Anson is next heard of as a second lieutenant aboard the Hampshire. He was in the Montague, 60-gun ship, in Sir George Byng's action off Cape Passaro, in March 1718. In 1722, he commanded the Weasel sloop in some obscure services in the North Sea against the Dutch smugglers and French Jacobites. During this command he made several captures of brandy. From 1724 till 1735 he was employed in various commands, mostly in the American colonies, against the pirates. From 1735 till 1737 he was not employed at sea.
In 1737, he took command of the Centurion, and sailed in her to the Guinea Coast, to protect our gum merchants from the French. His gunner was disordered in his head during the cruise; and Sierra Leone was so unhealthy that "the merchant ships had scarce a well man on board." A man going mad and others dying were the only adventures of the voyage. He was back in the Downs to prepare for this more eventful voyage by July 21, 1739.
In November he wrote to the Admiralty that in hot climates "the Pease and Oatemeal put on board his Maj'y Ships have generally decayed and become not fitt to issue, before they have all been expended." He proposed taking instead of peas and oatmeal a proportion of "Stockfish, Grotts, Grout, and Rice." The Admiralty sanctioned the change; but the purser seems to have failed to procure the substitutes. Whether, as was the way of the pursers of that time, he pocketed money on the occasion, cannot be known. He died at sea long before the lack was discovered.
A more tragical matter took place in this November. A Mr. McKie, a naval mate, was attacked on Gosport Beach by twenty or thirty of the Centurion's crew, under one William Cheney, a boatswain's mate; and the said William Cheney "with a stick did cutt and bruse" the said McKie, and tore his shirt and conveyed away his "Murning ring," which was flat burglary in the said Cheney. "Mr. Cheney aledges no other reason for beating and Abusing Mr. McKie but the said McKie having got drunk at Sea, did then beat and abuse him." As Hamlet says, this was hire and salary, not revenge.
Months went by, doubtfully enlivened thus, till June 1740, when the pressing of men began. The Centurion's men went pressing, and got seventy-three men, a fair catch, but not enough. She despatched a tender to the Downs to press men from homeward bound merchant ships. This method of getting a crew was the best then in use, because the men obtained by it were trained seamen, which those obtained from the gaols, the gin-shops, and the slums seldom were. It was an extremely cruel method. A man within sight of his home, after a voyage of perhaps two years, might be dragged from his ship (before his wages were paid) to serve willy-nilly in the Navy, at a third of the pay, for the next half-dozen years. An impartial conscription seems noble beside such a method. Knowing how the ships were manned, it cannot seem strange that the Navy was not then a loved nor an honoured service. Nineteen of the Centurion's catch loved and honoured it so little that they contrived to desert (risking death at the yard-arm by doing so) during the weeks of waiting at Portsmouth.
Before the tender sailed for the Downs, Anson discovered that the dockyard men had scamped their work in the Centurion. They had supplied her with a defective foremast "Not fitt for Sarves." High up on the mast was "a rotten Nott eleven inches deep," a danger to spar and ship together. The dockyard officials, who had probably pocketed the money for a good spar, swore that the Nott only "wants a Plugg drove in" to be perfection. Dockyard men at this time and for many years afterwards deserved to be suspended both from their duties and by their necks. Soon after the wrangle over the spar, there was a wrangle about the Gloucester's beef. Forty-two out of her seventy-two puncheons of beef were found to be stinking. With some doubts as to what would happen in the leaf if such things happened in the bud, Anson got his squadron to sea. Early in the voyage his master "shoved" his boatswain while he was knotting a cable, and the boatswain complained. "The Boatswain," says the letter, "is very often Drunk and incapable of his Duty." Later in the voyage, when many hundreds had died, Mr. Cheney, who hit Mr. McKie, became boatswain in his stead.
The squadron sailed from England on September 18, 1740, with six ships of war manned by 1872 seamen and marines, twenty-four of whom were sick. At Madeira, on November 4, after less than seven weeks at sea, there were 122 sick, and fourteen had been buried. Less than eleven weeks later, at St. Catherine's in Brazil, there were 450 sick, and 160 had been buried. From this time until what was left of the squadron reached Juan Fernandez, sickness and death took continual toll. It is shocking to see the Centurion's muster lists slowly decreasing, by one or two a week, till she was up to the Horn, then dropping six, ten, twenty, or twenty-four a week, as the scurvy and the frost took hold. Few but the young survived. What that passage of the Horn was like may be read here at length; but perhaps nothing in this book is so eloquent of human misery as the following entries from Anson's private record:—
"1741. 8 May.—Heavy Flaws and dangerous Gusts, expecting every Moment to have my masts Carry'd away, having very little succor, from the standing rigging, every Shroud knotted, and not men able to keep the deck sufficient to take in a Topsail, all being violently afflicted with the Scurvy, and every day lessening our Number by six eight and Ten.
"1741. 1st Sept.—I mustered my Ship's Company, the number of Men I brought out of England, being Five hundred, are now reduced by Mortality to Two hundred and Thirteen, and many of them in a weak and Low condition."
Nothing in any of the records is so eloquent as the remark in Pascoe Thomas's account of the voyage:—