A curious scene the deck of our old East India-man presented when we got on board. Confusion seemed the order of the day; geese, ducks, and fowls filling the air with their peculiar cries. It was difficult to get along the decks, so crowded were they with friends of the soldiers, consisting of weeping women and disconsolate children.
Somehow or other every stranger was cleared out in the course of time, and we put to sea. We had a very rough time of it in the Bay of Biscay, for it blew a fierce gale from the S.W., and not only could we make no way against the storm, but we were driven quite out of our course. These discomforts were not much thought of by my young brothers-in-arms, but must have been trying to the older officers on board. One veteran attached to our regiment passed a fearful time. He had never been to sea before, having served always in a cavalry corps, and the extent of his voyages had been from England to Ireland and back again; he was an old man now, and he and his wife had a very miserable appearance. Whenever he came into the cabin he looked the picture of woe, but I fear he got no sympathy from us youngsters. Once when the storm was at its worst, and the waves broke clean over the ship, the green water washing in at the cuddy door, ‘Oh!’ exclaimed the poor old man, ‘why do we not go into a harbour? Can we not get a steamer to tow us in?’ This proved an unfortunate remark to make in the presence of a lot of careless young jokers.
‘A first-rate idea,’ said one of them. ‘Let us get up a subscription for a steamer to pull us out of this tre-men-duous sea.’ No sooner said than done. We got a sheet of paper and wrote the following heading: ‘It is proposed to get a steamer to tow us out of the Bay of Biscay. Officers wishing to subscribe towards a fund to pay the expense of the said steamer are requested to sign their names.’ We all wrote down the amount we were willing to give, some putting down five pounds, others two pounds; but the poor old man, who was considered by us to be rather fond of his money, surprised us all by putting down his name for twenty pounds. The paper was stuck up in the cabin, but the old captain of the transport baffled our project, and let the cat out of the bag by asking the ancient warrior, ‘How the dickens are ye to get at the steamer?’ I do not think we were ever forgiven for our rather cruel joke.
On our arrival at Malta we were hospitably entertained by the regiments quartered there. The season was a very gay one, as our magnificent sailing fleet almost filled the many harbours, and dinners and balls, regattas and races, became the order of the day. The race-course was a very primitive affair, being a hard road called Pieta; but great was the excitement of these sporting events when the ‘Wandering Boy,’ belonging to Captain Horsford of the Rifle Brigade, won the Ladies’ Whip, and Major Shirley’s (88th regiment) ‘Monops’ came in first for some other favourite stakes.
I shall pass over the three years I belonged to the Malta garrison, during which time I went a cruise to Candia and Greece. The late Admiral of the Fleet, Sir Houston Stewart, was then captain of the Benbow, in which I went as guest of the present Admiral Sir John Hay, then a mate. A more delightful time no man ever had, for the Benbow was celebrated for its hospitality, and all the officers were kindness itself. To recall these pleasant hours is the most agreeable exercise of an old soldier’s memory, but the old ship is now a hulk. Her captain rests in his honoured grave, and the jolly young Benbows of that merry time have become admirals and captains, and are all scattered to the four winds. I had often intended visiting Naples and Rome, but somehow the journey never came off, the remarks made by an old colonel having probably had some effect in preventing me from undertaking the journey. When he was asked if he enjoyed his visit to Rome, he always got very angry, an anger which increased to fury if one mentioned any of the ruins. ‘Ah, bah!’ he would exclaim, ‘the Colay-sayem, is it?—the greatest absurdity that ever stepped—just a parcel of ould stones!’
In 1843 I left Malta, and, after a few months’ leave, I was ordered to join the dépôt of the 88th, quartered at Paisley. The dépôt of a regiment in those days was a miniature battalion, consisting of four companies, under command of a major. We were particularly fortunate in our commanding officer, who always was kind and considerate to everyone. We also had a good band—a privilege which a dépôt was allowed to enjoy at that time.
Very soon after joining at Paisley, I was sent on detachment to Dumbarton Castle. My party consisted of a sergeant, a corporal, and twenty men. When at Paisley, I was provided with a servant—a stately old soldier named Thomas Pillsworth, but better known afterwards as ‘Illustrious Tom.’ His wife, one of the fattest women I ever saw, became my housekeeper at Dumbarton. The rock of Dumbarton is a lonely spot, and to a young fellow of twenty-one was regular banishment. For a day or two I sat on the top of the rock and moaned over my sad fate, but very soon all became changed, for I was most kindly received by the families in the county, and I look back to the period of my being quartered in Dumbarton Castle as a most agreeable reminiscence. When I was there, I was known as ‘the governor of the castle.’ My command consisted of a master gunner, six old artillerymen, and my detachment. The castle was armed with seven guns.
The Queen’s birthday was announced in general orders, and, as usual, the notice was given that every fort in Scotland should fire a salute of twenty-one guns. There existed among the papers in the office a memorandum from the Adjutant-General in Scotland that the guns at Dumbarton Castle were not to be fired, but on this occasion the said document could not be found, so I sent for the old master gunner, who informed me that the guns had not been used since the death of His Majesty George IV. But I overcame his scruples by writing an order that a royal salute was to be fired next day. The six patriarchal artillerymen were full of zeal, and we managed in this wise: The detachment of Connaught Rangers was formed up on the top of the rock; the seven old guns were first fired by the ancient gunners, and then my men fired a feu-de-joie. This gave time for the venerable artillerymen to load again, and to repeat the fire, an operation which I am thankful to say was effected without any accident, till the twenty-one rounds had been expended.
After giving three hearty cheers for Her Majesty, I dismissed my men to their dinners, and the ancient warriors marched off to their quarters very pleased with their performance. But the authorities did not approve of our loyalty; for I received a reprimand, and an order to pay for the powder expended. Colonel Thorndike, R.A., (late General Thorndike) came to my assistance in this dilemma, and, through his influence, I think I was not called upon to pay anything. As, fortunately, I had blown up nobody, I did not grieve much over the official blowing up, as it was earned in a good cause—loyalty to Her Majesty the Queen.
As the dépôt of the 88th were ordered to proceed from Paisley to Aberdeen, I ceased to be Governor of Dumbarton Castle. We went by train to Stirling, and began there a most enjoyable march. We were received everywhere with open arms, no troops having been along that road since the time of the Peninsular War. The men were not allowed to pay a penny at their billets, and the officers were most kindly welcomed by the hospitable families on whom they were quartered. It was amusing to hear the men giving an account of their adventures as we marched from one place to another.