All this time the enemy’s shot were flying about us terribly, cutting up our spars and rigging; but, strange to say, as I looked around, I did not see one wounded! It was light enough all the time to enable us to see all the enemy’s ships, and yet sufficiently dark to allow the flash of the guns to have its full effect, as we and our many opponents rapidly discharged them at each other. Still the French commodore stood on. Perhaps he hoped to drive us on shore. At last he was compelled to tack. Captain Trollope had been waiting the opportunity. The instant he hove in stays, we, who had been reserving our fire, poured in our broadside, raking him fore and aft with murderous effect.
“All hands about-ship!” was now the cry. So cut up was our rigging, however, that we had no little difficulty in getting her about. Our masts also were badly wounded. It was a question whether they would carry our canvas.
“Hands aloft!—reef topsails!” was the next order given. Up we sprung, most unwillingly leaving our gnus, while the French ships, one after the other, stood away from us, glad to get out of reach of our fire though they did not fail to give us a parting salute.
We were as smart as we could in reefing topsails, but as much of our running-gear was cut up, we were longer than usual; and the Frenchmen, finding that we had ceased firing, took it into their heads. I suppose, that we were going to strike, for they all tacked and once more stood back towards us.
“To your guns, my lads! to your guns!” was the cry, as we swung down off the yards; and then didn’t we open fire again upon them in fine style! In a few minutes they had had enough of it, and hauled off as fast as their legs could carry them. If they hadn’t so cruelly wounded our masts and spars we should have caught some of them. We made all the sail we could venture to carry; but they had faster keels than we could boast of, so we had no hope of success.
They stood away for Flushing, and I afterwards heard that one of them sunk as soon as she got there, and that all had their decks completely ripped up, besides losing a great number of men, and suffering terribly in other ways. Strange as it may seem, we had not a single man killed, but one captain of marines and one marine only were wounded. We had to go into harbour to repair damages; and when the news of the action reached London, the merchants were so pleased with it, that, in commemoration of it, they presented Captain Trollope with a handsome piece of plate. He deserved it, for a braver or more dashing officer did not exist, as I had many opportunities of proving.
Some time after this, occurred those events in the navy which might have proved the destruction of the British Empire. I speak of the mutinies which broke out at the Nore, at Spithead, and elsewhere. The particulars are generally so well-known, that I will not attempt to describe them; but the circumstance I am about to mention is known, I fancy, to very few. It is an example of what courage and determination may effect.
On board the Glutton, as in most large ships, we had a number of bad characters—runaway apprentices, lawyers’ clerks, broken-down tradesmen, footmen dismissed for knavery, play-actors, tinkers, gipsies, pickpockets, thieves of all sorts; indeed, the magistrates on shore seemed to think nothing was too bad to send on board a man-of-war. These men were, of course, always ready for mischief of any sort. There is no denying it, the seamen also were often cruelly ill-treated, fleeced on all sides, cheated out of pay, supplied with bad provisions, and barbarously tyrannised over by their officers. Now, on the contrary, a man-of-war’s man is better fed, better lodged, better and more cheaply clothed, and in sickness better taken care of, than any class of labouring-men. When he has completed twenty-one years’ service, he may retire with a pension for life of from tenpence to fourteen-pence a day; and when worn-out by age or infirmity, he may bear up for that magnificent institution, Greenwich Hospital, there among old comrades to end his days in peace.
The mutiny I was speaking of had been going on for some time. The just demands of the seamen had been listened to, and their grievances remedied, when the mutiny broke out afresh, and, instigated by evil-disposed persons, the crews either landed their officers or put them under confinement, and made fresh demands, many of which it was impossible to grant. Our ship, with others of Lord Duncan’s squadron, was brought up in Yarmouth Roads. The delegates had been tampering with us. Messages had at different times been sent on board, and I knew that something wrong was going forward; but what it was I could not tell. I was known to be a friend of Peter Poplar’s, and no one doubted his remaining stanch to his captain and officers, so I am proud to say that they would not trust me.
One day I found Peter sitting down between decks, looking very grave. I asked him if something was not the matter with him.