One of the dollar pigs he brought with him was deformed, having a head as long as his body, and when put into the sty with the others he killed the whole of them; and some of the seamen got it into their heads that this pig was the devil. Now Wills was a bit of a methodist and did not like this, and one morning he had the devil knocked on the head and hove overboard, observing it was the last time he’d have anything to do with a shaver like that.
Our first lieutenant used to play many tricks with Wills. Once when the packet came in, we were looking at her out of the wardroom windows, when up started Hungerford, who swore that Mrs. Wills and her two daughters were in a boat under the stern and coming alongside, and that he saw them leave the packet which had just arrived from England. Out he ran from the wardroom to escort them, and poor Wills looked stupid with surprise. A few minutes after the door opened and in came Hungerford with three naked black fellows, who he introduced as Mrs. Wills and her two daughters in the newest fashion from England. Wills, angry as he was, could not help joining in the laugh. When the ship was in Portsmouth harbour, I went with Hungerford to dine with Wills, who lived at Portsea. He had on his door a large brass plate with ‘Methuselah Wills’ engraved thereon in capital letters. When we returned, Hungerford swore that old Wills had the following inscription on the above brass plate:—
Methuselah Wills Esquire,
Master in the Royal Navie,
Passed for a first-rate ship of 110 guns,
Him and his wife lives here.
Poor Wills was a very good fellow; he died the senior master on the list at the age of eighty-three, and lies, with a great many more of my old shipmates, in Kingston churchyard, near Portsmouth. The last time I saw him was on the day the Princess Charlotte, 100, was launched. We were in the dockyard together and had just passed the bridge when it gave way with the gates belonging to the dock, by which accident near twenty people were drowned, and we escaped the same fate by about three minutes.[[156]]
I must now speak of a very different kind of being—poor unfortunate Jack Key, our third lieutenant. He had many vices, particularly hard drinking, but more his own enemy than any others. He was sent to Port Royal Hospital and invalided, and remained there after we sailed, in great distress, not being able for some time to get a passage home. One gentleman with feelings that do honour to him, took pity on the destitute. This gentleman was Mr. Carroll, assistant surgeon belonging to the Goliath, who, in the kindest manner, brought him on board his ship to provide for his wants, and did everything in his power to relieve him in his miserable situation; but the march of intellect among the superior officers rendered the good intentions of Mr. Carroll of little avail, as they ordered poor unhappy Jack out of the ship without loss of time.[[157]] Mr. Carroll is now a surgeon in the navy of long standing, and in extensive practice in Walworth. Key, from his dark complexion, had the nickname of Cocoa Jack, and was always, when the weather had the appearance of being bad, seen with a piece of wool between his finger and thumb ready to put in his ear, which made them say, ‘We are going to have bad weather; Jack is wool gathering.’
I once relieved Jack at 12 o’clock P.M. When I came on deck he was not to be found. It was blowing fresh, we were on a wind, the weather topsail braces gone, the yards fore and aft and the weather backstay falls overhauled. Why the topmasts did not go was no fault of Jack’s. At last I found him asleep in the lee scuppers and more than half drunk. On another occasion, when with the grand fleet off Brest, the signal was made for the ships to send boats to unload the victuallers, and I was sent with the launch and an eight-oared cutter for that purpose. As there was a great swell we had a difficult task to clear them, and it was late in the evening before we could take our launch in tow, and then pulled for the ship (I think about 7 P.M.), which was about a league off. Now Cocoa Jack had the first watch, and the ship was lying-to for the boat until the captain went to supper; when Jack, thinking we were too far from the admiral, made sail for some time and left us to shift for ourselves. At this time the wind freshened and the sea began to break, and I had serious apprehensions for our safety, and we did not appear to near the ship, whose distinguishing lights were scarcely visible. At last after near five hours’ labouring at the oar we got alongside. On going upon deck I found Jack had gone below without being relieved, and seated at the wardroom table with cold beef and a bumper of grog before him. ‘Ah, Tony,’ says he, ‘you have got on board at last? I had almost given you up.’ Although he was my senior officer I could not help saying, ‘Damn your old cocoa soul, did you want to drown all hands of us? Why did you not heave to before?’ ‘Lord help you,’ says he; ‘we have been lying-to these three hours.’ Now what Jack called lying-to was this: he let go the main-top-bowline, kept the sail shivering but not aback, and the helm a little a-weather, so that the ship forged ahead considerably. With all his faults he was a good-tempered fellow, and I said no more.
Our purser was a glorious fellow for keeping it up; and after taking his full share of Madeira would then turn to upon rum and water, and about two or three in the morning would give his last toast, ‘A bloody war and a sickly season!’ and then retire in a happy state. I once told him when he had the dry belly-ache after drinking port wine, that it was likely he’d go to the palisades (the burying ground), but that I would be happy to do anything for him in England that lay in my power. He gave me a look that expressed everything but thanks.