BLONDE, 32

I was appointed first lieutenant of the Blonde, 32, Captain Daniel Dobree, and commissioned her at Chatham early in March 1798, and soon after got a draft of twenty-seven hands and a midshipman from the Standard, 64, which was all I had to fit her out with, and of that number, only five knew how to turn a dead-eye in. However, we contrived to get her hold stowed, sails bent, and topgallant yards across, before we had any addition of men or officers. At last our complement was completed by a draft from the Dordrecht,[^[130]] 64, and went to Black Stakes, where we took in our powder and proceeded to the Downs. We had a crack ship’s company with our last draft, and in getting topgallant yards up the morning after we arrived, we crossed ours, sent them down again, and then swayed away and had them ready for crossing before the flagship and the rest of the men of war at anchor. Vice-Admiral Peyton [^[131]] was the port admiral, and had his flag on board the Overyssel,[^[132]] 64, commanded by my late worthy friend Captain John Bazely. I expected we should have got a reprimand for being too hasty in our movements, especially when I saw a boat coming from the flagship; however, instead of a rub down, it proved to be a visit from Captain Bazely, who paid us many compliments on the good order the ship appeared to be in. He told me there was a vacancy on board the flagship for a lieutenant and that he would apply for me if I wished it, at the same time stating that he was on bad terms with the admiral, who was at all times a harsh and disagreeable officer, and in the event of his getting a frigate (which he was in expectation of) he had no doubt would prevent me (to annoy him) leaving the flagship, and advised me to remain in the Blonde until he had an opportunity of serving me.

Having received orders, we proceeded to Spithead and took command of a small squadron of gun-boats and cutters to guard the Needles passage, and anchored off Jack in the Basket, near Lymington, which service we performed very agreeably for several weeks. The rebellion in Ireland taking place, we were ordered with several men of war and transports to proceed to Weymouth and embark troops for that country. The king, being at Weymouth at the time, with the royal family, it was expected he would review the squadron; but the news from Ireland being very serious, the troops were embarked in a hurry, and we got under way in company with the men of war and transports for our destination.

I must here mention that the commodore of the squadron (Captain Hardy,[^[133]] commanding a 64) came on board with several other captains, and after going round the ship and mustering us at quarters, he addressed me, saying, ‘Sir, I feel great satisfaction in stating that the Blonde is in the best order of any ship in the squadron and the fittest to receive his Majesty, should he go afloat; and for the short time your ship has been in commission she does great honour to her captain and officers.’ This he said before the rest of the captains, and among the number was my old captain (Towry) formerly of the Berwick. In fitting out the ship at Chatham, I did everything I could to keep on good terms with the officers of the yard by asking them down to our mess and paying them every little attention in my power; and by that means I had an opportunity of getting many things done to beautify the ship.[^[134]] I had the head painted in colours, the quarters friezed, a famous stand made for the arms on the quarter deck, and trophies painted on our scuttle butts, with half circles and circles for our pistols and cutlasses, which made the old Blonde cut a dashing appearance.

Just as we were getting under way, Captain Hardy sent me four or five buckets of paint, with his compliments, saying I should stand in need of it after getting rid of the soldiers, which was really the case, as on board they were the most helpless and dirty devils I ever beheld—except the Russians. It was impossible to get them up from between decks without burning green wood in the stoves, which the devil himself could not stand, the smoke was so intolerable.[^[135]]

After a quick passage we landed the troops at Waterford, where we remained a short time and then returned to our station, to guard the Needles passage for a few weeks. The Europa, 50, being sent to relieve us, got aground near Gurnet Point, and after lying there some time was got off and returned to Portsmouth to refit. More troops being ordered to Ireland, we were put under the orders of Captain Geo. Burdon and sailed with a small squadron consisting of the following men of war:—

Alkmaar [^[136]]	54	Capt. Geo. Burdon, commodore
Tromp [^[137]]	54	Capt. Worsley
Blonde	32	Capt. Dobree
Weymouth store-ship

On the passage we had near got on the Seven Stones. I had the morning watch, and soon after I relieved the deck I observed breakers upon the lee bow and beam and at no great distance; the wind about NNW, and our heads to the westward, blowing fresh with a chop of a sea. The Alkmaar was ahead, on the weather bow, and the Tromp to windward, the Weymouth astern of all. We were under double reefed topsail and foresail and no time to be lost; immediately set topgallant sails, jib and spanker; hauled on board the main tack, kept her rap full, and when she had fresh way, put the helm down and she stayed like a top. We made the signal for standing into danger, and when the Alkmaar put her helm down she missed stays, and when they got her head round her stern was close to the breakers. The Tromp, by being to windward and carrying a press of sail weathered the shoals and parted company. In consequence of foul winds we put into Scilly for a few days, and then sailed for Dublin, where we landed the troops.

We were employed upon this service from Dublin to Cork and then to Guernsey, and up and down Channel with convoy, until August 1799, when we received orders to proceed to the Baltic to convey the Russian troops to Holland. Sailed from Spithead, and having taken in pilots proceeded to Elsinore and then to Reval, with some transports. Found lying in the roads the Russian fleet consisting of 15 sail of the line besides frigates, etc., under Admiral Henikoff, and several British men of war and transports. Having embarked some thousands of the Russian guards we left Reval for the Texel, in company with British and Russian men of war and several transports. We had on board a Russian captain, two subs., a surgeon, and 296 privates, all hoffs, choffs, and koffs. The captain’s name was Peter Glebhoff, who never pulled his boots off the whole time he was on board. The men were the most filthy I ever met with. They used to scrape the tallow out of the bottoms of the lanterns and make it up into balls, which they would swallow and wash down with a drink of train oil. They had bread made on purpose, of the coarsest flour mixed with vinegar, and their cookery it is impossible to describe; so that the Spartan black broth must have been a luxury (however unpalatable) to their abominable messes. I have positively seen them pick the vermin off one another’s jackets, which they would eat without ceremony.

On our arrival at the Texel the whole were immediately landed, and were soon after in action, and the most of those we had on board put hors de combat by the next day. Poor Peter Glebhoff, who had been sharpening his spear at the grinding stone a few days before the landing, and vowing to sacrifice every Frenchman he met with, was one of the first that fell. He had been in most of the battles under Suvorof against the Turks and Poles, and had left a wife and family at Riga to lament his fate. He was much liked while on board of us and we all felt heartily sorry for him. I was several times on shore and saw the numerous wagons of wounded soldiers from the scene of action which by no means corresponded with the accounts given in our Gazettes.... I had two cousins, captains in the 17th regiment of foot—one of them (Knight) was killed just as I was going to see him.

A short time before we left the Texel the Blanche, 32, Captain Ayscough, got on shore on the Haaks—a dangerous shoal near the Texel, and some of the boats that were sent to her assistance unfortunately upset, and several officers and seamen perished, owing to the surf which ran very high on and near the shoal. The Blanche got off, and returned to the New Deep, and sunk just as she entered, but none of her crew were lost.[^[138]] At this time things looked rather queer, and it was found out after hard fighting that it was not so easy to beat the French out of Holland as at first expected; and we were ordered to take a cargo of runaway Dutchmen on board, with their wives and families—about 400 altogether. A short time before we sailed we saw the Lutine, 36, Captain Launcelot Skynner, at the back of the Haaks, and, if I am correct, the evening she was lost [^[139]] and only one saved, who died soon after.

We left the Texel in November 1799, and in standing over to our own coast had nearly struck by the blunder of our pilots on the Gabbard. After escaping from this first blunder we anchored near the Shipwash, another shoal by far more dangerous than the former. It was in the evening that we took up our quarters in this precious situation, intending to get under way with the morning tide. I must here mention that we had two pilots; one of them had been a branch pilot for more than twenty years. I had the morning watch, and on relieving the deck I observed to this branch pilot that the weather had a very suspicious appearance. The wind at this time was favourable for getting to sea, and we could lay five points to windward of the tail of the shoal. I strongly urged the pilot to get under way, pointing out the danger of our situation should the wind get dead on the shoal, but all to no purpose. He said there was no fear and he must remain where he was, as he was sure the weather would be fine, and that it was only a light haze over the moon; upon which I went to the captain and gave my opinion. He agreed with me, but did not like to take charge out of the pilots’ hands, saying he was fearful, in getting under way, that the ship might get on shore should she cast the wrong way. Now there was no fear of that, as a spring on the cable would have cast her the right way, and the loss of an anchor was of little consequence compared with the risk of losing the ship and our lives.

Far be it from me to reflect upon Captain Dobree, who was a good officer and seaman; and taking charge from a pilot was a great responsibility; but when a pilot is guilty of a gross error, I should never hesitate to take charge of the ship, if I knew I could do so with safety, which was the case now. But it was neglected, and as I foretold, the wind soon after backed round and blew dead upon the shoal, so that we could not weather either end. At this time we were at single anchor about two or three cable’s-lengths from the breakers, blowing strong, and the sea getting up; at half cable; but let go another anchor and veered to a whole cable on the former, and half cable on the latter, bringing two anchors ahead. Sent topgallant masts upon deck, and struck yards and topmasts; the wind increasing to a gale, with a hollow sea and great strain upon the cables. There was no alternative but to cut away the masts, which was immediately done; but owing to an error of one of the officers, who ordered the lanyards of the main stay to be cut before the lanyards of one side of the main rigging, the main mast, in consequence fell aft, and carried away the mizen mast, which stove the boats on the quarters and did considerably damage to the upper works; and some of the rigging caught fire, from the stove in the cabin having the funnel knocked off; but this was soon got under, and with great exertion the wreck was cleared. ‘And now, Master Pilot,’ says I, ‘after getting us in this damnable situation, what next is to be done?’ The son of a bitch could make me no answer; but the junior pilot exclaimed ‘—— seize me if we sha’n’t be on the sands.’ I could not help saying they deserved to be hanged as drowning was too good for them.

I have already mentioned that we had Dutch troops on board with their families, and of as much use as Castlereagh would have been with the same number of his Lancers or Prancers.[^[140]] The few marines we had were worth a thousand of such live lumber. It was ludicrous to see those Dutchmen coming upon deck with their hat boxes, boots, trunks, flutes and music books, ready to go on shore, when the sea was running mountains high, and a tremendous surf of prodigious height on the sands close under our stern, and no chance whatever, if the ship parted, of a soul being saved; which made Captain Dobree observe to me, ‘Where ignorance is bliss ’tis folly to be wise.’

About half-past ten A.M. we parted the best bower, and let go the sheet anchor; and at the greatest risk—it was neck or nothing—veered on the small bower to a whole, and half cable on the sheet, which brought us very near the shoal but there was no help for it. About twelve o’clock we observed that the small bower was stranded; and at the moment when nothing but a miracle could save us, in a terrific squall of thunder, lightning, hail, and rain, the wind suddenly flew round and blew with violence off the shoal, which saved H. M. ship Blonde from destruction. It soon after got moderate; we had an excellent ship’s company, and in less than three hours we had jury masts rigged and both anchors hove up—having saved the small bower; made sail and anchored in a safer berth to await the tide.

About eleven P.M. we were surprised by a boat coming alongside with four hands, who stated they belonged to a galliot that had struck upon the tail of the shoal and had beat over into smoother water, where she sunk. The crew had taken to the boat and were six hours beating about before they got alongside of us, and thought we were a floating light. As soon as the morning tide would allow we got under way and followed some merchantmen—for I am certain the pilots did not know the way without having a leader—and arrived at Sheerness in the evening;

Ragged, and shabby, and all forlorn,

By wind and weather tattered and torn,

Occasioned by pilots who treated with scorn

The good advice that was given that morn;

For which a rope their necks should adorn,

The damnedest lubbers that ever were born.

Captain Dobree soon after left the ship to proceed with Sir Home Popham and other captains to Russia, and I acted as captain for several weeks until another was appointed. Having business on shore, I wrote to the admiralty requesting to be superseded, which after a little delay was granted, and Lieutenant Edwin James was appointed in my room. I left the old Blonde and my worthy messmates early in 1800.

I shall now relate a few anecdotes as they come to my memory. When near the shoal I have just mentioned, our surgeon’s mate and the ship’s cook were almost frightened out of their senses. The former, who would fight any man, or face the devil as soon as let it alone, was not equal to this; and when the junior pilot said, ‘—— seize me if we shan’t be on the sands,’ he clapped his hands and ran down to the gun room, with his hair standing on end, crying out, ‘Lost! Lost! Lost!’—and then flew on deck again; and when the wind shifted, he cut several capers and said ‘I’m a man again.’ As for the cook, he had saved a sum of money by keeping shop on board and selling things to the ship’s company. At the time the best bower parted, he was on the forecastle in the greatest tribulation; says he, ‘Betty’ (meaning his wife, who was on board) ‘will go to a better mansion, but I’m doubtful about myself.’ He had hardly made the observation when the sea broke over the bows that threatened destruction and with a faltering voice he said, ‘Liver me! Liver me!’—meaning ‘Deliver me,’ but could not get the word out. ‘Damn your liver, you croaking son of a bitch,’ says the captain of the forecastle. ‘Go into your coppers and be damned to you, and there you’ll be safe, and don’t come barking here like a tanner’s dog.’ I was on the forecastle with Captain Dobree at the time. He looked at me and for my life I could not help laughing.

While at Sheerness we had two courts martial held on board of us [^[141]]; one on Lieutenant Brice, on charges brought against him by Captain Charles Brisbane while on the South American station. The charges being proved, he was sentenced to be dismissed the service and rendered incapable of serving his Majesty, his heirs or successors. This was most unfortunate for Lieutenant Brice, as his commission to the rank of commander only waited the result of his trial. The next was on Captain George Tripp, for the loss of the Nassau, 64, on the Dutch Coast.[^[142]] The court having heard all the evidence came to the following conclusion:—That H.M. ship Nassau was lost through the gross ignorance and inattention of Captain Tripp, and that he did not set a good example to those under his command; and for such conduct he was sentenced to be dismissed from the service as unfit and unworthy, and rendered incapable of serving his Majesty, his heirs or successors.

I promised (page [12]) to speak of Pat Gibson when I came to the Blonde. He was at this time (1799) purser of the Pallas, 38 (formerly the Minerva), having given up the Princess Royal as too great an undertaking for his age, being, as he told me, eighty. The Pallas being alongside the same hulk, we were constant visitors. As every circumstance, however trifling, may be interesting, I shall relate a few anecdotes. Gibson was a tall raw-boned Irishman from the county of Tipperary; very powerful, with an Herculean grasp, and woe betide those who got into his clutches if roused to anger. He was a very jovial companion, droll in his manner, full of anecdote, and sung in the Irish language, of which he was a perfect master. He used to go on shore to bring off the drunken Irish who had stayed above their time, and I remember his saying to me, ‘Arrah, don’t you think, my dear fellow, that it’s a hard thing that nobody can manage those spalpeens but an ould man like me, now eighty years of age? Och, By the Holy Father, how I knocked their heads together, and left the mark of my fist upon their ugly podreen faces, bad luck to them.’

He was at the taking of Quebec and was one of those that assisted in carrying General Wolfe off the field when mortally wounded. His account of the battle was very interesting, and in it he fought most manfully. It was amusing to see him sitting in his cabin with his legs stretched outside the door singing Irish songs. The steward once interrupted him, for which he got a thump on the back that sent him the length of the gunroom, Pat saying, ‘To hell wid you! take dat till the cows come home.’ There was a countryman of his by the name of Fegan, who, in the American war, was sent by Sir John Fielding (the celebrated magistrate of Bow Street) on board the Conquistador, 60, then lying as a guard-ship at the Nore with Admiral Roddam’s flag. This Fegan was a shrewd, keen fellow, and made a song on being sent on board of a man of war, and Gibson was very fond of singing it. I only remember a few verses:—

The beginning of the war they hobbled poor Fegan,

And sent him on board of the Conquistador;

That floating old gin shop, who struck upon her beef bones,

While laying as a guard-ship near the buoy of the Nore.

When first they lugged him before Justice Fielding,[^[143]]

Fegan thus to him did say:

You may be damned, you old blind b——,

I will be back again before Christmas day.

By my sowl, Mr. Fegan, you are a fine fellow,

It’s you that have done the king much wrong;

Call Kit Jourdan, the master at arms, sir,

And put Mr. Fegan in double irons strong.

Step here, boatswain’s mate, and give him a starting;

Says the first lieutenant it’s always my way;

And you shall have many before the day of parting—

I think, Mr. Fegan, you mentioned Christmas day.

Etc., etc., etc.

When I called on him about three months before his death he told me he was then on his last legs; that he had enjoyed an uninterrupted state of health for upwards of ninety years; that he never had the headache, rheumatism, toothache or spasms, and that he had nothing to do with doctors’ bottles with collars round their necks, and look, says he, if you can find any of that craft on my chimney-piece. Before I close I must give another song of his:—

There was a wedding at Baltimore,

Of three score people lacking of four;

And you’re kindly welcome, welcome all,