Part 2

Perceiving at a glance that they were pressing for the bridge, in order to replenish their pockets with stones, the word “Charge” was given, and away we darted at the double, H----, himself, drawing his sword and cutting at the thin air a slashing swish, just to let them see it was the genuine cold steel he was leading us with, but--bless the boys!--away they went, helter-skelter, before our colonel had authorised us to use the butt-ends of our guns if necessary.

They beat us, though, in activity, and kept up their chaff while running away. H----, I remember overtook the ringleader, who had a head like a mop, while his garments, such as they were, happened to be made of patches of old uniforms, partially tattered and torn.

This fellow, with a jeer enough to provoke a saint, exclaimed “Shure we’ll meet yer on Saturday afternoon, at Tom-all-alones, ye know the locality, I believe.”

“Agreed,” replied our leader, who brought us to the halt with no great reluctance, being himself a stout lad of about fifteen years of age.

“We are masters of the field at any rate,” he said.

Not one of our party failed to cheer at the unexpected retreat of our opponents; we were ill-matched so far as numbers, and stone-throwing powers were concerned, but as H---- explained, we should have a better chance on next meeting, as the soil was of clay at Tom-all-alones, which is situated below the Brompton barracks, where there were at that time model earth-works, and the sites of recently sprung mines to take possession of.

We agreed also upon the advisability of securing the services of the naval brigade, which had among those enrolled, some schoolfellows, including my brother, who was just fifteen months my senior, and thoroughly in advance of me, and indeed of his years, as regards acts of downright daring.

On the following half-holiday, the combined forces, composed of day-scholars, proceeded in two divisions to the proposed scene of action. As it happened, we were the first on the ground, and no time was lost in taking possession of an earth-work, or rather clay-work, not long thrown up by Colonel Paisley and his Engineer detachment. Guessing what would be the tactics of the rebels, no time was lost in preparing a pile of balls, as in all probability we should be attacked with such, at the commencement of the expected onslaught.

Having added to our numbers since the last brush, we awaited with confidence an attack, nor were we long in doubt as to the arrival of the enemy, as their outposts were descried in the distance, and soon a scattered and disorderly force appeared on the rising ground to our left; on they rushed, without any apparent organisation, but this time they had sticks in their hands, and some were seen to have something in their pocket handkerchiefs which were slung on one arm.

The Brompton lads had evidently heard that we were at the place appointed, but they halted on perceiving how favourably we had established ourselves, and that we had manufactured a conical heap of clay balls. It was not long before they followed suit, their bull-headed leader, who gave the challenge, being conspicuous by his clothes and size. While thus preparing for an attack they withdrew to a heap of moist clay, where they could be seen pressing the earth into round shot. Some one of ours proposed to sally out and disperse them, but H---- thought we had better hold our own, as possession of an earth-work was nine points in our favour.

They were quicker and greater adepts at their work than we had been, and the chances were that they would lick us at out fighting, so that H---- sent, or sanctioned, a sortie by way of diversion, when a party of our naval fellows made a dash at them when least expected, but in numbers our men, like the six hundred riding at the Russian batteries, were quite unequal to the contest, and suffered terribly; my brother and several others came in bleeding, but our foes were disturbed and brought to close quarters, where they resolutely let fly as if they expected to dislodge us in no time, but we were several feet above them, and they would have to scale our ramparts before driving us out. In less than five minutes the exchange became uncommonly smart and hot. I was also disfigured, as the clay begrimed not only our jackets but our faces and hands.

No great length of time elapsed before it became as plain as a pike-staff that we were getting the worst of it, and no wonder. H---- discovered the reason, “those ruffians,” he cried, “popped in stones beneath their clay, we must at them at once; are you ready?”

“Then hurrah, and away, show no quarter.”

Down we rushed, the foul play that had been detected animating us with the pluck and dash of adult warriors.

“Let ’em have it,” cried H----, unmindful of a wound in the head which caused the blood to flow copiously. I, too, was hit, as indeed were one and all of us, but “onwards boys,” was the word, and just as we were on the point of crossing sticks and guns, they fell back suddenly, but not before a personal exchange of compliments came off between our colonel and the burly leader on the enemy’s side. In fact H---- closed with him, and laid hands on his throat which brought him to the ground.

This incident gave a turn to the fortune of war, and at the real tug which decides so many battles we were again the victors, most unmistakeably so this time, as it became a total rout, and the ringleader was not released until he rendered up his stick and pledged himself never again to oppose or make light of us while exercising.

It was not very long after this scrimmage that a painful circumstance occurred, and as it concerned three of us who had fought in company, and who were shortly after fated to have a difference among ourselves, I may as well mention it at once. I do so with twinges of regret even at this distant period of time, as I was led, almost unwittingly, into a fresh squabble which disfigured, I am aware, my early doings.

It was in this wise. My brother who was in the last affair (not an elder brother who was in the Royal Navy), had some high words with my colonel, H----, who had led us twice into action as recounted. H----, by design or inadvertence, had cast a slur on our father--not that I heard it or was aware of it until John, my brother, came in one day and said, “Henry, we are going to fight H----.”

“Indeed,” I cried with doubt and pain; “what for, he is my colonel, I have had no quarrel with him?”

“Well, it is all settled; he has insulted papa. Here’s Johnson, he will tell you all about it, and when it is to come off. Owing to H----’s size and age he is going to take the pair of us.”

“You see Master Henry,” said Johnson, who was a marine bandsman, and who assisted, when off duty, in our house, “the captain, your father, has been grossly insulted.”

“Only you make that clear, Johnson, and I am ready,” was my reply.

“Well, you had better step up into my room, young gentlemen, at once, as time is on the wing, and will brook no delay.”

The bandsman having disclosed the nature of the aspersion, and the hour having been fixed for the encounter, I found myself with no way of escape consistent with honour and respect for a parent; so that I may as well make a clean breast of another blot on my life’s history by avowing that, the same evening, in a back yard, on suitable premises, rented by one McMollon, a linesman, Johnson had arranged for the meeting to take place; and for the better understanding of the why and wherefore, as also of the respective characters of Johnson and McMollon, I must unavoidably state that these worthies were, to some extent, rivals, as Johnson was in our employ and McMollon was not, though he wished to be. The former, moreover, was a Royal Marine of the Chatham Division, while the latter was of another cloth altogether: and then again the bandsman was a Man of Kent, while the soldier hailed from the other side of St. George’s Channel, so that their brogue and tastes were quite opposed.

McMollon considered that H---- had not insulted Johnson’s “bhoys,” as he accentuated his allusion to us, and the Englishman swore in strong Saxon that H---- had, and that the affair should be fought out.

Preliminaries having been settled, an adjournment took place to Johnson’s private quarters, which were located near our back garden, as was McMollon’s house and yard, though they were fully a stone’s throw apart from the bandsman’s rooms and from our place.

On entering Johnson’s room, he threw off his coat, and then drew with a piece of chalk a line across the floor, and brought us up to the scratch, as he roughly named the place of demarkation. He then threw himself into a pugilistic attitude and thus addressed us:--

“You are going to face, young gentlemen, a strapping young fellow, whose hit may prove like the kick of a horse. From what I know of you both, I have no fear whatever of the issue, if you follow my advice; but if he lands his left on Master Henry’s nose and his right between Master John’s eyes, by taking you apart and dropping on to you unawares, then I’ll not answer for the consequences. Now look here! I’m your opponent; please to foot the chalk line, and square up like men. Capital--anyhow as a sample. Now, please not to forget that in round one Master Henry must hit for the wind, and you, Master John, must play for the face--left and right like a sledge-hammer. No. 2 then recovers himself, and next pops in another compliment on the nob, as we call it in the classics; and if you land your blows, as I expect you will, Col. H---- will be taken all aback, and round one will soon be over.”

“But hold; look here Johnson,” I said, “supposing that when I aim at the wind I catch one in the eye, how then?”

“Oh! that’s what we’re coming to. If you, after a spurt in sparring, throw your guard well over your face, and butt in smartly at the same time, you score a shot between wind and water, and then the figure-head is open for master John. Come now, just go through it.”

But without further shocking or harassing the refined minds of my readers, suffice it to say that we were put through these tactics ultimately to the satisfaction of our accomplished instructor, and by the time we faced H---- in McMollon’s yard, we came up with an air of confidence which seemed to gladden the bandman’s heart.

H----, on being supported by McMollon, merely buttoned his blue jacket, but we, in obedience to Johnson’s request, took off ours and then tucked up our sleeves. We cut a poor figure, however, in a physical aspect, as opposed to our big antagonist, who smiled as if he could knock us to pieces, if he were so disposed.

“Faith, be jintle with them, Misther H----” said McMollon, when Johnson--unmindful of swagger--put us forward with calm assurance, and we lost no time in obeying his orders; perceiving that we stood well as to position, he cried out “Now lads,” when in I went, to the astonishment of H---- and his second, while my brother hit out well from the shoulder, as told to do at rehearsal.

“Follow up, Master Henry,” cried Johnson, “ding dong, go it, the pair of you.”

But, at this interesting moment, a manly figure came forward and, pushing our backer aside, he dealt us both two sharp cuts on the back with his walking-stick. It was my father!

“Disgraceful!” he exclaimed.

“How is this, Johnson, a pugilistic encounter?”

“The truth is, it is all about yourself, Captain.”

“Eh, what do you say, about me?”

“Well, the fact is, Master H----, yonder, insulted your good name, and the young gentlemen took it up.”

“Oh! that’s it; well, I shall return in ten minutes, and if all this is not over I shall be very angry.”

Pater then, to the bandsman’s delight, went away; an act which was interpreted to mean, “go in and win,” which we did in a very short period of time, to the dismay of McMollon, who now rounded on Johnson, but the royal marine, of the Chatham division, was nothing daunted, though a much smaller man; his coat was off, and he was well to the front in no time.

“Shure the captain’s coming; don’t get yourself into trouble, now,” cried McMollon, and with this excuse he declined to be mixed up in the fray; and it is due to H---- to admit that, after the contest, he explained that his insinuations were entirely misunderstood, and that the Coxwells were far too touchy. This remark had in it some semblance of truth, perhaps, but the explanation being accepted, we shook hands, and were as good, if not better friends than ever.

As a description of my boyish pranks will lead to an inference that the game of soldiers was to me a labour of love, still it must not be supposed that I was indifferent to nautical pursuits and ship-building.

There was a fine field at Chatham for youths who aspired to serve their country, and who had a liking for naval architecture. Much of my spare time was spent in the machinery and dockyard departments. The parents of some of my schoolfellows resided in the great naval depot, and there were about half-a-dozen of us who inherited a strong bent for everything appertaining to the wooden walls of Old England.

We had heard our fathers’ stories of sea fights, and cutting out expeditions, of the days of two broad-sides and board, of chasing foreign frigates, and of attacking the combined fleets of France and Spain, until a lively interest in such undertakings was pretty generally felt among us. Ready access being afforded to see the dry and wet docks, slips, and gun wharf, we were fairly posted up in all that was going forward to maintain, at that time, our supremacy on the seas.

Although the dimensions of Chatham Dockyard have vastly extended since the year 1831, still they were of no small magnitude then. There was generally a first-rate on Number One slip, and a couple of ninety gun ships close at hand, while lower down the yard an eighty-four and several frigates, corvettes, and brigs of war were to be seen in different stages of advancement. The dry docks too--especially a new stone one--were invariably occupied, and in the river there was constantly a vessel in commission, so that we frequently put off to visit the officers, and to watch the progress of fitting out.

We had been observing for some time the completion of His Majesty’s ship “Monarch,” and were eagerly looking out for her launch, not because it would be a novelty to us--for we seldom omitted such ceremonies--but we had agreed to be on board as she went off the stocks. From some cause, better known to the Admiralty than to us, the launch had been put off from time to time, until we grew impatient. At last we noticed that the cradles were up, and that a coat of yellow paint had been laid on, and finally we ascertained that when the next spring tide served, this splendid eighty-four was destined to take the water.

The day having been fixed, we either obtained or _took_ a whole holiday--a half-holiday was no kind of use to us. We did not care to arrive with the fashionable visitors who gathered about half-an-hour before the christening. What we wanted was to be present during the preliminary operations of removing the supports, and splitting out the blocks from beneath the keel, and, in fact, of witnessing the mechanical process of transferring the entire weight of a stupendous ship on to the “ways” down which the “Monarch” was to slide.

From an early hour in the morning every available shipwright was at his post accomplishing this task. It would never do to remove the spars that propped up each section of the enormous hull until the day of the launch; the strain would be too great on the timbers were this done until the cradles are driven tight by wedging, which was just what we took delight in. All hands were summoned for this office, when the blows from a thousand hammers struck home and blended in one harmonious sound.

The master shipwright and Bardoe the pilot were to be seen in company during these preparations. An important personage was Bardoe; he was a bluff, stalwart seaman, with a voice to be heard the other side of the Medway, a Newcastle man by birth, and one to be obeyed, but gentle, communicative, and a decided favourite with us boys.

“Now young gentlemen,” said the pilot, “you are here betimes, pray keep out of mischief and mind your heads, they are just going to knock away some of those props; and let’s see, you want to go with us, don’t you? I hardly know what to say about it to-day; I shall have a large gang of convicts aboard to assist in ‘bringing her up,’ and my orders are to be strict about visitors.” “All right Mr. Bardoe, you’ll find room for us I daresay.”

The tide was now flowing freely, and the yard began to be astir with strangers. Many persons, quite ignorant of the details of shiplaunching, were seeking information, and with no little pride we undertook to enlighten a few, explaining the principle of launching, and then conducting the inquirers to the dog-shores, comparatively small pieces of timber, but forming the last connecting link, which, being knocked away by falling pieces of iron, admit of the vessel gliding into the stream.

Around the bows, and on either side of the “Monarch,” spacious stages were erected for the accommodation of the public. Hosts of civilians in gay dresses were arriving, and what with military uniforms, and a strong muster of blue-coats, appearances were becoming uncommonly lively.

Nor was the scene less stirring afloat, as aquatic parties were rowing hither and thither, and a long line of boats began to take up their positions in close proximity, not without peril, as the swell becomes great when a quantity of water equal to the displacement of a man-of-war is set in motion, and the boats’ crews have to look out in case of being upset.

As it was drawing near to one o’clock the Marine band marched down, and began playing inspiriting tunes. We then mounted the last ladder by the ship’s side, and caught Bardoe’s eye; he was rather stiff with the responsibilities of office, and had just given orders to clear away the ladder which was moving already, so that no further person could enter the ship. “Look alive young gentlemen,” Bardoe sung out, “tumble in through a port-hole”; a privilege which we were not long in availing ourselves of.

A stir with Bardoe’s gang of convicts next drew our attention. The pilot had ranged his men to let go the anchors at a given order, and for this they had to hold themselves in readiness. Presently a tremendous thumping was heard under the “Monarch’s” bows, and then a cheer arose. “Look out,” cried the pilot, “she is being christened”; then all was silent, and a voice was heard, “Are you all ready Bardoe”?

“All ready, Sir,” was the prompt response.

Another sound was then heard: “Down goes the dog-shores!” exclaimed Bardoe; then followed a slight tremble from stem to stern. “There she goes,” resounded on all sides, as we began moving down the slip with a pace which was at first easy, but which soon became accelerated to a rapid, resistless, majestic descent, increasing as we took the water, so that it seemed as if nothing could check our way until we reached the opposite bank of the river. Bardoe had his eye on the stream, and at the proper moment sung out lustily, “Stand by, my lads, let go,” when down fell a huge anchor, and then a second one, which lessened our speed. “Pay away handsomely,” exclaimed the pilot. “Port your helm hard.” “Port it is, Sir,” by which movement the “Monarch” was brought round skillfully, and prevented from touching the river mud.

There were two sentries on board having muskets loaded with ball cartridge, as at times, an escaped convict would swim the Medway and land unscathed on the Upnor Castle side of the river. Nothing of this kind was attempted, however, on board the new line-of-battle ship which had now entered her proper element, so that we landed in a boat without having witnessed anything more sensational than the launch. A passing reference to this scene may be considered by the reader as inapplicable to the life of a balloonist; but I cannot well omit subjects of the kind, if I faithfully chronicle the incidents of my early life, which I am determined to portray to the letter, even if the general character of my boyhood suffers thereby.

“Why not point out how you progressed with your studies, where you and your friends worshipped, how many prizes you had for good conduct, and such like?” asks a well-wisher to whom I read some of these pages in MS.

“The fact is,” I replied, “a very little of that sort of thing will go a long way,” and we may come to it by and bye, but as I was a lad of action, and have in after life stuck to my colours, though it was thought I was cut out either for a parson or a soldier officer; I must be true to my bent, and as to pretending that I was studious, or intellectually inclined--well I will not affect anything of that sort, having ever alluded to myself as a practical man; at the same time I do hope, that by being straight-forward as to my plan and intentions, I may not prove altogether dull in this truthful narrative.

“Still harping upon those horrid uninteresting experiences of your early life and doings?” yes, and I must hark back upon a few other wild acts and thereby risk further censure with an obtuseness deserving of reprehension.

In this fresh adventure, I was all alone in my glory, having embarked single-handed in a little practice with firearms.

My first essay with a horse-pistol, already described, when I nearly shot a servant and my own relations, did not produce that dread that might have been expected. Certainly I was now older, and had fought with a wooden gun, had watched soldiers load, present, and fire, but the fright attending my first efforts ought, by good right, to have made me nervous on this score for many a year to come.