Channel cruising—Boat expeditions—Anecdote of a gallant mid—Ditto of two dandy Guardsmen—Expedition to Ferrol—Sir James Pulteney, Sir Edward Pellew and the donkey—The unlucky cruise.

Our first cruise was with the channel fleet off Brest, and to me, a boy of ten years old, it appeared a great feat, blocking up a superior French one in their own harbour, and offering them battle daily, without their daring to come out of port.

The winter’s cruise of 1799 and spring of 1800 was very stormy; nothing but heavy gales from S.W. to N.W. to N.E. and E., which blew us nearly at one time within sight of Ireland.

We had various commanders-in-chief, to each of whom the sailors had given a peculiar nick-name. The Honble. Admiral William Cornwallis was styled “Billy Blue,” from his flag (blue at the main), and hoisting, the moment we dropped anchor from the S.W. gales in Torbay, a blue Peter—a hint for every person to remain on board, ready to sail again the moment the wind came round sufficiently to the northward to enable the fleet to proceed down channel to resume the blockade of Brest; Lord Bridport—“Lord Bread-bags” (Jack’s pun upon his lordship’s name); Admiral Sir Allan Gardner—“Old Junk,” because he was a tough old fellow, and kept the ships so long at sea upon salt junk; and Lord St. Vincent—“Sour Crout,” from his stern deportment. The latter had no sooner joined than he detached us with the Defence (74), Fisgard, and Beaulieu frigates, under our orders, into the Bay of Biscay, to annoy the coast of France.

Our first attempt was at the Penmarks, where we succeeded in cutting out several French chasse-marÉes, and other craft, laden with brandy, wine, and provisions for the fleet in Brest harbour. The boats were commanded by the gallant Lieutenants Burke and John Thompson, of the Renown. This service was performed with little loss. Our next attempt was on some armed vessels in the river Quimper, coast of Brittany, but the boats did not succeed in finding the vessels: they, suspecting a visit, had moved higher up the river, whither it was not prudent to follow them. The crews were, therefore, landed, and having succeeded in destroying a fort at the entrance of the river, they returned on board without loss.

The third attempt was at Noirmoutier, near the mouth of the river Loire, in La VendÉe—a tide harbour. Success at first crowned our exertions; the boats of the squadron, again under Lieutenants Burke, had already burnt three vessels, mounting from 12, 18, to 24 guns, with some small craft, and were thinking of returning, when the ebbing of the tide, which the gallant assailants, carried away by their ardour, had failed to perceive, left all the boats high and dry, exposed to the fire of the French batteries. However, Lieutenants Burke and Thompson, with a part of the men, dragged a large fishing boat and our barge through the mud, and got safe back to the ships, leaving the remainder of the boats, with 76 of our best men and some officers prisoners, besides a few killed and wounded. A poor messmate of mine, a midshipman, named Jago, who was afterwards killed in the Mediterranean on another cutting-out affair, in remembrance of this transaction, called out on that occasion to some of his men who seemed disposed to hang back, “Come, my lads, stick by me now, as you stuck by me in the mud at Noirmoutier.”

In consequence of this untoward affair, we sailed for Portsmouth to refit. Previous to sailing, the ship was paid. I was stationed on the starboard gangway to keep off the boats, but leaning too far over the side, fell overboard, and got a good ducking, but fortunately escaped breaking my head against a boat that was alongside by falling between her and the ship. Luckily the people in the boat picked me up immediately, for at that time I could not swim.

After the ship had refitted, and obtained a draft of seamen and marines, and new boats in lieu of those we had lost on the coast of France, we joined the fleet again off Brest, under the command of Earl St. Vincent.

In August our admiral was detached with a strong squadron to take the naval command of the expedition, under General Sir James Pulteney, against Ferrol.

I recollect, on this expedition, two dandy young guardsmen came on board for a passage, and, being too late for dinner in the ward-room, a nice beefsteak and bottle of port wine was given them at a side table. After contemplating it a little while, with a supercilious turn of the mouth and nose, one of them made the sage remark, that “he thought they might be able to rough it pretty well with such fare every day in a campaign; but, really, common port wine, beefsteaks, and potatoes, was not fit food for guardsmen.” I’ll answer for it long before their regiment returned from Egypt they were very glad to get much worse fare, and if either of them lived to serve with the noble Wellington in the Peninsula, their pride of stomach must have had many a fall.

The results of the unfortunate expedition to Ferrol are too well known to need further record; the gallant army, to a man, regretted that their evil genius placed them under the command of such a general, and we, of the navy, lamented our ill-luck that prevented us from taking the beautiful Spanish fleet that lay at anchor in the harbour.

It was reported—and, I believe, with truth—that at the very time our troops were being re-embarked, the Spanish governor had even sent out an officer with the keys of the fortress in his hands, and an offer of terms to surrender; but he, seeing how matters stood, returned back to his general, rejoicing, and informed him that the British army was in full retreat, and part were already on board. The Spaniards had laid a strong boom across the harbour, flanked by two very powerful batteries—one on each side of the entrance.

Sir James Pulteney promised to take the one on the left, or larboard hand, while the boats, filled with sailors and marines, were to storm the other at the same time.

Seven sail of the line were prepared for action, with springs on their cables, and a spare one out of the gun-room stern port, bent to the sheet anchor, ready for bringing up head and stern; in short, everything was in a forward state for the attack, and the London (98 guns) was to break the boom, and the rest of the ships to follow in line of battle.

All hearts beat with joyful expectation, when, to our utmost surprise and indignation, a signal was made from the shore that the commander-in-chief of the land forces had given up the idea of attack, and boats were to be sent immediately to embark the troops.

The gallant Sir Edward Pellew, who commanded the ImpÉtueux (74), was ready to burst with rage when he found the object of the expedition given up, at a time when it was almost within our grasp, and without making one serious effort to obtain it. It was reported in the squadron that he embarked an ass, and used to go up to it, and take off his hat, and say, “How do you do, Sir James? I hope nothing troubled you in your sleep last night in the way of unpleasant dreams, or that the nightmare did not disturb your rest.”

After this sad affair we sailed for Vigo Bay, where our appearance with so large a force put the inhabitants in bodily fear. When we were standing into the bay a large French ship (privateer) was observed to haul under the citadel. At night the boats of the squadron, commanded by the daring Lieutenant Burke, were sent to bring her out, which they most gallantly accomplished, after a severe and desperate struggle. She was called La GuÊpe, of 18 long nine-pounders, with 244 men, sails bent, and perfectly ready for sea, and was going to look after our homeward-bound West Indiamen, and intended to have sailed the evening of the day of our arrival.

She had her boarding nettings up, and everything ready for a stout resistance. On the approach of the boats the privateer and the forts opened a heavy fire of round and grape, but they, nothing daunted, gave three hearty cheers, dashed on, and, after a most gallant defence, she was boarded and brought out. Lieutenant Burke was severely wounded by a pike through both thighs, and the French captain, who most heroically fought his ship to the last moment, died of his wounds an hour after she was taken. He asked (poor fellow!) if he had done all he could to defend his ship; being answered in the affirmative, and justly complimented on his gallant conduct, he gave a faint smile, and expired.

During the time we lay at anchor here we were in the habit of sending a boat to haul the seine on the Bayonne islands, and we were generally pretty successful. Amongst other fish, we frequently caught the torpedo[C], which gave me a practical lesson of its electric powers.

On the 6th of September a tremendous heavy gale came on from the southward and westward, in which several vessels belonging to our convoy drifted from their anchors, and went on shore. The Stag, frigate, of 32 guns, Captain Winthrop, was wrecked upon Point Subudo. However, we fortunately saved the crew; but the men of some transports and merchant vessels that went on shore in other parts of the bay fell into the hands of the Spaniards. Not being able to get the Stag off, she was burnt the same evening. The moment the wind and weather permitted we sailed with the expedition from Vigo Bay, and, having seen them safe off the coast, the admiral, according to orders, gave up his charge to Captain Sir Alexander Cochrane, and proceeded off the Western Islands in search of some Spanish galleons, said to be coming home in a Portuguese convoy.

We had with us four sail-of-the-line, and three frigates.

During our cruise we fell in thrice with a large French ship (privateer), but her legs were too nimble for us. One day, when we had all sail set, and were carrying every stitch of canvass we could crowd in chase, with a fine breeze, and nearing her fast, our unlucky genius, which had attended us all this cruise, from the sprite that said “Bo!” to old Pulteney at Ferrol, still haunted us up to the present time. We carried away our foretop-mast, and she again escaped.

The Renown being by far the best sailing ship of the squadron, the others stood no chance with the privateer, who very quietly hauled up her courses, and no doubt enjoyed the fun of looking at us hors de combat.

Two days after we fell in with two Portuguese convoys from the Brazils, bound to Lisbon. One we spoke; the others were boarded by the frigates to windward. The Portuguese captains of the men-of-war pledged their word of honour that no Spanish ships were under their protection. We, like geese, trusted to it, or rather, the frigates did. Will it be believed that in the above convoy were the five Spanish treasure-ships we were looking for, which arrived a few days after safe at Lisbon! And when they passed under the stern of the Cynthia, British sloop-of-war that was lying there, they hauled down their Portuguese colours, hoisted the Spanish, and fired a royal—and, no doubt, joyful—salute; and well they might. They had in the five vessels ten millions of specie, besides valuable cargoes.

We afterwards heard that this business caused a very angry communication from our Government to that of Portugal; but they, like true diplomatists, threw the whole blame from themselves on the weakest party, by denying any knowledge of the transaction, dismissed and imprisoned the captains of their men-of-war for a short time, who on being released went to Spain, and were there promoted to rank and honours.

After this finale of our unlucky cruise, we returned to Plymouth to refit, and get provisions and water. While there orders came to complete our stores of all kinds for foreign service. Captain Thomas Eyles left the ship, and Captain John Chambers White took the command—a strict, good, and excellent officer, who has filled a high situation at Woolwich Dockyard since the peace, and is now a Rear-Admiral of the White. We were all delighted with the idea of getting away from the heavy winter gales and monotonous cruising of the channel fleet.

A word upon channel cruising. I defy any person at the present day, except the old officers, to know the constant anxiety of the captains and officers of the channel fleet, sailing in two or three lines in heavy gales and thick weather. It required great attention in the lieutenants of the watch, a most strict and careful look-out to prevent accidents, and to have their wits always about them, ready to act at a minute’s warning. By the good discipline kept up, the look-out was perfect, and, to the very great credit of the officers of the watch, scarce an accident occurred during the long, tiresome, and harassing blockade of Brest, comprising a period of more than twenty years.