These honest people have an easy way of getting rid of money committed to their charge. A ship brings captured vessels into harbour; on board comes Mr. A., B., C, or D., with a smirking face and soft tongue, making low bows, hoping he may have the honour,—being an accredited agent under a bond for £20,000,—to transact the affairs of H.M. ship! Officers generally being strangers in the port, and having orders frequently to proceed to sea again in forty-eight hours, after completing water and provisions, have no time to look after or make inquiries about stability of prize agents, and therefore trust the concerns to the first that comes. The moment a ship is fitted out she goes to sea on another cruise—probably for three or four months; the prizes in the meanwhile are sold by the agent. Now, what does he generally do with the money? Why! speculates with it on his own account. If the scheme answers, he puts the amount of his speculation into his own pocket—we, whose the money ought to be, never getting any part of it. If it fails, the prize agent breaks, and off he starts, paying perhaps not a shilling in the pound. Oh! but then you have got his bond for £20,000! What matters this amongst a whole fleet, when he runs away with perhaps more than £100,000 of their money!
I am not putting an extreme case—this did happen more than once—and it would astonish the public if the whole system of prize-plundering agents that was carried on last war could be laid open. They would, indeed, wonder men could be so easily led to trust persons with large sums of money without knowing more about them. My reply is, necessity obliges them.
Now, the remedy I propose is this. Let the Government, in the event of another war, take the prize agency into their own hands, and deduct an eighth or a quarter to cover all expenses, and, whenever ships leave a station, let the money be sent to England. Government would have the use of it; the officers and ships’ companies would be sure to receive the remainder; and it would be much better to give up an eighth or a quarter to Government to make sure of the rest than to lose, as has happened in many cases, every sixpence of our hard-earned reward.
But to return to our cruise. One morning watch, during the time we were washing decks, and when the after-skylight gratings were off, a strange sail was seen from the topmast-head. Without thinking of such things as hatchways, back I ran from the fore part of the quarter-deck to hail the maintop-masthead, and to ask the man looking out what she looked like, when, just as I had placed my speaking-trumpet to my mouth, head over heels down the after-hatchway I fell, bang into the gun-room. Fortunately, I came off with only a severe bruise, and the spraining of my right ankle, which laid me up for three weeks.
The vessel proved to be an enemy’s small coaster, called a “trabaculo,” the rig of which is merely two large lug-sails, with a boom at the foot of them, with a jib, and sometimes a stay-sail and top-sail, to be set flying when going before the wind. She was in ballast, from Chiozza, bound to Ancona for a cargo. On searching the prisoners for letters and papers, we found concealed in their waistbands and linings of their clothes seven hundred and sixty-eight gold Venetian zechins, besides some dollars, which we took the liberty of extracting. They belonged to a rich Venetian merchant, and he had sent the money on board, under the charge of the master of the vessel, to purchase her cargo. On our chasing him, seeing no means of escape, he distributed the money amongst the men to sew in their dresses.
When we first captured him, finding the vessel without anything in her, Captain Parker was on the eve of letting her go, when the prying eyes of a young mid made the discovery of the concealed money, which we took from them, and then allowed the vessel, with her crew, to return to her own port, she not being worth the trouble of sending to Malta.
Some prizes in a gale of wind having been driven on shore near Pesaro, on the coast of Italy, a flag of truce came off to offer an exchange of prisoners, to which we gladly acceded. I was sent thither, with two boats, to bring back our seamen and petty officers. The French, seeing us coming, got the men down on the pier, to have them ready. Several officers of that nation, who were standing there, came bowing and scraping to the stairs of the landing-place, making a great number of fine speeches, and offering me refreshments of all kinds, if I would do them the honour to walk up into the town, which I gladly accepted, hoping to rest my boats’ crews and stretch my legs for half-an-hour on shore, after blockading their ports for six months.
Just when I was stepping out of the boat I observed they held a consultation. Afterwards one of the officers came up to me, and said that he was very sorry, but orders had just arrived for them on no account to suffer me to come out of my boat. Now this was utterly false, no one having come near them, for I kept my eye upon them the whole time. “It was very unfortunate—they were quite in despair about it,” holding up their hands, shrugging up their shoulders, and making wry faces all the time; “they wished so much to show me civility—refreshments were already laid out at their lodgings—but what could they do?—they were so sorry—but orders must be obeyed.” So, taking off their cocked hats, they wished me adieu. I returned the salute, thanked them for the trouble they had taken in getting a repast ready for me, which the authorities would not permit me to enjoy; then off we shoved the boats, and, after a long pull, got back to the ship with our exchanged shipmates, much amused with the French offer of refreshments, which it was never intended I should partake of.
We continued in the Adriatic until the end of September, 1807, when we proceeded to Trieste to embark Lord Pembroke and suite, and carry them to England. They had come from Vienna. Amongst his lordship’s suite were Sir William A’Court, the present Lord Heytesbury, and a Mr. Hammond. They were all pleasant, gentlemanly men, and although bred in Courts, where little else than cold-heartedness and deceit are learned, they in a short time won the esteem of us unsophisticated sailors.
After a stormy passage of nearly six weeks, we anchored at Spithead, when I found myself appointed lieutenant of H.M. Ship Swiftsure (74), bearing the flag of my much-esteemed friend and admiral, Sir John Borlase Warren, who had been appointed commander-in-chief on the Halifax station.