James Braithwaite, the Supercargo | Page 2

I had gone to the Blue Posts, an inn of old
renown, recommended by my brother Harry, who was then a
midshipman, and who had lately sailed for the East India station. It was
an inn more patronised by midshipmen and young lieutenants than by
post-captains and admirals. I had there expected to meet Captain
Hassall, the commander of the Barbara, but was told that, as he was the
master of a merchantman, he was more likely to have gone to the
Keppel's Head, at Portsea. Thither I repaired, and found a note from
him telling me to come off at once, and saying that he had had to return
on board in a hurry, as he found that several of his men had no
protection, and were very likely to be pressed, one man having already
been taken by a press-gang, and that he was certain to inform against
the others. Thus it was that I came to embark at the Common Hard at
Portsea, and had to beat down the harbour.
"Do you think as how you'd know your ship when you sees her, sir?"
asked old Bob, with a twinkle in his one eye, for he had discovered my
very limited amount of nautical knowledge, I suspect. "It will be a
tough job to find her, you see, among so many."
Now I had been on board very often as she lay alongside the quay in
the Thames. I had seen all her cargo stowed, knew every bale and
package and case; I had attended to the fitting-up of my own cabin, and
was indeed intimately acquainted with every part of her interior. But
her outside--that was a very different matter, I began to suspect. I saw
floating on the sea, far out in the distance, the misty outlines of a
hundred or more big ships; indeed, the whole space between
Portsmouth and the little fishing village of Ryde seemed covered with

shipping, and my heart sank within me at the thought of having to pick
out the Barbara among them.
The evening was drawing on, and the weather did not look pleasant;
still I must make the attempt. The convoy was expected to sail
immediately, and the interests of my employers, Garrard, Janrin and
Company, would be sacrificed should the sailing of the ship be delayed
by my neglect. These thoughts passed rapidly through my mind and
made me reply boldly, "We must go on, at all events. Time enough to
find her out when we get there."
We were at that time near the mouth of the harbour, with Haslar
Hospital seen over a low sandbank, and some odd-looking sea-marks
on one side, and Southsea beach and the fortifications of Portsmouth,
with a church tower and the houses of the town beyond. A line of
redoubts and Southsea Castle appeared, extending farther southward,
while the smooth chalk-formed heights of Portsdown rose in the
distance. As a person suddenly deprived of sight recollects with
especial clearness the last objects he has beheld, so this scene was
indelibly impressed on my mind, as it was the last near view I was
destined to have of old England for many a long day. For the same
reason I took a greater interest in old Bob and his boy Jerry than I
might otherwise have done. They formed the last human link of the
chain which connected me with my native land. Bob had agreed to take
my letters back, announcing my safe arrival on board--that is to say,
should I ever get there. My firm reply, added to the promise of another
five shillings for the trouble he might have, raised me again in his
opinion, and he became very communicative.
We tacked close to a buoy off Southsea beach. "Ay, sir, there was a
pretty blaze just here not many years ago," he remarked. "Now I mind
it was in '95--that's the year my poor girl Betty died--the mother of
Jerry there. You've heard talk of the Boyne--a fine ship she was, of
ninety-eight guns. While she, with the rest of the fleet, was at anchor at
Spithead, one morning a fire broke out in the admiral's cabin, and
though officers and men did their best to extinguish it, somehow or
other it got the upper hand of them all; but the boats from the other

ships took most of them off, though some ten poor fellows perished,
they say. One bad part of the business was, that the guns were all
loaded and shotted, and as the fire got to them they went off, some of
the shots reaching Stokes Bay, out there beyond Haslar, and others
falling among the shipping. Two poor fellows aboard the Queen
Charlotte were killed, and another wounded, though she and the other