Than Tycho Brahe, or Erra Pater.
For he by geometric scale
Could take the size of pots of ale;
Resolve by sines and tangents straight,
If bread or butter wanted weight;
And wisely tell what hour o’ th’ day,
The clock does strike by algebra.—Hudibras.
The name of the master of this school was Orchard, and a very good man he was; but who the devil taught him navigation is more than I can say. He was a great disciplinarian, and used to flourish with direful sway an infernal horsewhip, that I have reason to remember. It was called ‘black pudding,’ and he was no way stingy in serving it out. I recollect one of the scholars coming very late one morning quite out of breath, and when asked the reason by old Orchard, he replied: ‘The man said that the boy said that the woman said that Mr. Browell said if he did not hold his tongue he would knock him down dead.’ This set the whole school in a roar of laughter, and I for one got three or four cuts across the shoulder with the before-mentioned black pudding, that I have perfect remembrance of to the present day. While at this school we used to bathe in a lake that runs near the Horse-field on the Stoke Road. On one occasion we drove a cow into the mud so that we could not extricate the animal, and it was fast sinking up to the neck. A militia regiment happened to be encamped near the spot, and it took several of the soldiers a long time to get it out. I never shall forget the terror we were in when the owner swore he would send the whole of us to jail; and Buck Adams, the keeper of the Bridewell, passing near the spot by chance, we thought he was come to seize us, and several of the party set off and ran naked into the town covered with mud. We had to pay near twenty shillings to make the matter up, besides treating the soldiers, who enjoyed the fun. As I’m in a hurry to get to sea again I shall only relate one or two circumstances that happened before I took my departure.
I was standing on Gosport beach when the prisoners were landed from some of the prizes taken by Rear-Admiral Kempenfelt (the ablest tactician in the navy), who with only twelve sail of the line by a masterly manœuvre captured most of the convoy from the French admiral, Count de Guichen, who had nineteen sail of the line, and frustrated the expedition. A party of soldiers assembled on the beach to escort them to Forton prison, a lieutenant of the navy and several midshipmen also attending, when a posse of women rushed out of Rime’s ‘noted alley’ and, pointing to the soldiers, sang the following beautiful ditty:
Don’t you see the ships a-coming?