The Military Sketch-Book. Vol. 1 (of 2) / Reminiscences of seventeen years in the service abroad and at home

SKETCHED FOR THE

BENEFIT OF YOUNG OFFICERS.

“Whatever is, is right.” These words served to adorn the poetry of Pope; and as a consolatory axiom, to soothe the injuries inflicted upon mankind during this “pilgrimage here below,” it serves a good purpose; but, however consoling it may be to the philosopher under worldly troubles, it answers but poorly its intentions with a young subaltern, who from “the turn of a straw,” has been thrown out of his promotion; and so finds his flattering day-dreams of hope turned into painful and disappointing realities. The moral tongue may tell him—“all is for the best;” that, “whatever is, is right,” and his own lip may echo the maxim with a sigh of approbation, but he cannot in his heart believe it: reflection, “like a worm i' the bud,” feeds upon him with a more active and injurious tooth, than that of the insect which gnaws the page of the moralist. Of this I feel convinced, although I know I disobey the Fathers in so doing; but I cannot help it: nor can I help thinking, that the occurrences of the voyage I am about to describe, tended to any thing but the benefit of the three subalterns who encountered them; any more than I can help feeling satisfied, that the petty trickery of a boatman's trade produced the evils I allude to, and changed totally the chances and prospects in life of three individuals.

There are so many leading causes to all evils, that it is difficult to say which may be properly fixed on as the most responsible. As the smallest pebble thrown upon the silent lake will displace, imperceptibly, every particle of its waters, so does each movement of our life influence the undisturbed mirror of futurity which lies before us. The incidents of our existence are like the fragments within the glasses of the kaleidoscope—the slightest movement changes, more or less, the whole of the succeeding pictures. Thus were the flattering views of three individuals changed by the ordinary turn of a boatman's roguery. Had this little circumstance never occurred, a totally different course of events must necessarily have followed:—but after all, perhaps, we may say, would it have been better?

Two young and inexperienced officers, whom I will introduce under the names of Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown, were ordered, in January 1810, to join the army in Portugal. They took the coach immediately and proceeded to Portsmouth, where they received an order for a passage from Captain Patten, the agent for transports. The master of the vessel appointed for their passage happened to be in the agent's office at the time, and reported that the accommodation was desirable. His was a store-ship, which had no troops on board; so that the cabin was to be in the sole possession of the two Subalterns—no small advantage to those who dislike the inconvenience of a sea-sick crowd, packed into fifteen feet by ten of a transport's cabin, and no prospect of good weather. The master of the vessel also informed them that there was every prospect of sailing immediately, as the wind was quite fair, and recommended them to lose no time in getting on board.

The officers hastened to embark. They remained no longer in Portsmouth than was necessary to allow of their purchasing a sea-stock of fresh provisions, consisting of half a sheep, some tea and sugar, a few loaves of fresh bread, three or four bottles of milk, and a couple of dozen of eggs. This matter did not take up more than an hour. They paid their hotel expenses, and one of them stepped down to the Point to engage a boat to take them to their ship, which was at anchor at Spithead. The fare is regulated at three shillings each boat for that distance, unless when the wind is blowing fresh, and then it is six shillings. There was a stiff breeze out; but by no means entitling boats to the double fare. The officer selected a boatman, and told him he would give him six shillings if he would take him and his friend, but the amphibious shark, knowing that the signal was made for sailing, demanded fourteen; which unreasonable demand was agreed to and the matter settled. The officer now returned to the inn, and in ten minutes baggage and all were on the beach. But the boat was gone, nor could the boatman be found. In vain were others of his calling requested to take the fare; the vessels were getting under weigh, and nothing less than five pounds was the demand for a boat. This was evidently a trick played off by the man who was engaged for fourteen shillings, in the hope of dividing a much larger sum with whatever other of his fellows should be employed.

Now there were two strong reasons why the officers would not submit to this imposition: one might have been waived, but the other was absolute: in the first place, they thought it would be a service to the public to have the man, who had disappointed them, punished; and in the next they really could not afford to pay the sum demanded by the other boatmen. In this situation, they had the mortification to see the whole fleet set sail from the harbour.

The first consequence of this disappointment was, that they were obliged to remain five weeks longer before they could get another vessel, owing to the unfavourable winds which set in a few days after they lost their passage. Their disappointment was rendered still more galling by news from Lisbon, that the ship in which they were to have sailed had arrived in the Tagus on the sixth day after she left Portsmouth. The further consequences I will now describe.

After many visits to the Transport-Agents' office, and much grumbling from the little official himself, the Subalterns received an order for a passage in a very fine ship, and were soon on board. Here they found the cabin occupied only by a lieutenant of dragoons, who commanded a detachment of his regiment, also on board with their horses.

This lieutenant, who acted so prominent a part in the rough passage, is worthy of an outline. He was a subaltern of four or five years standing, but had yet known no more of service than the barrack parade and a good mess-dinner were capable of affording. He was the son of a rich London tradesman—a legitimate child of Cockaigne; and as powerfully impressed with the peculiarities of that distinguished land as any of his countrymen. He could point out every feature of metropolitan amusement, from half-price at Common-Garden, to the Panorama in Leicester-Square—could repeat the biography of all Mr. Pidcock's menagerial subjects, together with those of the Tower—understood the Sunday park-ride, and knew to a fraction the charges of all respectable horse-hirers in London—could discuss a plate of a-la-mode at the Three Cantons, or ticket his way to a Guildhall dinner—was well acquainted with Gog and Magog, and could criticize a peal of triple bob-majors with any citizen within the sound of Bow-bells. From his face, (although full twenty-seven years old,) one could tell that his taste had begun upon lolly-pops, improved in raspberry-puffs, and ultimately expanded in the sugary bosom of a twelfth-cake. He was married withal; and had but just tasted the sweets of his honey-moon, when he was ordered to embark for Portugal. This last circumstance had imparted to his countenance a strong tinge of melancholy, calculated to remind the beholder of Liston, in the part of Romeo; indeed the sudden retreat of his chin and forehead, from the centre of the facial line, made him infinitely more interesting than even that performer could ever have been in his most sentimental characters. He had a purse pretty well filled with guineas, purchased at twenty-five shillings each, and a good stock of little luxuries for a sea-table; therefore was he civil and good-natured, as your true and genuine cockaignee (vulgarly spelt cockney) always is, when amongst strangers out of his own land.

When the other two Subalterns arrived on board, they were received by the Dragoon (whom we shall call Mr. Dickens) with all that condescending civility, which imaginary importance deigns to bestow upon imagined inferiority. He requested them to taste his peculiarly fine German sausage at tea; showed them his canteen, and praised the manufacture of it; promised to let them see his horses in the hold next day; and having himself taken the best birth in the cabin, recommended others for their acceptance.

The ship sailed next morning along with a numerous fleet, under convoy of the Hibernia and San Joseph, for Lisbon, and things went on agreeably enough, Lieutenant Dickens having all his own way. On the fourth day after sailing, they came in sight of the high hills, and bold coast of Portugal, within a few leagues of Oporto. It was a most delightful day; the goatherds could be plainly seen on the hills; and they no doubt admired the magnificence of the fleet, which glided under them like a flock of huge sea-birds. The water was calm, but there was a sufficient breeze in the sails (which were all set before the wind) to make the passengers imagine that the objects on shore passed rapidly by—and Lieutenant Dickens looking out from the forecastle, through a newly purchased field glass, for the boats of oranges, which (as the master of the vessel said) would put off from Oporto to the fleet, wonderfully improved the picture—in his own eyes.

Nothing could be more favourable than the voyage so far; and the officers of course expected to be on shore at Lisbon, in two days more at farthest.

In these expectations they were enjoying a pleasant dinner—the Lieutenant, from the prospect of landing, having become more condescendingly agreeable, and less inclined to muse upon his departed honey-moon. The calm sea and the sight of the land had the effect of removing from all stomachs those squeamish sensations which the rolling of the ship in the middle of the Bay of Biscay had produced, and the wine circulated well after a substantial dinner was duly disposed of.

In the course of the evening the Dragoon became peculiarly communicative, and began to comment, not only on things in general, but on things in particular: the state of the army and the state of the nation were reviewed; and in one of his harangues he roundly asserted that “the Hirish made very good private soldiers; but the hidear was preposterous to say that they were fit to command in the haumy.” To this one of the Subalterns (who happened to have been born in Ireland) replied in warm but inoffensive language, recapitulating the names of some hundreds of distinguished Irish officers, at the head of whom he placed Lord Wellington, under whose command they were, even at that moment. The Dragoon was somewhat posed at this, but rallied.

“Haw, Sir!” said he, “you mention a vast number; but I still do not halter my hopinion. Lord Wellington is a very fortunate man, Sir; but he is nothing of a commander; and before three months, Sir, we shall all be driven out of the Peninsular—that hevery body must allow.”

“I will not allow it,” replied Mr. Smith; “for one.”

“Nor I, for another,” rejoined Mr. Brown.

“'Pon my honour, gentlemen, you know nothing, either of politics or of the haumy; you should read the papers.” With this observation the Dragoon arose from the table, put on his foraging cap, and went on deck.

Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown had not sat half an hour after the departure of the Dragoon, and had scarcely concluded their remarks on the arrogance of his manners as well as the absurdity of his opinions, when an unusual bustle was heard on deck. They went up to learn the cause, and found that a south-west wind had set in, and it was coming on to blow hard. It was nearly dusk; but they could perceive that the fleet had tacked about from the land, and was bearing out to sea. A total change of feeling took possession of every mind; and sleep became the only resource to those who had hoped for a speedy landing.

Next morning, what a change! Where were the sunny hills—the dark shade of the rocks on the darker water? where the blue tranquil sky that but the day before anticipated the serenity of May? Vanished!—Over the stern of the ship, on the gloomy horizon, something like a raincloud was seen,—the land they were leaving: all overhead was one murky mass of mist; around, the increasing surges were contending against a fierce wind; the yielding vessel, half way on her side, plunging rapidly through the white and crackling foam—her body vibrating as each wave struck against her sides. And where were the ships that covered the peaceful seas with their white sails, but yesterday? Gone—dispersed! each alone in a wide circle of the ocean, surrounded by the threatenings of the storm. Like some young voyager—perhaps, within her very planks—whose hours were passed in sailing along the peaceful and shining shores of pleasure, dreaming of beautiful things to come—in a moment separated from its happy associations; alone on the stormy sea of life,—friends all gone,—prospects wholly changed! But why do I say perhaps? It was really the case with the three Subalterns: with this bad weather came their troubles: their prospects changed even with the wind.

Before the day closed a violent gale set in, and for four succeeding weeks there was but little remission of its force; a lull for a day or so, after it had blown for eight or ten, was the only change in the determined south-west wind; and often was it terrible in its wrath, carrying away sail after sail, and obliging the ship to go under her bare poles, or one close-reefed topsail. All this time they were tacking to and fro through the Atlantic Ocean.

To Lieutenant Dickens this sudden change of weather was scarcely supportable. His temper became as foul as the wind; he grew bilious, squeamish, sick, and irritable; he found fault with every thing, and kicked his dog. A certain degree of coolness took place between him and the other Subalterns, originating in the previous night's conversation, and fostered by the change of weather: the parties scarcely spoke to each other; and in this most unpleasant situation they continued for eight or nine days.

Quarrels are disagreeable things on shore; but on board ship, where of necessity the hostile parties are compelled to be in each others' presence, they are the most irksome of all unpleasant matters: and if they are to be avoided scrupulously in the army, while on shore, there is ten times more reason for keeping clear of them while on ship board: young officers cannot be too mindful of this; let them be affable, obliging, not too reserved, but by no means too familiar. These rules apply to society in general, but to society on board ship peculiarly. It is no very desirable thing to remain several weeks shut up in a vessel with an opponent—to sleep in the same cabin with him; and at every heel of the ship in bad weather, roll about with him on the deck, and fall with your head in his face, or his in yours. This can be easily avoided on shore; but at sea—Oh, Heaven defend us from the trial!

The cabin company remained for eight or nine days in this disjointed state: at last all the fresh provision was exhausted; for, in the hopes of soon going on shore, a considerable waste took place during the fine weather. The master of the transport, who was, in gentlemanly qualities, an exception to the generality of men in his station, now offered his table to the officers at a moderate charge per week—wine as cheap as it was in Portugal; with the understanding that the allowance of rations should not be drawn, but given to the ship. This relieved in a great measure the whole mess from the unpleasantness of their situation, but did not entirely restore good feeling: all parties spoke occasionally to each other, but they were extremely formal and distant. However, an admirable mess, with good wine, and a jolly gentlemanly host, made things as comfortable as could be expected; and had it not been for the cross-grained nature of the cockaignee, the remainder of the voyage would have passed happily; for although it was often found necessary to dine à la Turque, upon the floor, and lash their limbs every night to the births, to keep them from falling out—although the creaking of the bulk-heads,—the thunder of the waves against the ship's side—the half filling of the cabin frequently by a sea, and the eternal southwest wind, were all excessively tormenting; yet there was a hilarity, which arose from this new order of things, under the guidance of the master, that very soon began to reconcile the officers to their fate. But the spirit of discord hovered round the ship, and through the agency of Mr. Dickens, his disciple, turned all comfort once more awry.

The master's cabin was a neat little apartment on one side of the vessel, near to the great cabin, fitted up for officers; and here the party messed. This small room, furnished in a warm and comfortable manner, formed a pleasing contrast to the wide cold cabin of the officers, stripped of every thing (which is technically called by the transport board, “fitting up”) except a huge deal table, a few oak chairs, and births on each side, made of half-planed deal. Lieutenant Dickens, who was very fond of playing a handsome flageolet, to the great annoyance of all on board who had “music in their souls,” when the ship was on the starboard tack and heeling much on one side, would fix himself all day in the seat which was next the vessel's planks; for the deck was too raw—too cold—too sailorish for his nerves to bear. In this seat he would tongue over and over such tunes as “Malbrooke,” and “Away with Melancholy,” as if he were teaching a bulfinch to pipe—bar after bar, until the man at the helm above him was ear-cracked by the monotonous sounds. One day, it so happened, that Mr. Dickens did not remain in this lee-seat after breakfast, but sat on deck wrapped up in his horse cloak, feeling himself too bilious to remain below. However, he was not so bilious as to remain on deck when dinner was announced: down he went, ready to eat any thing, or any body, that came in his way. Mr. Smith was sitting in the leeward seat, occupied in writing, that being the most steady for the purpose, and in this seat he had sat for the whole of the day. Being intent upon the paper, he did not observe the Dragoon enter the cabin, or perhaps he would have given up the seat, merely because it was the custom of the other to sit in it at dinner; but as he did not observe the gentleman, he continued to write. At this moment, the cook entered with a tureen of soup, smoking hot, and an unlucky sea having struck the vessel as he was placing it for dinner, away he and the soup went sliding under the table. A quantity of the savoury fluid bedaubed the face and breast of the Dragoon—its warmth tickled him rather unpleasantly, and acting on a bilious cockaignee temperament, produced a petulant attack upon Mr. Smith. He insolently “desired” that gentleman to quit his seat. This was received as it should have been: Mr. S. remarked that the table at which they sat was that of the master, and one seat was just the same as another; but that as Mr. D. had demanded it so impertinently, he was determined not to give it up. The Dragoon retorted with great asperity, and, frothing with passion, called Mr. S. an insolent “fellow.” Mr. S. (who was only a lad of nineteen) lost his temper, and retorted with warmth, still keeping the seat. The dragoon instantly lodged a blow upon Mr. S.'s face, which, from the situation of the parties, could not be returned; but the master, who had now come into the cabin, took the Dragoon by the shoulder, and declared that he should not sit at his table after having behaved so outrageously. However, Mr. S., although so much younger than Mr. D., had prudence enough to remain quiet, on account of the master; but firmly resolved to take effectual steps, as soon as they should land, to obtain satisfaction.

The indignation which Mr. Brown felt at this conduct on the part of the Dragoon, was very great, and it increased every moment; but he contented himself with pointedly remarking upon the unfair and unofficer-like act of striking Mr. Smith while in a situation where it was evident he could not defend himself. A week went on in sullen silence between the Dragoon and the other members of the mess. One day, however, Mr. Brown called for a glass of water, which was brought him by the cabin-boy. It was rather muddy; but those who have made long voyages know that water is an article in which sailors must not be very nice. The Dragoon, as soon as Mr. Brown had swallowed the draught, called for another, and putting it to his nose, uttered the word “beastly” in the most pointed manner; at the same time casting a significant sneer at him who could be so little of a man of taste, as to drink such water. Brown, who was a high-minded fellow, that would take an insult from no man, grew red with rage, but said nothing. Dickens went immediately on deck, the gale having slackened a good deal. Brown at last could contain his indignation no longer; he ran upon deck; demanded satisfaction, and was received with insolence. Rage overcame Brown, and he gave the Dragoon, in the sight of his own men, a severe thrashing: it was done quickly, and would have been more severe, but for the prompt and generous interference of Mr. Smith—the man who yet had the mark of the blow upon his face!

This brought the Dragoon's manners into complete subjection: there was no more insolence, but a most determined silence on his part for the remainder of the voyage, which lasted upwards of a fortnight longer. The weather, however, grew fine for a week before the ship made the rock of Lisbon, and the opponents thus could keep more asunder.

It was clearly understood by all parties, that a meeting would take place as soon as they went on shore; and the Dragoon, in preparation for this, one fine day, when about fifty miles off the Tagus,—the ship quite steady—“paraded” his pistols on deck (a handsome pair,) oiled the locks, &c. and fired several shots at a mark! This only smelled of powder: not a grain of courage could have been conjoined with such genuine Cockaigne bravado; as the subsequent conduct of Dickens amply proved. Even on the very night of the day on which he made this display of his pistols, the natural man came out of his fustian case, and undid the doings of the artificial. Thus it was:—About half-past ten at night, as all but Lieutenant Dickens were on deck, enjoying the beauty of the scene, which was glistening with moonlight—the air temperate and serene—the vessel moving steadily, with a fair breeze on her quarter, at about four knots an hour—the watch and the dragoons lounging about the forecastle and main deck—the officers and the master smoking segars on the quarter-deck—and all particularly happy in the prospect of soon terminating their voyage; even the horses in the hold, appearing to be sensible of the great change from hurricane to calm, neighing playfully, and biting each others' necks, after having, (poor animals!) suffered severely during the voyage, in the course of which several of them had died. Such was the state of things on board, when one of the watch informed the master that a strange sail was bearing down on them. In a few minutes she was within about half a quarter of a mile, and they could see her, like a fairy castle, floating on the moon-bright water. She was a square-rigged ship, as they could plainly see from the outline of the dark mass, which was well thrown out upon the moonlight behind her. The master no longer doubted his danger, and declared that the approaching vessel was a French privateer of eight or ten guns. It was immediately determined to fight in case he attacked them; as there were six-and-thirty hands on board, including the soldiers, and as they carried four carronades, and had plenty of small arms. For this purpose all the men armed themselves, and were mustered on deck, determined to resist being boarded, and to maintain a running-fight.... Can it be credited? the Commanding-officer, Lieutenant Dickens, was the only individual who remained below!—he was in bed, and too bilious to fight; particularly at such an unseasonable hour: yet it was on this very day that he had wasted his powder in firing at a mark! However, there is no accounting for illness; the bile is a most treacherous enemy.

The strange sail was now within about five hundred yards of the transport, and closing fast upon her: the matches were lighted and the sailors at the guns; the soldiers with the two officers drawn up on the quarter-deck, and armed with cutlasses, carbines, and pistols. She now steadily approached within pistol-shot: her men could be seen moving to and fro on her decks, and the bubbling of the froth at her bow plainly heard: all but the waters were silent; when a voice from the strange ship hailed in English, “What are you?”—“An Englishman,” was the immediate reply, and up went the British colours to the mizen gaff. A broadside was of course expected, or a summons to surrender, when—up went the stranger's colours; and the red cross, transparent in the moonlight, showed at once that the “privateer” was a British ship! Thus terminated all anxiety on both sides; for the same fears and preparations had been felt and made by the stranger, as by the Horse ship. Both continued their course together, and next day entered the mouth of the Tagus.

That beautiful river was now before them, and nothing ruffled the pure delight which the three subalterns felt, but the recollection of the quarrel, and the expectation of its consequences. In two hours they were winding smoothly along the course of the Tagus, all eyes employed in gazing on the romantic scene—the mountains upon each side studded here and there with white convents, whose bells answered each other from hill to hill—the yellow sands glistening along the shore—the blue mountains in the distance—the fertile country;—on the right the city of the seven hills, white Lisbon, five or six miles in front—the wide bed of the river as far as the eye could reach, bespread with fishing-boats, their peaked sails like so many butterflies gliding along—the covered, Venetian-looking barges, passing and re-passing—the clear sky and the warm sun—all sweetly engaged the attention of the party on board, and made them for a moment forget their hostility.

The ship was now very near the fort or castle of Belem, within a league of Lisbon; when Mr. Smith gave his sword to the soldier who had waited on him during the voyage, and was surprised beyond measure, when the man brought it back, and said that Lieutenant Dickens had ordered him not to clean it. This fresh insult irritated him very much, and he remonstrated warmly with Mr. D. on the subject. In his anger, passing him to go down to his cabin, he pushed the Dragoon officer aside. However, the latter seemed to feel compunction, and seized this opportunity, declaring before the master of the vessel, and the officers, that he was extremely sorry for the blow he had so intemperately given Mr. Smith, and begged his pardon: but he assured all present, that he was determined on a meeting with Mr. Brown. This apology was treated with silence by Mr. Smith; and the Lieutenant showed but little knowledge of duelling affairs, when he supposed that an apology could have sufficed.

Matters were now brought to a close on board: the ship dropped anchor opposite the Fish-market Quay, when the three subalterns and the master went on shore. Thus ended the rough passage, but the stormy quarrel which began at sea was yet unsettled; and as I have gone so far with the story, I may as well go a little farther.

The party, in proceeding from the ship to the land, were of course disinclined for conversation. Not a word was spoken, until Lieutenant Dickens addressed the master thus—“Have they any hackney-coaches at Lisbon.”

“No coaches, but a sort of covered chaises.”

“Hah! that will do. We can soon be out of the town. I shall want one this evening.”

This evidently alluded to the expected duel.

Nothing more passed, and the officers went to their hotels—Mr. Brown expecting an immediate message, and Mr. Smith preparing to send a friend on his part. But no pistols were in requisition, the Cockaignee was no blood-spiller; and to settle the matter, concocted charges of mutiny, &c., against Smith and Brown! Both were placed under arrest and tried by court-martial! But such was the opinion of the Commander of the Forces, that on reading the proceedings of the court, he immediately ordered the Cockaignee himself to be put in arrest, and tried by court-martial for “striking Mr. Smith.” The consequence was, that all parties suffered: Mr. Brown and Mr. Smith were cashiered: the sentence passed on the latter was, however, softened down by the opinion of the court, which would have acquitted him, but that the Dragoon swore the push given on the deck was a blow. Dickens fared worst of all: he was “dismissed his Majesty's service,” by which he lost the purchase-money of his two commissions—Cornetcy and Lieutenantcy. Every officer was thoroughly disgusted at the affair being made the subject of public investigation instead of being referred to the pistol; and the service was much injured by the detention of field-officers from their regiments, to sit in court-martials about such a matter. The Dragoon felt that he was despised for the step he had taken, and showed his sense of it by attempting suicide. Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown returned to England, and were reinstated in their former commissions. The Dragoon, after some years, was permitted to re-purchase a cornetcy; and once more sported his white feather in the army.

Thus, by the mere accident of meeting this weak and arrogant officer—or, to go farther into causes, by the roguery of a boatman,—a train of most serious and disagreeable consequences was produced to two young and inexperienced men; first, a five weeks' bill at a Portsmouth hotel; second, a six weeks' gale of wind, with a cat-and-dog party; third, a court-martial, and loss of commission; fourth, an unexpected return to England; and lastly, the rugged hill of promotion to attempt anew under unfavourable circumstances! Let this and all this be recollected by every young officer. It is no story of invention; these are facts registered in the Judge-Advocate-General's office, and therefore form a good practical lesson.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

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