Our captain to keep us in good order placed a Mr. Stack as father of our mess. He was cursed surly and disagreeable, but I believe meant well; only [he had] an ugly way of showing his kindness. When in good temper (which was seldom) he would say ‘My son,’ when he addressed any of us; but generally, ‘I’ll split your ear.’ This man drew a very long bow and would frequently tell the most unaccountable stories. I have heard him relate that the ghost of Commodore Walsingham[[37]] (who he had served under, and who was lost in the Thunderer, 74, in the West Indies, in the hurricane of 1780) appeared to him when he was a slave on the coast of Barbary, where he was chained by the leg for upwards of a twelvemonth, and after undergoing innumerable hardships he was released by a Moorish lady who fell in love with him and paid his ransom to a considerable amount. This was too much to swallow from a fellow as ugly as the old Diligente’s [figure-] head.
When at Spithead and in the harbour, our ship’s company had a violent quarrel with the crew of the Grampus 50, commanded by Ned Thompson[[38]] the poet, who had the Coast of Guinea station, and several battles were fought with various success. The quarrel originated in some of our fellows saying they of the Grampus, when on the coast, lived chiefly on monkey soup, except on Sundays, and then they were regaled on roast parrots. For this they swore to murder every snow-eating son of a bitch belonging to the Salisbury whenever they could catch them. One of the mates of the Grampus had the impudence, while we were in harbour, to drop under our bows with a launch-load of his people who had been for stores to the dockyard, and challenge ours to fight; for which he had very near been brought to a court martial.
Our quarrelsome blades had another row with the riggers; and when the latter would pass the ship in their launches, our fellows would thrust their heads out of the ports and sing out—‘I say, Mortimer, drop in the launch, make fast a hawser to the NW buoy, take three round turns and a half hitch, seize the end back and come on board with the launch.’ This occasioned many a battle, and the riggers generally got the worst of it; for we had some from that land which produces the finest peasantry in the world on board, and woe betide those who came in contact with them. We had the O’Ryans, the O’Gallaghers, the Macartys, the O’Donovans, the Murphys, the O’Flahertys, the O’Tooles and the O’Flanagans, and great part of the ship’s company were Irish and very quiet when not disturbed. One of those fellows—Darby Collins, who had the dog that I have mentioned at the hospital—did positively beat at the back of the Point, Portsmouth, eleven men by cracking their heads at single-stick one after the other. He was a tall, raw-boned Irishman, a Garry-owen boy that stood up manfully for the honour of his country.
The following are the names of the officers belonging to the Salisbury:—
John Campbell, F.R.S., Vice-Admiral.
Dead [1790]. An admiral; a most able officer and great astronomer. He was captain of the fleet on board the Royal George with Admiral Hawke when he defeated the French under Conflans.—[D.N.B.]
James Bradby, Esq., Captain.
Dead. A retired rear-admiral.
Henry Deacon, 1st Lieutenant.
Dead. He was the senior commander on the list; had the out-pension of Greenwich Hospital. A good seaman, but satirical, and too fond of mastheading.