SALISBURY, 50
Stern tyrants whom their cruelties renown.—Addison.
I joined this old devil of a ship, properly called the Hell Afloat, in December 1783 in Portsmouth Harbour. James Bradby, Esq., captain, and in June 1784 hoisted the flag, white and then red, at the fore, of Vice-Admiral John Campbell, F.R.S., as commander-in-chief and Governor of Newfoundland, and sailed soon after. Nothing remarkable happened on the passage to St. John’s, where we arrived in July; the following men of war composing the squadron:—
| Salisbury | 50 | {Vice-Admiral Campbell. {Captain James Bradby |
| Santa Leocadia | 36 | Captain Alexander Edgar. |
| Proselyte | 32 | Captain Jonathan Faulknor, jun. |
| Æolus | 32 | Captain |
| Thisbe | 28 | Captain |
| Merlin | 18 | Captain J. Lumsdale |
| Echo | 18 | Captain Nichols. |
| Thorn | 18 | Captain Lechmere. |
| Lawrence brig | Lieutenant Carter, acting. |
If I remember correctly it was this year that an extraordinary court martial was held on the master of the Proselyte for cutting the lanyards of the weather main shrouds when the people were up reefing topsails. The charge not being proved, he was acquitted. While laying in the harbour, a French frigate with a commodore came in, saluted the admiral, and remained a few days. The 28th October is the time for the men of war to sail for England; but owing to unfavourable winds, we were not able to leave St. John’s before November. The admiral having given permission for any person that pleased to take home a dog, 75 were actually embarked. We took our departure with a sloop of war in company. I am not certain whether it was this year or the next, when about 60 leagues to the SW of Scilly we were covered in the night with a flock of crows and caught several. When near the Channel we fell in with a vessel from the coast of Africa in want of provisions, the crew living on parrots and monkeys, and in great distress; supplied them with provisions and parted company, and after a passage of near three weeks arrived at Spithead, and then into harbour, where we remained as a half-and-half guard-ship until May, when the admiral hoisted his flag, and we soon after sailed for our station, in company with a sloop of war.
When on the banks of Newfoundland, in a thick fog at night, going about three knots, a field of ice struck us on the weather bow and carried away the starboard bumpkin and head sails, besides knocking off several sheets of copper. On the banks we picked up a cask of brandy covered with weeds and barnacles, and saw the yards and spars of the line-of-battle ships that were lost on and near the banks in the gale of September 1782 on their passage to England from the West Indies. Fell in with several islands of ice. Arrived at St. John’s, and remained there the usual time. We had a brewery on shore which supplied the squadron with spruce beer.[[33]] I was on shore at this brewery when one of our men unfortunately fell into the boiling coppers and died the same day in a most deplorable condition. It was said that the beer was sent off (of course by mistake) to the squadron, and I think some little demur was made about drinking it and it was sent back.
On the 29th of October (1785) we left St. John’s with a thundering gale right aft. A merchant who had never been out of St. John’s harbour took a passage for England. We had a tremendous sea following that almost turned his brain with horror. One sea that measured heights with the mizen peak had a prodigious effect upon him, and with a look I cannot describe, he called out, ‘Lord, Lord, Lord, Have mercy on me, and pray do let go the anchor!’ His bawling out so horribly, frightened the man at the wheel so that the ship was in danger of broaching to. This gale lashed us on at a devil of a rate, and we had 294 and 296 knots on the log in 24 hours. Our passage was very short as far as the Lizard, when the wind shifted to the eastward, and I think it was nineteen days before we arrived at Spithead, having a dish of turnips[[34]] all the way up Channel. Went into Portsmouth harbour, where the old Salisbury was paid off the latter end of 1785 or beginning of 1786.
This was the most hateful and disagreeable ship I ever had my foot on board of—so unlike the Panther. Mastheading upon every trifling occasion. The senior midshipmen (with the exception of a few) were tyrants; and petty tyrants are generally the worst. The captain was a very good man at times, but often harsh and severe in his remarks. He once told me (and I have never forgotten it) I would never be fit for anything but the boatswain’s storeroom. This was because I was down with the keys in my turn, a midshipman being always sent to see that lights are not taken into the storeroom except in a lantern, which is the custom in every man of war. He had missed me in the watch and thought I was skulking; and though I explained to him how it happened, it was all to no purpose. Great men don’t like to be put right. I well remember the cutting taunt; but I thank God his prophecy did not come to pass, as the certificates I am proud to say I produced from some of the first officers in the service will testify; and when I went to pass for lieutenant at Somerset House, the commissioners told me my certificates would get me promoted without interest. Upon this hint I transmitted them to Earl Spencer, the first lord of the admiralty, and by return of post he gave me a commission and appointed me second lieutenant of the Hind, 28. This may be considered as sounding my own trumpet. It may be so; but it is the truth. Enough of this digression, and let me return to the old bundle of boards and relate a few circumstances.
I have positively, after keeping the first watch while in the harbour of St. John’s, been turned out with other youngsters, to keep the morning watch and most of the forenoon without being relieved. Had we complained we knew what we had to expect from the overgrown tyrants, some of whom were members of the Hell-fire Club. I remember my old messmate, Ben Morgan (poor fellow! now dead and gone), having the lower part of his ear detached from his head because he kicked a little at the tyranny.
Our admiral was a great astronomer and took delight in lunar observation. One Sunday morning he sent four of us down with Pye the schoolmaster to work a lunar. While we were below, the hands were turned up to muster, and we were going to attend, but Pye said there was no occasion. Presently down came the quartermaster saying Lieutenant Stiles (who had the watch) wanted us. On going up he, in a very knowing way, demanded why we were not up to muster, and on our acquainting him with the reason he said it was all very well, and it would be better if we were to step up to the masthead and look out for squalls, as it was too thick to take a lunar. So two of us (I was one) were sent to the main topmast head and two to the fore, where we remained some hours. This was on the banks; a thick fog having just come on, with drops from the topgallant rigging which wetted us through in a short time; but that was of no consideration. On another trifling occasion, the same worthy was going to trice me up to the mizen peak, but this he thought better of. I could relate many more cases, but let this be sufficient. Lieutenant Stiles lately died a rear-admiral. One of the laws of Solon says, ‘Speak not ill of the dead; no, not if their sons offend you.’ I shall attend to this and say no more on the subject until I come to the Edgar, and then naught in malice.
When at St. Johns, a playhouse was got up by Graham, the admiral’s secretary, with considerable ability, and several of the officers used to perform. The scenery was very good and did Mr. Graham a deal of credit. Only the favoured few could get leave to see the performance. The kindhearted first lieutenant would send us that were not descended from the Kings of Cappadocia and Pontus on board at sunset, for fear we should catch cold if we stayed out late. This was making game; and I remember some of us meeting the admiral, who kindly gave us leave to pick fruit in his gardens for two hours, when this same Lieutenant Deacon happened to come up at the time; and when the admiral was gone, he started us on board, when we had not been there a quarter of an hour, saying he was fearful the fruit would gripe us. Kind soul!—the devil thank him. He was a most facetious gentleman, and when a seaman once asked him for slops, he replied, ‘Certainly, my man, what slops do you want?’ ‘A jacket, sir, if you please.’ ‘And cannot you think of something else?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ says the man, ‘I will be glad of a shirt and trowsers.’ ‘Very well, you shall have them. But do think of something more that you stand in need of,’ ‘Why, sir,’ says the man, ‘If you have no objection I should like a pair of shoes and stockings, and a smock frock.’[[35]] ‘Very well, my man, you shall have them all in good time. I expect a vessel in with some blue chalk from the Straits of Baffleman, and then I shall chalk out all your wants; so be off, or I shall get the boatswain’s mate to measure you with the end of the fore brace before her arrival, which you may think rather premature.’
When asking him for leave to go on shore he would frequently say, ‘As soon as I have time to chalk you out a barge to take you, I shall attend to this most important business.’ Once on a rainy day he was making some of those remarks, when his foot slipped and he fell on his bottom on the quarter deck. One of the lieutenants said, ‘Had the deck been chalked, sir, it would have saved your fall.’ This vexed him greatly, and seeing us laugh he started us up to the masthead for the remainder of the watch, saying, ‘Take care! As the rigging is not chalked you may slip and get an ugly fall.’
I have already mentioned our bringing home 75 dogs. I messed in the main hatchway berth on the lower deck, with four midshipmen and a scribe. We had eight of those dogs billeted on us. One of them had the name of Thunder. At dinner I once gave him a piece of beef with plenty of mustard rolled up in it. The moment he tasted it, he flew at me and I was obliged to run for it. He never forgot it, and whenever I offered him victuals he would snap at me directly. Another of those dogs used to sleep at the foot of Charley Bisset’s cot, and when the quartermaster would call the watch this dog would fly at him if he came near Bisset, who would often plead ignorance of being called, and by that means escape going on deck for the first hour of the watch. We had a drunken Irishman, by the name of Collins, who, when sent to the hospital at St. John’s, contrived to get liquor in spite of all precaution to prevent it. At last it was found out by the following circumstance. He had one of those dogs that could do anything but speak. He used to sling a bottle round his neck and then put a shilling in his mouth and send him off in the evening. The dog knew well where to go, for he had been often there with Collins. It was to a public-house, between the hospital and St. John’s. He’d howl as soon as he got there; the landlord knew well what he wanted, and would fill the bottle with rum. The dog would then drop the shilling, but not before, and scamper off to return to his master; not at the gate of the hospital—he was too cunning for that—but like a Roman conqueror, through a hole in the wall; when one night he was discovered by the watch going their rounds, and by that means the business was brought to light. From the ingenuity of the master and his dog, both escaped punishment.
Our armourer was a man who would drink like a fish, and one morning coming to the brewery complaining of thirst, the cooper, a droll and wicked fellow, gave him some essence of spruce, and the armourer took a good swig before he found out his mistake. The moment he could speak he asked what it was he had taken. The cooper said he was very sorry for what had happened, but he thought it right to acquaint him it was some stuff they had to poison rats. The armourer was struck dumb with terror, but at last, in a paroxysm of rage, swore that the cooper should die first; and drawing out a large knife, gave chase and certainly would have put an end to his joking had he not locked himself up in the brewery in great tribulation, as the armourer was trying all in his power to break open the door. However, the poor fellow was at last made sensible it was a joke, and had some double spruce given him to make amends—which had the desired effect.
Our second assistant surgeon was another wet soul, and coming from the play half drunk went to sleep in an empty cask that was lying on Quigley’s Wharf, when a squall of wind rolled the cask overboard and poor old Andrew Reardon would have been drowned, had it not been for the boat-keeper of the cutter. Old Andrew is now dead. He dearly loved grog, and when told that new rum was a bad article he said he didn’t care; if it fractured the brain it was all he wanted.
With a few exceptions we had a terrible lot of wild midshipmen. Some of them were members of the Hell-fire Club,[[36]] and used to dress, when going to that place, in scarlet coats with black velvet collars and cuffs, black waistcoat, breeches, and stockings, and hair powdered. Those chaps would play all manner of wicked pranks on board, such as pouring molasses under the heads of those who slept in the tier, and others would have a hook and line with which they’d haul our quilts and blankets off in the night, and then heave water over us, at the same time making a squeaking noise; while others, in the secret, would say it was the gibbering of a ghost, and that the tier was haunted; but that they would ask the parson (a wet soul) to lay the spirit, not in the Red Sea, but in the large pond near St. Johns. One poor fellow, a clerk whose name was Newnham, but nicknamed Newcome, they got in the tier one night in the dark, and swore it was the admiral’s cow that had got adrift. It was no use for the poor fellow to say he was not that personage; for a selvagee was clapped round him in an instant with a hauling line made fast, with which they roused him up the hatchway in a moment, terrified almost to death.
I must here mention the shifts my old messmate, Ben Morgan, and myself were put to the last year we were at St. John’s. Our captain used to pay our mess and washing bills, for which he was repaid on our return to England. It happened one morning when the washing bill was sent in, that he observed our towels were inserted with other articles; upon which he sent for us, and after a severe reprimand upon our extravagance, adding that we ought to have washed the towels ourselves, he dismissed us, saying he should give no more money to be fooled away in that manner, and that we deserved to be well flogged in the bargain. We were glad enough to steer clear of him. In respect of the money he was as good as his word; for devil a farthing more would he let us have, and we were sadly put to it; for we had only Tom Cod (caught alongside) for breakfast, salt beef or pork for dinner, and Tom Cod for tea in the evening. At last we in some measure got over our difficulties by going to the hills and gathering a weed called maidenhair, a good substitute for tea; and with molasses instead of sugar, poor Ben and myself fared gloriously.
While at St. John’s two of our seamen deserted and got into the woods on their way to an out port; and they had nearly been devoured by the wolves who attacked them in a hut, where they remained three days without provisions, and had great difficulty and danger in coming back to the ship, where they were treated with two dozen apiece.
Our captain to keep us in good order placed a Mr. Stack as father of our mess. He was cursed surly and disagreeable, but I believe meant well; only [he had] an ugly way of showing his kindness. When in good temper (which was seldom) he would say ‘My son,’ when he addressed any of us; but generally, ‘I’ll split your ear.’ This man drew a very long bow and would frequently tell the most unaccountable stories. I have heard him relate that the ghost of Commodore Walsingham[[37]] (who he had served under, and who was lost in the Thunderer, 74, in the West Indies, in the hurricane of 1780) appeared to him when he was a slave on the coast of Barbary, where he was chained by the leg for upwards of a twelvemonth, and after undergoing innumerable hardships he was released by a Moorish lady who fell in love with him and paid his ransom to a considerable amount. This was too much to swallow from a fellow as ugly as the old Diligente’s [figure-] head.
When at Spithead and in the harbour, our ship’s company had a violent quarrel with the crew of the Grampus 50, commanded by Ned Thompson[[38]] the poet, who had the Coast of Guinea station, and several battles were fought with various success. The quarrel originated in some of our fellows saying they of the Grampus, when on the coast, lived chiefly on monkey soup, except on Sundays, and then they were regaled on roast parrots. For this they swore to murder every snow-eating son of a bitch belonging to the Salisbury whenever they could catch them. One of the mates of the Grampus had the impudence, while we were in harbour, to drop under our bows with a launch-load of his people who had been for stores to the dockyard, and challenge ours to fight; for which he had very near been brought to a court martial.
Our quarrelsome blades had another row with the riggers; and when the latter would pass the ship in their launches, our fellows would thrust their heads out of the ports and sing out—‘I say, Mortimer, drop in the launch, make fast a hawser to the NW buoy, take three round turns and a half hitch, seize the end back and come on board with the launch.’ This occasioned many a battle, and the riggers generally got the worst of it; for we had some from that land which produces the finest peasantry in the world on board, and woe betide those who came in contact with them. We had the O’Ryans, the O’Gallaghers, the Macartys, the O’Donovans, the Murphys, the O’Flahertys, the O’Tooles and the O’Flanagans, and great part of the ship’s company were Irish and very quiet when not disturbed. One of those fellows—Darby Collins, who had the dog that I have mentioned at the hospital—did positively beat at the back of the Point, Portsmouth, eleven men by cracking their heads at single-stick one after the other. He was a tall, raw-boned Irishman, a Garry-owen boy that stood up manfully for the honour of his country.
The following are the names of the officers belonging to the Salisbury:—
John Campbell, F.R.S., Vice-Admiral.
Dead [1790]. An admiral; a most able officer and great astronomer. He was captain of the fleet on board the Royal George with Admiral Hawke when he defeated the French under Conflans.—[D.N.B.]
James Bradby, Esq., Captain.
Dead. A retired rear-admiral.
Henry Deacon, 1st Lieutenant.
Dead. He was the senior commander on the list; had the out-pension of Greenwich Hospital. A good seaman, but satirical, and too fond of mastheading.
Richard Rudsdale, 2nd Lieutenant.
Dead. A commander; a fine-looking fellow and the best officer in the ship.
Joseph Loring, 3rd Lieutenant.
Dead. A good sailor, very passionate, and swore like the devil.
John Stiles, 4th Lieutenant.
Dead. A rear-admiral of the white. Fond of mastheading for little or nothing. More of him when I come to the Edgar.
[George] Tremlett, Master.
Dead. A quiet, good man. [William Henry Brown Tremlett (captain, 1802), his servant].
[James] Pierce, Captain of Marines.
Dead. A strange fish.
[William] Gould, Lieutenant of Marines.
Dead. A good officer.
The Parson (I forget his name).
Dead. Had no dislike to grog.
[James] Cockerell, Purser.
Drowned. Took care of his eights.[[39]]
[Edmund] Peterson, Surgeon.
Dead. Crabbed as the devil.
Aaron Graham, Admiral’s Secretary.
Dead. A very clever fellow; was magistrate at Bow Street.
[Charles] Smith, Gunner.
Dead. Fractious from long illness. [D.D. in pay-book: no date.]
D—— (I forget his name) [Edward Dowdall], Gunner.
Dead. Lethargic; always dozing on the forecastle; a sleepy, good man.
[Simeon] Brown, Carpenter.
Dead. A quiet, good man; clever in his profession.
[James] Hall, Boatswain.
Dead. An infernal tyrant; a good sailor; a sycophant, a Hun, a Goth, a Vandal; a fellow that was made too much of by those who ought to have kept him at proper distance.
[John] McCurdy, 1st Assistant Surgeon.
Dead. A surgeon at St. John’s; a very excellent fellow, and clever in his profession.
Andrew Reardon, 2nd Assistant Surgeon.
Dead. A surgeon, R.N. A very worthy fellow, who loved his glass of grog.
Dodwell Brown, Master’s Mate.
Dead. A lieutenant; a gentleman very much respected.
[Samuel] Scott, Master’s Mate.
Uncertain. A tyrant who I well remember, although it is upwards of fifty years since I saw the blustering, swaggering bully.
Robert Laurie, Midshipman.
Vice-admiral of the white; a baronet and K.C.B. A most excellent officer, seaman, and gentleman. [Admiral, 1846; died 1848.—O’Byrne.]
Charles Bisset, Midshipman.
Dead. Wild and thoughtless, but a good-natured, harmless fellow.
[Henry] Potts, Midshipman [afterwards A.B.].
Dead. A tyrannical fellow and member of the Hell-fire Club.
[John] Sandford, Midshipman [afterwards A.B.].
Dead. A member of the Hell-fire Club; a dandy and droll fellow.
[Richard] Herbert, Midshipman. [A.B.].
Uncertain. A noisy, tyrannical fellow; member of the Hell-fire Club; nicknamed Hawbuck.
[Thomas James] Skerret, Midshipman. [A.B.]
Uncertain. This fellow wanted to be a tyrant, but was too great a fool.
[Campbell] Marjoribanks, Midshipman.
East India House.
[Thomas] Merchant, Midshipman.
Uncertain. A good fellow; called Old Siolto.
[John Wentworth] Holland, Midshipman. [A.B.]
A post captain; played the violin well. [Died 1841.]
Robert Manning, Midshipman.
Dead. A commander. Bob was a good fellow.
R. B. Vincent, Midshipman.
Dead [1831]. A post captain; C.B.; fought well; called Don Diego Del Vinsanti Hispaniola Whiskerando. More of him when I come to the Victory.—[D.N.B.]
Philip Brock, Midshipman.
Dead. A loss to the service.
Borromy Bradby, Midshipman, son of the captain. [A.B.]
Dead. A commander; a very worthy character. [Two other (presumably) sons of the captain, Matthew Barton and Daniel, were rated captain’s servants.]
Charles Garnier, Midshipman.
This gentleman was Captain of the Aurora, 32, and was unfortunately drowned in Yarmouth Roads, Isle of Wight, going off to his ship in the evening [1796].
James Macfarland, Midshipman.
A commander; good-natured and droll. [Captain (retired), 1840; died 1852.—O’Byrne.]
R. B. Littlehales, Midshipman.
A retired rear-admiral. [Vice-admiral, 1840: died 1847.—O’Byrne.]
John Tyrwhitt, Midshipman.
Marshal at Gibraltar.
Benjamin Morgan, Midshipman.
Dead. A lieutenant. Poor Ben! you and I have spent many an hour at the masthead for little or nothing.
Henry Batt, Midshipman.
Dead. A lieutenant. An old schoolfellow of mine. Harry was passionately fond of grog, which made him an ungrateful return by taking him out of this world before it was agreeable. Nicknamed Ram, Cat, Batt, and Rammon the Butcher.
William Garrett, Midshipman.
Dead. A lieutenant. A very good fellow and good sailor, but fond of grog and boasting.
Norborne Thompson, Midshipman.
A rear-admiral. [Died 1844.—Marshall, iii. 294.]
Ince, Midshipman.
Dead. A worthy fellow; a loss to the service.
Richard Stiles Tremlett, Midshipman.
Killed in a duel with Lord Camelford.
Geo. N[eate] Tremlett, Midshipman.
A commander. Brother of the above; a very good fellow. [Died 1865.—O’Byrne.]
Andrew Duff, Midshipman.
Dead. A drunken Hun.
Francis Gibbon, Midshipman.
Dead. A lieutenant; wonderfully great, in his own opinion.
[William] Elliot, Midshipman.
Dead. A commander, sickly and proud.
Lord Amelius Beauclerk, Midshipman.
An admiral, G.C.B. and G.C.H.; chief naval aide-de-camp to the king. [Died 1846.—D.N.B.]
Smith, Midshipman.
Uncertain. Remember little of him, and that no good.
J. A. Gardner, Midshipman. [Entered Dec. 12, 1783.]
A commander.
William Pye, Schoolmaster.
Dead. A purser; Fit Pye, Fit man.
John Alcot, Captain’s Clerk.
A purser and retired storekeeper of Portsmouth yard.
Henry Roland Harley, Admiral’s Office.
Was a purser in the navy but resigned the situation; a most worthy fellow. We were in four ships together.
[William] Willcocks, Admiral’s Office. [A.B.]
Uncertain. A very droll and noisy fellow.
[Thomas] Landseer, Admiral’s Office. [Admiral’s servant.]
Dead. A purser; a very satirical gentleman.
Crisp, Admiral’s Office.
Dead. A purser; another noisy, droll fellow.
Newnham, Admiral’s Office.
Uncertain. A quiet, easy, poor fellow; made a butt of.
[Thomas] Stack, used to keep the forecastle watch as Midshipman
Uncertain. Made a gunner; I have mentioned him before with his long bow.