Part 8

“Arter all,” exclaimed the old boatswain’s-mate, “them there were spirit-stirring times; but the Neapolitans and Italians were scarcely worth fighting for. I was aboard the ould Culloden, 74, along with Troubridge up the Mediterranean; and one day a boat comes along-side and up mounts a Neapolitan officer, his rigging dressed out in gold lace and stars, so that he looked like a man-cake of gilt gingerbread. So he goes aft into the cabin, and tells the captain the Neapolitan troops were going to attack the French in a small fortified town on the coast, and Captain Troubridge being commodore, he had made bould to ax him for one of the sloop-of-war brigs to cannonade ’em by sea whilst the sodgers stormed ’em by land; and he talked so big of the bravery of his men, that it was enough to make a fellow believe that they cared no more for a bagonet than they did for a sail-needle, and no more for a two-and-thirty pound shot than they did for a ball of spun-yarn, and it puzzled me to think how the captain could hoist it all in; for he bowed very politely, and told the officer ‘he made no doubt that they would eat all they killed;’ and the officer bowed again almost to the deck, and he kept bending and bending like a ship heeling over to sudden gusts from the land. Howsomever, the skipper grants him the eighteen-gun brig, and then they began to overhaul a goodish deal about the plan of attack; and the Neapolitan observed, that if the captain would let ’em have a frigate instead of the brig, it would be much better and must ensure success. So the captain, very good-humouredly, countermands the order for the brig, and makes the signal for the captain of one of the frigates; and then they conversed together again, and the Count--they called him a Count, but Lord love you! he wouldn’t count for nothing among British sodgers:--I say, the Count danced about the cabin as if he was charging the French garrison, and cutting ’em up into four-pound pieces. Well, ashore he goes, and the frigate’s signal was made to unmoor and prepare for sea; when aboard comes the Count again to say the commander-in-chief requested a line-of-battle ship might be sent instead of the frigate, as it would place the victory beyond a doubt, and after some backing and filling about the matter, Troubridge consented, and the brig was ordered to get under way and direct one of the seventy-fours outside to proceed to the place appointed. So away goes the Count, though it was plain to see the skipper warn’t over and above pleased with the shuffling; but still he hoped the French would be beat, and ill as he could spare the seventy-four, the sloop was soon walking away under her canvass and had got to some distance; when alongside comes the Count again and goes into the cabin; but he hadn’t been long there before out he comes again holus-bolus through the door-way, and the skipper in his wake with a face like scarlet, kicking the Count under his counter and starting him endways like seven bells half-struck. The Count scratched his indecencies and run along the quarter-deck, with old Troubridge belabouring him, and hollaing out, ‘D-- his eyes, first a brig, then a frigate, and next a line-of-battle ship; and now he won’t fight arter all!’ So the Count jumped into his boat, the brig was recalled, and the French kept possession till the army retreated, and then they capitulated.”

“Ay, that was a sweet ship,” said an aged pensioner, “that ould Culloden. Did you know Bill Buntline, as was captain of her fore-top?”

“Why, to be sure I do,” replied the other; “we were messmates for three years, and a worthy soul Bill was, too. He could spin a yarn that would last the whole look-out; and then, like some of your magazines, he continued it in the next. He was brave, too; but I fear we shall never muster many such as he again.”

“’Cause why?” said my old chaperon, “they don’t steer the right course to gain the point: who’d live burning under the line with only half allowance of grog? or in regard of the matter o’ that, what heart could go boldly into action that was swamped in tea-water? The parsons may say what they please, but they arn’t more fond of the kettle nor other folks, unless they takes it warm with a couple o’ lumps o’ sugar. But most of our tars are now in foreign sarvices, and teaching their art to our enemies.”

“Ay, it is so, ould shipmate,” rejoined the pensioner; “I reads of ’em sometimes when they used to be with Cochrane in South America, and I glories in the whacking the Portuguese fleet have just napped from Napier. It makes my ould heart bound with joy when I thinks of it.”

“But, mayhap,” said the boatswain’s-mate, “there’ll be some whistling to get ’em back again, in case of another war; but I hardly think a British tar would battle the watch against his country.”

“Tell that to the marines!” exclaimed the old man. “Why! warn’t the Yankee frigates principally manned with British tars,--many of ’em who had fought under Nelson, and hailed with three cheers his last memorable signal? Did not the United States have two of her guns, one named Nelson and the other Victory, worked solely by men who had fought at Trafalgar, and in most of the general actions? Nay, more: all of them had been bargemen to the undaunted hero, had shared his dangers, and revenged his death! Oh, what could have wrought such ruinous principles in their hearts, as to make them not only desert from, but strive to crush the proud flag for which they had shed their richest blood! And yet we are to be told, that this is not a fit subject for inquiry among the gemmen at the head of affairs; and that, in the event of another war, seaman are again to be dragged into the service, and compelled to toil under the dread of the cat. As for me, I always served my king and my country, (God bless ’em!) and mean to stick to my stuff as long as my timbers will hold together. But, nevertheless, I am a seaman, have a seaman’s feelings, and cannot bear to see a seaman injured: they are my messmates, my brothers; and I long to see them once more under the ‘union,’ gallantly asserting their country’s rights, and maintaining her naval glory.

“But to return to Bill; poor fellow, the last time I saw him he was on board an East Ingeeman, outward bound. The frost of years was on his head, and age had ploughed deep furrows on his brow; but his heart was as light as ever. I can remember him, the finest-looking fellow in the fleet, full of life and spirit; and, one day, when we were all, (that is the boarders,) exercising our cutlasses on the quarter-deck,--by the by, Mr. Kendall, who went out with Captain Franklin, was midshipman of our division, and a worthy little officer he was; his father was a captain in the navy, and both his grandfathers died admirals: I knew ’em well, and brave officers they were. Well, as I was a saying, there we stood, cutting and slashing right and left, while the officers watched our motions, and practised among themselves. ‘That’s a bonnie lad there,’ said the captain’s lady, leaning on the arm of the marine officer, and pointing to Bill; ‘a bonnie lad, in gude truth, Mr. M.’--‘Yes, ma’am,’ replied the officer, ‘a fine muddle for a Polly.’ But, Lord love you! as for being muddled, why he was as sober as a judge, and warn’t no more like a Polly than this pewter pot’s like a wooden platter.

“Well, d’ye see, there the boarders continued exercising; for we had a west-country sergeant who had received instruction in the horse-guards, but he turned foot-sodger and came to sea, and so he was appointed to teach the men upon a new system. A tyrannical upstart fellow he was, too; and nobody liked him. ‘Mind,’ says he, ‘when I say sooards, thee mustn’t draa, but only handle thee’s sooard for ready; but when I say draa sooards, thee must lug them out t’ scabbard:’ and so he kept on posing us, till we all wished him at ould Nick. At last we came to the cuts and guards: the first was all very well; but we could make nothing of the guards; for if a sailor, in boarding, stands like a doctor to pick and choose what limb to dissect, it would soon be all dickey with him. Straight forward work’s the best, and soonest over. ‘Now,’ says he, ‘if the enemy should cut at thee leg, thee must draa it back, and then thee wult be able to strike him down by the head, thus,’--showing the position. Howsomever, we could not scrape as he did; and so he got into a terrible passion. ‘Thee be a pack of fools,’ said he. ‘Now mind, as soon as I draa my leg back, I strike thus; and the enemy will fall!’ So saying, with the roll of the ship, he made a step back, when unfortunately--the scuttle was open behind him--down he went and disappeared in an instant. ‘And the enemy will fall!’ cried Bill, imitating him; while all hands, officers, ladies and all, burst into a roar of laughter. ‘Yo hoy, sergeant,’ bellowed Bill, down the scuttle, ‘where are you, my hearty? An’t you coming up again? Here we are all waiting to put the enemy to flight.’--But Mr. sergeant had had enough of it for that day, and slunk quietly to his berth.

“I remembers another time, in a six-and-thirty, when we engaged a Spanish frigate, and a heavy one she was too; they had men in their tops with rifles, who seemed only intent to pick out our officers. Well, d’ye see, the two ships swung alongside, and the main yards locked, with the Spaniard’s just abaft ours. Bill happened to be in the main-top with two others stoppering the shrouds, and every now and then he caught a glimpse of these fellows, laying down to load and firing over the top-brim.

“‘My eyes! shipmates, look there,’ says he; ‘the cowardly lubbers are bush-fighting. D--n the rigging; let’s go and clap a stopper over-all upon them:--but, avast, avast; do you two get upon their topsail-yard; and when you see me in the top, then come down hand over hand amongst us.’

“Away went Bill with his brace of pistols in his belt, and cartridge-box and cutlash by his side, along the main-yard, entirely concealed by the folds of the enemy’s main-sail, and got unobserved (except by those on deck) close in by the slings. The first man that rose,--pop he had him, to the great astonishment of the rest, who could not conceive where the shot came from; while those on deck were afraid of firing up, lest they should injure their own people, and the roar of the guns wouldn’t allow of a hail being heard. Bill squatted down as unconcerned as possible, re-loaded his pistol, and presently down went another. By this time the other two had gained the enemy’s mast-head; and finding they could douse a few of ’em without injuring Bill, they let fly, to the great terror of the Spaniards, who thinking themselves bewitched, bundled out of the top down the foot-hook shrouds, where they caught sight of Bill, when a desperate conflict ensued. He was, however, joined by his two shipmates; while others, from both ships, crowded up the riggings to the assistance of their several comrades. For a few minutes the fight seemed to be transferred aloft, when a shot from one of our main-deck guns brought down the enemy’s main-mast; and away the combatants came flying down upon deck, where, though severely shaken and bruised in the fall, all that were able still continued the fight. The confusion occasioned by the falling mast was instantly taken advantage of by our captain, who, heading the boarders, dashed fearlessly on to the enemy’s quarter-deck. Here he found Bill and his party at close quarters, hammering away like anchor-smiths; but the numbers were too many to cope with, and we were compelled to retreat. Just, however, as we had reached the sides of our own frigate,--‘Where’s the captain? where’s the captain?’ resounded on all sides. The Spaniards had grappled him, when Bill and his comrades again rushed back, and brought him off in safety.

“Well, d’ye see, at it we went again like sons of thunder; when shortly after, the ships parted and we played a game at long bowls. The enemy had all picked men, who fought with determined resolution; but the precision of our fire soon thinned their numbers, and orders were again given to prepare to board.

“‘Come here, my man,’ said the captain to Bill; ‘you’re a brave fellow, and deserve promotion: what shall I get for you?’

“‘Only a glass of grog, your honour, just to drink your honour’s health, and success to the day,’ says Bill.

“‘Well, well,’ says the captain, ‘I see your wishes are not unbounded; so go to my steward, and tell him to give you a bottle of rum.’

“‘Ey, ey, sir,’ answered Bill; ‘but if your honour would just let me speak a word,--may be your honour would not be angry if I axed for a toothful for all hands. The purser can afford it, your honour; and the people have had cobwebs in their throats these two hours. It would give ’em a little more spirit just before boarding.’

“‘I scarce know what to say to it, my man,’ replies the skipper; ‘however, send the purser’s steward here.’

“The steward came, and a tub of grog was soon mixed upon the main-deck, and equally as soon despatched. ‘All ready,’ was now heard fore-and-aft, when the helm was put up. ‘Stand by, my boys, as we pass under his stern,’ cried the captain: ‘point your guns well; pour it into him; and then follow me.’

“The Spaniards seemed to be aware of our intention; for they immediately hove all aback; but they could not accomplish their object, while we came easily round upon his quarter, and gave him a whole raking broadside double-shotted. All hands rushed from below; and, in less than two minutes, scoured the enemy’s decks; while Bill and a party broke in the cabin-windows, and dashed forward on the main-deck, bearing down all before them. The two captains met, and science was instantly called into play, while for a few minutes both parties seemed to pause, as if the victory depended on the conqueror; but a Spaniard, unnoticed, levelled his musket at our captain, and the ball lodged in his hand. The sword instantly dropped, but the gallant Spaniard scorned to take advantage; he lowered the point of his weapon, and flew to another part of the deck.

“Again the battle closed, and each fought with a determination to conquer or die. At last, three British cheers resounded from abaft; and there, upon the taffrail, stood Bill, hoisting the English colours over the Spanish at the peak. Several Spaniards flew to resent the insult, and the poor fellow would, no doubt, have fallen, had he not caught hold of a little French officer in the Spanish service, and held him up as a shield against their thrusts, till timely assistance rescued him. This affair, however, had divided the attention of the enemy, while it cheered up our men to fresh exertion. With one desperate rush they cut down all before them, and in a few minutes more, the frigate was our own. The slaughter ceased, and we were all good friends. The two captains dined together, and ever after lived like brothers; while the prisoners shared in our messes and partook of our grog.

“In overhauling our prize, we found she was from Buenos Ayres, with a freight of money. So away we went into port with gold candlesticks at each yard-arm, and at each mast-head; and as long as it lasted, fiddles, girls, coaches,--all were in motion; till by dint of hard labour we got rid of it, and then tossed up the anchor for more.”

I was highly entertained with these characteristic sketches of the man-of-war’s man, and the old boys seemed delighted with the opportunity of relating their former achievements. I was also much pleased with the deference they seemed to pay to each other, and the attachment which appeared to exist amongst them. The grog, however, began to operate a little, and the question was put, “whether his honour would like to hear a song?” Of course I acceded to any thing that was calculated to increase their enjoyments, and one of the younger men of the party--a marine, but blind--gave us the following song, which my old chaperon whispered to me was one of his own making.

“NED SPLICE was a tar as devoid of all fear As e’er swabb’d a deck from the spray of a sea; He knew every rope, and could hand, reef, and steer,-- Book-larning, why, Lord! ’twas all dickey to he. Our chaplain could spin out a very fine yarn, And bother each man in his mess; Says NED, ‘My brave boys, if your duty you’d larn, ’Tis--succour a friend in distress.’

“‘Ne’er get drunk!’ says the priest, with a wave of his fist, ‘Never swear;--never covet another man’s prog;’ But see him next day, when he’s cheating at _whist_-- My eyes! ’tis a storm in an ocean of grog. Says NED, ‘them ’ere maxims I don’t understand, We should practice the thing we profess;’ While the pray’r from his heart, and the gold from his hand, He gives to a friend in distress.”

This song was sung with no small degree of feeling and taste. Other songs followed, with a few characteristic observations and sentimental touches between them, till the termination of one which had for its burthen.

“Thus smiling at peril, at sea or on shore, We box the whole compass round cheerly; Toss the can, boys, again;--drink the king! and what’s more, We’ll drink to the girls we love dearly!”

“Sweet creatures!” exclaimed Bill Jennings “I loves ’em all a little, d’ye see; for what’s a sailor without a sweetheart? Why, he’s like a ship without a rib,--like a mast without stays,--like a lanniard without a dead-eye,--like a binnacle without a compass,--or a block without a sheave. Pretty dears! they’re the very ach-me of a sailor’s hopes,--the main-top of his heart. What, though the Turks think they’ve got no souls, you and I, your honour, both of us know, (and which of us doesn’t?) that they have got souls and spirits too, bless ’em! for I take it that’s much the same thing. I’ve seen ’em of all colours and shapes from the Hopping-tops at the Cape to the Axquemo near the North Pole; but there’s none to beat our own countrywomen. All the Wenuses of Italy,--all the beauties of Buss-aloney,--all the brilliant black eyes of Spanish America, can’t box the compass with the dear little lasses of our native land.

“Ah, I can remember the first time I fell in love, by tumbling down the main-hatchway! ’Twas when I was with Cook, out at the Sandwich Islands, where King Tommy-rammer and his wife came from. D’ye see, we had been refitting the rigging, and one of the ladies of Owyhee would be my doll-sinner; so she lent me a hand to tar the parcelling and pass the ball; and we were as kind and as loving as two tartle-doves. Well, I was walking near the hatch-way, when, somehow or other, I capsized, and Lowtowchinchow, in trying to save me, gave me a shove: I cotched hold of her, and away we went, Lowtowchinchow and I, down into the main-hold, like a couple of cherry-bums from the clouds. The hatchway was full of logs, and there we lay, like the babes in the wood, as natural as life. Howsomever, there were no bones broke, so they hauled us up again, and how could I help falling in love with her after that? Oh, we used to talk together, she in her lingo and I in mine, like two cats in a gutter. But what was the use on’t? the fore-topsail was sheeted home, and away we went; I promised to write to her by the first post, but she didn’t understand me, and so I forgot all about it next day.

“In some parts of the world they have a way of marrying what they call Poll-Higgamy; but, Lord love you! it’s all a cheat, d’ye mind; for instead of having one Poll, they marry twenty; and only to go for to think of a man having twenty wives! Howsomever, it’s all a matter of fact; nay, some have more, and our parson used to read about Solomon having hundreds! How a solo-man like Solomon could manage to keep ’em all to their tethers in working ship, I can’t think for the life o’me; but he was a wise man, and understood all manner of tongues, and so, mayhap, he had a way of his own. Pretty dears! one’s enough in England. But I’ve seen ’em, in the hour of peril, in the day of battle and the storm, conquer all the weakness of their natur, and display such cool fortitude, such heroic devotion to their husbands, as would astonish you.

“There was poor Joe Kelson, in the old Sandwich, under Rodney, had his wife on board when they engaged the French fleet off Martinique. She was a timid, delicate little body, one who had been tenderly brought up; yet she left all the luxuries of the shore, a father’s house and a mother’s love, to brave the dangers of the ocean and share a piece of salt junk and a biscuit with the being she loved. Ah, I can remember her looks the morning of the action, while we stood at breakfast! Her face was pale and her quivering lip and tearful eye told all the anguish of her soul. Joe tried to comfort her, but ’twas useless: he talked of honour and of glory; but what was honour and glory to a fainting spirit? Her heart was overwhelmed, and when she came afterward to his quarters on the lower deck, she could hardly support her trembling frame. It was just about noon, and she brought him a bit of dinner: they sat down upon the gun-trucks; but neither of ’em could eat, and it was a hard task upon poor Joe to preserve his firmness. All hands pitied them; and when they parted for the last time, there was scarce a dry eye at the gun.