Rising one morning, I heard the men talking about having been called to quarters during the night. They said a strange vessel having appeared, the drums beat to quarters, the guns were got ready, those great lanterns, which are placed on the main deck, called battle lanterns, were got out, and the officers began to muster the men at each division; when they discovered the supposed vessel of war to be nothing more than a large merchant ship. Upon this the hands were sent below. All this was news to me; I had slept through all the noise, confusion and bustle of the night, utterly ignorant of the whole matter. It was fortunate for me that the real character of the strange ship was discovered before my name was called, otherwise the morning would have found me at the gratings under punishment. Never was boy happier than myself, when made acquainted with my hair-breadth escape from the lash.
We had now reached the island of Madeira, occupied by the Portuguese, and producing fine oranges, grapes and wine. It is some sixty miles in length, about forty in breadth; the climate is hot, but salubrious; its harbor, or rather roadstead, is by no means commodious or safe—so that our stay was short. Here, the Portuguese lad who had supplied my place as servant to the surgeon, was sent on shore, for attempting a crime unfit to be mentioned in these pages, but quite common among the Spaniards and Portuguese. My old master made an effort to obtain me again, but did not succeed.
Sailing from Madeira, we next made St. Michael’s. At this pace we had an increase to our crew, in the person of a fine, plump boy—born to the wife of one of our men. The captain christened the new comer, Michael, naming him after the island. This birth was followed by another. Whether the captain did not like the idea of such interesting episodes in sea life, or whether any other motive inspired him, I cannot tell; but when, shortly after, we returned to Lisbon, he ordered all the women home to England, by a ship just returning thither. Before this, however, one of our little Tritons had died, and found a grave under the billows, leaving its disconsolate mother in a state little short of distraction. A man of war is no place for a woman.
Short cruises are very popular with man-of-war’s men. On many accounts they love being in harbor; on others they prefer being at sea. In harbor they have to work all day, but in return for this they have the whole night for sleep. At sea, the whole time is divided into five watches of four hours each, and two shorter ones, called dog watches, of two hours each, or from four to six and from six to eight, P. M. The design of these dog watches is to alternate the time, so that each watch may have a fair proportion of every night below.
While at our station this time, our old friend, Bob Hammond, met with some little difficulty, which we will here make matter of record. He was below, and one of his messmates did something that vexed him exceedingly. Now Bob was not a man to bear vexations tamely, where he had the power to resist them; so, lifting his huge fist, he struck at the offender; missing his real opponent, the blow fell upon another who stood near him. Bob was too much of a bully to offer any apology; he merely laughed, and remarked that he had “killed two birds with one stone.”
Whether the bird, who, in Bob’s figurative language, was killed, did not like being called a bird, or whether he conceived a strong dislike to being a mark for Bob to shoot at, is not for me to say; but he certainly disliked the one or the other, for the next morning he reported the matter to the officers, which complaint was considered a most unsailor-like act by the whole crew.
Fighting was a punishable offence, so Bob was called up the next morning. The captain mentioned what was reported concerning him. He acknowledged it was all true, and without any signs of contrition said, “I only killed two birds with one stone.” The angry captain ordered two dozen lashes to be laid on; it was done without extorting a sigh or a groan. He was then loosed from the grating, and questioned; but he merely replied, in a gruff tone, that “the man who reported him was a blackguard!” For this, he was seized up again and another dozen lashes inflicted; he bore them with the same dogged and imperturbable air. Finding it impossible to extort any acknowledgment from the stubborn tar, the captain ordered him below.
About the same time one of our crew, named Jack Sadler, a fine, noble-hearted seaman, growing weary of the service, determined to desert. Dropping into the water, he began swimming towards the shore. It was not very dark, and he was discovered; the sentry was ordered to fire at him, which he did, but missed his prey. A boat was next lowered, which soon overtook and dragged him on board. The officer commanding the boat said, “Well, Mr. Sadler, you thought you had got away, did you?” “You are not so sure that you have me now,” replied Sadler, as he sprung over the side of the boat. Nor would they have captured him, had not another ship’s boat arrived to their assistance.
The next day, he was seized up and received three dozen lashes, which, considering his offence, was a very light punishment. I suppose that his noble bearing, his lion-hearted courage, and his undaunted manner, produced a favorable feeling in the captain’s mind; especially as he afterwards became his favorite—a fancy man—as those men are called who win the favor of their superior officer.