A long conversation with Mr Chucks—The advantages of having a prayer-book in your pocket—We run down the trades—Swinburne, the quarter-master, and his yarns—the captain falls sick. (continued 5)

The squall still continued, but the water was smooth. It soon passed over, and again it was nearly calm. I counted the men clinging to the boom, and found that they were all there. Swinburne was next to me. He was holding with one hand, while with the other he felt in his pocket for his quid of tobacco, which he thrust into his cheek. “I wasn’t on deck at the time, Mr Simple,” said he, “or this wouldn’t have happened. I had just been relieved, and I told Collins to look out sharp for squalls. I only mention it, that if you are saved, and I am not, you mayn’t think I was neglectful of my duty. We ain’t far from the land, but still we are more likely to fall in with a shark than a friend, I’m thinking.”

This, indeed, had been my thoughts, but I had concealed them; but after Swinburne had mentioned the shark, I very often looked along the water for their fins, and down below to see if they were coming up to tear us to pieces. It was a dreadful feeling.

“It was not your fault, Swinburne, I am sure. I ought to have relieved you myself, but I kept the first watch and was tired. We must put our trust in God: perhaps we may yet be spared.”

It was now almost calm, and the sun had mounted in the heavens: the scorching rays were intolerable upon our heads, for we had not the defence of hats.

I felt my brain on fire, and was inclined to drop into the water, to screen myself from the intolerable heat. As the day advanced, so did our sufferings increase. It was a dead calm, the sun perpendicular over us, actually burning that part of our bodies which rose clear of the water. I could have welcomed even a shark to relieve me of my torment; but I thought of Celeste, and I clung to life. Towards the afternoon, I felt sick and dizzy; my resolution failed me; my vision was imperfect; but I was roused by Swinburne, who cried out, “A boat, by all that’s gracious! Hang on a little longer, my men, and you are saved.”

It was a boat full of negroes, who had come out to catch flying fish. They had perceived the spar on the water, and hastened to secure the prize. They dragged us all in, gave us water, which appeared like nectar, and restored us to our fleeting senses. They made fast the boom, and towed it in-shore. We had not been ten minutes on our way, when Swinburne pointed to the fin of a large shark above the water. “Look there, Mr Simple.” I shuddered, and made no answer; but I thanked God in my heart.

In two hours we were landed, but were too ill to walk. We were carried up to the hospital, bled, and put into cots. I had a brain fever which lasted six or seven days, during which O’Brien never left my bedside. My head was shaved, all the skin came off my face like a mask, as well as off my back and shoulders. We were put into baths of brandy and water, and in three weeks were all recovered.

“That was but an unlucky schooner from beginning to end,” observed O’Brien, after I had narrated the events of my cruise. “We had a bad beginning with her, and we had a bad ending. She’s gone to the bottom, and the devil go with her; however, all’s well that ends well, and Peter, you’re worth a dozen dead men yet; but you occasion me a great deal of trouble and anxiety, that’s the truth of it, and I doubt if I shall ever rear you, after all.”

I returned to my duty on board of the brig, which was now nearly ready for sea. One morning O’Brien came on board and said, “Peter, I’ve a piece of news for you. Our gunner is appointed to the Araxes, and the admiral has given me a gunner’s warrant for old Swinburne. Send for him on deck.”

Swinburne was summoned, and came rolling up the hatchway. “Swinburne,” said O’Brien, “you have done your duty well, and you are now gunner of the Rattlesnake. Here is your warrant, and I’ve great pleasure in getting it for you.”

Swinburne turned the quid in his cheek, and then replied, “May I be so bold as to ax, Captain O’Brien, whether I must wear one of them long tog, swallow-tailed coats—because if so, I’d prefer being a quarter-master?”

“A gunner may wear a jacket, Swinburne, if he likes: when you go on shore, you may bend the swallow-tail if you please.”

“Well, sir, then if that’s the case, I’ll take the warrant, because I know it will please the old woman.”

So saying, Swinburne hitched up his trowsers, and went down below. I may here observe, that Swinburne kept to his round jacket until our arrival in England, when the “old woman,” his wife, who thought her dignity at stake, soon made him ship the swallow-tail; and after it was once on, Swinburne took a fancy to it himself, and always wore it, except when he was at sea.

The same evening, as I was coming with O’Brien from the governor’s house, where I had dined, we passed a building, lighted up. “What can that be?” observed O’Brien: “not a dignity ball—there is no music.” Our curiosity induced us to enter, and we found it to be fitted up as a temporary chapel, filled with black and coloured people, who were ranged on the forms, and waiting for the preacher.

“It is a Methodist meeting,” said I to O’Brien.

“Never mind,” said he, “let us hear what is going on.”

In a moment afterwards the pulpit was filled, not by a white man, as we had anticipated, but by a tall negro. He was dressed in black, and his hair, which it was impossible to comb down straight, was plaited into fifty little tails, with lead tied at the end of them, like you sometimes see the mane of a horse: this produced a somewhat more clerical appearance. His throat was open, and collar laid back; the wristbands of his shirt very large and white, and he flourished a white cambric handkerchief.

“What a dandy he is!” whispered O’Brien.

I thought it almost too absurd, when he said he would take the liberty to praise God in the 17th hymn, and beg all the company to join chorus. He then gave out the stanzas in the most strange pronunciation.

“Gentle Jesus, God um lub,” etc.

When the hymn was finished, which was sung by the whole congregation, in most delightful discord—for every one chose his own key—he gave an extempore prayer, which was most unfortunately incomprehensible, and then commenced his discourse, which was on Faith. I shall omit the head and front of his offending, which would, perhaps, hardly be gratifying, although ludicrous. He reminded me of a monkey imitating a man; but what amused me most, was his finale, in which he told his audience that there could be no faith without charity. For a little while he descanted upon this generally, and at last became personal. His words were, as well as I can recollect, nearly as follows:—

“And now you see, my dear bredren, how unpossible to go to heaven with all the faith in the world, without charity. Charity mean, give away. Suppose you no give—you no ab charity; suppose you no ab charity—you no ab faith; suppose you no ab faith—you all go to hell and be damned. Now den, let me see if you ab charity. Here, you see, I come to save all your soul from hell-fire; and hell-fire dam hot, I can tell you. Dere you all burn, like coal, till you turn white powder, and den burn on till you come black again: and so you go on, burn, burn, sometime white, sometime black, for ebber and ebber. The debil never allow Sangoree to cool tongue. No, no cocoa-nut milk—not a lilly drap of water; debil see you damned first. Suppose you ask, he poke um fire and laugh. Well, den, ab you charity? No, you ab not. You, Quashee, how you dare look me in the face? You keep shop—you sell egg—you sell yam—you sell pepper hot—but when you give to me? Eh! nebber, so help me God. Suppose you no send—you no ab charity, and you go to hell. You black Sambo,” continued he, pointing to a man in a corner, “ab very fine boat, go out all day, catch fly-fish, bring um back, fry um, and sell for money: but when you send to me? not one little fish ebber find way to my mouth. What I tell you ’bout Peter and ’postles—all fishermen? good men; give ’way to poor. Sambo, you no ab charity; and ’spose you no repent this week, and send one very fine fish in plantain leaf, you go to hell, and burn for ebber and ebber. Eh! so you will run away, Massa Johnson,” cried he out to another, who was edging to the door; “but you no run away from hell-fire; when debil catch you he hold dam tight. You know you kill sheep and goat ebery day. You send bell ring all ’bout town for people to come buy; but when you send to me? nebber, ’cept once, you give me lilly bit of libber. That no do, Massa Johnson; you no ab charity; and suppose you no send me sheep’s head to-morrow morning, dam you libber, that’s all. I see many more, but I see um all very sorry, and dat they mean to sin no more, so dis time I let um off, and say nothing about it, because I know plenty of plantain and banana” (pointing to one), “and oranges and shaddock” (pointing to another), “and salt fish” (pointing to a third), “and ginger pop and spruce beer,” (pointing to a fourth), “and a straw hat” (pointing to a fifth), “and eberything else, come to my house to-morrow. So I say no more bout it; I see you all very sorry—you only forget. You all ab charity and all ab faith; so now, my dear bredren, we go down on our knees, and thank God for all this, and more especially that I save all your souls from going to the debil, who run about Barbadoes like one roaring lion, seeking what he may lay hold off, and cram into his dam fiery jaw.”

“That will do, Peter,” said O’Brien; “we have the cream of it I think.”

We left the house and walked down to the boat. “Surely. O’Brien,” said I, “this should not be permitted?”

“He’s no worse than his neighbours,” replied O’Brien, “and perhaps does less harm. I admired the rascal’s ingenuity; he gave his flock what, in Ireland, we should call a pretty broad hint.”

“Yes, there was no mistaking him; but is he a licensed preacher?”

“Very little license in his preaching, I take it; no, I suppose he has had a call.”

“A call!—what do you mean?”

“I mean that he wants to fill his belly. Hunger is a call of nature, Peter.”

“He seems to want a good many things, if we were to judge by his catalogue: what a pity it is that these poor people are not better instructed.”

“That they never will be, Peter, while there is, what may be called, free trade in religion.”

“You speak like a Catholic, O’Brien.”

“I am one,” replied he. And here our conversation ended, for we were close to the boat, which was waiting for us on the beach.

The next day a man-of-war brig arrived from England, bringing letters for the squadron on the station. I had two from my sister Ellen, which made me very uncomfortable. She stated, that my father had seen my uncle, Lord Privilege, and had had high words with him; indeed, as far as she could ascertain of the facts, my father had struck my uncle, and had been turned out of the house by the servants. That he had returned in a state of great excitement, and had been ill ever since. That there was a great deal of talk in the neighbourhood on the subject—people generally highly blaming my father’s conduct and thinking that he was deranged in his intellect,—a supposition very much encouraged by my uncle. She again expressed her hopes of my speedy return. I had now been absent nearly three years, and she had been so uncomfortable that she felt as if it had been at least ten. O’Brien also received a letter from Father McGrath, which I shall lay before the reader.

“My dear son,—Long life, and all the blessings of all the saints be upon you now and for evermore! Amen. And may you live to be married, and may I dance at your wedding, and may you never want children, and may they grow up as handsome as their father and their mother (whoever she may hereafter be), and may you die of a good old age, and in the true faith, and be waked handsomely, as your own father was last Friday s’ennight, seeing as how he took it into his head to leave this world for a better. It was a very dacent funeral-procession, my dear Terence, and your father must have been delighted to see himself so well attinded. No man ever made a more handsome corpse, considering how old, and thin, and haggard he had grown of late; and how grey his hair had turned. He held the nosegay between his fingers, across his breast, as natural as life, and reminded us all of the blessed saint Pope Gregory who was called to glory some hundred years before either you or I was born.

“Your mother’s quite comfortable; and there she sits in the ould chair, rocking to and fro all day long, and never speaking a word to nobody, thinking about heaven, I dare to say; which is just what she ought to do, seeing that she stands a very pretty chance of going there in the course of a month or so. Divil a word has she ever said since your father’s departure, but then she screamed and yelled enough to last for seven years at the least. She screamed away all her senses any how, for she has done nothing since but cough, cough, and fumble at her pater-nosters,—a very blessed way to pass the remainder of her days, seeing that I expect her to drop every minute, like an over ripe sleepy pear. So don’t think any more about her, my son, for without you are back in a jiffy, her body will be laid in consecrated ground, and her happy, blessed soul in purgatory. Pax vobiscum. Amen! Amen!

“And now having disposed of your father and your mother so much to your satisfaction, I’ll just tell you that Ella’s mother died in the convent at Dieppe, but whether she kept her secret or not I do not know; but this I do know, that if she didn’t relieve her soul by confession, she’s damned to all eternity. Thanks be to God for all his mercies. Amen! Ella Flanagan is still alive, and, for a nun, is as well as can be expected. I find that she knows nothing at all about the matter of the exchanging the genders of the babbies—only that her mother was on oath to Father O’Toole, who ought to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, instead of those poor fellows whom the government called rebels, but who were no more rebels than Father McGrath himself, who’ll uphold the Pretender, as they call our true Catholic King, as long as there’s life in his body, or a drop of whisky left in ould Ireland to drink his health wid.—Talking about Father O’Toole puts me in mind that the bishop has not yet decided our little bit of dispute, saying that he must take time to think about it. Now considering that it’s just three years since the row took place, the old gentleman must be a very slow thinker, not to have found out by this time that I was in the right, and that Father O’Toole, the baste, is not good enough to be hanged.

“Your two married sisters are steady and diligent young women, having each made three children since you last saw them. Fine boys, every mother’s son of them, with elegant spacious features, and famous mouths for taking in whole potatoes. By the powers, but the effects of the tree of the O’Briens begin to make a noise in the land, anyhow, as you would say if you only heard them roaring for their bit of suppers.

“And now, my dear son Terence, to the real purport of this letter, which is just to put to your soul’s conscience, as a dutiful son, whether you ought not to send me a small matter of money to save your poor father’s soul from pain and anguish—for it’s no joke that being in purgatory, I can tell you; and you wouldn’t care how soon you were tripped out of it yourself. I only wish you had but your little toe in it, and then you’d burn with impatience to have it out again. But you’re a dutiful son, so I’ll say no more about it—a nod’s as good as a wink to a blind horse.

“When your mother goes, which, with the blessing of God, will be in a very little while, seeing that she has only to follow her senses, which are gone already, I’ll take upon myself to sell everything, as worldly goods and chattels are of no use to dead people: and I have no doubt but that what, with the furniture, and the two cows, and the pigs, and the crops in the ground, there will be enough to save her soul from the flames, and bury her dacently into the bargain. However, as you are the heir-at-law, seeing that the property is all your own, I’ll keep a debtor and creditor account of the whole; and should there be any over, I’ll use it all out in masses, so as to send her up to heaven by express and if there’s not sufficient, she must remain where she is till you come back and make up the deficiency. In the meanwhile I am your loving father in faith,

“Urtagh McGrath.”

Chapter Fifty Two.

Good sense in Swinburne—No man a hero to his “valet de chambre,” or a prophet in his own country—O’Brien takes a step by strategy—O’Brien parts with his friend, and Peter’s star is no longer in the ascendant.

O’Brien was sorry for the death of his father, but he could not feel as most people would have done, as his father had certainly never been a father to him. He was sent to sea to be got rid of, and ever since he had been there had been the chief support of his family: his father was very fond of whisky, and not very fond of exertion. He was too proud of the true Milesian blood in his veins, to do anything to support himself; but not too proud to live upon his son’s hard-earned gains. For his mother O’Brien felt very much; she had always been kind and affectionate, and was very fond of him. Sailors, however, are so estranged from their families, when they have been long in their profession, and so accustomed to vicissitudes, that no grief for the loss of a relation lasts very long, and, in a week, O’Brien had recovered his usual spirits, when a vessel brought us the intelligence that a French squadron had been seen off St. Domingo. This put us all on the qui vive. O’Brien was sent for by the admiral, and ordered to hasten his brig for sea with all possible despatch, as he was to proceed with despatches to England forthwith. In three days we were reported ready, received our orders, and at eight o’clock in the evening made sail from Carlisle Bay.

“Well, Mr Swinburne,” said I, “how do you like your new situation?”

“Why, Mr Simple, I like it well enough, and it’s not disagreeable to be an officer, and sit in your own cabin; but still, I feel that I should get on better, if I were in another ship. I’ve been hail fellow well met with the ship’s company so long, that I can’t top the officer over them, and we can’t get the duty done as smart as I could wish; and then, at night, I find it very lonely, stuck up in my cabin like a parson’s clerk, and nobody to talk to; for the other warrants are particular, and say that I’m only acting, and may not be confirmed, so they hold aloof. I don’t much like being answerable for all that lot of gunpowder—it’s queer stuff to handle.”

“Very true, Swinburne; but still, if there were no responsibility, we should require no officers. You recollect that you are now provided for for life, and will have half-pay.”

“That’s what made me bite, Mr Simple; I thought of the old woman, and how comfortable it would make her in her old age, and so, d’ye see, I sacrificed myself.”

“How long have you been married, Swinburne?”

“Ever since Christmas ’94. I wasn’t going to be hook’d carelessly, so I nibbled afore I took the bait. Had four years’ trial of her first, and finding that she had plenty of ballast, I sailed her as my own.”

“How do you mean by plenty of ballast?”

“I don’t mean, Mr Simple, a broad bow and square hulk. You know very well that if a vessel has not ballast, she’s bottom up in no time. Now, what keeps a woman stiff under her canvas is her modesty.”

“Very true. Swinburne; but it’s a rare commodity on the beach.”

“And why, Mr Simple? because liquor is more valued. Many a good man has found it to be his bane; and as for a woman, when once she takes to it, she’s like a ship without a rudder, and goes right before the wind to the devil. Not that I think a man ought not to take a nor-wester or two, when he can get them. Rum was not given by God Almighty only to make the niggers dance, but to make all our hearts glad; neither do I see why a woman is to stand out neither; what’s good for Jack can’t hurt Poll; only there is a medium, as they say, in all things, and half-and-half is quite strong enough.”

“I should think it was,” replied I, laughing.

“But don’t be letting me prevent you from keeping a look-out, Mr Simple.—You Hoskins, you’re half a point off the wind. Luff you may.—I think, Mr Simple, that Captain O’Brien didn’t pick out the best man, when he made Tom Alsop a quarter-master in my place.”

“Why, he is a very steady, good man, Swinburne.”

“Yes, so he is; but he has natural defects, which shouldn’t be overlooked.”

“I was not aware of that.”

“No, but I was. Alsop wants to sarve out his time for his pension, and when he has sarved, you see if, when the surgeons examine him, they don’t invalid him, as blind as a bat. I should like to have him as gunner’s mate, and that’s just what he’s fit for. But, Mr Simple, I think we shall have some bad weather. The moon looks greasy, and the stars want snuffing. You’ll have two reefs in the topsails afore morning. There’s five bells striking. Now, I’ll turn in; if I didn’t keep half the first, and half the morning watch, I shouldn’t sleep all the night. I miss my regular watch very much, Mr Simple—habit’s every thing—and I don’t much fancy a standing bed-place, it’s so large, and I feel so cold of my sides. Nothing like a hammock, after all. Good night, Mr Simple.”

“Good night. Swinburne.”

Our orders were to proceed with all possible despatch; and O’Brien carried on day and night, generally remaining up himself till one or two o’clock in the morning. We had very favourable weather, and in a little more than a month we passed the Lizard. The wind being fair, we passed Plymouth, ran up Channel, and anchored at Spithead.

After calling upon the admiral, O’Brien set off for town with his despatches, and left me in command of the ship. In three days, I received a letter from him, informing me that he had seen the First Lord, who had asked him a great many questions concerning the station he had quitted; that he had also complimented O’Brien on his services. “On that hint I spake,” continued O’Brien; “I ventured to insinuate to his lordship, that I had hoped that I had earned my promotion; and as there is nothing like quartering on the enemy, I observed that I had not applied to Lord Privilege, as I considered my services would have been sufficient, without any application on his part. His lordship returned a very gracious answer; said that my Lord Privilege was a great ally of his and very friendly to the Government; and inquired when I was going to see him. I replied, that I certainly should not pay my respects to his lordship at present, unless there was occasion for it, as I must take a more favourable opportunity. So I hope that good may come from the great lord’s error, which of course I shall not correct, as I feel I deserve my promotion—and you know, Peter, if you can’t gain it by hook, you must by crook.” He then concluded his letter; but there was a postscript as follows:—

“Wish me joy, my dear Peter. I have this moment received a letter from the private secretary, to say that I am posted and appointed to the Semiramis frigate, about to set sail for the East Indies. She is all ready to start; and now I must try and get you with me, of which I have no doubt; as, although her officers have been long appointed, there will be little difficulty of success, when I mention your relationship to Lord Privilege, and while they remain in error as to his taking an interest in my behalf.”

I sincerely rejoiced at O’Brien’s good fortune. His promotion I had considered certain, as his services had entitled him to it: but the command of so fine a frigate must have been given upon the supposition that it would be agreeable to my uncle, who was not only a prime supporter, but a very useful member of the Tory government. I could not help laughing to myself, at the idea of O’Brien obtaining his wishes from the influence of a person who, probably, detested him as much as one man could detest another; and I impatiently waited for O’Brien’s next letter, by which I hoped to find myself appointed to the Semiramis; but a sad contre temps took place.

O’Brien did not write; but came down two days afterwards, hastened on board the Semiramis, read his commission, and assumed the command before even he had seen me: he then sent his gig on board of the Rattlesnake, to desire me to come to him directly. I did so, and we went down into the cabin of the frigate. “Peter,” said he, “I was obliged to hasten down and read myself captain of this ship, as I am in fear that things are not going on well. I had called to pay my respects at the Admiralty, previous to joining, and was kicking my heels in the waiting-room, when who should walk up the passage, as if he were a captain on his own quarter-deck, but your uncle, Lord Privilege. His eye met mine—he recognised me immediately—and, if it did not flash fire, it did something very like it. He asked a few questions of one of the porters, and was giving his card, when my name was called for. I passed him, and up I went to the First Lord, thanked him for the frigate; and having received a great many compliments upon my exertions on the West India station, made my bow and retired. I had intended to have requested your appointment, but I knew that your name would bring up Lord Privilege’s; and, moreover, your uncle’s card was brought up and laid upon the table while I was sitting there. The First Lord, I presume, thought that his lordship was come to thank him for his kindness to me, which only made him more civil. I made my bow, and went down, and met the eye of Lord Privilege, who looked daggers at me as he walked upstairs—for, of course, he was admitted immediately after my audience was finished. Instead of waiting to hear the result of the explanation, I took a post-chaise, and have come down here as fast as four horses can bring me, and have read myself in—for, Peter, I feel sure, that if not on board, my commission will be cancelled; and I know that if once in command, as I am now, I can call for a court-martial, to clear my character if I am superseded. I know that the Admiralty can do anything, but still they will be cautious in departing from the rules of the service, to please even Lord Privilege. I looked up at the sky as soon as I left the Admiralty portico, and was glad to see that the weather was so thick, and the telegraph not at work, or I might have been too late. Now I’ll go on shore, and report myself to the admiral, as having taken the command of the Semiramis.”

O’Brien went on shore to report himself, was well received by the admiral, who informed him, that if he had any arrangements to make, he could not be too soon, as he should not be surprised if his sailing orders came down the next morning. This was very annoying, as I could not see how I should be able to join O’Brien’s ship, even if I could effect an exchange, in so short a time. I therefore hastened on board of the Semiramis and applied to the officers to know if any of them were willing to exchange into the Rattlesnake; but although they did not much like going to the East Indies, they would not exchange into a brig, and I returned disappointed.

The next morning, the admiral sent for O’Brien, and told him confidentially, for he was the same admiral who had received O’Brien when he escaped from prison with me, and was very kind to him, that there was some hitch about his having the Semiramis, and that orders had come down to pay her off, all standing, and examine her bottom, if Captain O’Brien had not joined her.

“Do you understand what this means?” said the admiral, who was anxious to know the reason.

O’Brien answered frankly, that Lord Privilege, by whose interest he had obtained his former command, was displeased with him; and that as he saw him go up to the First Lord after his own audience, he had no doubt but that his lordship had said something to his disadvantage, as he was a very vindictive man.

“Well,” said the admiral, “it’s lucky that you have taken the command, as they cannot well displace you, or send her into dock without a survey, and upon your representation.”

And so it proved; the First Lord, when he found that O’Brien had joined, took no further steps, but allowed the frigate to proceed to her intended destination. But all chance of my sailing with him was done away, and now, for the first time, I had to part with O’Brien. I remained with him the whole time that I could be spared from my duties. O’Brien was very much annoyed, but there was no help. “Never mind, Peter,” said he, “I’ve been thinking that perhaps it’s all for the best. You will see more of the world, and be no longer in leading-strings. You are now a fine man grown up, big enough, and ugly enough, as they say, to take care of yourself. We shall meet again; and if we don’t, why then God bless you, my boy, and don’t forget O’Brien.”

Three days afterwards, O’Brien’s orders came down. I accompanied him on board; and it was not until the ship was under weigh, and running towards the Needles with a fair wind, that I shook hands with him, and shoved off. Parting with O’Brien was a heavy blow to me; but I little knew how much I was to suffer before I saw him again.

Chapter Fifty Three.

I am pleased with my new captain—Obtain leave to go home—Find my father afflicted with a very strange disease, and prove myself a very good doctor, although the disorder always breaks out in a fresh place.

The day after O’Brien had sailed for the East Indies, the dock-yard men came on board to survey the brig, and she was found so defective, as to be ordered into dock. I had received letters from my sister, who was overjoyed at the intelligence of my safe return, and the anticipation of seeing me. The accounts of my father were, however, very unsatisfactory. My sister wrote, that disappointment and anxiety had had such an effect upon him that he was deranged in his intellect. Our new captain came down to join us. He was a very young man, and had never before commanded a ship. His character as lieutenant was well known, and not very satisfactory, being that of a harsh, unpleasant officer; but, as he had never been first lieutenant, it was impossible to say what he might prove when in command of a ship. Still we were a little anxious about it, and severely regretted the loss of O’Brien.

He came on board the hulk to which the ship’s company had been turned over, and read his commission. He proved to be all affability, condescension, and good-nature. To me he was particularly polite, stating that he should not interfere with me in carrying on the duty, as I must be so well acquainted with the ship’s company. We thought that those who gave us the information must have been prejudiced or mistaken in his character. During the half-hour that he remained on board, I stated that now that the brig was in dock, I should like very much to have an opportunity of seeing my friends, if he would sanction my asking for leave.

To this he cheerfully consented, adding, that he would extend it upon his own responsibility. My letter to the Admiralty was therefore forwarded through him, and was answered in the affirmative. The day afterwards, I set off by the coach, and once more embraced my dear sister.

After the first congratulations were over, I inquired about my father; she replied, that he was so wild that nobody could manage him. That he was melancholy and irritable at the same time, and was certainly deranged, fancying himself to be made of various substances, or to be in a certain trade or capacity. That he generally remained in this way four or five days, when he went to bed, and slept for twenty-four hours, or more, and awoke with some new strange imagination in his head. His language was violent, but that, in other respects, he seemed to be more afraid of other people than inclined to be mischievous; and that every day he was getting more strange and ridiculous. He had now just risen from one of his long naps, and was in his study; that before he had fallen asleep he had fancied himself to be a carpenter, and had sawed and chopped up several articles of furniture in the house.

I quitted my sister to see my father, whom I found in his easy-chair. I was much shocked at his appearance. He was thin and haggard his eyes were wild, and he remained with his mouth constantly open. A sick nurse, who had been hired by my sister, was standing by him.

“Pish, pish, pish, pish!” cried my father; “what can you, a stupid old woman, know about my inside? I tell you the gas is generating fast, and even now I can hardly keep on my chair. I’m lifting—lifting now; and if you don’t tie me down with cords, I shall go up like a balloon.”

“Indeed, sir,” replied the woman, “it’s only the wind in your stomach. You’ll break it off directly.”

“It’s inflammable gas, you old hecate!—I know it is. Tell me will you get a cord, or will you not? Hah! who’s that—Peter? Why you’ve dropped from the clouds, just in time to see me mount up to them.”

“I hope you feel yourself better, sir,” said I.

“I fell myself a great deal lighter every minute. Get a cord, Peter, and tie me to the leg of the table.”

I tried to persuade him that he was under a mistake; but it was useless. He became excessively violent, and said I wished him in heaven. As I had heard that it was better to humour people afflicted with hypochondriacism, which was evidently the disease under which my father laboured, I tried that method. “It appears to me, sir,” said I, “that if we could remove the gas every ten minutes, it would be a very good plan.”

“Yes—but how?” replied he, shaking his head mournfully.

“Why, with a syringe, sir,” said I; “which will, if empty, of course draw out the gas, when inserted into your mouth.”

“My dear Peter, you have saved my life,” replied my father; “be quick though, or I shall go up, right through the ceiling.” Fortunately, there was an instrument of that description in the house. I applied it to his mouth, drew up the piston, and then ejected the air, and re-applied it. In two minutes he pronounced himself better, and I left the old nurse hard at work, and my father very considerably pacified. I returned to my sister, to whom I recounted what had passed; but it was no source of mirth to us, although had it happened to an indifferent person, I might have been amused. The idea of leaving her, as I must soon do—having only a fortnight’s leave—to be worried by my father’s unfortunate malady, was very distressing. But we entered into a long conversation, in which I recounted the adventures that had taken place since I had left her, and for the time forgot our source of annoyance and regret. For three days my father insisted upon the old woman pumping the gas out of his body; after that he again fell into one of his sound sleeps, which lasted nearly thirty hours.

When he arose, I went again to see him. It was eight o’clock in the evening, and I entered with a candle. “Take it away—quick, take it away; put it out carefully.”

“Why, what’s the matter, sir?”

“Don’t come near me, if you love me; don’t come near me. Put it out, I say—put it out.”

I obeyed his orders, and then asked him the reason. “Reason!” said he, now that we were in the dark; “can’t you see?”

“No, father; I can see nothing in the dark.”

“Well, then, Peter, I’m a magazine, full of gun-powder; the least spark in the world, and I am blown up. Consider the danger. You surely would not be the destruction of your father, Peter;” and the poor old gentleman burst into tears, and wept like a child.

I knew that it was in vain to reason with him. “My dear father,” said I, “on board ship, when there is any danger of this kind, we always float the magazine. Now, if you were to drink a good deal of water, the powder would be spoiled, and there would be no danger.”

My father was satisfied with my proposal, and drank a tumbler of water every half-hour, which the old nurse was obliged to supply as fast as he called for it, and this satisfied him for three or four days, and I was again left to the company of my dear Ellen, when my father again fell into his stupor, and we wondered what would be his next fancy. I was hastily summoned by the nurse; and found my poor father lying in bed, and breathing in a very strange manner.

“What is the matter, my dear sir?” inquired I.

“Why, don’t you see what is the matter? How is a poor little infant, just born, to live, unless its mother is near to suckle it, and take care of it?”

“Indeed, sir, do you mean to say that you are just born?”

“To be sure I do. I’m dying for the breast.”

This was almost too absurd; but I gravely observed, “That it was all very true, but unfortunately his mother had died in child-birth, and that the only remedy was to bring him up by hand.”

He agreed with me. I desired the nurse to make some gruel, with brandy, and feed him: which she did, and he took the gruel just as if he were a baby.

This fit lasted about six days; for he went to sleep, because a baby always slept much; and I was in hopes it would last much longer: but he again went off into his lethargic fit, and after a long sleep awoke with a new fancy. My time had nearly expired, and I had written to my new captain, requesting an extension of leave, but I received an answer stating that it could not be granted, and requesting me to join the brig immediately.

I was rather surprised at this, but of course was compelled to obey and, embracing my dear sister once more, set off for Portsmouth. I advised her to humour my father, and this advice she followed; but his fancies were such, occasionally, as would have puzzled the most inventive genius to combat, or to find the remedy which he might acknowledge to be requisite. His health became certainly worse and worse, and his constitution was evidently destroyed by a slow, undermining bodily and mental fever. The situation of my poor sister was very distressing; and I must say that I quitted her with melancholy forebodings.

I ought here to observe, that I received all my prize-money amounting to 1560 pounds, a large sum for a lieutenant. I put it into the funds, and gave a power of attorney to Ellen, requesting her to use it as her own. We consulted as to what she should do if my father should die, and agreed that all his debts, which we knew to amount to three or four hundred pounds, should be paid, and that she should manage how she could upon what was left of my father’s property, and the interest of my prize-money.

Chapter Fifty Four.

We receive our sailing orders, and orders of every description—A quarter-deck conversation—Listeners never hear any good of themselves.

When I arrived at Portsmouth, I reported myself to the captain, who lived at the hotel. I was ushered into his room to wait for him, as he was dressing to dine with the admiral. My eyes naturally turned to what lay on the table, merely from the feeling which one has to pass away the time, not from curiosity; and I was much surprised to see a pile of letters the uppermost of which was franked by Lord Privilege. This, however, might be merely accidental; but my curiosity was excited, and I lifted up the letter, and found that the second, the third, and indeed at least ten of them were franked by my uncle. I could not imagine how there could be any intimacy between him and my uncle, and was reflecting upon it when Captain Hawkins, for that was his name, entered the room. He was very kind and civil, apologised for not being able to extend my leave, which, he said, was because he had consulted the admiral, who would not sanction the absence of the first lieutenant, and had very peremptorily desired he would recall me immediately. I was satisfied: he shook my hand, and we parted. On, my arrival on board the hulk, for the brig was still in dock, I was warmly received by my messmates. They told me that the captain had, generally speaking, been very civil, but that, occasionally, the marks of the cloven foot appeared.

“Webster,” said I to the second lieutenant, “do you know anything about his family or connections?”

“It is a question I have asked of those who have sailed with him, and they all say that he never speaks of his own family, but very often boasts of his intimacy with the nobility. Some say that he is a bye-blow of some great man.”

I reflected very much upon this, and connecting it with the numerous franks of Lord Privilege which I saw on the table, had my misgivings; but then I knew that I could do my duty, and had no reason to fear any man. I resolved, in my own mind, to be very correct, and put it out of the power of any one to lay hold of me, and then dismissed the subject. The brig was repaired and out of dock, and for some days I was very busy getting her ready for sea. I never quitted her; in fact, I had no wish. I never had any taste for bad company and midnight orgies, and I had no acquaintance with the respectable portion of the inhabitants of Portsmouth. At last the ship’s company were removed into the brig: we went out of the harbour, and anchored at Spithead.

Captain Hawkins came on board and gave me an order-book, saying, “Mr Simple, I have a great objection to written orders, as I consider that the articles of war are quite sufficient to regulate any ship. Still, a captain is in a very responsible situation, and if any accident occurs he is held amenable. I therefore have framed a few orders of my own for the interior discipline of the vessel, which may probably save me harmless, in case of being hauled over the coals; but not with any wish that they should interfere with the comforts of the officers, only to guard against any mischance, of which the onus may fall upon myself.”

I received the order-book, and the captain went ashore. When I went down into the gun-room, to look through it, I at once perceived that if rigidly conformed to, every officer in the ship would be rendered uncomfortable; and if not conformed to, I should be the party that was answerable. I showed it to Webster, who agreed with me, and gave it as his opinion that the captain’s good nature and amiability were all a blind, and that he was intending to lay hold of us as soon as it was in his power. I therefore called all the officers together, and told them my opinion. Webster supported me, and it was unanimously agreed that the orders should be obeyed, although not without remonstrance.

The major part of the orders, however, only referred to the time that the brig was in harbour; and, as we were about to proceed to sea, it was hardly worth while saying anything at present. The orders for the sailing of the brig came down, and by the same post I received a letter from my sister Ellen, stating that they had heard from Captain Fielding, who had immediately written to Bombay, where the regiment was stationed, and had received an answer, informing him that there was no married man in the regiment of the name of Sullivan, and no woman who had followed that regiment of that name. This at once put an end to all our researches after the wet-nurse, who had been confined in my uncle’s house. Where she had been sent, it was of course impossible to say; but I gave up all chance of discovering my uncle’s treachery; and, as I thought of Celeste, sighed at the little hope I had of ever being united to her. I wrote a long letter to O’Brien, and the next day we sailed for our station in the North Sea.

The captain added a night order-book to the other, and sent it up every evening, to be returned in the morning, with the signature of every officer of the night watches. He also required all our signatures to his general order-book, that we might not say we had not read them. I had the first watch, when Swinburne came up to me.

“Well, Mr Simple, I do not think we have made much by our exchange of captains; and I have a shrewd suspicion we shall have squalls ere long.”

“We must not judge too hastily, Swinburne,” replied I.

“No, no—I don’t say that we should; but still, one must go a little by looks in the world, and I’m sure his looks wouldn’t help him much. He is just like a winter’s day, short and dirty; and he walks the decks as if plank were not good enough for his feet. Mr William says, he looks as if he were ‘big with the fate of Cato and of Rome:’ what that means I don’t know—some joke, I suppose, for the youngsters are always joking. Were you ever up the Baltic, Mr Simple? Now I think of it I know you never were. I’ve seen some tight work up there with the gun-boats; and so we should now, with Captain O’Brien; but as for this little man, I’ve an idea ’twill be more talk than work.”

“You appear to have taken a great dislike to the captain, Swinburne. I do not know whether, as first lieutenant, I ought to listen to you.”

“It’s because you’re first lieutenant that I tell it you, Mr Simple. I never was mistaken, in the main, of an officer’s character, when I could look him in the face, and hear him talk for half-an-hour; and I came up on purpose to put you on your guard: for I feel convinced, that towards you he means mischief. What does he mean by having the greasy-faced sergeant of marines in his cabin for half-an-hour every morning? His reports as master-of-arms ought to come through you, as first lieutenant; but he means him as a spy upon all, and upon you in particular. The fellow has began to give himself airs already, and speaks to the young gentlemen as if they were beneath him. I thought you might not know it, Mr Simple, so I thought it right to tell you.”

“I am much obliged to you, Swinburne, for your good wishes; but I can do my duty, and why should I fear anything?”

“A man may do his duty, Mr Simple; but if a captain is determined to ruin him, he has the power. I have been longer in the service than you have, and have been wide awake: only be careful of one thing Mr Simple; I beg your pardon for being so free, but in no case lose your temper.”

“No fear of that, Swinburne,” replied I.

“It’s very easy to say ‘no fear of that,’ Mr Simple: but recollect you have not yet had your temper tried as some officers have. You have always been treated like a gentleman; but should you find yourself treated otherwise, you have too good blood in your veins not to speak—I am sure of that. I’ve seen officers insulted and irritated, till no angel could put up with the treatment—and then for an unguarded word, which they would have been swabs not to have made use of, sent out of the service to the devil.”

“But you forget, Swinburne, that the articles of war are made for the captain as well as for everybody else in the ship.”

“I know that; but still, at court-martials captains make a great distinction between what a superior says to an inferior, and what an inferior says to a superior.”

“True,” replied I, quoting Shakespeare:—

“‘That’s in the captain but a choleric word, Which in the soldier is rank blasphemy.’”

“Exactly my meaning—I rather think,” said Swinburne, “if a captain calls you no gentleman, you mustn’t say the same to him.”

“Certainly not,” replied I; “but I can demand a court-martial.”

“Yes; and it will be granted; but what do you gain by that? It’s like beating against a heavy gale and a lee tide—thousand to one if you fetch your port; and if you do, your vessel is strained to pieces, sails worn as thin as a newspaper, and rigging chafed half through, wanting fresh serving: no orders for a refit, and laid up in ordinary for the rest of your life. No, no, Mr Simple; the best plan is to grin and bear it, and keep a sharp look-out; for depend upon it, Mr Simple, in the best ship’s company in the world, a spy captain will always find spy followers.”

“Do you refer that observation to me, Mr Swinburne?” said a voice from under the bulwark. I started round, and found the captain, who had crept upon deck, unperceived by us, during our conversation.

Swinburne made no reply, but touched his hat, and walked over to leeward.

“I presume, Mr Simple,” said the captain, turning to me, “that you consider yourself justified in finding fault, and abusing your captain, to an inferior officer, on His Majesty’s quarter-deck.”

“If you heard the previous conversation, sir,” replied I, “you must be aware that we were speaking generally about court-martials. I do not imagine that I have been guilty of any impropriety in conversing with an officer upon points connected with the service.”

“You mean then to assert, sir, that the gunner did not refer to me when he said the words, ‘spy captain.’”

“I acknowledge, sir, that as you were listening unperceived, the term might appear to refer to you; but the gunner had no idea, at the time, that you were listening. His observation was, that a spy captain would always find spy followers. This I take to be a general observation; and I am sorry that you think otherwise.”

“Very well, Mr Simple,” said Captain Hawkins—and he walked down the companion ladder into his cabin.

“Now a’n’t it odd, Mr Simple, that I should come with the intention of being of service to you, and yet get you into such a scrape? However, perhaps, it is all for the best; open war is preferable to watching in the dark, and stabbing in the back. He never meant to have shown his colours; but I hit him so hard that he forgot himself.”

“I suspect that to be the case, Swinburne; But I think that you had better not talk any more with me to-night.”

“Wish I hadn’t talked quite so much, as things have turned out,” replied Swinburne. “Good night, sir.”

I reflected upon what had passed, and felt convinced that Swinburne was right in saying that it was better this had occurred than otherwise. I now knew the ground which I stood upon; and forewarned was being forearmed.

Chapter Fifty Five.

We encounter a Dutch brig of war—Captain Hawkins very contemplative near the capstan—Hard knocks, and no thanks for it—Who’s afraid?—Men will talk—The brig goes about on the wrong tack.

At daylight the next morning we were off the Texel, and could see the low sand-hills: but we had scarcely made them out, when the fog in the offing cleared up, and we made a strange vessel. The hands were turned up, and all sail made in chase. We made her out to be a brig of war; and as she altered her course considerably, we had an idea that she was an enemy. We made the private signal, which was unanswered, and we cleared for action; the brig making all sail on the starboard tack, and we following her—she bearing about two miles on out weather-bow. The breeze was not steady; at one time the brig was staggering under her top-gallant sails, while we had our royals set; at another, we would have hands by the top-gallant sheets and topsail halyards, while she expanded every stitch of canvas. On the whole, however, in an hour we had neared about half a mile. Our men were all at their quarters, happy to be so soon at their old work. Their jackets and hats were thrown off, a bandana handkerchief tied round their heads, and another, or else their black silk handkerchiefs, tied round their waists. Every gun was ready, everything was in its place, and every soul, I was going to say, was anxious for the set-to; but I rather think I must not include the captain, who from the commencement showed no signs of pleasure, and anything but presence of mind. When we first chased the vessel, it was reported that it was a merchantman; and it was not until we had broad daylight that we discovered her to be a man-of-war. There was one thing to be said in his favour—he had never been in action in his life.

The breeze now fell light, and we were both with our sails set, when a thick fog obscured her from our sight. The fog rolled on till we met it, and then we could not see ten yards from the brig. This was a source of great mortification, as we had every chance of losing her. Fortunately, the wind was settling down fast into a calm, and about twelve o’clock the sails flapped against the mast. I reported twelve o’clock, and asked the captain whether we should pipe to dinner.

“Not yet,” replied he, “we will put her head about.”

“Go about, sir?” replied I with surprise.

“Yes,” said he; “I’m convinced that the chase is on the other tack at this moment; and if we do not, we shall lose her.”

“If she goes about, sir,” said I, “she must get among the sands, and we shall be sure of her.”

“Sir,” replied he, “when I ask your advice, you will be pleased to give it. I command this vessel.”

I touched my hat, and turned the hands up about ship, convinced that the captain wished to avoid the action, as the only chance of escape for the brig was her keeping her wind in the tack she was on.

“’Bout ship—’bout ship!” cried the men. “What the hell are we going about for?” inquired they of one another, as they came up the ladder.

“Silence there, fore and aft!” cried I. “Captain Hawkins, I do not think we can get her round, unless we wear—the wind is very light.”

“Then wear ship, Mr Simple.”

There are times when grumbling and discontent among the seamen is so participated by the officer, although they do not show it, that the expressions made use of are passed unheeded. Such was the case at present. The officers looked at each other, and said nothing; but the men were unguarded in their expressions. The brig wore gradually round; and when the men were bracing up the yards, sharp on the other tack, instead of the “Hurrah!” and “Down with the mark,” they fell back with a groan.

“Brace up those yards in silence there,” said I to the men, which was all I could say.

The ropes were coiled down, and we piped to dinner. The captain, who continued on deck, could not fail to hear the discontented expressions which occasionally were made use of on the lower deck. He made no observation, but occasionally looked over the side, to see whether the brig went through the water. This she did slowly for about ten minutes, when it fell a perfect calm—so that, to use a common phrase, he gained little by his motion. About half-past one, a slight breeze from the opposite quarter sprung up—we turned round to it—it increased—the fog blew away, and, in a quarter of an hour, the chase was again visible, now upon our lee beam. The men gave three cheers.

“Silence there, fore and aft,” cried the captain angrily. “Mr Simple, is this the way that the ship’s company have been disciplined under their late commander, to halloo and bawl whenever they think proper?”

I was irritated at any reflection upon O’Brien, and I replied, “Yes sir; they have been always accustomed to express their joy at the prospect of engaging the enemy.”

“Very well, Mr Simple,” replied he.

“How are we to put her head?” inquired the master, touching his hat; “for the chase?”

“Of course,” replied the captain, who then descended into his cabin.

“Come, my lads,” said Swinburne, as soon as the captain was below, “I have been going round, and I fine that your pets are all in good fighting order. I promise ye, you sha’n’t wait for powder. They’ll find that the Rattlesnake can bite devilish hard yet, I expect.”

“Ay, and without its head, too,” replied one of the men, who was the Joe Miller of the brig.

The chase, perceiving that she could not escape—for we were coming up with her, hand over hand, now shortened sail for action, hoisting Dutch colours.

Captain Hawkins again made his appearance on the quarter-deck, when we were within half a mile of her.

“Are we to run alongside of her, or how?” inquired I. “Mr Simple, I command her,” replied he, “and want no interference whatever.”

“Very well, sir,” replied I, and I walked to the gangway.

“Mr Thompson,” cried the captain, who appeared to have screwed up his courage to the right pitch, and had now taken his position for a moment on one of the carronades; “you will lay the brig right—”

Bang, bang—whiz, whiz—bang—whiz, came three shots from the enemy, cleaving the air between our masts. The captain jumped down from the carronade, and hastened to the capstan, without finishing his sentence. “Shall we fire when we are ready, sir?” said I; for I perceived that he was not capable of giving correct orders.

“Yes—yes, to be sure,” replied he, remaining where he was.

“Thompson,” said I to the master, “I think we can manage in our present commanding position, to get foul of him, so as to knock away his jib-boom and fore-topmast, and then she can’t escape. We have good way on her.”

“I’ll manage it, Simple, or my name is not Thompson,” replied the master, jumping into the quarter-boat, conning the vessel in that exposed situation, as we received the enemy’s fire.

“Look out, my lads, and pour it into her now, just as you please,” said I to the men.

The seamen were, however, too well disciplined to take immediate advantage of my permission; they waited until we passed her, and just as the master put up his helm so as to catch her jib-boom between our masts, the whole broadside was poured into his bow and chess-tree. Her jib-boom and fore-topgallant went down, and she had so much way through the water, that we tore clear from her, and rounding to the wind shot a-head. The enemy, although in confusion from the effects of our broadside, put up his helm to rake us; we perceived his manoeuvre, and did the same, and then squaring our sail, we ran with him before the wind, engaging broadside to broadside.

This continued about half-an-hour, and we soon found that we had no fool to play with. The brig was well fought, and her guns well directed. We had several men taken down below, and I thought it would be better to engage her even closer. There was about a cable’s length between both vessels, as we ran before the wind, at about six miles an hour with a slight rolling motion.

“Thompson,” said I, “let us see if we cannot beat them from their guns. Let’s port the helm, and close her, till we can shy a biscuit on board.”

“Just my opinion, Simple; we’ll see if they won’t make another sort of running fight of it.”

In a few minutes we were so close on board of her that the men who loaded the guns could touch each other with their rammers and sponges. The men cheered; it was gallantly returned by the enemy, and havoc was now commenced by the musketry on both sides. The French captain, who appeared as brave a fellow as ever stepped, stood for some minutes on the hammocks: I was also holding on by the swifter of the main rigging, when he took off his hat and politely saluted me. I returned the compliment; but the fire became too hot, and I wished to get under the shelter of the bulwark. Still I would not go down first, and the French captain appeared determined not to be the first either to quit the post of honour. At last one of our marines hit him in the right arm: he clasped his hand to the part, as if to point it out to me, nodded, and was assisted down from the hammocks. I immediately quitted my post, for I thought it foolish to stand as a mark for forty or fifty soldiers. I had already received a bullet through the small of my leg. But the effects of such close fire now became apparent: our guns were only half manned, our sides terribly cut up, and our sails and rigging in tatters. The enemy was even worse off, and two broadsides more brought her mainmast by the board. Our men cheered, and threw in another broadside. The enemy dropped astern; we rounded to rake her; she also attempted to round-to, but could not until she had cleared away her wreck, and taken in her foresail, and lowered her topsail. She then continued the action with as much spirit as ever.

“He’s a fine fellow, by God!” exclaimed Thompson; “I never saw a man fight his ship better: but we have him. Webster’s down, poor fellow!”

“I’m sorry for it,” replied I; “but I’m afraid that there are many poor fellows who have lost the number of their mess. I think it useless throwing away the advantage which we now have. He can’t escape, and he’ll fight this way for ever. We had better run a-head, repair damages, and then he must surrender, in his crippled state, when we attack him again.”

“I agree with you,” said Thompson; “the only point is, that it will soon be dark.”

“I’ll not lose sight of him, and he cannot get away. If he puts before the wind, then we’ll be at him again.”

We gave him the loaded guns as we forged a-head, and when we were about half a mile from him, hove to, to repair damages.

The reader may now ask, “But where was the captain all this time?” My answer, is, that he was at the capstan, where he stood in silence, not once interfering during the whole action, which was fought by Thompson the master and myself. How he looked, or how he behaved in other points during the engagement, I cannot pretend to say, for I had no time to observe him. Even now, I was busy knotting the rigging, rousing up new sails to bend, and getting everything in order, and I should not have observed him, had he not come up to me; for as soon as we had ceased firing he appeared to recover himself. He did not, however, first address me; he commenced speaking to the men.

“Come, be smart, my lads; send a hand here to swab up the blood. Here, youngster, run down to the surgeon, and let him know that I wish a report of the killed and wounded.”

By degrees, he talked more, and at last came up to me. “This has been rather smartish, Mr Simple.”

“Very smart indeed, sir,” replied I; and then turned away to give directions.

“Maintop there, send down the hauling line on the starboard side.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“Now then, my lads, clap on, and run it up at once.”

“Maintop, there,” hailed the captain, “be a little smarter, or, by God, I’ll call you down for something.”

This did not come with a good grace from one, who had done nothing, to those who were working with all their energy.

“Mr Simple,” said the captain, “I wish you would carry on duty with less noise.”

“At all events, he set us the example during the action,” muttered the Joe Miller; and the other men laughed heartily at the implication.

In two hours, during which we had carefully watched the enemy, who still lay where we left him, we were again ready for action.

“Shall I give the men their grog now, sir?” said I, to the captain; “they must want it.”

“No, no,” replied the captain; “no, no, Mr Simple, I don’t like what you call Dutch courage.”

“I don’t think he much does; and this fellow has shown plenty of it,” said the Joe Miller, softly; and the men about him laughed heartily.

“I think, sir,” observed I, “that it is an injustice to this fine ship’s company, to hint at their requiring Dutch courage.” (Dutch courage is a term for courage screwed up by drinking freely.) “And I most respectfully beg leave to observe, that the men have not had their afternoon’s allowance; and, after the fatigues they have undergone, really require it.”

“I command this ship, sir,” replied he.

“Certainly, sir, I am aware of it,” rejoined I. “She is now all ready for action again, and I wait your orders. The enemy is two miles on the lee quarter.”

The surgeon here came up with his report.

“Good heavens!” said the captain, “forty-seven men killed and wounded; Mr Webster dangerously. Why, the brig is crippled. We can do no more—positively, we can do no more.”

“We can take that brig, anyhow,” cried one of the seamen, from a dozen of the men who were to leeward, expecting orders to renew the attack.

“What man was that?” cried the captain.

No one answered.

“By God! this ship is in a state of mutiny, Mr Simple.”

“Will soon be, I think,” said a voice from the crowd, which I knew very well; but the captain, having been but a short time with us, did not know it.

“Do you hear that, Mr Simple?” cried the captain.

“I regret to say that I did hear it, sir; I little thought that ever such an expression would have been make use of on board of the Rattlesnake.” Then fearing he would ask me the man’s name, and to pretend not to have recognised it, I said, “Who was that who made use of that expression?” But no one answered; and it was so dark that it was impossible to distinguish the men.

“After such mutinous expressions,” observed the captain, “I certainly will not risk His Majesty’s brig under my command, as I should have wished to have done, even in her crippled state, by again engaging the enemy. I can only regret that the officers appear as insolent as the men.”

“Perhaps, Captain Hawkins, you will state in what, and when, I have proved myself insolent. I cannot accuse myself.”

“I hope the expression was not applied to me, sir,” said Thompson, the master, touching his hat.

“Silence, gentlemen, if you please. Mr Simple, wear round the ship.” Whether the captain intended to attack the enemy or not, we could not tell, but we were soon undeceived; for when we were round, he ordered her to be kept away, until the Dutch brig was on our lee quarter: then ordering the master to shape his course for Yarmouth, he went down into the cabin, and sent up word that I might pipe to supper, and serve out the spirits.

The rage and indignation of the men could not be withheld. After they went down to supper they gave three heavy groans in concert; indeed, during the whole of that night, the officers who kept the watches had great difficulty in keeping the men from venting their feeling, in what might be almost termed justifiable mutiny. As for myself, I could hardly control my vexation. The brig was our certain prize; and this was proved, for the next day she hauled down her colours immediately to a much smaller man-of-war, which fell in with her, still lying in the same crippled state; the captain and first lieutenant killed, and nearly two-thirds of her ship’s company either killed or wounded. Had we attacked her, she would have hauled down her colours immediately, for it was our last broadside which had killed the captain, who had shown so much courage. As first lieutenant, I should have received my promotion which was now lost. I cried for vexation when I thought of it as I lay in bed. That his conduct was severely commented upon by the officers in the gun-room, as well as by the whole ship’s company, I hardly need say. Thompson was for bringing him to a court-martial, which I would most gladly have done, if it only were to get rid of him; but I had a long conversation with old Swinburne on the subject, and he proved to me that I had better not attempt it. “For, d’ye see, Mr Simple, you have no proof. He did not run down below; he stood his ground on deck, although he did nothing. You can’t prove cowardice then, although there can be no great doubt of it. Again, with regard to his not renewing the attack, why, is not a captain at liberty to decide what is the best for His Majesty’s service? And if he thought, in the crippled state of the brig, so close to the enemy’s coast, that it wasn’t advisable, why, it could only be brought in as an error in judgment. Then, there’s another thing which must be remembered, Mr Simple, which is, that no captains sitting on a court-martial will, if it be possible to extricate him, ever prove cowardice against a brother captain, because they feel that it’s a disgrace, to the whole cloth.”

Swinburne’s advice was good, and I gave up all thoughts of proceeding; still, it appeared to me, that the captain was very much afraid that I would, he was so extremely amiable and polite during our run home. He said, that he had watched how well I had behaved in the action, and would not fail to notice it. This was something, but he did not keep his word; for his despatch was published before we quitted the roadstead, and not the name of one officer mentioned, only generally saying, that they conducted themselves to his satisfaction. He called the enemy a corvette, not specifying whether she was brig or ship corvette; and the whole was written in such a bombastic style, that any one would have imagined that he had found a vessel of superior force. He stated, at the end, that as soon as he repaired damages, he wore round, but that the enemy declined further action. So she did, certainly—for the best of all possible reasons, that she was too disabled to come down to us. All this might have been contested; but the enormous list of killed and wounded proved that we had had a hard fight, and the capture of the brig afterwards, that we had really overpowered her. So that, on the whole, Captain Hawkins gained a great deal of credit with some; although whispers were afloat, which came to the ears of the Admiralty, and prevented him from being posted—the more so, as he had the modesty not to apply for it.

Chapter Fifty Six.

Consequences of the action—A ship without a fighting captain is like a thing without a head—So do the sailors think—A mutiny, and the loss of our famous ship’s company.

During our stay at Yarmouth, we were not allowed to put our foot on shore, upon the plea that we must repair damages, and proceed immediately to our station; but the real fact was, that Captain Hawkins was very anxious that we should not be able to talk about the action. Finding no charges preferred against him, he recommenced his system of annoyance. His apartments had windows which looked out upon where the brig lay at anchor; and he constantly watched all our motions with his spy-glass, noting down if I did not hoist up boats, etcetera, exactly at the hour prescribed in his book of orders, so as to gather a list of charges against me if he could. This we did not find out until afterwards.

I mentioned before, that when Swinburne joined us at Plymouth, he had recommended a figure-head being put on the brig. This had been done at O’Brien’s expense—not in the cheap way recommended by Swinburne, but in a very handsome manner. It was a large snake coiled up in folds, with its head darting out in a menacing attitude, and the tail, with its rattle, appeared below. The whole was gilded, and had a very good effect; but after the dock-yard men had completed the repairs, and the brig was painted, one night the head of the rattlesnake disappeared. It had been sawed off by some malicious and evil-disposed persons, and no traces of it were to be found.

I was obliged to report this to the captain, who was very indignant, and offered twenty pounds for the discovery of the offender; but had he offered twenty thousand he never would have found out the delinquent. It was, however, never forgotten; for he understood what was implied by these manoeuvres. A new head was carved, but disappeared the night after it was fixed on.

The rage of the captain was without bounds: he turned the hands up, and declared that if the offender were not given up, he would flog every hand on board. He gave the ship’s company ten minutes, and then prepared to execute the threat. “Mr Paul, turn the hands up for punishment,” said the captain in a rage, and descended to his cabin for the articles of war. When he was down below, the officers talked over the matter. To flog every man for the crime of one, was the height of injustice, but it was not for us to oppose him; still the ship’s company must have seen, in our countenances, that we shared their feelings. The men were talking with each other in groups, until they all appeared to have communicated their ideas on the subject. The carpenters, had been slowly bringing aft the gratings, left off the job; the boatswain’s mates, who had come aft, rolled the tails of their cats round the red handles; and every man walked down below. No one was left on the quarter-deck but the marines under arms, and the officers.

Perceiving this, I desired Mr Paul, the boatswain, to send the men up to rig the gratings, and the quarter-masters with their seizings. He came up, and said that he had called them, but that they did not answer. Perceiving that the ship’s company would break out into open mutiny, if the captain persisted in his intention, I went down into the cabin, and told the captain the state of things, and wished for his orders or presence on deck.

The captain, whose wrath appeared to render him incapable of reflection, immediately proceeded on deck, and ordered the marines to load with ball-cartridge. This was done; but, as I was afterwards told by Thompson, who was standing aft, the marines loaded with the powder, and put the balls into their pockets. They wished to keep up the character of their corps for fidelity, and at the same time not fire upon men whom they loved as brothers, and with whom they coincided in opinion. Indeed, we afterwards discovered that it was a marine who had taken off the head of the snake a second time.

The captain then ordered the boatswain to turn the hands up. The boatswain made his appearance with his right arm in a sling.—“What’s the matter with your arm, Mr Paul?” said I, as he passed me.

“Tumbled down the hatchway just now—can’t move my arm; I must go to the surgeon as soon as this is over.”

The hands were piped up again, but no one obeyed the order. Thus was the brig in a state of mutiny. “Mr Simple, go forward to the main hatchway with the marines, and fire on the lower deck,” cried the captain.

“Sir,” said I, “there are two frigates within a cable’s length of us; and would it not be better to send for assistance, without shedding blood? Besides, sir, you have not yet tried the effect of calling up the carpenter’s and boatswain’s mates by name. Will you allow me to go down first, and bring them to a sense of their duty?”

“Yes, sir, I presume you know your power, but of this hereafter.”

I went down below and called the men by name.

“Sir,” said one of the boatswain’s mates, “the ship’s company say that they will not submit to be flogged.”

“I do not speak to the ship’s company generally, Collins,” replied I, “but you are now ordered to rig the gratings, and come on deck. It is an order that you cannot refuse. Go up directly, and obey it. Quartermasters, go on deck with your seizings. When all is ready, you can then expostulate.”

The men obeyed my orders: they crawled on deck, rigged the gratings, and stood by.

“All is ready, sir,” said I, touching my hat to the captain.

“Send the ship’s company aft, Mr Paul.”

“Aft, then, all of you, for punishment,” cried the boatswain.

“Yes, it is all of us for punishment,” cried one voice. “We’ve all to flog one another, and then pay off the jollies.” (Note: Jollies is a slang word for Marines.)

This time the men obeyed the order; they all appeared on the quarterdeck.

“The men are all aft, sir,” reported the boatswain.

“And now, my lads,” said the captain, “I’ll teach you what mutiny is. You see these two frigates alongside of us. You had forgotten them, I suppose, but I hadn’t. Here, you scoundrel, Mr Jones”—(this was the Joe Miller)—“strip, sir. If ever there were mischief in a ship, you are at the head.”

“Head, sir,” said the man, assuming a vacant look; “what head, sir. Do you mean the snake’s head? I don’t know anything about it, sir.”

“Strip, sir!” cried the captain, in a rage; “I’ll soon bring you to your senses.”

“If you please, your honour, what have I done to be tied up?” said the man.

“Strip, you scoundrel!”

“Well, sir, if you please, it’s hard to be flogged for nothing.”

The man pulled off his clothes, and walked up to the grating. The quarter-masters seized him up.

“Seized up, sir,” reported the scoundrel of a sergeant of marines, who acted as the captain’s spy.

The captain looked for the articles of war to read, as is necessary previous to punishing a man, and was a little puzzled to find one, where no positive offence had been committed. At last he pitched upon the one which refers to combination and conspiracy, and creating discontent. We all took off our hats as he read it, and he then called Mr Paul, the boatswain, and ordered him to give the man a dozen.

“Please, sir,” said the boatswain, pointing to his arm in a sling, “I can’t flog—I can’t lift up my arm.”

“Your arm was well enough when I came on board, sir,” cried the captain.

“Yes, sir; but in hurrying the men up, I slipped down the ladder, and I’m afraid I’ve put my shoulder out.”

The captain bit his lips; he fully believed it was a sham on the part of the boatswain (which indeed it was), to get off flogging the men. “Well, then, where is the chief boatswain’s mate, Collins?”

“Here, sir,” said Collins, coming forward: a stout, muscular man, nearly six feet high, with a pig-tail nearly four feet long, and his open breast covered with black shaggy hair.

“Give that man a dozen, sir,” said the captain.

The man looked at the captain, then at the ship’s company, and then at the man seized up, but did not commence the punishment.

“Do you hear me, sir,” roared the captain.

“If you please, your honour, I’d rather take my disrating—I—don’t wish to be chief boatswain’s mate in this here business.”

“Obey your orders, immediately, sir,” cried the captain; “or, by God, I’ll try you for mutiny.”

“Well, sir, I beg your pardon; but what must be, must be. I mean no disrespect, Captain Hawkins, but I cannot flog that man—my conscience won’t let me.”

“Your conscience, sir?”

“Beg your pardon, Captain Hawkins, I’ve always done my duty, foul weather or fair; and I’ve been eighteen years in His Majesty’s service, without ever being brought to punishment; but if I am to be hung now, saving your pleasure, and with all respect, I can’t help it.”

“I give you but one moment more, sir,” cried the captain: “do your duty.”

The man looked at the captain, and then eyed the yard-arm. “Captain Hawkins, I will do my duty, although I must swing for it.” So saying, he threw his cat down on the quarter-deck, and fell back among the ship’s company.

The captain was now confounded, and hardly knew how to act: to persevere, appeared useless—to fall back, was almost as impossible. A dead silence of a minute ensued. Everyone was breathless, with impatience, to know what would be done next. The silence was, however, first broken by Jones, the Joe Miller, who was seized up.

“Beg your honour’s pardon, sir,” said he, turning his head round: “but if I am to be flogged, will you be pleased to let me have it over? I shall catch my death a-cold, naked here all day.”

This was decided mockery on the part of the man, and roused the captain.

“Sergeant of marines, put Jones, and that man Collins, both legs in irons, for mutiny. My men, I perceive that there is a conspiracy in the ship, but I shall very soon put an end to it: I know the men, and, by God, they shall repent it. Mr Paul, pipe down. Mr Simple, man my gig; and recollect, it’s my positive orders that no boat goes on shore.”

The captain left the brig, looking daggers at me as he went over the side; but I had done my duty, and cared little for that; indeed, I was now watching his conduct, as carefully as he did mine.

“The captain wishes to tell his own story first,” said Thompson, coming up to me. “Now, if I were you, Simple, I would take care that the real facts should be known.”

“How’s that to be done,” replied I; “he has ordered no communication with the shore.”

“Simply by sending an officer on board of each of the frigates to state that the brig is in a state of mutiny, and request that they will keep a look-out upon her. This is no more than your duty as commanding officer; you only send the message, leave me to state the facts of my own accord. Recollect that the captains of these frigates will be summoned, if there is a court of inquiry, which I expect will take place.”

I considered a little, and thought the advice good. I despatched Thompson first to one frigate, and then to the other. The next day the captain came on board. As soon as he stepped on the quarter-deck, he inquired how I dared disobey his orders in sending the boats away. My reply was that his orders were not to communicate with the shore, but that, as commanding officer, I considered it my duty to make known to the other ships that the men were in a state of insubordination, that they might keep their eyes upon us. He kept his eyes upon me for some time, and then turned away, without reply. As we expected, a court of inquiry was called, upon his representations to the admiral. About twenty of the men were examined, but so much came out as to the reason why the head of the snake had been removed—for the sailors spoke boldly—that the admiral and officers who were appointed strongly recommended Captain Hawkins not to proceed further than to state that there were some disaffected characters in the ship, and move the admiral to have them exchanged into others. This was done, and the captains of the frigates, who immediately gave their advice, divided all our best men between them. They spoke very freely to me, and asked me who were the best men, which I told them honestly, for I was glad to be able to get them out of the power of Captain Hawkins: these they marked as disaffected, and exchanged them for all the worst they had on board. The few that were left ran away; and thus, from having one of the finest and best organised ship’s companies in the service, we were now one of the very worst. Jones was sent on board of the frigate, and under surveillance: he soon proved that his character was as good as I stated it to be, and two years afterwards was promoted to the rank of boatswain. I must here remark, that there is hardly any degree of severity, which a captain may not exert towards his seamen provided they are confident of, or he has proved to them his courage: but if there be a doubt, or a confirmation to the contrary, all discipline is destroyed by contempt, and the ship’s company mutiny, either directly or indirectly. There is an old saying, that all tyrants are cowards, that tyranny is in itself a species of meanness, I acknowledge; but still the saying ought to be modified. If it is asserted that all mean tyrants are cowards, I agree: but I have known in the service most special tyrants, who were not cowards: their tyranny was excessive, but there was no meanness in there dispositions. On the contrary, they were generous, open-hearted, and, occasionally, when not influenced by anger, proved, that their hearts, if not quite right, were not very much out of their places. Yet they were tyrants; but although tyrants, the men forgave them, and one kind act, when they were not led away by the impetuosity of their feelings, obliterated a hundred acts of tyranny. But such is not the case in our service with men who, in their tyranny, are mean; the seamen show no quarter to them, and will undergo all the risk which the severity of the articles of war render them liable to, rather than not express their opinion of a man whom they despise. I do not like to mention names, but I could point out specimens of brave tyrants and of cowardly tyrants, who have existed, and do even now exist, in our service. The present regulations have limited tyranny to a certain degree, but it cannot check the mean tyrant; for it is not in points of consequence likely to be brought before the notice of his superiors, that he effects his purpose. He resorts to paltry measures—he smiles that he may betray—he confines himself within the limit that may protect him; and he is never exposed, unless by his courage being called in question, which but rarely occurs; and when it does occur, it is most difficult, as well as most dangerous, to attempt to prove it. It may be asked why I did not quit the ship, after having been aware of the character of the captain, and the enmity which he bore to me. In reply, I can only say that I did often think of it, talked over the subject with my messmates, but they persuaded me to remain, and, as I was a first lieutenant, and knew that any successful action would, in all probability, insure my promotion, I determined to use a nautical expression, to rough it out, and not throw away the only chance which I now had of obtaining my rank as commander.

Chapter Fifty Seven.

News from home not very agreeable, although the reader may laugh—We arrive at Portsmouth, where I fall in with my old acquaintance, Mrs Trotter—We sail with a convoy for the Baltic.

I had written to my sister Ellen, giving her an account of all that had passed, and mentioning the character of the captain, and his apparent intimacy with my uncle. I received an answer from her, telling me that she had discovered, from a very communicative old maiden lady, that Captain Hawkins was an illegitimate son of my uncle, by a lady with whom he had been acquainted, about the time that he was in the army. I immediately conceived the truth, that my uncle had pointed me out to him as an object of his vengeance, and that Captain Hawkins was too dutiful, and too dependent a son, not to obey him. The state of my father was more distressing than ever, but there was something very ludicrous in his fancies. He had fancied himself a jackass, and had brayed for a week, kicking the old nurse in the stomach, so as to double her up like a hedgehog. He had taken it into his head that he was a pump; and with one arm held out as a spout, he had obliged the poor old nurse to work the other up and down for hours together. In fact, there was a string of strange conceptions of this kind that had accumulated, so as to drive my poor sister almost mad: and sometimes his ideas would be attended with a very heavy expense, as he would send for architects, make contracts, etcetera, for building, supposing himself to have come to the title and property of his brother. This, being the basis of his disease, occurred frequently. I wrote to poor Ellen, giving her my best advice; and by this time the brig was again ready for sea, and we expected to sail immediately. I did not forget to write to O’Brien, but the distance between us was so great, that I knew I could not obtain his answer, probably, for a year, and I felt a melancholy foreboding, how much I required his advice.

Our orders were to proceed to Portsmouth, and join a convoy collected there, bound up the Baltic, under the charge of the Acasta frigate, and two other vessels. We did not sail with any pleasure, or hopes of gaining much in the way of prize-money. Our captain was enough to make any ship a hell; and our ship’s company were composed of a mutinous and incorrigible set of scoundrels, with, of course, a few exceptions. How different did the officers find the brig after losing such a captain as O’Brien, and so fine a ship’s company! But there was no help for it, and all we had to do was to make the best of it, and hope for better times. The cat was at work nearly every day, and I must acknowledge that, generally speaking, it was deserved; although sometimes a report from the sergeant of marines of any good man favoured by me, was certain to be attended to. This system of receiving reports direct from an inferior officer, instead of through me, as first lieutenant, became so annoying, that I resolved, at all risk to expostulate. I soon had an opportunity, for one morning the captain said to me, “Mr Simple, I understand that you had a fire in the galley last night after hours.”