Coming out of his cabin early one morning in a great hurry, he fell over a signal lantern, and was going to play hell with the lieutenant of the watch for having lanterns upon deck at that time of day—about half-past two in the morning. The Crown being out of her station, he was going to make the signal for an officer from that ship, and going to the office to write the order he could not get in, the clerk having the key; which put him into such a rage that he swore he would flog the clerk and those that wrote under him. However, his rage abated and he did not make the signal, it blowing very hard; but he would not suffer the clerk or his under-scribes to show themselves in the office while his flag was flying.
Culverhouse was at this time signal lieutenant and was not so quick in getting up this unlucky morning as the admiral, although a very active and able officer. The admiral, not seeing him, roared out to me (which made me jump a foot off the deck) ‘Where’s that little son of a bitch? Go down for him directly.’ Down I went to the gunroom where Culverhouse slept, and told him the news. In great tribulation he instantly got up and came upon deck, and kept some time behind the admiral thinking to weather the storm; but the moment he got sight of him he sang out like a lion, ‘Go on the poop and be damned to you. Why were you not out of your nest before?’ I must here state that, notwithstanding this, the admiral was a great friend to Lieutenant Culverhouse, and I have been told first took notice of him from the following circumstance. When on board the Victory, he was on the gangway with his glass, sitting on the weather clue of the mainsail, when the main tack suddenly gave way and threw him into the lee clue of the sail unhurt. He was an excellent signal officer, a good sailor, an agreeable messmate, and in every respect a very clever fellow. He was made a post captain, but was unfortunately drowned at the Cape of Good Hope.[[51]] The admiral was like Sylla the Dictator; that is, he would go any length to serve his friends, but was the reverse to those he had a dislike to. He appeared to be well acquainted with the character of most of the officers in the service; his memory in that respect was astonishing. He was an able tactician, and in every respect a great officer, with a look ‘that withered all the host.’
He was a mortal foe to puppyism, and one of our midshipmen going aloft with gloves on, attracted his eye; for which he got such a rub down that I am certain he remembers to the present day, although he is a post captain, and as proud as the devil, without any reason. Another of his freaks was threatening to have a bowl put upon our heads and our hair cut round in the newest fashion by that measure. He told one of our midshipmen (Pringle) who was a very stout man and who happened to be in his way when looking at the compass, ‘That he was too big for a midshipman but would do very well as a scuttle butt,’ and, Pringle having his hands in his pockets, he was going to send for the tailor to sew them up. When he first came on board to muster, a little before we sailed, everyone was dressed in full uniform to receive him. He took notice of this, and with a smile (a lurking devil in it), complimented us on our good looks, at the same time observing, ‘You knew who was coming; but notwithstanding your looking so well, I think I can see a little rust on you yet which I shall endeavour to rub off.’[[52]]
Our captain was as gruff as the devil, and had a voice like a mastiff whose growling would be heard superior to the storm. He was very particular respecting dress as the following order will shew:—
Memo.:—
If any officer shall so far forget himself as to appear when on shore without his uniform, I shall regard it as a mark of his being ashamed of his profession and discharge him from the ship accordingly.
(Signed) Charles Thompson,
Captain.
He had very near caught some of us in Middle Street, Gosport, but fortunately an alley was at no great distance through which we made a hasty but safe retreat, and by that means prevented a few vacancies for midshipmen taking place in the Edgar.
And now according to promise let me speak a few words about my old mastheading friend, Lieutenant John Stiles. When the guard-ships went out for a cruise to blow the dust off the harbour duty men, their complement was made up of men and officers from those ships that remained in port. It happened that my aforesaid friend was sent on board of us. Now it so turned out that he had not so much to say on board the old Edgar as he had when on board the Salisbury (of cruel memory). In the latter ship he had lambs to look after; in the Edgar he had devils to look after him. In working ship this gentleman was stationed on the forecastle, and got the nickname from the admiral of ‘Knight of the Belfry,’[[53]] because he always planted himself there when the hands were turned up; and from being in such a conspicuous situation, when things went slack—which was sometimes the case— the admiral, who had an eye like a hawk, would damn him up in heaps, and the captain, as an able assistant, would run forward like a bull-dog, and roar out the second part of the same tune. I was also stationed on the forecastle, and when those freaks were going on, I used to look at my old mastheading friend and grin, and he knew damned well what I was grinning at, as the good old times could not be forgotten. And now, John, I am done with you.