And plough the distant main.
But Kempenfeldt is gone,
His victories are o’er;
And he, and his eight hundred,
Shall plough the wave no more.
To return to my narrative: Our ship, having been at sea two years, needed overhauling. She was therefore taken into one of the splendid dry docks in the Plymouth dock-yard, while the crew were placed, for the time being, on board an old hulk. A week or two sufficed for this task, when we returned to our old quarters. She looked like a new ship, having been gaily painted within and without. We, too, soon got newly rigged; for orders had reached us from the Admiralty office to prepare for sea, and we were paid off. Most of the men laid out part of their money in getting new clothing; some of it went to buy pictures, looking-glasses, crockery ware, &c., to ornament our berths, so that they bore some resemblance to a cabin. The women were ordered ashore, and we were once more ready for sea.
The practice of paying seamen at long intervals, is the source of many evils. Among these, is the opportunity given to pursers to practise extortion on the men—an opportunity they are not slow in improving. The spendthrift habits of most sailors leave them with a barely sufficient quantity of clothing, for present purposes, when they ship. If the cruise is long, they are, consequently, obliged to draw from the purser. This gentleman is ever ready to supply them, but at ruinous prices. Poor articles with high prices are to be found in his hands; these poor Jack must take of necessity, because he cannot get his wages until he is paid off. Hence, what with poor articles, high charges and false charges, the purser almost always has a claim which makes Jack’s actual receipts for two or three years’ service, wofully small. Were he paid at stated periods, he could make his own purchases as he needed them. The sailor is aware of this evil, but he only shows his apprehension of it in his usually good-humored manner. If he sees a poor, ill-cut garment, he will laugh, and say it “looks like a purser’s shirt on a handspike.” These are small matters, but they go to make up the sum total of a seaman’s life, and should therefore be remedied as far as possible.
Our preparations all completed, the hoarse voice of the boatswain rang through the ship, crying, “All hands up anchor, ahoy!” In a trice, the capstan bars were shipped, the fifer was at his station playing a lively tune, the boys were on the main deck holding on to the “nippers,” ready to pass them to the men, who put them round the “messenger” and cable; then, amid the cries of “Walk round! heave away, my lads!” accompanied by the shrill music of the fife, the anchor rose from its bed, and was soon dangling under our bows. The sails were then shaken out, the ship brought before the wind, and we were once more on our way to sea. We were directed to cruise off the coast of France this time; where, as we were then at war with the French, we were likely to find active service.
We first made the French port of Rochelle; from thence, we sailed to Brest, which was closely blockaded by a large British fleet, consisting of one three-decker, with several seventy-fours, besides frigates and small craft. We joined this fleet, and came to an anchor in Basque Roads, to assist in the blockade. Our first object was to bring a large French fleet, greatly superior to us in size and numbers, to an engagement. With all our manœuvring, we could not succeed in enticing them from their snug berth in the harbor of Brest, where they were safely moored, defended by a heavy fort, and by a chain crossing the harbor, to prevent the ingress of any force that might be bold enough to attempt to cut them out. Sometimes we sent a frigate or two as near their fort as they dared to venture, in order to entice them out; at other times, the whole fleet would get under weigh and stand out to sea; but without success. The Frenchmen were either afraid we had a larger armament than was visible to them, or they had not forgotten the splendid victories of Nelson at the Nile and Trafalgar. Whatever they thought, they kept their ships beyond the reach of our guns. Sometimes, however, their frigates would creep outside the forts, when we gave them chase, but seldom went beyond the exchange of a few harmless shots. This was what our men called “boy’s play;” and they were heartily glad when we were ordered to return to Plymouth.
After just looking into Plymouth harbor, our orders were countermanded, and we returned to the coast of France. Having accomplished about one half the distance, the man at the mast-head cried out, “Sail ho!”