Lord Fitzroy was succeeded by Captain Carson. He however, was soon removed to make way for Captain Waldegrave, who proved to be far more severe than Fitzroy. He and Lieutenant Hope were kindred spirits: cruelty seemed to be their delight, for at the presence of culprits tied to the gratings, a gleam of savage animation stole over their faces. Punishment was now an almost every-day scene; even the boys were not permitted to escape. A lad was appointed boatswain over them, and they were consigned to the care of Mr. Hope, who took especial delight in seeing them flogged. What a mean, dastardly spirit for a British officer! How utterly contemptible he appears engaged in whipping a few helpless sailor boys! Yet thus he did constantly appear, causing them to be flogged for every trifling offence. One poor little fellow, unable to tolerate the thought of the lash, hid himself in the cable tier for several days. He was discovered, only to be most shamefully punished.
These severities filled our crew with discouragement. A sailor dreads the dishonor of the lash. Some, urged by a nice sense of honor, have preferred death to its endurance. I have heard of one man who actually loaded himself with shot and deliberately walked overboard. Among our ship’s company the effects of these severe measures showed themselves in frequent desertions, notwithstanding the great risk run by such a bold measure; for, if taken, they were sure to meet with a fearful retribution. Still, many preferred the chance of freedom; some ran off when on shore with the boats, others dropped overboard in the night, and either swam on shore or were drowned. Many others were kept from running away by the strength of their attachment to their old messmates and by the hope of better days. Of those who escaped, some were retaken by the Portuguese, who delighted to hunt them up for a small sum of money. Two of my messmates, named Robert Bell and James Stokes, were taken in this manner. I felt greatly affected at losing their company, for they were pleasant fellows. I felt a peculiar attachment to poor Stokes; he had taught me many things which appertain to seamanship, and had cared for my interests with the faithfulness of a parent. O how anxiously did I desire they might not be detected, because I knew, if they were, that they were doomed men. But they were taken by a band of armed Portuguese; barefooted, desponding, broken in spirit, they were brought on board, only to be put in irons immediately. By a fortunate chance they escaped with fifty lashes, instead of being flogged through the fleet.
We had another man who escaped, named Richard Suttonwood; he was very profane, and was much in the habit of using the word “bloody;” hence he was nicknamed “Bloody Dick” by his shipmates. Well, Dick ran off. He succeeded in getting on board an English brig in the merchant service. But how chop-fallen was poor Dick when he found that this brig was laden with powder for his own frigate! Resolving to make the best of the matter, he said nothing of his relation to our frigate, but as soon as the brig dropped alongside of the Macedonian, he came on board and surrendered himself; by this means he escaped being flogged, as it was usual to pardon a runaway who voluntarily returned to his duty. The crew were all delighted at his return, as he was quite popular among them for his lively disposition and his talents as a comic singer, which last gift is highly prized in a man of war. So joyous were we all at his escape from punishment, that we insisted on his giving a concert, which went off well. Seated on a gun surrounded by scores of the men, he sung a variety of favorite songs, amid the plaudits and encores of his rough auditors.
By such means as these, sailors contrive to keep up their spirits amidst constant causes of depression and misery. One is a good singer, another can spin tough forecastle yarns, while a third can crack a joke with sufficient point to call out roars of laughter. But for these interludes, life in a man of war, with severe officers, would be absolutely intolerable; mutiny or desertion would mark the voyages of every such ship. Hence, officers in general highly value your jolly, merry-making, don’t-care sort of seamen. They know the effect of their influence in keeping away discontented thought from the minds of a ship’s company. One of these official favorites paid our frigate a visit while we lay in Lisbon. We had just finished breakfast, when a number of our men were seen running in high glee towards the main hatchway. Wondering what was going forward, I watched their proceedings with a curious eye. The cause of their joy soon appeared in the person of a short, round-faced, merry-looking tar, who descended the hatchway amid cries of “Hurrah! here’s happy Jack!” As soon as the jovial little man had set his foot on the berth deck, he began a specimen of his vocal powers. The voice of song was as triumphant on board the Macedonian, as it was in days of yore in the halls of Ossian. Every voice was hushed, all work was brought to a standstill, while the crew gathered round their favorite, in groups, to listen to his unequalled performances. Happy Jack succeeded, while his visit lasted, in communicating his own joyous feelings to our people, and they parted from him at night with deep regret.
A casual visitor in a man of war, beholding the song, the dance, the revelry of the crew, might judge them to be happy. But I know that these things are often resorted to, because they feel miserable, just to drive away dull care. They do it on the same principle as the slave population in the South, to drown in sensual gratification the voice of misery that groans in the inner man—that lives within, speaking of the indignity offered to its high nature by the chain that eats beyond the flesh—discoursing of the rights of man, of liberty on the free hills of a happier clime: while amidst the gayest negro dance, not a heart among the laughing gang but would beat with high emotions and seize the boon with indescribable avidity, should it be offered its freedom on the spot. So in a man of war, where severe discipline prevails, though cheerfulness smiles at times, it is only the forced merriment of minds ill at ease; minds that would gladly escape the thraldom of the hated service to which they are bound.
Nor is this forced submission to circumstances universal. There are individuals who cannot be reached by these pleasantries; in spite of everything, their spirits will writhe under the gripe of merciless authority. We had a melancholy instance of this species of mind on board our frigate. His name was Hill, the ward-room steward. This man came on board with a resolute purpose to give satisfaction, if possible, to his superiors. He tried his utmost in vain. He was still scolded and cursed, until his condition seemed unendurable. One morning a boy entered the after ward-room, when the first object that met his astonished eye was the body of the steward, all ghastly and bleeding. He had cut his throat, and lay weltering in his gore. The surgeon was called, who pronounced him to be yet alive. The wound was sewed up, the poor sufferer carried to the hospital-ship, which was in attendance on the fleet, where he recovered, to be returned to his former ship, though in another and worse capacity, that of common sailor.
We had on board a colored man whose name was Nugent, who possessed a remarkably fine person, was very intelligent, exceedingly polite in his manners, and easy in his address. He soon grew weary of the caprices of our officers, and ran away. He was taken, however, in rather a curious manner. The officers frequently walked the deck with their spy-glasses. As one of them was spending a few leisure moments in looking at the surrounding shipping, what should appear within the field of his glass, but the person of the fugitive Nugent on the deck of an American vessel! Upon this, a boat was despatched, which soon returned with the crestfallen deserter, who was unceremoniously thrown into irons. By some fortunate chance, however, he escaped a flogging.
Of course, my situation was as unpleasant as that of any other person on board. I could not witness the discomfort and ill-usage of others, without trembling for my own back. I, too, had thoughts of running away, as opportunities frequently offered themselves. But, being ignorant of the Portuguese language, I wisely concluded that my condition among them, if I got clear, would, in respect to my present state, bear about the same analogy as the fire does to the frying-pan. My little adventures on shore gave me full assurance of this fact. I remember going ashore on Good Friday. Like good Catholics, the Portuguese had the masts of their vessels crossed, with effigies of the traitor Judas hanging very significantly at their jib-booms. On shore, they were exhibiting the blasphemous mimicry of the solemn scene of the crucifixion. One was bearing the cross, another a sponge, a third the vinegar. The streets were crowded with images of the saints, to which all reverently bowed. Woe betide that sacrilegious wretch who refused this tribute to their darling images. He was sure of being knocked down; he was not sure of getting home alive. I was fain to yield my knees to save my skull; so for the time I was as good a Catholic as any of them, at least in the matter of bowing and crossing: it was done, however, with true Protestant mental reservation, and with a sincere determination to prefer my man-of-war’s life to a life in Portugal.
On another occasion, some of our officers took me on shore to help them attend to some purchases. After following them a considerable distance, they gave me a small commission to execute, with directions to return to the ship as soon as it was attended to. This was no easy task, however: they had conducted me to a strange part of the city, and I knew scarcely a word of Portuguese. There I stood, then, surrounded only by foreigners, who neither understood my language nor I theirs. All I knew of my destination was, that our boat lay near the Fish-market; so, for Fish-market I inquired. Speaking in English, I asked the first man I met to direct me. He looked at me with the empty stare of an idiot, and passed on. To the next, I said, partly in broken Portuguese and partly in my own tongue, “John,” (they call everybody John, whose true name they do not know,) “do show me the fish-market.” He could not understand me; so, shrugging his shoulders, he said, “No entender Englis,” and passed on. I asked several others, but invariably received a shrug of the shoulder, a shake of the head, and a “no entender Englis,” for an answer. I grew desperate, and began to feel as if I had lost myself, when, to my unutterable satisfaction, I saw an English soldier. I ran up to him and said, “Good luck to you; do tell me where the fish-market is, for these stupid Portuguese, bad luck to them, can’t understand a word I say; but it is all, no entender Englis.” My countryman laughed at seeing my English temper ruffled, and placed me in the way of reaching the fish-market. I hurried thither, when, to my chagrin, the boats were all gone. Here, then, was another difficulty; for, though there were plenty of Portuguese boatmen, they could not understand which ship I wished to reach. Here, however, my fingers did what my tongue refused; our ship had its mainmast out, so, holding up two fingers and pointing to the mast, they at last comprehended me and conveyed me on board. Coming alongside, I gave them what I thought was right; but they and I differed in opinion on that point; they demanded more, with considerable bluster, but the sentry shouted, “Shove off there!” and pointed his musket at them. Whether they thought a reasonable fee, and a timely retreat, better than a contest which might give them the taste of a musket-ball, I cannot determine; at all events, I know that boat never left ship faster than theirs, when they beheld the gleam of the sentry’s musket flashing in their dark faces.
Just after this adventure, I came very near being flogged, to my no small alarm. Happening on shore with two more of the officers’ servants, named Yates and Skinner, we stayed so late, the ship’s boats had all gone off. Finding the boats gone, we strayed back into the city; night came on, and our return until morning was impossible. We had to wander about the city all night, in constant fear of being apprehended by the Portuguese as deserters. To prevent this no very desirable result, my comrades made me a midshipman; for the satisfactory reason, that if an officer was supposed to be in our company, no one would trouble us. The summary process by which I was inducted into my new station, was by means of a stripe carefully marked on my collar with a piece of chalk, to imitate the silver lace on a middy’s coat. Thus exalted, I marched my company about Lisbon until dawn, when I again found myself the self-same Samuel Leech, servant to the surgeon of H. M. frigate Macedonian, that I was the previous evening, with this additional fact, however, I was now liable to be flogged. So, in the true spirit of a Jeremy Sneak, we went on board, where, with due ceremony, we were parted for separate examinations. What tale my fellow-wanderers invented, I know not; for my own part, I told the truth of the matter, excepting that I suppressed that part of it which related to my transformation into an officer. Luckily for us all, one of the party was the first lieutenant’s servant; if he flogged one, he must flog the whole. To save the back of his own boy, he let us all escape.