A Middy of the King: A Romance of the Old British Navy

by Harry Collingwood

On this occasion I left home and journeyed down to Portsmouth alone, my father happening at the time to be suffering from an attack of gout which, while not sufficiently serious to be alarming, was nevertheless painful enough to preclude travelling. Upon arriving at my destination I called at the George Hotel, where Captain Vavassour usually put up, with the intention of reporting myself to him, but, learning that he was on board the frigate, I at once proceeded to the harbour and, engaging a wherry, transported myself and my belongings to Spithead, where the Europa lay at anchor. I was just in time to catch the Captain and report myself before he left the ship for the night, and then I descended to the midshipmen’s berth, where I was joyously welcomed by my former shipmates.

Upon inquiring for the latest news, it appeared that certain changes had occurred in the personnel of the ship since we had last all met together. For instance, Mr Howard had most deservedly obtained his promotion and been given a command, while Mr Galway now reigned in his stead aboard the Europa. As second and third lieutenants we had two new men, namely, Mr William Gadsby and Mr Edward Sutcliffe, both of whom seemed to have made a fairly favourable impression, on the whole, although—as was, perhaps, only natural—the occupants of the midshipmen’s berth seemed just a little inclined to regard them askance as newcomers of whom but little was thus far known. But when, an hour or so later, I again went up on deck and, through Mr Galway, made the acquaintance of the new men, I speedily came to the conclusion that though our new second luff might possibly turn out to be rather a “taut hand,” and perhaps a little inclined to be intolerant of the practical joking to which midshipmen are so prone, yet, on the whole, we should not have much cause to regret the arrival of either himself or Mr Sutcliffe among us, for both of them impressed me as being exceedingly well-bred men. Whether or not they would turn out to be capable seamen, however, was a matter which only time and more intimate association would prove.

As I have already intimated, the frigate had been reported as ready for sea when I received orders to join her; and so she was, save in one most important particular, namely, that she was short-handed. For although, upon our arrival home, all hands had been turned over to the guardship and placed upon her books while our own ship was in the hands of the dockyard people, the admiral had drawn upon them pretty freely, in order to enable other ships to complete their complement and go to sea; so that when the time came for the Europa to receive back her crew, it was found that she was nearly fifty men short of her full number. This was all the more unfortunate, in that we had very little time left us in which to make up the deficiency; for we were to sail in three days’ time for Plymouth, there to form part of the escort of a large fleet of merchantmen and transports bound to the West Indies under convoy. But now it was that our new second and third lieutenants showed their mettle, for on the very night of my arrival on board they organised two formidable pressgangs, which they led ashore, one party landing at Portsmouth and the other at Gosport; and between them they managed to make a clean sweep of pretty nearly all the crimps’ houses within a radius of four miles of the harbour, returning to the ship shortly before daylight the next morning considerably battered and the worse for wear—for they had been engaged in a series of desperate hand-to-hand fights—but bringing with them sixty-three fine, able-bodied merchant seamen, who had been in close hiding while awaiting a berth. A few of these men had already served on board a man-o’-war, and they did not need very much persuasion to induce them to enter again; when the ball having once been set rolling, as it were, the rest followed suit in little batches of twos and threes until by midday the whole of them had “volunteered,” and we had completed our complement.

At daylight, on the third morning after my arrival on board, Blue Peter was hoisted, the fore-topsail was loosed, and a gun was fired as a signal that we were about to proceed to sea; and from that moment until the anchor was lifted all was bustle and confusion—hoisting in and securing the boats, stowing away stock of all descriptions, and clearing the ship of women—wives and sweethearts of the crew—and traders who were anxious to obtain a settlement of accounts. The Captain’s gig had been sent ashore immediately after breakfast; and about ten o’clock she returned, bringing off Captain Vavassour; the boatswains piped “All hands up anchor!” and half-an-hour later we were bowling away down the Solent before a fine easterly breeze.

We arrived in Plymouth Sound the next morning, and found assembled there about one hundred and twenty sail of merchantmen bound to various ports on the other side of the Atlantic, in the safe convoy of which to their destination we were to take part. We also found my old ship Colossus, the frigate Astarte, of thirty-six guns, and two 14-gun-brigs—the Hebe and the Naiad—at anchor outside the merchant fleet, being the remaining ships of the squadron detailed for convoy duty.

On the day following our arrival at Plymouth the wind shifted and blew hard from the south-west, with almost continuous rain. As these weather conditions prevailed for eight consecutive days, we remained at anchor, awaiting a change of wind, since it was useless to take to sea a fleet of merchantmen, the greater number of which were so deeply laden and such poor sailers that it would have been impossible for them to make any progress against a wind that was blowing dead in their teeth. During this period of inaction some thirty additional sail arrived at the rendezvous, anxious to avail themselves of the protection of convoy; when, therefore, on the ninth day the weather cleared and the wind hauled round from the south-east, the merchant fleet of which we were to take care during their passage across the Atlantic numbered in all exactly one hundred and fifty-four sail.

The change of weather occurred shortly after midnight, with a steadily rising barometer; at daylight, therefore, the commodore fired a gun and hoisted the signal to weigh, and by eight o’clock the leading ships in the fleet were under way and beating out to sea, led by the Colossus, their departure being hastened by much firing of guns and continuous displays of signal flags. The two gun-brigs went out with the first of the fleet, their duty being to marshal the merchantmen into something like order when they got outside; but the Astarte and ourselves remained at anchor to quicken up the movements of the laggards and expedite matters generally; and a hard time we had of it, for so short-handed were some of the vessels that we were obliged to send working-parties on board them to assist in making sail and breaking their anchors out of the ground. But by noon the last of them were fairly under way, and as soon as they had passed outside of us we too weighed and stood out after them, flitting hither and thither, hailing first this ship and then that, with imperative orders for them to crowd sail. But oh, what weary, heart-breaking work was this business of whipping-in; for so sluggish were some of the craft that it seemed as though they would never be able to make their way out to the main fleet, which was by this time hove-to in the offing. However, by eight bells in the afternoon watch we had contrived to hustle the last one out to windward of the Eddystone, when the commodore made the signal to fill away; and off we all went, with the wind a couple of points free, the weather braces checked, and the slower coaches among the merchantmen with all their larboard studdingsails set. Then came a signal from the commodore to regulate rate of sailing by that of the slowest craft in the fleet and to keep as close together as prudence would permit; and, finally, a signal to the men-of-war to take the stations assigned to them and to keep a sharp lookout for marauders. This last signal was made purely as a matter of form and duty, and not because it was actually necessary; for although none of us had sighted any suspicious-looking craft on our way round to Plymouth, we felt pretty certain that news of the assembling of the convoy, and of its probable sailing date, would find its way across the Channel, and that, sooner or later, we should discover that a few enterprising privateers were hovering upon its skirts, watching for a favourable opportunity to cut in and secure a prize or two.

The south-easterly wind held long enough to enable us and our charges to get well clear of the Channel and to the southward of Ushant before it changed, and then it gradually veered round until it came out strong from the north-west, when away we all went for Madeira, the slowest ships carrying every rag of canvas that they could stagger under, while the faster craft were unwillingly compelled to shorten down in order that all might keep together, while as for ourselves and the Astarte, the utmost that we could show, without running ahead of our station, was double-reefed topsails.

We sighted and passed Madeira on the eighth day out from Plymouth, and two days later, to our great joy, picked up the “Trades,” blowing fresh; and thus far we had not sighted a single suspicious sail. Most of us were of opinion that, having been permitted to come thus far without interference, we were now safe, and that with a strong trade-wind wafting along even the slowest coaches among us, at a pace of from six to seven knots an hour, our troubles were all over. But the more knowing ones shook their heads, smiled compassionately at our ignorance, and said, “Wait a bit!”

And they were right. For at daylight on a certain lovely morning, when we were, by our reckoning, some three hundred and twenty miles from the island of Barbadoes, upon going up to the main-topmast crosstrees to take a look round generally, and count the number of sail in sight, I discovered that at last the wolves had entered our fold and were already playing havoc with it. For, to start with, one of our finest and fastest merchantmen had hauled out from the main body, and under a heavy press of canvas was already hull-down in the south-eastern board, being evidently in possession of a prize-crew, while, in the thickest of the ruck, was a very large brigantine, under exceedingly short canvas, yet keeping pace with the slow-sailing merchantmen, first sheering alongside one and hugging her affectionately for a few minutes, and then turning her attention to another and doing likewise. But this was not all, for on the northern flank of the convoy there was a small full-rigged ship, which I felt certain was a stranger, apparently pursuing the same tactics as the brigantine; while far away to the north were both our man-o’-war brigs cracking on in chase of five craft—whether a portion of our convoy or not, I could not at the moment say—which seemed to be manoeuvring with the deliberate purpose of drawing the brigs away from the convoy and so affording the brigantine and the ship an opportunity to put in a good morning’s work unmolested.