The Sea: Its Stirring Story of Adventure, Peril, & Heroism (Vol. 1-4). Frederick Whymper
The anchorage is good and sufficiently deep, and the port is well protected from the winds. The town is entered by an arched gateway, within which is a spacious parade, lined with official residences, and faced by a handsome church. The town is in no way remarkable, but has well-supplied shops. The leading inhabitants prefer to live outside it on the higher and cooler plateaux of the island, where many of them have very fine country houses, foremost of which is a villa named Plantation House, belonging to the governor, surrounded by pleasant grounds, handsome trees and shrubs. In the garden grounds tropical and ordinary fruits and vegetables flourish; the mango, banana, tamarind, and sugar-cane; the orange, citron, grape, fig, and olive, equally with the common fruits of England. The yam and all the European vegetables abound; three crops of potatoes have been often raised from the same ground in one year. The hills are covered with the cabbage tree, and the log-wood and gum-wood trees. Cattle and sheep are scarce, but goats browse in immense herds on the hills. No beasts of prey are to be met, but there are plenty of unpleasant and poisonous insects. Game and fish are abundant, and turtles are often found. All in all, it is not a bad place for Jack after a long voyage, although not considered healthy. It has a military governor, and there are barracks.
The interior is a plateau, divided by low mountains, the former averaging 1,500 feet above the sea. The island is undoubtedly of volcanic origin. It was discovered on the 22nd May (St. Helena’s Day), by Juan de Nova, a Portuguese. The Dutch first held it, and it was wrested from them first by England in 1673, Charles II. soon afterwards granting it to the East India Company, who, with the exception of the period of Napoleon’s imprisonment, held the proprietorship to 1834, when it became an appanage of the Crown.
The fame of the little island rests on its having been the prison of the great disturber of Europe. Every reader knows the circumstances which preceded that event. He had gone to Rochefort with the object of embarking for America, but finding the whole coast so blockaded as to render that scheme impracticable, surrendered himself to Captain Maitland, commander of the English man-of-war Bellerophon, who immediately set sail for Torbay. No notice whatever was taken of his letter—an uncourteous proceeding, to say the least of it, towards a fallen foe—and on the 7th of August he was removed to the Northumberland, the flag-ship of Sir George Cockburn, which immediately set sail for St. Helena.
On arrival the imperial captive was at first lodged in a sort of inn. The following day the ex-emperor and suite rode out to visit Longwood, the seat selected for his residence, and when returning noted a small villa with a pavilion attached to it, about two miles from the town, the residence of Mr. Balcombe, an inhabitant of the island. The spot attracted the emperor’s notice, and the admiral, who had accompanied him, thought it would be better for him to remain there than to go back to the town, where the sentinels at the doors and the gaping crowds in a manner confined him to his chamber. The place pleased the emperor, for the position was quiet, and commanded a fine view. The pavilion was a kind of summer-house on a pointed eminence, about fifty paces from the house, where the family were accustomed to resort in fine weather, and this was the retreat hired for the temporary abode of the emperor. It contained only one room on the ground-floor, without curtains or shutters, and scarcely possessed a seat; and when Napoleon retired to rest, one of the windows had to be barricaded, so draughty was it, in order to exclude the night air, to which he had become particularly sensitive. What a contrast to the gay palaces of France!
ST. HELENA.
In December the emperor removed to Longwood, riding thither on a small Cape horse, and in his uniform of a chasseur of the guards. The road was lined with spectators, and he was received at the entrance to Longwood by a guard under arms, who rendered the prescribed honour to their illustrious captive. The place, which had been a farm of the East India Company, is situated on one of the highest parts of the island, and the difference between its temperature and that of the valley below is very great. It is surrounded by a level height of some extent, and is near the eastern coast. It is stated that continual and frequently violent winds blow regularly from the same quarter. The sun was rarely seen, and there were heavy rainfalls. The water, conveyed to Longwood in pipes, was found to be so unwholesome as to require boiling before it was fit for use. The surroundings were barren rocks, gloomy deep valleys, and desolate gullies, the only redeeming feature being a glimpse of the ocean on one hand. All this after La Belle France!
Longwood as a residence had not much to boast of. The building was rambling and inconveniently arranged; it had been built up by degrees, as the wants of its former inmates had increased. One or two of the suite slept in lofts, reached by ladders and trap-doors. The windows and beds were curtainless, and the furniture mean and scanty. Inhospitable and in bad taste, ye in power at the time! In front of the place, and separated by a tolerably deep ravine, the 53rd Regiment was encamped in detached bodies on the neighbouring heights. Here the caged lion spent the last five weary years of his life till called away by the God of Battles.
CHAPTER XIII.
The Service.—Officers’ Life on Board.
Conditions of Life on Ship-board—A Model Ward-room—An Admiral’s Cabin—Captains and Captains—The Sailor and his Superior Officers—A Contrast—A Commander of the Old School—Jack Larmour—Lord Cochrane’s Experiences—His Chest Curtailed—The Stinking Ship—The First Command—Shaving under Difficulties—The Speedy and her Prizes—The Doctor—On Board a Gun-boat—Cabin and Dispensary—Cockroaches and Centipedes—Other horrors—The Naval Chaplain—His Duties—Stories of an Amateur—The Engineer—His Increasing Importance—Popularity of the Navy—Nelson always a Model Commander—The Idol of his Colleagues, Officers, and Men—Taking the Men into his Confidence—The Action between the Bellona and Courageux—Captain Falknor’s Speech to the Crew—An Obsolete Custom—Crossing the Line—Neptune’s Visit to the Quarter-deck—The Navy of To-day—Its Backbone—Progressive Increase in the Size of Vessels—Naval Volunteers—A Noble Movement—Excellent Results—The Naval Reserve.
In the previous pages we have given some account of the various stations visited by the Royal Navy of Great Britain. Let us next take a glance at the ships themselves—the quarter-deck, the captain’s cabin, and the ward-room. In a word, let us see how the officers of a ship live, move, and have their being on board.
Their condition depends very much on their ship, their captain, and themselves. The first point may be dismissed briefly, as the general improvement in all descriptions of vessels, including their interior arrangements, is too marked to need mentioning. The ward-room of a modern man-of-war is often as well furnished as any other dining-room—handsomely carpeted, the sides adorned with pictures, with comfortable chairs and lounges, and excellent appointments at table. In the ward-room of a Russian corvette visited by the writer, he found a saloon large enough for a ball, with piano, and gorgeous side-board, set out as in the houses of most of the northern nations of Europe, with sundry bottles and incitives to emptying them, in the shape of salt anchovies and salmon, caviare and cheese. In a British flag-ship he found the admiral’s cabin, while in port at least, a perfect little bijou of a drawing-room, with harmonium and piano, vases of flowers, portfolios of drawings, an elaborate stove, and all else that could conduce to comfort and luxury. Outside of this was a more plainly-furnished cabin, used as a dining-room. Of course much of this disappears at sea. The china and glass are securely packed, and all of the smaller loose articles stowed away; the piano covered up in canvas and securely “tied up” to the side; likely enough the carpet removed, and a rough canvas substituted. Still, all is ship-shape and neat as a new pin. The few “old tubs” of vessels still in the service are rarely employed beyond trifling harbour duties, or are kept for emergencies on foreign stations. They will soon disappear, to be replaced by smart and handy little gun-boats or other craft, where, if the accommodations are limited, at least the very most is made of the room at command. How different all this is to many of the vessels of the last century and commencement of this, described by our nautical novelists as little better than colliers, pest ships, and