In the event both young men died, though not before the second lieutenant, at the urging of the Thames’s chaplain, had acknowledged that he was in the wrong and had sent a proper message to Willoughby, the Royal Marine, who returned his thanks and best wishes for a prompt recovery. This reconciliation, however, was confined to those who had fought. The hostility between the two ships increased, and it was made evident on all possible occasions by cries of ‘What ho, the molly-ship’ if there was time, or ‘The pouffes ahoy,’ and if there was not, on the part of the Thames, and of ‘Slack in stays,’ or ‘Make more sail, there,’ from the Stately. Not that there were many occasions for rudeness, for although the beautiful trade-wind varied in strength it never declined to anything near enough to one of those calms so usual in the dol
drums for ordinary ship-visiting among the hands to be possible, or for it to be easy for the officers of any one ship to invite those of another: nor did the Commodore ever create an artificial calm by lying-to, even on Sundays. He was haunted by the dread of being late; and although on days less blowy than usual he would summon the Ringle and run up the line to see how his captains were coming along, he consistently urged his maxim ‘Lose not a minute: there is not a minute to be lost’, and obeyed it himself even to the point of forbidding the ships he visited to reduce sail to let him come aboard more easily.
He dined once in the Stately, and although he had shifted her first lieutenant, the most inveterate against Captain Duff and the man who had wished to arrest him, to the command of a brig, he was sorry to find a marked degree of tension at the captain’s table: the officers ill at ease, and Duff, though a good host, anxious and wanting in authority. ‘He is a good, kind fellow, and he handles his ship like a prime seaman, but he seems incapable of taking a hint,’ said Jack on returning.
Yet this was the one sad day out of the ten – ten, no more; and but for the heavy-sailing Thames it would have been eight
– that it took to run up to Freetown, and the rest of the time was delightful sailing, a world to which they had grown so accustomed in the vast stretches of the Pacific and to which they returned as to the natural way of life, with all the ship. board ceremonies and routines in their due order, as exactly marked by bells as those of a monastery. Eight bells in the middle watch, when those whose duty it was to show the sun a spotless deck had to leave their hammocks two hours before he rose; eight bells in the forenoon watch, when the officers fixed the height of the noonday sun and hands were piped to dinner: bells and pipes all day long, with some music too – the drum beating ‘Heart of Oak’ for the wardroom dinner (though Aumra, whose Marine officer had organized a band among his men, did it in a higher style), the drum again for quarters and the retreat, and on most evenings fiddles, bagpipes or a little shrill fife playing for the hands as they danced on the forecastle: bells all night long, too, though somewhat muted. These formal measures and divisions had of course been there during the wearisome creep along the shores of the Gulf the Bellona often lying to, doing nothing; but it was only now that they regained their full significance, and in a
suprisingly short time this part of the voyage seemed to have been going on for ever.
ror Jack and Stephen too the evening resumed their old familiar pattern of supper and music – occasionally chess or cards if the seas were heavy enough to shake Stephen’s control of his ‘cello – or rambling talk of common friends, former voyages: rarely about the future, an anxious prospect for both and one they tended to shy away from.
‘Jack,’ said Stephen, when the ship’s pitching had obliged him to lay down his bow: he spoke rather diffidently, knowing bow Jack disliked any topic that might reflect discredit on the service, ‘would it grieve you to tell me a little more about sodomy in the Navy? One often hears about it; and the per petual reiteration of the Articles of War with their
“unnatural and detestable sin of buggery” makes it seem part of the nautical landscape.
Yet apart from your very first command, the brig Sophie. . .’
‘She was a sloop,’ said Jack, quite sharply.
‘But she had two masts. I remember them perfectly: one in the front, and the other, if you follow me, behind: whereas a sloop, as you never cease pointing out, has but one, more or less in the middle.’
‘If she has no masts at all, or fifty, she would still have been a sloop from the moment my commission had been read aboard her: for I was a commander, a master and commander; and anything a commander commands instantly becomes a sloop.’
‘Well, in that vessel there was a sailor who could not cornmand his passion – for a goat, as I remember. But apart from that I scarcely remember any instance, and by now I am a very old and experienced salt dog.’
‘I do not suppose you do. But when you consider what the lower deck is like – three or four hundred men packed tight
– the cloud of witnesses when hammocks are piped down – and the very public nature of the heads – it is difficult to imagine a more unsuitable place for such capers. Yet it does occasionally happen in what few holes and corners a man-of-war possesses, and in cabins. I remember a horrid case of Corsica in ’96. Blanche, Captain Sawyer, and Meleager, Captain Cockburn – George Cockburn – both twelvepounder thirty-two-gun frigates, had been there in company the year before and something ugly of that kind, involving Sawyer, had taken place. You remember George Cockburn, Stephen?’
‘Certainly: a very fine man indeed, the best kind of a sailor.’
‘Summoned those men of both ships who knew about it and made them swear to keep the whole damn thing quiet. Yes. But the next year Sawyer began again, calling foremast jacks to his cabin and putting out the light. And of course he favoured these fellows and would not allow his officers to compel them to do their duty – and of course discipline began to go to the dogs. After a good deal of this his first lieutenant called for a court-martial, which was granted, and Sawyer fought back by bringing charges against almost the whole gunroom. Poor George Cockburn was in a horrible position. He had certain evidence of the man’s guilt in private letters he had written to him – that Sawyer had written to Cockburn. But they were pnvate – as confidential as letters could be. Yet on the other hand, if Sawyer were acquitted, all his officers were ruined, and a man who should not be in command would remain in command. So for the good of the service he showed them, looking like death as he did so and for long after. The judges twisted the evidence round and round, like a kekkle on a cable, and found Sawyer not guilty of the act
itself but only of gross indecency, so he was not hanged, but dismissed the service.
D’Arcy Preston, a countryman of yours, I believe . .
‘Of the Gormanston family. I must tell you about their manner of death one day.
Pray go on.’
‘D’Arcy Preston succeeded him for a short while, and then Nelson, commodore at the time, appointed Henry Hotham, a right taut disciplinarian, for the Blanche was still in wretched bad order. Indeed, the people were so far gone in disobedience and loving their ease that they would not receive him. They said he was a damned Tartar and would neither receive him nor hear his commission read: they pointed the forecastle guns aft and turned him out of the ship. Eventually Nelson himself
came over, bringing Hotham with him: he told the Blanche’s people that they had the best name of any frigate’s crew in the Navy – they had taken two heavier frigates in fair fight – and were they now going to rebel? If Captain Hotham used them ill, they were to write him a letter and he would support them. On this they gave three cheers and returned to their duty, while he went back to his ship, leaving Hotham in command. But it did not last: as a crew they were beyond recall, the rot had gone so deep; and as soon as they reached Portsmouth they petitioned
to be given another captain or another ship.’