But I’ll drink till I die, says sweet Andrew Macbride.
When I said the smell hurt me, the fools did believe;
Och hone! my dear friends, I did you deceive;
When the taste or smell hurts me, may hell open wide,
And I, damned there with water to drink, says Macbride.
Nothing disrespectful was intended by this song. Every officer in the ship was a friend to poor Andrew, and Macredie would have been one of the first to resent an insult offered to him. It is a strange coincidence that on the day we were paid off, I saw Macbride sitting on the taffrail reading Ossian’s poems, and looking at a fine engraving of the Spirit of Crugal.[[59]] Twelve years after in Port Royal Harbour, Jamaica, I went to answer the signal for lieutenant on board the Leviathan, 74 (I then belonged to the Brunswick), and going on the poop to write the order, I saw a figure sitting on the taffrail, who I thought I knew, in deep meditation. On going up to him I recognised my old messmate Macbride, with the identical book and the engraving of the Spirit of Crugal in his hand. The poor fellow was most happy to see me, but how altered! He went back with me to dinner, and I gave him some classical books that pleased him greatly. His bones are lying at the Palisades. He was one of the first mathematicians in Europe; an excellent writer in prose and verse, an able disputant, and possessed a mind remarkable for the strictest integrity. ‘Tread lightly on his ashes, ye men of genius, for he was your kinsman.’[[60]]
I must here say a word about poor unfortunate Patrick Flood. When first I knew him in the American War, he was a fine officer-like looking fellow; but when he joined the Edgar he was sadly reduced from long illness in the West Indies; and from domestic troubles, and disappointment at not getting promotion, grew regardless of himself and reckless of his character. Cynical to a degree and used to caricature us upon every occasion, I remember his making a very ludicrous drawing of Macbride, representing him sitting on the deck with the boys blacking his face and a bottle and a glass alongside of him; and [underneath it, some scurrilous verses, which Macbride answered with others still more indecent].
When the Edgar was paid off, Captain A. J. P. Molloy[[61]] was appointed to the command of her, and Flood was continued as one of the midshipmen. Having obtained leave to go to London to try and raise friends to get his promotion, he succeeded in getting the promise from Lord Chatham; but unfortunately having staid a short time above his leave, Captain Molloy, in answer to Lord Chatham’s letter respecting him, cruelly said he considered Mr. Flood in no other light than that of a deserter. This was the ruin of poor Flood, who died in penury, but lived long enough to witness the downfall of his enemy. And now let me mention my worthy messmate John Macredie, a gentleman that did honour to society and one that was highly respected by a numerous acquaintance. He had seen a great deal of service and was on board the Hercules, 74, in Rodney’s action on the 12th of April 1782. He was also on board the Princess Royal, 98, and Pégase, 74, and then joined the Edgar, and was a messmate of mine for three years, and again in the Barfleur for upwards of a twelvemonth. He was an excellent scholar, being well acquainted with the Greek and Latin, and was deeply read in ancient history and nearly equal to Macbride in mathematics. The author of many plays that were never printed, as he would not allow them to be sent to the press, although strongly urged by those who were competent judges of their merit. He was also a good poet and possessed undaunted courage, and was as generous as he was brave. At the same time he was one of the most absent [minded] men that can be imagined. I have known him when going to answer a signal come on deck with one boot and one shoe on; and when sent below in consequence, come up again with his black stock with the inside turned out. One morning when alongside of the flagship, on stepping from the boat to the accommodation ladder he dropped the order book overboard, and in trying to get hold of it he let go his sword, which sunk in a moment. I have also known him walk nearly two miles out of Gosport before he recollected that he had only to go to his tailor’s, who lived near the beach.
I must not forget another worthy fellow and messmate of mine, the late Lieutenant Edward Moore, at this time one of the mates. Ned was as brave and generous a soul as ever lived; a determined enemy to tyranny, as the following circumstance will shew. When the present Retired Rear-Admiral Shield[[62]] was first lieutenant of the Saturn, 74, at Spithead in the year 1791 or 1792, one evening in the first watch he ordered one of the midshipmen (Mr. Leonard) on some trifling occasion to the masthead for punishment. Mr. L. said he would go there with pleasure if it was on duty, but not for punishment; upon which Mr. Shield had him made fast to a girtline and triced up to the main topmast-head without a guy to keep him clear of the top etc. This made a great stir both on board and on shore, and Mr. Leonard was advised to commence proceedings by entering an action against Shield; and a subscription was set on foot to defray the expenses attending it. My friend Ned at this time belonged to the London, 98, lying at Spithead; and he wrote letters to the midshipmen of the other men of war to subscribe also. This coming to the knowledge of Lord Hood, he considered it as a conspiracy injurious to the discipline of the navy, and Moore was put under an arrest. A court of inquiry was held, and then a court martial, where Sir Hyde Parker stood as prosecutor; and after a long examination of witnesses, Moore was found guilty of contempt of court and sentenced to be confined in the Marshalsea for one month, a fortnight of which he remained on board the guard-ship. The other charge was not proved. The late Admiral Macbride, who commanded the Cumberland, 74, at that time, was a member of the court, and was a friend to Moore ever after, and made him lieutenant.
One of our midshipmen, who lately died a post captain, was an infernal tyrant. While in the Edgar, this chap one evening began his tricks by thrashing one of the youngsters, a messmate of Ned’s, and for so doing Ned gave him, to the great joy of all, the most severe drubbing I ever witnessed. Ned had been a shipmate of this person’s before in the Queen, 98, when a guard-ship, and had seen some of his pranks there and now paid him on the old score.