CHAPTER II
Before we sought the decks of the Macedonian we paid a short visit to Wanstead, where we met with very pleasant reception, very hospitable entertainment, very affectionate adieus. Returning to London, we hired a boat and sailed down the Thames, on whose bosom reposed the commerce of the world, to Gravesend, where we spent the night. The next morning I experienced a new gratification, which was nothing less than being arrayed in a complete suit of sailor apparel; a tarpaulin hat, round blue jacket and wide pantaloons. Never did young knight swell with loftier emotion when donning for the first time his iron dress, than I did when in sea dress I trod the streets of Gravesend. This had always been my highest ambition. The gaudily dressed soldier never had charms for me; but a sailor, how nice he looked! Well, here I stood, at last, in the often coveted dress; it was the first luxury connected with my life at sea. Pity that each successive step had not yielded me equal delight. But it was mine to learn that anticipation and reality were not born twins; that in fact there are scarcely any two existences so essentially different in their characteristics. That I should not lack the means of comfort, my good mother purchased me a chest of clothing, and, as her last token of maternal care, presented me with a Bible, a prayer book, and, strangely inconsistent companions, a pack of cards! Thus equipped, we once more hired a boat and descended the river two miles below Gravesend, where lay the Macedonian, in graceful majesty on the sparkling waters.
The first guest we met on board was disappointment. From the promises of Lord Fitzroy, we very strangely supposed that he felt my importance nearly as much as did my mother or father. Judge then how we felt, when we learned that no one knew anything in particular about my veritable self; yet, as his Lordship was absent, they said I might remain on board until his return. This was rather a damper on my spirits, but flattering myself that all would be right on his return, I soon rallied again, and, aided by the presence of my mother, passed a very agreeable day.
Towards night, my mother left me; it scarcely need be said, she wept when we parted. What mother would not? She did weep, she strained me to her heart, and impressed affection’s purest kiss upon my cheek. How like a dream that moment fled! Now, she held me in her arms; a moment after, she was seated in the light boat and gliding along the turbid Thames, on her homeward way. I leaned over the taffrail and gazed on the departing boat, and when it disappeared, I turned away and wept.
The morning after my arrival, I was put into a “mess.” The crew of a man of war is divided into little communities of about eight, called messes. These eat and drink together, and are, as it were, so many families. The mess to which I was introduced, was composed of your genuine, weather-beaten, old tars. But for one of its members, it would have suited me very well; this one, a real gruff old “bull-dog,” named Hudson, took into his head to hate me at first sight. He treated me with so much abuse and unkindness, that my messmates soon advised me to change my mess, a privilege which is wisely allowed, and which tends very much to the good fellowship of a ship’s crew; for if there are disagreeable men among them, they can in this way be got rid of; it is no unfrequent case to find a few, who have been spurned from all the messes in the ship, obliged to mess by themselves.
This unkindness from the brutal Hudson rather chilled my enthusiasm. The crew, too, by some means had an impression that my mother had brought me on board to get rid of me, and therefore bestowed their bitterest curses on her in the most profuse manner imaginable. Swearing I had heard before, but never such as I heard there. Nor was this all; in performing the work assigned me, which consisted in helping the seamen take in provisions, powder, shot, etc., I felt the insults and tyranny of the midshipmen. These little minions of power ordered and drove me round like a dog, nor did I and the other boys dare interpose a word. They were officers; their word was our law, and woe betide the presumptuous boy that dared refuse implicit obedience.
These things reminded me of what had been said to me of the hardships of sea life in a man of war. I began to wish myself back in my father’s house at Bladen. This, however, was impossible, and to add to my discouragement they told me I was entered on the ship’s books for life. Dreary prospect! I felt more than half disposed, as I went to my tasks, to use the language of the Irishman, as sung by my shipmates. Tempted and beguiled while intoxicated, he had enlisted for a soldier, but found the sergeant at the recruiting office and the sergeant on the drill-field very different personages. He is hence made to say,
“It was early next morning to drill I was sent,