At the time we had nearly got on shore and lost an anchor near the Mewstone, when working out with the convoy, I was sent the next morning to acquaint Commissioner Fanshawe[[126]] of the circumstance, and to request he would order a lighter with a new cable and to weigh the anchor we had lost. I recollect he was dressed in an old blue coat with a red handkerchief about his neck, and in a very crabbed humour. After staring at me for some time he roared out, ‘I shall do no such thing. What brought you there? Go and tell your captain if he gets into a hole he must get out of it again. I shall give him no assistance and you may be off and tell him so.’ I told him that we were out of the hole and that I only delivered my orders as I was directed. At the same time I would thank him to write down the words he had just made use of, as verbal messages were uncertain. ‘Be off, sir,’ says he, ‘and if your memory is good enough to recollect what your captain said you cannot forget what I have stated; so no more palaver’; and grinning at me with a horrid set of teeth, he concluded by saying, ‘I have other things to think of than bothering my brains about people who get into a lubberly situation and don’t know how to get out.’ I looked at him without making any reply, when, turning on his heel, he said, ‘Aye, you may look’;
Nor more he deigned to say,
But stern as Ajax’ spectre, strode away.
As I am not fond of making mischief, I thought it best to say nothing to Captain Lee but merely state he refused to send the lighter. This put the captain in a terrible rage, but the lighter being sent off the next morning, the matter ended. Commissioner Fanshawe was one of the first seamen in the navy, and also one of the bravest officers that ever did honour to the service, a rigid disciplinarian, and to sum up all, a tight hand of the watch, as the saying is.
Coming from the westward to the Downs and when round the Foreland, the captain ordered the colours to be hoisted, when up went a swaggering French ensign and jack, which at first was not taken notice of, but was soon observed by the captain, who ran forward calling out to me, ‘Look at the French jack, sir; haul it down directly.’ ‘Sir, said I, ‘the French ensign is at the mizen peak.’ This he had not seen, and I thought he would have gone jumping mad. However, they were hauled down; but as if the devil would have it, instead of our own, up went Dutch colours. Nobody could keep their countenance, and a general laugh went through the ship and also in the men of war lying in the Downs who had observed the transaction.
While at Carrickfergus we were on very friendly terms with the officers of the Irish militia and dined often at the different messes. I remember on a rejoicing day calling with some more on the officers of the Cavan militia. On going upstairs to their messroom, we found several seated round the fire with a half barrel of gunpowder busily employed making fireworks for the evening amusement. Our visit was not of long duration, and I can truly say for myself that I only made one step downstairs and was off like a shot—
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind.
When in Hamoaze our boatswain was tried by a court martial for repeated drunkenness and dismissed the service. At the trial the captain of the Tremendous, 74, was unable to attend from indisposition, and the surgeon being sent for to attend the court and give in his report, he happened to make some remarks that the court considered disrespectful; upon which he was given in charge of Lieutenant Richards, first of the Cambridge, 84, on board of which ship the trial took place, until the court should determine. He was not long kept in suspense, for on the court opening he was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment in the Marshalsea for contempt of court,[[127]] and sent off that day. People should be careful.
On the passage to Quebec, after parting from our convoy, about eight in the evening, with little wind and going two knots, and nothing in sight, a voice was heard astern hailing, ‘On board the Hind, ahoy!’ I must confess I was a little staggered, and some curious remarks were made by the seamen. One fellow said, ‘I’ll be damned if we were off the Cape but I should think it was the Flying Dutchman.’ ‘As to that,’ says another, ‘he has got a roving commission and may cruise where he likes.’ ‘Bad luck to me,’ says a marine, ‘if it’s not a mermaid.’ ‘And to sum up,’ says old Macarthy, the quartermaster, ‘it may be the poor fellow that fell overboard the other day.’ However, the voice hailed again, saying, ‘Bear a hand and send the boat, for I’m damned if I can keep up much longer.’ The jolly boat was immediately lowered down from the stern and sent in the direction of the voice; and will it be believed that the fellows were afraid to take into the boat one of the main topmen (who had fallen overboard out of the main chains, being half asleep) until he had told his name and answered several ridiculous questions?
At the time we took the privateer, it was given out by our lying newspapers that the French were starving. On the contrary the French officers told me that everything was abundant in France, and—if I may judge from what was on board—their account was correct; for she had barrels of meat of every description—alamode beef, ham, fowls, and tongues, casks filled with eggs, coffee, tea, and sugar, all kinds of cordial, with plenty of brandy and different wines; so that instead of starvation, there appeared the luxury of Lucullus, when supping in the Apollo.[[128]] The French officers belonged to some of the line-of-battle ships at Brest, but had leave from the French Government to go on board privateers for a certain time and cruise after our merchantmen. When we arrived at Plymouth they requested me to state this to the proper authorities in the hope of getting their parole. This I accordingly did, but without success, as they were given to understand that being taken in a privateer they could not be considered as officers entitled to parole.[[129]]