But all things must have an end, and so had our fun in Guernsey; for, as I have already said, we all embarked in October for Barbados, leaving our sweethearts and friends without coming to any positive understanding as to the future. On our voyage we called at the Cove of Cork, where we remained for some days, and were then joined by the 40th Regiment in transports, bound for the West Indies and finally for New Orleans, and here our good and much respected friend Colonel Coghlan left us and retired on half-pay.

I was at this time in command of one of our transports, and here must notice an instance of true honesty that occurred. Being tired of visiting the Cove, I agreed with some officers to take a run up to Cork for a day or two; but, before leaving my ship, I gave orders to the senior officer not to allow any of the men to go on shore. On my return to the Cove I met some of the officers, who told me that my servant had deserted, having got leave to land on the pretence of taking my clothes to be washed. This alarmed me not a little, for I had then between three and four hundred pounds belonging to the troops and to myself in one of my trunks, in dollars and doubloons, and as I entrusted my servant, whom I had long known, with my keys, I now made sure all was gone; I hurried on board and found the door of my cabin locked, and, inquiring for the key, an officer handed it to me, saying my man Henry gave it to him with a request to let no one have it except his master, should I return before he did. I instantly opened my cabin, and the first thing I observed was my bunch of keys hanging by a piece of twine from the top of the berth; I seized them with a trembling hand and heart, and instantly opened the money trunk, and on counting my bags and treasure, to the honour of poor Henry be it told, not one dollar was missing. Poor, honest Henry was never afterwards heard of by me, and I was glad he had secured his escape, for had he been captured and brought back he must have been severely punished.

We finally sailed from the Cove of Cork escorted by a line-of-battle ship and two small men-of-war, and for a day or two made good progress; but we were then caught in a severe gale, right against us, and after struggling for a day or two the sign was made by our commodore to return to “port in view,” namely Bantry Bay, on which all the fleet put about, and, led by the line-of-battle ship, steered direct for that safe and splendid anchorage, which is very extensive within, but narrow and dangerous at its entrance, so that not more than one ship can enter with safety at a time. As we were passing in, one of our fleet, the Baring transport, with the 40th Regiment on board, got so near the rocks that she struck, and immediately after went broadside on, and finally became a total wreck. My ship followed in her wake and passed within fifty yards of the stranded vessel, and it being then early in the day, it was most distressing and heart-rending to see the sufferers all in confusion crying for help, which from our position it was quite impossible to render, for we were obliged to run in, in order to save ourselves. So was every other ship as she reached and entered the same narrow passage. But the men-of-war and other vessels which had got safely into the bay soon sent their boats to the rescue, and all the soldiers and crew, excepting about fifteen wretched men, women, and children who were drowned in their hurry to jump on the rocks, were saved, but the ship and nearly all the baggage and cargo were lost. I remember as we passed the ill-fated ship seeing an officer’s wife standing and screaming on the poop, her infant in her arms, and with no covering beyond her nightdress; I heard afterwards that the child fell out of her arms and was drowned, but she herself was saved. The survivors were encamped on the beach for some days, and then were divided for a time amongst the other transports, on which the whole fleet again returned to the Cove of Cork to charter another vessel for the sufferers.

About a week after that we sailed once more for our destination. The weather was fair and beautiful until we arrived off Funchal, in Madeira, and thence we had a dead calm. Some of my brother-officers from another ship came on board, and being, as we supposed, close in to the town, we proposed after dinner to go on shore. We had a lieutenant of the navy as agent of transport in charge of us. As he made no objection to our landing (believing the calm would continue until the following morning) our captain consented, and ordered two boats to be manned, so eight of us started on the clear understanding that we should return by daylight next morning. Our sailors, who were promised all sorts of drinks and rewards, pulled most heartily, but the distance to the shore proved much further than we expected, and a dark night overtook us; but still we pushed on, and the brilliant lights in the town cheered us. At last we reached the beach and found a heavy surf running in, and none of us knew the proper place for landing; but the sailors, undaunted, assured us there could be no danger, so one of the boats (not mine) took the lead, and was no sooner in the surf than she was instantly upset and all her passengers were seen struggling in the sea; but after a good ducking they all got safe on shore, and also managed to secure their boat.

My sailors wanted to try the same risk, but I would not allow them. Seeing a shore battery near us, we approached, and were challenged by a Portuguese sentry, and answered, “English officers, who request to be allowed to land.” This the sentry refused, and said his orders were to allow no one to land. My knowledge of the language was now of some use to me, and after talking to the sentry quietly and kindly and promising him a dollar, the brave man suffered us at once to step on shore, and showed us the way to the town. There we found our friends, still dripping wet, but with some good wine before them. After refreshing ourselves a little, we went to look after our boats and sailors, and found all safe. We then gave them sufficient money to make them comfortable, and urged them to leave one man at least as sentry over the boats. This they promised to do, so we returned to our hotel, determined to have our fun also. Soon after this the weather from a calm suddenly changed to a strong wind and heavy rain, which continued to pour without any change during the whole night. This damped our follies, but we were up and at our boats before daylight next morning. These we found all safe, but not a sailor to be seen anywhere; and when daylight appeared not one of our ships was in sight. This was truly distressing and alarming, but we had still hopes of seeing and overtaking our fleet, for beyond the town, and in our course, a long promontory of land projected, sufficient to conceal our ships from us, even if they were close behind that obstruction.

Without further delay we searched for our sailors and eventually found them, but in such a state and humour from drink that they positively refused to go to their boats, or any farther with us, saying that we all had been dry and enjoying ourselves, while they were left hungry and wet watching the boats. All our coaxing and entreaties had no effect, and they got worse and worse and even insolent. At last large promises of grog and money when we should reach our ships made some impression on the best of them, and after many more oaths and much grumbling, the others at last consented to go with us, still believing our ships could not be far beyond the distant point. Our next care was (having had no breakfast) to get some cold meat and bread and a couple of kegs of good wine. Our boats were then launched, and off we started with three cheers. It took us two good hours to pull round the point; then came our great fear and alarm, for although the wide ocean was then clear as far as the eye could reach, only one solitary ship was to be seen, and that nearly hull down, in our direct course. Here the sailors again declared they would not go one yard farther. Much conversation and many arguments followed, and for a time we did not know what to do. To go back to Funchal would be our ruin, and risk perhaps our commissions; moreover, all our money was gone, and as we were strangers we did not know where to get more. At last great promises were renewed, and after another and another tumbler of wine our mutinous crew consented to try to make the ship in sight. Fortunately the weather was moderate, and we had a light breeze in our favour; by good luck, also, we had a few empty bags in our boats, which were intended to carry off some vegetables to our ships; with these the sailors managed to rig out some sails fixed upon oars; this assisted them very much in their pulling, yet with all their struggling and endless swearing it was not till four in the afternoon that we managed to reach the ship, which we hoped to be our own, but, alas! we were again disappointed, for she proved to be an American whaler; but we were received most kindly, and provided at once with a good dinner.

From her deck another ship was in sight, about ten miles distant, which the American captain assured us was one of our own convoy, and that he had observed her all day, as our fleet went by, trying to remain as much as possible behind, on the pretence of making repairs. This was cheering, if we could but get our men to take again to their boats. At last we prevailed, and off we started, the American captain giving us a small cask of water and some rum to cheer us; and at seven o’clock that evening, after a trying exposure and fatigue of eleven hours, we reached the sail in sight (which proved to be our ship) in safety, thankful indeed for our escape from the tremendous danger to which we had so foolishly exposed ourselves. Had it come on to blow hard at such a distance from the land, the chances were that we must have perished or been starved to death from want of provisions. When we got on board our fleet was just visible ahead from our decks, and it took us two days under all sail to make up with them.

CHAPTER XII
ST. VINCENT AND GUADELOUPE

Life in Barbados—I am appointed acting-paymaster—President of a court-martial—Deputy judge-advocate—At St. Vincent—Expedition to Guadeloupe—Appointed deputy-assistant quartermaster-general and sent to Guadeloupe