Bent with the weight, the nodding groves are seen,
And one bright waste hides all the works of men;
The circling seas, alone absorbing all,
Drink the dissolving fleeces as they fall.—Iliad.
In such a season as the above I arrived at Hastings on the 30th of January 1806. I was appointed to the station by Lord Garlies, one of the lords of the admiralty, who behaved to me in the kindest manner. After waiting on Captain Isaac Schomberg, who superintended the Sea Fencibles from Beachy Head to Dungeness, I proceeded to join my station about three miles to the eastward of Hastings. When I got to the summit of Fairlight Down, about 600 feet above the level of the sea, the first object that struck me was a hut, built of turf, in a ruinous state, and on the top a figure with a soldier’s jacket on. ‘Hallo!’ says I; ‘Is this the signal station?’ ‘Yes, zur,’ says he. Why then, thinks I, I’m damned if I don’t give up the appointment. ‘Where’s the midshipman?’ says I. ‘Midshipman, zur? why, there be only me and another soger, and I expects to be relieved to-day.’ ‘By whom?’ says I. ‘Vy,’ says he, ‘by two melishy men, and I thought you and that ere lad’ (meaning my son, who was with me, and under six years of age) ‘was them till you comed near.’ I could not help smiling at this, and taking a turn round the premises I thought I would look at the interior. I did so, but backed out again in a hurry, from filth and wretchedness. [The detailed description of these is omitted.]
On coming out I happened to cast my eye to the SE, and there I saw another signal station; and on making enquiry, I was informed by a labourer that the station I had just observed was the right one, and that this was only for the fogeys to look out from; so away I trudged over several ploughed fields and at last arrived at my destination, in the room of Lieutenant Francis Gibbon, deceased, who had formerly been a messmate of mine in the Salisbury.
It would puzzle a Philadelphia lawyer to recollect everything that happened for the eight years and ten months that I remained in this place, and I shall merely relate a few occurrences as they come to my recollection. I had a midshipman, two signalmen, and two dragoons, under my superintendence; and when anything particular took place one of the dragoons was sent off with the despatch to the nearest commanding officer. We had the strictest orders to be on the look-out by night and by day, in consequence of the threatened invasion, and our being so near the French coast that on a clear day the camp at Boulogne could be seen without a glass,[[161]] so that the utmost vigilance on our part was required. Blue lights, fire beacons, etc., were in constant readiness, and the French flotilla at Boulogne, Calais, Ambleteuse, and Vimereux were hourly expected to make a start.
Independent of this, whenever the wind blew strong from the westward, so as to occasion the cruisers to take shelter under Dungeness, the French privateers were sure to come over and pick up the struggling merchantmen before the men of war could regain their station off Beachy Head. We had also to be constantly on the watch to give notice in case of smugglers being on the coast, and to prevent prisoners of war making their escape from the vicinity of our station, a signal for that purpose being made from one post to another; so that we had no relaxation from duty except in a thick fog, which sometimes would take place for nine or ten days together, during which time we had only to walk round the cliffs and along the seashore. I have heard many say that a signal station was an easy berth, and only fit for old and worn-out officers. This I flatly deny; and, without fear of contradiction, can safely say that I suffered more from anxiety at this station than ever I did on board of a man of war. In the latter, when one’s watch was over, a little rest could be obtained; but at the station the night was worse than the day, as the flotilla were expected to take advantage of the darkness so as to be over in the morning, and the night signal was more anxiously watched than that of the day. When Earl St. Vincent was first lord of the admiralty, Lieutenant John Henry St. John Page (an old schoolfellow of mine, who I had the following account from) applied to him for a signal station, stating that he was unfit for active service in consequence of a paralytic stroke which affected his arm and one of his eyes. His lordship wrote for answer, ‘That an officer of a signal station ought to have two eyes, and damned good eyes they ought to be.’ However, he complied with his wishes.
From our elevated situation I have often been in dread for the safety of the house, particularly in the SW gales, and have frequently expected that the board would be obliged
To set a figure, to discover