He was a left'nant when it
happened, and the King promoted him post-captain straight away.
Later on, no doubt because of his experiences in mutinies, he was
sent down to handle the big one at the Nore. "Now, then, you
dogs!"--that's how he began with the men's delegates--"His Majesty
will be graciously pleased to hear your grievances: and afterwards
I'll be graciously pleased to hang the lot of you and rope-end every
fifth man in the Fleet. That's plain sailing, I hope!" says he.
The delegates made a rush at him, triced him up hand and foot, and in
two two's would have heaved him to the fishes with an eighteen-pound
shot for ballast if his boat's crew hadn't swarmed on by the chains
and carried him off. After this he commanded a ship at Camperdown,
and another at Copenhagen, and being a good fighter as well as a man
of science, was chosen for Governor of New South Wales. He hadn't
been forty-eight hours in the colony, I'm told, before the music
began, and it ended with his being clapped into irons by the military
and stuck in prison for two years to cool his heels. At last they
took him out, put him on board a ship of war and played farewell to
him on a brass band: and, by George, Sir, if he didn't fight with the
captain of the ship all the way home, making claim that as senior in
the service he ought to command her! By this time, as you may guess,
there was nothing to be done with the fellow but make him an Admiral;
and so they did; and as Admiral of the Blue he died in the year
'seventeen, only a couple of weeks ahead of my poor grandfather, that
would have set it down to the finger of Providence if he'd only lived
to hear the news.
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