My life and balloon experiences

by Henry Tracey Coxwell

“Oh! that’s it; well, I shall return in ten minutes, and if all this is not over I shall be very angry.”

Pater then, to the bandsman’s delight, went away; an act which was interpreted to mean, “go in and win,” which we did in a very short period of time, to the dismay of McMollon, who now rounded on Johnson, but the royal marine, of the Chatham division, was nothing daunted, though a much smaller man; his coat was off, and he was well to the front in no time.

“Shure the captain’s coming; don’t get yourself into trouble, now,” cried McMollon, and with this excuse he declined to be mixed up in the fray; and it is due to H—— to admit that, after the contest, he explained that his insinuations were entirely misunderstood, and that the Coxwells were far too touchy. This remark had in it some semblance of truth, perhaps, but the explanation being accepted, we shook hands, and were as good, if not better friends than ever.

As a description of my boyish pranks will lead to an inference that the game of soldiers was to me a labour of love, still it must not be supposed that I was indifferent to nautical pursuits and ship-building.

There was a fine field at Chatham for youths who aspired to serve their country, and who had a liking for naval architecture. Much of my spare time was spent in the machinery and dockyard departments. The parents of some of my schoolfellows resided in the great naval depot, and there were about half-a-dozen of us who inherited a strong bent for everything appertaining to the wooden walls of Old England.

We had heard our fathers’ stories of sea fights, and cutting out expeditions, of the days of two broad-sides and board, of chasing foreign frigates, and of attacking the combined fleets of France and Spain, until a lively interest in such undertakings was pretty generally felt among us. Ready access being afforded to see the dry and wet docks, slips, and gun wharf, we were fairly posted up in all that was going forward to maintain, at that time, our supremacy on the seas.

Although the dimensions of Chatham Dockyard have vastly extended since the year 1831, still they were of no small magnitude then. There was generally a first-rate on Number One slip, and a couple of ninety gun ships close at hand, while lower down the yard an eighty-four and several frigates, corvettes, and brigs of war were to be seen in different stages of advancement. The dry docks too—especially a new stone one—were invariably occupied, and in the river there was constantly a vessel in commission, so that we frequently put off to visit the officers, and to watch the progress of fitting out.

We had been observing for some time the completion of His Majesty’s ship “Monarch,” and were eagerly looking out for her launch, not because it would be a novelty to us—for we seldom omitted such ceremonies—but we had agreed to be on board as she went off the stocks. From some cause, better known to the Admiralty than to us, the launch had been put off from time to time, until we grew impatient. At last we noticed that the cradles were up, and that a coat of yellow paint had been laid on, and finally we ascertained that when the next spring tide served, this splendid eighty-four was destined to take the water.

The day having been fixed, we either obtained or took a whole holiday—a half-holiday was no kind of use to us. We did not care to arrive with the fashionable visitors who gathered about half-an-hour before the christening. What we wanted was to be present during the preliminary operations of removing the supports, and splitting out the blocks from beneath the keel, and, in fact, of witnessing the mechanical process of transferring the entire weight of a stupendous ship on to the “ways” down which the “Monarch” was to slide.

From an early hour in the morning every available shipwright was at his post accomplishing this task. It would never do to remove the spars that propped up each section of the enormous hull until the day of the launch; the strain would be too great on the timbers were this done until the cradles are driven tight by wedging, which was just what we took delight in. All hands were summoned for this office, when the blows from a thousand hammers struck home and blended in one harmonious sound.