Part 2

“Mr. Rivers is still living,--and there he is, your honour,” said the veteran, pointing to an active man in lieutenant’s uniform, who flourished his wooden pin as he descended the stone steps; “there he is, for he’s now lieutenant of the college, and has a fine family just over the way there in the square. They ought to have made him a commander, at any rate, for I’ve seen him unbuckle his wooden leg and go aloft as quick as any topman in the ship; and there was but few could beat him at dancing, for it was quite delightful to see how he handled his timber support, and how the ladies and gemmen sheered out of his way for fear of their toes. Ah, there he goes agen, all life and spirit,--spinning his tough yarns and cracking his jokes, as full of fun as ever;--he’s much prized by the governors, because he takes all the trouble off their hands.”

“Is the portrait of Nelson considered a good likeness?” I inquired.

“My sight gets rather dim, sir,” replied the veteran; “but before they put it up, when I could see it closer, I did not think it very like. Lord Collingwood’s is by far the best.”

At this moment I felt somewhat of a mischievous inclination to try the old man’s temper, and therefore remarked, “Ay, he looks stern and scowling. Nelson was a brave man, no doubt, but then he was tyrannical and cruel.”

The hoary tar turned round and stared me full in the face: a storm was gathering in his heart, or rather, like a vessel taken aback in a sudden squall, he stood perplexed as to which tack he should stand on. But it was only for a moment, and as his features relaxed their sternness he replied, “No matter, your honour,--no matter. You have been generous and kind, and I’m no dog to bite the hand that deals out bounty.”

This seemed to be uttered with the mingling emotions of defiance and melancholy, and to urge him further, I continued,--“But, my friend, what can you say of the treatment poor Caraccioli experienced? You remember that, I suppose?”

“I do, indeed,” he replied. “Poor old man! how earnestly he pleaded for the few short days which nature at the utmost would have allowed him! But, sir,” added he, grasping my arm, “do you know what it is to have a fiend at the helm, who when Humanity cries ‘port!’ will clap it hard a-starboard in spite of you?--one who in loveliness and fascination is like an angel of light, but whose heart resembles an infernal machine, ready to explode whenever passion touches the secret spring of vengeance?”

I had merely put the question to him by way of joke, little expecting the result; but I had to listen to a tale of horror. “You give a pretty picture, truly, old friend,” said I; “and pray who may this fiend be?”

“A woman, your honour,--one full of smiles and sweetness; but she could gaze with indifference on a deed of blood, and exult over the victim her perfidy betrayed. It is a long story, sir, but I must tell it you that you may not think Nelson was cruel or unjust. His generous heart was deceived, and brought a stain upon the British flag, which he afterwards washed out with his blood. Obedience is the test of a seaman’s duty--to reverence his king, and to fight for his country. This I have done, and therefore speak without fear, though I know nothing of parliaments and politics.

“Well, your honour, it was at the time when there was a mutiny among the people at Naples, and Prince Caraccioli was compelled to join one of the parties against the court; but afterwards a sort of amnesty, or _damnification_ I think they call it, was passed by way of pardon to the rebels, many of whom surrendered, but they were all made prisoners and numbers of them were executed.

“Well, one day I was standing at the gangway getting the barge’s sails ready, when a shore-boat came alongside full of people, who were making a terrible noise. At last they brought a venerable old man up the side; he was dressed as a peasant, and his arms were pinioned so tight behind that he seemed to be suffering considerable pain. As soon as they had all reached the deck, the rabble gathered round him, some cursing, others buffeting, and one wretch, unmindful of his gray hairs, spat upon him. This was too much to see and not to speak about; the man was their prisoner and they had him secure,--the very nature of his situation should have been sufficient protection; so I gave the unmannerly fellow a tap with this little fist,” holding up a hand like a sledge-hammer, “and sent him flying into the boat again without the aid of a rope. ‘Well done, Ben!’ exclaimed a young midshipman, who is now a post-captain; ‘Well done, my boy, I owe you a glass of grog for that; it was the best summerset I ever saw in my life.’ ‘Thank you for your _glass_ o’grog, sir,’ said I, ‘you see I’ve made a _tumbler_ already;’ and indeed, your honour, he spun head over heels astonishingly clever. I was brought up to the quarter-deck for it, to be sure, because they said I had used the _why-hit-armis_; but I soon convinced them I had only used my fist, and the young officer who saw the transaction stood my friend, and so I got off.

“Well, there stood the old man as firm as the rock of Gibraltar; not a single feature betraying the anguish he must have felt. His face was turned away from the quarter-deck, and his head was uncovered in the presence of his enemies. The Neapolitans still kept up an incessant din, which brought the first-lieutenant to the gang-way; he advanced behind the prisoner, and pushing aside the abusive rabble, swore at them pretty fiercely for their inhumanity, although at the same time seizing the old man roughly, he brought him in his front. ‘What traitor have we here?’ exclaimed the lieutenant; but checking himself on viewing the mild countenance of the prisoner, he gazed more intently upon him. ‘Eh, no!--it surely cannot be:--and yet it is!’--his hat was instantly removed with every token of respect, as he continued--‘it is the prince!’

“The old man with calm dignity bowed his hoary head to the salute, and at this moment Nelson himself, who had been disturbed by the shouting of the captors, came from his cabin to the quarter-deck, and advancing quickly to the scene, he called out in his hasty way when vexed, ‘Am I to be eternally annoyed by the confusion these fellows create! What is the matter here?’ But when his eye had caught the time-and-toil worn features of the prisoner, he sprang forward, and with his own hands commenced unbinding the cords. ‘Monsters,’ said he, ‘is it thus that age should be treated?--Cowards, do you fear a weak and unarmed old man?--Honoured prince, I grieve to see you degraded and injured by such baseness,--and now,’ he added, as the last turn released his arms, ‘dear Caraccioli, you are free!’ I thought a tear rolled down Nelson’s cheek as he cast loose the lashings, which having finished, he took the prince’s hand and they both walked aft together.

“They say the devil knows precisely the _nick_ of time when the most mischief is to be done, and so it happened now; for a certain lady followed Nelson from the cabin, and approached him with her usual bewitching smile. But oh! your honour, how was that smile changed to the black scowl of a demon when she pierced the disguise of the peasant, and recognised the prince, who on some particular occasion had thwarted her views and treated her with indignity. It had never been forgiven, and now--he was in her power. Forcibly she grasped Nelson by the arm and led him from the deck.

“‘His doom is sealed,’ said one of the lieutenants, conversing in an undertone with a brother officer, ‘no power on earth can save him.’ ‘On earth,’ rejoined the other, ‘no, nor in the air, nor in the ocean; for I suspect he will meet his death in the one, and find his grave in the other.’ ‘Yet surely,’ said the surgeon, who came up, ‘the admiral will remember his former friendship for the prince, who once served under him. Every sympathetic feeling which is dear to a noble mind must operate to avert his death.’ ‘All the virtues in your medicine-chest, doctor,’ rejoined the first, ‘would not preserve him many hours from destruction, unless you could pour an opiate on the deadly malignity of ----,’ here he put his finger upon his lip, and walked away.

“Well, your honour, the old man was given up to his bitter foes, who went through the mockery of a court-martial,--for they condemned him first and tried him afterwards. In vain he implored for mercy; in vain he pleaded the proclamation, and pointed to his hoary head; in vain he solicited the mediation of Nelson, for a revengeful fury had possession of his better purposes, and damned the rising tide of generosity in the hero’s soul; in vain he implored the pardon and intercession of ----; but here I follow the example of my officer, and lay my finger on my lip.

“The president of the court-martial was Caraccioli’s personal enemy, and the poor old man was not allowed time to make a defence; he was sentenced to be hung, and his body to be thrown into the sea. I was near him, your honour, when he entreated Mr. Parkinson, one of the lieutenants, to go to Nelson and implore that he might be shot. Oh, if you had but have seen him grasp the officer’s hand as he said, ‘I am an old man, sir, and I have no family to leave behind to lament my death. Indeed I am not anxious to prolong my life, for at the utmost my days would be but few; but the disgrace of hanging,--to be exposed to the gaze of my enemies,--is really dreadful to me!’

“But every attempt to obtain a mitigation or a change of the sentence was unavailing, and at five o’clock that afternoon the brave old man, the veteran prince, in his eightieth year, hung suspended from the fore-yard-arm of a Neapolitan frigate he had once commanded,--for he was an admiral, your honour. Never shall I forget the burst of indignation with which the signal-gun was heard by our crew, and a simultaneous execration was uttered fore and aft.

“Nelson walked the deck with unusual quickness; nay, he almost ran, and every limb seemed violently agitated. He heard the half-suppressed murmurs of the men, and a conviction of dishonour seemed to be awakening in his mind. But oh, sir, where was pity, where was feminine delicacy and feeling? The lady approached him in the most seducing manner and attracted his attention: he stopped short, looked at her for a moment with stern severity, and again walked on. ‘What ails you, Bronté?’ said she; ‘you appear to be ill,’ and the witchery of her commanding look subdued the sternness of his features;--he gazed upon her and was tranquil. ‘See!’ said she, pointing out at the port to where the body of Caraccioli was still writhing in convulsive agony, ‘see! his mortal struggles will soon be over. Poor prince! I grieve we could not save him. But come, Bronté, man the barge, and let us go and take a parting look at our old friend.’ I shuddered, your honour, and actually looked down at her feet to see if I could make out any thing like a cloven hoof. ‘The devil!’ exclaimed a voice in a half-whisper behind me that made me start, for I thought the speaker had certainly made the discovery; but it was only one of the officers giving vent to his pious indignation.

“Well, the barge was manned, and away we pulled with Nelson and the lady round the ship where the unfortunate prince was hanging. He had no cap upon his head, nor was his face covered; but his white hair streamed in the breeze above the livid contortions which the last death-pang had left upon his features. The Neapolitans were shouting and insulting his memory; but they were rank cowards, for the truly brave will never wreak their vengeance on a dead enemy.

“Nelson and the lady conversed in whispers; but it was plain to be seen his spirit was agonized, and his fair but frail companion was employing every art to soothe him. She affected to weep, but there was a glistening pleasure in her eyes as she looked at the corpse, which had well nigh made the boat’s crew set all duty at defiance. Nelson,--and no man was better acquainted with the characteristics of a sailor,--saw this, and ordered to be pulled on board. She upbraided him for what she called his weakness, but his soul was stirred beyond the power of her influence to control his actions.

“The body of the prince was taken out to a considerable distance in the bay, where it was thrown overboard with three heavy double-headed shot lashed between the legs; and, as the lieutenant said, ‘he met his death in the air, and had his grave in the ocean.’

“About a fortnight after this, a pleasure party was made up by the royal family and nobility for an excursion on the water, and the barge, with Nelson and the lady, took the lead. It was a beautiful sight to see the gilded galleys with their silken canopies and bright pennons flashing in the sun, and reflecting their glittering beauties on the smooth surface of the clear blue waters, whilst the measured sweep of the oars kept time with the sweet sounds of music. Not a cloud veiled the sky, scarcely a breath curled the transparent crest of the gentle billow; all was gayety, and mirth, and laughter.

“After pulling for several miles about the bay, we were returning towards the shore, when a curious-looking dark object,--something like a ship’s buoy, appeared floating a-head of the barge. The bowmen were ordered to lay-in their oars, and see what it was; so the oars were laid in, and they stood ready with their boat-hooks, the coxswain steering direct on to it. As soon as the barge was near enough, the bowmen grappled it with their boat-hooks, but in an instant their hold was loosened again, and ‘A dead body! a dead body!’ was uttered in a suppressed tone by both. The boat held on her way, and as the corpse passed astern, the face turned towards the lady and showed the well-remembered countenance of poor Caraccioli. Yes, as the officer had said, ‘the ocean had been his grave;’ but that grave had given up its dead, and the lady seldom smiled afterwards.

“Nelson hailed one of the cutters that were in attendance, and directed that the body should be taken on board and receive the funeral ceremonies suitable to the rank which the unfortunate prince had held whilst living. The music ceased its joyous sounds for notes of melancholy wailing, and the voice of mirth was changed to lamentation and sadness.

“Years passed away, and Nelson fell in the hour of victory; but the lady, ah! her end was terrible. The murdered prince was ever present to her mind; and as she lay upon her death-bed, like a stranded wreck that would never more spread canvass to the breeze, her groans, her shrieks were still on Caraccioli. ‘I see him!’ she would cry, ‘there, there!--look at his white locks and his straining eye-balls! England,--England is ungrateful, or this would have been prevented! But I follow--I follow!’--and then she would shriek with dismay and hide herself from sight. But she is gone, your honour, to give in her dead-reckoning to the Judge of all. She died in a foreign land, without one real friend to close her eyes; and she was buried in a stranger’s grave, without one mourner to weep upon the turf which covered her remains.”

Here the veteran ceased, and folding his arms, he held down his head as if communing with his own heart and struggling to dispel the visions which his narration had conjured up. I cautiously refrained from disturbing him, till by a sudden gulp or sea-sigh, like the expiring gale when at its last gasp, he gave indications of having becalmed his feelings, and we moved onwards up the steps into the body of the Hall, till we stood before the fine painting of the Battle of the Nile, by G. Arnald.

“There, your honour,” exclaimed the veteran, whilst his eye sparkled with glowing recollections, “look there, your honour; isn’t that a sight to awaken old remembrances! It’s worth a hundred of that yonder, which is neither ship-shape nor Bristol fashion, as I take it, for an officer in boarding to be rigged out as if he was going to a ball. Mayhap, howsomever, it may be all well enough for landsmen and marines to look at, because it’s pretty; but the eye of a seaman only glances at it with contempt.” The subject of his last observations, was a painting of Nelson boarding the San Josef of 112 guns in the battle off St. Vincent. “I told you before I was with him in both _doos_; but, Lord love your heart, it was another sort of a concarn than that ’ere; for there warn’t no fighting on the quarter-deck of the three-decker,--all the fighting were in the San Nickylas as we boarded first. But here’s a pretty picture, your honour,” pointing to a small but beautiful painting of the re-capture of the Hermione frigate by Sir Edward Hamilton, “and it tells a tale too! Well, thank God, I never sailed with a tyrannical captain! and there was one,--a lord,--who used to boast he had flogged every man in his ship.”

“I never knew that Sir Edward Hamilton was severe,” said I, “for I had always been given to understand that he was a smart but humane officer.”

“I didn’t mean him, sir,” replied the veteran, “it was another sort of person; but he was murdered, and in cold blood too. I have heard the tale often, for old Hughes, who died boatswain of the Laurel frigate, was an old shipmate of mine, and he was in the Hermione at the time of the mutiny. ’Twas a shocking affair,” added the old man, shaking his head, “and who could think that whilst the beautiful moon was shedding her pale light,--not but I’m thinking the moon has no business in that ’ere picture, any more than it had to be up such a night as that at all; but the painters can stick a moon just where they like, though it destroys the tale they have to tell. Besides, captain Hamilton wouldn’t be likely to want even so much as the blink of a purser’s lantern to show the Spaniards he was coming.”

I assented to the argument, and was struck with the truth it conveyed; the moon certainly gave a charming light to the picture, but the eye of practical experience detected the incongruity, though perhaps not till that very moment when the heart was more immediately interested in the subject. The circumstances connected with the re-capture of the Hermione, and her having previously fallen into the enemy’s hands, were revived in my memory; but I felt a strong desire to hear the story from my aged _chaperon_, and after a few observations he indulged me.

“Them as wishes to know what a seaman can do, sir,” said the old man, “should study a little of their cha-rackter. Thank God, the day’s gone by when the cat was considered the best means of freshening a poor devil’s way, or keeping a good man to his duty. I can remember when I was a young top-man, and the hands were turned up, there was always a boatswain’s mate stationed at each hatchway to start the last man on the ladder, and sometimes half a dozen of the hindmost would get well started before they set foot on deck; it was harassing work and produced great discontent, because, d’ye mind, as there must always be somebody last, it stands to reason there was no escaping. Well, as I said, this, with many other grievances, occasioned the men to be dissatisfied, and brought about that toast which I am sorry to say was but too common between decks, though certainly there was a goodish scope of provocation when all the bearings of the thing is correctly worked;--I mean the toast, ‘A dark night, a sharp knife, and a bloody blanket!’ Now, your honour, ’tis impossible to tell which man saves his strength, when a gang is tailing-on to a taut rope; but a lubber who skulks in the lee-rigging when he ought to be shinning away aloft to take in a reef or toss up a sail is soon found out, and mayhap a cuff or two would make him quicker in turning to windward; but when the end of a rope flies about indiscriminately and every body is in constant dread of the gangway, it becomes _grating_ to the feelings. Not, sir, that I hold with the attempts to make Jack Nasty-face a gentleman; for if so be as they goes to destroy the peculiarities which mark a regular man-o’-war’s-man, they’ll have to make a few curious entries in the log-book before they’ve done.”

“But about the Hermione,” said I; “she has a beautiful appearance in the picture; her yards are nicely squared, and she looks all ready for sea. But, come, let’s hear how the Spaniards captured her.”

“Captured her!” exclaimed the veteran; “no, no, they didn’t capture her; she was run away with by her own crew, and a horrible deed of blood they made of it. It was in the month of September, --97; the frigate was cruising off the west-end of Porto Rico, just jogging off and on, and now and then taking a peep into Port-au-Prince, and that way, to look arter the enemy. She was commanded by Captain P----, whose very natur was that of a tyrant, and a cruel one too; for by all accounts, he scored the smallest offence upon the bare back of the offender, and very often punished, because the whim took him in the head, for no offence at all. The ship’s company were none of the best, to be sure; there was a sprinkling of all nations, and not a few with C. P. alongside o’their names.”

“C. P.” said I; “what does C. P. mean.”

“Why, your honour, it just means this here,” replied the old man. “You must understand that when some know-nothing rascal had been caught in a crowd, and suspected of dipping his grappling hooks--” here the veteran crook’d his fingers,--“into a neighbour’s pocket, if so be they couldn’t bring it slap home to him, the magistrates sent him on board a man-o’-war to teach him honesty, and thus a pretty set of the scum and scrapings of villany,--a sort of devil’s own,--contaminated the sarvice; and the C. P. was a kind of curse o’ Cromwell upon ’em--a mark of Cain, denoting they were shipped by the CIVIL POWER, and the master-at-arms had ’special orders to watch their motions.”

“And did this really take place?” inquired I; “was the navy made a condemned service for convicts?”