There are some men who go about everything they undertake with all their hearts and souls, and this great officer was one of those.  He did nothing by halves and quarters, like so many other people.  The greatest deeds of arms, or the most trivial objects of passing amusement, engrossed his whole concentrated attention for the time.  He was equally in earnest when holding out examples of private generosity, or lending the heartiest and kindest encouragement even to the least distinguished of his followers, as when performing acts of the highest public spirit, or making the greatest sacrifices to what he considered his duty.  Everything, in short, that he did, or thought, or uttered, bore the stamp of the same peculiar impress of genuine zeal.  So eminently exciting, and even fascinating, was this truly officer-like conduct, that even those who had served under him the longest often wondered at the extent of their own exertions when roused by his example, and were led almost to believe that his very look had something stimulating in it which actually gave fresh vigour to their arms as well as to their thoughts.  With all this, he was the gentlest of the gentle, and accomplished whatever he undertook without apparent effort, or the least consciousness that what he was doing was remarkable.

I remember an instance of his skill in the small way.  One morning, near the spot where he had headed the storming party against the white ants, a working party of the crew of the Illustrious had commenced constructing a wharf before the dockyard.  The stones of which this platform or landing-place was to be built were, by Sir Samuel Hood’s orders, selected of very large dimensions, so much so, that the sailors came at last to deal with a mass of rock so heavy, that their combined strength proved unequal to moving it beyond a few inches towards its final position at the top of one corner.  The Admiral sat on his horse looking at the workmen for some time, occasionally laughing, and occasionally calling out directions, which the baffled engineers could by no means apply.  At length, his Excellency the Commander-in-chief became fidgety, and having dismounted, he tried to direct them in detail; but never a bit would the stone budge.  Finally, losing all patience, he leaped from the top of the bank, and roared out, in a voice of reproach and provocation, “Give me the crow-bar!” Thus armed, he pushed the officers and men to the right and left, while he insisted upon having the whole job to himself, literally, single-handed.  He first drove the claws of the instrument well under the edge of the stone, then placed with his toe a small iron pin on the ground under the bar, and across its length, to act as a fulcrum, or shoulder.  When all things were carefully adjusted to his mind, he slipped his hand to the upper end of the lever, and weighing it down, gave what he called “life” to the huge stone, which, just before, half-a-dozen strong men had not been able to disturb.  Sure enough, however, it now moved, though only about half-an-inch, towards its intended resting-place.  At each prize or hitch of the bar, the rock appeared to advance farther, till, after five or six similar shifts, it was finally lodged in the station prepared for it, where, I doubt not, it rests to this day, and may occupy for centuries to come.