For haste, the proverb says, makes waste.
And so it happened; for a little before six, when he was within gunshot, the greedy fellow let another reef out of his topsails, and just as he had them hoisted, away went his fore yard, jib-boom, fore topmast and main topgallant mast. The other line-of-battle ship was hull down astern. The chase lasted twelve hours, during which time we ran near forty leagues. Shortened sail and wore ship, and as we passed to windward, we counted fifteen ports of a side on his lower deck.
Nothing further happened, except losing a poor fellow overboard in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, until we got to Quebec. The convoy also escaped and came in soon after; one of them was chased, but by fixing a pole on a tub with a lantern on the top, and steering another course in the night, escaped. We remained at Quebec until the latter end of November, and then sailed with a couple of fur ships for England under convoy. We left Quebec in the evening. I had the first watch, and I never shall forget the cold as long as I live.
Nothing remarkable happened until we got to the southward of Cape Clear, which bore north according to our dead reckoning, and if I remember correctly on the 23rd of December 1796, about eight in the evening we saw a squadron of men of war, one of them with a top light, standing to the northward, the wind about west, and at no great distance. We immediately hauled off to the southward, put out all our lights and hailed the two vessels under our charge to do the same. After standing to the southward some time, we altered our course and saw no more of them. The wind soon after shifted to the eastward and blew a heavy gale. Lost sight of our convoy and after buffeting about for some days we were obliged, for want of fuel, to put into Cork, where we found several men of war preparing to sail in consequence of the French being off Bantry Bay. All the carriages and horses that could be found were put in requisition to take the troops to that quarter, and when we had completed our stores and water we sailed with a squadron of frigates under Captain Jon. Faulknor to the southward in quest of the enemy, but they had left Bantry, where Lord Bridport was off with the grand fleet, who we joined with our squadron. I believe this was the time that General Grouchy with eight thousand men (before the arrival of our fleet) anchored in the bay; but from fear, or some other cause, thought it safer to set off than to land; and at Bantry, as well as at Waterloo, shewed great want of judgment.[[124]]
We were attached to the grand fleet as a repeating frigate; and in January 1797, we chased by signal and captured the French privateer La Favorite, of eight guns and sixty men, out but a short time from Brest and had taken nothing. After removing the chief part of the prisoners, I was put on board as prize master with two midshipmen and twelve men, with orders to stay by the fleet; but on examining her defects I found her in a very bad condition, upon which I separated from the fleet in the evening and stood for the Channel (being then in the Bay). We had nearly been run down by a three-decker—I believe the Prince George, commanded by the late Sir Joseph Yorke—in the rear of the fleet, and the night being as black as Erebus we had a narrow escape. Portsmouth being the place of rendezvous, we stood up Channel with the wind at SW the day after leaving the fleet, blowing a gale, under a close-reefed main topsail and foresail.
We had not an observation for several days before we parted from the grand fleet, and in running up Channel we got into Portland Race. I have been in many noted places, but this infernal race was worse than all, and I expected every moment we should founder. The privateer being deep-waisted, I ordered her ports to be knocked out so as to let the sea have a clear passage through; our hatches were battened down, but we were in danger of being washed overboard. The sea appeared like a pot boiling, and the spray beat over our topsail yards. Hauled off to the southward, and fortunately got safe out of one of the most damnable places I ever was in. The Frenchmen were in the utmost terror and cursed the hour they ever left Brest. By our account we were half way between the Start and Portland, which was very fair considering everything. During the night it fell calm and towards morning the wind freshened at SE with thick weather; at daylight, stood in and sounded fifteen fathoms near St. Alban’s Head, and, it clearing away, bore up and made sail for Plymouth. When near the Start we hoisted the union jack over the French at the gaff end; but the jack blowing away, and the halliards getting foul, we could not for some time haul down the French colours, which frightened a brig that was near, and a frigate coming from Torbay under jury masts fired (I believe) at us but at too great a distance to take effect. However, we got our colours to rights and I hailed the brig, who seemed very much alarmed until I informed him we came from the grand fleet, a prize to the Hind. In the evening we anchored in Cawsand Bay, and next morning I waited on Sir Richard King, the port admiral, who behaved in the kindest manner, and on my explaining my reasons for leaving the fleet he said I did what was very proper.
As no despatches had arrived, I was ordered by Sir Richard to write an account of what happened in the fleet from the day we joined Lord Bridport until I left with the prize, and also to give an account of our proceedings from the time we fell in with Richery’s squadron until our arrival at Cork. I was put into a room and desired to take my seat at a table with a quire of foolscap placed before me; and like a fool I looked, for it was a long time before I knew what to write, or how to begin. At last I took courage, and filled three or four sheets; bad grammar, no doubt. Sir Richard read the whole and said it would do very well—many thanks to him. He laughed heartily when I told him I got into Portland Race and what a panic the prisoners were in.
I had sent a pilot off to take the brig into Hamoaze and walked down with Sir Richard to Mutton Cove, as he wished to see her as she passed. He told me he was once put prize master when a lieutenant, on board of such another and had left the fleet as I had done and for the same reason. This made me easy and quieted my fears. Captain Bazely’s father was port admiral in the Downs, and I wrote to him stating our arrival and received an answer thanking me for the information respecting his son. We had not been long at Plymouth before the Hind left the fleet and put into Portsmouth, and not finding me there supposed we were lost, until Captain Bazely received a letter from his father saying he had heard from me, and that we were all well and safe at Plymouth, and in a few days I received the following letter from Captain Bazely:
Hind, Portsmouth, February 1797.
‘Gardner, my good fellow, I am truly happy to find you are in the land of the living, and that it was through necessity you put into Plymouth. We are ordered to Sheerness to dock, where I shall be devilish glad to see you; so get on board some vessel bound to the Downs with your party, and be sure to call on my father, who will be very glad to see you and will send some craft to take you to the Nore. We are all well.—Believe me to remain, with best wishes,