BARFLEUR, 98
When the Edgar was paid off, Commissioner Martin[[71]] of the dockyard at Portsmouth, recommended me to the Barfleur, Vice-Admiral Roddam (red at the fore) port admiral, and Robert Calder, Esq., captain. I had not been long on board when Captain Calder took it into his head to recommend several of us to the Solebay, 32, fitting at Spithead for the West Indies, and I was one of the number. This did not suit my inclination, and I requested my mother to make the circumstance known to the commissioner, who promised her that I should not be sent out against my will. I waited with great anxiety the result, and never shall I forget the manner Captain Calder addressed me the moment he came on board. ‘Your mother is a fool, sir; you shall not stay in my ship; take your hat off, sir’ (for we were always obliged to stand with our hats off while speaking to him and I was rather slack in doffing mine); ‘I will give you one month to provide yourself with another ship, you are disgraced here;’ and then turning on his heel went into his cabin. With rage and indignation at such an unwarrantable attack, I sent in to say I would be glad to speak to him if he was at leisure. This he immediately granted, and I was told after by Jefferys, the clerk, who was in the cabin, that he thought I had made up my mind to go, but he was mistaken. I told him I came to return him thanks for his kindness in allowing me to remain in his ship for a month until I could provide myself with another, but if he pleased I would rather have my discharge immediately. He looked at me for some time before he made an answer; at last he roared out in fury, ‘You shall not go at all, sir; and mind what you are about.’ I answered that I always did mind what I was about. This increased his rage, and turning to the first lieutenant (Dolling), who had just come into the cabin, ‘That’s a troublesome chap, sir, take care of him.’ Now it happened that I had leave to go on shore before Captain C. came on board and only waited till I saw him, and was going into the boat, when Lieutenant Dolling came waddling up to me with the intelligence that I was under arrest, and to consider myself a prisoner at large; and so I was for upwards of ten weeks, and the devil thank Bobby Calder for his kindness.
The Spanish armament taking place, we were ordered to Spithead, and hoisted the flag (blue at the main) of the Honourable Samuel Barrington, Sir John Jervis (rear-admiral of the blue) captain of the fleet, and Captain Calder in command of the ship. Sailed for Torbay, and took command of the fleet assembled there, until the arrival of Lord Howe, which took place soon after, as admiral of the fleet, the union jack being hoisted on board the Queen Charlotte, 110.[[72]] His Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland, admiral of the white, attended by Prince William Henry, who commanded the Valiant, 74, came on board to visit Admiral Barrington, who had formerly sailed with the duke. Admiral Barrington having shifted his flag to the Royal George, 110, we hoisted that of Rear-Admiral Sir John Jervis, K.B., and sailed to the westward with the grand fleet, and found the old Barfleur an excellent sea boat. After cruising several weeks the fleet returned, and when off Plymouth we struck the flag of Sir John Jervis, and proceeded to the Downs and hoisted the flag (blue at the fore) of Vice-Admiral Elliot, and sailed with thirteen sail of the line for Spithead, where we found Lord Howe with the remainder of the fleet, Captain Calder having been appointed to the Stately, 64. Captain Robert Carthew Reynolds took command of the Barfleur as flag captain. The chief part of the midshipmen being removed to the Stately, Captain Calder sent for me and introduced me to Captain Reynolds, and spoke to him in the highest terms of my conduct, and among other things said I was particularly active in going aloft, and if I wished to leave the Barfleur he would keep a vacancy open on his books; but that the Barfleur being a flagship and my pay better, he thought it the most eligible of the two to remain. This was a civil way of parting to outward appearance friends.
The Spanish business being settled we remained at Spithead but struck our flag. Soon after a mutiny broke out in the ship, which was soon put a stop to, and the crews of the ships at Spithead (as many as liked) paid off. The Russian armament commencing, Lord Hood hoisted his flag on board the Victory, 100, and took command of the fleet, consisting of thirty-six sail of the line moored in two lines abreast, the frigates between, which had a most beautiful appearance, and thousands from all parts of the country came to gaze, and went back as wise as ever. Rear-Admiral Jonathan Faulknor[[73]] (red at the mizen) having hoisted his flag on board of us, that excellent officer Captain Reynolds left the ship and was succeeded by Captain John Bourmaster, one of the best men that ever lived. We remained a considerable time at Spithead until the business was settled, and then went into harbour to be paid off.
I shall now relate as well as I remember a few circumstances that took place in the Barfleur during the time I belonged to her. When we had the command in Torbay, before the arrival of Lord Howe, we exercised great guns and small arms every day, with loosing and furling sails, and it was remarked by the fleet that they never looked at the Barfleur without seeing the men crawling up the rigging ready for some manœuvre and keeping them constantly on the alert. I have absolutely been midshipman in the foretop when the sail has been loosed and furled nineteen times; and long Lloyd (one of our lieutenants) calling out from the gratings on the bowsprit, ‘Mr. Gardner, will you have your hammock sent up to you?’—a common expression in the navy. I could not help answering, ‘I’ll thank you, sir, for I’m damnation tired.’ He was a good fellow and only laughed.
Our ship’s company were never surpassed. We had the pickings of the East India men, and our waisters could take helm and lead, and certainly we could have beaten with ease any two ships of a foreign power of our rate, and a braver officer never stepped between stem and stern than Bobby Calder. I had great reason to dislike him, but I will do him justice as well as my humble abilities will allow. An error in judgment is what every man is liable to. Even Napoleon, the greatest man the world ever produced, was guilty of three great errors: the first in not entirely crushing the Russian army when he had it in his power after defeating the Emperor Alexander at Austerlitz; the second in not reinstating the Poles; and the third in not marrying a Frenchwoman after his divorce from Josephine. Another great general also made a few blunders; and his retreat from a certain citadel was, I have been told, anything but superior to that of the ten thousand under Xenophon.[[74]] But to return. Sir Robert Calder was found guilty of an error in judgment by the sentence of a court martial; but no man can deny that he was a brave and meritorious officer, possessing the first-rate[[75]] abilities of a British admiral.
To some the pow’rs of bloody war belong,
To some, sweet music and the charm of song;
To few, and wondrous few, has Jove assigned
A wise, extensive, all considering mind.
The newspapers at the time were teeming with abuse; but the braying of those asses soon sunk, and had no other effect than to shew the malignity of their leading articles. One of the blackguard papers was particularly vindictive. It was edited
by wicked Daniel,
Who snaps like a cur, and fawns like a spaniel.
From the number of flag officers and captains that were in the Barfleur, we had so many of their followers of every description that it is difficult to remember the whole, and we had six or seven different first lieutenants. However, I shall give as correct a list as possible, but not exactly in rotation. But first I must relate a few anecdotes; and with heart-felt respect for your memory, come forward my old friend Billy Culmer. This gentleman was one of the mates and is or was so well known in the navy that it would be superfluous to say anything respecting him, but for a few anecdotes not generally known which may be interesting.[[76]]
Billy in person was about five feet eight or nine, and stooped; hard features marked with the smallpox; blind in an eye, and a wen nearly the size of an egg under his cheek bone. His dress on a Sunday was a mate’s uniform coat, with brown velvet waistcoat and breeches; boots with black tops; a gold-laced hat, and a large hanger by his side like the sword of John-a-Gaunt. He was proud of being the oldest midshipman in the navy (for he had been in that capacity with Lord Hood since 1757[[77]]), and looked upon young captains and lieutenants with contempt. Being on shore at Gosport on a Sunday in the above costume, he tried to get into a tavern when the people were at church, and was thundering at the door to no purpose, when the late Captain N. H. Eastwood of the Royal Navy happened to be passing at the time in plain clothes, made some observations on his conduct, and said, ‘Mr. Culmer, you are a disgrace to the service.’ Billy at this jumped off the steps, and with his usual oath ‘Damn my two eyes,’—though he had but one—‘but I’ll slit your gullet, you wa wa——,’ and with two or three desperate efforts to draw his sword, he at last succeeded, like Hudibras, in getting it out, and then gave chase to Eastwood, whose lean figure, moving like a ghost, had got the start and was fortunate enough to get into his own house just as Billy came up puffing and blowing and bellowing out, ‘Stop that lanky son of a —— till I make a razee of him.’
In the American War Billy belonged to the Buffalo, 60. I am not certain that he was on board at the time the Dogger Bank action was fought; however, he used to celebrate the praises of his old ship, which bore a distinguished part in that well-fought battle. The Dutch fleet commanded by Admiral Zoutman had a convoy under charge, when our fleet under Vice-Admiral Hyde Parker fell in with them on the Dogger Bank and bore down immediately to give battle. The Dutch admiral formed his line to windward of his convoy, and waited for our fleet, and to his honour be it said that he never fired a gun until our admiral had formed his line within pistol shot, when up went the colours of both nations and then the action began. After several hours’ desperate fighting the Dutch bore away with their convoy for the Texel, and we were so crippled that it was impossible to follow them.
Billy would upon all occasions when sea fights were spoken of sing the following song in honour of his old ship. It was made by a seaman of the Princess Amelia.
’Twas on the fifth of August by dawning of the day,
We spied some lofty sail, my boys, who to leeward of us lay;
They proved to be Dutchmen, with eight sail neat and fine,
We soon bore down upon them, and then we formed the line.
Bold Admiral Hyde Parker commanded us that day,
Who in the noble Fortitude to the windward of us lay;
To engage the Dutchmen closely the signal then he made,
And at his fore topgallant mast the bloody flag displayed.
And when our ships they did engage with seven sail neat and fine,
The Buffalo being one of them, her valour it did shine;
For she engaged six glasses, her shot did on them play,
Though she had three upon her she made them bear away.
There were the noble Berwick, Preston and Dolphin too,
Likewise the Bienfaisant, my boys, who made the Dutch to rue;
The old Princess Amelia was not backward on that day,
She lost her valiant captain all in the bloody fray.
Then our ship being so disabled and our rigging shot away,
And twenty of our brave fellows killed in the bloody fray;
And sixty-four were wounded, a dreadful sight to see,
But yet the rest were willing to engage the enemy, &c.
Billy was once singing the above ditty with a voice as melodious as that of the raven, when old Bob Perkins (a droll old guardo midshipman) began another that annoyed him sadly; but taking great care to be in a place where Billy could not easily get at him, says he, ‘Mr. Culmer, you never were a midshipman before you joined the Barfleur, and it’s well authenticated that you were cook of the celebrated Huffey so well known in days of yore.’ He then began singing the following sonnet:—
Billy the cook got drunk,
Fell down the fore ladder,
And broke his gin bladder,
Then lived upon swipes and salt junk.
Billy the cook got drunk,
Fell into a sty,
And knocked out his eye,
Then into the sick bay he slunk.
As [Billy] had the meanest opinion of any one that would lay by for sickness, the last line of the above threw him into such a rage that Perkins, not finding his situation tenable, was obliged to make a hasty retreat; but not before
he got a switch
As quick as lightning on the breech,
which hastened his way down the cockpit ladder. [Billy] was once sitting in the gunroom cleaning a pair of huge yellow buckles, when the same Perkins chalked on a board in large letters, ‘To be seen alive—The old blind sea monster, cleaning buckles as large as the main hatchway.’ The moment he got sight of the inscription, [Billy] caught hold of a cutlass from the stand and cleared the gunroom in an instant, and had very near given it to Perkins, whom he suspected. He had a custom, when half seas over, of sounding a horn like a huntsman and calling the hounds, and used to swear he would be in at the death.
When he went to pass for lieutenant, one of the midshipmen and Marr the boatswain went up to London with him. They found it no easy matter to keep him in order, and he once swore to have them taken up as runaway soldiers. When he went to the navy board to undergo his examination he asked the commissioners the meaning of the word ‘azimuth’ and told them he could never find any wa wa that knew a word about it. Some of the board had been shipmates with him and were well acquainted with his ways; and when putting him right when answering a question, he would say, ‘Go on, go on, my boy, that’s the way; you are very right,’ as if he was passing them; and when they told him they had no more questions to ask, he said he was glad of it and would go back to his ship like a lark.
One night soon after his return, when he had the first watch, some of the midshipmen reefed his blankets—this is done by making the ends fast and forming by numerous turns the blanket into the shape of a ring very difficult to undo. As soon as he was relieved he went to his hammock and groping about (for he never would take a light into the tier), he was heard to mutter, ‘What the hell have they done with the ends?’ and at last roared out, ‘A horse’s collar, by God.’ After several fruitless attempts to shake the reef out, he went upon deck and brought down the ship’s corporal and quartermaster with a light, and ordered them to clear his blankets; but they were as unable as himself, while the midshipmen in the tier were convulsed with laughter, and Billy, foaming with rage, drove away the corporal and quartermaster, calling them lubberly wa wa ——s. At this time a cry was heard from a remote part of the tier, ‘Lay out, you lubberly rascal, and shake the reef out.’ At this Billy lost all patience, and after damning his two eyes he unshipped the orlop gratings and got some billets of wood out of the hold, and in less than a minute the tier was cleared. Soon after some of the watch came down and put his bedding to rights and all was quiet. The same compliment that Cicero paid to Cæsar may also be paid to Billy, “that he remembered everything but an injury.” The next morning he thought nothing of the matter.
Speaking about the Roman history respecting the battle of Actium between Augustus and Antony, he said he was in the battle and remembered all about it. The fact was he mistook the name and thought it was some place where he had been in the American war. He never heard the last of this, and when speaking of any battle where he had been present, was always asked if it took place thirty years before Christ. Captain Calder once sent for him to go in the launch for beer to Weevil.[[78]] ‘Go back,’ says he to the quartermaster, ‘and tell Captain C. that Mr. Wood’ (meaning Lord Hood, who he never called by his right name) ‘never sent me away at seven bells and I shan’t go now without my dinner. As soon as I have got that I will go like a lark—damn my two eyes.’ Of course this was not told the captain.
While we had Admiral Roddam’s flag in the harbour, a Dutch ship of the line anchored at Spithead and used to fire the morning and evening gun, without our taking notice of the circumstance. However, Bobby Calder soon found it out and came on board in a terrible rage, and gave the commanding officer (Prowse) a severe lecture, and told us all to prepare for a court martial for neglect in not reporting the transaction; at the same time sending a message to the Dutchman that if he persisted in such conduct a ship of the line would be sent alongside of him. This the Dutchman did not relish and took himself off as quick as possible.
Captain Calder was a man that had the service at heart and was a very strict disciplinarian. We dared not appear on deck without our full uniform, and a round hat was never allowed; our side arms always on the quarter deck ready for duty, and when exercising sails the midshipmen in the tops were to be in full dress. I remember when the signal was made for all lieutenants while lying in Torbay, that several came on board not exactly in uniform. He, without hearing a word they had to say, turned them out of the ship with a severe reprimand—old Lieutenant Noah Webb (with his crossjack brace[[79]] eye), who commanded a cutter at the head of them; and when the late Sir Joseph Yorke (then a lieutenant) came on board at Spithead with strings in his shoes, Captain Calder came running out of his cabin and desired him to quit the ship immediately; and though Sir Joseph told him he was not on duty, it was all to no purpose; he kept following him to the gangway saying, ‘My hat’s off, sir; you must go out of the ship,’ which the other was obliged to do in high dudgeon.
In working the ship no one was allowed to speak but himself, and I have seen the Barfleur brought to an anchor and the sails furled like magic, without a voice being heard except his own.[[80]]
Sedate and silent move the numerous bands;
No sound, no whisper but their chiefs commands;
These only heard, with awe the rest obey,
As if some god had snatched their voice away.—Iliad.
No ship in the navy was in such high order. The midshipmen’s berths were fitted up in great style (the beginning of luxury which the war soon after put a stop to), with rules and regulations. If a candle was taken off the table a fine of sixpence must be paid; and a shilling, if a hat was hung up in the berth or left on the chairs. This was all very well for the dandy aristocracy, but did not suit some of us that formerly belonged to the old Edgar; and Dick Heycock was the first to kick, and refused to abide by the regulations laid down by a proud and usurping few; and we carried our point, and things went on much better when the petty tyranny was abolished. Captain Calder would always bring the nobility that visited the ship to see the midshipmen’s berths, and used to say: ‘This is the place where all the admirals and captains in the service are tried every day, and where no one escapes being hauled over the coals.’
No man could be more attentive at his table, and he would particularly address himself to the midshipmen, and even ask their opinion upon different subjects, to give them confidence. Mrs. Calder was very fond of boat-sailing, and we had a large double banked cutter in which she would go to Spithead when blowing very fresh, and carrying sail as if in chase until the boat’s gunwale was under, so that everyone thought she was mad; and very few liked the trip except in fine weather, as she would always feel offended if any attempt was made to take in sail.
Among the many first lieutenants, we had one that was very pedantic. I shall not mention his name, but his nickname was Soap-Suds. The signal being made for all midshipmen, the order[[81]] was that a preparative flag would be hoisted before any manœuvre began, but when hauled down it was immediately to take place. Now not content with what was written in the order book, he addressed the midshipmen as follows: ‘The idea strikes me thus, that when the preparative is hauled down, the evo-lu-ti-on will most certainly commence, and this pennant is your signal.’
We had another strange first lieutenant—this was Billy Chantrell, well known in the service. In giving his orders at night he used to say, ‘Call me at six, and don’t come bothering me about blowing and raining and all that damned nonsense.’ I was with him in three ships and never met with so droll and strange a fellow. In passing Fairlight, near Hastings, on our way from the Downs to Spithead, Chantrell, pointing out to me the cliff near the church on Fairlight Down, said, ‘Jemmy, how would you like to be perched up there in the winter?’ Little did he imagine that in some years after, when the war broke out and signal stations were erected along the coast, he should be the first officer appointed to this very spot, and I, the last; which was the fact.
We led a very lazy life at Spithead for several months, and it was expected we should strike upon our beef bones, as we never shifted our berth. We had nothing to do but row guard and go for fresh beef. Captain Bourmaster lived at Tichfield, and if anything particular happened a boat was sent with a midshipman to Hellhead or near it with the orders. On one occasion Mr. S——s, a midshipman, was dispatched in the cutter and took some of the boat’s crew with him to Tichfield. On their return, passing by a farmyard, a flock of ducks and geese began to quack and hiss at them. The midshipman considered this as a declaration of war, and ordered his party to prepare for battle and to engage close, which was instantly obeyed, and after a short contest the enemy took to flight and several of the ducks were captured. Now the midshipman had read a little of British history, and particularly remembered that part where Richard the First in Palestine, and Henry the Fifth at Agincourt, put their prisoners to death. He immediately followed their example, and ordered the ducks to be slaughtered. Now the difference between those great men was this, that Richard and Henry buried their prisoners or got somebody else to do it, but the midshipman carried his off; and seeing in an orchard near the farmyard a number of fruit trees heavily laden, he thought it just that those who began the war should pay the expenses, which was no new thing in modern warfare, and gave orders to his party to fill their jackets with pears and apples, observing that it would ease the trees of their burthen and the boughs would be in less danger of breaking down. Now all this was very fair; and peace being restored, the midshipman addressed the farmer (who had come up with the reserve, but too late to assist the main body after their defeat): ‘I say, old Hodge, I wish you joy to see your nose and chin come together after being separated for so many years. But harkee, old chap, if I should come this way again, and your feather-bed sons of —— begin their capers, I’m damned if I don’t stop the grog of every mother’s son belonging to you.’ So saying, he returned with his dead prisoners, and the war was considered at an end. But the farmer, being bloody-minded, was of a different opinion, and breathing revenge, went and made his report to Captain Bourmaster. The captain, after coolly and deliberately weighing and investigating the transaction, came to the following conclusion: That Mr. S——s and his party, instead of going direct to their boat, did go this way and that way, and every way but the right way; and on a certain day, and in a certain lane, did kill, or did slay, or did murder or put to death several ducks, and did keep, and did hold, and did maintain the same, without any right law or title; and for such conduct Mr. S——s was sentenced to be dismissed from the Barfleur, and his party to have slops served out to them at the gangway.[[82]] The midshipman thought this extremely hard, and on leaving observed that had the case been tried before a jury he was sure they would have brought in a verdict of justifiable duckicide.
A curious bet took place between our chaplain and one of the officers. The wager was that the latter would bring a man who would eat eight penny rolls and drink a gallon of beer before the parson could walk a mile. Now the reverend gentleman was a great pedestrian, and could walk a mile in less than a quarter of an hour. The ground being chosen, one began to eat and the other to walk at the same moment, a gentleman being placed at each end with watches that corresponded to a second, when the parson to his utter amazement, after he had walked three-quarters of his mile, met the other, who had with ease finished his rolls and beer, and was unwilling that his reverence should have the trouble of walking the whole mile and therefore came to meet him. The reverend gentleman, like most clergymen, played well at whist, and once sitting at his favourite game, our signal was made, and the order was for the chaplain to attend a man that was to be hanged next morning. This broke up the game, when one of the officers observed: ‘Doctor, you have lost the odd trick; but never mind, the fellow you are going to attend has got nothing by honours.’