In addition to my well known increase in personal strength, I acquired a still greater superiority over my companions by the advantage of education; and this I took great care to make them feel on every occasion.  I was appealed to in all cases of literary disputation, and was, by general consent, the umpire of the steerage.  I was termed “good company,”—­not always to the advantage of the possessor of such a talent; for it often tends, as it did with me, to lead into very bad company.  I had a fine voice, and played on one or two instruments.  This frequently procured me invitations to the gun-room, and excuses from duty, together with more wine or grog than was of service to me, and conversation that I had better not have heard.

We were ordered on a cruise to the coast of France; and as the junior port-admiral had a spite against our captain, he swore by ——­ that go we should, ready or not ready.  Our signal was made to weigh, while lighters of provisions, and the powder-boy with our powder, were lying alongside—­the quarter-deck guns all adrift, and not even mounted.  Gun after gun from the Royal William was repeated by the Gladiator, the flag-ship of the harbour-admiral, and with our signal to part company.

The captain, not knowing how the story might travel up by telegraph to London, and conscious, perhaps, that he had left a little too much to the first lieutenant, “tore the ship away by the hair of the head”—­unmoored, bundled everything in upon deck out of the lighters—­turned all the women out of the ship, except five or six of the most abandoned—­and, with a strong northerly wind, ran down to Yarmouth Roads, and through the Needles to sea, in a state of confusion and disaster which I hope never to see again.

The rear-admiral, Sir Hurricane Humbug, stood on the platform looking at us (I was afterwards told), and was heard to exclaim, “D——­n his eyes” (meaning our captain), “there he goes at last!  I was afraid that that fellow would have grounded on his beef bones before we should have got him out!”

“The more haste the less speed,” is oftener true in naval affairs than in any other situation of life.  With us it had nearly proved fatal to the ship.  Had we met with an enemy, we must either have disgraced the flag by running away, or been taken.

No sooner clear of the Needles than night came on, and with it a heavy gale of wind at north-north-west.  The officers and men were at work till four in the morning, securing the boats, booms, and anchors, clearing the decks of provisions, and setting up the lower rigging, which by the labour of the ship, had begun to stretch to an alarming degree; by great exertion this was accomplished, and the guns secured before the gale had increased to a hurricane.

About nine the next morning, a poor marine, a recruit from Portsmouth, unfortunately fell overboard; and though many brave fellows instantly jumped into one of the quarter-boats, and begged to be lowered down to save him, the captain, who was a cool calculator, thought the chance of losing seven men was greater than that of saving one, so the poor fellow was left to his fate.  The ship, it is true, was hove to; but she drifted to leeward much faster than the unfortunate man could swim, though he was one of the best swimmers I ever beheld.