greatly satisfied, and did their duty more cheerfully and better, and not a man was flogged after this but one, and he richly deserved it—it was for striking an officer when on shore on duty. But in all my experience at sea I have found seamen grateful forgood usage, and yet they like to see subordination kept up, as they know the duty could not be carried on without it; but whenever I hear of a mutiny in a ship, I am much of the opinion of Admiral Lord Collingwood, who said it must assuredly be the fault of the captain or his officers.
Our ship being leaky, we went to Bombay and there docked her, and during this time the Bien Aimé and prize arrived; but the turtle had all lately died from the cold weather at nights. The prize was immediately sold, and I received three rupees and a quarter for my share.
My little prize money was soon expended, together with my watch, which I sold to pay my part of the expenses of the mess; and the most of it went for gin, though I was averse to ardent spirits. But some of them were as wild as March hares, and among them a little Welshman named Emmet, whom we had sometimes to lay on a chest and tie his hands and feet to the handles till he was sober. One day when he was on shore on liberty, and of course tipsy, in passing a shop in Bombay he saw a large glass globe hanging in it, with gold fish swimming and live birds in it; he stopped and stared at it with astonishment, and muttered to himself, “What, birds swimming and fish flying!—impossible”; and in order to be satisfied, he threw a stone which hit the globe and knocked it all to pieces about the shop.
He was soon arrested and sent to jail, and a report was sent on board next morning that one of our people was there. An officer was sent to see who it was and there found poor Tom Emmet very much cast-down in the mouth. He was released and brought on board, but the globe was to be paid for; therefore the ship’s company subscribed eight hundred rupees (a great sum for the value of the globe) and paid the owner for it!
One day a Gentoo, who spoke a little English, came on board, and said he was from Dongaree and sent by one of our men for his leg, as he could not return on board without it. This demand seemed so strange that they took no notice of it at first, but the Gentoo in his bad English insisted that he was right, and, after a deal of puzzling, one of the people recollected that Bandy (the ship’s cook) was on shore, and inquiring among his messmates, found that one of them who had been on shore with Bandy, and slept in the same house, had brought away Bandy’s wooden leg by way of frolic—and no wonder the man could not return without his leg, which was soon sent to him, and he returned on board.
The Minerva, having got her leak stopped, and new coppered, was brought out of dock, and the Bien Aimé went in; but she was found so rotten that they broke her up, after being only a few months in the service (she mounted 20 guns). We then began to rig the Minerva with all speed; and I could easily have deserted here, but we had such accounts from Englandthat the war could not last six months, as almost all Europe were at war against the French Republic, that I fixed my mind on returning to England in the Minerva, in order, when paid off, to visit my remaining friends and relations, then bid them a long farewell, return to Calcutta, and there remain until I could do something to better my situation.
The Minerva being rigged and stored, we sailed from Bombay on January 12, 1794, none of us knowing (except the admiral) where we were bound for, for he always kept the ship’s destination a secret to himself. Some said we could not be bound for England, as we had left several casks of water behind on the Bunder Head, and that no ship had come out to relieve us; however, when we got a little distance out we shaped a homeward-bound course, which made us rejoice.
Near the entrance of the British Channel we came up with and passed