While at Carrickfergus the assizes were held and we had an invitation to dine with the grand jury. We passed a very pleasant day; upwards of two hundred were present, and several excellent songs were sung by one of the counsellors, who was considered equal to Braham or Incledon.[[119]] Having proceeded to Plymouth with a convoy we remained some time in the Sound, when the Medusa, 50, Captain James Norman, arrived with the West India convoy, part of which had been captured by the enemy’s cruisers, and we were put under his orders to proceed with the convoy to the Downs.
It is well remembered by those who are not too young that the latter end of 1795 was a very tempestuous season, and it was a long time before an opportunity offered to sail; we once made the attempt and had nearly got on shore near the Mewstone. In working out, our main topsail yard was carried away in a squall, and we were obliged to anchor; but the gale increasing, the cable was cut, and we again anchored in the Sound. On November 3, the wind being favourable, the commodore made the signal to get under way, and we were ordered to lead up Channel. On the night of the 5th (it being light winds the whole of the time from our leaving the Sound), between Beachy Head and Dungeness it came on to blow a complete hurricane, with heavy rain at south; and on the morning of the 6th, it blew, if possible, harder, and our situation on a lee shore dreadfully alarming, in Rye Bay, with only storm staysails, which at last blew out of the bolt rope; the main topsail also split to pieces from the fourth reef, leaving not a wreck behind, and we expected the ship would upset under bare poles.
As second lieutenant, I was stationed on the forecastle, and seeing a light right ahead I pointed it out to Tim Coghlan, our master, who swore it was Dungeness light and that we were all lost; at the same time asking me for the key of the case, as he was going to step down for a lunch, being infernally hungry and thirsty. I asked Captain Lee, who was on deck all night—for he was an officer that never flinched, and where there was danger he was always to be seen cool and intrepid—to take some refreshment. ‘Why,’ says he, ‘I don’t know what to say about the eating part of the business, but I think we shall get plenty to drink, and that presently.’
Had the gale continued at south, nothing could have saved us. With a tremendous sea, and breakers at no great distance, there was no chance of reaching the Downs as we could not get round Dungeness; when in a dreadful squall of thunder, lightning, hail and rain, the wind shifted to north or NNW, which is off the land, and blew with the utmost violence. But towards daylight it got more moderate and we stood for the Downs, where we anchored with part of the convoy in a shattered condition, the remainder coming in soon after. Two of them were lost on the French coast when the wind shifted to the northward.
Captain Lee soon after left the ship, with the good wishes of every officer and man on board. He was a brave, generous, and meritorious officer, an excellent sailor and skilful pilot for the British, as well as Irish Channels, and well deserving of the honours he now enjoys. He was succeeded by Captain John Bazely, who was one of the best officers in the navy for skill, activity, and high sense of honour, well read, and possessing an excellent understanding, and his death will long be lamented as a loss to the service and to society.
November 19th, another tremendous gale came on at SSW, which lasted the whole of the day and most of the night. This was the gale that Admiral Christian’s[[120]] fleet suffered so much in. We expected every minute to part, and about the last quarter flood we began to drive; but before we could let go our sheet anchor she brought up. The Glebb, 74, the flagship of the Russian admiral (Henikoff) lying abreast of us, parted and brought up with her last anchor within half a mile of the Break. The Montagu, 74, under jury masts, from the westward, anchored in our wake,[[121]] and run her cable out to the clinch before she brought up. Had she parted, God knows what would have become of us, as it was the height of the gale, with thick weather, and nothing could have prevented her being on board of us, as all her sails were blown from the yards. Had the gale lasted much longer it would been of serious consequence to the ships in the Downs.
Sailed with a convoy to the westward, which service we were employed on, cruising occasionally in the Channel and Bay, for several months. In May 1796, coming into Plymouth Sound from a cruise, and blowing hard, we anchored astern of the Alfred, 74, who had driven without our being aware of it, so that we found ourselves in an awkward berth without room to moor. We then attempted to get under way, but the gale increasing from the SW, we were unable to weather Mount Batten and came to again. We soon after parted, and let go another anchor and brought up between two rocks in a perilous situation, with two anchors ahead; but fortunately it got more moderate, and, observing there was an undertow, so that when she pitched there appeared no strain upon the cables, we thought there was no occasion to cut away our masts; and our opinion was right, notwithstanding the wish of the knowing ones who came down by hundreds and chalked in large letters on the rocks—‘Cut away your masts.’ This was dictating with a vengeance by a set of vagabond landsmen, fellows that could rob a house easier than knot a rope yarn, and be damned to them. A lighter with an anchor and cable came out soon after; and the wind shifting, we got under way and anchored in a safe berth.
Sailed to the westward and cruised in the Bay, and on our return to the Sound received orders to proceed to Spithead and fit for foreign service, and about the latter end of August sailed with a small convoy for Quebec. Nothing particular happened until we got on the Banks of Newfoundland, when we fell in with a French squadron under Admiral Richery. It was in the forenoon watch, blowing very hard, the wind WNW with a heavy sea, under a close-reefed main topsail and foresail, when we observed a ship of the line to windward with her head to the SW, under the same sail. Made the private signal, which was not answered. Most of our convoy had parted company in the gale. Bore up and made sail. The enemy also bore up and made all sail in chase until sunset, when he gave over chase and hauled his wind to the northward. We hauled our wind also, and stood to the southward. Separated from the remainder of the convoy during the night, it blowing strong with thick weather. There was great exultation at our outsailing the enemy, and some on board were wishing to have another trial, and their wishes were not disappointed; for in three days after, about six in the morning, two line-of-battle ships were observed astern about two leagues off.
The private signal was made, but not answered. We were under close-reefed topsails and foresail, steering WSW, the wind NW. The enemy made sail and stood after us. We immediately let two reefs out of the topsails, set topgallant sails and hauled the main tack on board, with jib a third in[[122]] and spanker. It was neck or nothing, and those who wished for another chase looked rather glum and had not quite so good an opinion of our sailing on a wind as they had when before it. For my part I expected we should upset, and it was with uncommon alacrity in making and shortening sail between the squalls that we escaped upsetting or being taken. The enemy knew well what he was about, for he kept rather on our lee quarter with his fore topmast studding sail boom run out, and the sail ready for setting in case we had kept away. At one time his weather main topsail sheet gave way and he was only ten minutes in setting the sail again; his jib also split, which he unbent and had another set in twenty minutes, which did him great credit. Luckily for us the sea was nearly abeam; had we been on the other tack we must have been taken, as we should then have bowed[[123]] the sea. I remember heaving the log and she was going ten knots. But notwithstanding our good sailing the enemy gained on us fast, and we should have been captured for a certainty if the Frenchman had possessed more patience.
Festina lente, not too fast;