After repeating this rigmarole we were obliged to start up to the mast head, if topgallant yards were across, to blow the dust out of the topgallant clueline blocks. One night, blowing and raining like the devil, I proposed to Owen about five bells in the middle watch to steal down out of the top and take the raisins that were intended for the pudding next day. When we got down to our berth we found the raisins were mixed with the flour and we had the devil’s own job to pick them out. After filling our pockets, one of the watch came down for grog and found us out. We ran off as fast as we could and got in the weather main rigging, where poor Owen was caught, seized up and made a spread eagle of for the remainder of the watch and part of the next. I made my escape and remained some time on the collar of the main stay, until all was quiet. One of the watch came up, but not finding me in the top gave over chase; but I got cobbed in the morning, and no pudding for dinner.

While in Hamoaze we had a draught of Irish Volunteers, about sixty in number. One of them was seven feet high, and when the hands were turned up to muster on the quarter deck, he stood like Saul the King of Israel, with head and shoulders above the host. This man used to head his countrymen when on shore upon leave, and was the terror of the people about Dock,[[27]] particularly North Corner Street, flourishing an Irish shillelah of enormous size, [so] that the constables when called out would fly like chaff at the very sight of him. He was, like the rest of his countrymen, honest and brave, and very inoffensive, but woe betide those that insulted him. Being in the dockyard returning stores, some of the shipwrights called him a walking flagstaff; for which compliment he gave two or three of them a terrible beating, and then challenged to fight twelve of the best men among them, taking two a day, but the challenge was not accepted from so queer a customer.

The night before we were paid off our ship’s company gave a grand supper and the lower deck was illuminated. Several female visitors were of the party from Castlerag and other fashionable places,[[28]] who danced jigs and reels the whole of the night, with plenty of grog and flip; and what was remarkable, not a soul was drunk in the morning.

I must here mention that my shipmates, though brave as lions, were given to superstition, as the following will show. After poor Sturges was killed it was given out that he was often seen in the tier, and sometimes in the cockpit. This had such an effect that not one of the midshipmen would stay below by himself. I remember one of them (Sm. Simmonds) falling asleep on the table in the starboard wing berth; and the rest going on deck, he was left alone. When he awoke, he took to his heels and ran up to the gunroom, where he fainted away and remained so a long time. When he came to, he declared that he saw poor Sturges standing in the berth as pale as death and looking steadfastly at him. This story worked so much upon the minds of the others that they took good care to have company at all times when left below. I had the shot that killed my worthy friend, and intended to have brought it home; but by some means it was lost or stolen on the morning of pay day.

While lying in Hamoaze our midshipmen carried on a roaring trade when rowing guard in the middle watch. They would sometimes set off to Catwater to visit a house where a very handsome girl lived, who would get up at any hour to make flip for them and felt highly flattered at their calling her Black-eyed Susan. I have sometimes been of the party and well recollect the many escapes we have had in carrying sail to get back in time, as the passage from Catwater to Hamoaze is rather a rough one in blowing weather, and the boat would frequently be gunwale under, so that I often thought my life was at stake.

I should have mentioned that our ship’s company mutinied as well as the other ships,[[29]] and some of our midshipmen that were obnoxious went on shore before the ship was paid off. A gentleman whose name I shall not give, and who had joined us in Hamoaze, had unluckily given some umbrage to the men, and was one of those who kept out of the way; but after the ship was paid off some of the fellows met him at the bottom of North Corner Street and took him on board of a collier and gave him a ducking.

After leaving the old Panther several of the officers were put on board the Rose transport for a passage to Portsmouth; but the wind being unfavourable for more than a fortnight, we left the Rose and her mutinous lot of scoundrels, she being ordered somewhere else. We were then transferred to the Hope transport, and after considerable delay we sailed for Portsmouth with a fine breeze from the westward, which soon after changed to the eastward, and blew like the devil. We were nine days turning up Channel[[30]]; however, we had a glorious set on board, and the master of the vessel (whose name I forget) did everything in the most handsome manner to make us comfortable. On the tenth day we arrived at Spithead, and on my landing at Gosport I found my poor grandmother at the point of death. She wished much to see me before she died. I followed her to the grave where she was interred alongside of my grandfather, Captain James Gardner, Royal Navy.

OFFICERS’ NAMES

Sir Francis W. Drake, Vice-Admiral.[[31]]

Dead. Admiral.