CHAPTER I ENTERING THE NAVY Born in April 1841, I was about six months more than twelve years old when I joined the Royal Navy. My father was the seventh Earl of Sandwich; my mother, a daughter of the Marquis of Anglesea, who commanded cavalry at Waterloo, and lost his leg by one of the last shots fired on that eventful day. It is said that when Lord Anglesea’s thigh was struck he happened to be riding by the side of the Duke of Wellington, and exclaimed, suddenly, “O the Devil! my leg is hit!” The Duke turned round, looked at him, and said, “The deuce it is!” His leg was shortly afterwards amputated. As all the surgeon’s knives had become blunt from the long day’s work, it took twenty minutes to perform the operation. I was the second of four sons, and was educated by a private tutor. For some time before I was sent to sea, my father had often expressed a wish that, hailing from a naval family, one of his sons should select the Sea as his profession. Somehow or another, it devolved upon me to be the naval representative; and, though my father did not enforce this idea, I took it into my head that I should like it. My poor mother had misgivings. She loathed the sea, and could not bring herself to believe that any one else could endure its hardships. She was second to none, however, in her admiration of the Service. No doubt I thought it a fine thing to don a naval uniform and wear a sword at my side at twelve and a half. A position of importance was assured. Of sea-life I knew but little. I had on several occasions, when staying at the Castle at Cowes (enjoying the hospitality of my grandfather, Lord Anglesea), sailed in his famous old cutter, the _Pearl_ (130 tons); but beyond learning, when beating about the Solent, what sea-sickness was, my experience was naught. However, on the 15th of December 1853, I was gazetted a naval cadet in the Queen’s Navy. It was deemed advisable to send me to a school where boys were prepared for examination before joining the Navy. When it is remembered that one’s qualification consisted only in being able to master simple dictation from some English work, and arithmetic as far as the Rule of Three, this will seem incompatible with modern ideas. So it was, however; and I found myself, some time in October 1853, at the school of Mr. Eastman, a retired naval instructor who kept a house of about thirty boys in St. George’s Square, Portsea. This mansion I visited not long ago, and found it a tavern of the first quality. If my memory serves me rightly, we did not indulge in much study at that school. We used to walk out to Southsea Common in twos and twos to play games, and, if opportunity offered, to have rows with what we called “the cads,” the youth of the town: a pastime which the usher encouraged.