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Poor Jack

"Well, it was on the twenty-ninth of August, '82—that's just fourteen years and about six weeks ago—that we were lying at Spithead, in company with Lord Howe's fleet of between twenty and thirty sail of the line: there was the 'Victory,' 'Barfleur,' 'Ocean,' and 'Union,' all three-deckers, I recollect, close to us. We were in good repair, not at all leaky, and were to have sailed in two days to join the fleet in the Mediterranean. We had been paid, in consequence of our being about to sail foreign; and we had been paid in golden guineas. I think that, could all the money be collected together, from the pockets of the seamen, the women, and the Jews, who went down in the ship, it would be a very pretty fortune even for a duke's daughter."

Here Ben shoved the ale to Turner, who drank a little and proceeded, while Ben took a swig and passed it round.

"Well, you see, messmates, the first lieutenant had been washing the decks on the morning before, and the carpenter had been ordered to let the water in, when it was found that the water-cock, which was about three feet below the water-line, was out of order, and it was necessary that it should be repaired. The foreman came off from the dockyard, and stated that it was necessary that the ship should be careened over to port sufficiently to raise the mouth of the pipe—which went through the ship's timbers below—clean out of the water, that they might work at it; so, between seven and eight o'clock on that morning, the whole of the larboard guns were run out as far as they could be, and of course the larboard lower deck ports were open; the starboard guns were also run in amidships, and secured by the tackles; the shifting over of this great weight of metal brought the larboard lower deck port-cills just level with the water; the men were then able to get at the mouth of the pipe to the water-cock on the starboard side, as it was clean out of water, and for about an hour they were working away hard at it.

"It was about nine o'clock, we had just finished our breakfasts, and the hands had been turned up, when the last lighter, with the rum on board, came alongside. She was a sloop of fifty tons, called the 'Lark,' and belonged to three brothers, whose names I forget. She was secured to the larboard side of the ship; and the hands were piped 'clear lighter.' Some of our men were in the lighter slinging the casks, others at the yard tackle and stay-falls hoisting in, some in the spirit-room stowing away. I was in the waist, bearing the casks over, down the hatchway; none of us thinking that we should never mix our grog out of that liquor."

"No, I suppose not," observed Anderson; "but we little know what the day may bring forth."

"That's true as Gospel," said Ben.

"That's a very old saying, that every little helps. I did not think of it at the time; but, you see, as we were clearing the lighter, almost all the men were on the larboard side, and that must have brought the ship down still more to port. Then, again, the water was not so smooth as it was when we first careened her, and it began to wash into the lower deck ports, and of course had no escape, so that there was very soon a good weight of water in the lower deck. There were mice in the ship, and they were disturbed by the water entering into their quarters, and the men were catching them, and laughing as they swam about, little thinking that it was to be a general swim so shortly afterward. But the carpenter was the first that perceived that there was danger; for again, you see, the casks of rum, hoisted in, and lying on the decks on the larboard side, before it could be lowered into the hold, made also a difference; and so the carpenter went on deck to the lieutenant, who was officer of the watch, requesting that he would be pleased to order the ship to be righted somewhat, as she could not bear it; but the lieutenant gave a very short answer to the carpenter, who then went down below."

"Who was the lieutenant on deck?" inquired Anderson.

"I don't recollect his right name—he was, I think, the third lieutenant—he went by the name of 'Jib and Foresail Jack,' for, whenever he had the watch, he did nothing but up jip and down jib, up foresail, down foresail, every five minutes, always worrying the men for nothing. He was not considered as a good officer, but a very troublesome one. He had a knack of twisting and moving his fingers about as he walked the deck, and the men were wont to say that 'he must have been a forty piany teacher.'"

"And where were the captain and first lieutenant?" said Anderson.

"The first lieutenant was at the time busy in the wing, I believe; and as for the captain, I don't know where he was—but, you know, a captain seldom interferes in harbor."

"Where was the admiral?" inquired Ben.

"The admiral was in his cabin. I saw the barber, who had been in to shave him, come out just before she went down."

"What sort of a man was the admiral?" said Anderson.

"He was a thin tall man, upward of seventy years of age, and he stooped a good deal in his walk."

"Wet your whistle, Jim," said Ben, "for this is a long yarn."

"Well," continued Turner, as soon as he had put down his pot, "the carpenter came up a second time on the quarter-deck to the lieutenant, and said to him—

"'If you please, sir, to right the ship, it's my duty to tell you she will not bear it any longer.' He spoke in a very positive way, as was his duty; but the lieutenant answered, with an oath—

"'If you think, sir, that you can manage the ship better than I can, you had better take the command.' I was in the waist at the time, with a good many more men, and we heard what the carpenter said, and what answer the lieutenant gave. Indeed, we were all aware of the danger, and felt very uncomfortable; there were plenty of good seamen on board, who knew what they were about almost as well as the officers, and certainly better than the one who had the watch.

"A few minutes afterward (whether it was that he had remained that time doing nothing, merely because he would not be dictated to by the carpenter, I know not) the lieutenant ordered the drummer to be called to beat to quarters, that the guns might be run into their places and the ship righted. The drummer's name was passed along quick enough, for we were all alarmed at our situation, for the ship just then heeled over still more. I jumped down off the gangway as soon as the drummer was called, and hastened down to my quarters. The drum was not beat, for the man had not time to get his drum. All hands were now tumbling down the hatchways as fast as they could to their quarters, that they might run their guns into their places, and so right the ship. The gun I was stationed at was the third gun from forward on the starboard side of the lower gundeck. I said to Carroll, the second captain of the gun, 'I say, let us try to get our gun out without waiting for the drum, as the sooner we right the better.' We boused out our gun, which had been run in amidships; but the ship heeled over so much that, do all we could, it ran in again upon us, and at the same time the water made a heavy rush into the larboard lower deck ports. 'The ship is sinking, Carroll!' cried I. 'Lay hold of the ring-bolt and jump out; we shall all be drowned!' He made for the ring-bolt, caught it, climbed out of the port, and jumped into the sea. I presume he was drowned, for I never saw him afterward. I followed him as fast as I could out of the same port, which was the one belonging to our gun (the third from forward on the starboard side), and when I was outside I perceived that all the other port-holes were crowded as full as they could be with the heads of the men, all trying to escape, and jamming one another so that they could scarcely move either one way or the other. I caught hold of the sheet anchor, which was just above me, to prevent falling back inboard; and perceiving a woman struggling at the port, I caught hold of her, dragged her out, and threw her from me. The ship was now lying down so completely on her larboard broadside that the heads of the men in the ports disappeared all at once; they all dropped back into the ship, for the port-holes were now upright, and it was just as if men were trying to get out of the tops of so many chimneys, with nothing for their feet to purchase upon. Just after the men fell inboard, there came a rush of air through the ports, so violent as to blow my hat off. It was the air from the hold and lower deck, which, having no other vent, escaped as the water which poured in took up its space. The ship then sunk in a moment, righting as she went down. I was a good swimmer and diver, and when she was sinking I attempted to keep above water, but it was impossible; I was drawn down with the ship until she reached the bottom. As soon as she grounded, the water boiled and bubbled a great deal, and then I found that I could swim, and began to rise to the surface. A man tried to grapple me as I went up; his forefinger caught in my shoe, between the shoe and my foot. I succeeded in kicking off my shoe, and thus got rid of him, and then I rose to the surface of the water."

"Take breath after that, Jim," said Ben, handing him the ale.

"I can tell you that I could hardly take breath when I came to the surface, for my head came up through a quantity of tar, which floated like fat on a boiler, and it nearly smothered me; for, you see, there had been one or two casks of tar on the decks, which had stove when the ship was going down, and the tar got up to the top of the water before I did. It prevented me from seeing at first, but I heard the guns firing as signals of distress." Here Turner drank some ale.

"Well," said he, after a short pause, "I may as well finish my story. As soon as I could clear the tar from my eyes, I saw the main topsail halyard-block about level with the water's edge about eight or ten yards from me; so I swam to it and rode on it, holding on by the halyards, and then I looked about me. The fore, main, and mizzentops were all above water, as was a part of the bowsprit, and also part of the ensign-staff, with the flag hoisted—for, you see, messmates, we went down in only thirteen and a half fathom water, that is, about eighty feet; and, as I said before, she measured sixty-six feet from the keelson up to the taffrail; and she grounded as nearly upright as a vessel could; for the lighter, which was fast to leeward when she went down, caught the main yard, which helped to right her as she sank—but the lighter went down with her. Well, as I looked round, I saw the admiral's baker in the mizzen shrouds, and there was the body of the woman I had dragged out of the port rolling about close to him. The baker was an Irishman, of the name of Claridge; and I called out to him, 'Bob, reach out your hand and catch hold of that woman, I daresay she is not dead.'

"He said, 'She's dead enough; it's no use to lay hold of her.'

"I answered, 'She is not dead.' He caught hold of the woman and hung her head over one of the rattlings of the mizzen shrouds, and there she swung by her chin till a wash came and lifted her off, and then she rolled about again. Just then one of the captains of the frigates came up in his boat. I waved my hand toward the woman—he stopped pulling, the men dragged her into the boat, and laid her in the sternsheets.

"'My man,' said the captain, 'I must pick up those who are in more danger than you.'

"'All right, sir,' said I; 'I'm safe moored here.'

"There was one of our men hanging on the mainstay, and roaring like a bull, as he tried to climb by it out of the water. Had he only remained quiet, he would have done well enough. The boat took him off first, and the others of the people who were clinging about the masts and rigging, including the baker and myself. It then pulled on board the 'Victory' with us; and I once more found a good dry plank between me and the salt water."

"Was the captain and admiral saved?"

"Captain Waghorn was. He could not swim; but one of the seamen held him up. The admiral was drowned in his cabin. Captain Waghorn tried to acquaint him that the ship was sinking; but the heeling over of the ship had so jammed the doors of the cabin that they could not be opened."

"What became of the lieutenant of the watch and the carpenter?"

"The lieutenant of the watch was drowned—and so indeed was the carpenter. His body was taken up, I believe, by the same boat which picked up Lieutenant Durham3. When I went on board of the 'Victory,' I saw the carpenter's body before the galley fire—some women were attempting to recover him, but he was quite dead. There was a strong westerly breeze, although the day was fine; and the wind made the water so rough that there was great danger of the boats getting entangled in the rigging and spars, when they came to take the men off, or more would have been saved."

"How many do you think were lost altogether?" inquired Anderson.

"We had our whole complement on board, eight hundred and sixty-five men; and there were more than three hundred women on board, besides a great many Jews with slops and watches; as there always are, you know, when a ship is paid and the men have any money to be swindled out of. I don't exactly know how many men were saved, but there was only one woman, which was the one I dragged out of the port. There was a great fat old bumboat woman, whom the sailors used to call the 'Royal George'—she was picked up floating, for she was too fat to sink; but she had been floating the wrong way uppermost, and she was dead. There was a poor little child saved rather strangely. He was picked up by a gentleman who was in a wherry, holding on to the wool of a sheep which had escaped and was swimming. His father and mother were drowned, and the boy did not know their names; all that he knew was that his own name was Jack; so they christened him John Lamb, and the gentleman took care of him."

"Have you no idea how many men were saved, Turner?"

"I only know this—that the Admiralty ordered five pounds a man to be given to the seamen who were saved, as a recompense for the loss of their clothes, and I heard that only seventy-five claimed it; but how many marines were saved, or other people who were on board, I do not know; but perhaps, altogether, there might be two hundred or more—for you see the seamen had the worst chance of being saved, as they were almost all down in the hold, or on the lower and main decks at their guns. A few days after the ship went down the bodies would come up, eight or ten almost the same time—rising to the top of the water so suddenly as to frighten people who were passing near. The watermen made a good thing of it; for, as the bodies rose, they took from them their shoe-buckles, money, and watches, and then towed them on shore to be buried."

"That lieutenant had much to answer for," observed Ben. "His false pride was the cause of it all."

"It would seem so—but God only knows," replied Anderson. "Come, my lads, the beer is out, and it's two bells in the middle watch. I think we had better turn in. Jack, what's to become of you?"

"Oh, I'll find a plank," said I.

"So you shall, boy, and a bed upon it," replied Ben. "Come and turn in with me, and don't you dream that the larboard lower deck ports are open."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

My Father makes his Appearance, having left his Leg, but not his Tail, behind him—My Father is pensioned off by my Mother as well as by his Country.

About six weeks after the intelligence of the battle of the Nile, as I was sweeping away from the steps the mud which had been left by the tide, a King's tender, that I had been watching as she came up the river, dropped her anchor in the stream, abreast of the hospital.

Shortly afterward the lieutenant who commanded her pulled on shore in his boat, and, landing at the steps, proceeded to the governor's house. The men having orders not to leave the boat, requested me to procure them some porter, which I did; and on my return with it, they informed me that they had come round from Portsmouth with sixty-three men, who had lost their limbs, or had been otherwise so severely wounded in the late action as to have been recommended for Greenwich.

I felt very anxious for the men to land, as it was possible that my father might be one of them. The lieutenant soon returned, jumped into the boat, and shoved off. I perceived that the disabled men were getting ready to land, hauling their chests and kits on deck. In about half-an-hour a boat full of them came to the steps. I ran down to assist; and as I held on to the gunnel of the boat, while they threw out their gang-board, the first person who stumped out was my father, minus his left leg.

"Father!" cried I, half sorry and half pleased.

"Who calls me father?" replied he, looking at me. "Why, you don't mean to say that you're my boy Tom?"

"Yes, indeed!" said I.

"Ah! yes—I recollect your smile now. Why, what a big fellow you've grown!"

"It's four years since you left, father."

"Well! I suppose it is, since you say so," replied he, taking me by the arm, and stumping a little to one side, when he said in a low tone, "I say, Jack, what became of the old woman? Did I settle her?"

"Oh, no," replied I, laughing, "she was only shamming."

"Shamming was she? Well! it's all the better—for she has been a little on my conscience, that's truth. Shamming? Heh! She won't sham next time, if I fall foul of her. How does she get on?"

"Oh, very well indeed."

"And how's your little sister? What's her name—Jenny lengthened at both ends? I never could recollect it, though I've often thought of her sweet little face."

"She's quite well, and as pretty and as good as ever."

"Well, Tom, my boy, you stood by your father when he was in trouble, and now he'll stand by you. How does your mother treat you?"

"We get on pretty well—not over-fond of each other."

"Well, Tom, I've only one pin left; but I say," continued my father, with a wink of his eye, "I haven't left my tail behind me, 'cause it may be useful, you know. Now we must all go up to the governor of the hospital for inspection, and I suppose we shall be kept for some time; so you may run home and tell your mother that I've come back in a perfect good-humor, and that it will be her fault if she puts me out—that's all."

"I will, father; and then I'll come to you at the hospital."

I ran home to communicate the important intelligence to my mother and to Virginia, who had as usual come from school for her dinner.

"Mother," says I, out of breath, "who do you think has come back?"

"Comeback?" said she. "Back? Not your father?"

"Yes," says I, "my father. I just left him."

My mother turned deadly pale, and dropped the hot iron from her hand, so as to spoil a frilled nightcap belonging to one of her lady customers. She staggered to a chair, and trembled all over. I really believe that had she been aware of his being about to return, she would have quitted Greenwich before his arrival; but now it was too late. Virginia had run for the salts as soon as she perceived that her mother was unwell, and as she smelled them she gradually recovered. At last she inquired how my father looked and what he said.

I told her that he had lost his leg, and had been sent as a pensioner to the hospital; that he had looked very well, and that he had told me to say that "he was in a perfect good humor, and it would be her fault if she put him out of it; and that if she did—"

"Well, what then?" inquired my mother.

"Oh, the tail—that's all."

At the mention of the tail my mother very nearly went off in a swoon—her head fell back, and I heard her mutter, "So vulgar! so ungenteel!" However, she recovered herself, and appeared to be for some time in deep thought. At last she rose up, ordered me to fetch something extra for supper, and recommenced her ironing.

As soon as I had executed her commission I went to the hospital, where I found my father, who, with the other men, had just been dismissed. He accompanied me to my mother, shook hands with her very good-humoredly, kissed Virginia, whom he took on his knee, praised the supper, drank only one pot of porter, and then returned to the hospital, to sleep in the cabin which had been allotted to him in the Warriors' Ward, of which Anderson was the boatswain. My mother, although not very gracious, was much subdued, and for a few days everything went on very comfortably; but my mother's temper could not be long restrained. Displeased at something which she considered as very vulgar, she ventured to assail my father as before, concluding her tirade as usual, with "There—now you're vexed!"

My father looked at her very sternly.—At last he said, "You're just right—I am vexed; and whenever you tell me so in future I'll prove that it's no lie." He then rose, stumped upstairs to my room, in which he had deposited his sea-chest, and soon made his appearance with the formidable and never-to-be-forgotten tail in his hand. "Mistress," said he, as my mother retreated, "you said, 'Now you're vexed' to me just now. I ask you again, am I vexed, or am I not?" and my father flourished the tail over his head.

My mother looked at the strange weapon: the remembrance of the past was too painful; she was conquered by her fear.

"Oh, no," cried she, falling on her knees. "You're not vexed—indeed you are not."

"You're quite sure of that?" responded my father authoritatively, as he advanced toward her.

"Oh! yes, yes," cried my mother, trembling; "indeed you're not."

"Ain't I in a very good humor?" continued my father.

"Yes, you are in the best of humors, and always are so, unless—I aggravate you," replied my mother, whimpering.

"Well," replied my father, lowering his tail, "I expect we've come to a right understanding at last. So now get up and wipe your eyes; but recollect, that whenever you dare to tell me that I'm vexed, I won't be so ungenteel as to contradict you."

Thus was the mastery gained by my father, and never lost. It is true that sometimes my mother would forget herself, and would get on as far as "There now, you're—," but she would stop there, and correct herself, saying, "No, you're not," and allow her temper to evaporate by singing one of her usual ditties, as "Hush-a-by, baby, on the tree-top;" but my father never took notice of her singing; and being really a very good-tempered man, my mother's temper gradually became improved.

The return of my father made some alteration in our mode of life. He might, if he had pleased, have lived as an out-pensioner with my mother; but this he would not do. He used to come in almost every evening to see her, and she used to provide for him a pot of porter, which he seldom exceeded. If he had friends with him, they paid for what they drank. This pot of porter per diem was the only demand made upon my mother for permission to remain separate, and she did not grumble at it. His tobacco he found himself out of the tobacco money allowed at the hospital. He had received some pay, which, contrary to his former custom, he had laid by in the charge of one of the lieutenants of the hospital, for at that time there were no savings banks.

As a married man my father had the liberty to introduce his wife and children into the hospital at meal-times, to share his allowance with them. This my mother would not listen to, as regarded herself and my sister; but my father messed in what is called the married men's room, on my account, and instead of buying my own dinner, or applying to my mother for it, I now always took it with my father in the hospital. In consequence of my father's admittance as a pensioner, both I and my sister might have been instructed at the hospital school; but my mother would not premit Virginia to go there, and I found it much more convenient to go to Peter Anderson in the evening, when I had nothing to do. On the whole, we all went on much more comfortably than we did before my father's return.

One evening I was, as usual, with Anderson in his cabin; my father having been drafted into his ward, I could not help asking Anderson how he liked him. His reply was, "I like your father, Jack, for he is a straightforward, honest, good-tempered man, and, moreover, has a good natural judgment. I think it a great pity that such a man as he is should be so early in life lost, as it were, to the country. He is a first-rate seaman; and although there are many like him, still there are none to spare. However, if his country loses, he may himself gain, by being so soon called away from a service of great temptation. The sailor who has fought for his country, Jack, has much to be thankful for when he takes in moorings at Greenwich Hospital. He is well fed, well clothed, tended in sickness, and buried with respect; but all these are nothing compared with the greatest boon. When I reflect what lives sailors live, how reckless they are, how often they have been on the brink of eternity, and wonderfully preserved, without even a feeling of gratitude to Him who has watched over them, or taking their escapes as warnings; when I consider how they pass their whole lives in excess, intemperance, and, too often, blasphemy, it is indeed a mercy that they are allowed to repose here after such a venturous and careless career; that they have time to reflect upon what has passed, to listen to the words of the Gospel, to hate their former life, and trusting in God's mercy to secure their salvation. This is the greatest charity of this institution, and long may it flourish, a blessing to the country which has endowed it, and to the seamen, who are not only provided for in this world, but are prepared in it for the next."

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