Tom Cringle\'s Log

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Scanned by John Edward Heaton in Guatemala.

Tom Cringle's Log.

Michael Scott (1789--1835).

The Launching of the Log.

Dazzled by the glories of Trafalgar, I, Thomas Cringle, one fine morning
in the merry month of May, in the year one thousand eight hundred and so
and so, magnanimously determined in my own mind, that the United Kingdom
of Great Britain and Ireland should no longer languish under the want of a
successor to the immortal Nelson, and being then of the great
perpendicular altitude of four feet four inches, and of the mature age of
thirteen years, I thereupon betook myself to the praiseworthy task of
tormenting, to the full extent of my small ability, every man and woman
who had the misfortune of being in any way connected with me, until they
had agreed to exert all their interest, direct or indirect, and
concentrate the same in one focus upon the head and heart of Sir Barnaby
Blueblazes, vice--admiral of the red squadrons a Lord of the Admiralty,
and one of the old plain K.B.'s (for he flourished before the time when a
gallant action or two tagged half of the letters of the alphabet to a
man's name, like the tail of a paper kite), in order that he might be
graciously pleased to have me placed on the quarterdeck of one of his
Majesty's ships of war without delay.

The stone I had set thus recklessly a--rolling, had not been in motion
above a fortnight, when it fell with unanticipated violence, and crushed
the heart of my poor mother, while it terribly bruised that of me, Thomas;
for as I sat at breakfast with the dear old woman, one fine Sunday morning,
admiring my new blue jacket and snow white trowsers, and shining well
soaped face, and nicely brushed hair, in the pier glass over the chimney
piece, I therein saw the door behind me open, and Nicodemus, the waiting
man, enter and deliver a letter to the old lady, with a formidable looking
seal.

I perceived that she first ogled the superscription, and then the seal,
very ominously, and twice made as if she would have broken the missive
open, but her heart seemed as often to fail her. At length she laid it
down--heaved a long deep sigh--took off her spectacles, which appeared
dim--wiped them, put them on again, and making a sudden effort, tore open
the letter, read it hastily over, but not so rapidly as to prevent her hot
tears falling with a small tiny tap tap on the crackling paper.

Presently she pinched my arm, pushed the blistered manuscript under my
nose, and utterly unable to speak to me, rose, covered her face with her
hands, and left the room weeping bitterly. I could hear her praying in a
low, solemn, yet sobbing and almost inarticulate voice, as she crossed the
passage to her own dressing--room.--"Even as thou wilt, oh Lord--not mine,
but thy holy will be done--yet, oh! it is a bitter bitter thing for a
widowed mother to part with her only boy."

Now came my turn--as I read the following epistle three times over, with
a most fierce countenance, before thoroughly understanding whether I was
dreaming or awake--in truth, poor little fellow as I was, I was fairly
stunned.

"Admiralty, such a date.

"DEAR MADAM,
It gives me very great pleasure to say that your son is appointed to the
Breeze frigate, now fitting at Portsmouth for foreign service. Captain
Wigemwell is a most excellent officer, and a good man, and the
schoolmaster on board is an exceedingly decent person I am informed; so I
congratulate you on his good fortune in beginning his career, in which I
wish him all success, under such favourable auspices. As the boy is, I
presume, all ready, you had better send him down on Thursday next, at
latest, as the frigate will go to sea, wind and weather permitting,
positively on Sunday morning."

"I remain, my dear Madam,"

"Yours very faithfully,"

"BARNABY BLUEBLAZES, K.B."

However much I had been moved by my mother's grief, my false pride came to
my assistance, and my first impulse was to chant a verse of some old tune,
in a most doleful manner. "All right--all right," I then exclaimed, as I
thrust half a doubled up muffin into my gob, but it was all chew, chew,
and no swallow--not a morsel could I force down my parched throat, which
tightened like to throttle me.

Old Nicodemus had by this time again entered the room, unseen and unheard,
and startled me confoundedly, as he screwed his words in his sharp cracked
voice into my larboard ear. "Jane tells me your mamma is in a sad taking,
Master Tom. You ben't going to leave us, all on a heap like, be you?
Surely your stay until your sister comes from your uncle Job's? You know
there are only two on ye--You won't leave the old lady all alone, Master
Thomas, win ye?' The worthy old fellow's voice quavered here, and the
tears hopped over his old cheeks through the flour and tallow like peas,
as he slowly drew a line down the forehead of his well--powdered pate,
with his fore--finger.

"No--no--why, yes," exclaimed I, fairly overcome; "that is--oh Nic, Nic
you old fool, I wish I could cry, man--I wish I could cry!" and
straightway I hied me to my chamber, and wept until I thought my very
heart would have burst.

In my innocence and ignorance, child as I was, I had looked forward to
several months preparation; to buying and fitting of uniforms, and dirks,
and cocked hat, and swaggering therein, to my own great glory, and the
envy of all my young relations; and especially I desired to parade my
fire--new honours before the large dark eyes of my darling little creole
cousin, Mary Palma; whereas I was now to be bundled on board, at a few
days warning, out of a ready--made furnishing shop, with lots of illmade,
glossy, hard mangled duck trowsers, the creases as sharp as the backs of
knives, and--"oh, it never rains, but it pours," exclaimed I; "surely all
this promptitude is a little de plus in Sir Barnaby."

However, away I was trundled at the time appointed, with an aching heart,
to Portsmouth, after having endured the misery of a first parting from a
fond mother, and a host of kind friends; but, miserable as I was,
according to my preconceived determination, I began my journal the very
day I arrived, that nothing connected with so great a man should be lost,
and most weighty did the matters therein related appear to me at the time;
but seen through the long vista of, I won't say how many years, I really
must confess that the Log, for long long after I first went to sea in the
Breeze, and subsequently when removed to the old Kraaken line--of--battle
ship, both of which were constantly part of blockading squadrons, could be
compared to nothing more fitly than a dish of trifle, anciently called
syllabub, with a stray plum here and there scattered at the bottom. But
when, after several weary years, I got away in the dear old Torch, on a
separate cruise, incidents came fast enough with a vengeance--stem,
unyielding, iron events, as I found to my heavy cost, which spoke out
trumpet--tongued and fiercely for themselves, and whose tremendous
simplicity required no adventitious aid in the narration to thrill through
the hearts of others. So, to avoid yarn--spinning, I shall evaporate my
early Logs, and blow off as much of the froth as I can, in order to
present the residuum free of flummery to the reader--just to give him a
taste here and there, as it were, of the sort of animal I was at that
time. Thus:

Thomas Cringle, his log--book.

Arrived in Portsmouth by the Defiance at ten, A.M. on such a day.
Waited on the Commissioner, to whom I had letters, and said I was
appointed to the Breeze. Same day, went on board and took up my berth;
stifling hot; mouldy biscuit; and so on. My mother's list makes it
fifteen shirts, whereas I only have twelve.

Admiral made the signal to weigh, wind at S.W. fresh and squally.
Stockings should be one dozen worsted, three of cotton, two of silk; find
only half a dozen worsted, two of cotton, and one of silk.

Fired a gun and weighed.

Sailed for the Fleet off Vigo, deucidly sea--sick was told that fat pork
was the best specific, if bolted half raw; did not find it much of a tonic
passed a terrible night, and for four hours of it obliged to keep watch,
more dead than alive. The very second evening we were at sea, it came on
to blow, and the night fell very dark, with heavy rain. Towards eight
bells in the middle watch, I was standing on a gun well forward on the
starboard side, listening to the groaning of the main--tack, as the
swelling sail, the foot of which stretched transversely right athwart the
ship's deck in a black arch, struggled to tear it up, like some dark
impalpable spirit of the air striving to burst the chains that held him,
and escape high up into the murky clouds, or a giant labouring to uproot
an oak, and wondering in my innocence how hempen cord could brook such
strain when just as the long waited--for strokes of the bell sounded
gladly in mine ear, and the shrill clear note of the whistle of the
boatswain's mate had been followed by his gruff voice, grumbling hoarsely
through the gale, "Larboard watch, ahoy!" The look--out at the weather
gangway, who had been relieved, and beside whom I had been standing a
moment before, stepped past me, and scrambled up on the booms "Hillo,
Howard, where away, my man?" said I.

"Only to fetch my"--

Crack!--the main tack parted, and up flew the sail with a thundering flap,
loud as the report of a cannon--shot, through which, however, I could
distinctly hear a heavy smash, as the large and ponderous blocks at the
clew of the sail struck the doomed sailor under the ear, and whirled him
off the booms over the fore--yard--arm into the sea, where he perished, as
heaving--to was impossible, and useless if practicable, as his head must
have been smashed to atoms.

This is one of the stray plums of the trifle, what follows is a whisk of
the froth, written when we looked into Corunna, about a week after the
embarkation of the army:--

MONODY ON THE DEATH OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

Farewell, thou pillar of the war,
Warm--hearted soldier, Moore, farewell,
In honour's firmament a star,
As bright as ere in glory fell.

Deceived by weak or wicked men,
How gallantly thou stood'st at bay,
Like lion hunted to his den,
Let France tell, on that bloody day.

No boastful splendour round thy bier,
No blazon'd trophies o'er thy grave;
But thou had'st more, the soldier's tear,
The heart--warm offering of the brave.

On Lusitania's rock--girt coast,
All coffinless thy relics lie,
Where all but honour bright was lost,
Yet thy example shall not die.

Albeit no funeral knell was rung,
Nor o'er thy tomb in mournful wreath
The laurel twined with cypress hung,
Still shall it live while Britons breathe.

What though, when thou wert lowly laid,
Instead of all the pomp of woe,
The volley o'er thy bloody bed
Was thunder'd by an envious foe:--

Inspired by it in after time,
A race of heroes will appear,
The glory of Britannia's clime,
To emulate thy bright career.

And there will be, of martial fire,
Those who all danger will endure;
Their first, best aim, but to aspire
To die thy death--the death of Moore.

To return. On the evening of the second day, we were off Falmouth, and
then got a slant of wind that enabled us to lie our course.

Next morning, at daybreak, saw a frigate in the northeast quarter, making
signals;--soon after we bore up. Bay of Biscay--tremendous swell--Cape
Finisterre--blockading squadron off Cadiz--in--shore squadron--and so on,
all trifle and no plums.

At length the Kraaken, in which I had now served for some time, was
ordered home, and sick of knocking about in a fleet, I got appointed to a
fine eighteen--gun sloop, the Torch, in which we sailed on such a day for
the North Sea--wind foul--weather thick and squally; but towards evening
on the third day, being then off Harwich, it moderated, when we made more
sail, and stood on, and next morning, in the cold, miserable, drenching
haze of an October daybreak, we passed through a fleet of fishing--boats
at anchor. "At anchor," thought I, "and in the middle of the sea,"--but so
it was--all with their tiny cabooses, smoking cheerily, and a solitary
figure, as broad as it was long, stiffly walking to and fro on the
confined decks of the little vessels. It was now that I knew the value of
the saying, "a fisherman's walk, two steps and overboard." With regard to
these same fishermen, I cannot convey a better notion of them, than by
describing one of the two North Sea pilots whom we had on board. This
pilot was a tall, raw--boned subject, about six feet or so, with a blue
face--I could not call it red--and a hawk's--bill nose of the colour of
bronze. His head was defended from the weather by what is technically
called a south--west, pronounced sow--west,--cap, which is in shape like
the thatch of a dustman, composed of canvass, well tarred, with no snout,
but having a long flap hanging down the back to carry the rain over the
cape of the jacket. His chin was embedded in a red comforter that rose to
his ears. His trunk was first of all cased in a shirt of worsted
stocking--net; over this he had a coarse linen shirt, then a thick cloth
waistcoat; a shag jacket was the next layer, and over that was rigged the
large cumbrous pea jacket, reaching to his knees. As for his lower spars,
the rig was still more peculiar;--first of all, he had on a pair of most
comfortable woollen stockings, what we call fleecy hosiery--and the
beauties are peculiarly nice in this respect--then a pair of strong
fearnaught trowsers; over these again are drawn up another pair of
stockings, thick, coarse, rig--and--furrowed as we call them in Scotland,
and above all this were drawn a pair of long, well--greased, and liquored
boots, reaching half--way up the thigh, and altogether impervious to wet.
However comfortable this costume may be in bad weather in board, it is
clear enough that any culprit so swathed, would stand a poor chance of
being saved, were he to fall overboard. The wind now veered round and
round, and baffled, and checked us off, so that it was the sixth night
after we had taken our departure from Harwich before we saw Heligoland
light. We then bore away for Cuxhaven, and I now knew for the first time
that we had a government emissary of some kind or another on board,
although he had hitherto confined himself strictly to the captain's
cabin.

All at once it came on to blow frorn the north--east, and we were again
driven back among the English fishing boats. The weather was thick as
buttermilk, so we had to keep the bell constantly ringing, as we could not
see the jib--boom end from the forecastle. Every now and then we heard a
small, hard, clanking tinkle, from the fishing--boats, as if an old pot
had been struck instead of a bell, and a faint hollo, "Fishing--smack," as
we shot past them in the fog, while we could scarcely see the vessels at
all. The morning after this particular time to which I allude, was darker
than any which had gone before it; absolutely you could not see the
breadth of the ship from you; and as we had not taken the sun for five
days, we had to grope our way ahnost entirely by the lead. I had the
forenoon watch, during the whole of which we were amongst a little fleet
of fishing--boats, although we could scarcely see them, but being
unwilling to lose ground by lying to, we fired a gun every half hour, to
give the small craft notice of our vicinity, that they might keep their
bells agoing. Every three or four minutes, the marine drum--boy, or some
amateur performer,--for most sailors would give a glass of grog any day to
be allowed to beat a drum for five minutes on endi--beat a short roll, and
often as we drove along, under a reefed foresail, and close reefed
topsails, we could hear the answering tinkle before we saw the craft from
which it proceeded; and when we did perceive her as we flew across her
stern, we could only see it, and her mast, and one or two well--swathed,
hardy fishermen, the whole of the little vessel forward being hid in a
cloud.

I had been invited this day to dine with the Captain, Mr Splinter, the
first lieutenant being also of the party; the cloth had been withdrawn,
and we had all had a glass or two of wine a--piece, when the fog settled
down so thickly, although it was not more than five o'clock in the
afternoon, that the captain desired that the lamp might be lit. It was
done, and I was remarking the contrast between the dull, dusky, brown
light, or rather the palpable London fog that came through the skylight,
and the bright yellow sparkle of the lamp, when the second lieutenant, Mr
Treenail, came down the ladder.

"We have shoaled our water to five fathoms, sir--shells and stones.--Here,
Wilson, bring in the lead."

The leadsman, in his pea--jacket and shag trowsers, with the raindrop
hanging to his nose, and a large knot in his cheek from a junk of tobacco
therein stowed, with pale, wet visage, and whiskers sparkling with
moisture, while his long black hair hung damp and lank over his fine
forehead and the stand--up cape of his coat, immediately presented himself
at the door, with the lead in his claws, an octagonal--shaped cone, like
the weight of a window--sash, about eighteen inches long, and two inches
diameter at the bottom, tapering away nearly to a point at top, where it
was flattened, and a hole pierced for the line to be fastened to. At the
lower end--the but--end, as I would say there was a hollow scooped out,
and filled with grease, so that when the lead was cast, the quality of the
soil, sand, or shells, or mud, that came up adhering to this lard,
indicated, along with the depth of water, our situation in the North Sea;
and by this, indeed, we guided our course, in the absence of all
opportunity of ascertaining our position by observations of the sun.

The Captain consulted the chart--"Sand and shells; why, you should have
deeper water, Mr Treenail. Any of the fishing--boats near you?"

"Not at present, sir; but we cannot be far off some of them."

"Well, let me know when you come near any of them."

A little after this, as became my situation, I rose and made my bow, and
went on deck.

By this time the night had fallen, and it was thicker than ever, so that,
standing beside the man at the wheel, you could not see farther forward
than the booms; yet it was not dark, either,--that is, it was moonlight,
so that the haze, thick as it was, had that silver gauze--like appearance,
as if it had been luminous in itself, that cannot be described to any one
who has not seen it. The gun had been fired just as I came on deck, but
no responding tinkle gave notice of any vessel being in the neighbourhood.
Ten minutes, it may have been a quarter of an hour, when a short roll of
the drum was beaten from the forecastle, where I was standing. At the
moment I thought I heard a holla, but I could not be sure. Presently I
saw a small light, with a misty halo surrounding it, just under the
bowsprit.

"Port your helm," sung out the boatswain,--"port your helm, or we shall be
over a fishing--boat!"

A cry arose from beneath a black object was for an instant distinguishable
and the next moment a crash was heard. The spritsailyard rattled, and
broke off sharp'at the point where it crossed the bowsprit; and a heavy
smashing thump against our bows told, in fearful language, that we had run
her down. Three of the men and a boy hung on by the rigging of the
bowsprit, and were brought safely on board; but two poor fellows perished
with their boat. It appeared, that they had broken their bell; and
although they saw us coming, they had no better means than shouting, and
showing a light, to advertise us of their vicinity.

Next morning the wind once more chopped round, and the weather cleared,
and in four--and--twenty hours thereafter we were off the mouth of the
Elbe, with three miles of white foaming shoals between us and the land at
Cuxhaven, roaring and hissing, as if ready to swallow us up. It was low
water, and, as our object was to land the emissary at Cuxhaven, we had to
wait, having no pilot for the port, although we had the signal flying for
one all morning, until noon, when we ran in close to the green mound which
constituted the rampart of the fort at the entrance. To our great
surprise, when we hoisted our colours and pennant, and fired a gun to
leeward, there was no flag hoisted in answer at the flag--staff, nor was
there any indication of a single living soul on shore to welcome us. Mr
Splinter and the Captain were standing together at the gangway--"Why,
sir," said the former, "this silence somewhat surprises me: what say you,
Cheragoux?" to the government emissary or messenger already mentioned, who
was peering through the glass close by.

"Why, mi Lieutenant, I don't certain dat all ish right on sore dere.'

"No?" said Captain Deadeye; "why, what do you see?"

"It ish not so mosh vat I shee, as vat I no shee, sir, dat trembles me. It
cannot surely be possib dat de Prussian an' Hanoverian troop have left de
place, and dat dese dem Franceman ave advance so far as de Elbe autrefois,
dat ish, once more?'

"French!" said Deadeye: 'poo, nonsense; no French hereabouts; none nearer
than those cooped up in Hamburgh with Davoust, take my word for it."

"I sall take your vord for any ting else in de large vorld, mi Capitain;
but I see someting glance behind dat rampart, parapet you call, dat look
dem like de shako of de infanterie legere of dat willain de Emperor
Napoleon. Ah! I see de red worsted epaulet of de grenadier also; sacre!
vat is dat pof of vite smoke?"

What it was we soon ascertained to our heavy cost, for the shot that had
been fired at us from a long 32--pound gun, took effect right abaft the
foremast, and killed three men outright, and wounded two. Several other
shots followed, but with less sure aim. Returning the fire was of no use,
as our carronades could not have pitched their metal much more than
halfway; or, even if they had been long guns, they would merely have
plumped the balls into the turf rampart, without hurting any one. So we
wisely hauled off, and ran up the river with the young flood for about an
hour, until we anchored close to the Hanoverian bank, near a gap in the
dike, where we waited till the evening.

As soon as the night fell, a boat with muffled oars was manned, to carry
the messenger on shore. I was in it; Mr Treenail, the second lieutenant,
steering. We pulled in right for a breach in the dike, lately cut by the
French, in order to inundate the neighbourhood; and as the Elbe at high
water is hereabouts much higher than the surrounding country, we were soon
sucked into the current, and had only to keep our oars in the water,
pulling a stroke now and then to give the boat steerage way. As we shot
through the gap into the smooth water beyond, we once more gave way, the
boat's head being kept in the direction of lights that we saw twinkling I
in the distance, apparently in some village beyond the inner embankment,
when all at once we dashed in amongst thousands of wild--geese, which rose
with a clang, and a concert of quacking, screaming, and hissing, that was
startling enough. We skimmed steadily on in the same direction "Oars,
men!" We were by this time close to a small cluster of houses, perched on
the forced ground or embankment, and the messenger hailed in German.

"Qui vive!" sung out a gruff voice; and we heard the clank of a musket, as
if some one had cast it from his shoulder, and caught it in his hands, as
he brought it down to the charge. Our passenger seemed a little taken
aback; but he hailed again, still in German. "Parole," replied the man.
A pause. "The watchword, or I fire." We had none to give.

"Pull round, men," said the lieutenant, with great quickness; "pull the
starboard oars; we are in the wrong box; back water the larboard. That's
it! give way, men."

A flash--crack went the sentry's piece, and ping sung the ball over our
heads. Another pause. Then a volley from a whole platoon. Again all was
dark and silent. Presently a field--piece was fired, and several rockets
were let off in our direction, by whose light we could see a whole company
of French soldiers standing to their arms, with several cannon, but we
were speedily out of the reach of their musketry. Several round shots
were now fired, that hissed, recochetting along the water close by us.
Not a word was spoken in the boat all this time; we continued to pull for
the opening in the dike, although, the current being strong against us, we
made but little way; while the chance of being cut off by the Johnny
Crapeau, getting round the top of the embankment, so as to command the gap
before we could reach it, became every moment more alarming.

The messenger was in great tribulation, and made several barefaced
attempts to stow himself away under the stem sheets.

The gallant fellows who composed the crew strained at their oars until
every thing cracked again; but as the flood made, the current against us
increased, and we barely held our own. "Steer her, out of the current,
man," said the lieutenant to the coxswain; the man put the tiller to port
as he was ordered.