The Silver Captain.—The following story has been authenticated by the present Lord Digby, and seems to me to be well worthy of a corner in ‘N. & Q.’
On October 14, 1799, Admiral Sir Henry Digby, commanding the frigate Alomene, shaped his course for Cape St. Vincent, and was running to the southward, in the latitude of Cape Finisterre. At eleven o’clock at night Sir Henry rang his bell, to summon the officer of the watch, and asked him, “How are we steering?”
“South-south-west, sir,” was the reply.
“What sort of weather?”
“The same, sir, as when you left the deck; fine strong breeze; starlight night.”
“Are we carrying the same sail as at sunset?”
“Yes, sir. Double-reefed topsails and foresail.”
Digby looked at the officer of the watch attentively for a moment, and then asked him whether, to his knowledge, any one had entered the cabin.
“I believe not, sir,” was the reply; “but I will inquire of the sentry.” “Sentry!” exclaimed the officer of the watch, “has there been anybody in the captain’s cabin?”
“No sir—nobody.”
“Very odd,” rejoined Digby. “I was perfectly convinced that I had been spoken to.”
The officer of the watch then left the cabin, and returned to the quarter-deck. At two in the morning the captain’s bell was again rung—the same questions repeated, and the same answers given. “Most extraordinary thing,” said the captain. “Every time I dropped asleep I heard somebody shouting in my ear, ‘Digby! Digby! go to the northward! Digby! Digby! go to the northward!’ I shall certainly do so. Take another reef in your topsails—haul your wind, tack every hour till daybreak, and then call me.”
The officer of the watch acted in strict accordance with these strange orders. When relieved, at 4 A.M., by the officer of the morning watch, that officer expressed great astonishment at finding the ship on a wind.
“What is the meaning of this?” he exclaimed.
“Meaning!” said the other. “The captain has gone stark, staring mad, that’s all”; and he told his story, at which they both laughed heartily.
There being no help for it, these strange orders were strictly obeyed, and the frigate was tacked at four, at five, at six, and at seven o’clock. She had just come round for the last time when the man at the masthead called out, “Large ship on the weather bow, sir!”
On nearing her, a musket was discharged to bring her to. She was promptly boarded, and proved to be a Spanish vessel laden with dollars, and a very rich cargo to boot. By this prize the fortunate dreamer secured a large portion of the great fortune which he had amassed in the naval service.
According to Lord Digby—the son of the Silver Captain—the prize was so valuable that each midshipman’s share of the prize-money amounted to 1,000l.
In C. D. Yonge’s ‘Naval History’ (p. 646) I find a slightly different account. It is there stated that there were two Spanish frigates laden with treasure. These were first engaged by Capt. Young in the Ethalion, and, when the day broke, Capt. Gore, in the Triton, and Capt. Digby, in the Alomene, came up from different quarters.” It appears that the treasure was so weighty that sixty-three artillery waggons were employed to convey it to the Plymouth citadel. Each captain received 40,000l., and each seaman 200l. This gives some idea as to the value of the prize which was captured on October 15, 1799. Richard Edgcumbe.
Mount Edgcumbe, Devonport.
Wag.—It was suggested by Wedgwood that the sb. wag is short for wag-halter; and those who know our old plays will accept this. In Saintsbury’s ‘Elizabethan Literature,’ p. 126, there is a striking proof of it in a poem by Sir Walter Raleigh. Sir Walter explains the meaning of the words wood, weed, and wag very clearly, the weed being hemp, and the wag being the wag-halter, or man to be hung. Your readers will no doubt see the application.
And flourish while they are asunder far;
But on a day they meet all in a place,
And when they meet, they one another mar.
The Wood is that that makes the gallows-tree;
The Weed is that that strings the hangman’s bag;
The Wag, my pretty knave, betokens thee.
Green springs the tree, hemp grows, the wag is wild;
But when they meet, it makes the timber rot,
It frets the halter, and it chokes the child.
Coco-nut, not Cocoa-nut.—It may interest readers of ‘N. & Q.’ to know that a recent number of the new quarterly, Annals of Botany, contains a short article by Prof. Bayley Balfour upon the correct spelling of this word. He shows that etymology and early authority alike make “coco-nut” the correct form for the fruit of the coco palm, and that “cocoa-nut” is merely a relic of the ignorance of those who supposed cocoa and chocolate to be obtained from the coco-nut. This “ignorance, madam, pure ignorance!” was unfortunately shared by Dr. Johnson at the time when he prepared his ‘Dictionary,’ and although he afterwards learned otherwise, and in his ‘Life of Drake’ correctly wrote coco, plural cocoes, this was after the publication of the last edition of the ‘Dictionary’ in his lifetime, so that he had no opportunity of correcting his unfortunate and mis-
