PORTSMOUTH IN TIME OF PEACE.
Where now are the frolicsome care-killing souls,
With their girls and their fiddlers, their dances and bowls?
Where now are the blue jackets, once on our shore
The promoters of merriment, spending their store?
Where now are our tars in these dull piping times?
Laid up like old hulks, or enlisted in climes
Where the struggle for liberty calls on the brave,
The Peruvians, the Greeks, or Brazilians to save
From the yoke of oppression—there, Britons are found
Dealing death and destruction to tyrants around;
For wherever our tars rear the banner of fame,
They are still the victorious sons of the main.
A Trip to Portsmouth on board the Medina Steam-Boat—The
Change from War to Peace—Its Consequences—The Portsmouth
Greys—The Man of War's Man—Tom Tackle and his Shipmate—
Lamentation of a Tar—The Hero Cochrane—An old
Acquaintance—Reminiscences of the past—Sketches of Point-
Street and Gosport Beach—Naval Anecdotes—"A Man's like a
Ship on the Ocean of Life."
"Bear a hand, old fellow!" said Horace Eglantine one morning, coming down the companion hatchway of the Rover: "if you have any mind for a land-cruise, let us make Portsmouth to-day on board the steamer, while our yacht goes up the harbour to get her copper polished and her rigging overhauled." In earlier days, while yet the light-heartedness of youth and active curiosity excited my boyish spirit, I had visited Portsmouth, and the recollection of the scenes I then witnessed was still fresh upon my memory. The olive-branch of peace now waved over the land of my fathers; and while the internal state of the country, benefited by its healing balm, flourished, revived, invigorated and prosperous, Portsmouth and Gosport, and such like sea-ports, were almost deserted, and the active bustle and variety which but now reigned among their inhabitants had given way to desolation and abandonment: at least such was the account I had received from recent visitors. I was, therefore, anxious from observation to compare the present with the past; and, with this view, readily met the invitation of my friend Horace Eglantine. The voyage from Cowes to Portsmouth on board the steam-boat, performed, as it now is, with certainty, in about an hour and a half, is a delightful excursion; and the appearance of the entrance to the harbour from sea, a most picturesque and imposing scene. The fortifications, which are considered the most complete in the world, stretching from east to west, on either side command the sea far as the cannons' power can reach. Nor is the harbour less attractive, flanked on each side by the towns of Gosport and Portsmouth, and filled with every description of vessel from the flag-ship of England's immortal hero, Nelson, which is here moored in the centre, a monument of past glory, to the small craft of the trader, and the more humble ferry-boat of the incessant applicant, who plys the passenger with his eternal note of "Common Hard, your honour."
One of my companions on board the Medina was an old man of war's man, whose visage, something of the colour and hardness of dried salmon, sufficiently indicated that the possessor had weathered many a trying gale, and was familiar with all the vicissitudes of the mighty deep. With the habitual roughness of his manners was combined a singular degree of intelligence, and he evinced a disposition to be communicative, of which I found it very agreeable to avail myself. On approaching the harbour, my attention was arrested by the sight of a number of boats rowed by men arrayed in a grotesque uniform of speckled jackets, whose freights, to judge from appearances, must have been of no common weight, as the rowers seemed compelled to use a degree of exertion little inferior to that employed by galley-slaves. I inquired of my nautical Mentor who these men were, and in what description of service they were occupied. "Them, master," replied he, releasing the quid from his mouth, and looking with his weather-eye unutterable things; "they are the Portsmouth Greys." My countenance spoke plainly enough that this reply had by no means made me au fait to the subject of my question, and my informant accordingly proceeded—"Shiver my timbers, mate, they are as rum a set, them boat's crews, as ever pulled an oar—chaps as the public keeps out of their own pocket for the public good; and it's been but just a slip, as one may say, between the cup and the lip, as has saved a good many on 'em from being run up to the yard-arm. Some on 'em forgot to return things as they found rather too easy, and some, instead of writing their own name, by mistake wrote somebody's else's; so government sent 'em here, at its own charge, to finish their edication. You see the floating academy as is kept a purpose for 'em," said he, pointing to the receiving-hulk for the convicts at this station, which was lying in the harbour: "them as is rowing in the boats," added the talkative seaman, "has been a getting stones, and ballast, and such like, for the repairs of the harbour; they does all the rough and dirty jobs as is to be done about the works and place—indeed, we calls 'em the Port Admiral's skippers." I now fully understood the import of the term Portsmouth Greys, which had before been an enigma to me; and comprehended that the unhappy beings before me were of
The ill-fated children of suff'ring and sin,
With conscience reproaching and sorrow within;
Bosoms that mis'ry and guilt could not sever,
Hearts that were blighted and broken for ever:
Where each, to some vice or vile passion a slave,
Shared the wreck of the mind, and the spirit's young grave.
Whose brief hist'ry of life, ere attain'd to its prime,
Unfolded a volume of madness and crime,
Such as leaves on the forehead of manhood a stain
Which tears over shed seek to blot out in vain;
A stain which as long as existence will last,
Embitt'ring the future with thoughts of the past.
I might have indulged much longer in these reflections, but my musing mood was interrupted by the Medina reaching her destination, and we disembarked safely at Portsmouth Point.
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On landing, the worthy veteran, who had, by his confabulation during the voyage, claimed, in his own opinion, a right of becoming my companion for a time, a privilege which, in such a scene, and at such a place, it will easily be believed I was not averse from granting him, proceeded along with me carpere iter comités parati, up Point Street, and at one of the turnings my friend made a sudden stop. "My eyes!" he exclaimed, "may I perish, but that is my old messmate, Tom Tackle. Many's the can of flip we've scuttled while on board the Leander frigate together; and when we were obliged to part convoy and go on board different ships, there was above a little matter of brine about both our eyes." At this moment Tom Tackle came up with us: the warmth of affection with which his old shipmate had spoken of him had interested me not a little in his favour, and his mutilated frame spoke volumes in behalf of the gallantry he had displayed in the service of his country. One eye was entirely lost; one coat-sleeve hung armless by his side; and one vanished leg had its place superseded by a wooden substitute. I gazed upon the "unfortunate brave" with mingled pity and veneration; yet, so true is the observation of the ancient,
"Res sunt humanæ flobilo ludibrium"
That is, human feelings and affairs are a singular compound of the ludicrous and the lamentable, that I could not avoid giving way to my mercurial disposition, and congratulating my fellow-voyager on the ease with which he had recognized his old comrade by his present remaining half. "Lord help your honour!" said he, "a seaman's weather-gauge is made for squalls—foul weather or fair—in stays or out of trim—sailing all right before the wind, or coming up under jury-masts; he's no tar that cannot make out an old friend at a cable's length, and bring to without waiting for signals of distress. Shiver my timbers, if I should not know my old messmate here while there's a timber rib left in his hulk, or a shoulder-boom to hang a blue jacket on. But, my toplights, Tom!" continued he, "where's all the girls, and the tiddlers, and the Jews, and bumboat-women that used to crowd all sail to pick up a spare hand ashore? Not a shark have I seen in the harbour, and all the old grog-shops with their foul-weather battens up and colours half-mast." "All in mourning for Mr. Nap, shipmate," said Tom; "we've had no fun here since they cooped him up on board the Bellerophon, and stowed him away at St. Helena. All the Jews have cut and run, and all the bumboat-women retired upon their fortunes; the poor landlords are most of them in the bilboes at Winchester: and as for a pretty girl—whew!—not such an article to be had at Point now, either for love or money: and all this comes of the peace—shiver my odd forelight! mate, if it lasts much longer, it will be the ruin of the navy.
How I long to hear the sound of the boatswain's whistle once more! 'Up hammocks, boys—clear the decks, and prepare for action! 'that's the way to live and be merry; then the music of a good broadside pouring into an enemy's under-works, and cutting her slap in two between wind and water—that's glory, my christian! May I never taste grog again, if we are not all ruined by the peace. There's only one fighting fellow left of the old stock of commanders, and they have turned him out of the navy lest he should infect the psalm-singers. Look out a-head there, shipmate; d'ye see that fine frigate, the Peranga, now lying oft' Spithead, and can you ever forget Basque Roads and the gallant Cochrane? I just got a glimpse of his figure head t'other morning, coming up Point here; so I hauled to and threw my shattered hulk slap across his headway, lowering my top-gallants as I passed round under his bows. 'Officer,' said he, 'you and I should know one another, methinks.' 'Success attend your honour,' said I; 'do you remember your master-gunner when you captured the Spanish galleon, who carried away a spar or two in the action?' 'What, Tom Tackier said he: 'Heaven help thee, lad! I'd give the bounty of a good boat's crew if I could put you into sailing-trim and commission again; but here, officer, is something to drink to old acquaintance with, and if you can find your way on board the Peranga to-morrow, I'll take care they don't throw you over the ship's side before you have had a skinfull of grog: 'so seizing fast hold of my single tin with both his grappling-irons, I thought he would have shook it out of the goose-neck at parting; and when I went on board next day, he treated me like a port-admiral, and sent me on shore with every cranny well-filled, from my beef-tub to my grog-bucket, and put a little more of the right sort o' stuff" in my jacket pockets to pay harbour dues with. That's the commander for me! And now I hear, after having taken and destroyed all the Spanish king's navy, he's off to give the Grand Signor a taste of his quality. My forelights! how I should like to see him with his double rows of grinders wide open, bearing down upon a whole fleet of Mussulmen—there'd be weeping, and wailing, and gnashing o' teeth among the Turks! I wouldn't give my wooden pin for the whole of the Grand Sultan's flotilla. But come, shipmate, may I never want 'bacca, if we don't drink his health, and that 'ere gemman you've taken in tow shall join us, if he likes." I was too much amused to desire to part company just yet, and the good-humoured tars perceiving my bent, linked themselves to each arm, and in this way, laughing at the curiosity we provoked, did our party reach the middle of Point-street, and brought ourselves to anchor under the head of old Admiral Benbow, where Tom assured us we should be supplied with the best of grog and ship-stores of the first quality. Horace had proceeded to escort some ladies, whom he met with on board the steamboat, to the house of a friend in the High-street, where I had appointed to meet him in the space of an hour. Sitting myself down therefore with my two jovial associates, I determined to humour the frolic which had brought me into the society of such eccentric characters. "Shiver my timbers! Jem," said the one-legged mariner, "but you never make any inquiries after Betsy Bluff, among your other old friends. It's true, the wench has got spliced again, to be sure; but then, you know, she waited three years, and had the log-books overhauled first." "Ay, ay, Tom, so they say she did; but I never believed 'em: howsomedever, that wasn't the worst of it; for having got my will and my power in her possession, she drew all my pay and prize-money, and when at last I got home from an enemy's keeping, I had not a shot left in the locker to keep myself. But the mischief did not end even there, for she disgraced me, and the British flag, by marrying a half-starved tailor, and setting him up in the Sally port with the money that I had been fighting the enemies of my country for. May I never get groggy again, if I couldn't have forgiven her freely if she'd taken some honest-hearted fellow, like yourself, in tow, who had got disabled in the service, or consorted with a true man of war's man, all right and tight; but to go and lash herself alongside of such a crazy land lubber as this ninth degree of manhood—may I never taste 'bacca again if Bet's conduct is bearable! She's no wife of mine, Tom; and when I go to pieces, a wreck in this world, may I be bolted into old Belzy's caboose if she shall be a copper fastening the better for Jem Buntline!" During the recital of this story the countenance of the old tar assumed a fiery glow of honest indignation, and when he had finished the tale, his fore lights gave evident signs that his heart had been long beating about in stormy restlessness at the remembrance of his wife's unfaithfulness. "Cheer up, messmate," said Tom; "I see how the land lies. Come, fill your pipe, and I'll sing you the old stave I used to chant on Saturday nights, when we messed together on board the Leander.
A man's like a ship on the ocean of life,
The sport both of fair and foul weather,
Where storms of misfortune, and quicksands of strife,
And clouds of adversity gather.
If he steers by the compass of honour, he'll find,
No matter what latitude meets him,
A welcome in every port to his mind,
And a friend ever ready to greet him.
If love takes the helm in an amorous gale,
Of the rocks of deception beware,
Steer fairly for port, and let reason prevail,
And you're thus sure to conquer the fair.
For the Bay of Deceit keep a steady look out,
Steer clear of the shoals of distress,
Yet ever be ready to tack and about
When the black waves of misery press.
Like a vessel, digest out in all colours, d'ye see,
Are the virtues and vices of life:
Blue and red are the symbols of friendship and glee,
White and black of ill-humour and strife.
True worth, like true honour, is born of no clime,
But known by true courage and feeling,
Where power and pity in unison chime,
And the heart is above double dealing."
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"Ay, Tom, now you're on the right tack—a good song, and a jovial friend, and let the marines blubber about love and lullaby, it'll never do for the sailors. As we are overhauling old friends, do you remember Charley Capstan, the coxswain's mate of the Leander V "Shiver my timbers, but I do; and a bit of tough yarn he was, too: hard as old junk without, and soft as captain's coop meat within. Wasn't I one of the crew that convoyed him up this very street when returning from a cruise off the Straits, we heard that Charley's old uncle had slipt his cable, and left him cash enough to buy out and build a ship of his own? That was a gala, messmate! There was Charley, a little fat porpoise, as round as a nine-pounder, mounted on an eighteen gallon cask of the real Jamaica, lashed to a couple of oars, and riding astride, on his messmates' shoulders, up to the Point. Then such a jolly boat's crew attended him, rigged out with bran new slops, and shiners on their topmasts, with the Leander painted in front, and half a dozen fiddlers scraping away 'Jack's alive,' and all the girls decked out in their dancing dresses, with streamers flying about their top-gallants, and loose nettings over their breastworks—that was a gala, messmate! And didn't Charley treat all Point to the play that night, and engage the whole of the gallery cabin for his own friends' accommodation; and when the reefers in the hold turned saucy, didn't you and two or three more drop down upon 'em, and having shook the wind out of their sails, run up the main haliards again, without working round by the gangway?" "Right, Tom, right; and don't you remember the illumination, when we stuck up ten pound of lighted candles round the rim of the gallery before the play began, and when Jane Shore was in the midst of her grief, Charley gave the signal, and away they went, like a file of marines from a double broadside, right and left, tumbling about the ears of the reefers and land lubbers in the chicken coops below? Those were the days of glory, messmate, when old Jack Junk, who had never seen a play before, took it all for right down arnest matter o' fact; and when poor Mrs. Shore came to ask charity of that false-hearted friend of hers, what was jealous of her, and fell down at the door, overcome by grief and hunger, poor Jack couldn't stand it no longer; so after suffering the brine to burst through the floodgates of his heart, till he was as blind as our chaplain to sin, he jumped up all at once, and made for the offing, blubbering as he went, 'May I be blistered, if ever I come to see such cruel stuff as this again!' Then didn't Stephen Collins, and Kelly, and Maxfield, the three managers, come upon deck, and drink success to the Leander's crew, out of a bucket of grog we had up for the purpose, and the ould mare of Portsmouth sent his compliments to us, begging us not to break our own necks or set fire to the playhouse? Another glass, Jem, to the crew of the Leander: don't you remember the ducking ould Mother Macguire, the bum-boat woman, received, for bringing paw-paw articles on board, when we came in to refit?" "May I never want 'bacca, if I shall ever forget that old she crocodile! Wasn't it her that brought that sea-dragon, Bet Bluff, on board, and persuaded me to be spliced to her? shiver her timbers for it!" "Avast there! messmate," said Tom: "when you can't skuttle an enemy, it's best to sail right away from her hulk before she blows up and disables her conqueror. May I never get groggy, if I shall ever forget the joke between you and the old Sheenie, when you threatened to throw him overboard for selling you a dumb time-keeper. 'Blesh ma heart,' said the Jew, while his under works shook like a cutter's foresail going about, 'how could you expect de vatch to go well, ven de ship vas all in confushion?' an excuse that saved him from sailing ashore in a skuttle-bucket." "Have you weathered Gosport lately?" inquired Jem: "there used to be a little matter of joviality going forward there upon the beach in war time, but I suppose it's all calm enough now." "All ruined by the peace; and all that glorious collection of the kings and queens of England, and her admirals and heroes, which used to swing to and fro in the wind, when every house upon the beach was a grog-shop, are past, vanished, or hanging like pirates in tatters; the sound of a fiddle never reaches their ears; and the parlour-floors, where we used to dance and sing till all was blue, are now as smooth and as clean as the decks of Lord Nelson's flag ship, the Victory, which lies moored in our harbour, like a Greenwich pensioner, anchored in quiet, to drop to pieces with old age. You may fire a nine-pounder up the principal street at noon-day now and not hurt any body; and if the peace lasts much longer, horses may graze in their roads, and persons receive pensions for inhabiting the vacant houses." The period within which I had promised to join Horace Eglantine had now elapsed. It was no easy task to separate myself from my nautical friends, and the amusement they had afforded me demanded some acknowledgment in return; calling, therefore, for a full bowl of punch, we drank success to the British navy, toasted wives and sweethearts, honoured our gracious king, shook hands at parting, like old friends, and having promised to renew my acquaintance before I left Portsmouth, I bade adieu to jolly Jem Buntline and what remained of his noble messmate, the lion-hearted Tom Tackle.
