I have positively, after keeping the first watch while in the harbour of St. John’s, been turned out with other youngsters, to keep the morning watch and most of the forenoon without being relieved. Had we complained we knew what we had to expect from the overgrown tyrants, some of whom were members of the Hell-fire Club. I remember my old messmate, Ben Morgan (poor fellow! now dead and gone), having the lower part of his ear detached from his head because he kicked a little at the tyranny.
Our admiral was a great astronomer and took delight in lunar observation. One Sunday morning he sent four of us down with Pye the schoolmaster to work a lunar. While we were below, the hands were turned up to muster, and we were going to attend, but Pye said there was no occasion. Presently down came the quartermaster saying Lieutenant Stiles (who had the watch) wanted us. On going up he, in a very knowing way, demanded why we were not up to muster, and on our acquainting him with the reason he said it was all very well, and it would be better if we were to step up to the masthead and look out for squalls, as it was too thick to take a lunar. So two of us (I was one) were sent to the main topmast head and two to the fore, where we remained some hours. This was on the banks; a thick fog having just come on, with drops from the topgallant rigging which wetted us through in a short time; but that was of no consideration. On another trifling occasion, the same worthy was going to trice me up to the mizen peak, but this he thought better of. I could relate many more cases, but let this be sufficient. Lieutenant Stiles lately died a rear-admiral. One of the laws of Solon says, ‘Speak not ill of the dead; no, not if their sons offend you.’ I shall attend to this and say no more on the subject until I come to the Edgar, and then naught in malice.
When at St. Johns, a playhouse was got up by Graham, the admiral’s secretary, with considerable ability, and several of the officers used to perform. The scenery was very good and did Mr. Graham a deal of credit. Only the favoured few could get leave to see the performance. The kindhearted first lieutenant would send us that were not descended from the Kings of Cappadocia and Pontus on board at sunset, for fear we should catch cold if we stayed out late. This was making game; and I remember some of us meeting the admiral, who kindly gave us leave to pick fruit in his gardens for two hours, when this same Lieutenant Deacon happened to come up at the time; and when the admiral was gone, he started us on board, when we had not been there a quarter of an hour, saying he was fearful the fruit would gripe us. Kind soul!—the devil thank him. He was a most facetious gentleman, and when a seaman once asked him for slops, he replied, ‘Certainly, my man, what slops do you want?’ ‘A jacket, sir, if you please.’ ‘And cannot you think of something else?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ says the man, ‘I will be glad of a shirt and trowsers.’ ‘Very well, you shall have them. But do think of something more that you stand in need of,’ ‘Why, sir,’ says the man, ‘If you have no objection I should like a pair of shoes and stockings, and a smock frock.’[[35]] ‘Very well, my man, you shall have them all in good time. I expect a vessel in with some blue chalk from the Straits of Baffleman, and then I shall chalk out all your wants; so be off, or I shall get the boatswain’s mate to measure you with the end of the fore brace before her arrival, which you may think rather premature.’
When asking him for leave to go on shore he would frequently say, ‘As soon as I have time to chalk you out a barge to take you, I shall attend to this most important business.’ Once on a rainy day he was making some of those remarks, when his foot slipped and he fell on his bottom on the quarter deck. One of the lieutenants said, ‘Had the deck been chalked, sir, it would have saved your fall.’ This vexed him greatly, and seeing us laugh he started us up to the masthead for the remainder of the watch, saying, ‘Take care! As the rigging is not chalked you may slip and get an ugly fall.’
I have already mentioned our bringing home 75 dogs. I messed in the main hatchway berth on the lower deck, with four midshipmen and a scribe. We had eight of those dogs billeted on us. One of them had the name of Thunder. At dinner I once gave him a piece of beef with plenty of mustard rolled up in it. The moment he tasted it, he flew at me and I was obliged to run for it. He never forgot it, and whenever I offered him victuals he would snap at me directly. Another of those dogs used to sleep at the foot of Charley Bisset’s cot, and when the quartermaster would call the watch this dog would fly at him if he came near Bisset, who would often plead ignorance of being called, and by that means escape going on deck for the first hour of the watch. We had a drunken Irishman, by the name of Collins, who, when sent to the hospital at St. John’s, contrived to get liquor in spite of all precaution to prevent it. At last it was found out by the following circumstance. He had one of those dogs that could do anything but speak. He used to sling a bottle round his neck and then put a shilling in his mouth and send him off in the evening. The dog knew well where to go, for he had been often there with Collins. It was to a public-house, between the hospital and St. John’s. He’d howl as soon as he got there; the landlord knew well what he wanted, and would fill the bottle with rum. The dog would then drop the shilling, but not before, and scamper off to return to his master; not at the gate of the hospital—he was too cunning for that—but like a Roman conqueror, through a hole in the wall; when one night he was discovered by the watch going their rounds, and by that means the business was brought to light. From the ingenuity of the master and his dog, both escaped punishment.
Our armourer was a man who would drink like a fish, and one morning coming to the brewery complaining of thirst, the cooper, a droll and wicked fellow, gave him some essence of spruce, and the armourer took a good swig before he found out his mistake. The moment he could speak he asked what it was he had taken. The cooper said he was very sorry for what had happened, but he thought it right to acquaint him it was some stuff they had to poison rats. The armourer was struck dumb with terror, but at last, in a paroxysm of rage, swore that the cooper should die first; and drawing out a large knife, gave chase and certainly would have put an end to his joking had he not locked himself up in the brewery in great tribulation, as the armourer was trying all in his power to break open the door. However, the poor fellow was at last made sensible it was a joke, and had some double spruce given him to make amends—which had the desired effect.
Our second assistant surgeon was another wet soul, and coming from the play half drunk went to sleep in an empty cask that was lying on Quigley’s Wharf, when a squall of wind rolled the cask overboard and poor old Andrew Reardon would have been drowned, had it not been for the boat-keeper of the cutter. Old Andrew is now dead. He dearly loved grog, and when told that new rum was a bad article he said he didn’t care; if it fractured the brain it was all he wanted.
With a few exceptions we had a terrible lot of wild midshipmen. Some of them were members of the Hell-fire Club,[[36]] and used to dress, when going to that place, in scarlet coats with black velvet collars and cuffs, black waistcoat, breeches, and stockings, and hair powdered. Those chaps would play all manner of wicked pranks on board, such as pouring molasses under the heads of those who slept in the tier, and others would have a hook and line with which they’d haul our quilts and blankets off in the night, and then heave water over us, at the same time making a squeaking noise; while others, in the secret, would say it was the gibbering of a ghost, and that the tier was haunted; but that they would ask the parson (a wet soul) to lay the spirit, not in the Red Sea, but in the large pond near St. Johns. One poor fellow, a clerk whose name was Newnham, but nicknamed Newcome, they got in the tier one night in the dark, and swore it was the admiral’s cow that had got adrift. It was no use for the poor fellow to say he was not that personage; for a selvagee was clapped round him in an instant with a hauling line made fast, with which they roused him up the hatchway in a moment, terrified almost to death.
I must here mention the shifts my old messmate, Ben Morgan, and myself were put to the last year we were at St. John’s. Our captain used to pay our mess and washing bills, for which he was repaid on our return to England. It happened one morning when the washing bill was sent in, that he observed our towels were inserted with other articles; upon which he sent for us, and after a severe reprimand upon our extravagance, adding that we ought to have washed the towels ourselves, he dismissed us, saying he should give no more money to be fooled away in that manner, and that we deserved to be well flogged in the bargain. We were glad enough to steer clear of him. In respect of the money he was as good as his word; for devil a farthing more would he let us have, and we were sadly put to it; for we had only Tom Cod (caught alongside) for breakfast, salt beef or pork for dinner, and Tom Cod for tea in the evening. At last we in some measure got over our difficulties by going to the hills and gathering a weed called maidenhair, a good substitute for tea; and with molasses instead of sugar, poor Ben and myself fared gloriously.
While at St. John’s two of our seamen deserted and got into the woods on their way to an out port; and they had nearly been devoured by the wolves who attacked them in a hut, where they remained three days without provisions, and had great difficulty and danger in coming back to the ship, where they were treated with two dozen apiece.