The master shipwright and Bardoe the pilot were to be seen in company during these preparations. An important personage was Bardoe; he was a bluff, stalwart seaman, with a voice to be heard the other side of the Medway, a Newcastle man by birth, and one to be obeyed, but gentle, communicative, and a decided favourite with us boys.
“Now young gentlemen,” said the pilot, “you are here betimes, pray keep out of mischief and mind your heads, they are just going to knock away some of those props; and let’s see, you want to go with us, don’t you? I hardly know what to say about it to-day; I shall have a large gang of convicts aboard to assist in ‘bringing her up,’ and my orders are to be strict about visitors.” “All right Mr. Bardoe, you’ll find room for us I daresay.”
The tide was now flowing freely, and the yard began to be astir with strangers. Many persons, quite ignorant of the details of shiplaunching, were seeking information, and with no little pride we undertook to enlighten a few, explaining the principle of launching, and then conducting the inquirers to the dog-shores, comparatively small pieces of timber, but forming the last connecting link, which, being knocked away by falling pieces of iron, admit of the vessel gliding into the stream.
Around the bows, and on either side of the “Monarch,” spacious stages were erected for the accommodation of the public. Hosts of civilians in gay dresses were arriving, and what with military uniforms, and a strong muster of blue-coats, appearances were becoming uncommonly lively.
Nor was the scene less stirring afloat, as aquatic parties were rowing hither and thither, and a long line of boats began to take up their positions in close proximity, not without peril, as the swell becomes great when a quantity of water equal to the displacement of a man-of-war is set in motion, and the boats’ crews have to look out in case of being upset.
As it was drawing near to one o’clock the Marine band marched down, and began playing inspiriting tunes. We then mounted the last ladder by the ship’s side, and caught Bardoe’s eye; he was rather stiff with the responsibilities of office, and had just given orders to clear away the ladder which was moving already, so that no further person could enter the ship. “Look alive young gentlemen,” Bardoe sung out, “tumble in through a port-hole”; a privilege which we were not long in availing ourselves of.
A stir with Bardoe’s gang of convicts next drew our attention. The pilot had ranged his men to let go the anchors at a given order, and for this they had to hold themselves in readiness. Presently a tremendous thumping was heard under the “Monarch’s” bows, and then a cheer arose. “Look out,” cried the pilot, “she is being christened”; then all was silent, and a voice was heard, “Are you all ready Bardoe”?
“All ready, Sir,” was the prompt response.
Another sound was then heard: “Down goes the dog-shores!” exclaimed Bardoe; then followed a slight tremble from stem to stern. “There she goes,” resounded on all sides, as we began moving down the slip with a pace which was at first easy, but which soon became accelerated to a rapid, resistless, majestic descent, increasing as we took the water, so that it seemed as if nothing could check our way until we reached the opposite bank of the river. Bardoe had his eye on the stream, and at the proper moment sung out lustily, “Stand by, my lads, let go,” when down fell a huge anchor, and then a second one, which lessened our speed. “Pay away handsomely,” exclaimed the pilot. “Port your helm hard.” “Port it is, Sir,” by which movement the “Monarch” was brought round skillfully, and prevented from touching the river mud.
There were two sentries on board having muskets loaded with ball cartridge, as at times, an escaped convict would swim the Medway and land unscathed on the Upnor Castle side of the river. Nothing of this kind was attempted, however, on board the new line-of-battle ship which had now entered her proper element, so that we landed in a boat without having witnessed anything more sensational than the launch. A passing reference to this scene may be considered by the reader as inapplicable to the life of a balloonist; but I cannot well omit subjects of the kind, if I faithfully chronicle the incidents of my early life, which I am determined to portray to the letter, even if the general character of my boyhood suffers thereby.