here’s a pretty picture, your honour,” pointing to a small
but beautiful painting of the re-capture of the Hermione frigate by Sir
Edward Hamilton, “and it tells a tale too! Well, thank God, I never
sailed with a tyrannical captain! and there was one,--a lord,--who used
to boast he had flogged every man in his ship.”

“I never knew that Sir Edward Hamilton was severe,” said I, “for I
had always been given to understand that he was a smart but humane
officer.”

“I didn’t mean him, sir,” replied the veteran, “it was another sort of
person; but he was murdered, and in cold blood too. I have heard the
tale often, for old Hughes, who died boatswain of the Laurel frigate,
was an old shipmate of mine, and he was in the Hermione at the time of
the mutiny. ’Twas a shocking affair,” added the old man, shaking his
head, “and who could think that whilst the beautiful moon was shedding
her pale light,--not but I’m thinking the moon has no business in that
’ere picture, any more than it had to be up such a night as that at
all; but the painters can stick a moon just where they like, though it
destroys the tale they have to tell. Besides, captain Hamilton wouldn’t
be likely to want even so much as the blink of a purser’s lantern to
show the Spaniards he was coming.”

I assented to the argument, and was struck with the truth it conveyed;
the moon certainly gave a charming light to the picture, but the eye
of practical experience detected the incongruity, though perhaps not
till that very moment when the heart was more immediately interested
in the subject. The circumstances connected with the re-capture of the
Hermione, and her having previously fallen into the enemy’s hands, were
revived in my memory; but I felt a strong desire to hear the story
from my aged _chaperon_, and after a few observations he indulged me.

“Them as wishes to know what a seaman can do, sir,” said the old man,
“should study a little of their cha-rackter. Thank God, the day’s gone
by when the cat was considered the best means of freshening a poor
devil’s way, or keeping a good man to his duty. I can remember when I
was a young top-man, and the hands were turned up, there was always
a boatswain’s mate stationed at each hatchway to start the last man
on the ladder, and sometimes half a dozen of the hindmost would get
well started before they set foot on deck; it was harassing work and
produced great discontent, because, d’ye mind, as there must always
be somebody last, it stands to reason there was no escaping. Well, as
I said, this, with many other grievances, occasioned the men to be
dissatisfied, and brought about that toast which I am sorry to say was
but too common between decks, though certainly there was a goodish
scope of provocation when all the bearings of the thing is correctly
worked;--I mean the toast, ‘A dark night, a sharp knife, and a bloody
blanket!’ Now, your honour, ’tis impossible to tell which man saves his
strength, when a gang is tailing-on to a taut rope; but a lubber who
skulks in the lee-rigging when he ought to be shinning away aloft to
take in a reef or toss up a sail is soon found out, and mayhap a cuff
or two would make him quicker in turning to windward; but when the end
of a rope flies about indiscriminately and every body is in constant
dread of the gangway, it becomes _grating_ to the feelings. Not, sir,
that I hold with the attempts to make Jack Nasty-face a gentleman; for
if so be as they goes to destroy the peculiarities which mark a regular
man-o’-war’s-man, they’ll have to make a few curious entries in the
log-book before they’ve done.”

“But about the Hermione,” said I; “she has a beautiful appearance in
the picture; her yards are nicely squared, and she looks all ready for
sea. But, come, let’s hear how the Spaniards captured her.”

“Captured her!” exclaimed the veteran; “no, no, they didn’t capture
her; she was run away with by her own crew, and a horrible deed of
blood they made of it. It was in the month of September, --97; the
frigate was cruising off the west-end of Porto Rico, just jogging off
and on, and now and then taking a peep into Port-au-Prince, and that
way, to look arter the enemy. She was commanded by Captain P----,
whose very natur was that of a tyrant, and a cruel one too; for by all
accounts, he scored the smallest offence upon the bare back of the
offender, and very often punished, because the whim took him in the
head, for no offence at all. The ship’s company were none of the best,
to be sure; there was a sprinkling of all nations, and not a few with
C. P. alongside o’their names.”

“C. P.” said I; “what does C. P. mean.”

“Why, your honour, it just means this here,” replied the old man. “You
must understand that when some know-nothing rascal had been caught
in a crowd, and suspected of dipping his grappling hooks--” here the
veteran crook’d his fingers,--“into a neighbour’s pocket, if so be
they couldn’t bring it slap home to him, the magistrates sent him on
board a man-o’-war to teach him honesty, and thus a pretty set of the
scum and scrapings of villany,--a sort of devil’s own,--contaminated
the sarvice; and the C. P. was a kind of curse o’ Cromwell upon ’em--a
mark of Cain, denoting they were shipped by the CIVIL POWER, and the
master-at-arms had ’special orders to watch their motions.”

“And did this really take place?” inquired I; “was the navy made a
condemned service for convicts?”

“It was, indeed,” replied the old pensioner, “till it got to be a kind
of Solomon’s proverb, that ‘a king’s ship and the gallows refused
nobody,’ and the tars that had always done their duty in battle and
in storm, felt it a great degradation to be mustered with felons and
jail-birds, and rely upon it, your honour, it prevented many a brave
lad from volunteering; for who would go for to enter the sarvice,
when almost every ship had a black list as long as the main-top
bowline. Besides, there was another concarn that bred evils as fast
as barnacles grows on the bottom of a dull sailer. D’ye mind, the
fellows didn’t love work, and when there was a fresh breeze, they
either skulked down below, or got kicked about upon deck like a Muscovy
duck in the lee scuppers, and a captain was often obliged to flog even
against his own inclination. In course of time, the lubberly sons of
---- chafed his temper till the strands parted, and then he became
severe, and from severity proceeded to cruelty, till discrimination
was foundered, and the cat’s tails were felt by the good man as well
as the bad. Now this was very likely the case with Captain P----, and
I’m the more strengthened in the likelihoods of it by what followed;
for though in the heat of passion reason is shrivelled and scorched
up like the fag-end of an exploded cartridge, and a man may be driven
to dye his hands in the blood of a countryman, yet when passion has
grown cool and the beatings of the heart have become steady and true,
like the droppings of the sand in the half-hour glass, none but a
murderer,--a detestable, cowardly, craven-breasted murderer,--would
bury his knife in the body of youth. Shame! shame!” exclaimed the
veteran, as he shook his hoary head, and his cheeks assumed a flush
of abhorrent indignation; “shame! shame!--but I forget all this time
I arn’t telling you the story. Captain P----, sir, always came out of
his cabin arter dinner,--you mind me, sir, _arter dinner_,--and had
the hands turned up to reef top-sails; and if they were more than two
minutes and a half about it, he flogged the last man who came off each
yard. Well, on the day before the mutiny,--I think I told you there
was a mutiny, but if not I tell you so now,--on the day before the
mutiny, the hands were turned up as usual and the mizen-topmen were
rather slack in stays; so he, that’s the captain, your honour,--swore
he would flog the last man off the mizen-top-sail yard. Now you must
understand, the smartest seamen are always at the yard-arms to haul
out the earings, and consequently, unless they can spring over the
heads of the other topmen, they must be the last to lie-in. Well, so it
happened this evening, and the two captains of the top, knowing that
their commander would keep his word, made a spring for the top-mast
rigging; in their haste and fear they missed their grasp, and fell on
to the quarter-deck. They were both young, active men, and were much
beloved by the ship’s company; they had gone aloft full of spirit and
vigour, desirous to obey orders; the last beams of the sun, as it just
touched the verge of the horizon, shone upon their light but manly
frames stretching out to secure the leeches of the sail to the yard;
and before the upper limb of the bright luminary had disappeared, they
laid stretched on the deck, each a lifeless and mangled corpse! It’s
hard lines that, your honour;” and the veteran held down his head in
mournful cogitation.

“Hard lines indeed, old friend,” said I; “and really it seems
surprising that men should so far forget the social ties, which in
every station ought to bind together the brethren of the _dust_, as to
commit deliberate acts of cruelty.”

“Mayhap you’re right, sir,” answered the pensioner, “though I can’t say
exactly as I understands it all. As for being _dustmen_, we arn’t got
no such great matter of dust at sea, because of the soakings we get;
and sailors are apt to moisten their _clay_ a bit when they can lay
hold of the stuff. But with regard to the cruelty! there unfortunately
was too much of it. But to return to my story. The poor lads were
carried below, and many a half stifled curse was muttered as their
shipmates touched the shattered limbs, and stained their hands in the
blood of innocence. A silent, but deep feeling of revenge passed from
heart to heart; the face was calm and smooth, but there was a storm
in the breast that raged with fury. Well, your honour, the surgeon
reported to Mr. Spriggs, the first-lieutenant, that the lads were
both dead; and he--that’s the first-lieutenant,--told the captain,
who immediately said, ‘Throw the lubbers overboard.’ And this was
done,--for to have read any sarvice over them would have been insult
and mockery; and thus were two human beings sent out of the world worse
than dogs. Not that I think a cast of the parson’s office is of any
great consequence to a dead man; but nevertheless, the living like to
see things o’that kind done somewhat ship-shape, and besides there’s
many a warm glow of friendship lighted up among messmates, when natur
stirs within ’em over an ocean grave. The words ‘We commit his body to
the deep,’ that deep whose surface is as familiar to a seaman, as the
face of the mother is to the infant, and under ‘the sure and certain
hope of a joyful resurrection,’--oh, your honour, I can’t explain what
I mean, but take an old tar’s word that there’s none so sensible of
the power of the Almighty as them who are constantly hearing his voice
upon the waters, and who so often witness the opening of his hands to
loose the tempest.” The veteran paused for a moment or two, gazing
intently upon the picture, as if the scene he had described was present
to his view; he then continued, “The hands were called on deck and very
threatening language used to them, and some were particularly pointed
out as the next to be seized up at the gangway. That night, when the
watch below was turned in, there was a secret meeting of the petty
officers, and a plan was arranged for taking possession of the ship; no
one mentioned murder, but each one knew by the wolfish strugglings of
vengeance in his breast, that blood must be shed before their purpose
could be achieved. The ringleaders were French _refugers_, who were
fighting against their own country and had no love for ours,--fellows
that it was dangerous to trust; and yet what is very remarkable, the
captain does not appear to have suspected evil designs, so confident
was he of his own supposed superiority in preserving discipline. But
there was one whose eyes looked on with anxious apprehensions,--for
like the soundings to the pilot, those eyes had studied the various
changes in the features of man to fathom out the depths of the
heart,--it was woman, your honour. Fanny Martin was the boatswain’s
wife, and though without larning and that sort of eddyfication, she
loved her husband and trembled for his safety; for he had had some
words with one of the master’s-mates of the name of Farmer, and she
strongly suspected Farmer was bent upon mischief, particularly as she
saw him during the next day holding mysterious communications with the
people, and having the keys of the spirit-room to get up the grog, he
had distributed extra allowance amongst the disaffected.

“Well, your honour, during the day she kept her secret, and watchfully
observed what was going on. In the evening she sat upon the fokstle
with her husband, who was a hasty, passionate man, and as they watched
the declining sun bathing his golden beams in the blue waters, she gave
such intimations as partially aroused the boatswain to something like a
sense of the truth. She talked to him of the village which had been the
home of their childhood, she recalled to his recollection their early
love,--for women enter all these things in the log-book of memory,
with a sort of natural instinct,--and when she had awakened a feeling
of tenderness, she pointed out to him the horrible suspicions which
tortured her. But though distrust was stirred up, yet the haughty and
rough seaman disdained to acknowledge its effects, or take any steps
to prevent the mischief that was brewing, like a white squall in a
clear sky. And who that looked upon the beautiful creatur,--for she was
a sweet ship, your honour,--I say, who could look upon the beautiful
creatur as she lay gently rolling on the glassy surface of the light
swell, like a handsome woman viewing her shapes in a clear mirror,--who
would have thought, in that still, calm evening hour, that the red eyes
of murderous vengeance were glaring on the scene? But the sun set upon
those who were never to see it rise again, and the mountain islands
faded away in the gloom, never more to be gazed at by the doomed ones.

“Night came; the officer of the watch was walking the deck, and
the look-outs were alone seen as they stood at their several
posts. Suddenly there was a simultaneous shout came rolling up the
fore-hatchway, arousing the sleepers and alarming those who were
awake. The lieutenant of the watch, Mr. Douglass, ran forward on the
main-deck, but was immediately driven back by the shot which the seamen
were throwing about. The first-lieutenant hurried to the spot; but
whilst descending the fore-ladder, he received a severe wound in the
arm from the blow of a tomahawk, and seeing there was no use in going
down in the dark amongst ’em, he made a grab at the man next him, and
dragged the fellow on to the main-deck. But Farmer, the master’s-mate,
rushed upon the lieutenant and rescued the prisoner, who joined his
shipmates down below. Both lieutenants returned to the quarter-deck
for arms, but the mutineers had taken care to remove the cutlasses and
boarding pikes out of the way; the officers could find nothing but a
handspike or two, and the first-lieutenant, with no other means of
defence than his dirk, again went forward among the men.

“By this time, the marines had mustered aft on the quarter-deck,
and the captain, hearing the noise, ran up the companion and found
the utmost confusion prevailing; the marines’ muskets and side-arms
had been seized, and the sodgers crowded together without knowing
what to do, for their officer was hove down sick in his cot. Captain
P---- called for the first-lieutenant, and being told that he had
gone forward, he immediately followed; the shot, however, drove him
back for the moment, but he again advanced along the main-deck with a
pistol in each hand, and three or four marines with lights. But I must
tell your honour the rest in Hughes’s own words, for he witnessed the
whole, and I’m thinking the horrors of that night never left his mind.
Whether he took part or not in the transactions was never known, but he
afterwards gave evidence agin many of the mutineers, and was the chief
cause of their being hung at the fore yard-arm of the old Gladiator,
at Portsmouth. I sailed with him three years, and never saw him smile;
sometimes he would rave when darkness shut out every object from the
sight, and the mind had nothing to rest on but the gloomy imaginings
of a tortured spirit. They said he had been well edecated, and I know
he was always reading at every moment he was off deck and could spare
time from duty,--sometimes for hours together with the Bible in his
hands, and at other times with a book he called Wolltear. He used
to swear a good round stick, too, but he always spliced a bit of a
prayer to the fag-end of his oaths; though occasionally he would turn
’em end-for-end, and begin with the prayer first, knotting it with a
double-wall damme, which he afterwards crowned with an Amen.” He paused
for a minute, and then he commenced with the following statement of

                              The Mutiny.

“I was standing ’tween the bits, (says Hughes,) when the
first-lieutenant came forward the second time, and his bare dirk was in
his hand. ‘Return to your duty, men, and don’t disgrace your country,’
said Mr. Spriggs; but they again shouted, and Bill Oates threw a billet
of wood at the officer, which knocked his legs from under him. At that
instant the captain’s coxswain rushed at the lieutenant, one of the
fokstle men seized the dirk, and together they held him down.

“‘Villains!’ said the lieutenant, ‘mutinous dogs! will you murder me?’
and he made a desperate struggle to rise, whilst his voice seemed to be
getting more husky and thick, as if they were strangling him. All at
once he gave a shriek, and I thought the running bowline had slipped;
then there was a low, moaning, gurgling sound, a convulsive throe of
the body,--and he lay quite still. The coxswain and his companion came
away just as the captain ran from aft with the lights. The marines
raised the poor lieutenant up by the arms, but, oh God! the lights
gleamed upon a stream of blood, and a deep gash in the throat opened
its yawning mouth,--the head of the lieutenant fell backward between
his shoulder blades, for it was nearly severed from the body. The
captain gazed at the corpse for a moment, then raising his pistols, he
snapped the triggers at Farmer, who laughed,--no, it warn’t a laugh, it
was a yell of defiance,--the charges had been drawn.

“The men led by Farmer on the starboard side, and the coxswain on the
larboard side, moved in two compact bodies aft, driving the captain,
the two lieutenants, the boatswain, and the midshipmen of the watch
afore ’em. By the main ladder the latter party faced about, and the
captain, seeing the coxswain acting as a ringleader, upbraided him for
his ingratitude, for he had always been a great favourite with Captain
P----, and had followed him from ship to ship, receiving many marks
of kindness for upwards of five years. The coxswain cheered on the
men, and darting at the captain, stabbed him severely with a bay’net:
this was the signal for massacre. The captain retreated to his cabin,
which was soon filled with the mutineers, and every one seemed anxious
to have a cut at him. He staggered to his chair and sat down, whilst
those who had been the victims of his cruelty and oppression, mangled
him in the fleshy parts of his body, and every wound was accompanied
by a bitter taunt, or a hellish imprecation. He implored for no mercy,
for he saw it would be useless;--he did not deprecate their vengeance,
for the hand he had prized most was the first to stab, and therefore
it was in vain to hope for life. He continued sternly silent, till he
fell from his chair through weakness, caused by the out-flowing of
the tide of existence. A horrible shout shook the cabin when they saw
him prostrate, and raising him in their arms, they sallied aft and
launched the body out of the stern windows. I heard it splash as it
fell upon the dark waters,--I heard his shout of ‘murder’ and ‘revenge’
repeatedly as he went astern, but the waves closed over him, and he was
seen no more.

“A short but ineffectual struggle took place upon the quarter-deck,
where the marines still adhered to the officers; but they were soon
subdued, and after being horribly mutilated, were thrown overboard. As
soon as the mutineers had obtained possession, Farmer took command, and
it was intended to haul in for St. Domingo; but fearing that daylight
would bring ’em in with some of the British cruisers, it was agreed
upon to up-helm and run down to the Spanish main.

“The work of destruction was not, however, yet complete;--the boatswain
had been discovered in his store-room, (where he had concealed himself
at the earnest entreaties of his wife,) and dragged upon deck. Poor
Fanny Martin implored Farmer to spare his life; but the boatswain set
the mutineers at defiance, and swore they would one day or other be
frying in hell for their wickedness.

“‘Fore yard-arm, there!’ cried out Farmer, ‘have you got a good seizing
for that block?’

“The boatswain turned pale, for he well knew the hint this was meant
to convey, though his wife did not; and grasping Farmer by the arm, he
exclaimed ‘No, you never can mean that!--Bill, we’ve sailed together
and fought together;--did you ever know me shrink from the gale, or
tremble at my gun? Here am I,--ready to live or die, just as your
breath may turn the vane,--indeed I ax no mercy for myself,--’

“‘Is the yard-rope rove?’ inquired Farmer, trying to free himself from
the other’s hold.

“‘Ay, ay,’ was the response from the fokstle.

“‘Then,’ continued Farmer, ‘Martin, say any prayers you know, for by
every fiend in ----, you swing up there in ten minutes from this time.’

“‘Consider, Farmer,’ expostulated the boatswain, ‘we’ve been messmates
and have shared each other’s dangers; you may take my life, but do not,
do not disgrace me in my death;--nay, you cannot hang me like a dog!’

“Poor Fanny had remained silently clinging to her husband during
this conversation, insensible to its true meaning; but when the last
expression escaped the boatswain’s lips, the truth flashed upon her,
and wildly shrieking, she fell at Farmer’s feet, embraced his knees,
and in the most frantic and abject terms implored for her husband’s
life.

“‘Force her away,’ commanded Farmer, in a voice of thunder to some of
the seamen who had gathered round, ‘and, Martin, to your prayers; the
sand is fast running through the glass,--to your prayers, man--to your
prayers, I say,’ and the wretch laughed like a demon.

“‘Avast, avast, Bill,’ said the boatswain, ‘I am yet an officer, and
don’t disgrace the cloth! Stand back, you lubberly son of a ----’ he
exclaimed, throwing from him with herculean strength one of his own
mates, who was attempting to put the noose over his head, and then
addressing the people, he uttered in a clear voice, ‘Shipmates, I only
ask to die like a man. If my death-warrant is sealed, what matters
it to you whether I go out of the world by a musket-ball or in a
sling.--Nay, shipmates, you cannot do it,--and in the presence of her,
too,’--his voice faltered for a moment,--‘it would be a disgrace to a
blue jacket for ever.--But,’ observing their unchanged countenances, ‘I
see my appeal is vain, and I must bear it as a brave man ought. Farmer
this will be a leak to sink your soul in that day when we come to pass
our accounts. I know but little of prayers; I’ve served my country with
faithfulness, and every action of my life is known to the Almighty.
If I’ve done my duty to my king,--to my fellow creatures, and to she
who now witnesses my murder, God already knows it, so it’s of no use
overhauling them consarns now; and if I have not done it, then I take
it five minutes will hardly mend the matter. Fanny,’ he continued,
softening his voice, ‘you have been my friend, my companion, in fair
weather and in foul; they will not, cannot injure you, girl; and when
you go back to where I need not name, tell the old folks,’--here his
voice again faltered and his lips quivered, which gave rise to an
obscene jest from a bystander,--‘Be decent, fellow,’ he continued,
‘a brave man never insults his prisoner. My conscience is clear from
having ever wilfully done wrong;--will yours be so when the last
death-grapple comes?’

“‘Cease this d---- folly!’ exclaimed Farmer; ‘your time is nearly up,
and by heaven--’

“‘Swear not by heaven, Bill,’ said the boatswain solemnly, ‘you have
done with it, and it has done with you. Come, Fanny, one clasp to my
heart before we are separated,’ and he threw his arms round his sinking
wife, who seemed scarce conscious of her existence.

“‘Waist there! is the yard-rope manned?’ exclaimed Farmer.

“‘Ay, ay, all ready,’ was the response.

“‘Will you not take her below?’ said the boatswain beseechingly.

“‘No, no,’ vociferated some of the topmen; ‘she has often seen us dance
aloft, and now she shall see you.’

“‘Farmer, will you suffer this?’ said the boatswain.

“‘They will have it so,’ returned the master’s-mate, doggedly.

“‘Then, by that Heaven which you have abjured, they shall be
disappointed. I will not perish like a dog.’

“He sprang forward, and with his heavy blows felled several to the
deck. At first, old remembrances of his prowess made the mutineers give
way before his impetuous attack, but it was only momentary; a dozen
cutlasses gleamed in the air; there was a whizzing noise of flourishing
tomahawks, and the boatswain fell dead beneath the blows, covered with
wounds. Happily his wife had fainted; she had seen her husband struck,
but she was spared the pang of witnessing his bloody corpse being
thrown overboard, which was done immediately. ‘Oh, God! where is thine
eye of retribution!--(Hughes would cry out)--lay bare thine arm! But
thou hast poured out the phials of thy wrath, and justice has received
her due!’

“Well, messmate, whilst this was passing at the starboard gangway, the
coxswain and his gang were making quick work of the other officers.
They had secured the two lieutenants, the purser, the doctor, the
captain’s clerk, and a little lad--a midshipman, who with the gallantry
of riper years stood undauntedly among the rest, and there were also
four or five seamen who had made themselves obnoxious to the mutineers;
they were all butchered, mangled, cut to pieces, and committed to the
deep. The little midshipman was stabbed through the heart,--I saw it
myself; the boy fell shouting, and with that shout expired. But there
was yet another victim. I told you the marine officer was sick in his
hammock, and being weak from long illness could offer no resistance;
indeed, he scarcely knew what was doing. Now, messmate, may perdition
alight upon their bloody heads for that horrid cruelty! They brought
the young officer on deck; his ghastly features, pale and wasted from
disease, excited no pity, and with the balance trembling between life
and death he was thrown over the taffrail, and left to struggle for a
few useless moments, when he sunk beneath the waves, and his murder was
added to the black catalogue of hellish guilt.

“Day dawned, and dawned in splendour. The sun upon the horizon shed
his red light, rendering the gory deck more bloody in its aspect; and
there stood the mutineers, contemplating the horrible deeds they had
so lately perpetrated, and scanning each other with looks of silent
mistrust, as if every man suspected that his shipmate would betray
him. Farmer stood upon the after-gun on the starboard side, one elbow
resting on the hammock-rail and his head reclined upon his hand; the
flush of intemperance was on his cheeks, and his restless eye wandered
hither and thither, as if tracking the crimson stains of carnage
that his villany had caused. The horizon was now one flood of clear
transparent light, the blue waters marking the line between the dark
ocean and crystal sky. The gallant frigate danced merrily before the
breeze, but excepting the squaring of the yards, no additional canvass
had been spread to accelerate her way.

“Suddenly a man on the fokstle exclaimed ‘Sail, O!’ Farmer started
from his reverie, and every limb of his body was for an instant
palsied; whilst the seamen, as if struck by an enchanter’s wand, stood
motionless and still. ‘Sail, O!’ repeated the man. It aroused them
from their stupor; a thousand sickly apprehensions rushed upon their
minds, and all was instantly bustle and alarm. Farmer walked forward,
and then hailed one of the quarter-masters to bring him the glass out
of the cabin. The glass was brought,--it was the captain’s; and as he
took it in his hand, it was plainly seen by the quick changes of his
countenance, that there was a tempest in his soul.

“The sail was now distinctly visible about two points on the larboard
beam, her hull rising from the water, and her masts showing she was a
ship, whilst their position indicated she was crossing the frigate’s
track. Farmer raised the glass to his eye; there was a breathless
silence fore-and-aft. His look was long and earnest; not a muscle of
his features moved, his very pulsation seemed to be suspended: at
last, he gave a shivering gasp, and drew his breath convulsively. The
coxswain approached, and took his spell at the glass, but his glance
was only momentary; he returned it to Farmer. They looked in each
other’s face, but neither spoke his thoughts.

“‘Bring Mr. Southcott on deck,’ exclaimed Farmer, ‘and see that he is
well guarded.’

“In a few minutes Mr. Southcott, the master, was brought on to the
fokstle, between two seamen with naked cutlasses and loaded pistols.
The undaunted officer, expecting that the hour of his death had
arrived, stood firm and erect in front of the mutineer, and his steady
gaze fixed so intently upon him, that Farmer shrunk from before it. At
length the latter said, ‘No harm is meant you, Mr. Southcott; but have
the goodness to take the glass, and tell me what you make out yon ship
to be,’ pointing towards it.

“‘Is there a sail?’ exclaimed the master. ‘Ay, I see it;--thank
Heaven!’ and he took the glass.

“‘Her yards show square,’ said Farmer.

“‘They do,’ replied the master; ‘but the merchantmen now spread a broad
cloth in these seas.’

“‘She has a middle and a royal stay-sail set,’ continued Farmer. The
master assented.

“‘She is carrying every thing that can draw a cap-full of wind,’ said
Farmer.

“‘She is so,’ replied the master; ‘but West-Indiamen have many flying
kites nowadays.’

“‘Mr. Southcott,’ exclaimed Farmer in his harsh hoarse voice, ‘you know
that yon hooker is no West-Indiaman. You would deceive me, sir--That
new cloth in the main-top-sail, that milk-white flying jib, and the
cloud of canvass that flutters from the main-yard tell me that it is
the----’

“‘What?’ exclaimed the master, suddenly starting from the recumbent
posture in which he had been looking at the ship, and again fixing his
eyes upon his traitorous mate.

“‘Sail, O!’ shouted a man from the starboard cat-head; ‘a brig under
the land, and a ship in-shore of her.’

“‘Yes, yes,’ said Farmer, ‘’tis the Favourite and the Drake; but their
legs were never made to catch us. Come, Mr. Southcott, the name of the
stranger yonder,’ pointing to the vessel first seen. ‘I wish the men
to hear it from your lips, that they may think of running gantlines
and hangman’s knots, and know their doom if they surrender.’ He again
applied the glass to his eye; ‘she has bore up a couple of points, and
is setting her studding-sails. Speak, sir! is it not the Mermaid?--You
are silent, but it matters not. Take him below.’

“‘Yes, Farmer,’ said the master, ‘thank God, it is the Mermaid, and
therefore you cannot hope to escape. Your captain and officers are
murdered by your orders--’

“‘Nay, nay, not by my orders, Mr. Southcott,’ said Farmer. ‘We have all
been tarred with the same brush; but what would you propose?’

“‘Resign the command you have assumed to me,’ replied the master; ‘and
men!’ he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘mistaken men, return to
your--’

“‘Silence, sir!’ thundered Farmer, clapping his hand to the master’s
mouth; and then turning to the men who had crowded up from below and
filled the fokstle and gangways, he said, ‘Shipmates, yon sail is our
old consort, the Mermaid. Mr. Southcott proposes you should surrender,
and of course all of us know our doom. But though, mayhap, some may be
spared by royal mercy--such mercy as you have already had, which of you
can point out the men? No, no, my lads, we’ve gone too far to retract;
and for my part, I would rather flash a pistol in the magazine than
again serve under British bunting, even if my life were sure. What do
you say, men?’

“The seamen crowded together, irresolute; the petty officers gathered
round Farmer, whilst those who had been least active in the mutiny
seemed half inclined to follow the counsel of the master. ‘Shipmates!’
said Farmer, ‘I wish to try your mettle. Think of a public execution!
The yard-rope rove, the signal gun, and a death of infamy! Most of you
have had your noble bravery and gallant daring already rewarded with
the cat; but what is a dozen or two at the gang-way, compared with
flogging through the fleet! and with left-handed boatswains’ mates to
cross the lashes! But our case is far from desperate; we have handled
the gun-tackles before to-day, even if it should come to the worst.’

“‘You will not dare to fight,’ said the master; ‘or if you do, where
are those intrepid men who directed all your movements? Farmer, I am
told it was your hand that struck-down my poor messmate, Douglas; it
was a damnable deed, for you must have remembered that he saved your
life last April, when cutting out at Jean Rabel--’

“‘Take him below!’ roared Farmer. ‘This is no time to think or talk
of the past; and d’ye mind me, Mr. Southcott, clap a stopper on your
tongue, or else--; you understand me, sir.’

“‘I do,’ replied the master, ‘and defy you. What! have I been playing
at ducks and drakes with death so many years, and fear to meet him now?
My king, my country demand my services, and when I disgrace my colours,
then brand me traitor, and--’

“‘Away with him!’ again shouted Farmer, ‘and if he offers to speak,
gag him with a wet nipper. Away with him! I say,’ and the master
was dragged off the deck. Farmer then turned to the petty officers,
‘Shipmates, we must speedily decide. What say you, Oates?’

“‘She is yet four or five miles off; let us crack on studding-sails
alow and aloft, and my life for it we run her hull down by dark.’

“‘The Mermaid has the heels of us, going free,’ replied Farmer, ‘and
could spare us the t’galln’t-sails. Should we make sail, ’twill only
arouse suspicion. Your advice, Jennings.’

“‘We could always fore-reach and weather upon the Mermaid on a
bow-line,’ answered the man addressed; ‘so why not haul to the wind
on the starboard tack, go between the islands, and make for the first
port?’

“‘Yes,’ said Farmer with a sneer, ‘and there are two cruisers now in
sight in-shore of us; we know the Magician and the Zephyr are somewhere
in the neighbourhood; it certainly would be wise to run into their
jaws. Speak, shipmate,’ turning to the coxswain, ‘what’s to be done?’

“‘We might get close in-shore, abandon the frigate, and take to the
boats,’ replied the coxswain.

“‘And going without compensation in our hands,’ rejoined Farmer, ‘be
delivered up as mutineers, or confined in dungeons as prisoners of war!
We have no further time for argument; men, will you obey my orders, or
shall I here abandon you to your fate?’

“‘Every man will obey,’ was shouted by the crew, ‘either to fight or
fly!’

“‘’Tis well,’ replied Farmer. ‘Brace the yards up, and let her come to
the wind on the larboard tack; afterguard, rig the whip and wash the
decks down. Topmen, away aloft; keep snugly to leeward,--see that all
your studding-sail gear is properly rove, and have every thing ready
for shaking out a reef and setting the royals. Boatswain’s mates, send
a gang below to bring the hammocks up; and, quarter-masters, to your
stations in stowing them. Call the gunner’s crew, and tell them to go
round the quarters and see everything in its place. Signal-man! bend
the colours at the peak, and have our number ready to show at the main.
Main-top there!--stand by to hoist the pennant, and mind it blows out
clear. Be smart, my lads: one lubberly act would make them suspect that
Captain P---- was not on board, or that his cat had lost its tails.’

“In a few minutes every man was at his appointed station, and the duty
was carrying on with as much alacrity and attention as if nothing had
happened. The Mermaid, a two-and-thirty gun frigate, was nearing them
fast, and the cruisers in-shore were stretching out from the land to
join her.

“‘The frigate is speaking to us with his bunting, sir,’ exclaimed the
signal-man; ‘she is showing her distinguishing pennants.’

“Farmer clapped his hands in ecstacy. ‘By Heaven! it never struck
me Captain P---- was the senior captain. Hoist the ensign and
pennant;--bear a hand with the number, and see that the flags blow
clear!’ He directed his glass to the Mermaid, and looked intently for
a minute or two. ‘She sees it:--haul down! And now, my lad, make the
Mermaid’s signal to make all sail in chase to the north-east: bend on
the preparatory flag at the main and her pennants at the mizen, and
have all ready abaft to telegraph;--it will amuse the fools and keep
them from being too familiar. Is the signal hoisted?’

“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ replied the signal-man, ‘there it flies in as many
colours as a dying dolphin;--and there goes the answering pennant at
the frigate’s main; haul down, my boys.’

“The moody gloom left Farmer’s brow, as he saw by the Mermaid’s
manœuvring that his signal had been obeyed. He then bore up again to
the westward, telegraphed that he was going in chase, crowded his
canvass on every spar that would spread a cloth, and soon had a clear
horizon all around him.

“But though Farmer had determined to run for the Spanish main, yet he
was not sufficiently acquainted with the coast to know the appearance
of the land. Mr. Southcott, therefore, was brought on deck, and partly
through compulsion and partly through a desire of getting clear of the
mutineers, he carried the ship off La Guayra, where she was ultimately
surrendered to the Spanish authorities, Farmer declaring that they had
turned their officers adrift in the jolly-boat, though the real fact
was very soon afterwards explained to the Spaniards. The master, the
gunner, the carpenter and two midshipmen of those saved were sent to
prison; but the mutineers received twenty-five dollars a man, a great
many of them became double traitors by entering for the frigate under
the Spanish flag, and Farmer was appointed second captain. The first
captain’s name, I’m told, was Gallows,[1] so that his junior must have
been pretty often reminded of it.

[1] I have since ascertained that it was Don Raymond de Chalas.

“Admiral Harvey, on hearing of all the circumstances, sent a flag of
truce to demand the frigate and the mutineers; but though the Spaniards
were made acquainted with the horrible murders that had been committed
when the ship was taken possession of, yet they not only refused to
deliver her up, but actually put six more guns aboard of her, making
altogether forty-four, and with a crew of nearly four hundred men, she
was fitted out and made a voyage to San Domingo, very narrowly escaping
the British cruisers who were all on the alert to pick her up.”

“And this, your honour,” said my chaperon, “is old Hughes’s story, and
that’s the ship there it’s all about.”

I had been deeply interested in his narrative, which he related with
peculiar feeling, and some parts were almost dramatised by his singular
gestures and manner. “And what became of the boatswain’s wife?” I
inquired.

“Fanny Martin, sir?” he replied; “why I think she left La Guayra in a
neutral, and so got to Halifax, but I arn’t quite sure.”

“And now, then,” said I, “for some account of her recapture. Can you
tell me how it happened, and what the picture before us is actually
designed to represent?”

“Why no, your honour, I can’t do that exactly,” rejoined he, “seeing
as I knows but little about it; but there’s a messmate of mine yonder
who was on that station at the time, and can give you the particulars;
but he’s a dry soul, your honour, and mayhap would like a taste of the
spirit-room, if your honour has no objections; ’twill loose his tongue
a bit, and give it freer play.”

“One word for my friend and two for myself,” thought I; but sensible
that “freshening the nip” would prevent too much chafing, I readily
consented, and the old blades _piped_ to grog with a _gusto_ that can
only be acquired by long habit.

We were soon seated in a comfortable room overlooking the Thames. It
was nearly high-water, and the middle of summer; a delightful breeze
tempered the heat, the green fields looked beautifully below and
opposite to us, whilst the vessels were rapidly passing and chequering
the scene with their white sails. The steamers, too, were swiftly
cutting through the yielding element, and the whole presented a
spectacle of commercial wealth that can be witnessed on no other river
in the world. I own I feel a very great pride in contemplating the
glory and the gratitude of my country; and when I see her gallant tars
who have braved the war of elements and battled the enemies of England,
snugly enjoying their _old age_ in their _berths_, chewing their
_pigtail_ with a knowing _quid pro quo_, and occasionally cheering the
heart with the balsam that maketh it glad, I cannot help exclaiming,
“nobly should a grateful country be served, and thus be rewarded her
brave defenders!” Besides, within the small compass of this beautiful
place, we can meet with practical information from every part of the
globe. Talk of your geographies! here are the living _pages_ that wait
on Time,--men that have breakfasted on a whale with the Esquimaux,
dined on an elephant with the Hottentots, and supped upon a snake
sixty feet long with the Red Indians;--men who have bearded the lions,
shook paws with the tiger, and rode races on alligators. They have
seen the holy city, visited the ancient capitol of the world, and have
passed over the identical spot where Jonah was swallowed by the whale.
Greenwich Hospital is a very storehouse for knowledge,--a perfect
College, in which the old tars take their _degrees_ as natural as when
running down a trade-wind,--have their _senior wranglers_, their M.A.
for master-at-arms, their B.A. for boatswain’s-assistant, enjoy good
fellowship over a glass of grog, and are staunch supporters of _cannon_
law.

We found several of these well filled volumes--_damme-quart-hos_--already
ranged in the room before our arrival, and, like our old friend
Colburn, they were mighty busy in _puffing_ off their works, as if
trying to hide the authors under a cloud of smoke.

“Ay, ay,” exclaimed a crojack-eyed old blade, “them there pursers’
accounts of prize-money showed but a poor figure in the foremast-man’s
log, whatever they did in the skipper’s journal. They used to sift it
through a hatchway grating,--all that went down was for the officers,
and all that stayed above came to the tarry jackets.”

“You’re right there, Jem,” said a veteran boatswain’s-mate, whose
voice was not unlike a gale of wind sighing to a kitchen fire through
the hollow of a chimney-pot, “perfectly right; and then they make out
the prize-list much in the same way as the nigger accounted for his
pig. D’ye see, his master gave him three dollars to go to market and
buy a pig; but the black rascal came back drunk, without his money
and without his cargo. ‘Holla!’ said his master, ‘how came you drunk,
sir? and where’s the pig?’ ‘Ah, massa,’ says the nigger, ‘me nebber
drunk, but giddy wid long chase.’ ‘Where’s the dollars I gave you?’
asked the master. ‘Me gie ’em to buy pig,’ said the black. ‘What,
three dollars?’ cried the master. ‘Tan littly bit, massa, me telle
you. First me gib dollar for pig’ ‘Well, that’s only one dollar,’ said
the master. ‘Tan littly bit,’ puzzled the nigger; ‘den me hab pig for
dollar,--dat two dollar, massa; den de pig run away, and gib dollar
for catch a pig--dat tree dollar, massa. Den him dam pig run in a bush
like a debbil, and nebber see him no more noder time.’ So it was with
the prize-money; there was dollar for Jack, and Jack for dollar; and if
Jack ran away, he lost all, and was made to look _dolor_-ous into the
bargain, if ever they cocht him again. My best sarvice to your honour,
and hope no offence.” He lifted his pewter to his lips, and took a most
persevering draught to qualify the toast.

“Jack Maberly,” said my worthy conductor, addressing the last speaker,
“the gentleman wants to hear a little about the recapture of the
Harmoine, and Bill Jennings is just agoing to tell his honour the
long and the short of it, if you’ll be good enough to keep silence
fore-and-aft.”

“I wull, I wull, messmate,” replied the old boatswain’s-mate.

Bill Jennings, the very _beau ideal_ of a main-topman in long togs,
applied his muzzle to the grog, as he said, “to clear his throat
of scupper-nails;” and having swallowed almost enough to float a
jolly-boat, after sundry hems and divers sluings to make sure of his
stowage, gave the following account of

                    The Recapture of the Hermione.

“As for them there cutting outs, (he began) why I’ve had a pretty good
share on ’em in my time, seeing as how I’ve been with some of them
there fire-eating chaps as would cut out the devil himself from under a
heavy fire, if so be as his reverence warn’t moored with chains. To my
thinking, there’s more to rouse the nat-ral spirit of man in boarding
than in laying at long shots and hitting each other spitefully; for
if a fellow does work an eyelet hole in your canvass where it arn’t
wanted, you have the chance of damaging some of his spars in return,
and that’s what I calls fair play. Bekase, messmates, setting a case
as this here--it’s cut for cut, and damn all favours. Now at long shot
you never can tell who hits you, and that’s what I call a sort of
incendiary act; but at close quarters you can always tell who lends
you a rap, and you can pay him agin; and if he falls, then you can
stand his friend and take care of him. But nevertheless, messmates,--as
many on you knows,--that same cutting out is sharp work for the eyes,
as the monkey said when he hugged the cat, particularly where the
boarding-nettings are triced up and the enemy is prepared for you; but
there warn’t a ship on the West Ingee station but would have gladly
undertaken the recapture of the Harmoine, bekase the whole affair had
been a disgraceful consarn, and had placed the cha-rackter of a British
tar like a yankee schooner jammed betwixt two winds,--nobody knew which
way she’d tend. Well, messmates, the job fell to the Surprise, 28, an
old French 24, called the Unity when she was taken by the Inconstant,
in the beginning of the year 96. Howsomever, messmates, she kept up
both names, as it were; for never was there a ship with more unity
among the men, and she surprised the Spaniards by the daring impudence
they displayed. The Harmoine had made a run or two from San Domingo,
and in September, 99, our admiral, ould Sir Hyde Parker, received
intelligence that she was going to make another trip to Havana, and
the Surprise was sent to cruise off Cape Saint Romar to intercept her.
The whole of the little frigate’s complement was 197, men and boys,
but there warn’t so many as that on board, and with this force Captain
Hamilton was to attack a ship carrying 44 guns, and having nearly 400
men;--but they didn’t calculate odds in them days. Well, d’ye see, she
got upon her station about the middle of October, and kept a sharp
look-out, dodging off and on, but keeping at a fair distance, so that
the prize might not be afraid of leaving port. Well, day after day
they watched, but nothing hove in sight bigger than a land-crab; so
what does the captain do, but being tired of waiting, he cuts out some
vessels from under the island of Amber, to keep the men from getting
idle, and then runs off of Porto Cabello, and there sure enough lay the
Harmoine all ataunt-o, every stick on end, sails bent, t’-gallant yards
crossed, and a whacking large Spanish ensign and pennant flying;--but
mark me, messmates, she was moored head and starn betwixt two heavy
batteries, the smallest of which could have blowed the little frigate
out of the water, and cut her up like junk.

“It was a beautiful evening, when the saucy Surprise stood close in to
reckoniter;--there was a fine breeze and smooth water, and the craft
worked like a top. They could see the sodgers at the batteries and the
men on board the enemy all at their quarters, and the gun-boats were
pulling out to take up convenient positions; though there warn’t a man
among ’em believed the ship could be taken, yet they knew damned well
the Englishmen would try.

“Well, next day Captain Hamilton hove-to, just without range of shot,
and challenged the Harmoine to come out; but she took no notice of it,
and so the Surprise made sail, stood into the mouth of the harbour,
and fired at her. The batteries opened their palaver; but the little
ship hauled off without a shot touching her, and the lazy lubberly
Spaniards, more than two to one in men and metal, didn’t dare to show
their yellow rag outside the port. So the ship’s company, fore-and-aft,
wondered what the captain would be at, and they grinned like so many
cat-heads to think they couldn’t get a fair slap at her. But the
captain was up in the main-top with a round jacket on,--stretched
out at full length with his glass resting on the top-brim, and most
earnestly overhauling their consarns in-shore, so that an old woman
couldn’t stir out of doors, nor a rat move on the Harmoine’s decks
without his seeing it. The master was up in the fore-top upon the same
lay, and they kept hailing each other about different consarns till
they made every thing out as plain as the grog-blossoms on Darby’s nose
there. [The individual alluded to gave a chuckle something between
a grunt and a laugh, and applied his fingers to an enormous red
proboscis, that certainly seemed the tell-tale of a besetting sin.]
Well, d’ye mind, they kept at this all day long, dodging about and
in-and-out, like a dog in a fair, till the men got quite tantalized and
jaundiced at seeing so much of the yellow bunting,--for the enemy had
hoisted it every where out of bravado.

“Now, messmates, when I was a youngster, I used to--could read a
bit, and I remembers reading some’ut about the _conginuality_ of
minds;--that is, suppose setting a case, messmates, just this here.
Darby there and I, without speaking to each other, both lifts the quart
pots to drink his honour’s health for sarving out the stuff,--[he
raised the quart pot, which by the by was empty, and looking into it,
conveyed a hint that it required replenishing]--why then, messmates,
(he continued) we should both have the same thoughts arising from the
same feelings. [Darby’s mug was empty too, so I ordered them to be
filled again.] So, d’ye see, messmates, the crews of the boats got busy
about their gear and placed the oars and boat-hooks, the rudders and
tillers all in their proper places, ready for a moment’s sarvice. The
captain twigged ’em at it, but he never said nothing till the next day
but one, when he orders the hammocks to be opened to air and spread out
over the boats, and he stands off-and-on till about noon, when he makes
a long stretch out from the land, and the men thought he was going to
give it up. So, d’ye see, they pipes to dinner, and after that they
sarves the grog out, of course;--your honour’s health; and, messmates,
yours, all of you,--[he took a long draught];--but at two bells,
instead of calling the watch, the hands were turned up and all ordered
aft on to the quarter-deck, where the captain was standing as upright
as a fathom of smoke in a calm, and the master was bent down like a
yard of pump-water measured from the spout, and looking over a chart of
the harbour, as busy as the devil in a gale of wind.

“Well, every soul fore-and-aft mustered in the twinkling of a
hand-spike, and they all crowded together as if they’d been stowed
with a jack-screw for a long voyage; and then the captain up and tells
’em that he meant to head the boats himself and cut the Harmoine out,
if they would do their duty like men and back him. My eyes, if there
warn’t a cheer then, there never was one before nor since; and the
lads, to seal the bargain, gived one another a grip of the fist that
would have squeezed a lemon as dry as a biscuit.

“So, you see, the murder was out, and every man betwixt the cabin
windows and the figure-head volunteered to the duty; but the captain
said he wouldn’t take more than one hundred, including officers and
marines; he was sorry to leave any behind, as he believed them to
be all brave fellows, but some must stay to work the ship, and, if
necessary, bring her into action.

“Well, the men were picked out, the muskets, pistols, tommyhawks,
and cutlashes got ready, and long hook-ropes coiled away in the
starn-sheets of each boat, and clinched to the ring in the bottom; the
oars and rullocks were muffled and well greased, so that not a sound
might be heard louder than the sigh of a periwinkle.

“The sun set soon after six o’clock, and as soon as twilight came
on,--which in them latitudes, when the sun is on the equator, and it
was very near it then, comes on in a few minutes,--the ship was hove
in stays and stood in-shore, with a pleasant breeze and a stern-swell
setting after her. About eight o’clock the wind died away, the yards
were laid square, and the boats hoisted out, whilst those on the
quarters were lowered, and all were soon manned for the expedition
and shoved off. Whilst they’re pulling in-shore, messmates, I’ll just
elucidate Captain Hamilton’s plan of attack.

“Now, mind me, this here paper of ’bacca shall be one battery, and this
here ’bacca-box shall be the other battery, and this here shut-knife
shall be the Harmoine,--the laniard sarving for one cable out of the
hawse-hole, and this piece of marline for the other cable out of the
gun-room port;--[he arranged the articles on the table.] Now the boats
were to pull in, and the boarding parties had each a different place
to board at. As soon as they got upon deck, the boats with their
respective crews were to cut the cables and then go a-head to tow;
whilst four of the boarders were instantly to shin aloft to loose the
fore-topsail and two to loose the mizen-topsail, which, if possible,
were to be sheeted home to catch the breeze coming off the land.
The Surprise was to come in close to the harbour’s mouth to act as
circumstances required.

“The boats kept close together, but didn’t make any quick head-way,
as the captain meant to get in about midnight, when he expected the
Spaniards would have their eyes buttoned up, and their ears plugged
with their nightcaps, like the hawse-holes in blue water.

“Well, d’ye see, it was just about eight bells when the mast-heads of
the Harmoine showed above the dark mass of land, and the light rigging
looked like a fine spider’s web traced on the silvery sky; and there
too fluttered the yellow rag, that was soon to be humbled under the
saucy pennant of St. George. On pulled the boats, and except the ripple
of the oars and the hissing of the foam in their wakes, silence slept
deep and still, disturbed only by the moan of the sea as it broke upon
the rocky shore.

“Suddenly there was a flash, and before the report could be heard,
grape-shot were jumping about the boats and splashing up the water
like a shoal of flying-fish at play. This firing was from a couple of
guard-boats, each mounting a twelve-pounder; and if it did no other
mischief, it aroused Jack Spaniard, who it appears was up and rigged
like a sentry-box; and before a cat could lick her ear, flames of fire
seemed to be bursting from the dark rocks, like lightning from a black
thunder-cloud: it was the frigate, speaking with her main-deck and
fokstle guns.

“Finding that the enemy were prepared, the captain had less delicacy in
alarming them out of their sleep, and so the boats’ crews gave three
tremendous cheers. Mayhap, your honour never heard the cheers on going
into action, when the voice of man goes from heart to heart and stirs
up all that is brave and noble in the human breast; it invigorates and
strengthens every timber in a fellow’s frame, and is to the weak or
mild, what mother’s milk is to the infant.

“Well, they gave three British cheers as would have stirred up the
blood of an anchor-stock, if it had any, and on they dashed, stretching
to their oars with a good-will and making the water brilliant with
their track as they pulled for the devoted frigate, then about
three-quarters of a mile distant, which kept sending forth the red
flames from the muzzles of her guns as the boats gallantly approached.

“Captain Hamilton boarded on the starboard bow, and with the gunner
and eight or ten men cleared the fokstle. The doctor boarded on the
larboard bow, and with his party joined the captain; and the other
boats having discharged their men, the whole of the boarders attacked
the quarter-deck, where the Spanish officers had collected and fought
with desperation. And now mind the downright impudence of the thing;
for whilst they were fighting for possession on deck, the sails were
loosed aloft, the cables were cut, and the boats were towing the
ship out of the harbour; and the craft, as if she knew she warn’t
honestly come by, was walking off from the land like seven bells
half-struck;--if that warn’t going the rig, then blow me if I know what
is.

“When the Spaniards saw that the ship was actually under way with
sail on her, and the boarding parties cutting down all afore ’em, a
great number jumped overboard and some ran below, whilst the killed
and wounded lay in all directions. About this time Captain Hamilton
received such a tremendous crack on the head from the butt end of a
musket, as brought a general illumination into his eyes and stretched
him senseless on the deck. A Spaniard, who had fallen near him, raised
his dagger to stab him to the heart; but the tide of existence was
ebbing like a torrent, his brain was giddy, his aim faltered, and the
point descended in the captain’s right thigh. Dragging away the blade
with the last convulsive energy of a death-struggle, he lacerated the
wound. Again the reeking steel was upheld, and the Spaniard placed his
left hand near the captain’s heart to mark his aim more sure: again
the dizziness of dissolution spread over his sight, down came the
dagger into the captain’s left thigh, and the Spaniard was a corpse.

“The upper deck was cleared, and the boarders rushed below on the
main-deck to complete their conquest. Here the slaughter was dreadful,
till the Spaniards called out for quarter and the carnage ceased;
but no sooner was the firing on board at an end, when the sodgers at
the batteries--who had been wondering at the frigate moving away as
if by magic, and had been calling a whole reg’ment of saints to help
’em,--let fly from nearly two hundred pieces of cannon, as if they
were saying their prayers and wanted the British tars to count the
beads. Howsomever the wind was very light close in-shore, and the smoke
mantled thick and heavy on the waters, so as to mask the ship from
view; but a chance twenty-four-pounder hulled her below the water-mark,
and they were obliged to rig the pumps. The main-mast, too, at one
time was in danger from the stay and spring-stay being shot away,
and the head swell tumbling in made the frigate roll heavily; but
about two in the morning they got out of gun shot, the towing boats
were called alongside, and every thing made snug. Thus in an hour and
three-quarters the frigate was boarded, carried, and clear from the
batteries; but, to be sure, considering the little wind there was, and
the head swell setting in, she did stretch her legs as if glad to be
out of bad company, and the quarantine flag;[2]--for you know, Darby,
none in our sarvice likes to be yellowed,--[Darby gave another chuckle,
and then took a good pull at his mug to drown remembrances,]--it looks
so like a land-crab.

[2] Ships and vessels coming from unclean ports, hoist a yellow flag;
and the pensioners are punished for drunkenness by being compelled to
wear a yellow coat with red sleeves.

“Well, messmates, sail was soon made on the Harmoine, the shot-hole
was plugged up, and the party mustered; when there were found to be
only twelve men wounded, amongst whom were the captain and the gunner,
Mr. Maxwell. There was not one man killed on the British side, but the
Spaniards had 119 killed and 97 wounded, most of them dangerously, and
the decks were again stained with human blood, some of which was no
doubt shed by those murderers and traitors who had mutinied.

“At day-light next morning the Spaniards were indulged with the sight
of both ships standing off shore, and the Harmoine with a British
ensign and pennant over the Spanish colours. The prisoners were put on
board of a schooner, that was captured during the day, and sent ashore;
and the Surprise, with her prize, stood for Jamaica, where she arrived
seven days afterwards, and brought up at Port Royal.

“You may be sure, messmates, Captain Hamilton was well received; the
Parliament-men at the island gave him a beautiful sword that cost
three hundred guineas; he was made a knight on, and the Harmoine was
called the Retaliation, and she was immediately put in commission as an
English frigate; though in logging her name in the navy list, the Lords
of the Admiralty changed it to the Retribution, and I had the honour to
be drafted on board her as captain of the main-top.

“Captain Hamilton was invalided home on account of his wounds; but the
packet was taken by a French privateer, and he went to see Boneypart,
who treated him like a messmate for his bravery, and allowed him to be
exchanged for six French middies; and now, my lads, I’ve told you all I
know about the recapture of the Harmoine.”

Of course, I expressed my acknowledgments for the obligations I was
under to him for his narrative, but this seemed to nettle the old
tar very much. How far his account is correct I must leave others
to determine, and only regret that I have not been able to do the
worthy soul more justice, but it would be impossible for any written
description to give an adequate idea of his mode of recital. Our
glasses were replenished, for I saw that the old _blades_, like
_cutters_ on a wind, were determined to have a taut leech to their jibs
by taking a long and strong pull at the purchase; and expecting to
gather a fund of anecdote, I e’en made the most of it, and determined
to gladden their hearts.

“Well, it’s of no manner of use to go to argufy the matter,” said the
old boatswain’s-mate, “and all I’ve got to say is this here. Bill has
spun that yarn like a patent winch, and I’m sartin, sooner or later,
murder will always meet with its punishment. Many of them mutineers
were hung, and I’m thinking that there was one or two jewel-block’d
that never set foot on the Harmoine’s deck in their born days; but
their lives were sworn away, and arter that they went aloft without
touching a rattlin. I knew one on ’em, but I’ll not rip up old
grievances like a piece of tarred parcelling. I was at Port Royal when
the ships came in, and well remember seeing ’em both. There’s one
thing however, messmate, you forgot to tell us, and in the regard of
a generous spirit, which I take to be consort with bravery, it ought
not to go untold; and that is this here, that Sir Edward divided £500
of his own prize-money amongst the bold fellows who shared the victory
with him.”

“That was nobly and generously done,” said I; “such a man deserves to
be immortalized.”

“Well, your honour, he was mortalized,” replied the old man; “for
on that station of musketoes and grog-blossoms, there warn’t a blue
jacket nor yet a jolly but would have followed him into the devil’s
kitchen at cooking time. And it’s a rum place that West Ingees, too. I
remembers being ashore at one of the resurrections among the niggers,
and the ship’s corporal stuck his spoon in the wall; because, I’m
thinking, it warn’t very likely that a fellow would ever sup burgoo
again, when his head and his body had parted company. Well, we buried
him in a wild kind of a spot, where there was a few grave-stones with
names chiselled on ’em, and some were cut with a knife, showing a foul
anchor or a rammer and sponge, and the trees grew all over the ground,
and the rank grass and weeds run up the tombs; it was a wilderness
sort of a place, and here it was that Corporal Jack was laid up in
ordinary. The party to which I belonged was commanded by Mr. Quinton, a
master’s mate, and our bounds lay within a short distance of this here
burying-ground; and so, d’ye mind, the morning after they’d lowered
the corporal down the hatchway of t’other world, I was posted at the
point next the corporal’s berth, and a shipmate was with me by way of
companion like,--not that I was afeard of any thing living or dead,
but I had always a sort of nat’ral antipathy to being left alone on
shore, particularly in the dark. There was also a nigger belonging to
the plantation, who we allowed to join us just by way of being civil
to him, as he was a kind of steward’s mate in the house, and used
to splice the main brace for us occasionally. Well, messmates, we
got knotting our yarns to keep us from getting drowsy; and to cheer
our spirits, we overhauled a goodish deal about ghosts, and atomies,
and hobblegoblins, and all such like justices of the peace, till the
nigger--they called him Hannibal, arter the line-of-battle ship, I
suppose;--I say, till the nigger declared that every hair on his head
stood as stiff as a crow-bar.”

“Avast there!” exclaimed Bill Jennings, “tell that to the marines an
you will; why the black fellow’s head was woolly and curled like a
Flemish fake, and yet you say it was as stiff as a crow-bar.”

“And so it was,--the more the wonder, and be d---- to you;” growled
the boatswain’s-mate. “Would you have his honour there think I keep
a false reckoning? Well, as I was a saying, his head looked like a
black porcupine with his quills up. All at once we heard a tremendous
rattling amongst the dry leaves of a plantain-ground; but the trees
were too thick to see what it was even if there had been light enough,
which there warn’t, as the sun hadn’t brought his hammock up, but was
only just turning out.

“‘Dere him debbil come agin,’ cried the nigger; and away he started, as
if a nor-wester had kicked him end-ways.

“‘What the black rascal arter,’ said my messmate.

“‘Nay,’ says I, ‘that’s more nor I can tell; but not being a Christian
and only a poor ignoramus of a nigger, I suppose he’s afeard that the
noise yonder is Davy Jones playing at single stick, and mayhap he may
think the ould gemman is hauling his wind upon this tack, and may take
his black muzzle for one of his imps. But that’s a pretty bobbery
they’re kicking up, at all events, and now it’s going in the direction
of the burying-ground.’

“‘I tell you what it is, Jack,’ says my messmate, who looked very
cautiously round him, as if he was rowing guard in an enemy’s port,
‘I tell you what it is; I never thinks they give the devil his due,
for between you and me I don’t know as he’s half so bad as many people
makes him out. Our parson say he’s black, but the niggers paints him
white; but for my part, I’m thinking that the colour of a ship’s paint
goes for nothing. Then as for his horns, why they’re ugly looking to be
sure;--[here the noise was right away in the burying-ground, and my
messmate laid me fairly along side,]--but though they are ugly looking,
I never heard of his doing any mischief by running stem on with them.
And arter all, shipmate,’ he continued, ‘you must own there’s a great
deal in fancy. Look at your Ingee grab-vessels, that run their noses
out to the heel of the jib-boom, and carry all their bowsprit in-board!
Now I call that sort o’rig neither ship-shape nor Bristol fashion,
for a ship’s head is a ship’s head, and a ship’s bowsprit is a ship’s
bowsprit; but if they go for to make a standing bowsprit of a ship’s
head, then, I’m thinking, they are but lubberly rigged.’

“Now, messmates, you must own that his arguments was a bit of a poser;
but I warn’t altogether satisfied with his backing and filling like a
grenadier in a squall; and so, says I, ‘But what do you think of his
tail, eh?’

“‘Why as for the matter of his tail,’ says he, ‘I’m thinking it’s a
fundamental mistake altogether. The parsons say--and mayhap they’re
right--that he cruises about privateering, because he’s got a roving
commission, and every now and then he falls in with a heavenly convoy,
and nips off with a prize, which he carries to his own dark place. Now
as some of the craft are, no doubt, dull sailers, why, I suppose, he
carries a hawser over his quarter to drag ’em out of the body of the
fleet, and I’m thinking that in some dismal hour he has been seen with
the fag-end towing astarn, and the fear of the beholder has convarted
it into a tail.’

“Well, messmates, I own I was a bit staggered at the likelihoods of the
thing, because, d’ye mind, I never could make out the use of the tail;
but the tow-rope spoke for itself, so says I, ‘I tell you what it is,
shipmate, you’ve just hove my thoughts slap aback and got my ideas in
irons--but holloa, there’s a precious row.’

“‘Precious row, indeed,’ says my companion; ‘why Jack--why I’m
blessed--look there--if that arn’t the skeleton of Corporal Jack
walking off with his own head under his arm; then I’m ----, but here
comes Mr. Quinton and the nigger.’

“I did look, messmates, towards the burying-ground, and there I saw
a sort of long-legged skeleton straddling over the graves like an
albatross topping a ground swell; and, sure enough, the corporal’s head
was under his long spider-like arms.

“‘Dere, Massa Quinckem,’ said the black fellow, ‘now he see ’em for
he-self.’

“‘By Jove, and so it is, boy,’ cried the officer.

“‘Ay, ay sir,’ says my messmate, ‘it’s the corporal--there’s no
mistaking his cutwater; but he must have fallen away mightily during
the night, to be so scantily provided with flesh this morning;
howsomever, mayhap the climate has melted him down.’

“‘He no melt ’em,’ cried the nigger, ‘he eat ’em for true.’

“‘What! eat his own head,’ says I, ‘he must be in dreadful want of a
meal. Come, come, ould chap, that’s too heavy to be hoisted in.’

“Well, all this while the skeleton was walking off with his head in
his arms, just as a nurse would carry a baby; but the officer raises
his rifle to his shoulder, and it made me laugh to think he was going
to shoot a skeleton without a head, and that was as dead as Adam’s
grandmother.

“‘For God’s sake, sir,’ says my messmate, ‘don’t go for to fire, for it
would be downright blasphemy to kill a dead body; and what makes the
fellow turn out of his hammock after being lashed up for a full due, I
can’t tell.’

“Bang went the rifle, and down dropped the corporal’s atomy; but up
it got again almost directly and made sail for the bush, leaving his
head behind to lighten ship. Off starts the black fellow after him, and
away went the officer close to his heels. ‘My eyes, shipmate,’ says I,
‘there must be some sport in chasing a skeleton; so e’en let’s keep in
their wakes and see it out.’ So off we set, and presently bang went the
rifle again, and away flew the corporal’s splinters; so the skeleton
gathers himself up, and then laid down on the ground, kicking and
sprawling like a bull-whale in his flurry. Well, we ran up and there we
found--now what do you think, messmates? Why, it was nothing more nor
less than a large land-crab, that was walking away with the corporal’s
head as easy as I’d carry a cocoa-nut.”

The old tar ceased, and I naturally expected that some part of his
story would be contradicted; but no one seemed to raise a doubt as to
the veracity of his statement, and of course politeness would not allow
me to differ from the rest.

“Them land-crabs have a power of strength,” said old Darby. “I
recollects one night being beached high and dry in the small cutter,
and I boat-keeper; so I catches one of these beasts, and claps him
under the bows of the boat, whilst I made fast the painter to his hind
leg, and then away he stretched out for the water, dragging the cutter
with him as if it had been no more than a mouldy biscuit, and if I
hadn’t cut the painter pretty smartly, he’d have towed us out to sea in
no time.”

“The legs of these crabs must be very long,” said I; “are their bodies
in proportion?”

“Why no, your honour,” replied the boatswain’s-mate; “their bodies are
but small, seeing that they are all ribs and trucks; but their claws
are tremendous. What d’ye think of their reaching up to the top of a
gibbet, and having unhooked a pirate that was hung in chains, walked
off with him, hoops and all, so that he never was found again!”

“If it really happened,” I replied, “it is truly astonishing.”

“Really happened!” cried the veteran somewhat scornfully. “Ax them as
was watching down at Cabrita-point that night, and see if they won’t
swear to it.”

“Perhaps it was some of the friends of the pirate who removed the
body,” I ventured to suggest.

“Now that comes of your honour’s not knowing nothing of the country,”
he rejoined; “for, d’ye mind, all the rogue’s friends were thieves, and
if it had been any of them, they’d not only have carried off the body,
but would have stole the gibbet for fire-wood, which a land-crab has no
manner of use for.”

This certainly was unanswerable, and I forbore asking any more
questions on that subject.

“I remember, when I was a boy,” said ----, “I sailed out of Dover in a
by-boat under Captain Hammond over to Calais, and Bullun, and Ostend;
and there was an ould woman who they used to call Mother Mount, lived
at the back of the York Hotel, and she constantly placed herself on the
steps of her door observationing the people that passed up and down
the street. Captain Hammond never went past the house but he jeered
her for a witch, and every body said she was one; till one day, just
as we were going across with a good freight of passengers, the ould
Jezabel spoke some hard words to the skipper, as he was coming down
to the craft to sail out of the harbour. He made no more to do but to
spit at her. ‘The curse of the defenceless and childless widow be upon
you!’ she cried out. ‘You are bound across the channel, but there are
those will be there before you. You will think yourself secure, but
woe, and danger, and wreck, shall come at a time when you think not of
it, for my curse is upon you!’ The captain came on board in no very
gentle humour, and away we went with a flowing sheet for Calais. Our
passage was short, but we struck very heavily in crossing the bar,
though the water was as smooth as a mill-pond, and every timber in the
craft sneered again. The mate, fearing she would gripe-to and run upon
the pier-head, was going to ease the throat-halliards; but the captain
hollaed out, ‘Hold on till all’s blue; it’s only Mother Mount at her
tricks.’ Well, at last we got safe in and hauled alongside the key in
the outer-harbour, where we made fast stem and starn and cleared decks.”

“Upon my word, that’s a tough yarn,” said I; “and so you really think
it was Mother Mount that bumped you ashore in that fashion.”

“It isn’t for men without larning or edecation such as me to say their
say positively,” answered the pensioner, “but--[giving his quid a
severe turn]--if I am to speak my mind, I think it was. Well, sir, the
captain went ashore to dine with a French gentleman, and when he came
aboard again he was rather too much by the head on account of the wine
he had hoisted in, and somehow or other it had got stowed away in his
fore-peak; so he yawed about like a Dutch schuyt on the Dogger-bank,
and almost his last words at turning-in were ‘D-- Mother Mount!’ Well,
we all went to our hammocks, and the mate left word for one of the
hands to turn out and ’tend her at tide-time, as it looked breezy away
to the sou-west. The vessel floated about two o’clock in the morning,
and soon afterwards we heard the most tremendous hallo-bulloo upon
deck, and the captain swearing in a mixture of high Dutch, low Dutch,
Jarman and French, with not a small sprinkling of English dammees.
Up the ladder we ran, and there he was with a handspike in his hand
thrashing about and stamping fore-and-aft, like a wild pig in a squall.
We got him appeased at last, and then he pointed to the mooring
ropes; and, sure enough, the head-fast was cast off and partly hauled
in-board, and the starn-fast had only a single turn, just ready for
letting go when she had winded; the foresail was partly up, and the
jib hooked all ready for hauling out. We made all fast and snug again,
but the skipper kept raving till daylight in his cabin about Mother
Mount and her imps.”

“But what about the imps, my old boy,” exclaimed I; “you’ve said
nothing yet about imps. Did they have tails too?”

“Indeed and by all accounts they had, sir,” replied the old man; “for
though the skipper was a long time silent about it, yet it came out at
last, and he solemnly attested it in his last moments on his death-bed
to a clergyman. He declared that whilst he was sleeping something
struck his temples so hard that it made the vessel shake again----.”

“Why, he was dreaming to be sure,” said I, “the thump was caused by the
vessel just beginning to lift, and the swell rolling in made her strike
against the piles. Pray, had the man who was ordered to ’tend her at
tide-time got up upon the look-out when the master went on deck?”

“I carn’t say as he was, sir,” answered the veteran, “though I rather
think not.”

“Well, go on, my old friend,” requested I, “let’s get to the imps.”

“After receiving one or two heavy blows,” continued the pensioner,
“the skipper woke, and he thought he heard a shrill squeaking voice
above say, ‘Bear a hand with that foresail and jib, and haul in the
head-rope;’ and then there was a sort of a scrambling noise afore the
windlass, and another chock aft by the starn lockers. So he slips on
his pea-jacket and creeps up the companion, and there he saw five or
six monstrous rats forward; two were hoisting the foresail, two were
hooking on the jib, one was hauling in the head-rope, and another
was shoving her bows off. Abaft was a rat bigger than all the rest,
standing at the tiller and giving orders, and another had got hold of
the quarter-rope and was singling the turns. You may well guess the
ould chap was in a terrible taking at first; his teeth chattered like
the palls of a windlass when they shorten in a slack cable; his knees
knocked together----”

“Then he was knock-kneed,” said I, laughing heartily. “Really this is a
clever tale: first, the old woman makes a threat, then she plays you a
_mount-a-bank_ trick, and lastly _rat_ ifies her promise by----”

“I have not got to that yet, sir,” replied the old man, interrupting
in his turn; “but you shall hear all about it, if you will only give
me time.” He then continued, “Notwithstanding the tremblification the
skipper was in at first, he wasn’t a man as was easily to be daunted
in the long run; and seeing he was part owner of the craft as well as
master, I’m thinking he was afraid they wouldn’t carry her out safely,
and mayhap he thought they might turnout to be pi_rats_----”

“That’s half a pun, old boy,” said I; “why your _pirats_ would have
made a splendid _rat-pie_, upon short allowance.”

“By all accounts one of ’em would have been meal for half a dozen
messes,” replied the _matter-of-fact_ old man. “But as I was a saying,
sir, ould Hammond determined that at least he’d be master of his own
cutter; for in those days the by-boats had running bowsprits, though
they generally carried them over the stem to make most room; and also,
that his own crew knew her trim and could work her best, he jumps up
upon deck and catches hold of a----”

“A _rat_ tan, or a piece of _rat_ line stuff,” said I, interrupting him.

“No, sir,” answered the veteran rather testily; “he catches hold of
a handspik, and began to hammer away like a fellow beating saltpetre
bags in an Ingeeman’s hould at Diamond-harbour; and by the time we got
upon deck, there wasn’t a rat to be seen nigh hand; though I must say I
saw two or three dark objects in the distance running down towards the
pier-head, and there was some thing like a man on his hands and knees
slowly crawling after them. Howsomever, as I said before, the decks
were cleared of the warmin, and we made all fast again.”

“And did you never hear any other explanation of the affair?” inquired
I.

“Why,” replied the pensioner, “there was a report that some English and
French smugglers broke out of prison that night, and they tried to make
the skipper believe that he was deceived as to the rats; but the thing
was impossible, for how could the smuggler get through the great gates
and pass the sentries? Besides they wouldn’t have turned tail that
fashion for one ould man.”

“But the alarm, old boy,” exclaimed I; “the skipper gave an alarm, and
the _rats_ were afraid of being _trapped_ again.”

“Why, for the matter o’ that, sir,” assented the veteran, “he did kick
up a bit of a bobbery, I own; and the do-oneers came running down from
the watch-house, but nobody was taken.”

“That’s curious, too,” said I, “but had they no other means of escape?”

“Why, they did say,” replied the old tar, “that a fishing-boat was
missing from somewhere about the mouth of the harbour; but the captain
swore to the rats, and ever afterwards used to give the ould woman a
trifle of money or so, and speak kindly to her. And d’ye see, sir, I’m
thinking that Captain Hammond couldn’t be mistaken as to the rats,
because why?--a rat hasn’t a head like a Christian; and then his
tail,--no Christian has a tail like a spanker boom over his starn, and
so I’ll stick to the rats, for I verily believe they were nothing
else.”

“No doubt,” said I, addressing the boatswain’s-mate, “you have seen a
great deal of hard service. Have you been in many battles?”

“Why yes, your honour,” he replied, “I’ve had my share of it; but
notwithstanding the many chafes I got, if another war was to break out,
and I was fifty years younger, provided I could get a good captain
and a sweet ship, worthy messmates and a full allowance of grog, I’d
sooner sarve in a man-of-war than in any other craft whatsomever. But
mark my words, we shan’t never have another such a navy as the last.
Arn’t they _arming_ the ships on purpose for them to make use of their
_legs_, and run away? What would ould Benbow or Duncan have said to
this, with their round starns and chase batteries? Arn’t the fleet got
the _dry-rot_ with fundungus, and don’t the new regulations bid fair
to give the men the _dry-rot_ too? Who the deuce could weather a storm
or engage an enemy upon a pint of grog a-day? But as long as there’s a
shot in the locker, it shall go hard but we’ll queer the purser somehow
or other, after all.

“I remember Jack Traverse once, and a worthy soul Jack was too, going
off at Spithead to join the old Gorgon. Well, d’ye see, as the wherry
came from the starboard side to pull up to the larboard gangway, Jack,
who had been bowsing his jib up, caught sight of the name painted in
gold upon the starn, and so he endeavoured to see what he could make
of it; but being cro-jack eyed, and his brains all becalmed, he began,
like a dull skull-hard, to spell it backward. ‘N-o, no,’ says Jack,
‘that’s as plain as Beachy Head in a fog; so this arn’t the ship, d’ye
mind! Howsomever, let us see what her name is. N-o, no; that’s right;
g-r-o-g, grog. Yes, I’m blessed if it arn’t, and both together makes
NO GROG! About ship, waterman, she won’t do for me; why, I should be
waterlogged in a week, so bear up for the next ship, d’ye hear.’

“The navy, your honour, is the pillars of the state; but if the props
are unsound, the whole heady-phiz must tumble to the dust; and oh,
to see the flag under which I’ve fought and bled--that flag, whose
influence caused such signal exertions in the fleet ‘when Nelson gained
the day,’--humbled before the white rag of a Frenchman, or pecked at
by the double-headed eagle!--nay, what is worse, degraded in the sight
of the stripes and stars! My fervent prayer is, that before the day
arrives, these old bones may be hove-down for a full due, and buried in
the hollow wave. ’Twould break my heart.

“Howsomever, all this comes of trying to make Jack a gentle-man, a
title he once despised; but what with the quibble hums of lawyers,
and the comflobgistications of parsons, his head gets filled with
proclamations, and his brains whirl round like the dog-vane in a calm.
I beg your honour’s pardon, though, for troubling you with so many of
my remarks upon the subject; but it must be evident to every body that
tars have arrived at a bad pitch, and though I’m no croaker, (I don’t
mean him as was at the Admiralty,) yet my spirit is stirred up and must
have vent. I sees they have tried to put a stop to smuggling, by taking
off the duties. That is as it should be; but there’s another thing I
wish, and that is, to get a petition to parley-ment for all the old
hard-a-weathers at Greenwich to have their ’bacca duty free. Why, sir,
it would be an act of piety; and the worthy old quidnuncs when they
take their chaw, or blow a cloud, would bless ’em for it.

“Talking about smuggling, reminds me of a circumstance that happened
off Dungeness, when I was in that gallant ship, the Triumph,
seventy-four. We were running up channel for the Downs with Dungeness
light on our larboard beam, and it was about six bells in the middle
watch, when the look-out on the fokstle reported, that there was a
lugger close under our bows. ‘Give him a gun,’ cried the officer
of the watch. The shot was fired and the lugger instantly let fly
her fore-sheet, and rounded to. ‘From whence came you?’ hailed
the lieutenant. ‘Wha waw,’ replied the lugger. ‘What the devil
place is that?’ said the officer; and again raising the speaking
trumpet,--‘where are you bound to?’--‘Wha waw,’ was once more returned.
‘The fellow’s making game of us, sir,’ said the officer to the captain,
who, hearing the report of the gun, had come out of his cabin. ‘Shall I
board him, sir?’--‘Yes, Mr. ----, lower the quarter-boat down, and see
what he is.’

“Well, away we went, and as we pulled towards him, the lieutenant would
have it the lugger was a French privateer; but the coxswain, an old
hand at the trade, replied, ‘No, sir, she’s no privateer, and I thinks
I can _smell_ a secret at this distance. There’s no guns, sir, and
but few hands. Eh, eh, we shall see presently.’--‘What are you laden
with?’ inquired the officer as soon as we got alongside, and he had
jumped upon the deck. ‘What is your cargo?’--‘Bacon and eggs,’ replied
a veteran, whose gray locks peeped from underneath a slouched hat, and
partly concealed a weather-beaten countenance, where the breakers and
time had made deep furrows; ‘bacon and eggs, sir.’--‘It’s of no use
axing that man, sir,’ said the coxswain. ‘I can tell him in a minute;
he’s brought his hogs to a fine market, and as for eggs,--why, he’s
chock full of tubs, your honour, (lifting up the grating.) Ay, there
they are, indeed, like eggs in a gull’s nest. There they are, sir; it
makes a fellow’s mouth water to look at them. Mayn’t we have a toothful
your honour? It’s hard to starve in a land of plenty! I’d only knock
one small hole in this head here,’ giving it a thump with the tiller
that was nearly accomplishing the purpose.

“‘Avast, avast, sir!’ cried the lieutenant: ‘this is smuggled, and now
we must seize it for his majesty.’--‘For his Majesty! all that for his
Majesty!’ cries the coxswain. ‘Why, God bless your honour, he’ll never
be able to get through the half of it, even though the Prince of Wales
should lend him a hand, and I hear he’s no flincher from the gravy.
I’m sure, sir, none of the royal family would miss the want of as much
as would comfort the heart of a tar in such a raw morning as this,
especially as we would drink their healths in a bumper, and that would
do ’em more good than swallowing all this here stuff!’--‘Not another
word,’ said the officer. ‘Jump into your boat, and (turning to the old
man) do you follow him, for I must take you with me!’ The poor fellow
was obliged to comply, though he made a good many wry faces, and begged
hard; but all to no purpose. So the cutter shoved off, sadly deploring
that _all hands_ were so nigh _hollands_, and yet without being able to
moisten their clay with a sup before breakfast.

“‘What is she?’ inquired captain E--, as the lieutenant came up the
side. ‘A smuggler, sir,’ was the answer. ‘A smuggler, eh!’ cried
the captain, ‘and so (addressing the old man) you are one of those
lawless characters who run all hazards to run your goods and beach
your tubs, bidding defiance to danger and death? What have you to say
for yourself?’--‘Sir,’ replied the hoary seaman uncovering his head,
and displaying a face where cool determination was struggling with
painful sensations, ‘sir, whatever I can say will, perhaps, avail me
nothing. The necessities of a large family and numerous distresses
have driven me to my present state. All I possess in the world is
now in your power, and you are able in one moment, not only to
deprive me of liberty, but also to reduce me and mine to utter misery
and beggary. For myself, I care but little; but for my fatherless
grandchildren,’--he wrung a tear from his eye, and dashed it off in
agony; but his countenance almost instantly resumed the stern serenity
which appeared to mark his character. Captain E. and the lieutenant
took a turn or two aft in deep conversation. At last, eight bells came
and the morning watch was turned out. ‘Send all hands on deck,’ said
the captain to the boatswain’s-mate, ‘and bear a hand about it.’

“Well, we all mustered aft on the quarter-deck; and the captain,
standing on the gratings of the after-hatchway, exclaimed--‘My lads,
this old rascal’s a smuggler, and there’s his vessel, your prize. He
says our detaining him will be the ruin of himself and family; and how
much shall we obtain for plunging a fellow-creature and a countryman
into hopeless misery? Why, our gin will be transmogrified into port for
the agents and lawyers, and perhaps you would share about nine-pence
a-man. Mine and the officers would amount to about twenty pounds, which
we are ready to forego,--nay more, I am ready to give you that sum out
of my own pocket. So what d’ye say, lads? shall we make him splice the
main-brace, and let the old rogue go?’ A simultaneous ‘Ay, ay, sir,’
resounded from all hands. ‘Well, then, my men, we’ll have six tubs
out of him for that purpose; so jump into the boat again, and you old
Blow-hard must swear through thick and thin that you have never set
eyes upon us!’ The old man turned round, fell upon his knees, and,
laying his hand upon his heart, poured forth a volley of thanks; but
just as he was going over the side,--‘Avast,’ cried the captain, ‘you
must swear upon the binnacle never to divulge what has taken place.’
This was done, and the smuggler returned to the boat with a lighter
heart than when he entered it at first.

“Away we pulled alongside the lugger; but, when their master told them
they were clear, my eyes! the men were like wild fellows, and would
have swamped us with tubs. ‘Only six, Mr. E,’ cried the captain from
the gangway: ‘if you bring more, I shall send you back with them.’ But
we had plenty to drink, and then stood for our ship again.

“Well, d’ye see, the six tubs were placed under the poop-awning; and
as soon as the captain had turned in, the lieutenant sent two of them
to the captain’s cabin, one to the ward-room, one to the midshipmen’s
berth, and another to the warrant-officers’ mess, leaving only a
solitary tub for the whole of the ship’s company.

“Well, d’ye see, at day-light out came the captain again and looked
for the stuff ‘Why, Mr. ----, where--where--what have you done with
the grog?’ The officer told him how it had been disposed of. ‘No,
no,’ says the skipper: ‘fair play’s a jewel, sir: have it all on deck
directly, and let every man fore-and-aft share alike. I shall only take
my allowance with the rest, that all hands may be tarred by the same
brush.’ So the stuff was started into the wash-deck-tub, and equally
divided among officers and crew.”

Here the boatswain’s-mate ceased, and took a determined pull from
his pewter, whilst the various groupes assembled (for our numbers
had increased,) were all unanimous in voting Captain E---- to be “a
generous soul, what ’ud always see a poor fellow righted in the long
run,” and each had some anecdote to relate respecting him; but as all
were talking at the same moment, it was impossible to collect them.

“I was with him,” exclaimed an old pensioner, “off Scamperdown,
when Duncan fought the Dutch fleet, and we engaged and took the
Worser-never; and after she struck, we stood on and attacked the
Fry-hard, that carried ould Winter’s flag,--blue at the main. It was
just arter the mutiny too, and some of our hands went from the bilboes
to their guns. But Captain E---- knew the stuff a blue jacket was made
on, and was glad of the opportunity of rubbing off old scores with the
gunner’s sponge.”

“Talking about smuggling,” said Bill Jennings, “puts me in mind of
the way we used to get dollars off at Boney’s Airs,[3] when I was in
the Mutine sloop of war along with Captain Fabian, and we had three
fine Deal-built boats that ’ud walk along like race-horses. Well, all
the boats’ crews had belts round their waists with pockets to ’em,
each just big enough to hold a roll of fifty dollars; so that every
man could carry three hundred,--and a tolerably good cargo, too,
considering he had to walk as steady as a pump-bolt on shore for fear
of the custom-house officers, and to stretch out pretty smartly at his
oar when he got into the boat--supposing the wind warn’t fair. Well,
one day says the marchant to our coxswain, as we was standing in his
store,--says he, ‘My lad, do you see this here cask?’ which was rather
a foolish question to be sure, seeing it was a half-hogshead, such as
the small craft had their rum in, and he might have been sartin that
Tom Crampton had twigged it. Howsomever, the marchant says to him, ‘My
lad,’ says he, ‘do you see this here cask?’ Now it puzzled Tom to think
what tack he was standing on, for the licker-bottles were all filled
chock-a-block on the side-board, and ‘Mayhap,’ says Tom to himself
whilst he scratched his head, ‘mayhap, his honour’s not never a going
to gie me it all?’ Howsomever, says the marchant, says he, ‘My lad,
do you see this here cask?’ Tom looked at the half-hogshead and then
at the marchant, and then at the rum-bottle, as much as to say he was
working a traverse to find the latitude and the longitude of the thing;
and then he scratched his head, and took a severe turn with his quid,
and ‘My lad, do you see this here cask?’ axed the marchant. ‘I do,
your honour,’ says Tom; ‘and I’ll take my oath on it, if your honour
wishes.’--‘No, no,’ says the marchant, ‘your word’s enough. So bring up
your boat’s crew, and get ’em aboard as quick as you can.’

[3] Buenos Ayres.

“Now Tom thought that the men were to come up for the stuff and then
to go on board the sloop, so as to get there before dark as she lay in
the outer roads, about seven miles from the town; so says Tom, says
he, ‘God bless your honour! I’ll have ’em up in the wink of a blind
eye, and I’m sure they’ll thank your honour for your goodness. Is it
rum or brandy?’--‘What do you mean?’ axed the marchant. ‘The cask,
your honour,’ says Tom, ‘is it Gemaker, or Coney-hack?’--‘Neither
the one nor the other,’ says the marchant; ‘them there are all
dollars.’--‘Whew!’ whistles Tom; ‘now I understands your honour, but
couldn’t we contrive to get ’em down in the cask just as they are;
so that instead of making four or five trips, we may carry off the
whole in the turning of a log-glass?’--‘I fear that ’ud be too great
a risk,’ says the marchant; ‘or else I wish it could be done.’ ‘Why
for the matter o’ the risk,’ says Tom, ‘there’s only one ould chap
as I cares about; but he’s always boxing the compass of every thing
that he catches sight on, living or dead. But I think I could get to
windward of him, arter all’s said and done, and there’s no risk with
the men, you know.’ So Tom was allowed to make trial of his skill; and
away he goes and gets a purser’s bread-bag, and then walks off to the
market and buys a couple o’ sheep’s heads, which he stows away in the
bag along with a little hundred of cabbages and inyuns, till it was
chock-full. Well, the cask of dollars was got into a cart, which drove
off,--Tom keeping a good cable’s length a-head with his bread-bag over
his shoulder and a piece of wood shaped like a sugar-loaf done up in
a blue paper under his arm; for I should tell you, messmates, that
was the way they used to smuggle off the solid silver, and the old
coast-guard had made a prize of a couple of these sugar-loaves only a
day or two afore. Well, on goes Tom, bending beneath his bag like a
crank craft under whole topsails, and now and then taking a heavy lurch
to draw attention.

“The jetty runs a good two hundred yards into the river, and right in
the teeth of the upper part on it stands the guard-house, where ould
Jack Spaniard kept as sharp a look out as a Jew crimp upon pay-day,
and presently he sees Tom rolling along and looking as wise as the
cook’s-mate in a sudden squall. So he mounts a cockt-hat as big as a
Guinea-man’s caboose with a feather in it as ’ud have sarved the whole
Chatham division of jollies, and curling his mouthstarshers he marches
up to Tom and bids him back his main-yard; but Tom took no notice for
the moment, till the ould Signor cries out, ‘Blood and ounds,’ in
Spanish, and then he pretends to cotch sight of him for the first
time. Away starts Tom as if he was afraid of being boarded, and the
Spaniard whips out his rapper, as they calls a sword in that country,
and runs him right through the heart--”

“God bless me!” exclaimed I, interrupting old Jennings; “what! did the
poor fellow get murdered for his frolic?”

“Murdered, your honour!” reiterated Bill Jennings; “Tom murdered! No,
no, the shove gave him better headway--”

“Why did not you declare, but this minute,” said I, “that the Spaniard
run him through the heart?”

“Through Tom’s heart! Lord love you, no,” he replied; “it warn’t Tom’s
heart, but through the heart of a cabbage, I was going to say, only
your honour interrupted me,--a cabbage that was in the bag. Well, there
was a pretty chase all along shore, till the Spaniard fires a pistol
that hit him right in the head--”

“Well, then, he’s dead enough now, I suppose,” exclaimed I, “if
shooting through the head will kill a man.”

“It warn’t Tom’s head,” he replied, laughing, “it was the sheep’s
head; for Tom kept the ould chap dodging about till he saw the cask of
dollars was in the boat, and she with her three lugs rap full standing
off shore with a spanking breeze, and then he pretends to trip up over
a piece of rock and lays him all along, hove down on his beam ends.
Up comes the Signor hand over hand; because why? Poor Tom had made
every nail an anchor, and clung to the earth as if it had been his own
nat’ral mother. So, up comes the Signor and grabs hold of the bag,
which Tom held on, like grim death against the doctor; but after some
tuzzling, Tom lets go the bag and runs for it, leaving Jack Spaniard
with his prize. Well, Tom gets down to the captain’s gig and shoves
off to the Muskitoe schooner, what was lying in-shore, and the Signor
hoists the bag on his shoulders, fully sartin from the weight that
he’d made a rich seizure, and back he marches to the guard-house,
where every soul had turned out to enjoy a sight of the chase, (so
that the cart with the cask passed by without being examined,) and now
remained grouped together to see what the Signor had got. There was
Spanish sodgers in their cockt-hats, custom-house officers in their
long punchos, and coast-o’guinea niggers, men and women, cracking their
jokes at the expense of poor Tom, and highly delighted that his cargo
was captured, nothing doubting but that it was dollars, or mayhap
ounce-bits--that’s doubleloons, messmates,--and all were eager to see
it opened, little suspecting it was a mere bag o’ moonshine. Well, the
Signor comes right slap into the middle of ’em, puffing and blowing
like a sparmacity, and throws down his treasure; one of the black
fellows out’s knife and cuts the seizing at the mouth of the bread-bag,
and away rolls sheep’s heads and cabbages with a good sprinkling
of garlic; and, my eyes, the sodgers began to roar with laughing;
the custom-house officers turned-to and swore at every Saint in the
calendar, the niggers went dancing mad with delight at the fun, whilst
the ould Signor twirled his mouthstarshers and cursed every thing an
inch high. But the dollars were safe, and Tom got a handsome present
for his trouble; whilst Jack Spaniard was in a precious stew of sheep’s
heads and impartinances to think he’d been done so completely.”

“I dearly loves them there sort o’things,” said a weather-beaten old
blade; “there’s a some-ut sentimental about ’em that excites simperthy,
and brings to the memory many an ould scene of former times.”

“You’re right, boy Ben,” rejoined my first conductor, who had told
me of the Mutiny of the Hermione, “and so they do. Some people calls
’em _rum-on-tick_, but I can’t for the life of me tell why, as they
seldom gives us credit for much spirits; but if his honour there has no
objection, I’ll just give him a yarn that’s twirling in my brain, and
mayhap it may please him.”

I readily assented to the proposal, and he accordingly began,--“I
remember once, when under the command of the gallant Sir Sidney Smith,
up the Mediterranean, we were scouring the coast, and brushing away
the French troops; the captain ordered a party in the barge and launch
to rig for going ashore, as he intended to pay a visit to a nobleman,
who resided about two miles inland, on an elegant estate. Now, the old
master was an immense stout man, as big as a grampus; he always gave
the vessel a heel to the side he was walking: and as he hadn’t been
on dry ground for many months, he was invited to join the captain and
some of the other officers in their cruize. But, Lord love you! he
thought the ship wouldn’t be safe without him; and, as for fighting
like the sodgers, with their marching and their countermarching, why,
he didn’t understand their heavylutions, and wasn’t going to be made
a light-infantry of. However, they persuaded the old gemman at last;
all hands got into the boats, and we shoved off. It was a lovely
morning, and as we pulled along-shore, the scenery was beautiful; but
more so when we landed and took our course to the nobleman’s house. A
wild and romantic spot it was; rocks piled on rocks, yet crowned with
verdure--the dark forest and the green fields; while the calm ocean
reflected with dazzling brightness the golden beams of the sun.

“Well, d’ye see, the nobleman was glad to see us all, for the French
had retreated three weeks before, and he said there wasn’t a trooper
within a hundred miles. The wine was set abroach, and all hands began
to make merry, particularly Sir Sidney and the officers.

“‘Well, master,’ said the captain, ‘how have you enjoyed your walk?’

“‘Very much, indeed, sir; but,’--looking to seaward,--‘I’m afraid
they’re getting the ship too close in. How sweetly she sits, like a
duck upon the water! Gad, I’m sorry I left her.’ And then he bellowed,
‘Why don’t you wear round upon t’other tack? But they can’t hear me, so
I may just as well whistle jigs to a mermaid.’

“‘Never mind,’ returned the skipper, ‘they’ll keep her afloat; so drink
your wine, and make yourself happy.’

“Happy, eh? what out of his ship? That was impossible; so the old man
kept growling, like a distant thunder storm. The castle we were in was
situated upon a rising ground, that commanded an extensive view of the
country; but we were on that side which was next the sea, and after a
good _blow_ out,--that is, when we had re-_galed_ ourselves, and the
captain had gained what information he wanted, just as we were coming
away, in rushed a tall meagre-looking figure, with a face as long as a
purser’s account, and as pale as a corpse, while his teeth chattered
like a watchman’s rattle.

“‘What’s the matter,--what’s the matter?’ inquired Sir Sidney; but
the man was breathless with running, and couldn’t answer. He wrung
his hands, and pointed inland. The officers made the best of their
way aloft to the top of the castle, and there, with their glasses,
discovered a troop of French cavalry, about 200, carrying on under a
heavy press.

“My eyes! there was a job. To defend the ship,--the castle, I
mean,--was out of the question; for there warn’t above twenty of us up
from the boats; besides, it would have been the ruin of the nobleman,
in case of defeat. So orders were given to make the best of our way
down, and every man to look out for himself. But what was to become of
the master? He could hardly walk; and for running, that was impossible,
for his legs were so short, he could make no hand at it. The officers
proposed to conceal him; but he swore he wouldn’t be stowed away like
a bale of damaged slops returned unserviceable, and perhaps be cotch’d
and get fricasseed and carbonadoed, like a young frog. ‘No,’ said he;
‘crack on, my boys; and the devil take the starnmost.’

“Off we set, but poor old Soundings couldn’t hold it out; he puffed,
and blowed, and waddled along, till he tripped over a mound of earth;
and there he lay, like an island of flesh amidst an ocean of grass. Sir
Sidney hove to, and laughed till his sides shook. However, he ordered
a couple of hands to raise the old gemman on their shoulders, and run
with all their might.

“By this time, the troops had advanced within musket shot, and they
sent us a few peppercorns to freshen our way. The firing made the men
in the boats alert, (for they were out of sight, the landing-place
being just over the brow of a hill,) and so they prepared for our
reception. The sodgers were coming up with us hand over hand, and
their shots flew pretty thick. The old master, as soon as he recovered
breath, did nothing but growl at being obliged to run away from the
enemy, and kept his pistols ready to salute them in case of their
coming alongside. There was now only a corn-field between us and the
descent to the boats, when the men, finding themselves considerably
in the rear, made a desperate push with their cargo and capsized
altogether. Up they sprung again: it was, however, too late to mount
the master afresh; besides, he had got a little rest in the carriage,
so all hands took to their heels: but just as they arrived in the
middle of the corn, the French poured in a smart volley, and the old
gemman fell. The rest of the party had reached the boats, and put off
upon their oars, all ready to give the troopers a warm reception.
The two guns in the launch and one in the barge were loaded with
musket-balls, and every man had his musket or pistols ready cocked
for the attack. The cavalry appeared on the brow of the hill, as
fine a mark as you’d wish to shoot at. Whiz--whiz--we let fly; and
they seemed to be struck comical. They thought to capture us at once
without difficulty; but, at the second fire, our arms had done so much
execution, that they turned tail and scampered off as hard as they
could drive.

“The frigate had witnessed the transaction; and when they could bring
the guns to bear without injuring our own people, a broadside of round
and grape completed their confusion. As soon as the action was over,
we found two or three of our men slightly wounded, while many of the
enemy lay dead upon the hill; others we could perceive moving about,
and some, who had been dismounted, were endeavouring to escape. In
about half an hour’s time we again pulled in, but not so cheerful as
we did at first. The master had always been a great favourite with the
captain, and, indeed, for the matter of that, every soul fore-and-aft
looked upon him as a friend. He had come in at the hawse-holes, knew
the duty of a tar, and was lenient to a seaman’s failings. No man could
ever complain that Mr. Soundings had laid a finger upon him, or been
the means of bringing him to the gangway, and, above all, stopping his
grog. He was strict with the purser’s-steward, and kept the cook to
his tethers. But now to be cut off, as it were, without being able to
give the enemy battle, and to be hove down upon his beam-ends by the
lubberly French sodgers,--it made all hands melancholy to think of it.
If he had died upon the quarter-deck in the heat of an engagement, it
would have been another guess-thing, because that would have been in
the way of his profession, and he would have dropped his peak and wore
round for t’other world with the same calmness and composure that he
conned his ship into action, under a firm conviction of going aloft,
because he had done his duty. But, to be popped at in a corn-field,
like a cock-lark or a partridge,--oh, ’twas a most unnatural death!

“‘Whereabouts did you leave the master?’ said the captain to the man
who was with him last.

“‘In the corn-field, sir,’ replied the man; ‘we carried him as long
as we could stand under canvass; but both of us were so heavily
laden, that I expected to founder every minute, and having too much
top-hamper, we did upset at last. But Mr. Soundings got up directly and
run with us ever so far, till the crapeaus gave us another broadside,
and down he dropped in an instant. I heard him give one loud holloa,
and then all was silent; so concluding death had grappled with him, I
made all sail for the boats.’

“‘Did you see him,’ inquired the captain, ‘after he fell?’

“‘No, sir; he was buried among the corn, for there was a deep hollow
ridge run along the place, and I suppose he rolled into it.’

“‘Poor fellow,’ rejoined Sir Sidney, his eye moistening as he spoke;
‘poor fellow, he’s gone, no doubt. However he shall have a seaman’s
grave; so follow me ashore, Mr. E. (addressing the lieutenant) and take
half the men with you. The rest, under Mr. L. must stay by the boats,
and be prepared in case the troops should charge again.’

“The party drew up upon the beach, all eager to search for the body,
and gratified to think that it would not be left as a prey for the
gulls, but be hove overboard, sewed up in a hammock and all ship-shape.
Sir Sidney Smith walked a-head in advance of the men, full of grief for
the loss of his old shipmate; when all at once we heard a voice roaring
most piteously, and the next moment a loud shout. We pushed forward,
and in another minute a trio of Frenchmen showed themselves at the
brow of the hill. Several muskets were presented at them; the sodgers
dropped on their knees, when another figure, close behind them, was
brought into view, holding a pistol in each hand. And who do you think
it was? Why old Soundings himself, with a face full of choler like a
heated furnace, his corporation heaving and setting like a mountain
billow, and puffing and blowing like a grampus in a storm. Sir Sidney
sprung forward and caught the master’s hand, while the rest gathered
round and gave three hearty cheers for joy.

“‘Ay, ay,’ said the old gemman, laughing, ‘you’re a pack of cowards,
to leave a ship in distress. Safety lays in the length of the legs
now-a-days. Run, eh! fine clean-going craft like you, run! and suffer a
crazy, weather-beaten, old hulk to battle the watch with a whole fleet!
But there, d’ye mind, I have taken three prisoners, and now lend me a
hand down to the boat.’

“The fact was, the old boy had tumbled into a hollow, the troops had
passed over him, and sometime after their retreat, finding all quiet,
he crawled out; when meeting suddenly with three Frenchmen dismounted,
he presented his pistols and compelled them to go a-head just as we
hove in sight.

“With light hearts the boats were once more shoved off from the beach;
and, notwithstanding the old gemman boasted highly of his prowess, he
swore it should be a long day before he’d trust his precious limbs out
of the ship again, to go bush-fighting like a land privateer.”

“Arter all,” exclaimed the old boatswain’s-mate, “them there were
spirit-stirring times; but the Neapolitans and Italians were scarcely
worth fighting for. I was aboard the ould Culloden, 74, along with
Troubridge up the Mediterranean; and one day a boat comes along-side
and up mounts a Neapolitan officer, his rigging dressed out in gold
lace and stars, so that he looked like a man-cake of gilt gingerbread.
So he goes aft into the cabin, and tells the captain the Neapolitan
troops were going to attack the French in a small fortified town on
the coast, and Captain Troubridge being commodore, he had made bould
to ax him for one of the sloop-of-war brigs to cannonade ’em by sea
whilst the sodgers stormed ’em by land; and he talked so big of the
bravery of his men, that it was enough to make a fellow believe that
they cared no more for a bagonet than they did for a sail-needle,
and no more for a two-and-thirty pound shot than they did for a ball
of spun-yarn, and it puzzled me to think how the captain could hoist
it all in; for he bowed very politely, and told the officer ‘he made
no doubt that they would eat all they killed;’ and the officer bowed
again almost to the deck, and he kept bending and bending like a ship
heeling over to sudden gusts from the land. Howsomever, the skipper
grants him the eighteen-gun brig, and then they began to overhaul a
goodish deal about the plan of attack; and the Neapolitan observed,
that if the captain would let ’em have a frigate instead of the brig,
it would be much better and must ensure success. So the captain, very
good-humouredly, countermands the order for the brig, and makes the
signal for the captain of one of the frigates; and then they conversed
together again, and the Count--they called him a Count, but Lord love
you! he wouldn’t count for nothing among British sodgers:--I say, the
Count danced about the cabin as if he was charging the French garrison,
and cutting ’em up into four-pound pieces. Well, ashore he goes, and
the frigate’s signal was made to unmoor and prepare for sea; when
aboard comes the Count again to say the commander-in-chief requested a
line-of-battle ship might be sent instead of the frigate, as it would
place the victory beyond a doubt, and after some backing and filling
about the matter, Troubridge consented, and the brig was ordered to
get under way and direct one of the seventy-fours outside to proceed
to the place appointed. So away goes the Count, though it was plain
to see the skipper warn’t over and above pleased with the shuffling;
but still he hoped the French would be beat, and ill as he could spare
the seventy-four, the sloop was soon walking away under her canvass
and had got to some distance; when alongside comes the Count again
and goes into the cabin; but he hadn’t been long there before out he
comes again holus-bolus through the door-way, and the skipper in his
wake with a face like scarlet, kicking the Count under his counter and
starting him endways like seven bells half-struck. The Count scratched
his indecencies and run along the quarter-deck, with old Troubridge
belabouring him, and hollaing out, ‘D-- his eyes, first a brig, then
a frigate, and next a line-of-battle ship; and now he won’t fight
arter all!’ So the Count jumped into his boat, the brig was recalled,
and the French kept possession till the army retreated, and then they
capitulated.”

“Ay, that was a sweet ship,” said an aged pensioner, “that ould
Culloden. Did you know Bill Buntline, as was captain of her fore-top?”

“Why, to be sure I do,” replied the other; “we were messmates for three
years, and a worthy soul Bill was, too. He could spin a yarn that would
last the whole look-out; and then, like some of your magazines, he
continued it in the next. He was brave, too; but I fear we shall never
muster many such as he again.”

“’Cause why?” said my old chaperon, “they don’t steer the right course
to gain the point: who’d live burning under the line with only half
allowance of grog? or in regard of the matter o’ that, what heart could
go boldly into action that was swamped in tea-water? The parsons may
say what they please, but they arn’t more fond of the kettle nor other
folks, unless they takes it warm with a couple o’ lumps o’ sugar. But
most of our tars are now in foreign sarvices, and teaching their art to
our enemies.”

“Ay, it is so, ould shipmate,” rejoined the pensioner; “I reads of ’em
sometimes when they used to be with Cochrane in South America, and I
glories in the whacking the Portuguese fleet have just napped from
Napier. It makes my ould heart bound with joy when I thinks of it.”

“But, mayhap,” said the boatswain’s-mate, “there’ll be some whistling
to get ’em back again, in case of another war; but I hardly think a
British tar would battle the watch against his country.”

“Tell that to the marines!” exclaimed the old man. “Why! warn’t the
Yankee frigates principally manned with British tars,--many of ’em
who had fought under Nelson, and hailed with three cheers his last
memorable signal? Did not the United States have two of her guns, one
named Nelson and the other Victory, worked solely by men who had fought
at Trafalgar, and in most of the general actions? Nay, more: all of
them had been bargemen to the undaunted hero, had shared his dangers,
and revenged his death! Oh, what could have wrought such ruinous
principles in their hearts, as to make them not only desert from, but
strive to crush the proud flag for which they had shed their richest
blood! And yet we are to be told, that this is not a fit subject for
inquiry among the gemmen at the head of affairs; and that, in the
event of another war, seaman are again to be dragged into the service,
and compelled to toil under the dread of the cat. As for me, I always
served my king and my country, (God bless ’em!) and mean to stick to
my stuff as long as my timbers will hold together. But, nevertheless,
I am a seaman, have a seaman’s feelings, and cannot bear to see a
seaman injured: they are my messmates, my brothers; and I long to see
them once more under the ‘union,’ gallantly asserting their country’s
rights, and maintaining her naval glory.

“But to return to Bill; poor fellow, the last time I saw him he was on
board an East Ingeeman, outward bound. The frost of years was on his
head, and age had ploughed deep furrows on his brow; but his heart was
as light as ever. I can remember him, the finest-looking fellow in the
fleet, full of life and spirit; and, one day, when we were all, (that
is the boarders,) exercising our cutlasses on the quarter-deck,--by the
by, Mr. Kendall, who went out with Captain Franklin, was midshipman
of our division, and a worthy little officer he was; his father was a
captain in the navy, and both his grandfathers died admirals: I knew
’em well, and brave officers they were. Well, as I was a saying, there
we stood, cutting and slashing right and left, while the officers
watched our motions, and practised among themselves. ‘That’s a bonnie
lad there,’ said the captain’s lady, leaning on the arm of the marine
officer, and pointing to Bill; ‘a bonnie lad, in gude truth, Mr.
M.’--‘Yes, ma’am,’ replied the officer, ‘a fine muddle for a Polly.’
But, Lord love you! as for being muddled, why he was as sober as a
judge, and warn’t no more like a Polly than this pewter pot’s like a
wooden platter.

“Well, d’ye see, there the boarders continued exercising; for we had a
west-country sergeant who had received instruction in the horse-guards,
but he turned foot-sodger and came to sea, and so he was appointed to
teach the men upon a new system. A tyrannical upstart fellow he was,
too; and nobody liked him. ‘Mind,’ says he, ‘when I say sooards, thee
mustn’t draa, but only handle thee’s sooard for ready; but when I say
draa sooards, thee must lug them out t’ scabbard:’ and so he kept on
posing us, till we all wished him at ould Nick. At last we came to the
cuts and guards: the first was all very well; but we could make nothing
of the guards; for if a sailor, in boarding, stands like a doctor to
pick and choose what limb to dissect, it would soon be all dickey with
him. Straight forward work’s the best, and soonest over. ‘Now,’ says
he, ‘if the enemy should cut at thee leg, thee must draa it back, and
then thee wult be able to strike him down by the head, thus,’--showing
the position. Howsomever, we could not scrape as he did; and so he
got into a terrible passion. ‘Thee be a pack of fools,’ said he. ‘Now
mind, as soon as I draa my leg back, I strike thus; and the enemy will
fall!’ So saying, with the roll of the ship, he made a step back,
when unfortunately--the scuttle was open behind him--down he went and
disappeared in an instant. ‘And the enemy will fall!’ cried Bill,
imitating him; while all hands, officers, ladies and all, burst into a
roar of laughter. ‘Yo hoy, sergeant,’ bellowed Bill, down the scuttle,
‘where are you, my hearty? An’t you coming up again? Here we are all
waiting to put the enemy to flight.’--But Mr. sergeant had had enough
of it for that day, and slunk quietly to his berth.

“I remembers another time, in a six-and-thirty, when we engaged a
Spanish frigate, and a heavy one she was too; they had men in their
tops with rifles, who seemed only intent to pick out our officers.
Well, d’ye see, the two ships swung alongside, and the main yards
locked, with the Spaniard’s just abaft ours. Bill happened to be in the
main-top with two others stoppering the shrouds, and every now and then
he caught a glimpse of these fellows, laying down to load and firing
over the top-brim.

“‘My eyes! shipmates, look there,’ says he; ‘the cowardly lubbers are
bush-fighting. D--n the rigging; let’s go and clap a stopper over-all
upon them:--but, avast, avast; do you two get upon their topsail-yard;
and when you see me in the top, then come down hand over hand amongst
us.’

“Away went Bill with his brace of pistols in his belt, and
cartridge-box and cutlash by his side, along the main-yard, entirely
concealed by the folds of the enemy’s main-sail, and got unobserved
(except by those on deck) close in by the slings. The first man that
rose,--pop he had him, to the great astonishment of the rest, who could
not conceive where the shot came from; while those on deck were afraid
of firing up, lest they should injure their own people, and the roar of
the guns wouldn’t allow of a hail being heard. Bill squatted down as
unconcerned as possible, re-loaded his pistol, and presently down went
another. By this time the other two had gained the enemy’s mast-head;
and finding they could douse a few of ’em without injuring Bill, they
let fly, to the great terror of the Spaniards, who thinking themselves
bewitched, bundled out of the top down the foot-hook shrouds, where
they caught sight of Bill, when a desperate conflict ensued. He was,
however, joined by his two shipmates; while others, from both ships,
crowded up the riggings to the assistance of their several comrades.
For a few minutes the fight seemed to be transferred aloft, when a
shot from one of our main-deck guns brought down the enemy’s main-mast;
and away the combatants came flying down upon deck, where, though
severely shaken and bruised in the fall, all that were able still
continued the fight. The confusion occasioned by the falling mast was
instantly taken advantage of by our captain, who, heading the boarders,
dashed fearlessly on to the enemy’s quarter-deck. Here he found Bill
and his party at close quarters, hammering away like anchor-smiths;
but the numbers were too many to cope with, and we were compelled
to retreat. Just, however, as we had reached the sides of our own
frigate,--‘Where’s the captain? where’s the captain?’ resounded on all
sides. The Spaniards had grappled him, when Bill and his comrades again
rushed back, and brought him off in safety.

“Well, d’ye see, at it we went again like sons of thunder; when shortly
after, the ships parted and we played a game at long bowls. The enemy
had all picked men, who fought with determined resolution; but the
precision of our fire soon thinned their numbers, and orders were again
given to prepare to board.

“‘Come here, my man,’ said the captain to Bill; ‘you’re a brave fellow,
and deserve promotion: what shall I get for you?’

“‘Only a glass of grog, your honour, just to drink your honour’s
health, and success to the day,’ says Bill.

“‘Well, well,’ says the captain, ‘I see your wishes are not unbounded;
so go to my steward, and tell him to give you a bottle of rum.’

“‘Ey, ey, sir,’ answered Bill; ‘but if your honour would just let me
speak a word,--may be your honour would not be angry if I axed for a
toothful for all hands. The purser can afford it, your honour; and the
people have had cobwebs in their throats these two hours. It would give
’em a little more spirit just before boarding.’

“‘I scarce know what to say to it, my man,’ replies the skipper;
‘however, send the purser’s steward here.’

“The steward came, and a tub of grog was soon mixed upon the
main-deck, and equally as soon despatched. ‘All ready,’ was now heard
fore-and-aft, when the helm was put up. ‘Stand by, my boys, as we pass
under his stern,’ cried the captain: ‘point your guns well; pour it
into him; and then follow me.’

“The Spaniards seemed to be aware of our intention; for they
immediately hove all aback; but they could not accomplish their object,
while we came easily round upon his quarter, and gave him a whole
raking broadside double-shotted. All hands rushed from below; and, in
less than two minutes, scoured the enemy’s decks; while Bill and a
party broke in the cabin-windows, and dashed forward on the main-deck,
bearing down all before them. The two captains met, and science was
instantly called into play, while for a few minutes both parties seemed
to pause, as if the victory depended on the conqueror; but a Spaniard,
unnoticed, levelled his musket at our captain, and the ball lodged in
his hand. The sword instantly dropped, but the gallant Spaniard scorned
to take advantage; he lowered the point of his weapon, and flew to
another part of the deck.

“Again the battle closed, and each fought with a determination to
conquer or die. At last, three British cheers resounded from abaft; and
there, upon the taffrail, stood Bill, hoisting the English colours over
the Spanish at the peak. Several Spaniards flew to resent the insult,
and the poor fellow would, no doubt, have fallen, had he not caught
hold of a little French officer in the Spanish service, and held him up
as a shield against their thrusts, till timely assistance rescued him.
This affair, however, had divided the attention of the enemy, while
it cheered up our men to fresh exertion. With one desperate rush they
cut down all before them, and in a few minutes more, the frigate was
our own. The slaughter ceased, and we were all good friends. The two
captains dined together, and ever after lived like brothers; while the
prisoners shared in our messes and partook of our grog.

“In overhauling our prize, we found she was from Buenos Ayres, with
a freight of money. So away we went into port with gold candlesticks
at each yard-arm, and at each mast-head; and as long as it lasted,
fiddles, girls, coaches,--all were in motion; till by dint of hard
labour we got rid of it, and then tossed up the anchor for more.”

I was highly entertained with these characteristic sketches of
the man-of-war’s man, and the old boys seemed delighted with the
opportunity of relating their former achievements. I was also much
pleased with the deference they seemed to pay to each other, and the
attachment which appeared to exist amongst them. The grog, however,
began to operate a little, and the question was put, “whether his
honour would like to hear a song?” Of course I acceded to any thing
that was calculated to increase their enjoyments, and one of the
younger men of the party--a marine, but blind--gave us the following
song, which my old chaperon whispered to me was one of his own making.

    “NED SPLICE was a tar as devoid of all fear
      As e’er swabb’d a deck from the spray of a sea;
    He knew every rope, and could hand, reef, and steer,--
      Book-larning, why, Lord! ’twas all dickey to he.
    Our chaplain could spin out a very fine yarn,
      And bother each man in his mess;
    Says NED, ‘My brave boys, if your duty you’d larn,
      ’Tis--succour a friend in distress.’

    “‘Ne’er get drunk!’ says the priest, with a wave of his fist,
      ‘Never swear;--never covet another man’s prog;’
    But see him next day, when he’s cheating at _whist_--
      My eyes! ’tis a storm in an ocean of grog.
    Says NED, ‘them ’ere maxims I don’t understand,
      We should practice the thing we profess;’
    While the pray’r from his heart, and the gold from his hand,
      He gives to a friend in distress.”

This song was sung with no small degree of feeling and taste. Other
songs followed, with a few characteristic observations and sentimental
touches between them, till the termination of one which had for its
burthen.

    “Thus smiling at peril, at sea or on shore,
      We box the whole compass round cheerly;
    Toss the can, boys, again;--drink the king! and what’s more,
      We’ll drink to the girls we love dearly!”

“Sweet creatures!” exclaimed Bill Jennings “I loves ’em all a little,
d’ye see; for what’s a sailor without a sweetheart? Why, he’s like
a ship without a rib,--like a mast without stays,--like a lanniard
without a dead-eye,--like a binnacle without a compass,--or a block
without a sheave. Pretty dears! they’re the very ach-me of a sailor’s
hopes,--the main-top of his heart. What, though the Turks think they’ve
got no souls, you and I, your honour, both of us know, (and which of
us doesn’t?) that they have got souls and spirits too, bless ’em! for
I take it that’s much the same thing. I’ve seen ’em of all colours and
shapes from the Hopping-tops at the Cape to the Axquemo near the North
Pole; but there’s none to beat our own countrywomen. All the Wenuses of
Italy,--all the beauties of Buss-aloney,--all the brilliant black eyes
of Spanish America, can’t box the compass with the dear little lasses
of our native land.

“Ah, I can remember the first time I fell in love, by tumbling down
the main-hatchway! ’Twas when I was with Cook, out at the Sandwich
Islands, where King Tommy-rammer and his wife came from. D’ye see, we
had been refitting the rigging, and one of the ladies of Owyhee would
be my doll-sinner; so she lent me a hand to tar the parcelling and pass
the ball; and we were as kind and as loving as two tartle-doves. Well,
I was walking near the hatch-way, when, somehow or other, I capsized,
and Lowtowchinchow, in trying to save me, gave me a shove: I cotched
hold of her, and away we went, Lowtowchinchow and I, down into the
main-hold, like a couple of cherry-bums from the clouds. The hatchway
was full of logs, and there we lay, like the babes in the wood, as
natural as life. Howsomever, there were no bones broke, so they hauled
us up again, and how could I help falling in love with her after that?
Oh, we used to talk together, she in her lingo and I in mine, like
two cats in a gutter. But what was the use on’t? the fore-topsail was
sheeted home, and away we went; I promised to write to her by the first
post, but she didn’t understand me, and so I forgot all about it next
day.

“In some parts of the world they have a way of marrying what they call
Poll-Higgamy; but, Lord love you! it’s all a cheat, d’ye mind; for
instead of having one Poll, they marry twenty; and only to go for to
think of a man having twenty wives! Howsomever, it’s all a matter of
fact; nay, some have more, and our parson used to read about Solomon
having hundreds! How a solo-man like Solomon could manage to keep ’em
all to their tethers in working ship, I can’t think for the life o’me;
but he was a wise man, and understood all manner of tongues, and so,
mayhap, he had a way of his own. Pretty dears! one’s enough in England.
But I’ve seen ’em, in the hour of peril, in the day of battle and the
storm, conquer all the weakness of their natur, and display such cool
fortitude, such heroic devotion to their husbands, as would astonish
you.

“There was poor Joe Kelson, in the old Sandwich, under Rodney, had his
wife on board when they engaged the French fleet off Martinique. She
was a timid, delicate little body, one who had been tenderly brought
up; yet she left all the luxuries of the shore, a father’s house and a
mother’s love, to brave the dangers of the ocean and share a piece of
salt junk and a biscuit with the being she loved. Ah, I can remember
her looks the morning of the action, while we stood at breakfast!
Her face was pale and her quivering lip and tearful eye told all the
anguish of her soul. Joe tried to comfort her, but ’twas useless: he
talked of honour and of glory; but what was honour and glory to a
fainting spirit? Her heart was overwhelmed, and when she came afterward
to his quarters on the lower deck, she could hardly support her
trembling frame. It was just about noon, and she brought him a bit of
dinner: they sat down upon the gun-trucks; but neither of ’em could
eat, and it was a hard task upon poor Joe to preserve his firmness. All
hands pitied them; and when they parted for the last time, there was
scarce a dry eye at the gun.

“Well, d’ye see, about half an hour afterwards we began to engage;
but there were cowards in the fleet, rank cowards, and the admiral
wasn’t properly supported; so the old Sandwich bore the brunt of the
battle, and hot enough it was, too; many a poor fellow dropt his peak
and bore up, and as is customary, were directly launched out at the
port. At last, poor Joe received a mortal wound that stretched him on
the deck. We lifted him up in our arms to carry him to the surgeons
in the cock-pit; but he opened his eyes, tried to speak, then gave
one convulsive shudder as the last death-pang parted soul and body,
and his mortal agonies were over. We stood for the port to give him a
sailor’s grave; when, just at this moment, his wife appeared close to
us. She had suffered all the tortures of suspense, till apprehension
and anxiety for her husband’s safety overcame every fear, and she stood
at our sides. The body was half out, and perhaps she would not have
recognised it but for her own handkerchief, which she had tied round
his neck. We all looked at each other, and then at her, undetermined
what to do. She stopped for an instant, and gazed at the face of her
husband, as if trying to trace the features; her eye caught the token
on his breast; she sprung forward,--but ’twas too late--the body of
poor Joe was already in the ocean-wave.

“A wild and piercing shriek followed. She ran to the spot, and would
have shared his grave, but was forcibly withheld. She looked at the
dark waters, and then tried to catch a view through the thick smoke
at the enemy’s fleet. It cleared a little; she saw the French ships
to leeward, and her spirit seemed to rise above the noise and din of
battle. The roaring of the guns, the rattling of the tackles, and the
flashes of the powder,--above all, a feeling of revenge, instead of
crushing her delicate frame, appeared to change every operation of her
heart. She watched us for some time, and no entreaty could prevail on
her to go below; till, at last, she inquired what was her husband’s
particular station; and having ascertained it, she instantly supplied
his place, and, with undaunted determination, bravely continued to
fight at the same gun during the remainder of the action. Nor was this
all; for, with the tenderness of a female bosom, she sat up with the
wounded, attended to their wants, soothed their complainings, and tried
to forget her own sorrows by relieving theirs. The brave Rodney, you
may depend upon it, didn’t forget her; and I heard that he obtained a
handsome pension to support her.

“There was Mrs. R--, the captain’s wife of the L---- frigate; though
for the matter o’that, _she_ was captain, although only rated as mate.
Ah, that was an Irish ship; captain Irish,--officers Irish,--men Irish;
the ship’s name ought to have been Pat. She dearly loved her lads,--her
boys, as she called them,--particularly Mr. O’Shaughnessy, the
first-lieutenant, though the midshipmen knew pretty well how to get
the weather-gage of her, especially when their case was in a pitiable
condition, ‘showing a beggarly account of empty bottles.’ She was a
lady, every inch of her, and used to come round the mess-deck morning,
noon, and night, to see that all hands were comfortable and happy. If
any body wanted liberty, it was only spinning a yarn to the petticoat
captain, and they had it directly. Well, d’ye see, we had orders to
sail; and so, to the great grief of all hands, Mrs. R. was obliged to
leave us, with a heavy heart and a sorrowful countenance. ‘But never
mind, boys,’ says she; ‘may be you’ll come back some day; and then,
oh!--good bye to you, my boys, and stand by your captain to the last,
like Erin’s own sons. Remember, Irishmen must never lose their laurel!’
And so we gave her three cheers as she went over the side.

“Well, after several months’ absence on a long cruise, we once more
reached Spithead, and in a day or two a pretty little yacht came
working in from St. Helen’s to the anchorage. The officers got their
glasses, and word was soon passed that our friend Mrs. R. was on board
of her. All hands crowded on deck,--not an officer or man remained
below. The captain took his station on the quarter-deck abaft, the
officers, especially the midshipmen, were more in advance, while at the
gangway stood the old master-at-arms, Michael Malone.

“Mich was a perfect original,--neither sailor nor sodger,--but a
strict disciplinarian, as all the boys in the ship could testify. He
was, in fact, the very squint-essence of an Irishman. On nine hairs of
his head was stuck a little trencher-like hat, with a roof not much
bigger than half-a-crown. Behind projected a tail-piece that would
have puzzled Hogarth. It was about nine inches long, and stretched out
from the neck in a horrorzontal direction, like a tiller shipped the
wrong way. His jacket, was of a sandy-gray-russet, embellished with
ornamental designs of all colours and shapes. Huge pockets, well filled
with rolls of paper, were prominent features, his trousers, (barring
the breaches) well patched with corderoy, and his legs were sometimes
cased in leather, that had formerly been a pair of military boots;
but now, by continual cobbling, had lost their prime-itive shape and
looked like a couple of fire-buckets. His countenance was open; for he
had a marvellous mouth, that stretched as wide as a turnpike-gate; and
his nose hung dangling down, as if to see that nothing passed through
without paying toll. But for his eyes, he had a pair of odd ones, that
gave you the most agreeable squint in the world, and made him see two
ways at once. Many a poor boy has got thrashed for quizzing him,
thinking he was looking another way.

“Well there old Mich stood, adjusting his cravat with the utmost
gravity, when Mrs. R---- came over the side. Of course every body
expected she would have walked aft to the captain; but her delight was
so great, that she no sooner got upon the deck than she caught old
Mich (being nearest) round the neck, and began kissing him like fury.
Mich, equally pleased, returned her embrace with interest, to the great
amusement of every soul, fore-and-aft. ‘Oh, my boys,--my boys,’ says
she, as soon as Mich let her get breath; ‘joy to the hour that I see
you again! Arrah! R---- dear, sure, and I’m so happy!’--So catching the
captain in her arms, she gave full evidence of the fact.

“The officers wiped their mouths and smacked their lips, expecting it
would go round, and were anticipating the salute of her sweet kiss, for
she was really a beautiful woman; but they were disappointed; for the
first moment of exquisite feeling having subsided, she became sensible
of what had passed. Howsomever, the captain laughed heartily, and
old Mich looked as if he was ready for a second edition. Mrs. R----
called him and apologized for her conduct, blushing all the time most
glowingly. ‘Och!’ says she, ‘my joy was so great that I couldn’t help
it!’

“‘Be aisey, my lady, be aisey,’ says Mich: ‘I’d do the same for your
ladyship any day, and every day. Sure didn’t I have the best of it,
then? Faith, and I did, any how; for I gave you two for one. Oh, don’t
mention it, my lady.’

“Well, and all hands had an extra allowance of grog, and Mich declared
that ’twas the happiest day of his life; for her ladyship’s two-lips
were like full-blown roses, moistened with dews; and but for his ugly
nose, that came in the way, he would have had half a dozen more.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The afternoon having by this time drawn pretty well to a close, I
rose; and having said a few words expressive of the pleasure I had
experienced in their society, with a promise to pay them another visit
before long, I took my departure amidst the hearty cheers of the old
men; and if their blessings can have any influence in smoothing the
path of life, mine would be smooth indeed.




TOM BROOKES.

    No cannon peal’d his knell,
      No shout that gain’d the day,
    Gave his frail spirit one farewell,
      To waft it on its way.
    He rush’d all life into the wave,
      And found at once his death and grave!


’Twas in the days of my boyhood, and though since that time many years
have rolled their burdens on my head,--years that, like billows on the
sand, have smoothed the traces which memory once had made, yet I can
remember the circumstances as if it was but yesterday and the tears
still wet upon my cheek; for I had known Tom Brookes from my infancy,
and he had often brought me home some curiosity from distant lands,
where the cedar and the pine-tree grow in rich luxuriance. Indeed it
was his tales of the ocean, when the spreading sail was filled to waft
the gallant ship to foreign climes, that first excited my desires to
become a sailor.

Poor Tom had been brought up in expectation of a genteel fortune,
and had been educated most scrupulously to revere a rigid sense of
virtue, and to maintain that independency of spirit, which can only
be fully appreciated by a noble mind. But ah! how soon can adversity
cloud the fairest prospects! And here it came, not like the rising
gale that gives a timely warning of its approach; no, it resembled the
wild tornado, bursting with sudden vengeance on its victim, without a
moment’s space to tell that death rides on the blast.

His father was ruined by an unforeseen reverse in trade; he could not
stand against the shock, and he sank broken-hearted to the grave,
leaving a widow and one child to mourn the unexpected change in their
prosperity, but still more to grieve for him who could never return
again.

Mrs. Brookes had a brother, who had been nearly all his life at
sea; and to him poor Tom was consigned, to brave the perils of the
briny deep. “Don’t cry, mother,” he exclaimed at the parting, “don’t
cry; I shall soon come back, and be enabled to provide for your
support. Providence may smile upon us yet, and your last days be your
best.”--“Go, my child,” replied the mother, whilst her heart swelled
almost to bursting, “go, my child; I will resign you to the merciful
care of that Being who is a father to the fatherless, and the widow’s
God and Judge.”

After his departure, poor Tom received one letter from his mother
before he sailed. It inculcated all the moral and religious duties;
requested him to peruse his bible, and near the close were the
following lines, which he committed to memory; and in after years, when
an infant sitting on his knee, he repeated them to me so often, that
they became deeply impressed upon my mind:--


TO MY SAILOR BOY.

    “When sailing on the ocean,
      In foreign climes you roam,
    Oh, think with fond emotion,
      upon your distant home;
    And never strive to smother,
      But treasure up with joy,
    Remembrance of a mother,
      Who loves her Sailor Boy.

    When thunders loud are roaring,
      And vivid lightning flies,
    The rain in torrents pouring,
      Sleep will depart my eyes;
    Tears will bedew my pillow,
      You all my thoughts employ,
    Tossed on the angry billow
      A little Sailor Boy.

    Kind Providence protect you,
      And bring you back again;
    Your mother will expect you,
      Safe from the troubled main.
    No, Heaven will not distress me,
      The widow’s hope destroy;
    Return once more to bless me,
      My little Sailor Boy.”

In the course of a few years, Tom became mate of a fine ship in the
merchants’ service, and his efforts seemed crowned with success.
He enjoyed the sweet satisfaction of seeing his mother comfortably
situated, and his heart whispered it was the reward of virtue.

But who can arraign the will of Heaven, or say to Omnipotence, “What
doest thou?” War with all its attendant horrors broke out, and the
cruel system of impressment was adopted for the purpose of manning our
fleets.

At this critical juncture, Tom received information that his parent was
rapidly hastening to the mansions of immortality,--“where the wicked
cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.” He had recently
arrived in England full of joyous anticipation; but he found the
silver cord of existence was loosened, and the golden bowl dashed from
his lips:--he reached his home just time enough to receive the last
farewell benediction of his dying mother.

Before the earth had closed over the remains of his parent,--before she
had become mingled with the clods of the valley, the press-gangs were
actively on the alert, and poor Tom fell into their hands. No time was
allowed to lay his mother in the silent grave;--he kissed the clay-cold
bosom on which he had hung in infancy, and with stern serenity yielded
himself a prisoner. He loved his country, and would not have shrunk
from its service in the hour of battle; but at such a moment to be
forced away!--it was draining the cup of anguish to the very dregs.

At this period I had commenced my career as a sailor, and was then
lying in a ship of war at Plymouth under sailing-orders for a foreign
station, but waiting for a full complement of hands;--indeed, men were
so scarce, that some of the ablest felons had been selected from the
jails to make up the crews.

I was walking the deck, when a party of these convicts came alongside
with a draught of seamen from the flag-ship, and among the latter I
recognised Tom Brookes; he was dressed in deep black, and his fine and
manly countenance betrayed the indignation and agony that struggled in
his heart. Surely it was impossible to mistake his character, for when
called before the captain he behaved with a gentlemanly respect that
commanded admiration. But Captain S----[4] was one of those (happily
there were but very few in the service) who were tyrannical and brutal
by nature; and when poor Tom approached, he exclaimed, “Well, fellow,
whose pocket have you been picking?”

[4] He was afterwards dismissed by the navy for cruelty.

Surely this might have been spared; for Tom’s countenance was an index
to an honest and an upright mind; his attire was most respectable, and
every action bespoke the experienced seaman. Never shall I forget his
look; it showed the conflicting struggles of a proud spirit; but it
was only for a moment. He fixed his steady gaze upon the inquirer, who
shrank before it. Captain S---- seemed to read his thoughts, and he was
a man that never forgave.

A boatswain’s-mate was directed to cut off the tails of his coat,[5]
so as to render it more like a seaman’s jacket. The man approached,
but this coat was the mourning he wore for his mother, and bitter
recollections crossing his mind, he threw the boatswain’s-mate from
him to the opposite side of the deck. This was considered an act of
mutiny, and poor Tom was put in irons, with his legs stapled to the
deck. Being, however, a good seaman, his services were required; so
that he was shortly afterwards released, and sent to do his duty on the
forecastle.

[5] This was a common practice in the service when men were first
impressed.

We sailed in a few days, and after being some time at sea, the captain
remembering what had taken place in harbour, ordered poor Tom, by
way of punishment, to perform most of the menial offices of his
station, and at length insisted on his executing the most degrading
duty in a ship of war,--that of sweeping the decks. This he refused
with a respectful firmness; and in that he certainly was wrong, for
obedience is the first test of duty--no matter from what motive the
order proceeds, and in refusing to obey, Tom acted improperly as a
seaman; but who can condemn him, having the feelings of a man? His
refusal, however, was of no avail; the broom was lashed by small cords
to his hands, and a boatswain’s-mate stood ready with a rope’s end to
enforce command. Tom obstinately declared that he would die rather than
submit to unmerited oppression; the blows fell heavy on his back, but
they could not change the purpose of the heart. In the moment of his
anguish, whilst smarting from the stripes, but writhing still more with
inward torture that bowed his spirit, he uttered some severe invectives
upon the tyranny of his commander. The hands were immediately turned
up, the gratings were seized to the gangway, and poor Tom was ordered
to strip for flogging. Resistance was useless, his outspread arms
and extended legs were lashed to the gratings, and after reading the
Articles of War for disobedience of orders, the captain directed the
boatswain’s-mate to give him two dozen.

This was not the first time I had witnessed punishment at the gangway,
for scarcely a day had passed without it since my joining the ship.
But poor Tom had been my early friend; I called to mind the happy hours
we had passed together, and now to see him with his back lacerated and
bleeding, the cat o’ nine tails cutting deep into his flesh,--oh, it
was too much for me to endure, and I fell at the captain’s feet. He
spurned me from him, and the first dozen having been given, a fresh
boatswain’s-mate was called to give the second.

Tom never flinched; he remained immovable as a rock, and the only
indication of bodily pain, was occasionally a contraction of the
muscles of his face,--a deeper, an all-absorbing agony seemed to have
triumphed over mere corporeal suffering,--an agony arising from the
desperate struggles of his soul. I looked at the countenances of the
men, but the generality seemed to have sunk into a settled apathy, and
only a few, who had recently joined us from the Barfleur, displayed
the workings of determined minds. They gazed at each other and tried
to catch the sentiments of the crew; and it was plain, that had a
corresponding feeling animated the whole, consequences the most fatal
and desperate must have ensued. But the ship’s company had not been
long together, and mutual distrust prevented an open declaration of
discontent.

The flogging ceased, and poor Tom was consigned to the master-at-arms,
and his legs once more fixed in the shackles. I tried to approach
him, but was prevented by the marine who stood sentinel over him; my
attempt was not however unnoticed, and the unfortunate victim gave me
a look, and even a smile of grateful acknowledgment. Ah! then my heart
sunk within me. I retired to the dark recess of the cable-tier,[6] and
gave vent to my tears,--for what could a child in his twelfth year do
to save the sufferer from the strong arm of power? I consoled myself
with the idea that Tom would soon be released, but in this too I was
mistaken; for on the following morning he persisted in his refusal to
sweep the decks, was again seized up to the gangway, and two dozen
lashes more were inflicted upon his already scored and mangled back.

[6] The place where the cables are coiled away.

The torture was beyond human endurance, and though no shriek betrayed
the anguish of the smart, yet a convulsive spasm too clearly indicated
the rending of the wounds. Still his firmness did not forsake him, and
whilst the cat fell heavy on his shoulders, he remonstrated with his
persecutor, and appealed to the officers whether he had not always
performed his duty. No voice was raised in his behalf, though looks
spoke, as forcibly as looks could speak, the detestation of every
one for such merciless cruelty. At this moment, Will Scott stepped
from among the assembled crew; he looked wildly upon his shipmates,
particularly upon his old messmates, the Barfleurs; but all remained
motionless as statues, and he resumed his station. Again the lash
descended, and again the instrument of punishment was stained with the
blood of the wretched man. Imprecations on the captain burst from his
lips, and madness seemed to dictate his wild incoherent ravings; he was
no longer passive, his mind gave way, and at the last stroke he hung
senseless by the cords which bound his wrists to the gratings.

He was cast loose, and on his reviving, was again shackled in the
irons, with the promise of a renewal of punishment on the morrow if
he still disobeyed. In fact, the captain found his authority was at
stake; he saw that he had excited disaffection; he knew that the
principal portion of his crew (many of them desperate characters,) were
not to be trusted, and the very men on whom he placed reliance--the
Barfleurs--were disgusted with his treatment. To have receded, he
considered, would have been an acknowledgment of error, and one
triumph of the people would have been the prelude to more humiliating
concessions. Thus he argued, and his very existence seemed to depend
upon the issue.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was one of those beautiful evenings in June, when the setting sun
upon the verge of the horizon tinges the whole expanse of ocean with
its golden brightness, that I stood upon the forecastle contemplating
the glories of creation, and presumptuously arraigning Divine
Providence for what I foolishly deemed an unequal distribution of good
and ill. The seamen were formed in groupes along the gangway and waist,
and the officers were pacing the larboard side of the quarter-deck,
leaving the starboard side to the captain, who walked sullenly and
alone. The lieutenant of the watch stood on the gangway, and did not
join him; and there he strode, pale discontent upon his cheek and keen
mistrust in the restless glancing of his eye.

The evening was indeed lovely, and calculated to calm the raging
passions of the soul. The sea was beautifully smooth, the sails slept
deep and still, and though scarcely a breath was felt, yet the breeze
upon the quarter was carrying the vessel almost imperceptibly at the
rate of five knots[7] an hour. I was but a boy,--a mere child, and
whilst looking at the mild blue sky I thought of my home and of my
mother. Poor Tom, too, he whose arms had cradled me in infancy! but
what could I do? Whilst my thoughts were thus occupied, a marine with
his drawn bayonet appeared ascending the fore-ladder; close behind came
poor Tom Brookes, and every tongue was hushed. The captain caught sight
of him and stopped; the officers continued their walk, but their eager
gaze alternately changed from the captain to the suffering victim of
his austerity; but no voice gave utterance to thought.

[7] Five miles.

Poor Tom, I think I see him now! Ah! well do I remember the ghastly
dolor of his look as he approached me; his eyes cast down, and his
whole thoughts apparently rivetted on one object alone,--but it is
impossible to describe it. I touched his arm, for nature spoke within
me, and I could not help it. He paused for one moment, and a roseate
flush suffused his cheeks; he seized my hand, and I felt that his was
burning. I looked in his face, it was lightened up by a smile--but such
a smile! It struck me he was thinking of his mother.

“Henry,” he said, whilst grasping my hand, “Henry, your parents! Do
me justice, I ask no more.” He drew his hand away, passed it over my
face as he was wont to do when I was an infant, and as his features
contracted with a long convulsive sob he added, “Henry, your mother!
Be good, be kind, be dutiful!” and turning round, he walked forward to
the bows.[8]

[8] The head of a ship.

I felt as if something was strangling me; my blood rushed to my head,
and a dread of I knew not what sickened my very soul. A death-like
stupor pervaded my faculties; but I was aroused from this state by the
voice of the marine shouting “A man overboard! a man overboard!” The
truth flashed upon my mind, and as the ship rounded-to (for the helm
was instantly put down) I ran to the lee cat-head,[9] and saw the dark
body as it sank in the gurgling eddy which the plunge had made. Yes, it
was Tom Brookes, and he never rose again. Some heavy shot were missing
from the place where he had been confined, and these he had no doubt
concealed about his person to facilitate the work of destruction. Poor
Tom, the waters closed above his head, and who can read his doom!

[9] A piece of timber projecting from the bows, by which the anchor is
hoisted up for security.

May my young readers learn, from his untimely end, to temper judgment
with mercy; and if power should ever be placed in their hands, to
receive it as a sacred deposit for which they must render an account.
May they use, but not abuse it; for a day is coming when the oppressor
and the oppressed will meet before the same tribunal; when the
individuals of whom I have been writing will stand with them at the bar
of Omnipotence, and hear the sentence of that Judge from whose tribunal
there is no appeal!




DADDY DAVY, THE NEGRO.

    “A negro has a soul, an please your honour, said the corporal,
    (_doubtingly_.)

    I am not much versed, corporal, said my Uncle Toby, in things
    of that kind; but I suppose God would not leave him without
    one, any more than thee or me.”

                                                             STERNE.


“I have now no written memorandums of the storms, the battles, the
scenes which I have witnessed; no description of the beautiful shores
of the Mediterranean, the ice-bound rocks of Greenland, the burning
regions of the torrid zone, or the mild and salubrious climate of the
Rio de la Plata. In my youth I trusted to a retentive memory, little
thinking that time and the cares of the world would obliterate the
recollection of past events.”

Such was the apostrophe of my worthy grandfather, a veteran captain
in his Majesty’s navy, one winter evening, when a little orphan in my
seventh year I climbed upon his knee (which he always called one of his
timbers) and begged very hard that he would tell me some pretty story.
The candles were not yet lighted in the parlour; but the glowing fire
sent forth its red blaze, and its cheering heat seemed ten times more
grateful from a heavy fall of snow, which was rapidly collecting in
piles of fleecy whiteness on the lawn.

My grandfather was a man of a kindly and compassionate heart; and
though I used to play him many a sly trick and sometimes grieve his
spirit, yet he was always lenient to my failings; and now that he lies
in yonder village churchyard, this often causes me a pang of unfeigned
contrition for the past. It was my chief delight to hear him tell of
the roaring of the guns when ships met in deadly strife, or the howling
of the winds when the bitter tempest and the raging sea threatened
destruction to the mariner; and he would so mingle his stories with the
generous sympathies of his nature, that many a night has sleep dried
the tears from my eyes as I lay on my pillow after retiring to bed.

I had taken my favourite seat on the evening I have mentioned, just
as a poor negro with scarcely any covering appeared at the window
and supplicated charity. His dark skin was deeply contrasted with
the unblemished purity of the falling snow, whilst his trembling
limbs seemed hardly able to support his shivering frame; and there he
stood, the child of an injured race, perishing in the land of boasted
hospitality and freedom!

With all the active benevolence which my grandfather possessed,
he still retained the usual characteristics of the hardy seaman.
He discouraged every thing that bore the smallest resemblance to
indolence. The idle vagrant dared not approach his residence; but he
prized the man of industrious habits, however lowly his station, and
his influence was ever extended to aid the destitute and to right the
injured. On his first going to sea, he had been cabin boy on board
a Liverpool ship, which was engaged in that horrible traffic--the
Slave-trade; and towards the poor anathematized descendants of Ham he
had already imbibed erroneous prejudices, which after-years could not
wholly eradicate though they were chiefly manifested in the unmeaning
jokes so common among British sailors. He had also held an official
appointment for several years in the island of Trinidad, where the
negroes were more rigorously treated than in any other part of the West
Indies, and where their debased condition rendered them more depraved
in their habits and more treacherous in their actions. In England,
however, the very colour of the skin is a passport to commiseration,
and my grandfather no sooner saw the dark countenance of the perishing
creature than he hastily rang the bell, and a footman entering,
“Robert,” said he, “go and bring yon pale-face here directly.”

“Pale face, did you say, sir?” inquired the man.

“Yes, yes,” replied my grandfather, “yon black fellow; fetch him hither
to me.”

The servant quitted the room, and it was not without some feelings of
fear, as well as hopes of amusement, that a few minutes afterwards I
saw the poor African stand bowing at the parlour door. The twilight had
faded away, and except the reflection from the snow, night had thrown
its sable shadows on the scene; but as the bright gleam of the fire
shed its red hue upon the jetty features of the negro and flashed upon
his rolling eyes, he presented rather a terrific appearance to my young
mind.

“Come in!” exclaimed my grandfather in a shrill voice; but the poor
fellow stood hesitatingly on the borders of the carpet till the command
was repeated with more sternness than before, and then the trembling
African advanced a few steps towards the easy chair in which the
veteran was sitting. Never shall I forget the abject figure which the
poor black displayed. He was a tall large-boned man, but was evidently
bent down under the pressure of sickness and of want rather than age.
A pair of old canvass trousers hung loosely on his legs, but his feet
were quite naked. On the upper part of his body was a striped flannel
shirt, one of the sleeves of which was torn away; he had no covering
for his head, and the snow which had fallen on it having melted in
the warmth of the room, large transparent drops of clear water hung
glistening on his thick woolly hair. His look was inclined downwards,
as if fearful of meeting the stern gaze of my grandfather, who scanned
him with the most minute attention not unmingled with agitation. Every
joint of the poor fellow’s limbs shook as if struck with ague, and the
cold seemed to have contracted his sinews; for he crouched his body
together, as if to shrink from the keen blast. Tears were trickling
down his cheeks, and his spirit seemed bowed to the earth by distress.

“Don’t stand showing your ivories[10] there,” said my grandfather;
“but tell me, sir, what brought you to England, and what you mean by
strolling about the country here as a beggar? I have a great mind to
order you to be put in the stocks.”

[10] Ivories is a common term among the negroes for teeth.

“Ah, massa!” replied the negro, “Buckra[11] neber hab stocks for
nigger-man in dis country; yet nigger-man die, if massa neber give him
something for fill hungry belly.”

[11] White man.

Whilst he was speaking, my grandfather was restless and impatient. He
removed me from his knee and looked with more intense eagerness at the
black, who never raised his head. “But we have beggars enough of our
own nation,” said the veteran, “without having a swarm of black beetles
to eat up the produce of our industry.”

“Massa speak for true,” replied the African meekly; “distress lib every
where; come like race-horse, but go away softly, softly.”

Again my grandfather scanned the dark features of the negro, and showed
signs of agitation in his own. “Softly! Softly!” said he, imitating
the black; “that’s just your negro cant! I know the whole gang of you;
but you are not going to deceive me. Why, sirrah! I know you would
sacrifice me and all I am worth for a bunch of plantains.”[12]

[12] The plantain is a fruit which when ripe is very sweet; but roasted
when green, it resembles a chesnut in taste. It is a general article of
food instead of bread in the West Indies.

“Massa hab eat de plantains den,” responded the black; “and yet massa
tink hard of poor nigger who work for make ’em grow. Gor Amighty send
rain,--Gor Amighty send sun: but Gor Amighty send poor nigger too.”

“Well, well,” said my grandfather, softening his voice to its
accustomed tone of mildness; “the Omnipotent is no respecter of
colours, and we must not let you be put in the stocks till the
morning, daddy;[13] so Robert, tell the cook to get some warm broth for
this shivering piece of ebony; and bid her bear a hand about it.”

[13] Daddy is a familiar term of kindness used by the male negroes
to each other, as “Aunty” is used by the females; and it is nothing
uncommon to hear children, as soon as they can talk, calling one
another, “daddy” and “aunty.”

“Gor Amighty for eber bless massa!” exclaimed the negro; and his
countenance underwent an instantaneous change, as he listened to the
order, and keenly directed his eye towards the person who had issued
it; but my grandfather had turned his head towards me, so that his face
was concealed from the grateful black.

“So, I suppose you are some runaway slave,” said my grandfather harshly.

“No, massa,” rejoined the African, more assured; “no massa, me neber
run away; I free man. Good buckra gib freedom; but den I lose kind
massa, and--”

“Ay, ay,” replied my grandfather, interrupting him. “I think you said
something about Plantation Josef, in Trinidad?”

“Ky!” responded the negro as his eyes were bent upon his interrogator,
who again concealed his face; “de buckra sabby [knows] ebery ting; him
like angel of light for know de secret of de heart.”

“Come nearer the fire, Daddy Davy,” said my grandfather, as he extended
his hand to the poker and bent down his body to stir the burning coals.

Never shall I forget the look of the African; joy, wonder, and
admiration were pictured on his countenance as he exclaimed, whilst
advancing forward, “De buckra know my name too! How dis?”

My grandfather having rekindled a bright flame that illuminated the
whole room, turned his face carelessly towards the black; but no sooner
had the poor fellow caught sight of his features, than throwing himself
at his feet, he clasped the old man’s knees, exclaiming, “My own massa!
what for you give Davy him life? what for you give Davy him freedom?
and now de poor nigger die for want! But no!” checking himself, “neber
see de day for go dead, now me find my massa!”

“Confound the cold!” said my grandfather, thrusting his thumb and
forefinger to his eyes, “how it makes one’s eyes run! William, my boy,”
turning to me, “fetch that pocket handkerchief off the sofa.”

I immediately obeyed, and felt as if the cold had affected me too;
for I employed my grandfather’s handkerchief two or three times to
wipe the trickling drops from my face, before I delivered it into his
hands. At this moment the footman opened the door to say that the broth
was ready, but stood transfixed with amazement at seeing the half-naked
black at his master’s feet.

“Go, Davy,” said my grandfather, “go, and get some food; and Robert,
tell the cook to have a warm bath ready, and the housemaid must run a
pan of coals over the little bed in the blue room, and put some extra
blankets on. You can sleep without a night-cap, I dare say, Davy; and,
Robert, tell the butler to give you a bottle of Madeira; simmer half
of it over the fire, and when heated beat up an egg in it,--it will be
better than cold sangaree, Davy; and d’ye hear, Robert, grate a little
nutmeg on the top, and carry it to the pale face as soon as he gets
into bed. There, go along, Davy, go along!” and the gratified negro
left the room with unfeigned ejaculations of “Gor Amighty for eber
bless kind massa!”

As soon as the door was closed, and I was once more seated on my
grandfather’s knee, he commenced his usual practice of holding converse
with himself. “What can have brought him here?” said he; “I gave him
his freedom and a piece of land to cultivate. There was a pretty hut
upon it, too, with a double row of cocoa-nut trees in front, and a
garden of plantains behind, and a nice plot of guinea grass for a
cow, and another of buckwheat:--what has become of it all, I wonder?
Bless me, how time flies! It seems but the other day that I saved the
fellow from a couple of bullets, and he repaid the debt by rescuing my
Betsy--ah, poor dear! She was your mother, William, and he snatched
her from a dreadful and terrific fate. How these things crowd upon my
mind! The earthquake shook every building to its foundation, the ground
yawned in horrible deformity, and your poor mother--we can see her
grave-stone from the drawing-room window, you know, for she died since
we have been here, and left her old father’s heart a dreary blank.
Yet not so, either, my child,” pressing me to his breast and laying
his hoary head on mine, “not so, either; for she bequeathed you to my
guardian care, and you are now the solace of my gray hairs.”

“But the earthquake, grandpapa,” said I, “the earthquake.”

“And your poor father,” continued he, absorbed in his subject, “as
brave a lad as ever broke a king’s biscuit, to become a prey to the
sharks, with the ocean for his grave!--but there, don’t cry, my boy,
don’t cry; you shall never be wrecked upon a lee shore whilst I can
keep you afloat; and when this old hull is stowed away in the ground
tier, I shall leave you to the protection of Him, who gives the fleecy
coat to the tender lamb and feeds the young ravens when they cry. But
it puzzles me a little to think how this black rogue got to England,
and what he can have come for. He was a faithful servant, that Davy,
and I picked him up in a strange way too,--a very strange way,--for
in another half hour he would have been food for the fishes. It was
in ninety-eight I commanded the Zephyr sloop of war. We were cruising
off the river Plate, when a schooner hove in sight and showed American
colours; so I bore up to speak to her, and just as we got within
hail we heard the report of firearms, and saw a negro fall from the
schooner’s side into the water. At first I thought it was some poor
wretch relieved from his earthly misery whom they were burying. As
he sank in the ocean, the billow closed over his dark form, but the
next instant he rose struggling on the surface of the wave, and the
white foam around him assumed a red and gory tinge. Again he sank,
and again the sea rolled smoothly on; but that poor murdered wretch
arose no more. We were now close to the schooner, and I commanded her
crew to heave-to for a boat, which after some hesitation they obeyed.
Curiosity, and perhaps a little compassion, induced me to visit the
schooner; but oh, what a scene of horror presented itself! I have
witnessed in my youth enough to make my heart callous, if any thing
could, but this exceeded all I had ever seen. The schooner had a cargo
of slaves from the coast of Africa; but not men,--not women--no, no;
there were ninety-seven little children, from four to twelve years of
age, in the most horrid and emaciated condition. The space in which
they were kept was so confined that they could scarcely sit upright;
and having nothing but rough planks to lie on, the rolling of the
vessel had chafed their joints into wounds; they looked as if perishing
with hunger. You shudder, boy, and well you may. The helpless creatures
were ranged upon the deck, and close by the gangway lay four young
men, wounded and in fetters, but who did not seem otherwise much the
worse for the voyage. Another was placed astride the gunwale, with his
arms pinioned behind him. Seated on the companion abaft, appeared a
stout tall man in a white shirt deeply stained with blood; his head was
bandaged with new cotton, through which the blood was still oozing;
his left arm was bound up, and he seemed to have suffered in some
desperate conflict. This was the captain; and the crew, more or less
hurt, showing visible marks of a recent fight, stood near, and every
one displayed strong indications of intemperance. On the hencoop, by
the captain’s side, lay a long-barrelled pistol; the fellow to it was
grasped in his right hand, and with the rolling eye of intoxication he
first glanced at the instrument of death, and then at the poor wretch
who sat with an unmoved countenance on the gunwale. ‘You are just come
in time, sir,’ said the captain, ‘to witness an act of justice; for I
guess, though you have got the British bunting[14] at the peak, you
come from the land of the stripes and stars.[15] But you shall see,
sir, how cleverly I’ll put a brace of balls through that mutinous
rascal.’ He raised the pistol to a level with his eye; his fore-finger
was on the trigger, when I hastily struck it up with my hand, and the
bullets whistled over the negro’s head without doing him any injury.
But he had experienced only cruelty from white men; he had expected
death, and could not suppose that one of the fair-skinned race would
rescue him from the fate of his companion. As soon as he heard the
report of the pistol, he fell forward on his face; but my boat’s crew
ran, and saved him from going overboard. ‘What is the meaning of all
this?’ said I, ‘thou disgrace to manhood. I am a British officer, and
to me you shall be accountable for your demoniac conduct. What has
that poor creature done? and these too on the deck? Release them my
men,’ and my boat’s crew had soon broken off their fetters.

[14] Bunting is the stuff of which flags are made.

[15] The captain thought the vessel was in the service of the United
States, their colours being striped red and white, except the upper
quarter next the staff, which is blue, and bears as many stars as there
are states in the Union.

“The negro, whom I had saved from the murderous intention of the
captain, could not exactly comprehend the scene; but when he found that
he was safe and knew me for his deliverer, he clung round my knees--ay,
just as the fellow did to-night, for it was no other than Davy himself.
But I can’t think what brings him here to England away from the pretty
hut, and the cocoa-nut trees, and the guinea grass.”

“But what became of the little black children, grandpapa?” inquired I,
“and the other four men, and the wicked captain? and where did you take
Davy to? and--”

“Stop, stop, child!” said my grandfather; “don’t overhaul your
questions so fast, and I’ll tell you, for the sight of the dog is a
memorandum one cannot meet with every day. The captain had freighted
his schooner at Loando, in the Congo country, with one hundred and
thirty male and female children, and six fine young men. Thirty-three
of the children had died on the passage, and been thrown overboard. The
crew of the schooner fearing nothing from the poor emaciated innocents
and trusting to the half-starved weakness of the young men, indulged
in drinking to excess. But to the surprise of the captain, these
latter began to recover their sleek and healthy appearance, and he
was calculating upon getting a handsome price for them in the market;
when the very night before I fell in with the schooner, the young men
rose upon the crew, they attacked the captain in his bed, and inflicted
several severe wounds on his body and head. But what could these poor
creatures do against a superior force, who were well acquainted with
the use of arms? The negroes were overpowered and put in irons; and the
wretched man, whom we had seen shot before getting along-side, was the
ringleader. But now, mark me, my boy; on inquiry, I discovered that the
plan had been a long time in agitation, and these injured and devoted
children had daily set apart a portion of their own very scanty food,
to strengthen the men for the enterprise. Most of them knew of the
attempt, yet none betrayed the secret. I bought Davy of the captain,
and went up the Plate as far as I could, (for the schooner was bound to
Monte Video,) and then was compelled to quit her, for she was under the
flag of a neutral power: besides our own country was then engaged in
the same traffic.”

“And what became of the children, grandpapa?”

“All sold into slavery, my dear.”

“And Davy, grandpapa?”

“I took him with me: but what he has done with the hut and the plantain
ground, I can’t tell.”

“And the earthquake; grandpapa?” for I had not forgotten that.

“You want to know every thing, boy, and you forget that my memory fails
me; however, I’ll try and recollect that too for some other night; but
you must go to bed now, and to-morrow Davy will tell you all about it.”

I afterwards learned that Davy had rescued my poor dear mother from
destruction at the risk of his own life during an earthquake in
Trinidad, for which my grandfather had given him his freedom, together
with the hut and land. But the free black had no protection in the
west: the slaves plundered his property; sickness came, and no medical
attendant would minister to his wants without his accustomed fee; he
contracted debts, and his ground was sold to the estate on which it
was situated to pay the lawyers. He quitted the island of Trinidad to
go to Berbice; but being wrecked near Mahaica Creek, on the east coast
of Demerara, he lost his free papers, was seized by the government,
and sold as a slave to pay the expenses of advertising and his keep.
He fortunately fell into the hands of a kind master, who at his death
once more set him at liberty, and he had come to England in the hope
of bettering his condition. But here misfortune still pursued him; the
gentleman whom he accompanied died on the passage; he could obtain
no employment on his landing; he had been plundered of what little
money he possessed, and had since wandered about the country, till the
evening that he implored charity and found a home.

My worthy grandfather is now numbered with the dead; and I love to sit
upon his grave-stone at the evening hour: it seems as if I were once
more placed upon his knee and listening to his tales of by-gone years.
But Daddy Davy is still in existence and living with me; indeed whilst
I have been writing I have had occasion to put several questions to
him on the subject, and he has been fidgetting about the room to try
and ascertain what I was relating respecting him. “I am only giving a
_sketch_ of my grandfather, Davy,” said I.

“_Catch_, massa! what he call _catch_?”

“About the schooner, and Trinidad, and the earthquake, Davy.”

“And da old massa what sleep in da _Werk-en-rust_?”[16]

[16] Werk-en-rust, literally work-and-rest, is the name given to the
burying-ground at Demerara; but here it is meant to apply generally to
all places of sepulture.

“Yes, Davy, and the snow-storm.”

“Ah, da buckra good man! Davy see him noder time up dere,” pointing
towards the sky; “Gor Amighty for eber bless kind massa!”


                             END OF VOL. I.




Transcriber’s Note


 - Punctuation and other obvious typographic inaccuracies were silently
   corrected.

 - Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

 - Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.

 - Text in italics is enclosed by _underscores_.

 - Text in small capitals converted to ALL CAPS.

 - Footnotes relocated close to the relevant material.


Correction

 - Footnote 4 (p. 149), “dismissed the navy” to “dismissed by the navy”