I have already stated our reconnoitring the enemy’s fleet in the roads. Out of many instances I shall mention one that had nearly been of serious consequences. Having stood in with a fine breeze, the enemy never fired a shot until we hove in stays. At this time it fell on a sudden a dead calm, and we were within gunshot. They then began to blaze away from all their forts, the red-hot shot flying in every direction. I was looking out of the gunroom port when a shot came right under our counter, which made the water hiss and had nearly struck the rudder. At this time things looked queer, all the boats were hoisted out and began to tow, but still we drifted in, the shot flying full half a mile beyond us, when luckily a breeze came off the land and saved the Berwick from being sunk or blown up, for she never would have been taken. Fortunately we had none killed or wounded, which was astonishing, as the shot flew like hail. Captain Campbell soon after left the ship, being appointed to the Terrible, 74, and Captain George Henry Towry succeeded him.
Our squadron under Admiral Hotham consisted of eight sail of the line, two of them three-deckers (the Britannia, 100, and St. George, 98) and two frigates; and, after several weeks’ cruise, the French fleet put to sea from Toulon with seven sail of the line, one of them a three-decker, and six or seven frigates or smaller vessels. Now, mark me, several of those ships had been put down as burnt at the evacuation of Toulon, but now had the impudence to rise from their ashes like the Phœnix,[[102]] or like the snake that had slept the winter, but on the return of spring appears renewed in youth and with new fury burns:
Qualis ubi in lucem coluber, mala gramina pastus,
Frigida sub terra tumidum quem bruma tegebat,
Nunc positis novus exuviis, nitidusque juventa,
Lubrica convolvit sublato pectore terga,
Arduus ad solem, et linguis micat ore trisulcis.—Aeneid.
June 1794.—We were at dinner when the drum beat to quarters, and on going upon deck saw the ‘Resurgam Squadron’ coming out, under topsails and foresail, on the starboard tack, in line of battle, the Sans Culotte,[[103]] 136 guns, their leading ship; the wind westerly; our squadron standing in on the larboard tack, and to the best of my recollection about three leagues from the enemy; and, had we stood on and tacked, we should have got in their wake. But our admiral made a signal—it being at this time evening—that a movement would take place after dusk. Now, what do you think this movement was? Why, to bear up and sail large! ‘Tell it not in Gath, nor publish it in the streets of Askalon.’ The Meleager, 32, was left behind to watch the enemy. All this appeared strange; but the admiral, we supposed, knew
What was what and that as high
As metaphysic wit could fly.