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FAMOUS FIGHTERS OF THE FLEET


[Illustration: Publisher's logo]


[Illustration:

 _Frontispiece_.

THE ENEMY IN SIGHT--'FULL SPEED AHEAD!'

[Looking down, on board a battleship, from the forward fighting-top.]]


FAMOUS FIGHTERS OF THE FLEET

Glimpses through the Cannon Smoke in the Days
of the Old Navy

by

EDWARD FRASER


 They left us a kingdom none can take,
   The realm of the circling sea,
 To be ruled by the rightful sons of Blake
   And the Rodneys yet to be.

 Henry Newbolt.

 As it was in the days of long ago,
   And as it still shall be.

 Rudyard Kipling.


With Illustrations






London
Macmillan and Co., Limited
New York: the Macmillan Company
1904

All rights reserved




DEDICATION


 The lasses and the little ones, Jack Tars, they look to you;
 The despots over yonder, let 'em do whate'er they please,
 God bless the little isle where a man may still be true,
 God bless the noble isle that is Mistress of the Seas.

 Tennyson.




PREFACE


This book, as far as its subject is concerned, is something of an
experiment, something of a new departure. It is an attempt to interest
people by recalling some of the associations of the brave days of old
that cluster round and attach to certain historic man-of-war names. As
far as that goes, indeed, having for its subject, as it has, the doings
in battle of famous hearts of oak of the fighting times--

 Those oaken giants of the ancient race
     That ruled all seas,

the book ought not to require an elaborate introduction, any special
pleading on its behalf, among those whose pride it is to count
themselves the

     Sons and sires of seamen
 Whose realm is all the sea.

Further, it may possibly be, that in a degree, this book may serve as
a reminder, even to some of those who to-day man His Majesty's Fleet,
of what an inheritance is theirs, and how tremendous an obligation.
The heroism of the Old Navy lives evermore in the man-of-war names of
the modern navy, and should lead our sailors more even than they do,
to 'glory,' in Kinglake's stirring language, in their ships' 'ancient
names, connecting each with its great traditions, and founding upon the
cherished syllables that consciousness of power which is a condition of
ascendancy in war.'

The names of the men-of-war, the stories of which are told here, stand
in the forefront among the famous names of the Sea Service for their
associations with great and dashing exploits. They are possibly not the
most widely known of all, not so familiar to everybody as are certain
other names similarly associated with other famous feats of arms of the
fighting days,--but that, after all, is perhaps all the more reason
that their stories should be told now. 'We are few, but of the right
sort,' said Nelson on one of the memorable occasions of his life,
and it is hoped that the half-dozen stories within these covers may
with justice say the same for themselves. The story of Lord Charles
Beresford's little _Condor_, if not an Old Navy event, has much in
keeping with the old order, and is included on its merits as being as
gallant a piece of fighting-work in its way as has been done in the
British Navy in our time.

My aim throughout has been to interest my readers. That a man-of-war's
life-record is not necessarily a dull subject, a mere collection
of dry facts, nor its incidents all matters of common knowledge,
the following pages, it is hoped, will show. In the main, as far as
possible, the accounts and impressions of eye-witnesses of the various
events related, as written down while the events were in progress
or were still fresh in recollection, old logs and letters, diaries
and journals, and the newspapers of the time, have been relied on.
Strangely appealing and mutely eloquent at times are some of our old
ship logs, with their pages faded and yellow and blurred, often with
the stain on them of what was once, more than a century ago, a fleck of
fresh sea spray that rested there just as it was whisked in through an
open port; now and then indeed with on them a dull rusty brown smear or
spot, grimly suggestive of something else. And, too, a terse, blunt
note, scrawled painfully down after a day under fire by the hard fist
of some rough Old Navy skipper, gone long since to his last reckoning,
says more--a good deal more--often, than pages could do of smoother
prose, by people who were not on the spot.

Practically all the literature of the subject in book form has been
laid under contribution. Among modern writers I am particularly
indebted to Captain Mahan and Professor J.K. Laughton, R.N., of King's
College, London, and to Mr. David Hannay, to whose brilliant monograph
on Rodney I am in a special degree under obligation.

For myself, I am well aware of the pitfalls that beset the path of the
landsman who presumes to write of nautical matters. So, indeed, it has
ever been since Agur the son of Jakeh, in the days of King Solomon,
placed it on record that "the way of a ship in the midst of the sea"
was "too wonderful." For any shortcomings of mine in this regard I ask
the kindly indulgence of my naval readers.

Throughout the stories, I trust, the amplest justice has been done,
and the fullest credit given, to those who were our gallant foes on the
several occasions.

In conclusion, I am greatly indebted to Lord Selborne, First Lord of
the Admiralty, for allowing me to use information which has proved
invaluable for my purposes; to Mr. A.B. Tucker of the _Graphic_ for
assistance with my proofs and maps, and suggestions as to certain
footnotes; and to Commander C.N. Robinson, R.N., for placing at my
disposal his fine collection of old naval prints and drawings.

 E.F.




CONTENTS


                                                               PAGE

 1. The _Monmouths_ in War                                        1
 How Arthur Gardiner fought the _Foudroyant_.

 2. Rodney's Ship on Rodney's Day                                43
 The _Formidable_ that broke the line.

 3. Won at the Cannon's Mouth                                   172
 His Majesty's Ship _Undaunted_.

 4. 'Billy Blue': A Ballad of the Fleet                         199
 One of the _Royal Sovereign's_ days.

 5. The 'Fighting' _Téméraire_.                                 213
 Where, how, and when she made her name.

 6. 'Well Done, _Condor_!'                                      287
 Alexandria, 1882.




ILLUSTRATIONS


  The Enemy in Sight--'Full Speed Ahead!'               _Frontispiece_

                                                                PAGE

  'Ready, Aye Ready!' Our Cruiser _Monmouth_ of to-day           1

  In Action at Midnight                                         25

  The _Monmouth_ fighting the _Foudroyant_ at close quarters    28

  'Success to the _Formidable_!' Nov. 17, 1898                  43

  'Ut Veniant Omnes!' The Big 50-Ton Guns of the
  _Formidable_                                                  46

  Rodney's _Formidable_ on the day before her Launch            52

  Rodney's Sword                                                53

  Admiral Lord Rodney, K.B. (after Gainsborough's
  portrait)                                                     57

  The Pitons of St. Lucia                                       61

  The Count De Grasse                                           63

  Clock-face from the _Ville de Paris_                          71

  Bell of the _Ville de Paris_                                  72

  Chart showing Rodney's pursuit of De Grasse                   83

  Monument of the three Captains--Blair, Bayne, and
  Lord Robert Manners--in Westminster Abbey                    111

  Fighting the Guns on the Main Deck                           114

  The Critical Moment of Rodney's Battle--how the
  French Line was broken                                       122

  The _Formidable_ breaking the Line. April 12, 1782           126

  One of the 'Fighting Lanterns' of the _Ville de Paris_       147

  De Grasse's Flag comes down. Rodney watching the
  Surrender of the _Ville de Paris_                            148

  'Count De Grasse resigning his Sword to Admiral
  Rodney'                                                      150

  The 'Rodney Temple,' Spanish Town, Jamaica                   162

  Admiral De Grasse as a Prisoner of War                       163

  Captain Robert Faulknor                                      172

  Captain Faulknor storming Fort Louis                         187

  The Death of Captain Faulknor                                197

  'Billy Blue'--Admiral the Hon. Sir William Cornwallis,
  G.C.B.                                                       199

  'Cornwallis's Retreat'                                       208

  The 'Fighting' _Téméraire_ tugged to her last Berth to
  be broken up                                                 213

  Where Turner met the _Téméraire_                             215

  Camp of the Grand Army at Boulogne, 1804                     227

  Captain Lucas--the French hero of Trafalgar                  253

  The Battle of Trafalgar. Oct. 21, 1805--2.15 P.M.            260

  Admiral Villeneuve's Sword                                   265

  Admiral Villeneuve's Signature                               279

  The _Téméraire_ entering Portsmouth Harbour on her
  return from Trafalgar. Dec. 20, 1805                         281

  Relics of the 'Fighting' _Téméraire_                         284

  Alexandria--July 11, 1882. The _Condor_ attacking
  Fort Marabout                                                287

  Bombardment of Alexandria. July 11, 1882--9 A.M.             295

  Vice-Admiral Lord Charles Beresford, K.C.B.                  298


[Illustration: 'READY, AYE READY!' OUR CRUISER _MONMOUTH_ OF TO-DAY

From a drawing by W. Fred Mitchell, by kind permission of Messrs. J.
Griffin & Co., Portsmouth.]




I

THE _MONMOUTHS_ IN WAR

HOW ARTHUR GARDINER FOUGHT THE _FOUDROYANT_

 Aye stout were her timbers and stoutly commanded,
   In the annals of glory unchalleng'd her name;
 Aye ready for battle when duty demanded,
   Aye ready to conquer--or die in her fame!

 _Old Song._


The _Monmouth_ of to-day is one of our 'County Cruisers'--and among
them one of the smartest and best. Her special rôle in war-time will
be to help in safeguarding the commerce of the British Empire on the
high seas, to see that the corn-ships and the cattle-ships from across
the Atlantic, on which the people of these islands depend for their
existence from day to day, reach port without molestation by the
'corsair cruisers' of the enemy. It will be her duty to patrol on the
trade routes far and wide, and chase off hostile ships at sight, or run
them down and fight them. All that, with other duties at times thrown
in:--

 For this is our office, to spy and make room.
 As hiding, yet guiding the foe to their doom;
 Surrounding, confounding, to bait and betray
 And tempt them to battle the seas' width away.

For her work, whatever it may be, the _Monmouth_ is well equipped. She
carries quick-firing guns and Krupp steel armour on her sides, and can
steam at high speed--23 knots, or, on occasion, a trifle more.

A glance round on board this brand new twentieth-century cruiser of
ours may be of interest at the outset.

An ugly customer to tackle looks the _Monmouth_ in her 'war-paint' of
sombre Navy grey, devoid, as are our modern men-of-war, of all that has
to do with prettiness and the merely decorative.

 Mis arreos son las armas,
 Mi descanso el pelear,

 My ornaments are arms,
 My pastime is in war,

is the motto of the Royal Navy of our day.

A big ship is the _Monmouth_, a first-class cruiser of not far short of
10,000 tons displacement,--9800 tons, to be exact,--a floating weight
heavier than all the mass of iron and steel in the Eiffel Tower. She
measures over all, from end to end, from ram to rudder, 463-1/2 feet.
To give an idea, in another way, of the ship's size. If she were stood
on end inside St. Paul's Cathedral, her bows would project 60 feet
above the cross over the dome. Set up on end beside the Clock Tower at
Westminster, the ship's length would overtop the tower by half as high
again. The Monument piled on the top of the Nelson Column would need an
extra 50 feet to equal the _Monmouth_ from stem to stern. Propped up
against Beachy Head, the _Monmouth_ would overtop the turf at the edge
of the cliff summit fully 90 feet. Laid lengthways inside St. Paul's,
the _Monmouth_ would fill the whole length of the nave and chancel from
the western door to the reredos. Placed along the front of Buckingham
Palace, the _Monmouth's_ hull would overlap the façade for 50 feet on
either side. In width the ship is 66 feet broad amidships,--22 yards,
just the length of a cricket-pitch, or one foot wider than London
Bridge after its recent enlargement. It takes 5 tons weight of paint to
coat the hull above water, and 6 tons to coat it below; and costs, the
single item of paint by itself, every time it is laid on--£800.

Her three funnels each stand up 75 feet into the air--very nearly
the height of the Round Tower of Windsor Castle above the mound at
its foot. Each funnel weighs 20 tons, and costs £400 to make--a
year's pay of a colonel of hussars. In diameter each is the exact
size, to an inch, of the 'Two-penny Tube.' If they were laid flat, a
life-guardsman in King's Birthday regimentals could trot through them.
Each lower mast is a steel tube, 80 feet from end to end and weighing
20 tons. The rudder weighs 18 tons; and the ram, a steel casting, 19
tons. The propellers each weigh 12 tons, and are each 16 feet across
from tip to tip. The stern-post weighs 20 tons.

The armour on the conning-tower is 10 inches thick, and weighs 65 tons,
the weight of a Great Western express engine. It cost £7500--a sum
equal to the lumped salaries for one year of all the Sea Lords of the
Admiralty. The 10 inches of nickel steel of which it is made can stand
a harder blow than the 17 inches of iron armour on the turrets of the
old _Inflexible_. The conning-tower is the main 'fighting station'
of the ship, the nerve-centre of the mighty organisation. Thence in
action, from behind a ring-fence of solid metal, are controlled the
huge engines, far down below, impelled by

 The strength of twice ten thousand horse
   That serve the one command,

--if one may vary Mr. Kipling,--engines of the power of twenty-two
thousand horses, the strength of an army corps of cavalry; also
the steering of the ship and the firing of the guns. By means of a
simple arrangement in the three primary colours--red, blue, and
yellow--painted in bands round the walls of the conning-tower inside,
the captain can tell at a glance, at any moment, which of his guns, and
how many of them, can train on an enemy at any given point.

The _Monmouth's_ 'fighting-weight' is another matter. Fourteen 6-inch
guns, Vickers-Maxims of the latest pattern, contribute something to
that. This is the sort of weapon the 6-inch gun is. Imagine one set
up in Trafalgar Square to fire with extreme elevation. Its 100-pound
shells would drop on Kingston Bridge in one direction; beyond Harrow,
ten miles off, in another. Other shells would burst over Barnet; sweep
the woodland rides of Epping Forest; startle the tennis-players on the
trim lawns of Chislehurst in Kent. And not many seconds would elapse
between the flash of the discharge and the shell doing its work.
Ten miles, of course, is the farthest that the gun could shoot, its
'estimated extreme range.' In war-time that sort of firing would not be
worth while, as it would be impossible to mark the shots. Seven miles,
roughly, or 12,000 yards, is the limit the gun is sighted for. Then
again, imagine our gun firing at a mark. At 2000 yards, the minimum
engaging distance in naval war because of torpedoes, aiming from
Trafalgar Square at a target set up, say, in Ludgate Circus or at Hyde
Park Corner, the shot would smash through a slab of wrought iron 14
inches thick as easily as a stone goes through a pane of glass. Firing
at 6000 yards, the maximum distance for opening action in ordinary
circumstances, at a target set up at Hammersmith, for example, the shot
would cut a hole clean through 6-1/2 inches of wrought iron--armour
2 inches thicker than our first ironclad, the _Warrior_, had on her
sides. Fired with a full charge of 25 lbs. of cordite, the shot leaves
the gun at a speed of 2775 feet (or half a mile and forty-five yards)
a second--a pace capable of carrying it in a minute as far as Reading;
with energy sufficient to toss Cleopatra's Needle 30 feet into the air
as lightly as a schoolboy flings up a wicket, or heave the biggest
railway express engine 100 feet high, to hurl an elephant over the
Eiffel Tower, or a cart-horse out of sight to three times the height of
Snowdon.

Every round from one of the _Monmouth's_ 6-inch guns costs the country
£12. The gun itself costs £1700. As a fact, each gun takes five months
of work, night and day, to make; and weighs 7-1/2 tons, like all modern
naval guns of any size, it is a 'wire gun,' constructed of steel tape
wound round an inner tube or 'barrel,' in the same way that the string
is laid round the handle of a cricket-bat, and jacketed over by an
outer steel tube. Upwards of 18,200 yards of steel 'wire' are used
for each 6-inch gun, 10-1/2 miles of it--a length that, pulled out
straight, would stretch for half the distance between Dover and Calais.
The set of sights for each gun, as an item by itself, costs £80.

The _Monmouth's_ 6-inch guns are each capable of firing from five to
eight shots a minute, and there are on board, besides, ten 12-pounders,
three 3-pounders, and some Maxims. The 12-pounders cost £300 each, and
take four months to make.

In action, the _Monmouth_, fighting both broadsides at once, would
let fly at the enemy at each discharge two-thirds of a ton of
projectiles; within the first minute 3-1/2 tons weight of metal; every
five minutes, 18 tons--all bursting shells. That is the _Monmouth's_
'fighting-weight.'

To supply her guns the _Monmouth_ carries, stowed away in the different
magazines far down in the recesses of the hold, 200 tons weight of
ammunition--30 to 40 tons of it in cordite cartridges; the rest in shot
and loaded shell, with each projectile painted its differentiating
colour--white-banded 'armour-piercers,' red-tipped shrapnel, yellow
lyddite, and so on.

Electricity works the great hooded turrets on the forecastle and
quarter-deck, each of 4-inch nickel steel and carrying a pair of 6-inch
guns, mounted side by side in double-barrelled sporting-gun fashion
on a twin mounting, training the eighty odd tons of dead-weight to
right and left, or from one side of the ship to the other, through
three-quarters of a circle, as easily as one wheels one's arm-chair
in front of the fire after dinner. Electricity also 'feeds' the guns,
both in the turrets and in the casemates, as fast as they can be fired,
bringing up the ammunition to the guns directly from the magazines.

The 4-inch Krupp steel armour on the _Monmouth's_ sides at the
water-line, from the ram for three-quarters of the ship's length
aft, cost to manufacture, in round figures, £60,000--equal to the
total yearly income of four Archbishops of Canterbury or six Lord
Chancellors. Two 'turtle-back' decks of thin steel armour further help
to keep out shot. Altogether, in dead-weight, the armour all over
the ship--on the sides, decks, bulkheads, conning-tower, casemates,
barbettes, ammunition-supply tubes--amounts to 1800 tons, a fifth of
the ship's entire displacement weight in sea-going trim.

Then another detail, and the most important of all. Speed, for a
cruiser, is, of course, the prime essential. It means the power
of picking out a foe, of running down a foe, the command of the
weather-gage, the choice of the range, the power of bringing on or
refusing battle. Twenty-three knots an hour, or 26-1/2 statute miles,
is the _Monmouth's_ best pace. Twenty-three knots an hour means the
covering of a land mile in 2 minutes 36 seconds; or 100 yards in 7-4/5
seconds. In modern athletics 9-3/5 seconds is the record for 100 yards.
The record for the Oxford and Cambridge boat race works out at under
11 knots an hour--considerably less than the _Monmouth's_ everyday
cruising speed in time of peace.

How it is done is, of course, an engine-room affair. Two main engines
drive the ship: one engine to each of the immense 16-feet-wide
twin-screws. At full speed they work up to an aggregate power of
twenty-two thousand horses: eleven thousand horses each engine.
Thirty-one boilers, of the much-maligned Belleville type, supply the
steam. What that means the staff below have good reason to know. The
thirty-one boilers, with their 'economisers,' provide seven thousand
tubes to be looked after and kept clean. Collectively, the boiler-tubes
offer to the fires in the stoke-hold a total heating-surface of 50,300
square feet: an area, that is, of an acre and a sixth, a space about
equal to Trafalgar Square within the roadway, or the floor-space of the
Albert Hall. Each boiler has two furnaces to heat it, making sixty-two
in all. When all are alight they burn 40 tons of coal at once, on a
grate-area of 1610 square feet; practically giving off a square space
of flame 170 yards each way.

The main engines, however, are by no means all. There are on board
sixty-five separate 'auxiliary engines' besides. The weight of the
machinery alone on board the _Monmouth_, amounts to 1750 tons--a fourth
of the total weight of the ship.

Six hundred and eighty officers and men form the complement of the
_Monmouth_, and their pay costs the nation £32,000 a year. To feed
them, 'bare navy,' costs two-thirds of that sum a year. The ship
herself, as she floats, represents to the country a value not very far
short of three-quarters of a million sterling, or, put in concrete
form, 8 tons of sovereigns--a railway truck packed tight. Our first
ironclad, the _Warrior_, cost less than half the amount expended on the
_Monmouth_. The _Collingwood_, a first-class battleship of eighteen
years ago, cost to complete £20,000 less than the price paid for the
_Monmouth_ cruiser of to-day. Ten _Victorys_ or _Royal Georges_ could
have been built and fitted for sea at the cost of this one cruiser of
ours.

Such, in brief, are some of the 'points' of our modern _Monmouth_. The
reputation that she has to live up to, the ancestry of her famous name,
in particular the magnificent feat of arms that one of our _Monmouths_,
the most famous of all, once achieved--these have now to be told.

       *       *       *       *       *

The _Monmouth_, as a fact, bears a name that ranks second to none
for brilliant associations and memories of heroism. Hardly another
man-of-war has so many 'battle honours' to its credit. No ship of the
Old Navy perhaps ever won such distinction in battle for sheer hard
fighting as did the six _Monmouths_, one after the other, from which
our cruiser _Monmouth_ of to-day takes her name. Were it possible for
His Majesty's ships-of-war to have ship flags for display at reviews
or on other ceremonial occasions, just as the regiments of the army
use regimental colours, the _Monmouth's_ flag would show a record of
upwards of thirty fights, and even then the list would not be complete.
No flag, probably, could display the detailed record of the occasions
on which _Monmouths_ of old did their duty before the enemy at sea.

The navy owes the name to Charles the Second, who introduced it on the
roll of the fleet as a mark of special favour and a paternal compliment
to Lucy Walters' ill-starred son, the vanquished of Sedgemoor, whose
headless body now lies beneath the altar of the Chapel of St. Peter ad
Vincula in the Tower.

That was in the year of the Dutch attack on Chatham, and the same
year saw our first _Monmouth's_ first fight. Mr. Pepys's 'complaints'
notwithstanding, the _Monmouth_ made a good show on the occasion.[1]
Her allotted duty was to bar the approach to the iron chain stretched
across the Medway below Upnor Castle, and Captain Clarke, the
_Monmouth's_ captain, kept his ship at her post until the position was
no longer tenable. The _Monmouth_ later on was in the thick of the
fight in the tremendous battle off Solebay, where James, Duke of York,
defeated the Dutch fleet under Admiral Ruyter after nearly sixteen
hours at close quarters; in Prince Rupert's three battles with the
Dutch in 1673; and at La Hogue.

Our second _Monmouth_ was with Rooke when he made his swoop on the
Vigo galleons--which dashing affair is commemorated to this day in the
name of Vigo Street, off Regent Street;--took a distinguished part in
the capture of Gibraltar; fought the French off Malaga; and helped
Byng--Sir George Byng, Viscount Torrington, the father of the other
Byng known to English history, the Byng who beat the enemy and was not
shot--to settle the Spanish fleet off Cape Passaro in the year 1718.

The next _Monmouth_ had a hand in defeating two French fleets within
six months--first with Anson and then with Hawke, in May and October
1747. This was the _Monmouth_ whose brilliant capture of the great
French flagship the _Foudroyant_ in a desperate ship-to-ship duel at
night forms our main story here.

The fourth _Monmouth_, at the close of a hot and bloody day, after a
drawn battle with the French in the West Indies, in July 1779, received
the unique compliment of being toasted that same night at dinner by
the officers of the enemy's flagship--'To the brave little black
English ship!' Nor is it easy to match another story of how this same
_Monmouth_, in battle in the East Indies in 1782, resisted the fiercest
onsets of the mighty De Suffren and his best captains, holding her own
at bay, and stubbornly standing up to five French seventy-fours at
once. Her main and mizen masts were shot down; the wheel was cleared
of the men at it three times; the colours were shot away twice. Still,
though, the _Monmouth_ fought on--until help came. Only three men were
left alive on the _Monmouth's_ quarter-deck when the fight was over;
one being her captain, James Alms, a sturdy son of Sussex, who stood
at his post dauntlessly to the end, though twice wounded by splinters,
with his coat ripped half off by a shot, with two bullet-holes through
his hat, and his wig set on fire.

Yet another _Monmouth_ proved herself the bravest of the brave at
Camperdown.

The brief summary of the _Monmouths'_ deeds of valour here given is, of
course, not nearly all. It would take a big book to do adequate justice
to the _Monmouths'_ war record--and there need not be a dull page in
the volume.

So we pass on to what is by common consent accounted the brightest gem
in the _Monmouth's_ coronet of fame, her fight with the _Foudroyant_, a
French ship powerful enough to have sent the _Monmouth_ to the bottom
at the first broadside, a set-to that lasted half through a February
night, and ended the right way.

 Now clear the ring, for hand to hand
 The manly wrestlers take their stand.

It was in February 1758, in the middle of the Seven Years' War. The
British Mediterranean fleet in that month was blockading a French
squadron that had sought shelter in the Spanish naval harbour of
Carthagena. The squadron, numbering seven ships of the line and two
frigates, had set sail from Toulon in January to reinforce the French
fleet on the coast of Canada, and assist in the defence of Louisbourg,
Cape Breton, which, as was known at Versailles, was to be attacked in
force in the following summer. They counted on being able to evade the
British Mediterranean fleet and give it the slip by running through the
Straits of Gibraltar under cover of a dark winter's night. But _ils se
faisaient un tableau_, that fault against which Napoleon in later days
was always cautioning his generals. It all depended on the chance of
their getting past Gibraltar unseen.

Unfortunately for the French plans, the British Admiralty were well
aware of what was to be attempted. The fitting-out of the squadron
at Toulon had been carried on with the greatest secrecy, but not so
secretly that the British admiral at the head of the Mediterranean
fleet had not learnt all about it. Admiral Osborn had also been warned
from home of the probable destination of the French ships. The result
was that when the French came they found him cruising with twelve
line-of-battle ships a little to eastward of the Rock, and with a
chain of look-out frigates stretching right across from Ceuta to Cape
de Gata. M. de la Clue, the French admiral, found his way out of the
Mediterranean barred, and having only seven ships of the line with him
to the British commander's twelve, he turned aside and ran into the
'neutral' harbour of Carthagena.[2] He only got inside the port in the
nick of time. Just as M. de la Clue's ships let go anchor within the
Spanish batteries. Admiral Osborn's ships, duly warned by signals from
their look-out frigates of every movement of the French squadron, came
hastening up.

De la Clue sent off an urgent appeal for reinforcements, and in
response five fresh ships of the line and a frigate were despatched
from Toulon, in charge of the Marquis du Quesne, _Chef d'Escadre_,
or, as we call the rank, Commodore. With these additional ships De la
Clue would have the same numbers exactly as his adversary, and should,
the French considered, be able to fight his way out. The Toulon ships
sailed for Carthagena on the 25th of February with the idea of running
the gauntlet of the blockading fleet and joining M. de la Clue at
night. Again, however, Admiral Osborn was forewarned of the enemy's
approach, and his look-out frigates did their work. Two of the French
ships, pushing ahead of the others, managed, during the night of the
27th of February, to get past the British scouting frigates off Cape
Palos and turn into Carthagena unseen, but the main French force, three
ships of the line and the frigate, were caught in the act.

Soon after daybreak on the 28th of February--a bright, clear
morning--the British frigate _Gibraltar_, cruising some twenty leagues
north-east of Cape Palos, spied four strange sail away on the horizon
to the north-east of her. The _Gibraltar's_ signals were repeated by
the _St. George_ and the _Culloden_ and then Admiral Osborn ordered
part of his fleet off Carthagena to head towards the strangers and
chase. He had at the same time, of course, to keep his grip on M.
de la Clue inside Carthagena and prevent him from making use of the
opportunity to break out.

The strangers showed no colours and were too far off to be identified,
but it was certain they could only be French ships. Indeed, too, as the
English turned towards them, they began to edge away. A little later
they divided and went off on different courses. One ship, a two-decker,
stood in directly for the land. The smallest, the frigate, stood
seaward, to the south-west. To cut off the two-decker and stop her from
getting into Spanish waters the _Monarch_ and _Montague_ were detached
and went off chasing to the north-west. The frigate was already
practically out of reach. A little later the remaining two French
ships, both two-deckers, were seen to draw apart. One of them headed as
if to work round into Carthagena. The other, the biggest ship of the
whole squadron, held on down the coast, as though to draw the British
after her. In pursuit of the first of these two two-deckers went the
_Revenge_ and the _Berwick_. The _Monmouth_ and the _Swiftsure_, with
the _Hampton Court_ following them, went after the big ship. Of what
force the French ships were, or their identity, nobody of course could
tell as yet. They were too far off for the ports on their broadsides to
be counted.

It is with the _Monmouth_ and her chase that we are particularly
concerned.

From off the _Monmouth's_ deck all that at first could be seen of the
chase was that she 'loomed large,' as the old sea phrase went--looked
likely to be a tough customer. That, though, was so much the better.
Going ahead before the wind with every reef shaken out, on her best
point of sailing, the _Monmouth_ soon outstripped the _Swiftsure_ and
the _Hampton Court_. By early in the afternoon she had left them both
some leagues astern--mere dots on the far horizon. At the same time
she was overhauling the big Frenchman fast. The _Monmouth_ had the
reputation of being the fastest line-of-battle ship in the Royal Navy.
'She never gave chase to any ship that she did not come up with,' said
the newspapers of her, when, in 1767, the _Monmouth_, unfit for further
service and worn out after twenty-five years on the effective list of
the fleet, was brought in to be broken up. To-day the ship displayed
a speed in keeping with her reputation. Hand over hand the _Monmouth_
drew up nearer and nearer to her prospective foe, which loomed ever
larger and larger. From the stranger's vast bulk and what gun-ports of
her double tier could be counted end-on, from nearly dead astern, the
chase was either an eighty-gun ship or an eighty-four.

If that was really so, it made all the difference in the world. French
eighty-fours were at that day the most powerfully armed ships afloat.
A French eighty-four carried 42-pounders as her main armament, and
threw a broadside of 1136 lbs. at every discharge. That, in point of
fact, was heavier metal than the _Royal George_ herself, the biggest
first-rate in the British fleet, could throw. The _Monmouth_ was a
small third-rate, one of the very smallest ships of the line in the
Royal Navy, a sixty-four. Her heaviest guns were 24-pounders. Her total
broadside amounted only to some 540 lbs. There would also be on board
the eighty-four from 800 to 900 men, as against 470 in the _Monmouth_.

Who and what was the stranger? One man on board the _Monmouth_ knew,
and apparently one man only.

The captain of the _Monmouth_ knew. He had already identified the ship
ahead of him as the great _Foudroyant_ of 84 guns, until recently the
flagship of the French Mediterranean fleet. Arthur Gardiner had good
reason to know the _Foudroyant_.

Gardiner had been Byng's flag-captain, and the _Foudroyant_ had been
the flagship of the French fleet off Minorca. The evidence at Byng's
trial had absolutely exonerated Captain Gardiner.[3] It showed that
Admiral Byng himself had practically taken the charge of the flagship
out of his captain's hands, and had rejected his advice to go straight
for the enemy without waiting for ships that were out of station,
but in spite of that Gardiner had refused to be satisfied. He felt
his connection with the affair bitterly, as a personal disgrace, he
said. Indeed, as he told one of his friends, he only lived to find an
opportunity of wiping out what was a slur on his good name, a stain
on his honour. Apparently the idea became fixed in Captain Gardiner's
mind that he was a marked man, that people said things of him;
especially, that it was thought he had been 'shy' about laying his
ship alongside the French flagship. That was intolerable, and out of
it grew a feeling of peculiar antipathy towards this particular ship,
the _Foudroyant_, that had become a sort of monomania with Captain
Gardiner. It must, in these circumstances, have seemed to Captain
Gardiner like the hand of Providence, when, some four months after the
Byng court-martial, he was appointed to the _Monmouth_ and ordered out
to the Mediterranean. And now his day had actually come. There was the
very _Foudroyant_ right ahead of him, by herself, and with his own ship
overtaking her fast.

At a quarter-past one in the afternoon the _Foudroyant_ ran a red
flag up to the foretopgallant mast-head.[4] Apparently it was meant
as a signal to her nearest consort, the ship that the _Revenge_ and
_Berwick_ were in pursuit of, _L'Orphée_, to hoist her colours and
commence firing. As the _Monmouth_ as yet was out of gunshot, three
or four miles distant, the _Foudroyant_ had no need for the moment
to hoist her own colours--nor did she show any until towards four
o'clock, when the _Monmouth_ had at length begun to come within range.
Then, exactly at six minutes to the hour, as an eye-witness notes, the
French flag was displayed on the _Foudroyant's_ ensign staff, and a
commodore's broad pennant at the main.

The _Monmouth's_ men had not long to wait.

On the stroke of four o'clock a spurt of flame leapt from one of the
stern-chase ports of the _Foudroyant_, and as the smoke blew away
to leeward the boom of a heavy gun came over the waters towards the
_Monmouth_. It was the first shot. The ball splashed in the water
not far off, and then the _Foudroyant_ fired a second shot--followed
quickly by a third. The enemy had got the range. That, too, was
enough for Captain Gardiner. His heavier guns could at least carry
as far as the _Foudroyant's_ guns, and without waiting longer the
_Monmouth's_ bow-chasers took up the game. 'Soon after being in gunshot
of our chase,' says Lieutenant Carkett, the first lieutenant of the
_Monmouth_, in his journal, 'she, having up French colours, began to
fire her stern-chase at us, which we soon after returned with our
bow-chase, and continued for about an hour, then ceased firing as she
did, except a single gun now and then.'[5]

By this time, about five o'clock, the wind had fallen very light, but
the _Monmouth_ still continued to gain steadily on her opponent. She
was single-handed. The _Swiftsure_ and the _Hampton Court_ were hull
down on the horizon, though they were still following with all sail
set. The rest of the fleet was quite out of sight.

Just before the _Foudroyant_ began firing, Captain Gardiner, as we are
told, called all hands aft. His address to them was brief, but what he
said was to the point. 'That ship has to be taken, my lads, above our
match though she looks. I shall fight her until the _Monmouth_ sinks.'
Then they piped down and returned to quarters.

A little before this, while pacing up and down the quarter-deck with
Lieutenant Campbell, a young army officer from Gibraltar who was on
board in charge of a small detachment of soldiers (600 men from the
Gibraltar garrison had been lent to Admiral Osborn to assist on deck
in ships that were short-handed), he had said to the young officer,
pointing to the _Foudroyant_ ahead of them: 'Whatever happens to you
and me, that ship must go into Gibraltar.'

In that spirit Captain Gardiner took the _Monmouth_ into action as the
evening began to close in--

 Her ports all up, her battle-lanterns lit,
 And her leashed thunders gathering for their leap.

Captain Gardiner had a worthy antagonist. The Marquis du
Quesne-Menneville, whose broad pennant flew at the _Foudroyant's_
mast-head that day, had the reputation of being as able an officer as
any in the French service. No braver man ever wore the _bleu du Roi_.
And he commanded a man-of-war that was, by common consent, considered
the finest ship in all King Louis's navy. Only a short time before
this a French officer, a prisoner of war, in conversation with one
of his captors, had said of the _Foudroyant_: 'No single ship in the
world can take her, not even your new _Royal George_! She can fight all
to-day, and to-morrow, and the next day, and still go on fighting!'
The _Foudroyant's_ weight of metal, indeed, was heavy enough to have
sent the _Monmouth_ to the bottom at a single discharge. M. du Quesne,
however, did not think fit to let the _Monmouth_ come up alongside. He
would not venture to bring-to and accept the _Monmouth's_ challenge
because of the _Swiftsure_ and the _Hampton Court_. They were a long
way off, several hours distant, but they were to him, as far as the
_Foudroyant_ was concerned, an enemy 'in being,' and he kept on before
the wind.

'At half-past seven,' says Lieutenant Carkett, 'we came very nigh her,
gave our ship a yaw, and discharged what guns we could bring to bear on
her.' This meant checking the ship's way and hauling up at an angle to
her course, turning off as it were to let fly a broadside right ahead.
Apparently the _Monmouth_ lost ground in so doing. According to the
first lieutenant's log, Captain Gardiner did not repeat the manoeuvre,
and it took the _Monmouth_ nearly an hour to regain the distance that
she dropped back.

'At half-past eight,' says Lieutenant Carkett, 'we came to a close
engagement.'

[Illustration: IN ACTION AT MIDNIGHT

From the engraving after T. Stothard, R.A.]

The _Monmouth_ now ranged up on the _Foudroyant's_ larboard quarter
and hurled into her a crashing broadside of round-shot and grape, at
half musket range. It was the first heavy blow, and it got home. Then
fastening with a bulldog's grip on her big opponent, the _Monmouth_ set
to and blazed away fiercely into the French ship as fast as the guns
could be loaded and run out.

Nothing could be more masterly than the way the British captain handled
his ship. Captain Gardiner knew his business. He meant to settle his
personal score with the _Foudroyant_ once for all; but he had no idea
of sacrificing needlessly the life of a single man. There was to be
no reckless clapping of the little _Monmouth_ side by side with the
_Foudroyant_. Gardiner was well aware of the weight of his opponent's
metal. He laid the _Monmouth_ on the _Foudroyant's_ quarter and kept
her there, skilfully placing her in a way that allowed every gun on the
_Monmouth's_ broadside to train on the enemy, while, at the same time,
the French were unable to bring a number of their guns in the fore-part
of the ship to bear.

It was of course quite dark when the battle at close quarters
began--half-past eight on a February evening. The moon, within two days
of the last quarter, would not rise till between eleven and midnight.
Each ship, however, had her distinguishing lights hoisted, and the
gleam of the battle-lanterns through the _Foudroyant's_ ports gave the
_Monmouth's_ men sufficient mark to lay their guns by. More they did
not want.

The _Swiftsure_ at this time was about nine miles off, as her log
notes, steering for the spot by the flash of the guns.

The _Hampton Court_ was a couple of miles or so astern of the
_Swiftsure_.

The enemy, for their part, with their heavier guns, smote the
_Monmouth_ hard and answered back her fire with equal spirit. Even now
though, the French commodore would not risk bringing-to for a space
and making an effort to get the _Monmouth_ fairly under his broadside,
where his crushing superiority in gun-power might well have been
decisive. He held on instead, drifting slowly before the light wind,
fighting as he went. So far there was little to disquiet M. du Quesne
in the way that things were going. As a fact, during the first hour,
the terrific punishment that the _Foudroyant's_ 42-pounders were able
to inflict told heavily on the _Monmouth_, and it looked as though the
_Foudroyant_ could well hold her own to the end. Captain Gardiner,
however, stuck to his task unflinchingly. All the time an incessant
fire of musketry was kept up from the _Foudroyant's_ tops, and from her
towering bulwarks, which were lined with soldiers all along the length
of the ship.

They did considerable execution among the men at the upper-deck guns,
and, among their other victims, wounded Captain Gardiner himself with
a musket bullet through the arm. It was an ugly wound, but the gallant
captain of the _Monmouth_ refused to quit the deck, and had the wound
bound up as he stood. This was about a quarter to nine.

Fate, however, unhappily had more in store for Arthur Gardiner that
night. At half-past nine, the captain received a second and a mortal
wound. 'Captain Gardiner received a mortal wound which obliged him
to be conveyed off the deck,' Lieutenant Carkett briefly records. A
grape-shot struck Gardiner on the forehead, according to the journal
of Lieutenant Baron,[6] the third lieutenant, and he was carried below
insensible, to linger in the cockpit until four next morning, when he
died, 'having been speechless since he received his wound.'

Neither account exactly tallies with the story of Gardiner's fall
that reached England. According to that, poor Gardiner was conscious
for some moments after he was struck down, and was able to recognise
Carkett, as the first lieutenant bent over him. He bade Carkett, it was
said, as his last orders, 'to fight the _Foudroyant_ to the last, and
sink alongside rather than quit her.' In reply, the account proceeds,
Carkett swore to the captain to fight the battle out to the very last,
and sent on the spot for the carpenter and had the _Monmouth's_ ensign
nailed to the staff, after which he declared with an oath that he would
shoot dead on the spot any man who should even whisper a thought of
lowering it. So, indeed, it well may have been. Robert Carkett could be
trusted to die hard. He was just the man to make such a threat and to
keep it. Lieutenant Carkett was a rough sea-dog.

As senior officer after Captain Gardiner's fall, Carkett took charge on
the quarter-deck, and the battle went on with even more desperate fury
than before:--

 Spars were splinter'd, decks were shatter'd,
   Bullets fell like rain;
 Over mast and deck were scatter'd
   Blood and brains of men.

Hour after hour, from half-past nine to twelve o'clock, the _Monmouth_
hung doggedly on the quarter of the great _Foudroyant_ and refused to
be shaken off. She kept pace with the Frenchman steadily, not losing
a foot, and not drawing nearer; mercilessly pounding away into the
_Foudroyant's_ hull at a short seventy-yards range, as fast as the
shot could be brought to the guns. Nor did the _Foudroyant's_ fire in
reply slacken appreciably until midnight was past. Then, at length,
the enemy seemed to tire, and the _Foudroyant's_ fire began to grow
irregular and gradually to weaken.

[Illustration: THE _MONMOUTH_ FIGHTING THE _FOUDROYANT_ AT CLOSE
QUARTERS. THE FINAL ROUND--1.30 A.M.

From a contemporary print.

['At half past [one] her main-mast was shot away. She then ceased
firing' (Log of Lieutenant Carkett of the _Monmouth_).]]

It was the beginning of the end. Aided by the clear moonlight,--by
half-an-hour after midnight the moon was well up,--the _Monmouth's_
gunners made better practice than before. They redoubled their efforts,
as gun after gun in the _Foudroyant's_ ports stopped firing, until,
a few minutes after one o'clock, the big vessel ceased resisting
altogether, and not a shot came from her. The _Foudroyant_ lay
helpless, like a log on the water, dismasted, hammered to a standstill,
a silenced and beaten ship.

Lieutenant Carkett in his log thus summarises what passed in the last
hour. 'Half-past 12: Our mizen was shot away. At 1 A.M. the enemy's
was shot away. Also at half-past her main-mast was shot away. She then
ceased firing, having slackened her fire for some time before.'

Still, though, the _Foudroyant_ made no sign of giving in. _Lassata,
nondum satiata_--all was not quite over yet. So the _Monmouth_
continued her cannonade. Until the enemy made the customary sign of
surrender, Lieutenant Carkett had no option but to go on firing.
Commodore du Quesne was holding out _pour l'honneur du pavillon_: and
also for his own personal credit. He had not long to wait. Within a few
minutes of the _Foudroyant's_ fire giving over the _Swiftsure_ arrived
on the scene. Ranging up under the _Monmouth's_ stern, she hailed
across requesting her to stop her fire.

The _Monmouth_ held her hand. She had done her work, and there was
no need to do more now. As the _Monmouth's_ gunner, reporting on the
night's expenditure, stated, the ship had fired away no fewer than 80
barrels of gunpowder (about four tons weight of powder), with 1546
round-shot, 540 grape-shot, and 156 double-headed shot.

Then the _Swiftsure_ rounded in to pass between the _Monmouth_ and
the _Foudroyant_. All her batteries were lighted up, showing the men
standing ready by the guns. Captain Stanhope as he came abreast hailed
the _Foudroyant_, asking if she had surrendered. Her ensign was down.
It had been shot away about the same time that the mizen-mast went. The
reply came instantly--two shotted guns in rapid succession, and a sharp
crackle of musketry. M. le Marquis's honour was not satisfied yet. What
followed was inevitable. The _Swiftsure_ had now to administer the
_coup de grâce_ according to the rules of naval war. As the sound of
the _Foudroyant's_ defiance died away, the _Swiftsure's_ double tier
burst into flame, and the British seventy-four's broadside crashed into
the French ship, sweeping her decks from stem to stern. It was enough.
The next instant down came the _Foudroyant's_ lights and she called for
quarter. The battle was over.

The Marquis du Quesne had refused to surrender to the _Monmouth_
single-handed. It was a point of honour. In the presence of a second
British ship and a fresh ship, a seventy-four, his honour was fully
satisfied. All the same, when the _Swiftsure's_ officer came on
board to receive his sword, he insisted on being taken on board the
_Monmouth_ and surrendering it to the commanding officer of that
ship, to Lieutenant Carkett, giving it up, we are told, 'with great
politeness.' A story was told afterwards that the French commodore
expressed himself in bitter terms, and shed tears next morning when
in full daylight, at close quarters, he saw the small size of the
_Monmouth_ as compared with his own splendid ship. But that is as it
may be.

The _Hampton Court_ came up some ten minutes after the _Swiftsure_ had
arrived.

It remained now only to count the cost and overhaul damages.

How things stood on board the _Monmouth_ they knew before the night
was out. Captain Gardiner was the only officer who had fallen. The
four lieutenants of the ship had escaped without a scratch, as had
the _Monmouth's_ two marine officers and Lieutenant Campbell. It was
otherwise, unfortunately, among the men. The casualties between decks
amounted to upwards of 24 per cent of the entire ship's company. The
figures as officially returned were--29 killed and 81 wounded--110
altogether. Not a boat was left that could swim; the mizen-mast had
been shot right away, smashed through close above the deck; the
main-mast, riddled with holes, was tottering; every one of the sails
had to be stripped from its yard and new sails bent; most of the
rigging was lying in tangled heaps about the decks.

In the _Foudroyant_, the prize-crew that was placed in charge had their
work cut out for them in looking after prisoners below and stopping
leaks and dangerous shot-holes. The deadly shooting of the _Monmouth_
had in parts almost rent the _Foudroyant_ open. More than seventy
shot-holes through the hull were counted, low down, at or near the
water-line. All over the hull, more than a hundred shot-holes were to
be seen, gaping holes with jagged and splintered edges; and more shots
than one had gone through some of the holes. Some of the _Monmouth's_
shots had even gone right through from side to side, leaving enormous
rents in the _Foudroyant_ on the unengaged side of the ship where they
had smashed their way out. To give an idea of the terrible hammering
that the _Foudroyant_ underwent, it may be stated that the repairs to
the hull at Portsmouth took eight months to execute, at an expense
of £7000, just half the total sum at which the Admiralty Prize Court
valued the whole ship for purchase from her captors. As far as could
be made out, the _Foudroyant's_ casualties amounted to 190 officers and
men killed and wounded; but the French practice of throwing the dead
overboard in action as they fell, made it impossible to arrive at the
exact figures.

As well as could be managed on the spot, the two ships were cleared of
wreckage and put in sea-going trim, and at noon next day, the 1st of
March, they set out to rejoin Admiral Osborn, the _Swiftsure_ towing
the _Foudroyant_, and the _Monmouth_ under her own canvas, under
jury-rig, with the _Hampton Court_ close by in case of need.

They found the admiral with the rest of the fleet off Carthagena. With
them was the French _Orphée_, which the _Revenge_ and _Berwick_ had run
down and taken within two miles of Carthagena mole. M. de la Clue had
missed his chance entirely. He had not stirred, although with the two
men-of-war that had got in the night before he had had nine ships of
the line, and the British admiral, with five of his ships detached in
chase of Du Quesne's squadron, only seven. All that the French admiral
had done the livelong day on the 28th had been to man and arm his
boats and send them down to paddle about aimlessly at the mouth of the
harbour.

The _Monmouth_ and _Revenge_ were ordered to Gibraltar to repair,
accompanied by their two prizes. On the way the dead of the _Monmouth_
and the remains of Captain Gardiner were committed to the deep, off
Cape de Gata, at half-past three on Saturday afternoon, the 4th of
March. All four ships hove-to and half-masted their ensigns during the
funeral service, and the bodies were passed overboard to the booming
of the _Monmouth's_ minute-guns--his ship's last tribute to her dead
captain. No tablet exists to Arthur Gardiner's memory in Westminster
Abbey or elsewhere; but that, after all, matters little.

 There is in the lone, lone sea
 A spot unmark'd but holy,
 For there the gallant and the free
 In his ocean bed lies lowly.
 Down, down beneath the deep,
 That oft in triumph bore him,
 He sleeps a sound and peaceful sleep,
 With the salt waves dashing o'er him.

 He sleeps serene and safe
 From tempest and from billow,
 Where storms that high above him chafe
 Scarce rock his peaceful pillow.
 The sea and him in death
 They did not dare to sever;
 It was his home when he had breath,
 'Tis now his home for ever.

 Sleep on, thou mighty dead,
 A glorious tomb they've found thee,
 The broad blue sky above thee spread,
 The boundless ocean round thee.
 No vulgar foot treads here,
 No hand profane shall move thee,
 But gallant hearts shall proudly steer
 And warriors shout above thee.

 And though no stone may tell thy name, thy worth, thy glory,
 They rest in hearts that love thee well, they grace Britannia's story.[7]

At Gibraltar the _Foudroyant_ was measured and found to be 12 feet
longer than the _Royal George_. She was berthed alongside the mole
with the _Monmouth_ lying next her, and an officer present graphically
describes the disparity of size between them in these terms: 'It was
like the Monument overlooking a ninepin!'

The French prisoners were still on board the _Foudroyant_. They went
to England in the ship, most of them to be shut up in Porchester
Castle, the great war-prison of the South of England in those times.
The visitor to the ruins of Porchester Castle to-day, if he explores
in a certain part of the keep, will find at one spot, rudely cut in
the wall, a string of French names, under a sort of scroll similarly
carved roughly in the stonework, with the legend '_Vive le vaisseau le
Foudroyant_--1758,' the handiwork, it can hardly be doubted, of some of
these very men. The Marquis du Quesne and his first and second captains
came to England by themselves, in the _Gibraltar_ frigate, and were
interned on parole at Northampton. The other surviving officers of the
ship were paroled at Maidstone.

All England rang with Arthur Gardiner's name when, in the first week
in April, the _Gibraltar_ arrived at Spithead with Admiral Osborn's
despatches, and the _London Gazette_ told the story of how Gardiner
had died 'as he was encouraging his people and inquiring what damage
they had sustained between decks.' Everywhere, we are told, the
news of the taking of the 'mighty _Foudroyant_' and how it was done
excited the liveliest enthusiasm. Inn signboards were repainted with
pictures of the fight, a favourite way with our eighteenth-century
forefathers of commemorating great events; and a ballad was composed
about it which was set to a popular tune of the day and sung all over
the country. One of the signboards so painted was in existence a very
few years ago,--and may be so still,--at Lostwithiel in Cornwall,
bearing a representation of two old-fashioned men-of-war in desperate
combat, with the legend 'The memorable battle of the _Monmouth_ and
_Foudroyant_.'[8] Of the ballad and its music no trace is to be found,
although some lines on the fight, apparently contemporary, are in
print. One can, though, hardly fancy them being set to any sort of
tune, still less anybody trying to sing them. Their shortcomings as
verse too are obvious, but one must remember that it was the period
when the Poet Laureate was Colley Cibber. There was no market in the
days of George the Second for what our present Poet Laureate calls 'the
higher kind of poetry.'

STANZAS

On the capture of the _Foudroyant_, of 84 guns, by the _Monmouth_, of
64, Anno 1758.

 As Louis sat in regal state,
 The monarch, insolently great,
   Accosts his crouching slaves,
 'Yon stubborn isle at last must bend,
 For now my _Foudroyant_ I send,
   The terror of the waves.

 'When once he bursts in dreadful roar,
 And vomits death from shore to shore,
   My glory to maintain;
 Repenting Britons then will see
 Their folly to dispute with me
   The empire of the main.'

 He spake, th' obedient sails were spread,
 And Neptune reared his awful head,
   To view the glorious sight;
 The Tritons and the Nereids came,
 And floated round the high-built frame,
   With wonder and delight.

 Then Neptune thus the Gods address'd:
 'The sight is noble, 'tis confess'd,
   The structure we admire;
 But yet this monst'rous pile shall meet
 With one small ship from Britain's fleet,
   And strike to Britons' fire.'

 As from his lips the sentence flew,
 Behold his fav'rite sails in view,
   And signal made to chase;
 Swift as Camilla o'er the plain,
 The _Monmouth_ skimm'd along the main,
   Unrivall'd in the race.

 Close to her mighty foe she came,
 Resolv'd to sink or gain a name
   Which Envy might admire;
 Devouring guns tumultous sound,
 Destructive slaughter flam'd around,
   And seas appear'd on fire.

 When lo! th' heroic Gardiner fell,
 Whose worth the Muse attempts to tell,
   But finds her efforts vain;
 Some other bard must sing his praise,
 And bold as fancy's thoughts must raise
   The sadly mournful strain.

 Carkett, who well his place supply'd,
 The mangling bolts of death defy'd,
   Which furious round him rag'd;
 While Hammick[9] points his guns with care,
 Nor sends one faithless shot in air,
   But skilfully engag'd.

 Baron and Winzar's[10] conduct show'd
 Their hearts with untam'd courage glow'd,
   And manly rage display'd;
 Whilst every seaman firmly stood,
 'Midst heaps of limbs and streams of blood
   Undaunted, undismay'd.

 Austin[11] and Campbell next the Muse
 Thro' fiery deluges pursues,
   Serenely calm and great;
 With their's the youthful Preston's[12] name
 Must shine, enrolled in list of fame,
   Above the reach of fate.

 Hark! how Destruction's tempests blow,
 And drive to deep despair the foe,
   Who trembling fly asunder;
 The _Foudroyant_ her horror ceas'd,
 And whilst the _Monmouth's_ fire increas'd,
   Lost all her pow'r to thunder.

 Now, haughty Louis, cease to boast,
 The mighty _Foudroyant_ is lost,
   And must be thine no more;
 No gasconade will now avail,
 Behold he trims the new-dress'd sail,
   To deck Britannia's shore.

 If e'er again his voice be heard,
 With British thunder-bolts prepar'd,
   And on thy coast appears;
 His dreadful tongue such sounds will send,
 As all the neighb'ring rocks shall rend,
   And shake all France with fears.

What is more interesting is that one of the _Foudroyant's_ officers,
while a prisoner of war on board and on the way to England, wrote a set
of verses in honour of the captain of the _Monmouth_. They appeared in
the _Gentleman's Magazine_ for July 1758 in this form:--

 Chatham, _July 23_.

 Mr. Urban--By inserting the following Elegy, which was written by a
 French officer, taken prisoner on board the _Foudroyant_, you will
 oblige many of your readers, and particularly your humble servant,

 P. Cochet.

ÉLÉGIE SUR LA MORT DU CAPT. GARDINER

  Ce héros respectable a fini ses beaux jours,
    Il a trop peu vécu, ce sage capitaine,
  Le _Monmouth_ pleure encore l'objet de son amour
    Et moi la cause de ma gêne.

  Aux combats il étoit un terrible ennemi,
    Son exemple animoit le coeur le plus timide,
  Au milieu des hazards le foible est affermi,
    Ayant un tel chef pour son guide.

  O _Monmouth_! quelle nuit, lorsque le _Foudroyant_,
    Par ses bouches d'arain menaçoit votre ruine,
  Vous tenez contre lui, vous êtes triomphant,
    La victoire pour vous s'incline,

  Conduit par ce héros, vos canons vomissoient
    La foudre à gros bouillons, et la mort tout ensemble,
  Il inspiroit sa force à ceux qui combattoient,
    Ha! l'ennemi le sent et tremble.

  O! quel funeste coup, ce héros n'est donc plus?
    Le brave Gardiner tombe et finit sa vie,
  Mais il vit dans nos coeurs, il vit par ses vertus,
    Est-ce le ciel qui nous l'envie?

  Quelle aimable douceur envers ses prisonniers,
    Sa tendresse pour eux égaloit son courage,
  Il ne ressembloit point aux inhumains guerriers,
    Qui ne respirent que carnage.

Whatever may be the quality or literary merit of these verses, there
could, surely, be no higher tribute to the memory of a British officer,
the tribute of an enemy in the bitter hour of defeat; and the incident
in all its circumstances is unique. With it we may close the story.

       *       *       *       *       *

The 'little black ship' _Monmouth_ (Captain Fanshawe's ship), to which
the officers of the French flagship _Languedoc_ drank at dinner on the
night of the 6th of July 1779, was the next successor to Gardiner's
_Monmouth_, and it was this _Monmouth_ on board which, in the East
Indies, Captain Alms, on the 12th of April 1782 (actually the same day
on which Rodney was fighting his battle in the West Indies) made so
heroic a stand. The Camperdown _Monmouth_ came next, and after her a
_Monmouth_ that was never commissioned at all. Finally we come to our
modern _Monmouth_ cruiser of the present hour.

The quondam French _Foudroyant_, as a man-of-war of the Royal Navy,
fought for England and did well. Her successor of the same name in
the navy had strangely varied fortunes. She began her life as one of
Nelson's flagships; and when she was worn out was sold to a German
shipbreaker, by whom she was re-sold at an immense profit to Mr. G.
Wheatly Cobb, of Caldicot Castle, Chepstow, in Monmouthshire curiously,
who interested himself in the fate of the _Foudroyant_, and 'for
Nelson's sake,' as he himself put it, spent £25,000 out of his own
pocket in re-purchasing her and re-building and fitting her out to make
the old veteran of the sea look, as far as possible, as she appeared
in Nelson's time. A cruel fate, however, cut short the nobly conceived
project. Our second _Foudroyant_ ended her days off Blackpool, of all
places in the world, where, in the summer of 1897, in the hundredth
year of her existence, she was wrecked in a gale.

[Illustration:

 _Photo, Symonds & Co., Portsmouth._

'SUCCESS TO THE _FORMIDABLE_!' November 17, 1898]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Pepys's _Diary_, June 30, 1667.--'Several complaints, I
hear, of the _Monmouth's_ coming away too soon from the chaine, where
she was placed with the two guardships to secure it.']

[Footnote 2: Spanish neutrality was a by-word at this period. England
and Spain were not at war yet, but the family relationship between the
Bourbons of Versailles and the Escurial caused the latter Power to put
the loosest construction on their obligations.]

[Footnote 3: Summary of evidence at the court-martial on Admiral Byng,
quoted in Entick's _New Naval History_ (published shortly after Byng's
trial), p. 872:--

 Tuesday 11 [Jan. 1757]. Captain Gardiner of the _Ramillies_ under
 Examination and Cross-Examination all Day. He ... said that he advised
 the Admiral to bear down, that the Admiral objected thereto, lest an
 Accident of a similar Nature with that of Admiral Mathews should be
 the Consequence.

 Wednesday 12. Captain Gardiner was again examined and made it appear
 that the Admiral took the whole Command of the Ship from him, and no
 thing done that day but what he ordered.

Byng's words as to bearing down were these: 'You see, Captain Gardiner,
that the signal for the line is out and that I am ahead of the ships
_Louisa_ and _Trident_' (which two ships, according to the order of
battle, should have been ahead of the admiral). 'You would not have
me, as the admiral of the fleet, run down as if I were going to engage
a single ship. It was Mr. Mathews' misfortune to be prejudiced by not
carrying down his force together, which I shall endeavour to avoid.'
One of Byng's ships, ahead of the flagship, had broken down. He would
not pass her and go at the enemy, but stopped to re-form and 'dress'
his line, during which time the enemy severely mauled Byng's leading
ships. The French then drew out of range, and Byng, without further
fighting, retired to Gibraltar. At the trial Gardiner was asked what
he himself considered being 'properly engaged.' 'What I call properly
engaged,' was the answer, 'is, within musket shot.' See _Minutes of the
Court-Martial, etc._, published by Order, 1757 (folio).]

[Footnote 4: Log of the _Revenge_, Captain Storr. Admiralty documents,
Captains' logs, at the Public Record Office.]

[Footnote 5: Admiralty documents, Captains' logs, _Monmouth_, at the
Public Record Office.]

[Footnote 6: Captains' logs, _Monmouth_, at the Public Record Office
(Admiralty documents).]

[Footnote 7: _Poems, chiefly Religious_: Rev. H.F. Lyte, 1833.]

[Footnote 8: The 'Monmouth' inn, to which the signboard belonged (now
known as the 'Monmouth' hotel) was actually so named in 1758 in honour
of Gardiner's _Monmouth_.]

[Footnote 9: Stephen Hammick, Second Lieutenant of the _Monmouth_, in
command on the lower deck.]

[Footnote 10: David Winzar, Fourth Lieutenant of the _Monmouth_.]

[Footnote 11: Captain of Marines.]

[Footnote 12: Lieutenant of Marines.]




II

RODNEY'S SHIP ON RODNEY'S DAY

THE _FORMIDABLE_ THAT BROKE THE LINE

 Brave Rodney made the French to rue
   The Twelfth of April 'Eighty two.

 _Old Song._

 The West Indies is the Station for honour.

 Nelson.


'_Who can feel any pride in a mere blustering adjective? We do
seriously believe that the Admiralty would add something to the
popularisation of the navy by a reform of the naming system. It is
proper enough to christen new ships after famous old vessels of the
past, and the 'Admirals' also are very proper and pleasant, but why
this mania for adjectives and such futilities?_'

So a London newspaper commented on the selection of the name
_Formidable_ for the great first-class battleship that to-day bears
that name proudly lettered at her stern. Well, we shall see what we
shall see. When all is said and done, it may appear, perhaps, that
some of us are not so unreasonable after all in taking pride in seeing
this 'blustering adjective' inscribed as a man-of-war name on the roll
of our modern British fleet. Handsome is, every nursery knows, that
handsome does. It is more than highly probable that should the day
for 'the real thing,' as Mr. Kipling calls it, come in our present
_Formidable's_ time, those to whose lot it may fall to face the
_Formidable_ from the enemy's side will think that, in regard to this
particular ship at least, there is something in a name.

This is the sort of vessel that our twentieth-century battleship the
_Formidable_ is, glancing at some of her points--the details on which
she relies to make good the intention of her name. Hard hitting is the
_Formidable's_ business in life, so to speak, her _raison d'être_;
her forte, the dealing of knock-down blows. To that end she carries
the most powerful guns in existence: 50-ton breech-loaders, a foot in
diameter in the bore; capable of hurling gigantic shells each between
three and four feet long and weighing 850 lbs., or 7-1/2 cwts., with
a bursting charge of three-quarters of a hundredweight of powder or
lyddite, through three feet of iron at a mile and a half off, or all
the way across from Shakespeare's Cliff at Dover on to the sand dunes
round Calais. Each firing charge of cordite weighs by itself nearly 2
cwts.--the weight of a sack of coal as delivered at a house-holder's
door from a tradesman's cart,--and each gun by itself takes a year to
construct. The _Formidable's_ guns could silence the old 'Woolwich
Infants' and the mighty 80-ton guns that the famous _Inflexible_
carried, from a range miles beyond the farthest that the older guns
could reach. Yet these less than twenty years ago were reckoned a
wonder of the world.

 A finger's pressure, nothing more,
   The ponderous cannon's thund'ring roar,
 A passing cloud of smoke, and lo!
   The waves engulf the haughty foe!

wrote a versifier once about what the guns of the _Inflexible_ could
do. With less than half the weight, they are considerably more powerful
weapons than the 110-ton monsters of the _Benbow_ and _Sans Pareil_
and the ill-fated _Victoria_, one of which was tested at Shoeburyness
against a specially-built-up target of enormous proportions, and sent
its shot, as easily as one can push one's finger into a lump of putty,
clean through 20 inches of steel-faced compound armour, 8 inches of
cast iron, 20 feet of oak, 5 feet of granite, 11 feet of concrete, and
lastly 6 feet of brick--to a depth of 44 feet 4 inches altogether. As
to the actual size of the guns, of the ship's heavier pieces: each is
41 feet long--13 yards and 2 feet from muzzle to breech. Pace this out
on a gravel garden-walk, and imagine the length covered by a gigantic
steel tube, three-quarters of a yard across at one end and swelling
gradually to over 5 feet thick at the other--that may give some idea
of the bulk of a _Formidable_ gun. Such a piece of ordnance would have
suited the mood of old Marshal Soult when he refused to fight a duel
on the score of his dignity. 'A marshal of France,' growled the old
gentleman at his challenger's seconds on their calling to offer him the
choice of weapons, 'a marshal of France only fights with cannon!'

Four of these weapons form the _Formidable's_ 'main armament.' They
are mounted, two on the quarter-deck and two on the forecastle, each
pair in a circular barbette 37-1/2 feet in diameter, walled round
with 12-inch thick Harveyed steel of immense resisting capacity, and
weighing upwards of 315 tons. They can load at any angle of elevation
or of training, and the ammunition-supply mechanism ensures the guns
being loaded as fast as they can fire. _Bis dat qui cito dat_, 'who
gives quickly gives twice,' is the maxim of the modern navy gunner.
As far as her 12-inch guns are concerned, the _Formidable_ could let
the enemy have two 850-lb. lyddite shells from each gun every eighty
seconds. The ship's magazines and shell-rooms stow eighty rounds for
each gun. Fired at the same time, the four guns exert a combined
force enough to lift the whole ship up bodily ten feet.

[Illustration:

_Photo by Stephen Cribb, Portsmouth._

'UT VENIANT OMNES!'--THE BIG 50-TON GUNS OF THE _FORMIDABLE_]

To support the 'main armament' and provide for all comers, down
to hostile torpedo boats, there are on board the _Formidable_, as
'secondary armament,' twelve 6-inch Vickers guns of the latest pattern
(mounted six a side), sixteen 12-pounders and six 3-pounders (mounted
in the fighting-tops--three in each top), with Maxims and light boat
and field guns. In battle, fighting an enemy end-on, this embodiment
of a 'blustering adjective' would, within the first five minutes,
have sent at the enemy upwards of 7 tons of bursting shells; fighting
broadside-on, over 16 tons.

The _Formidable_ is no less efficiently fitted for standing up to the
enemy and taking her share of hard knocks. On her sides amidships,
shielding from injury the engines and boilers, the 'vitals' of the ship
as they are called, a wide belt of Harveyed steel armour extends. It is
9 inches thick, and 217 feet long by 15 feet deep, and is built up of
some seventy odd plates or slabs of solid steel fitted together, each
one of just the surface area of a billiard-table with an extra yard
added to its length, and weighing each upwards of 12 tons. Each plate
separately takes from a fortnight to three weeks to make. Where the
9-inch armour leaves off, towards the ends of the ship, a thinner steel
belt, 3 inches thick, with an armoured deck, also of 3-inch steel,
carries forward the protection. At the bows it joins on to the ship's
enormous ram--a ponderous forging of 35 tons of steel.

Such, roughly indicated, are some of the main features in regard to
offence and defence of this Titanic 'bruiser of the sea,' His Majesty's
battleship the _Formidable_. Below, the ship has twenty Belleville
boilers, capable of raising steam at a pressure of 300 lbs. to the
square inch; engines of 15,000 horse-power, capable of driving the
ship's immense hull, a length of 430 feet over all from stem to rudder,
through the water, full speed ahead, at 18 knots an hour (nearly twenty
land miles), each of the great 17-foot twin-screws thrashing round at
the rate of 108 revolutions a minute. She can stow coal enough to carry
her without re-coaling, at an average cruising speed of 10 knots, from
Spithead to Buenos Ayres or through the Suez Canal as far as the Bay of
Bengal.

A million sterling of the nation's money, with a trifle of forty odd
thousand pounds added, is what the _Formidable_ represents--£1,040,000
literally cast on the waters. Of that sum the guns by themselves
cost £74,500--more, in fact, than it cost to build and rig and fit
the _Victory_ for sea. And her upkeep in commission--interest on
first cost, wear and tear, crew, victualling, coal, stores, and
ordnance stores--costs £163,000 a year. In action every shot from the
_Formidable's_ big guns would cost £80--a sum equivalent to the annual
pay of two midshipmen _plus_ a naval cadet.

These features of the _Formidable_ are enough to show that in the
case of this particular modern battleship, at any rate, the name is
not misapplied, not unsuitable, nor without justification: that it
is something more than a 'futility,' something more than a 'merely
blustering adjective.' We may trust the honour of the flag to the
_Formidable's_ keeping, assured that should the hour of trial come
in her time she has the means of taking her own part with power and
advantage. Grant her, when that time comes, 'good sea-room and a
willing enemy,' as the war toast of the Old Navy used to go, and the
British Empire may rest assured that, as far as this particular ship is
concerned,

   ... in the battle's dance of death,
 She'll dance the strongest down.

There is, though, another justification, and of the amplest kind, for
the presence on the roll of the British fleet of the name _Formidable_.
This 'merely blustering adjective' has a meaning there that is all its
own--a _raison d'être_ not only for the Royal Navy but for all the
world in that connection that is _sui generis_. The British fleet does
not owe the name to any whim or fancy of a modern Admiralty First Lord.
_Vixere fortes ante Agamemnon_--there have been famous _Formidables_
before the present ship. _Formidable_, indeed, is one of our best
'trophy names'--a name that came into the British service as spoil of
war, won from the enemy in very exceptional circumstances. It stands
in a special sense as a memento of one of the most brilliant exploits
in our annals--of that tremendous November afternoon battle of 1759,
fought in a wild Atlantic storm amid the reefs of Quiberon Bay, on that
historic occasion, so happily described in Mr. Henry Newbolt's stirring
verse,[13] 'when Hawke came swooping from the west.'

 'Twas long past noon of a wild November day
   When Hawke came swooping from the west;
 He heard the breakers thundering in Quiberon Bay,
   But he flew the flag for battle, line abreast.
 Down upon the quicksands roaring out of sight
 Fiercely beat the storm-wind, darkly fell the night,
 But they took the foe for pilot and the cannon's glare for light
   When Hawke came swooping from the west.

One result of Hawke's swoop was, of course, the stopping of all French
invasion schemes for the rest of the Seven Years' War. Henceforward
there was no need to watch the southward beacons night after night; no
need of more shore batteries at Brighton and elsewhere along the Sussex
coast; no further need to cover the South of England with standing
camps for Pitt's new militiamen to learn their drill in; no more need
to shock the good ladies of Hampshire with the sight of bare-legged
Highlanders marching to and fro.

 The guns that should have conquered us, they rusted on the shore,
 The men that would have mastered us, they drummed and marched no more;
 For England was England, and a mighty brood she bore
   When Hawke came swooping from the west.

The other result of Hawke's swoop was the _Formidable_--the French
flagship _Formidable_--the sole trophy that the stormy weather allowed
Hawke to bring off from the fight. The Royal Navy took over the fine
prize, a magnificent two-decker of eighty guns, enrolled her name as it
stood on the list of the British fleet, and in due course handed the
name on from one successor to another, until we come in the end to our
own fine steel-clad battleship, the _Formidable_ that to-day graces

 The proud Armado of King Edward's ships,

in the words of poor Kit Marlowe's 'mighty'--and prophetic--line.[14]

Then we have another justification, the most notable of all. The
_Formidable's_ name has acquired a new significance since the days
of Hawke. To-day it has to the Royal Navy a more recent meaning. It
stands on the roll of the fleet as the special memorial of another
achievement, as a memento of another admiral's 'stricken field,' in
special honour of Rodney's most famous feat of arms, of the great
victory that has given Rodney his place in the history of the British
Empire. On that day a _Formidable_ was Rodney's flagship; the second
ship of the name, the immediate successor of Hawke's great prize, our
first British-built man-of-war _Formidable_.[15] 'If ever,' wrote
Froude, 'the naval exploits of this country are done into an epic
poem--and since the _Iliad_ there has been no subject better fitted
for such treatment or better deserving it--the West Indies will be the
scene of the most brilliant cantos.' In at least one of those cantos
Rodney's _Formidable_ would be a central figure.

We now come directly to the place, time, and circumstances of the
event, taking up the tale a little before the fighting actually opens.

[Illustration: RODNEY'S _FORMIDABLE_ ON THE DAY BEFORE HER LAUNCH

From a pencil sketch.

 [Note, to the right of the ship, the canvas 'booths' or stands for
 the Commissioner of Chatham Dockyard and officers and guests of
 distinction. The launching flagstaffs on board were usually set up on
 the day before a launch, to fly the Jack at the bows, the Admiralty
 flag, Royal Standard, and Union flag where the three masts would be;
 and the 'St. George's ensign' (White Ensign) on the ensign staff.]]

It begins, first of all, in Gros Islet Bay, St. Lucia, a locality that
one wants a fairly large map to find. The name is hardly a familiar
one, yet it has a place of its own, of special interest in our naval
annals. Gros Islet Bay was Rodney's headquarters in the West Indies
during March 1782 and the first week of April, at the time that the
_Formidable_ was Rodney's flagship. Rodney was in Gros Islet Bay with
his fleet of 36 sail of the line, and the French admiral De Grasse,
at the head of 34 of the line, was facing him in Fort Royal Bay,
Martinique, distant some thirty miles--about as far off as Boulogne is
from Folkestone. So the lists were set.

[Illustration: RODNEY'S SWORD]

Rodney had come out from England specially to save the British West
Indies from De Grasse. And even more than the fate of the 'sugar
islands' depended on his efforts. 'The fate of this Empire,' were the
last words of the First Lord of the Admiralty (Lord Sandwich) to Rodney
before he sailed, 'the fate of this Empire is in your hands!' He forced
his way across the ocean in mid-winter, battling through a series of
fierce storms that day after day threatened to tear the masts out of
his ship. 'Ushant,' wrote Rodney to his wife, 'we have weathered in a
storm but two leagues, the sea mountains high, which made a fair breach
over the _Formidable_ and the _Namur_, but it was necessary for the
public service that every risk should be run. Persist and conquer is a
maxim that I hold good in war, even against the elements, and it has
answered.' It did answer. Rodney arrived to find that there were still
four islands left to Great Britain. All our West Indian possessions had
fallen except Jamaica, Barbados, Antigua, and St. Lucia. St. Kitts,
Nevis, Montserrat, and Demerara had been taken, actually, while Rodney
was on his way out. De Grasse when Rodney arrived was refitting for a
yet more audacious project at Fort Royal, Martinique, the Portsmouth of
the French navy in the West Indies; and to be on the spot to intercept
him and bring him to decisive battle at the first chance, Rodney
anchored his fleet in the nearest available harbour, within touch and
almost within sight of the French fleet, in the roadstead of Gros Islet
Bay, St. Lucia.

Both fleets during March and the first week of April were hard at work
refitting. Twelve of Rodney's ships had come out from England with him
and wanted little; the others of the thirty-six, however, belonged to
the fleet originally on the station, and after the trying time of it
they had had during the past six months, including two sharp fights
with the French, were badly in need of a refit. De Grasse's fleet
was in like case. The arrival of convoys from home, however, with war
stores and supplies of all kinds for both fleets, towards the end of
March, made it all but certain that the month of April would not go by
without a battle in the open sea.

Those days in Gros Islet Bay proved to Rodney of vital importance.
Secret intelligence came to hand which disclosed to him the enemy's
entire plan of campaign. A gigantic and startling project was on foot.
An elaborate and wide-reaching combination had been designed in which a
Franco-Spanish army and a Franco-Spanish fleet were both to take part,
the operations being projected on a scale far beyond anything hitherto
attempted in the war on either side. It aimed at nothing less than the
sweeping of the British flag out of the West Indies by one tremendous
and overmastering _coup_.

De Grasse's fleet was to be the chief factor in the situation, the
mainspring of the movement. The preliminary dispositions had already
been made. Thirteen Spanish ships of the line were at that moment
waiting off Cape Haitien in San Domingo, accompanied by transports with
24,000 troops on board. They were expecting to be joined by a force of
10,000 French soldiers from Brest, escorted by five or six men-of-war
which were already overdue. According to the grand plan, De Grasse with
his fleet, thirty-four of the line, with store-ships and the convoy
that had arrived in March, was to move out from Fort Royal, with some
five or six thousand more troops on board the men-of-war, and cross
over and join hands with the assemblage off San Domingo. The united
armada, making up some sixty ships of the line, against which Rodney's
thirty-six and the handful of ships at Port Royal could not hope to
stand, were then to swoop down on Jamaica and capture it out of hand.
There were only 3500 British regulars in Jamaica, and the planter
militia and armed negroes were of little account. Jamaica taken, said
the enemy, Barbados would fall at the first summons, and Antigua and
St. Lucia would follow, making an end of the British West Indies. So
confident were the enemy of success that, as it was reported, Don
Bernardo Galvez, the Spanish Commander-in-Chief, had already been
publicly addressed at Havana as 'Governor of Jamaica,' which island,
according to the secret arrangement between the allies (already
drafted), was to be Spain's share of the spoil.

Rodney's fleet--the _Formidable_ and her thirty-five consorts off St.
Lucia--were all that stood between the scheme and its fulfilment.
Realising to the utmost what depended on him, Rodney pressed on his
preparations for sea with intensified vigour, so as to be ready to fall
on De Grasse immediately he left Fort Royal.

[Illustration: _From Dupont's engraving of Gainsborough's portrait._]

[Illustration: [Facsimile of the signature to despatch announcing the
victory over De Grasse.]]

During March and the early part of April--except for ten days lost
in a futile attempt to cut off De Grasse's convoy from France on its
way to Fort Royal--Rodney was busy refitting: a task that taxed all
his energies owing to the state to which some of the ships had been
reduced, short of powder, shot, sea stores of all kinds, bread, even
anchors. All the fleet, too, had to be watered, which proved a slow and
difficult business owing to the bad weather. 'I think,' wrote Rodney
in March, 'the winter season has followed us: nothing but violent hard
gales, and such a sea that half the boats of the fleet have been stove
in watering, which has delayed us much in refitting.'

Incidentally the admiral had other matters to attend to. One--it will
be interesting to make a small point of it here--was to correspond
personally with his opponent. The subject was the interchange of
prisoners taken at St. Kitts and earlier in the campaign. The British
sloop-of-war _Alert_ was the intermediary, going and coming under a
flag of truce. Nothing could exceed the courteous tone of Rodney's
correspondence with the French admiral; and, on the other hand, De
Grasse was civility itself. He treated Captain Vashon of the _Alert_,
while that officer was at Fort Royal, with every consideration, made
him his guest for the time, and expressed in conversation with the
British captain the highest esteem and consideration for 'le Chevalier
Rodney.'

Rodney wrote to De Grasse, for instance, in one letter, after dealing
in the pleasantest way with the business in hand:--

 It will make me happy if at any time this island produces anything
 worthy your acceptance, or that may be the least useful to your table.
 As the merchant ships which have lately arrived from Europe may have
 brought different species of necessaries that may be agreeable to your
 Excellency, it will make me happy, Sir, to obey your commands.

The bearing of the two admirals to one another in their personal
dealings affords a pleasing instance of the high-bred, chivalrous
courtesy that was so characteristic of the old-time fighting days.
It was the way with the men of the _ancien régime_ on both sides the
Channel when they met in war never to forget that, first and foremost,
they were gentlemen. In this spirit, almost at that very moment,
indeed, De Crillon at Gibraltar was exchanging similar compliments with
the 'old Cock of the Rock,' General Eliott--'Eliott the Brave': the
same spirit that at Fontenoy, as all the world knows, moved one side to
challenge the other to fire first. It was the same chivalrous spirit
that prompted the captains of the British fleet in the East Indies to
pay their unique compliment to the great De Suffren at the close of
this war. Hostilities were over, peace had been proclaimed, and the
rival fleets, so lately enemies, met, both on their way home, in Table
Bay. They had fought five fierce battles within sixteen months--each
one a drawn action, with honours divided. On finding the Bailli de
Suffren and his fleet in Table Bay when they arrived, the British
captains, brave old Commodore King, the senior officer, at their head,
proceeded in a body to call on the gallant leader of their quondam
foes, and pay the homage of brave men to the brilliant tactician
they had more than once been hard put to it to keep at bay. Their
generous tribute delighted the warm-hearted Provençal immensely, as he
described, by the spontaneity and peculiar graciousness of the act. The
intercourse between Rodney and De Grasse was in essentials of the same
kind: the outcome of two warriors' sense of _noblesse oblige_ the one
to the other; the obligation, as a point of honour, on both sides--

 To set the cause above renown,
 To love the game beyond the prize,
 To honour while you strike him down
 The foe that comes with fearless eyes.

 To count the life of battle good,
 And dear the land that gave you birth,
 And dearer yet the brotherhood
 That binds the brave of all the earth.[16]

It was, as it were, the swordsmen's obligatory recognition of each
other in 'the Salute' when they first come face to face, ere the
sword-blades cross and clash in fight; one of the courtesies of war
between destined opponents, wishing one another well until the striking
of the appointed hour--

 Health and high fortune till we meet,
 And then--what pleases Heaven!

'Always be polite,' said Bismarck once to Moritz Busch; 'be polite to
the foot of the scaffold, but hang your man nevertheless!' Nothing
could be nicer than Rodney's attentions, but he was in deadly
earnest all the same--he meant, at the proper time, 'to hang his man
nevertheless!'

[Illustration: THE PITONS OF ST. LUCIA]

Another incidental detail. It was while Rodney's fleet off Gros Islet
Bay was getting ready for sea that, according to local tradition, the
grim little real-life tragedy of the Pitons took place. The Pitons or
'Sugar Loaves,' as, from their general shape, they are to this day
commonly called by seafaring men, are two gigantic cones of rock, of
volcanic origin, that thrust themselves up out of the sea off the
south-westernmost end of St. Lucia, rising abruptly, almost sheer
from the water's edge. The larger of the two, the Grand Piton, towers
up to a height of some 2720 feet, or nearly seven times the height
of St. Paul's Cathedral; the smaller has an elevation some 300 feet
less. A number of sailors, the story goes, either stragglers from a
watering-party or, possibly, men from the _Russell_, a seventy-four,
then undergoing repairs in the _carénage_, managed to get on to the
Grand Piton, clambering up on to its lower slopes 'by means of lianes
and scrub.' Their intention was to try and scale the huge mass and
plant a Jack flag they had brought with them on the boulders at the
summit. The Grand Piton is covered almost to the top with dense bush,
but there are bare patches and open areas of rock surface and ledges
here and there. How many landed or started to climb is not stated, but,
according to the story told at St. Lucia to this day, lookers-on with
telescopes made out four men, including one man with the flag, more
than half-way up. Immediately afterwards one of the party was seen to
stagger and fall, and then roll down a little way and disappear. The
others went on until some two or three hundred feet higher up, when a
second man dropped. The two survivors went on steadily higher still,
and then suddenly one of the two was seen to go down. His companion
apparently took no notice. He pressed on with his flag, intent only
on getting to the top. He nearly succeeded. The last man seemed to
have almost reached the summit when he, like his messmates, was seen
to stop, stagger, throw up his arms, and drop. So the local people
tell visitors to St. Lucia to this day. What was it? What made the men
fall dead so suddenly? How they met their death no man ever knew. Few
human feet besides theirs, if indeed any, have ever tried to scale
the Pitons, and the bones of Rodney's sailors lie up there on the
windy height as they fell--what the weather and a hundred and twenty
years' exposure in the open has left of them. Was it sunstroke? Local
opinion attributes their fate to another cause. The Pitons, like the
whole island of St. Lucia itself, are known to swarm with venomous
serpents, the deadly _fer de lance_--'perhaps the deadliest snake in
the world' it has been called--an ugly monster, in average length from
3 to 5 feet, as thick as a boy's wrist, of a dull red or reddish-yellow
colour, fiercely aggressive in its ways, ever ready to strike at sight,
and its bite practically instant death. _Craspedocephalus_--the name in
itself is almost enough to kill--would account for everything. Whatever
the cause really was, at any rate the Grand Piton has ever since kept
its secret to itself.

At Fort Royal, meanwhile, everybody, from the great French Admiral
De Grasse himself down to the smallest _mousse_, was in the highest
spirits and assured of victory. To one and all the hour was at hand
for the development of the grand scheme that was to lay all the West
Indies at the feet of France. Hardly a finer fleet, perhaps, had ever
assembled under a French admiral than that lying there at that moment
in attendance on the orders of De Grasse. There were thirty-four ships
of the line, the finest men-of-war in the French navy among them,
and their captains were some of the smartest and most dashing and
most highly trained officers that ever trod a French quarter-deck. A
specially interesting set they were, as it happened, in many ways.

[Illustration: THE COUNT DE GRASSE

(From the Portrait in Hennequin's _Biographie Maritime_)]

De Grasse himself was a man of reputation, a talented and highly
trained officer, able to map out the strategy of a campaign in advance
with any man of his time, as his admirably planned and executed
Chesapeake campaign had just proved to all the world. He was just
fifty-nine--five years younger than Rodney. Both men had followed the
sea for half-a-century, the young De Grasse taking service under the
Order of Malta, in which seven-and-twenty of his ancestors had been
enrolled before him, just about the time that the schoolboy Rodney
was leaving Harrow to enter the Royal Navy as the last of the 'King's
Letter Boys.' Since then De Grasse, as an officer of the French navy
in the regular line, had served all over the world, and done well
for his country and himself. He had fought against England in three
wars and been taken prisoner once. In the present war, indeed, he
had already taken part in six fleet actions, and in three of them as
_chef d'escadre_ and third in command had had opportunity of learning
something of Rodney's methods on the day of battle. Such was Joseph
Paul de Grasse-Briançon, Knight of Malta, Grand Cross of the Order of
St. Louis, Chevalier of the Order of Cincinnatus, Count de Grasse and
Marquis de Grasse-Tilly, thirty-fifth of his line, of the _noblesse_
of Provence, overlord of forty fiefs, the man in whose hands rested
the fate of the campaign now about to open. 'Fresh from the victorious
thunder of the American cannon' as he was, not a man under his orders
doubted his ability to achieve success in the grand project that had
been committed to his hands.

The Marquis de Vaudreuil was De Grasse's second in command. There was
no better gentleman, from all accounts--never a nobler specimen of a
French naval officer of the old school than Louis Philippe de Rigaud,
Marquis de Vaudreuil. He looks it in his portrait at Versailles--a
_beau sabreur_ of the sea, _rusé_, ready-witted in emergency, a
'first-class fighting man' in all respects. The son of a sailor, the
grandson of a sailor, the great-grandson of a sailor, he belonged to a
family that had sent its sons to serve 'on the ships of the King' ever
since France had had a navy. '_Il a de l'eau de mer autour du coeur_'
is an old Breton saying that applied in the case of the scions of the
Norman house of De Vaudreuil. He was a year younger than De Grasse,
and like his chief had once had to go through the bitter experience of
having to raise his hat on the quarter-deck of a foeman's ship as he
gave up his sword to a foreigner in token of surrender.[17] Like De
Grasse also, De Vaudreuil had taken part in six fleet battles since
the war began. He was there by his own choice. There was not a man
in the fleet who had not heard how, only a little time before, De
Vaudreuil had refused the King's personal offer of a lucrative colonial
governorship--De Vaudreuil was a poor man--rather than be absent from
what to him was the post of duty. 'I am a sailor, your Majesty,' was
the fine reply, 'and in war-time a sailor's place is on the sea.'[18]
No officer in the whole French navy was more personally popular than
was this courtly son of old-time France--'_noble de sang, d'armes, et
de nom_.'

The circumnavigator Bougainville, _chef d'escadre_, was third in
command, and about to add another experience to the many he had gone
through in his crowded life. Professor of mathematics, barrister,
author, major of militia, diplomatist, colonel of light dragoons,
A.D.C. at Quebec and on the Rhine, circumnavigator, flag-captain--there
were few things within his reach that Louis Antoine de Bougainville,
the clever son of a country lawyer, had not tried his hand at in his
time.[19]

Of the other officers, a third almost of the _Annuaire de la
Noblesse_, the Debrett of Versailles, was represented at Fort
Royal. Among the senior officers alone there were four Marquises,
two Viscounts, five Counts, six Chevaliers, two Barons, nineteen
'de's,' only two plain Messieurs. There was a second De Vaudreuil,
the Vicomte's younger brother, the Comte de Vaudreuil, a man of
another kind--a smart, hard-fighting officer, but better known for his
feats of gallantry than for his feats of arms, in particular as the
favoured first lover of that haughty young beauty Gabrielle Yolande
de Polignac, daintiest of Court ladies of the hour, '_avec le visage
d'un ange et_'--perhaps it will be kinder to say no more. The Comte de
Vaugiraud was Captain of the Fleet. Baron d'Escars, of the house of
Fitz-James, notorious for his fanatical hatred of Great Britain, was
captain of the _Glorieux_. The Sieur de la Clochetterie, an impetuous
and brilliant officer--whose name as captain of the _Belle Poule_ in
her duel with the 'Saucy' _Arethusa_ at the outset of the war, the
French navy still remembers--commanded the _Hercule_. Comte d'Albert de
Rions, by reputation the ablest tactician in the French navy, after De
Suffren, was the senior captain. A De la Charette commanded the black
_Bourgogne_;[20] a De Castellan, the _Auguste_; De la Vicomté, the
_Hector_; and so on. There is, indeed, as one runs down the list of
the French captains at Fort Royal, quite a ring of mediæval chivalry,
of old-time romance, about their names. De Mortemart, De Monteclerc,
De Saint Césaire, De Champmartin, De Castellane-Majastre, Le Gardeur
de Tilly, to take half-a-dozen other names at random--one might almost
be checking off one of Bayard's _compagnies d'élite_, or calling over
a muster-roll of the Lances of Du Guesclin. In the junior ranks were a
De Tourville, the Vicomte de Betisy, two scions of the historic house
of St. Simon, a Grimaldi, a Lascaris, a De Lauzun, a De Sevigné, a
MacMahon, a Talleyrand, a De Ségur, a De Rochefoucauld, a Montesquieu.
Brueys d'Aigalliers, of a noble family of Languedoc, who later on took
service under the Revolution, and perished fighting Nelson at the Nile,
was one of the lieutenants. La Pérouse, the explorer, was a _capitaine
de frégate_. Bruix and Denis Decrès, Napoleon's Ministers of Marine in
later days, were two of the midshipmen. Magon, who fell a rear-admiral
at Trafalgar, was an _enseigne de vaisseau_. L'Hermitte, Troude,
Willaumez, Emeriau, Bourayne, others of Napoleon's admirals, were among
the boy _volontiers d'honneur_ (naval cadets) in various ships of the
Fort Royal fleet. De Grasse's personal staff comprised the Vicomte de
Grasse, the admiral's nephew, the Comte de Cibon, and the Marquis de
Beaulieu.

It was a glittering and gallant crowd that walked the quarter-deck
with all the gay _abandon_ of their race those balmy, fragrant West
Indian evenings of April 1782, while the band played 'Vive Henri
Quatre!' and 'Charmante Gabrielle,' high spirited, and heedless of the
coming days. What were they not going to do, '_pour en finir avec ces
Anglais--bêtes_!' Jamaica first, _cela s'entend_! Then the sack of
Barbados,--the spoil of the goldsmiths and silversmiths of Bridgetown
and the mansions of the planters, whose sideboards, groaning under the
weight of gold and silver plate, 'astonished and stirred the envy of
every passing visitor,' as travellers had told ever since the time of
old Père Labat, 'gold and silver plate so abundant that the plunder
of it would pay the cost of an expedition for the reduction of the
island!' _Vive la France! Vive la Gloire!_ Light-hearted and gay, how
many of them gave a thought to something else? What of those who would
not live to see the coming battle through? How many of them all would
kneel next Sunday three weeks to receive the _aumônier's_ blessing at
early mass? Ah well!--what mattered it!--_Fortune de guerre!_ Perhaps
so. Perhaps, indeed, better so--at any rate, for some of them. Those
who were to fall in the coming fight were to be envied, rather, in
their ending. It was better, surely, to go down there and then, to be
dropped overboard in the clear, deep water alongside, eight hundred
and fifty fathoms down, to sleep the last sleep beneath the lapping
wavelets of the blue Caribbean, dead on the field of honour, than to
survive for what was yet to come for France, to experience the fate
that was to befall so many a gallant French officer who outlived the
cannon thunders of Rodney's day. To be laid to rest there in those
soft summer seas was at least a better fortune than to have to undergo
the cruel doom that a few years later overtook so many of their
messmates who outlasted the fight. Better be smashed in two by an
English cannon-ball on the quarter-deck, than perish hideously in the
dungeons of Draguignan, or go in the tumbrils to a death of ignominy
and cold-blooded horror, clattering over the cobble-stones to the
Place de Grève, while all round the mob of Paris howled and danced and
cursed--the hapless lot of so many a gallant naval officer among the
rest of the gentlemen of old-time France,

 ... those gallant fellows who died by guillotine,
 For honour and the fleur-de-lis and Antoinette the Queen.

It was better too, surely, than what befell so many others of those who
escaped the Terror; better than to have to drag out year after year
a pitiful existence as an _émigré_ in London, in squalid lodgings in
Somers Town, driven, poor fellows, to earn a wretched and precarious
livelihood by teaching French for a few pence a lesson, or as
dancing-masters, and then after it all be put away in a cheap grave in
the grimy soil of St. Pancras old churchyard. It was better than that.
_Vive la Gloire! Vixerunt._ Each one has had his day--

 And somewhere, 'mid the distant stars,
   He knows, mayhap, what glory is.

[Illustration: CLOCK-FACE FROM THE _VILLE DE PARIS_

 Now in the Museum of the Royal United Service Institution, Whitehall.
 The clock-face was set up at the break of the poop, above the
 quarter-deck. It was the duty of a sentry to move the hands on every
 hour.]

The ships were worthy of the men. The pick of the French fleet was with
De Grasse--one ship of a hundred and four guns, five of eighty-four,
three eighties, nineteen seventy-fours, six sixty-fours--thirty-four
sail of the line altogether, besides sixteen frigates. A fine show they
made with their yellow sides, belted with black at the water-line,
and dark blue bulwarks, with red ports, gilded figure-heads and
balustraded galleries, and gleaming brass Gribeauval guns, the newest
type of ordnance from the foundries of Indret and La Ruelle. The
magnificent _Ville de Paris_, 'leviathan of ships,' was De Grasse's
flagship, the finest and largest first-rate in the world, the splendid
present offered by the citizens of Paris to the King at the close of
the Seven Years' War, as their contribution towards making good the
losses that France had suffered in the war. Four and a half million
livres she was said to have cost, nearly four times the price of the
British _Royal George_ or the _Victory_. Seven others of the fifteen
powerful men-of-war that the provinces and corporations of France,
following the example of the capital, then offered to the State, were
at Fort Royal, on which no money nor pains had been spared to make them
equal in efficiency to the finest ships afloat.

[Illustration: BELL OF THE _VILLE DE PARIS_

Now in the Museum of the Royal United Service Institution, Whitehall.]

A small army of soldiers was at Fort Royal, as well as De Grasse's
fleet. There were between five and six thousand troops there, waiting
under canvas for the order to embark on board the men-of-war. Bouillé
commanded them,--the Marquis de Bouillé, the conqueror of St. Kitts
and Nevis and Montserrat and Dominica and St. Eustatius, 'tiger-spring
Bouillé,'[21] though better known to fame, perhaps, for his share in
the events of a later day, as Commandant-General of Metz and the 'last
refuge of royalty.' Varennes, however, was a name that De Bouillé,
possibly, had as yet not heard of. Postmaster Drouet still rode in the
ranks of the Condé dragoons. Some of the smartest corps in the French
service were there: Regiment de Foix, dashing d'Armagnac, Artillerie
de Metz, Regiments de Béarn, de Touraine, and de Monsieur, red-coated
Irishmen of the Walsh and Dillon corps, half a battalion of Royal
Contois, two battalions of Auxerrois, brought from York Town with De
Grasse, after having witnessed the march out of the surrendered British
army. One of the most striking of the great paintings on the walls
of the _Galerie des Batailles_ at Versailles shows an aide-de-camp,
a cocked-hatted, high-gaitered young dandy, garbed in Bourbon white
with the mauve facings and silver lace of Auxerrois receiving orders
from Washington just before the last attack. De Bouillé's division
had already its place on paper as one of the wings of the 'Army of
Jamaica.'

Now we turn to Gros Islet Bay and the British fleet. Rodney's ships
lay at anchor to the south of Pigeon Island, off the north-west of St.
Lucia, in the roadstead in front of Gros Islet Bay, about half-a-mile
off shore, a stretch of deep water extending a mile and a half. The
Gros Islet, from which the bay takes its name, was the old French name
for Pigeon Island. There was also a village of the name on the shore
opposite the island. Seven miles along the coast to the south was the
_carénage_, where ships could be hove down and repaired; now called
Castries, and an important port and naval station, destined, with the
opening of the Panama Canal, to become the Valetta of the West Indies.
The watering place for the fleet was at Trou Gascon in the bay.

Rodney's thirty-six sail of the line in Gros Islet Bay were thus made
up: five three-deckers (four of 98 guns, _Formidable_, _Barfleur_,
_Prince George_, and _Duke_, and one of 90, the _Namur_), and
thirty-one two-deckers (twenty of them 74's, one a 70-gun ship, and ten
64's). They were as a rule older and slower vessels than the French
ships: nearly a third of them, in fact, had seen service in the Seven
Years' War. In guns the British fleet mounted 2620 pieces all told,
against 2526 on the French side, but the enemy's metal was considerably
the heavier. Most of De Grasse's ships carried 36-pounders (French
weight, equivalent to 42-pounders by British reckoning), as against the
32-pounders that were Rodney's heaviest guns. According to the British
Flag Captain, Sir Charles Douglas, the difference between the fleets in
weight of metal worked out at 4396 lbs. (nearly two tons) in favour of
the enemy. It made the French stronger, Douglas held, by 'the weight
of metal of four 84's.' That was the difference on paper. In point of
fact, certain details of equipment reversed the disparity. Most of
Rodney's ships had their guns fitted with locks and priming-tubes, in
place of the old port-fires and powder-horns which the French still
used. Also, they had been supplied with certain devices for quickening
the service of the guns, increasing their rate of fire, and giving
them a wider arc of training on the broadside. All that gave Rodney
a very real advantage in hard-hitting power, without counting the
carronades[22] or 'smashers' that most of the British ships mounted as
extra to their regulation armaments.

In all respects Rodney's fleet was in the very highest order, and its
discipline and general smartness left little to be desired. Thanks to
the energy and skill of Dr. Blane, Rodney's Physician of the Fleet,
no previous British fleet in time of war perhaps had ever been so
free from sickness. In some ships there was not a man unfit to go
to quarters. The _Ajax_, to name one ship, had no sick list. In the
_Formidable_, out of 900 men on board, only two were unfit for duty.
Before leaving Plymouth, Dr. Blane had had Teneriffe wine supplied
to the flagship instead of rum, together with molasses and pickled
cabbages, and the dietary had had a marvellous effect on the health of
the men. For the first four months of the commission there was not a
single death from sickness.[23]

As we glanced at De Grasse's captains, so we may glance at the gallant
fellows in whose hands rested the fate of the British Empire. They were
of another class than the captains of the enemy. There were no counts
or viscounts with long pedigrees and high-sounding romantic names among
Rodney's captains. Few of them were of 'the offspring of the sons and
daughters of fashion,' though of course some were men of birth and
breeding. Rodney himself, a baronet and K.B. (distinctions won on his
own account), was a man of family. Sir Samuel Hood, also a self-made
baronet, was a Somersetshire parson's son. Rear-Admiral Francis Samuel
Drake, the third in command, a descendant of the great Sir Francis of
Elizabethan days, belonged to the ordinary country gentleman class--man
for man, no doubt, as good as any nobleman of France, but as denizens
of another world to a Lord Chamberlain or a master of the ceremonies.
Among the captains, Lord Robert Manners, of the _Resolution_, was the
Marquis of Granby's second son; the Hon. William Cornwallis, of the
_Canada_, was a younger son of Earl Cornwallis; Captain Reynolds, of
the _Monarch_, was heir-presumptive to the Ducie peerage; Captain Lord
Cranstoun, a volunteer on board the _Formidable_, was a baron of the
Scottish peerage. These four, with Sir Charles Douglas, the Captain of
the Fleet, another self-made baronet (for war service), and Sir James
Wallace, a knight, constituted, with the admiral and Hood, the social
_élite_ of Rodney's fleet--a list that hardly comes into comparison
with De Grasse's little Versailles. The bulk of the British captains
were the sons of ordinary folk, sons of squires and country parsons,
and old naval officers to some extent, drawn from all over the three
kingdoms--the sort of men that had officered the Royal Navy for the
past hundred years, the men to whom Great Britain to-day owes her place
among the nations. That, indeed, is literally the case. Also, not a few
of those who to-day serve His Majesty King Edward on the quarter-deck
are lineal representatives of Rodney's officers who in that April
week of the year 1782 were in Gros Islet Bay, watching hour by hour
for the _Formidable_ to hoist the sailing-flags. It is an interesting
instance of hereditary inclination--of how the naval spirit runs in
families. Two-thirds of Rodney's captains, practically, are represented
at the present hour in the Royal Navy by direct descendants. One has
only to turn over the pages of the current Navy List to find Hoods
and Inglefields and Parrys, and Graveses and Gardners, Fanshawes and
Dumaresqs, a Buckner, a Blur, a Burnett, a Balfour, a Savage, a Symons,
a Charrington, an Inglis, a Wallace, a Byron, a Cornish, a Truscott,
a Saumarez, Knights and Wilsons, and Williamses and Wilkinsons and
Thomsons, besides others, who either trace their descent directly from
Rodney's captains or come of the same stock.

All in Gros Islet Bay were burning with anxiety to meet the enemy,
absolutely confident of the result. About that, from the highest to
the lowest, there were no two opinions. 'Their fate,' wrote Rodney
himself in a letter on the 4th of April, 'is only delayed a short time,
for have it they must and shall.' That was the common sentiment with
all. The fleet was prepared to sail at an hour's notice. All leave was
stopped. Not an officer or man was allowed out of his ship except on
duty. Rodney meant that the blow, when it fell, should come, in the
language of the prize-ring, as a 'knock-out' blow. It should be, to use
Rodney's own words, 'the great event that must restore the empire of
the seas to Great Britain.'

De Grasse was closely watched from hour to hour. Every movement at Fort
Royal was signalled to the _Formidable_ practically as it was made. A
chain of Rodney's frigates reported everything that De Grasse did--a
line of ships that stretched across the thirty miles of sea between
Gros Islet Bay and the fleet in Fort Royal. To and fro they tacked
day and night, patrolling ceaselessly, observing all that passed and
sending word of it along the chain. Two line-of-battle ships, the
_Magnificent_ and the fast-sailing _Agamemnon_, stiffened the frigate
line at the end nearest the enemy. Captain George Anson Byron, of the
_Andromache_, was in command of the look-out squadron--'an active,
brisk, and intelligent officer,' Rodney calls him, the second son of
old John Byron, 'Foul Weather Jack.' A signal-station on Pigeon Island,
set up near the edge of a steep cliff 340 feet high (nearly the height
of Beachy Head), kept touch with the frigates and linked them with the
battle fleet. From the look-out post the men on duty could see not
only the nearer frigates of the chain, but also right across to the
mountains of Martinique, and in clear weather catch the white glint
of the topgallant sails of the more distant vessels in front of Fort
Royal, on the far horizon and hull down. The admiral himself, we are
told, used to land on Pigeon Island nearly every day, and go up to the
signal station, where, under an awning made from a sail, he would sit
in an arm-chair with his telescope at his eye, scanning the frigate
line. On the site of Rodney's signal-station there now stands a small
fort, called 'Fort Rodney,' and visitors are shown what is said to be
the actual slab of rock on which the admiral's chair was placed.

On the 3rd of April Captain Byron sent in the message that the enemy's
preparations for sea appeared complete. On the 5th he signalled across
that he could see the French soldiers being embarked on board the
men-of-war. The fateful hour was on the point of striking. Then the
news that Rodney wanted came. Just before eight on the morning of
Sunday, the 8th of April, the signal was seen flying at the mast-head
of the nearest of the frigates: 'THE ENEMY ARE COMING OUT OF PORT.'

The whole fleet was at sea, says Dr. Blane, 'in a little more than two
hours.' In rapid succession the _Formidable_ signalled, first to recall
all boats and watering parties on board their ships at once, then for
the fleet to 'Prepare to sail.' Following on that, at nine o'clock,
according to the _Formidable's_ log, the signal was made--'Prepare
for battle!' Before half-past ten all was ready. The _Formidable_
now loosed her main-topsail and fired a gun; to prepare to weigh
anchor. That done, down dropped the foretopsail, and off went a second
gun--'Weigh!' A quarter of an hour later--

 With boats on board, with anchors weighed,
   The fleet rides ready in the bay.

The whole fleet was under sail and moving out to sea by a little before
eleven. Rodney had started on his chase.

Before noon the rear ships were clearing Pigeon Island and Point
du Cap, the northernmost headland of St. Lucia, was on the beam.
The _Magnificent_ and _Agamemnon_, falling back from their advanced
positions while the frigates held on ahead, now came into the fleet.
De Grasse, they reported, had come out and gone off to the north-west,
with thirty-five sail of the line, ten frigates, and an immense convoy
of merchantmen and store-ships, numbering upwards of a hundred and
fifty sail. The convoy had left Fort Royal at daybreak, some time in
advance of the men-of-war, working up along the coast towards St.
Pierre under a small escort.

As the British fleet gained the open sea it formed up in order of
sailing, Hood's squadron leading.

Nothing could be seen of the enemy from the fleet. Not even from
the mast-head was a glimpse of the French to be got. Touch, though,
was well maintained by the frigates, who kept Rodney continuously
informed of the course the enemy were taking. Diamond Rock, a solitary
haystack-shaped mass off the Morne du Diamant, the south-western point
of Martinique, began to rise on the sea-line ahead towards three
o'clock. Half-an-hour later they could make out the bluff shoulder of
Cape Solomon, on the southern side of Fort Royal Bay. Nothing of the
enemy, though, was visible even from the mast-head of the battle-fleet,
until, at eight minutes after four. Hood's ship, the _Barfleur_,
flagship of the van squadron, suddenly made a signal that she saw
them. Enthusiastic cheers burst out in response from ship to ship all
down the line. From the _Formidable_, farther astern, they did not get
their first sight of the enemy until nearly two hours later, not long
before sunset. Then they sighted five strange sail on the horizon to
the north-west, 'which we suppose,' says the _Formidable's_ log, 'to be
part of the French fleet.' Darkness came on soon after that. 'During
the night,' says Sir Charles Douglas, 'we followed them, under as much
canvas as we could in prudence carry, the wind blowing very fresh at
N.E. by E.'

[Illustration:

Emery Walker sc.

CHART SHOWING RODNEY'S PURSUIT OF DE GRASSE, AND THE ENGAGEMENTS OF
APRIL 9 AND 12]

At nine o'clock one of the headmost of the frigates, dropping back
from the van, hailed the _Formidable_ to the effect that they had De
Grasse's lights well in view. By midnight the enemy's signal-flares
were distinctly visible from the British flagship, and an occasional
signal-gun was heard. At two in the morning (the 9th of April) the
_St. Albans_ dropped back alongside the _Formidable_ and hailed across
that she and the _Valiant_, sailing to windward, had seen the enemy's
lights. The _Formidable_ had sighted them for herself just before.
Satisfied with the progress made, Rodney now brought the fleet to.
Daylight was wanted for the next move.

Clear daylight came about half-past five. It disclosed the entire force
of the enemy, both men-of-war and convoy. They were full in sight to
the north-east, an irregular array of ships stretching along under the
high land of Dominica, and from six to twelve miles off. The leading
French ships were trying to weather the northernmost point of the
island and work round into the stretch of open water between Dominica
and the next island to northward, Guadeloupe, but their progress was
slow. Since midnight the wind had fallen away until it was now nearly a
dead calm. The bulk of De Grasse's ships were lying off Prince Rupert's
Bay with barely steerage way. Rodney, farther to seaward, was in like
case. Until nearly seven o'clock it was impossible to move on either
side. Then there came a change. Towards seven o'clock the sea-breeze
from the north-east, blowing through the channel between Dominica and
Guadeloupe, began to reach Hood's ships at the head of the British
line. The breeze carried Hood forward and out into the channel; but at
the same time it caused him to break away and separate from his own
fleet. Rodney himself with the whole of the British centre, and Drake
with the rear squadron, were left at some distance astern, beyond the
reach of the breeze. They remained unable to get clear of the belt of
calm under the lee of Dominica.[24] A gap was formed in the British
line as Hood was swept more and more ahead, and it widened rapidly.

The opportunity was too good for De Grasse to miss. He had the windward
berth, and fourteen or fifteen of his ships, helped by the same breeze
that carried Hood forward, were simultaneously getting clear of the
island and into the channel. Only eight ships were with Hood. De Grasse
saw a chance of dealing his opponent a telling blow by crippling Hood
before the British centre and rear squadrons could move to his support.
He signalled to De Vaudreuil, who led the French line, to bring Hood's
isolated squadron to action at once.

An incident of the most exciting and extra-ordinary kind occurred
while De Vaudreuil, who well knew what kind of action his leader
intended him to fight, was preparing to carry out his orders. Two
French ships, to leeward of the rest, attempted to cut across the
head of Hood's ships, which were sailing in close order at one cable
interval. The two had got separated from their consorts during the
night, and were taking the nearest way to rejoin. One of them shirked
coming to close quarters, and made a sweep round well ahead of Hood.
The other, in the coolest and most insolent way, stood directly for
the leader of the British column. She approached deliberately and
aggressively, and came on as though she did not care if she came into
collision with anybody or not. Her ports were closed down, her ensign
staff showed no colours. On the reckless Frenchman came, and the next
instant, to the astonishment of the whole squadron, the _Alfred_,
Hood's leading ship, herself gave way, and sheered out of line. The
_Alfred_ bore up to allow the enemy's seventy-four to pass. The amazing
display of impudence was attended with complete impunity. Everything
was done in dumb show. Not a gun went off on either side. Hood's men
in the eight ships were all at quarters and ready, fidgeting with
suppressed excitement but in hand. Their guns were pointed and run
out and all training on the Frenchmen--yet not a shot was, or could
be, fired. No signal to 'commence action' had gone up. Until it did,
until the red flag broke at the _Formidable's_ foretopmast-head, no
captain dared begin. Why Rodney delayed the signal was inexplicable.
The _Formidable_ was between five and six miles from Hood at that
moment; but on board the flagship they must have seen what was taking
place. At any rate it was a fine display of British discipline. In
breathless silence the French ship forged slowly past the _Alfred's_
broadside, every gun of which was kept pointed on her, training round
and following her as she went by. She made no sign, but held stolidly
on for her own fleet, until she had reached a safe distance from the
British ships. Then, as if in bravado, the French captain hauled his
ports up, ran his guns out, and displayed his colours. Immediately
afterwards the _Formidable_ made the signal--'Engage.'

De Vaudreuil at the same moment opened his attack--such as it was.
He had had his instructions from De Grasse as to the sort of attack
he was to deliver. It was not to be pressed home. No risks were to
be run. Hood was to be dealt with by long-range fire from the French
36-pounders, and his ships dismasted and crippled, the French ships
themselves meanwhile keeping off as much as possible out of harm's
way. With fifteen ships to the British eight, De Grasse anticipated
being able to handle Hood so roughly that Rodney would be forced after
the fight to stop behind to attend to the repairs of his second in
command's squadron, which would let him go on his way to San Domingo
without further interference. That was what was in the French admiral's
mind. De Grasse would not see that he had only to go one step farther.
The gods had favoured him, the odds were all on his side: a little
boldness, a little of the _furia francese_ at point-blank range,
and Rodney's whole fleet would be out of action for the rest of the
campaign. Had De Vaudreuil made use of his superiority on the spot and
attacked Hood vigorously at close quarters, there would have been no
question of repairs. Hood's squadron would have ceased to exist as a
fighting force: twenty-five per cent of Rodney's total strength would
have been shorn away at one stroke.[25] When De Vaudreuil began firing,
the nearest ships of Rodney's squadron were four miles from Hood, and
still becalmed; Admiral Drake and the rear squadron, all also becalmed,
were from ten to twelve miles off. It was an anxious moment for the
British, until they saw how things were shaping themselves.

De Vaudreuil attacked in a very clever fashion, with a remarkably
artistic display of minor tactics. He circled his ships round and round
and blazed away with a continuous fire on his opponent, who kept a
close line for most of the time, with main-topsails to the mast. At
times two or three of the French ships--sometimes, indeed, more--were
firing at once on individual British ships. The _Barfleur_, we are
told, 'had at one time seven and generally three ships upon her.'[26]
Hood remained very little the worse for his hammering, and after
three-quarters of an hour's firing De Vaudreuil gave over for a time.

The attack was renewed a little before noon with some fresh ships.
The breeze had reached the French main body, enabling De Grasse and
three-quarters of his fleet to arrive on the scene. It also brought up
some of the headmost ships of Rodney's own squadron, the _Formidable_
among them, but these were far fewer than the French, who throughout
had a superiority within the fighting zone of nearly two to one. The
rear division of Rodney's squadron and the whole of Drake's still
remained becalmed a long way astern. Once again De Grasse refused to
seize his chance and push his advantage home. 'Had the French fleet
come down as they ought,' said Rodney, 'in all probability half my
fleet would have suffered extremely; but they, as usual, kept an awful
distance, and only made a cannonade!'[27] For upwards of an hour and
a half the firing went on, and then it ceased for the day. Rodney's
rear division and Drake's ships had at last got a breeze and were
beginning to work up into action. On seeing that, De Grasse broke off
the fighting abruptly and drew off out of range. His half-hearted game
had failed entirely. None of Hood's ships had suffered damage that
could not be repaired at sea within twenty-four hours. On the other
hand, the straight shooting of Hood's gunners, long as the range had
been, had severely mauled some of De Vaudreuil's ships. On board the
_Formidable_, in the short time she was in action, three men were
killed and ten wounded; the killed including an officer. Lieutenant
Hill--'my best lieutenant,' as Rodney called him.

De Grasse employed the afternoon in working to windward towards the
Saints, a group of islets about six miles to southward of Guadeloupe.
Rodney, after reversing the order of his line so as to bring Drake's
fresh ships to the van and place Hood's squadron in rear, hove-to in
order to give the damaged ships an opportunity for attending to their
repairs.

They remained hove-to until daybreak next morning (Wednesday, the 10th
of April), when once more Rodney took up the chase. The French were
in sight, some twelve miles off. All day Rodney chased hard, beating
up against a stiff north-easterly breeze. The French admiral showed
no disposition to turn on his pursuers and fight. 'The French,' wrote
Rodney, 'always had it in their power to come into action, which they
cautiously avoided.' De Grasse held on his course, and gaining steadily
during the day led by fifteen miles at nightfall. He was by then near
the Saints. Rodney's last signal before sunset was 'General chase,' so
as to give his ships every chance of doing their best independently.
There was little fear of missing the enemy. Throughout the night the
flashes of the French signal-guns and their signal-flares and false
fires were plainly visible.

In spite of Rodney's efforts, however, the French gained on him in the
night. To the British admiral's bitter disappointment, on Thursday
morning the enemy were nearly out of sight. Only a few of their ships
were to be seen. De Grasse, indeed, had secured so long a lead that
already a large part of his fleet had weathered the Saints. It looked,
in fact, as though the enemy were going to get away clear after all.
Rodney, however, was not a man to despair. 'Persist and conquer,' was,
as he himself said, his favourite maxim in war. He held doggedly on,
trusting to the chapter of accidents. It was, no doubt, all he could
do. Anyway, as events proved, it was the right thing.

He had his reward, and before he had waited very long. Early in the
afternoon two of De Grasse's ships were made out to be in difficulties.
They had dropped astern of the French line and to leeward, and were
drifting in the direction of the course of the advancing British.
During Wednesday night the _Zélé_, a seventy-four, had collided with
another French ship, losing her main-topmast in the collision. Unable
to make good her damage, after trying in vain to keep up with her
consorts, the unfortunate vessel had dropped gradually to leeward,
in company with the _Magnanime_, also a seventy-four, whose foreyard
had been carried away in tacking. The two ships were several miles to
leeward of the French fleet when, early in the afternoon, they came
under Rodney's attention. At that time they were still a long way to
windward of the weathermost of the British fleet, but their situation
offered Rodney an opening. Supposing he made a show of trying to cut
the two French ships off--how would De Grasse take it? Would he turn
back and come to the rescue? Rodney felt sure that he would. De Grasse,
he was positive, would never let two of his ships be snapped up by an
enemy in full view of his own fleet without making an effort to save
them. That being so, there could only be one outcome. 'I flattered
myself,' said Rodney, 'he would give me an opportunity of engaging next
day.'

The signal to chase the two ships was made at once, and within a few
minutes the weathermost of the British ships were drawing out directly
towards them. They were Rodney's fliers, and they sailed fast. They
'gained on the French so fast that the two French ships,' according to
Sir Charles Douglas, who was watching the chase from the quarter-deck
of the _Formidable_, 'began to make signals for help to three or four
of the enemy, all then in sight from the mast-head.' That was just what
Rodney wanted. What he hoped for followed. De Grasse could not stand
by and see two of his ships cut off. The French admiral, observing the
signals of distress, went about and bore down to the rescue under full
sail. 'De Grasse,' said Captain Douglas, describing the afternoon's
work, 'bore down _en corps_, our chasers still menacing their game
until the Count's headmost ships had got very near them, when they and
the rest of the fleet were recalled into close order by signal.'[28]
By five o'clock De Grasse had lost all the advantage of position that
he had toiled so hard to secure during the past two days. He saved his
two ships, and he was still to windward; but it was more than an even
chance now that Rodney would be able to force on a battle next day. 'I
hope we shall do most effective business to-morrow,' were Hood's words
in a note to Rodney that evening.

Rodney made it his business that De Grasse should not have the chance
of evading battle on the morrow. With that one aim he issued his orders
for the night. He saw his way to outmanoeuvre the French under cover of
the dark. All lights on board every ship were to be dowsed except one
lantern at the stern of the _America_, told off as the 'guide of the
fleet.' On a signal, given from the _Formidable_ after dark, the whole
fleet, in order of sailing and under press of canvas, was to stand to
the south, 'which was away from the French,' until two o'clock in the
morning. Then, on a gun signal from the _Formidable_, all would tack
together and beat up until daylight.

Everything turned out exactly as Rodney anticipated. From the British
fleet they marked the flashes of De Grasse's signal-guns from time to
time during the night, and could guess what he was doing. The French
admiral, on the other hand, saw nothing and heard nothing of the
British fleet. He had not the least idea of Rodney's whereabouts all
the night through, and was immensely surprised when daylight showed up
the complete success of Rodney's clever move. 'We had no conception,'
said one of De Grasse's officers afterwards, 'that the British fleet
could be so near.'

Rodney at daybreak was asleep in his cabin. Having set things in train,
he had lain down to get what rest he might before the fateful morrow
came. He had not been able to sleep at all for anxiety during the three
previous nights. The admiral was sleeping peacefully when, a little
before half-past five, Sir Charles Douglas entered the cabin and awoke
Rodney with the news that 'God had given him his enemy on the lee bow!'

Rodney was on deck a very few minutes later. It was broad daylight.
This is the situation as it presented itself before Rodney's eyes
that morning. The British fleet in line ahead, not a ship out of
station, was steering east-north-east on the starboard tack. The wind
was from the south-east. Right ahead lay the open channel between
Dominica and Guadeloupe, divided by the chain of islets known as 'the
Saints'--Columbus's name for them in commemoration of their discovery
on All Saints' Day. They lay off the south end of Martinique, six miles
from shore, with, on the other side, between them and Dominica, a wide
space of open water, fifteen miles across--'The Saints' Passage,' as
it was called. Prince Rupert's Bay in Dominica lay some miles away
on Rodney's starboard beam. The enemy were to the north-east of the
British fleet, as Douglas had said, 'broad on the lee bow.' They were
out of formation, a straggling array of ships, making towards the
south on the port tack and pointing diagonally across the Saints'
Passage.[29] The French had had a bad night and were widely separated.
Most of their ships were far off on the horizon, nearly twelve miles
away. A small group of five or six ships, with a big three-decker in
the midst of them, were not more than eight miles from Rodney. That,
however, was not all. Rodney, after his first glance ahead, turned his
attention in another direction. What he saw was enough to astonish him.
There, under his very eyes, by an extraordinary chance, the situation
of yesterday afternoon was repeating itself. Dead to leeward of the
British fleet, and only five or six miles off, were two isolated French
ships. One was a seventy-four, with her foremast down and bowsprit
gone. The other was a frigate, which had the crippled ship in tow. The
two were going off before the wind, apparently bound for Basse Terre,
Guadeloupe.

There had been another collision in the French fleet. The hapless
_Zélé_, whose earlier misfortunes had been the cause of De Grasse
turning back on Thursday afternoon, had during the previous night
had a second collision. While tacking shortly after midnight, she
had blundered clumsily into the _Ville de Paris_ with disastrous
consequences. In her present state the _Zélé_ was a danger to his
fleet, and De Grasse told off La Pérouse of the _Astrée_ to tow the
crippled ship off at once into Basse Terre. It proved, though, for one
reason and another, not so easy a thing to do in the dark, and the
first streaks of dawn were showing before the towing-cable had been got
across. After that, when at length the two moved away they crawled off
dead slow, making barely five knots. All the time, ever since midnight,
the wind and set of the tide had been carrying not only the _Zélé_ and
the _Astrée_, but also the _Ville de Paris_ and the half-dozen ships
with her that were standing by, steadily to leeward, away from the
main body of the French fleet, and ever nearer to the course on which
Rodney, in the dark, all unknown to De Grasse, was fast approaching.
The French had entirely lost touch with Rodney since sunset, owing to
his having put out his lights.

From the _Formidable's_ quarter-deck Rodney marked the situation of
the _Zélé_. He saw what it meant. A flutter of signal-flags broke
overhead, and within two minutes four of Hood's smartest ships--the
_Monarch_, _Valiant_, _Centaur_, and the _Belliqueux_--were sweeping
out of the line with all sail set, heading straight for the _Zélé_ and
the frigate. De Grasse saw it. To lose the _Zélé_ like that would be
a personal disgrace; but that was not all the mischief. The great De
Bouillé himself, Commander-in-Chief of the French army, was on board
the _Astrée_. It was terribly awkward. De Grasse at once signalled to
his fleet in the distance to make all sail and close on the _Ville de
Paris_, forming line on the port tack.[30] He himself meanwhile with
the ships nearest him bore down towards the British four to frighten
them off. That was just the false step that Rodney wanted him to
take--the outcome of "an impulse of hasty unbalanced judgment."[31]
By another move he might have forced Rodney to recall his chasers
before they could reach the _Zélé_, at the same time also keeping the
weather-gage for himself. By hurrying down under sail ahead of his
fleet De Grasse not only delayed the formation of his line, as his
ships had the farther to go to reach their stations, but he also
carried his fleet bodily to leeward and within Rodney's reach. A worse
blunder still was the forming line on the port tack--the opposite to
that on which Rodney was standing. By continuing on the port tack, the
French, after the first exchange of fire in the open channel, could not
help running into the belt of calms and variable airs off the coast
of Dominica, which would render further manoeuvring on their part
impossible. It was a glaring blunder, and his own fleet saw it. 'What
evil genius,' exclaimed De Vaudreuil's flag-captain, Du Pavillon, who
had the reputation of being one of the ablest officers in the French
navy, as he read off the flags at the _Ville de Paris's_ mast-head with
his glass, 'What evil genius has inspired the admiral!'

When the French had come far enough to leeward to suit his purpose,
Rodney recalled his chasing ships and went to breakfast.

The men had already breakfasted, and every ship was ready, cleared for
action: the decks were rid of unnecessary gear and sanded down, the
yards slung and sheets stoppered, fire screens rigged, the guns cast
loose, and run out, the galley fires extinguished and the magazines
opened. On board the _Formidable_ during these preliminary moments, Sir
Charles Douglas with Captain Symonds went round below and inspected
the gun-locks throughout the ship and the supplies of quill priming
tubes--eighty tubes with a couple of Kentish flints to each gun.

The Admiral's breakfast party, we are told, sat down in a very cheerful
and confident mood. Douglas of course formed one of the party, and
Captain Symonds; Paget the admiral's secretary. Dr. Blane, and the
flag-lieutenant were the others. One chair was vacant, that of Lord
Cranstoun. Lord Cranstoun was remaining behind on deck to watch the
movements of the enemy. When the others were half-way through the meal
he came hurrying into the cabin with the announcement that the course
on which they were standing must carry them through the enemy's line.
Everybody glanced at Rodney expecting him to say something;--but the
admiral made no remark and calmly went on with his meal.

When they went on deck again after breakfast the enemy had hauled up
rather nearer to the wind than before, but were still standing on
the port tack and heading to cross the bows of the British fleet. De
Grasse's line was not yet formed. The ships farthest off when the
French Admiral first made his signal had not yet had time to join,
though they were hastening down with all sail set.

The spectacle at every point was inspiring, and was girt round by
a magnificent setting. On one hand, right ahead, the Saints' group
stretched away to the north-east, islet beyond islet, all showing
up clear in the golden sunshine of the cloudless morning against the
towering darker background of the Souffrière of Guadeloupe. On the
horizon, due east, a faint greyish-blue blur marked the low-lying
island of Marie Galante. Away on the starboard beam and not far distant
the mountain masses of Dominica, crowned by the jagged volcanic summit
of the mighty Diablotin, the loftiest peak of the Antilles, overtopped
the scene and closed in the view. 'If superior beings,' wrote Dr.
Blane, 'make a sport of the quarrels of mortals, they could not have
chosen a better theatre for the magnificent exhibition.'[32]

The fleets in themselves afforded a spectacle in keeping with the
surroundings. Nothing could have been finer than the show they made
that morning: nearly eighty men-of-war all told, three-deckers,
two-deckers, and frigates in battle array, their lofty canvas glinting
white in the bright sunshine, with gleaming yellow sides, tiers on
tiers of ports, wide open with the red port-lids lashed back showing
the brass muzzles of the shotted guns, all gliding forward in stately
order across a placid sea of the deepest blue, shimmering under a
cloudless sky.

The Blue Ensign led the British line, the colours of Drake's squadron;
twelve ships all with blue ensigns at the stern. The White Ensign was
in the centre, waving over the _Formidable_ and her division of twelve;
Rodney's own colour as admiral of the White. Hood's twelve in rear wore
the Red Ensign, Hood being a flag officer of the Red. On the French
side, Bougainville led with the 'Escadre Bleue,' De la Clochetterie
having the post of honour in the van ship. De Grasse himself, with the
'Cornette Blanche' at the mast-head of the mighty _Ville de Paris_, was
in the centre. De Vaudreuil with the 'Blanche et Bleu' at the fore, the
service term for the parti-coloured flag that French seconds-in-command
flew, brought up the rear.[33]

After calling in his chasers Rodney closed his fleet to one cable
interval all along the line. His van ships continued meanwhile to lead
obliquely across the course that the French were steering, making
towards the spot where, as both sides could see, the two lines were
bound to intersect. The headmost ships of the French fleet passed over
the spot first; just, it so happened, as the leading ships of the
British fleet came within range. For that the French had been watching.
As soon as they saw that their shots could reach the enemy they opened
fire.

De Grasse did not intend, if he could help it, to fight a pitched
battle. It was not his policy to fight the battle out. Since he
must fight he would confine the day's proceedings to a mere passing
cannonade, after which he would work to windward and slip away. He
knew he had the heels of Rodney; the events of the past two days had
shown that. Thus at the last moment De Grasse thought he might snatch a
strategical advantage in the great game. His gunners, however, did not
shoot straight enough. They failed to do the execution among Rodney's
masts and spars that their admiral hoped for. The British fleet came
steadily on with little to show by way of damage except a few rope-ends
dangling loose and some shot-holes through the sails.

The _Marlborough_, a powerful 74, one of the finest men-of-war that
Deptford dockyard ever sent to sea, led the line. She kept her helm
steady and held her way forward without checking for an instant,
unswerving, regardless of the storm of shot that hurtled overhead
or splashed in the sea alongside. Taylor Penny, the _Marlborough's_
captain, a gallant son of Dorset and a veteran now serving in his
third war, was not the man to mind a cannonade. The _Marlborough_ stood
on silently until she had come within 150 yards of the French line.
Then, when nearly opposite the fifth ship from the enemy's van, her
helm went swiftly up and the ship's huge bulk swung round to port.
The next minute she began to range along the enemy broadside on, in
the opposite direction to that the French were taking. Not a shot had
come from the _Marlborough's_ ports all this time. Four French ships
in turn passed her and fired at her, but Captain Penny took no notice.
The flagship had made no sign. No order to 'commence action' had been
given. Every telescope on board was kept fixed on the _Formidable_,
while below the captains of the guns fidgeted impatiently with the
firing lanyards. They had to practise patience. Eight bells clanged
out on board the silent _Marlborough_, and still they waited. Then,
instantaneously the signal was made. The _Formidable's_ signal halyards
were seen to twitch, and a little ball of bunting slid swiftly aloft to
the mast-head. There was a jerk, and the next instant the red flag for
battle--the 'bloody flag,' as the navy called it--was 'abroad,' flying
out upon the breeze. It went up just as the _Marlborough_ came abreast
of the French _Dauphin Royal_, the ninth ship in De Grasse's line, and
as the flag 'broke' the _Marlborough's_ opening broadside flashed off
with a thundering crash, guns, carronades, and musketry all together.

The British ships nearest astern of the _Marlborough_ opened fire at
the same moment. Each in her station, a cable's length apart, they had
been following close in the _Marlborough's_ wake, equally ready and
eager to begin.

There were sixteen ships in the line between the _Marlborough_ and the
_Formidable_, each 200 yards apart (the length of a cable), and the men
of Rodney's flagship had to wait some little time yet for their turn.
Their eyes, though, had something to look at, for most of the ships
ahead of them were full in their view meanwhile. What they saw was
worth seeing.

The _Arrogant_, a veteran 74 of the Seven Years' War time, backed
the _Marlborough_ up; an exceptionally ugly customer for an
enemy to tackle, for her guns were fitted with all the newest
improvements,--locks, tubes, and sweep-pieces,--and her men knew how
to make the best of them. Captain Douglas, watching the _Arrogant_
from the _Formidable_, noted that he saw her firing three broadsides
to the enemy's one--one broadside meeting the enemy as they came up;
the second right into their ports as they passed; the third a slashing
good-bye salute, training three-quarters aft into the Frenchmen's
stern. Some of the enemy struck back savagely as the _Arrogant_ went
by, but the tough Suffolk oak of the old ship's timbers could take hard
knocks, and the Harwich dockyard-men's work came through the hammering
little the worse. The _Alcide_, Captain Charles Thomson, followed next,
a British-built model of one of old 'Dreadnought' Boscawen's prizes,
whose French name she had also taken; then the _Nonsuch_, Captain
Truscott; and the _Conqueror_, Captain George Balfour, a gallant Scot
who had won post-rank for an act of exceptional daring in battle
five-and-twenty years before.

These five 74's headed the British fleet and 'broke the bowling.'
They ranged forward alongside the French within pistol-shot, 'sliding
down slowly,' as Captain Douglas, looking on from the _Formidable's_
quarter-deck, described it. They passed parallel to the French and to
leeward, on the opposite tack, from the ninth ship of the enemy to
their rear ship, exchanging fire with every ship of the enemy, one
after the other as each came by, until they had passed and overlapped
the end of the French line. Forward they went, ship following ship,
keeping exact station and each lashing out, broadside after broadside,
into the enemy as they swept along, as fast as the powder could be
brought to the guns.

Admiral Drake followed in the wake of the _Conqueror_, with the
_Princessa_, an ex-Spanish two-decker, a 70-gun ship, but bigger
than Hood's _Barfleur_, one of the prizes that Rodney had made in
his moonlight battle with Langara off Cape St. Vincent that wild
January midnight two years before when he was on his way to relieve
Gibraltar. The big _Prince George_ (Captain Williams), a giant 98-gun
three-decker, the hardest hitter of the van squadron in weight of
metal, seconded Drake.

Keppel's pet ship, the ever-ready old _Torbay_, came next in the
line, with, astern of her, the Anson, a small 64, Captain William
Blair--to-day, poor fellow, in his last fight. In the heat of the
action a round-shot, sweeping some three feet above the deck, struck
Captain Blair at the waist, smashing his body right in two and carrying
half of it across the deck and up against the bulwarks on the farther
side. The van squadron was completed by the _Fame_, 74, and the
_Russell_, Captain James Saumarez, the famous admiral of later days,
then a young post-captain twenty-five years old, whom a stroke of
unexpected good luck a few weeks before had transferred from a small
fireship to the quarter-deck of one of the best line-of-battle ships in
Rodney's fleet.

Each ship as she reached the spot at which her immediate leader had
turned put her helm up sharply and ranged along in the wake of the
ship next ahead, firing into every Frenchman that she passed, keeping
meanwhile her leader's three masts in one and checking her distance
with the sextant. That was at the outset, as they came round and
steadied into line alongside the enemy. As the firing became general
the smoke, rolling heavily down from windward, smothered the British
ships in a dense fog and blanketed them in, shutting out the view
all round, except now and again as a glimpse ahead was caught in an
occasional rift here and there.

Rodney's squadron followed Drake's without a break. The _America_,
Captain Thompson, led them, a cable's length astern of the _Russell_.
Her name is out of the Navy List now, but it had a meaning of its own
in those days, commemorating as it did a former gift of a man-of-war to
Great Britain by those colonists of North America who had become since
then her deadliest foes.

The _Hercules_, 74, commanded by a 'character' of the day, Captain
Henry Savage, came next. Her captain's doings that morning were of
peculiar interest. Savage took his ship into action with two ensigns
up, one nailed to the staff, the other at the peak, with the halyards
so belayed that the flag could not easily be hauled down. Beyond a
casual gun, he would not let a shot be fired until he had come right
abreast of the French admiral. Then he opened with a full broadside
into the _Ville de Paris_, every gun double-shotted, at less than
50 yards. Not thirty seconds elapsed between the first gun and the
last, said the _Hercules'_ first lieutenant. As the men reloaded,
Captain Savage, who, a martyr to gout, had been sitting in an arm-chair
on deck waving his hat and calling out uncomplimentary epithets to
the Frenchmen as he passed each ship, forgetting his pain in his
excitement, jumped on an arm chest and struck up a line of a song of
the day--

 Oh! what a charming thing's a battle!

Once she had passed the _Ville de Paris_ there was no more holding back
on board the _Hercules_. They fired as fast as the guns could be loaded
and run out, using rammers that Captain Savage himself had invented
for quick loading. 'Her side,' said the officers of the ship astern
of the _Hercules_, 'was in a constant blaze.' Captain Savage, who had
resumed his arm-chair, soon afterwards received a bad wound, and had
to be taken to the cockpit. As he went below he told his officers 'to
point between wind and water and sink the d----d rascals!' He returned
on deck in a few minutes and sat the battle out bandaged up, fixed in
his arm-chair, which was set by the ship's side in the gangway, and
shouting out expletives as before. As the _Hercules_ cleared the rear
of the French fleet, Captain Savage luffed up directly into the wake of
the enemy, at right angles to their line, and by way of a parting kick
sent a raking last broadside crash into the rearmost French ship's
cabin windows as she disappeared in the smoke.

Captain Buckner's _Prothée_, a 64, taken from the French two years
before, followed the _Hercules_ in the line, and after her came the
smart _Resolution_, 74. The captain of the _Resolution_, Lord Robert
Manners, was the first on board her to fall. A round-shot struck him
down, smashing his left leg and injuring the right badly, and at the
same moment a heavy splinter fractured his right arm. Lord Robert was
carried down to the cockpit, where it was found necessary to amputate
his left leg, the heroic young officer--he was only twenty-four and
chloroform or anæsthetics of any kind were as yet unknown--'making
jocular remarks on the operation with a smiling countenance during
its most painful steps.'[34] Captain Manners' injuries unfortunately
proved mortal. He seemed to be getting better, and was on his way home
in the frigate that carried Rodney's despatches, when mortification
suddenly set in, and he was dead within twenty-four hours. 'I would
rather have lost two seventy-fours than Lord Robert Manners,' King
George is reported to have said when His Majesty received the news of
the death. A monument to him, conjointly with Captains Bayne of the
_Alfred_ (killed on the 9th) and Blair of the _Anson_, was erected by
order of Parliament in Westminster Abbey. Another brave fellow on board
the _Resolution_, as the ship's surgeon related, was a seaman whose
name history has not preserved. He was standing by his gun as the ship
sheered abreast of De Grasse's flagship. The gun was all ready and just
going to fire when a shot came in at the port and took his leg off at
the knee. As quick as thought the man pulled off his neckcloth and tied
his leg above the stump. The next instant he seized his shot-off limb
and thrust it into the muzzle of the gun, which went off two seconds
later. '_My_ foot,' shouted the man exultantly, 'is the first to board
the _Ville de Paris_!' Such was the spirit in which Rodney's tars went
into the fight that day.

[Illustration: MONUMENT OF THE THREE CAPTAINS--BLAIR, BAYNE, AND LORD
ROBERT MANNERS--IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY]

The big _Duke_, of 98 guns, 'a splendidly efficient three-decker,'
with a large effigy of 'Butcher' Cumberland of Culloden fame, in the
war-paint of a British general, at her bows for the ship's figure-head,
came on in the wake of the _Resolution_.[35] Her captain was Alan
Gardner, the Lord Gardner of later days, an officer and seaman worthy
of such a ship. There was no more efficient man-of-war in Rodney's
line than the _Duke_, nor one more perfectly equipped, not excepting
the _Formidable_ herself. And her men were worthy of their captain and
their ship. Captain Gardner had the honour of leading Rodney himself
into the battle as the flagship's 'second ahead.' The _Formidable_ came
into action next immediately astern of the _Duke_.

The _Formidable_ fired her first gun, by the ship's log, exactly at
eight minutes after eight o'clock: it was just as she was opposite the
fifth ship from the French van. The enemy had already opened fire on
the British flagship, 'in stemming towards them,' but without drawing
Rodney's fire until he got closer, when the admiral returned it 'by
giving some little elevation to his guns to good effect.' Rodney
stood on in his place in line until he had come almost abreast of the
ninth French ship. At that point, within pistol-shot of the enemy,
the _Formidable_ put up her helm and swung over to port to follow her
consorts ahead. A smashing broadside of round-shot into the nearest of
the Frenchmen announced that the British flagship had begun, and with
that the _Formidable's_ men settled to their morning's work, 'keeping
up,' as Captain Douglas bore witness, 'a most unsupportable, quick, and
well-directed fire.'

As they rounded-to alongside the French fleet, coming bows on towards
them, they plunged abruptly into the dense fog-bank of smoke that hung
heavily along the firing lines, clinging thickly over all, sluggish and
inert and almost opaque, blurring everything out except quite close
at hand. For those on board the _Formidable_ it was like passing at a
step from a sunny street into a cellar, a transition in the blinking
of an eye from a radiant April morning to the gloom and darkness of
November midnight. On deck, in the open, the dark haze that shrouded
everything in was at times impenetrable. The ship had to grope her way
forward blindfold, steering, actually, by the flashes of the _Duke's_
guns, which kept up 'a most dreadful fire.' When now and then the smoke
lifted or thinned a little, it became possible to catch a glimpse of
the upper canvas of some approaching enemy in the act of nearing them,
and fire at her as she came up, but for great part of the time they had
to fire blindly or by guess work, unable to make out anything at all
until an enemy suddenly loomed up close at hand, right abreast. Then a
blaze of fire and the enemy had gone, disappeared, swallowed up in the
smoke.

Below, between decks, for most of the time they were worse off. Not
the faintest gleam of light came in through the ports--only smoke,
pouring back into the ship with every discharge of the guns, thick
and suffocating, blotting out everything from sight and filling every
corner of the ship with hot sulphurous fumes. Except close underneath
the horn battle-lanterns, that swung overhead above the guns and threw
a weak glimmer on the white glistening shoulders of the seamen--as they
fought their pieces, stripped to the buff and dripping with sweat,
naked except for their breeches, tugging and swaying with bent backs
at the training tackle, barefooted, for the decks, though sanded down,
soon got slippery--all was impenetrable darkness, ink black. The din
below was fearful, incessant, deafening, with the reverberating crashes
from the firing; the continuous trundling roll and thumping to and fro
of the heavy gun-carriages, flung about by main force backwards and
forwards as the guns were run in and out; the rattle and clatter of
gear; the hoarse shoutings of orders. Now and again a sudden terrific
crash, mingled with the harsh rending noise of splintering timber,
would shake the ship's frame from end to end and overpower every other
sound for the moment, as an enemy's broadside beat furiously against
the stout oak planking of the ship's sides, followed by yells of agony
from somewhere in the dark within the ship, and the gruff abrupt 'Close
up there! Close up!' from the captains of the guns, signifying that
some poor fellows had gone down.

[Illustration: FIGHTING THE GUNS ON THE MAIN DECK. 1782.

After Rowlandson.

[This would seem to have been drawn in 1782, when Rowlandson paid his
flying visit to see the remains of the _Royal George_, and was probably
worked up from a sketch on board one of the obsolete guardships in
harbour with certain fancy touches of the artist's own.]]

Rodney was on the quarter-deck, seated for most of the time in an
arm-chair. He was badly crippled after his last attack of gout, from
which he had hardly recovered. Every now and again the admiral would
rise and pass aft through his cabin under the poop to the stern gallery
to look out astern and see what might be made out of the battle from
there, or go forward to the gangway at the side, clear of the piled-up
hammocks on the quarter-deck bulwarks, to look out ahead. His gout,
it would seem, would not let him mount the ladder to the poop. It was
during one of the admiral's intervals of rest probably, while he was
sitting down for a few minutes in the middle of the men as they worked
the quarter-deck guns, that Rodney, as we are told, made the discovery
that one of the gunners there was a woman. Brought up on the spot
before the admiral and taxed with disobedience of orders in not staying
to help in the cockpit, the delinquent threw herself on Rodney's mercy.
She was, she said, a sailor's wife. Her husband had been wounded and
carried below, whereupon she had come up to take his place at his gun.
It was of course a breach of discipline, and Rodney reprimanded the
woman sharply. Then he softened, gave her ten guineas, and sent her
down to nurse her husband.

Here is another incidental personal detail about Rodney on that
morning. In one of his passings to and fro, between the quarter-deck
and the stern walk, as Rodney went through his cabin he saw some
lemons lying on a side table. The old gentleman was hot and his throat
parched with the sulphurous fumes of the all-pervading powder smoke. He
called to a midshipman near by to make him a glass of lemonade. The boy
did so, and having nothing to stir the glass with, picked up a knife on
the table that had been used by some one for cutting up a lemon. Quite
happy, he stirred the admiral's drink with the black and sticky blade.
Rodney turned and caught sight of the performance. 'Child, child!' he
exclaimed, with a grimace, as the boy was about to present the glass to
him, 'that may do for the midshipmen's mess. Drink the stuff yourself
and go and send my steward here!' The midshipman obeyed both orders.

It was about twenty minutes to nine, as the _Formidable_ was nearing
the centre of the French line, that the vast bulk of the _Ville de
Paris_ began to loom up ahead of them. There was no mistaking De
Grasse's flagship. Her towering canvas, her tall sides and lofty
bulwarks, her triple tier of ports, all these marked out the pride of
the French fleet among the other ships, even without the identifying
feature of the figure-head, the great shield at the bows with the arms
of Paris heraldically emblazoned in gold and crimson and blue. Just
before this, as Captain Fanshawe of the _Namur_, next astern of Rodney,
noted, our ships had slackened fire to let the smoke drift off. Each
flagship could thus distinguish the other easily as they closed. Each,
of course, bore at her mast-head her Commander-in-Chief's personal
standard; the _Ville de Paris_ De Grasse's plain white Bourbon flag,
the 'Cornette Blanche'; the _Formidable_, Rodney's flag as Admiral of
the White, the red cross flag of St. George.

It was a dramatic moment as the two leaders drew together to cross
swords. The _Formidable's_ men felt it. They redoubled their
efforts and blazed away with every gun that would train into the
imposing-looking French three-decker's bows as she came on, leading
off with a tremendous cannonade of round-shot and grape that made
terrible havoc along the crowded decks of the _Ville de Paris_. To the
utter surprise of all there was next to no reply. A loose, irregular
discharge came back, fired hurriedly and badly aimed. That was all.
With a weak, half-hearted fire from about half her guns, the _Ville de
Paris_ surged past the _Formidable_ and vanished in the smoke astern.
It was indeed a pitiful exhibition. The fierce broadsides of Rodney's
ships ahead had done their work. Every British captain had reserved
at least one of his broadsides for the _Ville de Paris_, 'sickening'
her, in the expressive Old Navy phrase, and after that the startling
rapidity of the outburst with which the _Formidable_ greeted her
approach had completed the demoralisation on board. It flurried and
staggered the French flagship's crew, and before they could recover
themselves they had gone astern. As De Grasse went by some of the
_Formidable's_ batteries got off four double-shotted rounds into the
_Ville de Paris_, none less than three, with such magnificent smartness
did Rodney's gunners handle their guns.

What did De Grasse himself think of his men's poor show? What did he
think now--he could hardly have forgotten it--of his polite challenge
to Rodney from Fort Royal by Captain Vashon a few weeks ago 'that
nothing would give him greater pleasure than to meet 'le Chevalier
Rodney,' and that he 'looked forward to personally welcoming the
British Admiral on board the _Ville de Paris_'? It was the second
opportunity for a personal encounter with his antagonist that De Grasse
had lost that week.[36] He was to have no more. As to his welcome of
'le Chevalier Rodney,' he would have the opportunity of making the
acquaintance of the British Admiral face to face and within twenty-four
hours--though not on board the _Ville de Paris_. The French flagship
took her hammering from the _Formidable_ and passed on to run the
gauntlet of the other British ships astern.

It was apparently just as the _Ville de Paris_ was passing that a
French cannon-ball struck a fowl-coop on deck where a number of pullets
for the admiral's table were kept. The coop was smashed to splinters
and the fowls flew out. One of them, the story goes, a little bantam
cock, fluttered up and perched on a spar above the quarter-deck, where
it set-to crowing lustily and clapping its wings at every broadside
from the guns. Rodney passed at the moment and pointed the bird out to
Dr. Blane. 'Look at that fellow,' said Rodney, 'look at him; I declare
he is a credit to his country.' The Admiral gave orders that the little
cock should not be killed, but be taken care of and made a special pet
for the reminder of its days.

Following in the wake of the _Ville de Paris_ came the big _Couronne_,
a powerful eighty-four, whose efficiency in war Rodney had personally
tested on a former day; the _Eveillé_, Le Gardeur de Tilly's little
sixty-four, showing signs of what she had gone through; and then the
_Sceptre_, the Comte de Vaudreuil's ship, a seventy-four.

As the _Sceptre_ went astern, Rodney, with Blane at his elbow, walked
out from the quarter-deck on to the starboard gangway at the side
of the ship to get a better view. As he got there he saw another
French ship nearing them. It was the _Glorieux_, reeling under the
terrific punishment she had just undergone from the _Duke's_ guns. Her
captain, D'Escars, had been struck down, and the ship wrecked from
end to end; left lying a log on the water, 'shorn,' in Blane's words,
'of all her masts, bowsprit, and ensign staff, but with the white
flag nailed to the stump of one of the masts, breathing defiance as
it were in her last moments.' According to the French accounts they
nailed their colours to the mast as the _Glorieux_ was approaching the
_Formidable_, the operation affording opportunity for a fine little bit
of heroic by-play. While they were nailing up the flag a sergeant of
the Auxerrois regiment (a company of which was on board), Choissat by
name, fastened a white cloth to his halberd and sprang on the bulwark
rail and held it up, waving it defiantly. A bullet from either the
_Formidable_ or the _Duke_ broke Choissat's right arm, whereupon the
brave fellow caught the halberd with his left hand and held it up until
the ship's flag had been secured. He lived through the fight and was
given a commission for his heroism.

Rodney marked the oncoming of the _Glorieux_ as the stricken vessel
dropped slowly down on them. Then, a second later, seeing that the
French seventy-four was drifting in such a way that she would brush
close past them and almost collide, he turned abruptly to Dr. Blane.
Both the Admiral's aides-de-camp were out of the way. 'Run down,' he
told the doctor, 'and tell them to elevate their metal.' Blane went.
He guessed the Admiral's meaning, thanks to _Hudibras_, a couplet from
which came opportunely into his mind.

 Thus cannon shoot the higher pitches,
 The lower you let down their breeches.

'If this holds true,' says Dr. Blane, telling the story for himself,
'so must the converse of it, that is the muzzles must be lower by the
elevation of the breeches. The Admiral's meaning could be no other than
that of taking the enemy between wind and water.'[37] Blane hurried
down and gave the order. In the interests of historic truth, in view of
what immediately followed, it would have been well if he had not left
the deck.

At the very moment that Rodney was sending Blane below, the wind
suddenly shifted. It veered to the southward and headed the French
fleet off, taking them all aback and throwing them out of order all
along their line. It checked their way, and cast every ship round
with her head to starboard, half-right as it were, setting the whole
line _en échelon_. For the British, on the other hand, the shift of
wind made things more favourable than before. It sent Rodney's ships
briskly forward. Its effect was instantly apparent in the immediate
neighbourhood of the _Formidable_. The mastless hull of the _Glorieux_
drove down steadily on the _Formidable_. The ship next astern of her
in the French line, the _Diadème_, a seventy-four, hung back and then
swung round sharply at right angles, paying off on the wrong tack. A
wide gap was made at once in the enemy's line, and just opposite the
_Formidable_. What was to be done?

Ink enough to float the _Formidable_ herself has been spilled over the
incidents of the next three minutes on board the British flagship, and
we cannot even now say that we know the true story. According to one
officer, who, as a quarter-deck midshipman, was an eye-witness of what
took place, but did not put pen to paper about it until half a century
after the event, a highly dramatic--and in the interests of discipline
not very edifying--scene followed, between Rodney personally and Sir
Charles Douglas his flag-captain.

[Illustration:


HOW THE FRENCH LINE WAS BROKEN

From 'Military Drawings of Battles and Sieges ... from Original Surveys
by Lieut.-Colonel C. Hamilton Smith,' now in the Department of MSS.,
British Museum.

[No. 19 C is the _Formidable_. The centre one of the three French
flagships is the _Ville de Paris_. No. 13 is the _Bedford_. No. 6 D is
the _Barfleur_.]]

Here is Midshipman Dashwood's narrative as he wrote it down from memory
some forty years or so after both Rodney and Sir Charles Douglas
had been laid in the grave. Dashwood was then an admiral, Sir Charles
Dashwood, K.C.B. The account was written for Sir Howard Douglas, son of
Rodney's flag-captain.[38]

 I shall simply relate facts, to which I was an eye-witness, and
 can vouch for their truth. Being one of the aides-de-camp to the
 Commander-in-Chief on that memorable day, it was my duty to attend
 both on him and the Captain of the Fleet, as occasion might require.
 It so happened, that some time after the battle had commenced, and
 whilst we were warmly engaged, I was standing near Sir Charles
 Douglas, who was leaning on the hammocks (which in those days were
 stowed across the fore part of the quarter-deck), his head resting on
 one hand and his eye occasionally glancing on the enemy's line, and
 apparently in deep meditation, as if some great event were crossing
 his mind. Suddenly raising his head and turning quickly round he said,
 'Dash! where's Sir George?' 'In the after-cabin, sir,' I replied. He
 immediately went aft; I followed; and on meeting Sir George coming
 from the cabin close to the wheel, he took off his cocked hat with his
 right hand, holding his long spy-glass in his left, and making a low
 and profound bow, said, 'Sir George, I give you joy of the victory!'
 'Pooh!' said the Chief, as if half angry; 'the day is not half won
 yet.' 'Break the line. Sir George, ... the day is your own, and I
 will insure you the victory.' 'No,' said the admiral, 'I will not
 break my line.' After another request and another refusal Sir Charles
 desired the helm to be put a-port, Sir George ordered it to starboard.
 On your father ordering it again to port, the admiral sternly said,
 'Remember, Sir Charles, that I am Commander-in-Chief--starboard, sir,'
 addressing the Master, who, during this controversy, had placed the
 helm amidships. Both the Admiral and the Captain then separated, the
 former going aft, and the latter forward. In the course of a couple
 of minutes or so each turned, and again met nearly on the same spot,
 when Sir Charles quietly and coolly again addressed the Chief, 'Only
 break the line, Sir George, and the day is your own.' The Admiral then
 said, in a quick and hurried way, 'Well, well, do as you like,' and
 immediately turned round and walked into the after cabin. The words
 'Port the helm!' were scarcely uttered when Sir Charles ordered me
 down with directions to commence firing on the larboard side.

How far an admiral's recollection of something that happened when he
was a midshipman seventeen years of age is likely to be trustworthy
is the point. Sir Charles Dashwood's account was called forth by the
great magazine controversy of 1830 over the question as to who was the
actual originator of the manoeuvre of 'Breaking the Line,' on the 12th
of April 1782. A claim to the credit of it for his father, made by Sir
Howard Douglas, as set forth by him in the preface of a book that he
wrote on _Naval Gunnery_, raised the storm, and half England took sides
in the discussion.

Against Admiral Dashwood's memory for fifty-year-old details have to
be set the disciplinary improbabilities of the story for one thing,
particularly in the case of an officer so notoriously strict and
punctilious as was Rodney. It is incredible, not only that he would
have taken part in an altercation before the men on the quarter-deck,
but also that the most brilliant naval tactician of the time could
have missed seeing so obvious an opportunity. It is also significant
that not a word that anything unusual had happened on board Rodney's
flagship, in the most famous battle of the whole war, ever found
its way into print from any one of those on the _Formidable's_
quarter-deck, and near by at the moment, during the lifetime of either
Rodney or Sir Charles Douglas, or until the flag-captain's son burst
his bombshell. And it is possible to pick other holes in the case set
up against Rodney. It is easily probable that Captain Douglas called
Rodney's attention to the gap in the enemy's line, but without any
theatricals. It would have been his duty to do so. He had then to stand
back and take his orders. The admiral, by nature, and as his whole
career proved, 'a man quick to see an opportunity, prompt to seize
it,'[39] would hardly require teaching his business, least of all a man
with Rodney's fighting record.

Blane returned on deck at the moment that Midshipman Dashwood was
flying down the ladder to the batteries below with the order to open
fire on the port side. It was just as the _Formidable_ was swinging her
bows slowly round to pass through between the wreck of the _Glorieux_
and the _Diadème_. He apparently saw no trace of excitement about the
admiral, no sign of loss of temper, nothing to suggest that anything
unusual had just been happening. On the contrary, Rodney was in quite
a jocular mood. 'Now comes the struggle,' was Rodney's greeting to the
doctor, with one of those classical allusions that came so naturally
to the gentlemen of that day, pointing to the hulk of the dismasted
_Glorieux_ as it drifted close alongside them,--'Now comes the struggle
for the body of Patroclus!' Blane looked down on to the _Glorieux'_
deck and right into her port-holes. 'The _Formidable_,' he tells us,
'was so near that I could see the cannoniers throwing away their
sponges and handspikes in order to save themselves by running below!'

The British flagship swept through the gap, pouring a broadside
into the _Glorieux_ to the right and the _Diadème_ to the left. The
_Glorieux_ was at that moment 'close to our starboard side and almost
in contact therewith, about a ship's breadth from us.' On the larboard
side, eye-witnesses related, the _Formidable's_ three tiers of guns
went off with 'one platoon report.' After it the _Diadème_ had
vanished. She was seen no more from the _Formidable_, nor apparently
by any other ship of the British fleet. Rodney himself believed--and
reported to the Admiralty in his official despatch--that she had been
sent to the bottom, with all hands there and then.[40]

[Illustration:

THE _FORMIDABLE_ BREAKING THE LINE. April 12, 1782

After J.C. Schetky.

[The original water-colour was painted for the Duke of Rutland (elder
brother of Captain Lord Robert Manners, mortally wounded in the
battle), and is at Belvoir Castle.]]

Immediately after that, as the smoke cleared off, a group of three or
four French ships were made out near at hand, all huddled together in
a mass. They were the ships that had been following the _Diadème_.
Thrown aback by the shift of wind, and further disordered by the sudden
turning round of the _Diadème_ herself right across their bows, they
had got jammed together in confusion, 'almost, if not quite, in contact
with each other.' They were full in the path of the _Formidable_ as
she went through the line. She had to pass quite close to them. At
the same instant the _Duke_ was about to pass on the farther side of
the group. Captain Gardner had seen the admiral, astern of him, swing
round suddenly to break through the enemy's line, and guessing what was
intended, had of his own accord followed suit, forcing his way through
between the two Frenchmen nearest himself at the moment. Thus the
hapless group of French ships found itself all at once placed under
fire on two sides from the most powerful three-deckers in the British
fleet, they themselves also at that moment being hardly able to fire
a shot in reply. It was a shattering and an overwhelming stroke. It
practically crushed the French centre out of existence as a fighting
entity. Rodney's men had only to fire 'into the brown.' Dr. Blane, who
was watching it all from the _Formidable's_ gangway, by Rodney's side,
describes what he saw. 'The unfortunate group, composing now only one
large single object to fire at, was attacked ... all at once, receiving
several broadsides from each ship, not a single shot missing, and
dreadful must have been the slaughter.'

Captain Fanshawe's hard-hitting _Namur_, a 90-gun ship, followed the
_Formidable_; then came Inglis's _St. Albans_, a 64; Cornwallis's
_Canada_, one of the deadliest fighting 74's in Rodney's fleet;
Dumaresq's _Repulse_, another 64, manned by a smart set of Guernsey
lads; and Nicholas Charrington's 74, the _Ajax_. One after the other
these all filed close past the helpless crowd of panic-stricken
Frenchmen, firing into them fast and furiously. Each one, at the same
time, passed close and fired into the luckless _Glorieux_ on the
farther side,--still quivering after the last tremendous salvo from, to
use Captain Douglas's own expression, 'the _Formidable's_ thundering
starboard side,' racked through and through by that awful tornado of 8
cwts. of solid shot, lying like a log on the water, a bare hulk under
a mass of splintered spars, torn canvas and tangled rigging. Captain
Inglis of the _St. Albans_ was watching her and made note of what he
saw. The _Glorieux_, said Inglis, did not return a single shot to the
_St. Albans'_ broadside, although the rags of her colours could be seen
still fluttering defiantly from where they had been nailed to the stump
of the mizen mast. Only one man was to be seen on deck, on the poop,
and he, poor fellow, dropped to the _St. Albans'_ marines. After his
ship had passed the _Glorieux_ Inglis looked back at her and watched
the _Canada_ give her a staggering broadside. 'From the dust, the
pieces of timber, and the smoke which flew to a great distance from the
side opposite of that where she had received the blow, it seemed as if
the ship (literally speaking) had been blown out of the water, and as
if the whole of the mass had been driven to windward'!

With the smashing of the French centre the fate of the day was settled.
The end might be some hours off--as it was in fact,--but from now
onwards it was plainly in sight. 'From this moment,' says Blane,
'victory declared itself. All was disorder and confusion throughout the
enemy's fleet from end to end.'

As a fact, to make things worse still for the enemy, De Grasse's line
had been broken through in yet another place. At the same moment
that Rodney's ships were crossing the French line at the centre,
Hood's division was breaking through it in the rear. It was quite
unintentional with Hood and his captains, a blunder in the smoke
fog; but it had a most telling effect on the fortunes of the day. It
completed the ruin of De Grasse's array. The same southerly shift of
the wind which had caused the gap in the centre was the cause primarily
of Hood's going through farther along the line. The _Bedford_,
Commodore Affleck, the rear ship of Rodney's centre squadron, was
following in her place, astern of the _Ajax_, when she suddenly lost
her leader in the smoke. At that instant the shift of wind broke up the
French. Unaware of what she was doing, the _Bedford_, keeping her helm
steady and holding straight ahead, pushed through the nearest gap in
the enemy's line. So little, in fact, was the _Bedford's_ captain aware
of what was happening, that the first intimation he had of what he had
done was the sudden discovery that he had no enemy to starboard to fire
at. As the best thing to be done he ported helm and stood on along the
larboard side of the enemy's ships ahead, which belonged to De Grasse's
_corps de bataille_, the French centre squadron. Hood's leading ships,
the _Prince William_ and the _Magnificent_, followed the _Bedford_,
and in the wake of them, through the widening gap, poured the rest of
Hood's ships, ten in number. They pressed in, sweeping across the stern
of the _Hector_, the rear ship of the French van, and between her and
the _César_, the leader of De Grasse's squadron. Thus at one stroke
were the ships of the French van cut off _en bloc_ from the centre and
the rear. One after the other, as they passed, Hood's twelve ships (or
thirteen counting in the _Bedford_ as one) cannonaded the _César_ and
the _Hector_, crippling both hopelessly, and reducing them to a state
little better than that in which Rodney's five followers had left the
_Glorieux_.

To give an idea of the wide expanse over which the battle was at this
moment raging, it should be said that Hood's _Barfleur_, when she broke
the line, was 2-1/4 miles from the _Formidable_. The _Marlborough_,
away in the van, was 3-1/2 miles off, and had already come out of
action, having ceased firing after passing the French rearmost ships.
Hood's rear ship, the _Royal Oak_, fired her parting broadside into the
stern of the ill-starred _César_ a few minutes after eleven, with which
the first stage of the battle came to an end. The _Formidable_ had
ceased firing more than an hour before.

The two fleets, after passing through each other, drifted slowly apart,
the breeze falling gradually away to light airs and mere catspaws,
after which it dropped altogether and left both sides becalmed, to
look at each other from a distance and repair damages. They lay like
this, out of range for most of the ships, for upwards of an hour.

Each was left by the events of the morning in a straggling and
broken-up array, but, as the clearing off of the smoke disclosed,
in widely different circumstances. The British, though the three
squadrons were all separated, were yet more or less within touch, and
with each of their groups fairly well together. They were about four
miles from the nearest of the French ships, and having regard to the
quarter whence the breeze would in ordinary course spring up during
the afternoon, to windward of them. The French, on the other hand,
were in hopeless disorder at all points and all dead to leeward. They
were lying anyhow, in three irregular groups or clusters of ships, and
widely separated. The centre group comprised the _Ville de Paris_,
herself, with five or six ships, all more or less crippled. Two miles
from De Grasse and to leeward of him lay twelve ships of Bougainville's
van squadron. Three or four miles away to westward was De Vaudreuil
with the rear squadron. Such was the position on both sides when,
between noon and one o'clock, the anticipated breeze suddenly sprang
up, coming very light and fitful at first, then steadily and from the
expected quarter.

One grim detail must be noted. As the two fleets drifted apart and men
had time to look round, they saw, we are told, an awful sight, which
struck horror into Briton and Frenchman alike. On all sides the water
was alive with ravening sharks, that had swarmed up from the bottom,
attracted to the spot, summoned to their banquet, by the splashes in
the water and the noise of the cannonade. Right and left the surface of
the sea was furrowed by the fins of the greedy monsters as they swam
about, snapping savagely all round. Under the murderous fire of the
British gunners most of the French ships had been turned into veritable
slaughter-houses. Each ship had been packed with troops for the Jamaica
expedition. Every seventy-four that morning, including the hundred and
fifty or two hundred soldiers on board, had carried not fewer than
nine hundred men at least. Some ships had had still more on board.
The _Ville de Paris_, for one, carried thirteen hundred. Awful indeed
had been the slaughter as the English broadsides, aimed at the French
port-holes at point-blank range, swept the decks and tore lanes through
the closely-packed masses of men as they stood helplessly at quarters.
It was the dreadful sequel that interested the sharks. In order to
get the dead out of the way at once in the turmoil of the fighting,
and give room to work the guns, most of the bodies of the fallen had
been pitched overboard then and there--the dead, and, as some said,
the not quite dead as well. Many a poor fellow had gone overboard
with the spars and rigging as they crashed over the side, shot away in
action. _Requin_ is, of course, the French for shark. As a fact, it is
a popular corruption of the word 'requiem,' which was the old French
name for the monster down to the seventeenth century. Littré explains
why:--'à cause,' he says, 'qu'il n'y a plus à dire qu'un requiem pour
celui qu'un requin saisit.'

The British were the first to feel the breeze as it came again after
mid-day, and every captain began to cast his ship's head round to
follow in the direction of the enemy. Hood, who at the outset remained
becalmed after Rodney and Drake had begun to move again, was seen
getting out his boats to tow the _Barfleur_ round into the breeze.
To over-take the French as soon as possible was the business of the
afternoon for Rodney's captains.

De Grasse's business, on the other hand, was to get away without
further fighting if he could, or at least to try and re-form. It was
not an easy task, in the scattered state of his fleet and in the
presence of an enemy who had the weather-gage. The _Ville de Paris_
signalled for all to re-form line on the ships farthest to leeward,
at the point farthest off from the British, and she headed in that
direction herself. It was 'playing for safety,' so to speak, at the
cost of abandoning some of his ships. What the rally so far to leeward
would inevitably mean for certain of De Grasse's worst-damaged
ships was soon seen. The more manageable of the French ships were
able to make their way to leeward; but it was another matter for
the cripples--in especial for the shattered trio--for the dismasted
_Glorieux_ and the partially wrecked _César_ and _Hector_. For them
it meant that they were to be left to their fate, left lying, between
the two fleets, hardly able to move at all, full in the way of the
advancing British. And so it proved in the result. On the hapless
three, in due course, on each in her turn, fell the first blows of the
reopening battle.

The _Glorieux_ was the first of the French to yield, in spite of
an extremely gallant effort to save her. About one o'clock, as the
breeze began to freshen, the French frigate _Richmond_ was ordered
to close the _Glorieux_ and pass a towing cable on board. The effort
was made under fire, for Rodney's nearest ships were already within
range of the _Glorieux_. Midshipman Denis Decrès, _aspirant de marine_
of the _Richmond_, had charge of the boat, round which the English
cannon-balls splashed on all sides. He did his work, despite its
difficulties, and won widespread fame and promotion for his gallantry.
He lived to become an admiral, Napoleon's favourite Minister of Marine
and a Peer of France, Duc Decrès. On his grand monument in Père la
Chaise is a sculptured panel in relief, to commemorate this particular
incident in Admiral Decrès' career. It is elaborately carved, and
represents a naval battle in grey marble, smoke-clouds, cannon firing,
and so forth, with, in the centre, a small boat with a rope, a boy
standing up at the stern, and near by a big dismasted man-of-war.
Over the panel is the legend--'Remorque portèe au _Glorieux_: 1782.'
The attempt, however, was palpably a hopeless one. The stricken
seventy-four was water-logged and could hardly stir. The officers of
the _Glorieux_ recognised the state of things at once. They hailed
across to the frigate to cast off the tow and shift for herself. De
Mortemart, the captain of the _Richmond_, however, was not inclined
to abandon a consort in distress. Although some of the British ships
were already threatening to cut him off, as well as the _Glorieux_,
he flatly refused to leave her. After that, as the only thing to be
done, the hopeless ship's company of the _Glorieux_ cut the rope. So
the two ships parted. The _Richmond_ had to move away, and in the end
she only saved herself with difficulty. Another French ship that tried
at the last moment to create a forlorn-hope diversion in favour of the
_Glorieux_, was De Glandevé's _Souverain_, but she in turn had to give
up the attempt, and, hunted like a hare among hounds, was hard put to
it in the end to get clear. Now, without further respite, the British
dogs of war ran in and closed on the doomed _Glorieux_. Trogoff de
Kerlessi, her first lieutenant, and the senior surviving officer on
board, could do no more. As the first British ship came up, he with his
own hand stripped away the tattered shreds of the _Glorieux_' ensign,
that still remained nailed to the stump of the mizen mast, and called
across to the British to take possession. There was no other course
left. The decks of the _Glorieux_ were shambles from end to end--'a
scene of complete horror,' in the words of Dr. Blane. 'The numbers
killed were so great, that the surviving, either from want of leisure
or through dismay, had not thrown the bodies of the killed overboard,
so that the decks were covered with blood and mangled limbs of the
dead, as well as wounded and dying.' Baron d'Escars, the captain, had
fallen some time previously, about nine o'clock,--one of the victims
of the _Formidable's_ awful first broadside. 'On boarding her,' adds
Blane, 'our officers ... were shown the stains of blood on the gunnel
where his body was thrown overboard.'

The _Royal Oak_, one of Hood's squadron, was ordered to take the
_Glorieux_ in tow. Captain Burnett had almost exhausted his ammunition,
and he utilised the opportunity to ransack the prize's magazines and
transfer on board his own ship all the powder barrels the _Glorieux_
had left, to fight any further Frenchmen he might encounter with
their own powder. Several others of Rodney's ships, indeed, were
equally short of powder after their morning's work, and another of
Hood's squadron, the _Monarch_, was at that very moment alongside
the _Andromache_, lifting forty barrels out of the frigate to enable
herself to continue in action.

The _César_ was the second French ship to meet her fate. She was the
next to drop astern, and the _Centaur_ and the _Bedford_ went at her
together as they came up. Though little better than a wreck, the
_César_ made a heroic defence for nearly half-an-hour. Hailed by the
_Centaur_ to surrender, the Comte de Marigny, the _César's_ captain,
replied by nailing his colours to the mast with his own hand and
opening fire. De Marigny fell dangerously wounded within the first
five minutes, but Captain Paul, his commander, took charge and made a
desperate defence. He held out until, one after the other, his masts
had gone overboard, the mizen carrying the ensign staff with it. After
that, no rescue being possible, with six feet of water in the hold,
and with only thirty-six rounds for her guns left in the magazine, the
_César_ surrendered to the _Centaur_.

Elsewhere at this time, towards four o'clock, there was a good deal
of 'partial and desultory' firing, to use Dr. Blane's term, going
on here and there, principally in the direction of De Grasse's
squadron. The French admiral's attempt to rally and re-form line had
failed. Bougainville's ships kept away in a body, apparently too much
occupied in repairing their own damages to pay attention to their
commander-in-chief. Many of De Vaudreuil's seemed equally shy, although
De Vaudreuil himself, with two or three of his command, gallantly beat
to windward and joined the _Ville de Paris_, making up a forlorn-hope
band round De Grasse that comprised the rearmost formed group of the
French fleet. They moved away at the best speed they were capable of,
but owing to the state of the _Ville de Paris's_ masts and spars, the
rate of sailing was dangerously slow.

De Grasse's group, numbering, with De Vaudreuil's accession and others,
nine ships in all, formed, as it were, a lodestone to the British
captains. It drew towards it all who could possibly make for the spot.
The great French flagship in the centre, with the commander-in-chief's
flag at the mast-head, was for all eyes the supreme attraction. Each
followed as well as the wind, which was variable and at times very
light, and the state of his own masts and spars, would let him.

The French _Hector_ was their first victim, between five and six
o'clock in the evening,--the third Frenchman to surrender. She had
been badly hammered by Hood's squadron when it broke the line, losing
so many men that to supply the main and upper deck batteries the
quarter-deck and forecastle guns had to be abandoned, but had been
able to keep up with the _Ville de Paris_ for most of the afternoon.
For the last two and a half hours, according to a letter from one of
the _Hector's_ officers, they had been firing their stern chasers to
try and keep the advancing British back, but in vain. Then, towards
the end of the time, two British seventy-fours drew out and ranged
alongside the _Hector_. They were the _Canada_ and the _Alcide_. The
two pushed up abreast and came to close quarters. Their attack was met
by the _Hector_ in a spirit worthy of her heroic name. She struck out
right and left like a wounded tigress at bay. She looked, in the words
of an eye-witness, 'like a blazing furnace vomiting fire and iron.'
The display was brilliant, but it could not last. De la Vicomté, the
gallant captain of the _Hector_, was struck down, mortally wounded,
and with his fall the spirit of the defence flickered out. 'Some men
on the main deck having run from their quarters,' says the letter
just referred to, 'the captain was putting his foot on the ladder to
go below to kill with his own hand the dastards, when a cannon-ball
smashed his thigh.' He was carried to the cockpit, and a few minutes
later De Beaumanoir, the first lieutenant, 'seeing the ship being
knocked to pieces and powder running short,' after a hasty consultation
with the other surviving officers, hauled the ensign down and hailed
the _Alcide_ that they had surrendered.

A fourth ship, the _Ardent_, was taken about the same time. She
was one of Bougainville's squadron, and the only ship of all the
French van that, on seeing how things were likely to fare with the
commander-in-chief, had turned back to lend him a hand. In so doing
she met her fate. The _Ardent_ was intercepted and cut off by the
British _Belliqueux_ and the _Prince William_, who brought her to close
action, and after a sharp set-to of a quarter of an hour, made her
lower her colours. Some English prisoners, taken a few weeks before out
of a merchantman prize, happened to be on board, and their red ensign
was hoisted in token of surrender. The taking of the _Ardent_ was
peculiarly gratifying to the British fleet. In point of fact it was a
recapture. The _Ardent_ was a British-built man-of-war which had fallen
into the hands of the enemy in very discreditable circumstances earlier
in the war. It was this same ship that the Franco-Spanish combined
fleet had snapped up, practically without her firing a shot, off
Plymouth Sound three years before, when they were parading the English
Channel in triumph at the time they compelled the Channel Fleet to
retreat before them to Spithead. It was a satisfactory stroke of
retaliation, although if it had taken place six weeks earlier it would
have been still more satisfactory. Then the Vicomte de Marigny--Charles
Réné Louis, of an old Norman family, elder brother to Comte Bernard,
the captain of the _César_--the officer who had been the original
captor of the _Ardent_, would have been on board. In honour of his
capture of a British man-of-war, 'si vaillamment,' Charles de Marigny
had been posted to the prize by the King of France's special command,
his commission being accompanied by a picture in oils representing his
feat, painted at the instance of His Most Christian Majesty, and sent
by the King's order to be hung in the cabin of the _Ardent_, with the
legend over it: 'Donné par le Roi au brave Vicomte de Marigny.'[41] The
Vicomte, unfortunately for the dramatic completeness of the situation,
had been sent home with De Grasse's despatch after the capture of St.
Kitts, and he had taken the oil-painting with him. Still, though, even
without De Marigny, it was a good thing to have the _Ardent_ back under
her old flag once more.

We now come to the closing fight of the day, to the story of the fate
of the noblest victim of all. It was next the turn of the _Ville de
Paris_ herself. Between half-past five and six o'clock the course of
the pursuit had brought the headmost of Rodney's ships well up with
the rearmost group of the enemy, close astern of De Grasse himself and
the little group of ships that kept company with the _Ville de Paris_.
There were ships both of Rodney's own squadron and of Hood's squadron
among the British at that point, although most of them were Hood's,
hustled forward in chase by their chief's incessant signals during
the afternoon. The _Barfleur_ herself, with every inch of canvas set
and stu'ns'ls out aloft and alow, was following among the foremost
and eagerly pressing on. The _Formidable_ and great part of Rodney's
squadron were in rear, a little way off. As they neared the enemy
the headmost ships came streaming on and firing briskly, steering to
overlap the French on either side.

The French, for their part, were in a straggling line, with irregular
gaps between the ships. They comprised the _Ville de Paris_, originally
in the centre but now fallen back to be almost last ship; the
_Triomphante_, De Vaudreuil's flagship; De la Charette's _Bourgogne_,
Macarty Macteigne's _Magnifique_, De Rions' _Pluton_, and the
_Marseillais_, commanded by De Castellane-Majastre. All these belonged
to De Vaudreuil's squadron, and had rallied with their chief to try and
help the admiral. Three of De Grasse's own ships were with them--all
that had stood by the chief,--the _Languedoc_ and the _Couronne_ (the
_Ville de Paris's_ two 'seconds' in the original line of battle) and
the younger De Vaudreuil's _Sceptre_. Like his brother, that officer
was at the post of greatest danger, in accordance with the traditions
of his House. The last three had dropped back to join De Grasse about
four o'clock. None of Bougainville's ships were near De Grasse; the
only one that had tried to reach him had been the _Ardent_, now, as the
result, in Rodney's hands. Round this devoted band of nine ships the
British attack concentrated, and for a second time the battle blazed
up fiercely. The encounter was, however, too one-sided to endure.
Stout-heartedly as they defended themselves, and most of them were
fighting both broadsides at once, the French last-hope band were thrown
into disorder and broken up.

The British _Canada_, Cornwallis's hard-hitting seventy-four, fresh
from her victorious bout with the French _Hector_, came on in the
forefront of the pursuing British and fastened at once on the _Ville
de Paris_. The French flagship by now had fallen quite to the rear.
The _Couronne_ had failed her admiral at the last moment. De Grasse,
as he himself reported to Versailles, had personally hailed her just
before, and ordered her to keep station close in the flagship's wake.
They had answered back, 'Oui, Général!' but as the _Canada_ came up
the _Couronne_ shifted out of the way and edged off past the flagship,
letting Cornwallis in.[42] Cornwallis knew what he had to do, and
pointed his guns high. Stationing the _Canada_ on the quarter of the
_Ville de Paris_, out of direct reach of De Grasse's broadside, he
hung on there fixedly, pounding his hardest meanwhile into the French
flagship with every gun the _Canada_ could bring to bear, cutting
away spars and rigging and holding the great vessel back until other
British ships were at hand to take up the task. The _Canada_ then moved
off after the other French ships farther on, passing over the work of
holding the _Ville de Paris_ to Saumarez of the _Russell_, the only
captain of Admiral Drake's squadron who was 'in at the death'--thanks
to his own intelligent anticipation of probable events earlier in the
day. The _Russell_ during the afternoon had had a series of long-range
encounters with four of the French fleet elsewhere, but she was fresh
enough for the business before her. Saumarez pushed in boldly, hauled
up under the stern of the _Ville de Paris_, and gave her a raking
broadside that swept the giant three-decker from end to end. After
that the _Russell_ placed herself on the lee quarter of the _Ville de
Paris_, to prevent her from edging off after the other French ships of
her group, which were now giving way everywhere as the attack on them
was being driven home. There she remained until Hood himself with the
_Barfleur_ came on the scene.

De Grasse by this had been practically abandoned to his fate. Even De
Vaudreuil's devotion could help him no further now. The _Languedoc_
made one despairing attempt to come to her flagship's rescue, but could
not get through. Beaten back by the _Duke_ and another ship, she turned
away and fled, hoisting all sail. On board the _Ville de Paris_ every
spar had been shot down, stripped from the masts, which had themselves
been riddled and were tottering. The rudder had been smashed away,
and the ship could not be steered; many guns were disabled; one gun
had burst, killing sixteen men and injuring thirty. There was hardly
a yard of space along her sides that had not a shot-hole through it.
From three to four hundred of her crew--the exact numbers were never
returned--were dead or in the cockpit. Those who were still at quarters
were dead-beat and nearly dropping from exhaustion, having been
without food since daybreak. All the cartridges in the magazines were
exhausted, and they had to supply the guns by ladling loose powder into
them from open barrels brought up on deck. The 'fighting lanterns'
between decks were mostly extinguished, the candles burned out; all was
dark below, and they waded ankle-deep and stumbled amid the horrible
_débris_ of what that morning had been living human beings. Even then
De Grasse would not give in; not at least to any British captain. He
stoutly resisted until, a little after six o'clock, he caught sight of
Hood's flag at the _Barfleur's_ mast-head, showing above the smoke a
little way off. He would wait until Hood came up and then surrender. It
was a point of honour: his flagship should lower her colours only to a
flagship.

[Illustration: ONE OF THE 'FIGHTING LANTERNS' OF THE _VILLE DE PARIS_

 Now in the Museum of the Royal United Service Institution, Whitehall.]

As the _Barfleur_ got nearer, De Grasse fired a challenging gun. It
was to attract the approaching flagship's attention. Hood marked the
gun and understood it. He at once headed the _Barfleur_ directly for
the _Ville de Paris_. 'I concluded,' said Hood, 'the Count de Grasse
had a mind to be my prisoner, as an old acquaintance, and therefore
met his wishes by looking towards him.' As the _Barfleur_ began to
close with the French flagship, De Grasse made a show of opening fire
on her, 'which I,' continued Hood, 'totally disregarded till I had
proved, by firing a single gun from the quarter-deck, that I was within
point blank.'[43] That was the _Barfleur's_ distance. Ranging up to the
_Ville de Paris_ Hood greeted the French admiral with one tremendous
salvo of round-shot and grape at close quarters that crashed through
the sides of De Grasse's doomed flagship as though they were cardboard.
That one broadside struck down sixty men. All was over for the French
admiral now. In less than ten minutes the end had come. De Grasse
stepped to the taffrail, and with his own hand pulled the _Ville de
Paris's_ ensign down. The battle of the 'Glorious Twelfth of April' had
been fought and won. As the _Ville de Paris's_ ensign dropped the sun's
rim touched the sea-line.

There were but three unwounded men on the _Ville de Paris's_
quarter-deck when the admiral hauled down the flag. De Grasse himself
was one. More than a third of the flagship's immense company, officers
and men, had gone down, while he himself, at the most exposed point
of all from the first shot to the last and seeming to court death
throughout, had come through the day unscathed, except for a contusion
across the loins from a splinter which did not break the skin.

[Illustration: DE GRASSE'S FLAG COMES DOWN. RODNEY WATCHING THE
SURRENDER OF THE _VILLE DE PARIS_

After the picture by Robert Edge Pine; now in the Town Hall of
Kingston, Jamaica.

 [Immediately behind Rodney's left shoulder is seen the head of Lord
 Cranstoun. Midshipman Dashwood is readily recognisable, and the tall,
 bulky man on the extreme right of the picture is Sir Charles Douglas
 with the little bantam cock near his feet. The picture was shown at
 the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1784.] ]

The grand finale was witnessed from the _Formidable_, now close at hand
and drawing up, but just too late to share in the honour of the
event. Dr. Blane saw the French flag drop. 'The _Formidable_ was right
astern, and having come within shot, was yawing in order to give the
enemy a raking broadside, when, Sir Charles Douglas and I standing
together on the quarter-deck, the position of our ship opened a view of
the enemy's stern between the foresail and the jib boom, between which
we saw the French flag hauled down!'[44]

Some one else saw it too--De Vaudreuil. He was about a quarter of a
mile off at the moment, and still fighting. It made him senior officer,
commander-in-chief. There was now no De Grasse to keep pace with for
the honour of the flag. He could consider his own safety. De Vaudreuil
at once clapped on every sail that his masts could bear and made off,
hoisting as he did so the signal to rally to the north-west. The
_Bourgogne_ was the nearest ship to him. Across to her De Vaudreuil
shouted orders to make all sail and follow, and as he passed the other
ships ahead of him he hailed each to the same effect in turn.

Captain Knight of the _Barfleur_--son of Dr. Johnson's old friend,
Admiral Sir Joseph Knight, with whom the Doctor once stayed for a
week on board the _Ramillies_ at Chatham, and afterwards expressed
the opinion that 'No man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough
to get himself into gaol'--received De Grasse's surrender. A party of
seamen and marines from the _Barfleur_ under the first-lieutenant at
the same time took possession of the prize. They put off within five
minutes of the surrender, and arrived not a moment too soon. With the
hauling down of the flag all discipline on board vanished. 'The moment
the _Ville de Paris_ struck,' wrote Captain Douglas, 'her worthless,
disorderly crew broke open the chests and trunks of all their officers,
and with lighted candles in their hands, stove in the doors of the
store-rooms in quest of wine and other liquors, to the great danger of
all on board from fire.'[45]

Lord Cranstoun in a boat from the _Formidable_ reached the _Ville de
Paris_ a few minutes after Captain Knight. He described De Grasse as 'a
tall, robust, and martial figure, presenting in that moment an object
of respect, no less than of concern and sympathy.' He looked pale and
apparently dazed at the tremendous catastrophe that had befallen him.
According to Lord Cranstoun the French admiral 'could not recover from
the astonishment into which he was plunged, the expressions of which he
often iterated, at seeing in the course of so short a time, his vessel
taken, his fleet defeated, and himself a prisoner.' Lord Cranstoun
brought De Grasse a courteous message from Rodney, to the effect
that if he wished he might remain for the night 'at his ease' on board
the _Ville de Paris_, 'with every testimony of attention and regard
manifested towards him on the part of the British commander.'[46]

[Illustration:

 'Count de Grasse, the French Admiral, resigning his Sword to Admiral
 Rodney after being defeated by that gallant Commander in the West
 Indies. April 12, 1782.'

From the engraving by Fiegl, after Metz.]

The state of things on board was appalling, 'altogether terrible,'
said Lord Cranstoun. The quarter-deck was 'covered with dead and
wounded.... Between the foremast and main-mast, at every step he took,'
Lord Cranstoun told Sir Nathaniel Wraxall, 'he was over his buckles in
blood.'[47] Below, where the cattle (to provide the troops on board
with meat) had been stalled between the guns, things were even more
horrible, for 'they had suffered not less than the crew and troops from
the effects of the cannon.' De Grasse himself, incidentally, gives an
idea of the state to which the _Ville de Paris_ had been reduced at the
end. In his official report to Versailles on the battle he said, 'I
was reduced to such a state that the enemy on the morning of the 13th,
to strike the ship's pennant, were obliged to cut away the masts for
fear, in sending a man to get at the pennant, all would go overboard or
come down in a crash on deck.'

Immediately after the surrender of the _Ville de Paris_ Rodney made
the signal for the fleet to cease firing and bring-to. There was to
be no pursuit. It was a decision for which Rodney has been bitterly
criticised. He had, however, his reasons, and he put them in writing;
but it was, all said and done, a very grave error of judgment on the
part of the British leader. 'Come, come,' he is said to have exclaimed
in reply to a suggestion that was made to him by Hood, that part of
the fleet at any rate might follow up the enemy, 'we have done very
handsomely!' It was not the old Rodney of the _Eagle_ who said that,
one must remember. Rodney in April 1782 was a man broken in health,
racked with gout, a man grown prematurely old,--ten years, at least,
older than his real age,--and utterly worn out after twelve anxious
hours on deck under a burning sun. Before that, also, as Rodney himself
said, he had had no proper rest for four nights. Most unfortunately, as
it proved, Rodney underestimated the force of the smashing blow that he
had dealt the enemy, and formed an entirely erroneous estimate of the
condition of the ships that had escaped. He allowed himself to form a
picture of their condition that was totally at variance with the facts,
and did not think it wise to risk a pursuit in the dark. He made up his
mind that the enemy had gone off 'in a collected body,' and that his
own fleet had suffered more severe damage than was actually the case.
There is no need here to press the matter further, or to recall Hood's
bitter animadversions on his chief's breakdown, or what certain of the
captains are said to have thought. Rodney was commander-in-chief and
all responsibility for the safety of the British West Indies rested on
his shoulders. Also his reasons for bringing-to commended themselves to
him at the time.

The short tropical evening closed in, and darkness fell on the
scene--the darkness of a sultry black night without moon or stars. Each
ship, of course, had her poop lantern showing, and lights gleamed out
through the ports of all as the working parties moved about between
decks, busily engaged in cleaning up and taking temporary measures to
clear away the marks of battle, as far as might be done in an hour or
two, preparatory to turning-in for the night.

Yet before the wearied men could get to their hammocks one more event
was to happen, to mark the dread closing of a tremendous day. Nor was
it out of keeping with what had gone before. Towards nine o'clock,
all of a sudden, a burst of roaring flame shot up from one of the
French prizes, illuminating the sky and sea for many miles all round.
De Vaudreuil and his fugitive fifteen, far away to northward by now,
below the horizon, could see the reflection and guessed what it was.
Bougainville, in the other direction, flying towards Curaçao, saw it
too. The victim was the captured _César_. One of her own disorderly
crew, it came out later, did the mischief. They had been as usual
clapped under hatchways after the surrender, but had the hold to
themselves. There the rabble--as on board the _Ville de Paris_, all
bonds of discipline had ceased to exist with the striking of the
flag--had broken into the spirit-room and held a wild orgy among
themselves, regardless of consequences. A drunken French soldier,
seeking for more drink with a pannikin in one hand and a naked light
in the other, dropped the flaring candle into an open cask of ratafia.
Who-o-o-f!!! Instantly the whole place was ablaze from end to end,
and the flames leapt along in a flash from deck to deck throughout
the ship. There was no checking them, and the splintered woodwork
everywhere was in the best state to feed the fire. Out of mercy to the
prisoners below the hatches were lifted off, and those who could escape
given a chance. That, unfortunately, at the same time made things
worse for the ship. The more sober of the Frenchmen joined the small
British prize-crew of fifty-eight men and a lieutenant, and lent a hand
to try and get the flames under. Half-a-dozen thought of their wounded
captain, the Comte Bernard de Marigny, who was lying badly wounded in
the cabin. These made their way into the cabin, and told De Marigny
that the ship was expected every minute to blow up. 'So much the
better,' was all the Captain replied, very quietly, according to French
accounts, 'the English won't keep her! Shut my door, my friends, and
leave me. Try and save yourselves!'[48] The British prize-crew--they
were all from the _Centaur_--fought the fire heroically, and spared no
efforts to beat the flames back, but in vain. The British lieutenant in
command was seen at the last in the stern gallery giving his orders.
All the _César's_ boats had been knocked to pieces in the battle.
Outside, all round, were the boats of the fleet lying on their oars,
ready to save all they could, but, for various reasons, unable to get
near the ship. One of the reasons has been specially recorded--the
sharks. Again the sharks were on the spot, 'not yet glutted,' said Dr.
Blane, 'with the carnage of the preceding day.' What the men on the
boats saw and told the doctor, was, in Blane's words, 'too horrid to
describe.' A solid belt of sharks surrounded the burning _César_, a
closely packed mass of struggling, huge-girthed brutes, rolling and
tumbling about all round, jostling one another and scraping their rough
backs together as they plunged and wallowed about all over the surface.
Attracted by the glare they had come crowding to the spot, 'every shark
in those waters seemed to be there,' and swarmed thronging close round
the vessel, surging up and snapping and tearing at the poor frenzied
wretches who were clinging on alongside on fragments of spars and
wreckage that had dropped overboard. One by one the sharks picked the
poor fellows off. The boats meanwhile could not, dared not, force their
way through. They could only look helplessly on and wait for the end:--

 Watch the wild wreck; but not to save.

The end came between ten and eleven. The _César_, half burned to the
water's edge, blew up with a dull heavy roar--'not a loud explosion,'
notes an onlooker. Indeed there was not much powder left to blow up in
the bravely defended ship's magazines. It was merely a belching up of
flame and sparks, like the blowing out of the pinch of powder at the
bottom of a squib or Roman candle; just enough to rend the remains of
the hull apart and scatter its contents. Then all was black darkness.
A few twinkling sparks high overhead caught the eye, as the burning
fragments poised in mid-air and turned for the downward drop, followed
by splashes in the sea all round, and here and there, out of sight,

 A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
 Of some strong swimmer in his agony,

as some shark claimed its last victim, and then all was over. Silence
and darkness fell once more on the heaving waters, and the boats pulled
sadly and wearily back to their ships. Such was the tragedy of the
_César_. A handful of survivors were picked up, though how they escaped
is not stated. All were Frenchmen. Not one of the British prize-crew
escaped.

Now at last Rodney's day was over: the 'Glorious Twelfth' reached its
last hour in silence and passed away.

       *       *       *       *       *

'The battle is over and the British fleet victorious, De Grasse is in
my cabin, the _Ville de Paris_ and four ships of the line are in our
possession and one sunk, their whole fleet completely mauled.' So ran
the opening sentence of Rodney's first letter after the battle, written
on the morning of the 13th. Writing to a brother-admiral he spoke of
the battle as having been 'long and bloody, but never doubtful in my
opinion.' Eleven hours was Rodney's estimate of its duration, and he
added, 'by persons appointed to observe there was never seven minutes'
respite during the engagement.'

For the enemy it had been a sanguinary and costly day. The French
losses in the battle--including the crews of four ships taken by
Hood a week later--amounted, in round numbers, to 'at least 15,000
men.' Seven thousand of the number were either killed, wounded, or
drowned. Six French captains were among the dead,[49] who, reckoned by
themselves, were 3000. Over a thousand of the casualties were in the
_Ville de Paris_ and the _César_ alone. Among the 8000 prisoners were
2000 soldiers. The monetary loss to France, in the value of _matériel_
taken, was put at just half a million sterling; and that sum does not
include the treasure-chest of De Bouillé's army, thirty-six boxes of
money containing coin to the value of £25,000.[50] Also on board the
captured ships, by a curious chance, was found the whole of the French
army's siege-train for Jamaica, heavy guns and carriages, and equipment
complete.

Such were some of the first fruits. The immediate collapse of the
campaign against Jamaica was another of the fruits of the victory, and
there were yet other results of wider-reaching effect. The blow that
Rodney dealt on the 12th of April reacted on the sea campaign in Home
waters, and strengthened Howe's hand for the final effort of the war,
the relief of Gibraltar. 'On that memorable day,' says Froude, 'was the
English Empire saved.'

For the British the 'butcher's bill,' as the tars of Rodney's day
called it, proved comparatively light. The Admiral's first despatch
gave the figures as 230 killed and 759 wounded; corrected later to 337
killed and 766 wounded, or 1103 in all. Of the total the _Formidable's_
share was surprisingly small, only 14 killed and 39 wounded, yet hers
was the third heaviest return sent in. The French officers of De
Grasse's suite, indeed, when they were told the figures, refused at
first to accept them. 'It was with difficulty,' says Dr. Blane, 'we
could make the French officers believe that the returns of killed and
wounded made by our ships to the Admiral were true. One of them flatly
contradicted me, saying we always gave the world a false account of our
losses. I then walked him over the decks of the _Formidable_ and bade
him remark what number of shot-holes there were, and also how little
her rigging had suffered, and asked if that degree of damage was likely
to be connected with the loss of more than fourteen men, which was our
number killed, and the greatest number of any in the fleet except the
_Royal Oak_ and _Monarch_. He was visibly mortified to see how little
our ship had suffered, and then owned that our fire must have been much
better kept up and directed than theirs.'[51] It was, of course, the
demoralising effect of Rodney's gunnery on the enemy at the outset that
made all the difference.

The _Formidable_, as to that, had taken her own part effectively. The
gunner's return showed that the British flagship had fired eighty
broadsides--35 tons of shot. Rodney himself was enthusiastic over his
ship's performance. 'The _Formidable_,' he wrote, 'proved herself
worthy of her name!'

De Grasse came on board the _Formidable_ next morning, and stayed there
as Rodney's guest for two days while the _Ville de Paris_, for the time
being in tow of the _Namur_, was being cleansed and made habitable.
A night's rest worked wonders in the French admiral. 'He bears his
reverse of fortune with equanimity, conscious as he says that he has
done his duty, and I found him very affable and communicative.' So
Dr. Blane wrote. He and Captain Douglas acted as interpreters between
the admirals: Rodney--it is rather curious, if we remember a certain
story--could not speak a word of French.[52] De Grasse was very frank
with everybody. For one thing, he said, he did not wonder that he
had been beaten. From what he had seen he considered that the French
navy was 'a hundred years behind that of Great Britain.' Wrote Rodney
himself of one conversation:--'Comte de Grasse, who at this moment is
sitting in my stern gallery, tells me he thought his fleet superior to
mine, and does so still, though I had two more in number; and I am of
his opinion, as his was composed of all large ships and ten of mine
only sixty-fours.'[53]

Rodney remained in the neighbourhood of Dominica for four days,
refitting and repairing damages. His frigates meanwhile searched
the bays among the islands to northward, St. Kitts and Eustatius in
particular, for traces of French fugitives in that quarter. None,
however, were found. The only news brought back was that several
crippled French ships, one identified as De Vaudreuil's _Triomphante_,
had been sighted by the islanders passing on the day after the battle.
On the morning of the 17th Hood was despatched with the least damaged
of the British ships to cruise off the south of San Domingo and
intercept any of De Vaudreuil's laggards. Rodney himself moved off in
the afternoon of the same day with the more seriously damaged ships
and the prizes in tow, for Jamaica, following on much the same course
towards San Domingo. He met Hood four days later, returning with four
French prizes, two ships of the line and two frigates, the proceeds of
a smart little affair that Hood had had with a force of the enemy in
the Mona Passage. Rodney then continued his course for Port Royal where
he arrived on the 29th, to be received as the saviour of the colony.

[Illustration: THE 'RODNEY TEMPLE,' SPANISH TOWN, JAMAICA

[The two guns from the _Ville de Paris_ are visible behind the
railings.]]

'All Jamaica,' wrote Rodney, 'went mad with joy.' So much so, indeed,
that the Admiral did not set foot on shore for a week, 'to avoid being
pestered with addresses, etc.' To this day Rodney is the _genius loci_
in Jamaica. The statue to him, by Bacon, voted by the House of Assembly
'as a mark of gratitude and veneration,' is one of the sights of the
island. It represents the Admiral in the dress of a Roman Imperator,
and stands, flanked by two brass guns from the _Ville de Paris_
presented by Rodney himself, under an imposing classic temple that
takes up one side of 'the Square' in the centre of Spanish Town, the
old capital of Jamaica; with the 'King's House,' the residence of the
Governor, on one hand, and the House of Assembly on the other, and
facing it, across the gardens of the square, the Court House.

[Illustration: ADMIRAL DE GRASSE AS A PRISONER OF WAR

From the _London Magazine_ for August 1782.

 Stated to have been 'drawn from the life by a celebrated artist,'
 while De Grasse was in London on parole as a prisoner of war. The
 background is, of course, artistic fancy work.]

The fleet remained refitting at Port Royal for upwards of nine weeks.
Port Royal dockyard proved to be in an almost hopeless state of neglect
and confusion, totally unfitted to supply the needs of a great fleet in
the condition of Rodney's. De Grasse left for England in the interval,
as a passenger in the first convoy sailing. We may take leave of him
here. How the French admiral--the first commander-in-chief of an
enemy brought to this country since Marshal Tallard came over after
Blenheim--landed on Southsea beach in the presence of a cheering crowd;
how King George received him in the most kindly and gracious manner,
while English society showed him every mark of courteous sympathy, are
matters beyond our present scope.[54] Nor can the unfortunate admiral's
after fate be referred to at length. It will be enough to say that
De Grasse later on published an open letter complaining that he had
been betrayed by his captains. This caused an outburst of indignation
in France which led to a _Conseil de Guerre_ on every officer from De
Vaudreuil downwards. The tribunal exonerated everybody,[55] laying all
the blame on De Grasse himself, and the admiral was banished from Court
in disgrace, which meant social ostracism and the cold shoulder for the
rest of his days.[56]

The _Ville de Paris_ followed her late admiral with the next convoy to
England--never, however, to arrive there. She went to the bottom in
a terrific storm which fell on the convoy in mid-Atlantic, but when,
or exactly where, or how, is to this day unknown. Of all on board,
upwards of five hundred officers and men, one seaman only was saved. He
was picked up after the storm one morning, clinging to some floating
wreckage--an imbecile. Mind and memory had gone. The only thing
that the man could say was that a day or two before he had seen the
_Glorieux_ go down suddenly. All after that, all about his own ship,
everything, except that he was 'Wilson of the _Ville de Paris_,'--was a
blank.

Rodney was detained at Port Royal until the 10th of July. Then with all
the fleet repaired and fit for service, just as he was on the point of
sailing to blockade the enemy off Cape Haitien, a ship from England,
the _Jupiter_, arrived bringing a curt order from the Admiralty to
'strike his flag and come home.' It was the first word of any kind he
had had from England since the battle; indeed, since the beginning
of April, when he was in Gros Islet Bay before the battle. To add to
the sting of the blow Rodney's successor was on board the ship that
brought the order:--Admiral Pigot, an absolute nonentity, a man who
had never served at sea since he was a captain, and then without
distinction. That was the sort of man sent out to supersede the first
naval commander of the age on the morrow of his greatest triumph. It
was all a matter of party politics, a shameless political job. Rodney
was a Tory in politics and had been appointed by a Tory First Lord. The
Whigs had come into power since he last heard from England, and the new
Ministry on coming into office had promptly cancelled his appointment
and sent out one of their own partisans, hitherto only known as a naval
M.P., to replace, in the presence of the enemy, the ablest sea officer
that Great Britain possessed.

The Ministry having discarded Rodney, what took place when the
startling news of Rodney's victory, with the capture of De Grasse and
the finest man-of-war in the world, reached England, was indeed the
irony of fate. It made up a striking and intensely dramatic situation.
When Rodney was ordered home the news of the battle had not arrived.
It came on the 18th of May, when Captain Byron of the _Andromache_,
and Lord Cranstoun, who had accompanied him, arrived with Rodney's
despatches at the Admiralty at two in the morning. Admiral Pigot had
only left London for Plymouth two or three days before. The Admiralty
and the Ministry were aghast, amazed, absolutely nonplussed. They had
recalled the victor in the hour of the greatest victory that the Royal
Navy had ever won perhaps since the defeat of the Spanish Armada. It
was an extremely awkward position. Admiral Pigot must be stopped at
all cost, and Rodney's order of recall torn up. That was the only
thing to be done. A King's messenger with relays of horses was sent
galloping down to Plymouth as fast as man could ride. He carried with
him a letter of compliment and congratulation to Rodney, written at
seven on the morning of the 18th, which was to go instead of the other.
The messenger got to Plymouth just too late. He arrived there at two
in the afternoon of the 19th, to find that Pigot had sailed on the
evening before. A swift cutter was sent after the _Jupiter_, but failed
to catch her up. So the Whig Ministry were left face to face with the
unenviable situation that their own narrow partisanship had created.

'A generation ago,' says a writer in one of the earlier numbers of the
_Quarterly Review_, 'men were still living who could tell of the flame
of indignation which ran through the country when it was known that the
new Whig Government had recalled Admiral Rodney, because the expedition
which he commanded had been planned by the Tories.' No doubt that was
so. But the flame burned itself out quickly. The Whigs in Parliament
and outside it were able to counter the Tory reproaches by retorting
that whatever was the case then, when the recall of Rodney was first
notified, three weeks before the despatches came, not a voice had
been raised against it. All over the country at the same time, Whigs
and Tories made common cause in heaping adulation on the victor, and
expressing their general feelings in exuberant rejoicings. In London,
after the Park and Tower guns and the pealing of the church bells
had confirmed the breakfast-table rumour, 'the whole town was in an
uproar,' we are told, everybody making the day a holiday and hanging
out flags. All London was illuminated that night, the very poorest
finding a candle to stick in every pane in their windows. Wraxall,
writing in 1816 (the year after Waterloo) his recollections of how
London received the news of Rodney's victory, says: 'When I reflect on
the emotions to which it gave rise in London, I cannot compare them
with any other occurrence of the same kind that we have since witnessed
in this country.'[57] Dr. Blane writing some years afterwards from
what he was told, says that even the cripples and invalids in hospital
'demonstrated their joy on hearing of this victory, by hoisting shreds
of coloured cloth on their crutches.' Lady Rodney and her daughters
went to the theatre that evening. 'When we went in,' wrote Miss Jane
Rodney to her father, 'the whole house testified by their claps and
huzzas, the joy they felt at the news, and their love for you, and
their acclamations lasted for, I am sure, five minutes.'[58] The
versifiers of course seized on the occasion, and they found editors
ready to take their 'copy.'

 The Grass in Paris streets so long had grown
 That farmer Rodney thought it should be mown,
 So up his Formidable scythe he took
 And cut the Grass of Paris at one stroke--

was one effusion that is among the best. Throughout the country, as the
laurel-bedecked stage-coaches passed the news along, there was hardly
a village that did not ring its bells and have its bonfire. Half the
taverns, we are told, painted out their 'Markis o' Granby' signboards
for 'The Admiral Rodney,' and Rodney's is to this day the most common
of naval names on inn signboards. There are, as a fact, more 'Lord
Rodneys' up and down the country than 'Lord Nelsons.'

Rodney, at Port Royal, accepted the situation with quiet dignity. He
said nothing, handed over the command to Admiral Pigot, and shifted
out of the _Formidable_ forthwith into the smaller _Montagu_, then
under orders to proceed to England. Twelve days after Pigot's arrival,
Rodney sailed. There is no need to carry the story further. How Rodney
was rewarded by the country, and how he passed his closing years, are
matters of general history.

One of the _Formidable's_ men on Rodney's day was a smart young seaman
named Stephens. He lived to be 'Mr.' Stephens, the boatswain of the
famous _Shannon_ when she met the _Chesapeake_, on which occasion,
too, he lost an arm. He found a place in Captain Broke's despatch,
and had the further distinction of being asked by the officers to
sit for a statuette of himself to be made, which became one of the
special treasures of the last of the _Shannon's_ officers, the late
Admiral of the Fleet, Sir Provo Wallis. The last surviving officer
of Rodney's flagship was Sir Charles Dashwood, who died in 1847,
Vice-Admiral of the White, and K.C.B. The last survivor of all, both of
the _Formidable's_ company in 1782, and of all who fought in the battle
itself, was a seaman of the _Formidable_, George Neale, who died at
Coventry in 1849.

We will close the story with one final word about the _Formidable's_
after career. She outlasted Rodney by nineteen years, and served in
the interim throughout the war with the French Revolution and with
Napoleon. Had it not been for an accidental delay she would have been
Duncan's flagship at Camperdown. The _Formidable_ had been fitted for
Admiral Duncan's flag, and sailed from the Downs for the Texel on the
very day that the battle was fought. Her end came in 1813, in which
year the fine old veteran of the sea was struck off the Navy List as
unfit for further service, and handed over to the shipbreaker.

 To Dead Man's Bay when her day is past,
 To Dead Man's Bay comes the ship at last.

Thus for the present we close the record of this 'blustering adjective'
from the point of view of naval history. Enough has been told. 'A
nation,' says Guizot, 'is safe in the greatest crisis of its fate if
it can remember its own history.' Those who on a future day may serve
in our present _Formidable_ before an enemy, will be none the worse
for remembering the associations of old-time victory that form part
and parcel of their ship's famous name, in virtue of which, that name
finds its place to-day on the roll of the Royal Navy for 'one of the
best' among the battle-ships of the British Fleet.[59] 'No man,' wrote
a young officer of the famous _Bellerophon_, in his last letter home
on the evening before Trafalgar, 'can be a coward on board the _Billy
Ruff'n_.' No man on board the _Formidable_, who knows the story of his
ship, should be found wanting on the day of battle. It will rest as a
point of honour with those who then man the _Formidable_ to remember
Rodney and prove the _Formidable_ 'worthy of her name.'

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 13: _Admirals All, and Other Verses_, p. 15.]

[Footnote 14: _Edward the Third_, Act III. Sc. 1.]

[Footnote 15: Built at Chatham in 1777 as a 98-gun three-decker of 1945
tons. The _Formidable_ taken at Quiberon was broken up some ten years
previously.]

[Footnote 16: From Mr. Newbolt's verses on a memorial brass in Clifton
College chapel.]

[Footnote 17: He was captain of the French frigate _L'Aréthuse_ on May
18, 1759, when she was cut off and captured, off the Brittany coast,
by a British squadron; to become a British frigate, and later on the
'Saucy' _Arethusa_ of the celebrated ballad.]

[Footnote 18: Hennequin's _Biographie Maritime_, art. 'Vaudreuil';
also L. Dussieux's _Généraux et Marins du XVIII. Siècle_, p. 260. The
governorship of the island of Dominica was offered to De Vaudreuil
after its capture from Great Britain through treachery. Some of the
creole inhabitants of Dominica invited the French over from Martinique,
and, on the night of their landing, made the garrison of the principal
fort in the island drunk, plugged up the touch-holes of their cannon,
and put sand in the locks of their muskets.]

[Footnote 19: Bougainville was born in 1729. He was granted the
_particle nobiliaire_ by order of the King as a special favour, escaped
the guillotine during the Terror by the merest chance, and died a
Senator of the Empire in 1811. Bougainville's name is commemorated
in the French navy to-day in a corvette used as a training ship for
cadets. The vessel is well known as a visitor to Dartmouth and Plymouth
Sound every year.]

[Footnote 20: It was the practice of the Comte de la Charette to
blacken the sides of each ship that he commanded. Ordinarily, at this
period, ships' sides were of a yellow colour--the planking simply
varnished over.]

[Footnote 21: Carlyle, _French Resolution_, vol. ii. bk. ii. chap. i.]

[Footnote 22: Carronades were short pieces of large calibre, throwing
heavy shot, but with a very limited range. They were only of use
for fighting at close quarters, when, however, they were terribly
destructive. They were invented and first made at the Carron Ironworks
in Scotland--whence the name.]

[Footnote 23: Sir Gilbert Blane, _Dissertations on Medical Science_,
vol. i. p. 86.]

[Footnote 24: It extends sometimes to as far as six or seven miles
seaward.--_West India Pilot._]

[Footnote 25: 'De Grasse's action,' says Captain Mahan (_The Influence
of Sea Power upon History_, p. 290), 'was justified by the court which
tried him, in which were many officers of high rank and doubtless of
distinction, as being "an act of prudence on the part of the admiral
dictated to him by the ulterior projects of the cruise." Three days
later he was signally beaten by the fleet he had failed to attack at
disadvantage, and all the ulterior projects of the cruise went down
with him.']

[Footnote 26: _Annual Register_, 1782 (History of Europe), p. 206.]

[Footnote 27: Mundy's _Life of Rodney_, vol. ii. p. 251.]

[Footnote 28: _United Service Journal_, 1833, part i. p. 512, Sir C.
Douglas's narrative.]

[Footnote 29: Imagine this page the surface of the sea, the top being
north, the foot south, and so on. The wind would be blowing diagonally
across from the right-hand corner at the foot of the page. Rodney's
ships would be approaching slantwise towards the centre of the page
from near the left-hand lower corner. De Grasse's fleet would be coming
down to meet them near the centre from a point at the top of the page
about two inches from the left-hand corner.]

[Footnote 30: To make sure that they saw the signal and obeyed it
without delay, De Grasse kept firing gun after gun to enforce it, until
all had answered.]

[Footnote 31: Captain Mahan in _The Royal Navy: A History_, vol. iii.
p. 528.]

[Footnote 32: Mundy's _Life of Rodney_, vol. ii. pp. 235-236.]

[Footnote 33: British flag-officers were at this time still divided,
for purposes of promotion, into groups and subdivisions, as Admirals,
Vice-Admirals, and Rear-Admirals of the Red, White, and Blue (except
that there was no Admiral of the Red), which had existed since the
middle of the seventeenth century, although the original purpose of the
arrangement, in accordance with the tactical formations of fleets for
battle, had long ceased to exist. The French, on the other hand, had
no permanent subsidiary gradations in their flag-officers' list, and
held to their original tactical distribution of squadrons; the senior
officer commanding the Escadre Blanche, the second the Escadre Blanche
et Bleue, the third the Escadre Bleue.]

[Footnote 34: _Hist. MSS. Commission: Report XIV._ Duke of Rutland's
MSS. at Belvoir Castle, vol. iii. p. 55. At Belvoir Castle there are
preserved, besides eight brass cannon of French make, the carved tiller
of the _Resolution_, and some bottles of wine stamped with the Manners
peacock, which were in the ship as part of the captain's stores.]

[Footnote 35: There is a very fine model of the _Duke_, representing
her exactly as she appeared on the 12th of April 1782, in the naval
collection at South Kensington Museum.]

[Footnote 36: The first was in the fighting on the 9th of April. 'De
Grasse had sent me a message that he could not meet me in March,
but that he certainly would attack us in April. He did not keep his
promise, for I attacked him. In the first day's action, when the
_Formidable_ came abreast of the _Ville de Paris_, I ordered the main
topsail to be laid aback. [This was a well-understood form of personal
challenge at sea.] De Grasse, who was about three miles to windward,
did not accept the challenge, but kept his wind and did not fire one
shot the whole day.' (Letter to Lady Rodney, May 4, 1782; quoted in
Mundy's _Life_, etc., vol. ii. p. 291.)]

[Footnote 37: Sir Gilbert Blane, _Dissertations on Medical Science_,
vol. i. p. 88 _et seq._]

[Footnote 38: Sir C. Dashwood's letter is dated Torquay, 8th July 1829.
It is quoted in full in the _United Service Journal_ for 1833, part i.
p. 73.]

[Footnote 39: Professor J. Knox Laughton, R.N., _Dictionary of National
Biography_, art. 'Rodney.']

[Footnote 40: The _Diadème's_ name appears in De Vaudreuil's official
return of the ships rallied by him which reached Cap François, San
Domingo, on the 25th of April.]

[Footnote 41: Hennequin, _Biographie Maritime_, vol. i. p. 356.]

[Footnote 42: Navy Records Society: _The Naval Miscellany_, vol. i.
p. 234. A letter apparently from a lieutenant of the _Ville de Paris_
gives details.]

[Footnote 43: Navy Records Society, _Letters of Sir Samuel Hood_, pp.
102-103.]

[Footnote 44: Sir Gilbert Blane, _Dissertations on Medical Science_,
vol. i.]

[Footnote 45: _United Service Journal_ for 1833, vol. i. p. 514.]

[Footnote 46: De Grasse, it is stated, had not once left the
quarter-deck since daybreak. See also _Historical Memoirs of my Own
Time_, Sir N.W. Wraxall, vol. iii. p. 108.]

[Footnote 47: Wraxall's _Memoirs_, iii. p. 107. Lord Cranstoun told Sir
N.W. Wraxall that _he_ 'was sent after the _Ville de Paris_ struck to
take possession of her, as well as to receive De Grasse's sword.' In
the memoir of Captain Knight of the _Barfleur_ (_Naval Chronicle_, xi.
pp. 428-429) it is stated that 'Captain Knight received and presented
to his Admiral the sword of Count de Grasse and those of all the
surviving officers of the _Ville de Paris_, who, with the exception
of the Count (he, by desire of Sir Samuel Hood, remaining in his own
ship), lodged that night in the captain's cabin of the _Barfleur_.' Our
illustration depicts a third version of the incident.]

[Footnote 48: Hennequin, _Biographie Maritime_, vol. i. art. 'Marigny.']

[Footnote 49: They were:--the Chevalier du Pavillon, De Vaudreuil's
flag-captain; De la Clochetterie; De la Vicomté; Comte Bernard de
Marigny; De Saint Césaire; and D'Escars of the _Glorieux_.]

[Footnote 50: Half a million sterling was the French monetary loss
in one of the biggest sea battles ever fought. Japan lost upwards of
a million and a quarter by the sinking of one battleship alone, the
_Hatsuse_; and Russia, a million and eight thousand pounds by the
sinking of the _Petropavlovsk_.]

[Footnote 51: Blane's _Dissertations on Medical Science_, vol. i., as
before.]

[Footnote 52: It is certainly curious that a man of the world such as
Rodney was should not have known French. Most people have heard the
story--the truth of which is well established--of Rodney's detention in
Paris, at the outset of the war, owing to his debts, and how the Duc de
Biron advanced him the money which enabled Rodney to leave for England.]

[Footnote 53: It is rather difficult to reconcile these two statements
by De Grasse, one to Dr. Blane and the other to Rodney.]

[Footnote 54: According to the _London Magazine_ for August 1782, King
George, at an audience granted to De Grasse shortly after the French
admiral's arrival in England, returned him the sword that De Grasse
had surrendered to Rodney. 'This _etiquette_,' the _London Magazine_
proceeds, 'enabled the Count to appear at Court.' He spent the week he
was in London, we are told, 'in paying visits to the great officers of
State and some of the principal nobility of the kingdom, by whom he was
entertained in a sumptuous and hospitable style. He likewise took a
view of the Bank and other public edifices, and of Vauxhall and other
places of amusement.... Every mark of respect was shown to him, even by
the common people, in testimony of his valour.']

[Footnote 55: Practically everybody: four or five officers were
called before the court at the close of the proceedings, and formally
reprimanded for not having done all they might. De Vaudreuil came off
with flying colours, and all documents containing reflections on him
were ordered to be suppressed. The warmest commendation was bestowed on
the captains who rallied with De Vaudreuil to the support of De Grasse.]

[Footnote 56: 'The most virulent expressions of disgust were hurled on
his misfortune and his fame; epigrams circulated from mouth to mouth,
and even the women carried ornaments called "à la De Grasse," having
on one side a heart and on the other none.' (Sir E. Cust's _Annals of
the Wars of the Eighteenth Century_, vol. iii. p. 329). Also General
Mundy in his _Life of Lord Rodney_ (vol. ii. p. 290, note), says of De
Grasse: 'On his return to France he was disgraced by his Court, and in
the gardens of the Tuileries his life was nearly sacrificed to the fury
of an exasperated mob.']

[Footnote 57: Wraxall's _Memoirs_, iii. p. 104. Several of the medals,
in silver and bronze, struck to commemorate the great occasion are now
in private collections. A lady's fan of the period, bearing a portrait
of Rodney with emblematical devices in honour of the victory, was
on view two or three years ago at a small exhibition of fans of the
eighteenth century in Bond Street.]

[Footnote 58: Letter quoted in Mundy's _Life of Lord Rodney_, vol. ii.
p. 309.]

[Footnote 59: Mr. Schetky, the artist, whose picture of Rodney's
victory is reproduced in this book, relates in a note the following
anecdote. 'It is in reference to this famous action (Rodney's victory)
that the story is told of the old one-legged veteran, a patient in the
Edinburgh Infirmary, who, being asked by Dr. John Barclay, "Where did
you lose your leg, my man?" briefly replied, "At the 12th of April,
your honour." The doctor, not immediately calling to mind that great
day, inquired again, "_What_ 12th of April?" Jack looked him in the
face with supreme contempt, and retorted indignantly, "What 12th of
April? Who ever heard of any 12th of April but One."']




III

WON AT THE CANNON'S MOUTH

HIS MAJESTY'S SHIP _UNDAUNTED_

 Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
   To all the sensual world proclaim,
 One crowded hour of glorious life,
   Is worth an age without a name.

 Scott.


There is no incident quite like it in all the annals of the Royal Navy.
There is hardly a finer tale, all said and done, hardly a more stirring
story, than that which tells how we came by our first _Undaunted_--why
there is an _Undaunted_ to-day on the roll of the British fleet. Better
name for British fighting ship there could be none; none, assuredly, of
happier omen. In a sense, indeed, it is, so to speak, a self-made name.
No Admiralty Lord of high degree in the comfortable surroundings of a
sanctum at Whitehall first made choice of or appointed it. No lady fair
with customary libation of foaming wine on dockyard gala day wished
'God speed' to our first _Undaunted_. In quite another way, indeed, was
the name first given. Amid the clash and ring of hostile steel, in the
heat of a hard-fought fight, with shells bursting round, and grape-shot
hurtling through the powder smoke, with bullets flying thick, while
men closed hand to hand with cutlass and bayonet and boarding pike,
came the first idea of the name _Undaunted_, and the scene of its first
appointment, of its first bestowal on a British man-of-war, was the
quarter-deck of a British flagship, as the last echoes of battle were
dying down.

[Illustration: THE FIRST CAPTAIN OF THE FIRST _UNDAUNTED_--CAPTAIN
ROBERT FAULKNOR

From Holl's portrait engraved by Ridley.]

The West Indies, Nelson's 'station for honour,' was the scene of the
event, off the island of Martinique, and Thursday the 20th of March
1794 was the day. There had been turbulent doings in Martinique for the
past six weeks. Ever since the second week of February, day after day,
almost incessantly, the quiet valleys and hillsides of the fair island
had re-echoed with the crackle of musketry and the booming of cannon.
It was the old story, of course, red-coats fighting blue; the old
story--with the old result. We were in the second year of the war with
the French Revolution, and a British army had been sent over to drive
the French from their West Indian possessions. Martinique was the first
to be attacked, and three columns of British troops had landed there at
different points to fight their way inland until they met, driving the
French field force and garrisons before them. Outmatched in the open,
the French troops and local militiamen had in the end fallen back on
Fort Royal, whither General Rochambeau, the French Commander-in-Chief
in the West Indies, had called in all his forces and massed his
battalions to make a final stand at bay. The fate of Martinique
depended on their power of holding out until help from outside should
reach them.

A large and powerful British fleet under Vice-Admiral Sir John
Jervis, the future Earl St. Vincent, had escorted the troops across
the Atlantic. After assisting the soldiers in the earlier stages of
the campaign it had closed in and fastened its grip on the seaward
approaches to Fort Royal.

Fort Royal was the headquarters station of the French in the West
Indies. It was situated at the head of a deep bay, Cul de Sac Royal
as it was called. The place was strongly fortified, and was the great
arsenal and dockyard of France across the Atlantic. For a hundred years
past and more French fleets and squadrons had fitted there for war, and
had put in to repair after battle. Thence Du Casse had sailed to fight
Benbow. From there, as we have seen, De Grasse put out to meet his fate
off the 'Saints' at the hands of Rodney. Two fortified positions of
considerable strength and with heavy cannon, besides outlying redoubts
and batteries, defended the town of Fort Royal; one position fronting
inland, the other facing towards the sea.

Against the former, Fort Bourbon, an entrenched work set on high ground
at the back of the town of Fort Royal, the main force of our soldiers
was to operate, attacking with a siege train of heavy guns and mortars
and opening zigzags and parallels in the orthodox way. Fort Louis on
the sea front, blocking the entrance to the _carénage_, or man-of-war
harbour, and the dockyard, was to be attacked by the Naval Brigade,
assisted by a number of grenadier and light infantry companies, with
siege batteries made up of ships' 24-pounders. At the entrance to Fort
Royal Bay, to 'keep the ring,' as it were, rode the big two-deckers and
frigates of the fleet.

The bombardment began on the 7th of March and lasted ten days, during
which time the enemy resisted stoutly. Their sorties were, however,
beaten back, and by the 16th of the month the advanced batteries of the
second parallel had been pushed forward to within 500 yards of Fort
Bourbon. The sappers and miners had in the same time got nearer still
to Fort Louis. As yet though no date had been fixed for the assault.

On the 17th of March an accidental circumstance suddenly brought on
the crisis. Lieutenant Bowen of the flagship _Boyne_, who commanded
the guard boats of the fleet, heard that there were some British
seamen prisoners on board a French frigate that lay in the _carénage_
moored close under the walls of Fort Louis. He was a young fellow of
exceptional daring, and a fine piece of work suggested itself to his
mind. It was to dash in on his own account and try and cut out the
French ship and rescue the prisoners. Young Bowen said nothing about it
to any one. He took his boats in and made the attempt. He boarded the
frigate in the face of a sharp fire, only, however, to find that the
prisoners had been removed. Then he tried to bring the prize off. It
proved, however, impossible. The frigate had been moored with chains
and had no sails bent to her yards. Lieutenant Bowen had to retire,
but his daring attempt gave an idea to the British admiral. It took
shape on paper, and the co-operation of the military on shore was
arranged for. Sir John Jervis's plan was to send in all the boats of
the fleet _en masse_, carrying landing parties of sailors and marines,
and attempt Fort Louis itself by a _coup de main_. At the same time, it
was arranged, a brigade of troops, detached from before Fort Bourbon,
should move down and threaten the town of Fort Royal and the landward
bastions of Fort Louis.

The plan was put in hand at once, and Thursday the 20th of March
was fixed on for the attempt. It was to be made in broad daylight,
going straight at the enemy. This, briefly, was to be the order of
the attack. The _Asia_, a 64-gun ship, Captain John Brown, with the
_Zebra_, a 16-gun sloop of war, Commander Robert Faulknor, were to push
on ahead of the boats. Having got as close in to the ramparts as the
tide would allow, the _Asia_ was to batter away at the fort and breach
the sea-wall. The _Zebra_ at the same time was to sweep the ramparts
with grape and canister and cover the approach of the boats with the
storming parties, which were to come up a little astern of her. All the
boats in the fleet--flat-bottomed boats, barges, and pinnaces, carrying
1200 seamen and marines--were to be employed, each provided with a
number of bamboo scaling-ladders of from 20 to 36 feet long. Everything
was ready by the appointed time, seven on Wednesday night, and at five
o'clock on the morning of the 20th the signal was given to set off.

Promptly the _Zebra_ led in. There was a brisk north-easterly breeze
blowing, and standing right before it she headed directly for the
French batteries. The enemy on their side opened fire on her at once,
a long-range cannonade, but without effect. She was a small object to
hit. Without checking her course the _Zebra_ held on steadily. The
_Asia_ followed, and all went well until just as she was getting
within grape-shot range. Then suddenly an amazing thing happened. To
the blank astonishment of the whole squadron, the 64 suddenly wore
round and stood out of the bay. She turned round deliberately and drew
off from the enemy. What was the matter? Something very serious indeed
must have happened on board. Sir John Jervis himself, the admiral,
thought it could only be that Captain Brown had been killed, and sent
off his flag-captain to take charge. It was not that, however. Not a
man had been touched by a shot. Captain Grey[60] was only a few moments
on board, and then went down the side into his boat to return to the
flagship, after which the _Asia_ stood in again. It was a great relief
to all--when suddenly, just as she got to the same spot as before,
within grape-shot range, round went the _Asia's_ bows once more, and
she for the second time put back. What on earth had happened now?

This is the story. It is not a very nice one.

A French naval officer who had deserted to the British was on board the
_Asia_ in charge of the pilotage arrangements for the day's attack.
He was a M. de Tourelles, a Royalist, formerly harbour-master at Fort
Royal. He had volunteered for the post and had been accepted for his
pilot knowledge. The failure of the _Asia_ was due to Lieutenant de
Tourelles' nerves. All of a sudden, as the enemy's opening shots began
to fly overhead through the _Asia's_ rigging, M. de Tourelles got
alarmed and lost his head. Whether it was sheer cowardice, or a qualm
of conscience at the part he was taking against his own countrymen,
or a fear for his own skin if anything went wrong and the French got
hold of him--from one cause or another M. de Tourelles broke down
abjectly. Before any one on board knew what was happening, he had put
the _Asia's_ helm hard over and rounded the ship out of action. That
was the first failure, and the Frenchman's explanation was that he had
somehow got out of his reckoning. After Captain Grey of the _Boyne_
came on board M. de Tourelles said he would try again. He did so; and
the same thing happened again. There was, though, another failure on
board besides that of the pilot. Once more, to the surprise of all on
deck in the _Asia_, Captain Brown did nothing. He was an officer who
had seen service--of the same seniority as Nelson on the post list, and
not far off flag rank in the ordinary course--yet he let the Frenchman
for the second time carry the ship out of battle. Lookers-on expected
him to pistol De Tourelles on the spot, or cut him down; at the least
to send him below under arrest and take charge himself. The tide
was flowing, it was nearly three-quarters high water, and he might
well have risked touching on a shoal and borne up directly for the
batteries. Captain Brown, however, did nothing of the kind. The _Asia_
for the second time headed tamely out of action, this time to remain
out.[61]

It was a disheartening spectacle and a bad start. The whole attack
indeed was jeopardised. The _Asia_ dropped back nearly outside the bay.
The boats lay on their oars just within the bay. The _Zebra_, all by
herself, entirely unsupported, was some distance ahead; all the time
under fire from the enemy, stormed at by round-shot and shell and grape
from every gun that the French could bring to bear on her.

Fortunately Commander Faulknor was not of the stamp of Captain Brown.
He might well have anticipated a signal of recall and turned his little
sloop away to retire out of range and wait for further orders. But he
was not that sort of man. When he saw the _Asia_ go about and retreat
for the first time, although he had already got so far in as to be
within musket-shot of the nearest French battery, he lay-to and waited.
The French were already firing at him, but not the smallest notice
would he allow to be taken of the enemy's shots. The _Asia_, as he
saw, headed in and came on again; after which, for the second time she
turned away and stood back. Commander Faulknor knew what that meant. He
saw that he had been left in the lurch. He saw now that he must expect
no assistance from the _Asia_, the big ship that was to have been the
mainstay of the attack. The odds against him might well have daunted
the bravest man. They did not, however, daunt Robert Faulknor. He then
and there determined to undertake the whole duty of tackling the French
batteries and covering the boat attack single-handed, with his own
little ship and her crew of one hundred men all told.

It was a daring resolution, for Fort Louis was a very formidable work,
mounting heavy guns and strongly held. It crowned a rocky eminence
that jutted out menacingly into Fort Royal Bay. The sea face rose
abruptly from the water's edge, with a wall and parapet, 15 feet high,
scored with embrasures for big guns all along that side. In rear of
the parapet three lofty tiers of platforms, rising one above another,
with the muzzles of guns showing at all points, frowned fiercely down
on all who should venture to approach in hostile guise. Fort Louis
guarded the fairway into the _carénage_, or man-of-war harbour, round a
bend immediately in rear of the fort, and it also covered the town and
warehouses of Fort Royal proper, the civil settlement, which fringed
the harbour on the farther side.

The perilous nature of the task he was taking in hand did not, however,
count with the gallant officer who had charge of the _Zebra_. He was
used to taking risks. Commander Faulknor had already in this campaign
shown the stuff he was made of, and that not once nor twice. He was not
the man to blench here.

The commander of the _Zebra_ was indeed a man in a thousand. Hardly
a finer fellow in every respect than Robert Faulknor ever trod the
quarter-deck of a British man-of-war in any age. He could not, perhaps,
well help being so. If ever a British naval officer had the sea 'in
his blood,' as the old saying went, Faulknor had it. Not many families
ever did more for the Sea Service than the Faulknors of Hampshire in
the eighteenth century. A round dozen of its sons, as captains and
admirals, walked the quarter-deck in the times between Queen Anne and
William the Fourth. As a fact, he owed his very origin to a naval
romance. His father was 'Bob Faulknor of the _Bellona_,' perhaps the
most popular man in the service in his day, who in the first year of
George the Third's reign took a big French 74, the _Courageux_, off
the coast of Spain, in a ship-to-ship duel fought out to the bitter
end, and won a fortune and a beautiful bride, our hero's mother, at
one and the same time. The newspapers were full of the dashing fight,
a story full of incidents of heroism on the part of the _Bellona's_
captain, and the young lady reading the story there, gave her heart to
the gallant captain she had never seen. Meeting 'Captain Bob' on his
return to England at a ball, quite by chance, he for his part, in turn,
fell violently in love with her, and they married and lived afterwards
the happiest of wedded lives. Commander Faulknor's grandfather was old
Admiral Balchen's flag-captain, who was lost with his veteran chief and
upwards of a thousand officers and men, in the wreck of the _Victory_
of George the Second's fleet, the predecessor of Nelson's _Victory_,
off the Caskets near Alderney, one stormy October night of the year
1744. Commander Faulknor's great-grandfather got his lieutenant's
commission three years after the battle of La Hogue, fought all
through 'Queen Anne's War,' and died in George the First's reign,
Lieutenant-Governor of Greenwich Hospital. Such was the stock that
Commander Faulknor came of.

Faulknor gave orders to let fall the foresail and hoist every stitch
of canvas that the ship's masts would stand. Then he again headed
the _Zebra_ up the bay, pointing in directly for the ramparts of Fort
Louis. All round her, as the little sloop dashed forward, the water
leaped and splashed, torn into spray under the tornado of grape and
canister and round shot--any single one of which hitting the _Zebra_
fairly must have torn the little vessel open and sent her to the bottom
like a stone--with which the French batteries met her as she came on.
But it made no difference. A special Providence--in the form of a
drizzling squall that suddenly came on, blowing in from the sea right
in the faces of the French gunners--seemed to be protecting the ship
and her men, and she passed through practically unscathed. One shot cut
the main-topmast away, but that was all. The balls whizzed through the
rigging and within a few inches of the men's heads but not a single man
was harmed.

At the instant that the _Zebra_ was seen to make sail and move
ahead, the boats of the squadron set off rowing after her at their
best speed, while the Naval Brigade batteries on shore, facing the
flanking bastions of Fort Louis on either side, redoubled their fire
on the enemy's works to distract the attention of the French as far as
possible. At the same time, to hold Fort Bourbon on the hill behind
Fort Louis in check and prevent reinforcements being sent down to
assist the lower fort, the British siege batteries up above burst out
into a tremendous fire of round-shot and shell that swept the French
ramparts in the upper fort from end to end.

On board the _Zebra_ it was an anxious time for every one; and with it
all, simultaneously, Commander Faulknor had yet another trial sprung
upon him. The risk from the enemy's shot was not the severest ordeal
that the captain of the _Zebra_ had to go through. By an extraordinary
coincidence, exactly the same thing happened on board the _Zebra_
as had already happened with such unfortunate results on board the
_Asia_.[62] The pilot's nerve failed. The pilot of the _Zebra_ was an
old man-of-war's man, who had been employed for many years in the West
Indies on account of his pilot knowledge of the islands. He now broke
down at the critical moment. But, as has been said, Commander Faulknor
was not a Captain Brown.

As he gave the pilot the order 'to place the sloop close under the
walls of Fort Royal,' he instinctively noticed that something was
wrong. The man, he thought, seemed to hesitate. He turned aside to one
of his officers.

'I think Mr. ---- seems confused, as if he doesn't know what he is
about. Has he been in action before?'

'Many times, Sir,' was the reply; 'he has been twenty-four years in the
service.'

But Faulknor was not satisfied. He eyed the pilot closely and then
stepped up to him and asked him a trifling question to test him. His
suspicions were fully confirmed. The pilot's 'agitation was such as to
render him incapable of giving any answer.' Recovering himself to some
extent a moment later the wretched man, keeping his eyes on the deck,
in a low voice addressed Faulknor, who was bending over him, with this
startling admission:

'I see your Honour knows me. I am unfit to guide her. I don't know what
is come over me. I dreamt last night I should be killed, and I am so
afraid I don't know what I am about. I never in all my life felt afraid
before.'

One cannot help feeling pity for the unhappy fellow; but it was no time
for pity. Commander Faulknor could do only one thing, and he did it.
Without for an instant losing his presence of mind, he replied to the
man in a still lower tone:

'The fate of this expedition depends on the helm in your hand. Give it
to me, and go and hide your head in whatever you fancy the safest part
of the ship. But mind--fears are catching. If I hear you tell yours to
one of your messmates, your life shall answer for it to-morrow!'

[Illustration: CAPTAIN FAULKNOR STORMING FORT LOUIS

'The poor fellow,' in the words of the _Naval Chronicle_,
'panic-struck, went away, and overcome with shame sat down upon the arm
chest, whilst Captain Faulknor seized the helm and with his own hand
laid the _Zebra_ close to the walls of the Fort, but before he had got
upon them at the head of his gallant followers, a cannon-ball struck
the arm chest and blew the pilot to atoms.' He was the only man killed
of all the _Zebra's_ crew that day.

From the engraving by James Daniell, after Henry Singleton.]

Would the pilot have escaped had he pulled himself together and stuck
to the helm? This is what Commander Faulknor wrote home to his mother
after the fight.[63] 'I had a ship's cartouch box, which is made of
thick wood, buckled round my body with pistol cartridges in it, for
the pistol I carried by my side. As the _Zebra_ came close to the
fort, a grape-shot struck, or rather grazed my right-hand knuckle,
and shattered the cartouch in the centre of my body: had it not
miraculously been there I must have been killed on the spot.'

Faulknor ran the _Zebra_ in and laid her as close under the French
guns as the depth of water at that state of the tide would allow,
within fifteen feet of the walls of Fort Louis. The next instant 'the
scaling-ladders flew from the rigging, the boats in tow astern became
the bridge, and Captain Faulknor headed his boarders over the parapet
into the fort.'

The boats of the squadron, led by Captains Nugent and Riou--'the
gallant, good Riou,' killed before Copenhagen seven years later, as all
the world knows--were coming up astern, flying through the water after
the _Zebra_, as fast as the men, bending their hardest to their oars,
could send them forward; but they were still some way off.

Faulknor and his men clambered up the parapet, through the embrasures,
and sprang over into the fort. Right in front of them, drawn up in rear
of the ramparts, stood with muskets at the present, a whole French
regiment, the 33rd of the Line, a veteran battalion of the old Royal
Army of France, and one not yet disorganised by Republican methods,
the Régiment de Touraine. It met the first appearance of the sailors,
as they set foot on the ramparts, with a crashing volley. Only three
of the _Zebra's_ men were hit, and they had only flesh wounds. With
a cheer up went the cutlasses and the sailors made a rush in on the
French bayonets, to settle the matter hand to hand. But no! A sudden
panic seized the Frenchmen. Down, clattering to the ground, went their
muskets all along the line, and up went their hands, as the Régiment
de Touraine, panic-stricken, screamed and yelled for quarter. It was
given. Faulknor turned round short, flung himself before his leading
men, and by main force stopped them as they were in the act of closing.
'I take some credit to myself,' he related to his mother, 'that after
the _Zebra_ had stood a heavy fire, and when we had the power to
retaliate, for we were mounted upon the walls, I would not allow a man
to be hurt, on their being panic-struck and calling for mercy.'

The iron gates leading to the citadel of Fort Louis then barred the
way, but these were burst in and the little band of sailors rushed
through, the heroic Faulknor leading. They fought their way steadily
and swiftly, until within seven minutes of forcing their entry they had
got up to the very topmost platform of Fort Louis. That was instantly
seized and the place was theirs. The commandant of the fort and his
staff yielded themselves up as prisoners of war, and the French flag
was hauled down, an English Jack going up in its place, 'amidst the
shouts of triumph from the armed boats, from the squadron, and from
the army, which thus announced its arrival outside.' Five stands of
military colours were taken with the garrison. 'The sword and colours
of Fort Royal,' wrote Faulknor home, 'were delivered to me by the
Governor of the fort.'

This is the modest way in which Faulknor recorded the events of the day
in the _Zebra's_ log:--

 _March 20._--At 5 A.M. we weighed and came to sail. At 8 A.M. the
 enemy began to fire on us from Fort Royal, which they con'd till
 noon, when we ran in under their fire to the fort. I, together with
 the officers and seamen, stormed the fort, with the loss of one man
 killed and five wounded. The rigging, masts, and sails much cut, and
 kedge anchor, which hung under the bowspritt, cut away the spritsail
 yard and carried away the jib-boom. A heavy and well-directed fire was
 kept up from our battery's and gun-boats whilst we were running in,
 and the flat boats under the command of Commodore Thompson followed us
 with 500 seamen.[64]

A touch that helps to show us something of the chivalrous character of
Commander Faulknor must be noted in passing. 'The British ensign being
displayed over the fort, Captain Faulknor sent his second lieutenant to
the casements (_sic_), where the French officers' families, (and) the
sick and wounded were, to assure them of protection.'

'After that,' we are told, 'Mr. Hill (the second lieutenant) had the
proud duty of letting down the drawbridge to the Commander-in-Chief of
the Army.'

The securing of the capture, the holding of the fort was, of course,
for other people to do. The 100 officers and men of the _Zebra_ were
too few to do it. But the boats of the squadron were now alongside the
walls and landing their men, and the soldiers were at the gates. There
was no object in remaining ashore longer. Captain Faulknor handed over
his capture to the senior officer present, and quietly drawing the
_Zebra's_ company off, marched them down and returned on board. Then he
sent his boats and had the French frigate lying in the _carénage_ taken
possession of--the _Bien Venu_ was her name--which was done without
resistance, after which, in the most ordinary and matter-of-fact way,
just as it were going out of a morning from Portsmouth Harbour to
Spithead, he made sail and stood out to rejoin the squadron.

The unprecedented scene that followed, is indeed the climax of the
whole story. 'Such compliments, that it is impossible for me to relate
them--compliments ... without example in the navy,'--were Commander
Faulknor's own comments on the extraordinary reception that was
accorded him.

As the little _Zebra_ was seen approaching, the _Boyne_, Sir John
Jervis's flagship, manned yards and rigging. Then, a moment later, when
the _Zebra_ had neared the _Boyne_ and was shaping her course to pass
under the flagship's stern on her way to reach her station among the
other ships, the 'flagship's band, drawn up on the poop, struck up "See
the Conquering Hero comes!"' and a tremendous burst of enthusiastic
cheering, repeated again and again, rang echoing out to welcome the
daring little ship. It was a splendid scene, stirring and magnificent,
and worthy of the occasion, but it was not all. There was more to
come. The admiral had a part of his own to play.

'Old Jarvie' did it in a way peculiar to himself. The man of iron had
his other side. They did not know the real Jervis who spoke of him as a
tyrant, unsympathetic and saturnine, pitiless and a grim martinet, who
hanged men on Sunday for the sake of discipline. This was an occasion
after Jervis's own heart. None knew better than he how to reward merit:
none ever did it better. A signal was made to the _Zebra_ for Commander
Faulknor to come on board the flagship. While the order was being
obeyed, as the _Zebra_ was lowering her boat Sir John had all hands on
board the _Boyne_ called aft and the guard of marines paraded under
arms on the quarter-deck. All the officers were sent for to attend the
admiral. The _Zebra's_ boat sheered alongside, and Commander Faulknor
came up the gangway. As he set foot on the flagship's quarter-deck the
admiral, before the assembled officers, stepped forward to meet him. He
greeted the young commander with unusual warmth and publicly embraced
him. Then he ceremoniously handed Faulknor a commission promoting him
post-captain on the spot.

'Captain Faulknor,' said Sir John Jervis, 'by your daring courage this
day a French frigate has fallen into our hands. I have ordered her to
be taken into our service, and here is your commission to command her,
in which I have named her, Sir, after yourself,--the _Undaunted_.'

The ship in question was of course the frigate _Bien Venu_, which had
been moored in the _carénage_ under the walls of Fort Louis, and had
been taken possession of by Faulknor's men after the fort had fallen.

In such exceptionally heroic circumstances was the name 'Undaunted'
first introduced on the roll of the British fleet. It has remained
there ever since to this day. A more happily chosen name in such a case
there surely could be none--better name for British fighting ship there
surely could be none.

'No language of mine,' wrote Sir John Jervis, in his despatch to the
Admiralty that very afternoon, 'can express the merit of Captain
Faulknor upon this occasion, but, as every officer and man in the army
and squadron bears testimony, this incomparable action cannot fail of
being recorded in the page of history.'

'The idol of the squadron,' 'the admiration of the whole army,' were
other expressions that Jervis used in regard to Captain Faulknor.

Captain Faulknor, though, did more than storm and take Fort Louis. By
the same act, with the same stroke, he brought about the fall of Fort
Bourbon and the capture of the town of Fort Royal, 'rushed' by a column
of the besieging troops simultaneously with the storming of Fort
Louis. In addition, beyond that, it brought about the formal surrender
to England of the entire island of Martinique. All collapsed like a
house of cards. General Rochambeau, startled at seeing Fort Louis, his
bulwark towards the sea, which covered the only way by which he might
hope for relief, snatched abruptly from him, while his own garrison
was thrown into a state of hopeless demoralisation by the rabble of
fugitive soldiers, bolting before Faulknor's men, and flying in wild
disorder for refuge to Fort Bourbon, despaired of making a further
stand. He beat the _chamade_, and sent in a flag of truce. At half-past
two that afternoon one of Rochambeau's aides-de-camp from Fort Bourbon
appeared before the British outposts with a letter from the French
Governor, offering to treat and asking for terms. Commissioners on each
side were named, and two days were spent in discussing details, but the
French position, with Fort Louis gone, was doomed. Within 48 hours of
Captain Faulknor's hoisting the British flag on Fort Louis the terms of
surrender were agreed on and ready for signature.

It was a great capture. Sixty-eight guns and 55 mortars and howitzers
were taken in Fort Louis alone; and more than twice as many more came
into our possession with the fall of Fort Bourbon, besides immense
supplies of ammunition and stores, shot and shell, and a large
number of prisoners. These last included four regiments of infantry,
among them one of the most famous corps of the French army of the old
_régime_, the 37th of the line, the Régiment de Maréchal Turenne.
On their behalf, indeed, a special effort was made by the French
commissioners in drawing up the terms of surrender, to save the credit
of so famous a regiment. They demanded that it should keep its colours
and arms on being shipped back to France with the rest of the army, on
condition of taking no further part in the war, but the attempt failed,
and the Régiment de Maréchal Turenne had to share the lot of the
other regiments, except that its officers were allowed to keep their
swords.[65] It went back to France to meet its end as a regiment under
Napoleon in Russia, drowned almost to a man in the terrible catastrophe
which sealed the doom of the _Grande Armée_ at the passage of the
Bridge of the Beresina.

On the afternoon of the 23rd the gates of the fort were delivered
over to the charge of the British, the French being confined to
quarters inside, and guards were mounted under the command of Prince
Edward, afterwards the Duke of Kent, the father of Queen Victoria and
grandfather of King Edward, who was in command of a brigade of the
attacking troops, and had been present throughout the siege.

The colours taken at Martinique were sent home, and, by command of King
George, were placed in St. Paul's Cathedral. They were carried through
London in triumph, from St. James's Palace to St. Paul's, the Tower
guns firing a salute, escorted by Life Guards, Grenadiers, and Foot
Guards, with the band of the First Guards playing the procession along
the streets, which were filled with cheering crowds. At St. Paul's they
were received at the great west door of the cathedral by the Dean and
Chapter, with a full choir. Where are those colours now? Not a rag,
not a staff, remains. As was the fate of the captured flags won at
Camperdown, at St. Vincent, and at Trafalgar, they were left to rot
uncared for, and then at the time of the reaction in the years after
Waterloo, the rags that were left were pulled down and bundled out of
sight. What remained of the flags was thrown on a dust-heap and the
poles were handed out among the vergers as broom and scrubbing-brush
handles and for poking down rats' nests.

[Illustration: THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN FAULKNOR

After the engraving by Stothard.]

On the morning of the 24th the French garrison marched out of Fort
Bourbon. They were granted the honours of war, to make their exit with
flags flying, bayonets fixed, drums beating, 30 rounds a man, and
2 field-pieces each with 12 rounds, and march down--between a double
line of British seamen and soldiers--to the place of embarkation. They
laid down their arms on the parade of Fort Royal, and filed on board
the transports that had brought the British troops out, to set sail for
France next day. The Island of Martinique was signed away from France
with the capitulation of Fort Bourbon.

One last word must be said here of Captain Faulknor. He did not live
to enjoy the benefits of his promotion long. Within ten months he was
dead, killed in action, struck down in the performance of a deed of
valour equal to anything that has in our own time won the Victoria
Cross. In January 1795, when in command of the _Blanche_, a fine
32-gun frigate, to which he had been transferred, and while still in
the West Indies, he fell in with a big French 36-gun frigate, the
_Pique_, brought her to close action, and fought her for five hours,
from midnight until five A.M., when the French ship surrendered.
Captain Faulknor was shot dead, with a bullet through the heart, in
the third hour of the fight, while in the act of lashing the _Pique's_
bowsprit to the capstan of his own ship. He died, mourned by the whole
country as a national loss, as the monument to him erected by order of
Parliament in St. Paul's Cathedral testifies to this day.

 Not once or twice in our rough island story
 The path of duty was the way to glory.

Since Faulknor's _Undaunted_, five British men-of-war have borne the
name, and in every instance with distinction. Three of them may be
referred to here. One _Undaunted_--the _Undaunted_ of the Napoleonic
war--crowned a career of exceptional brilliancy--a career that is
one continuous record of daring exploits, which indeed won for her
captain the _sobriquet_, taken from the name of his ship, of 'Undaunted
Ussher'--by carrying Napoleon a prisoner of war to Elba. This same
ship was later the last man-of-war to fly the flag of a Lord High
Admiral of England at sea.[66] Another, in more recent times, as
flagship on the East Indies station, had the honour of escorting his
present Majesty King Edward, then Prince of Wales, through the Indian
Ocean on his historic visit to India. Yet another _Undaunted_, our
present cruiser of the name, was Lord Charles Beresford's first ship
as a captain of the Royal Navy--with the Mediterranean fleet under
Sir George Tryon,--and proved herself during a memorable commission
_nulli secundus_ for smartness and efficiency, in the spirit of her
well-remembered duty call:--

 'Undaunteds,' be ready!
 'Undaunteds,' be steady!
 'Undaunteds,' stand by for a job!

[Illustration: 'BILLY BLUE'--ADMIRAL THE HON. SIR WILLIAM CORNWALLIS,
G.C.B.

By D. Gardner.

[This portrait was drawn in 1775, and shows Cornwallis as a Captain at
the age of 32. No later portrait of him is in existence apparently.]]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 60: Captain George Grey, flag-captain in the _Boyne_ to Sir
John Jervis.]

[Footnote 61: In his 'public letter' Sir John Jervis throws all the
blame on M. de Tourelles' 'want of precision,' and Captain Brown's
name appears at the head of those to whom the admiral declares himself
'greatly indebted' (James's _Naval History_, i. p. 244). On the other
hand, Captain Brenton (_Naval History_, vol. i. p. 183) says: 'I once
heard a lady ask Lord St. Vincent why he did not bring Captain Brown
to a court-martial. I think his Lordship replied, "I thought it best
to let him go home quietly." Captain Brown should have demanded a
court-martial on himself.']

[Footnote 62: _Naval Chronicle_, vol. xvi. pp. 31-32.]

[Footnote 63: _Naval Chronicle_, vol. xvi. p. 33.]

[Footnote 64: Public Record Office. Admiralty documents: Captains'
Logs, _Zebra_.]

[Footnote 65: _London Gazette_, April 21, 1794. Articles of
Capitulation of Fort Bourbon, No. 3. 'The 37th regiment, formerly
Marshal Turenne's, shall keep their colours and arms. Answer: Refused;
being contrary to all customs of war. The officers may keep their
swords.']

[Footnote 66: H.R.H. The Duke of Clarence, afterwards William IV., in
1827.]




IV

'BILLY BLUE': A BALLAD OF THE FLEET

ONE OF THE _ROYAL SOVEREIGN'S_ DAYS

 Slowly they mov'd, and wedged in firm array,
 The close compacted squadron won its way.

 Homer, _Iliad_ (Pope's version).

 Could common prudence have allowed me to let loose their valour on
 the enemy, I hardly know what might not have been accomplished by
 such men.--Admiral Cornwallis, _June 17, 1795_. (From the official
 despatch.)


Fighting days abound in the story of the _Royal Sovereign_. There is
hardly a more famous name in the annals of the Royal Navy, and its
record goes back to a hundred years before the Spanish Armada.

Our first _Sovereign_ was one of the consorts of the _Great Harry_ in
Henry the Eighth's Navy, and fought the French in battle side by side
with that 'greate shipp.'

The second was Charles the First's _Sovereign of the Seas_, built
out of the ship-money tax which began the quarrel with Parliament
that in the end brought the King's head to the block. 'Her building,'
says Evelyn, 'cost his Ma'tie the affections of his subjects, who
quarrell'd with him for a trifle, refusing to contribute either to
their own safety or to his glory.'[67] The ship did brilliant service
with Blake and Monk against Tromp and Ruyter, and won from the Dutch
the _sobriquet_ of the 'Golden Devil,' in allusion to her gorgeous
ornamentation and the death-dealing broadsides from her heavy guns. As
the _Royal Sovereign_, the name bestowed on her by Charles the Second
at the Restoration, in place of the original form, the ship added
laurels to her fame. She was in the thick of the fray in the 'Four
Days' Fight' of 1666--the 'Four Days' Fight' was what the courtiers
of Whitehall called the battle, the ruder 'tarpaulins' who fought the
guns called it the 'Four Days' Bloody Blunder';--in the 'St. James's
Day Fight' of the same year; at Solebay; and in all the other fleet
battles of the Second and Third Dutch Wars. Among the men of note who
flew their flags on board the _Royal Sovereign_ in battle were James,
Duke of York (afterwards King James the Second), and Prince Rupert.
This same man-of-war, too, in William the Third's time, was one of
the flagships at La Hogue, where she had 'a very hott dispute' with
one of the French flagships. She was also flagship of the admiral in
command at the burning of the famous _Soleil Royal_ and two other
French first-rates in Cherbourg Bay. A sleepy old bo'sun's mate, one
January night, four years after La Hogue, left a lighted candle-end
in his cabin in the _Royal Sovereign_, and then went on deck to keep
his watch, forgetting all about it. So the quondam _Sovereign of
the Seas_ came to her end. In accordance with the sentence of the
court-martial[68] on the wretched man, he was rowed up the Medway
past the fleet lying there with a halter round his neck, and was then
publicly flogged on his bare back, after which he was landed at Chatham
dockyard with every mark of degradation, and taken off to be imprisoned
in the Marshalsea for life.

The third _Royal Sovereign_, partly built, in accordance with an
Admiralty order, out of as much of the timbers of the old ship as
could be saved--'such part of the remains of the said ship as shall
be serviceable'[69]--was launched in the presence of the great Duke
of Marlborough, who presided on the occasion. It was in the cabin of
this _Royal Sovereign_ that Admiral Rooke planned his swoop on the
Vigo galleons, and the ship also served as flagship to Sir Clowdisley
Shovell.[70] She lasted long enough to be flagship at Portsmouth
during the Seven Years' War, and it was on board her, one stormy March
morning, that Admiral Boscawen signed the order for the firing party
that shot Admiral Byng.

The fourth _Royal Sovereign_ fought as a flagship with Lord Howe on
the 'Glorious First of June,' and was Collingwood's ship at Trafalgar.
'See how that noble fellow Collingwood takes his ship into action!'
exclaimed Nelson, as he saw the _Royal Sovereign_ open fire and break
the line. Nor did any other ship in all the British fleet make a more
brilliant fight of it that day than the _Royal Sovereign_ and her 'Tars
of the Tyne,' as Collingwood himself called the sturdy Northumbrian
lads who formed nine-tenths of his flagship's crew.

Our fifth _Royal Sovereign_ was an ironclad of the 'sixties, and the
sixth is the present battleship of the name, now in the Home Fleet,
which was named and launched with much _éclat_ by Queen Victoria at
Portsmouth on the 26th of February 1891, and served for many years as
flagship of the Channel Fleet.

Such in brief outline are some of the leading events in the story of
the _Royal Sovereign_.

The historic event here related in ballad form belongs to the story of
the _Royal Sovereign_ of the great war with the French Revolution, the
fourth ship of the name. 'Cornwallis's Retreat' was the name that our
ancestors had for it. It took place on the 17th of June 1795, and the
_Royal Sovereign_ was the British flagship on the occasion. The event,
no doubt, is unknown to most of us. Nine out of ten people probably
never heard of it. It is one of the forgotten episodes of our annals.
Nothing is said of it in our general histories. One finds it alluded to
in naval books, but little mention is made of it outside that class of
literature. Even that famous naval dining club, the 'Royal Naval Club
of 1765 and 1785,' which meets regularly at intervals throughout the
year to commemorate notable events in the annals of the Sea Service--La
Hogue, Rodney's battle, the 'Glorious First of June,' the battle of
Cape St. Vincent, Camperdown, and so on--does not celebrate the 17th
of June, the anniversary day of 'Cornwallis's Retreat.' Yet, surely,
it is deserving of the honour? As a display of cool valour in the face
of tremendous odds, of down-right heroism and unflinching endurance,
crowned in the end with complete success, this feat of Admiral the
Honourable William Cornwallis's distinguished career deserves, there
is no gainsaying, to be reckoned among the finest exploits in our
history.[71]

It may partly be, of course, because of the term 'retreat' that the
event of the 17th of June 1795 has nowadays been forgotten by the
Navy and the nation. Englishmen do not like retreats. Everybody knows
the story of how Napoleon once told a captured British drummer boy to
prove his identity by beating the British Army 'retreat,' and how the
little lad scornfully flung down his drum, and looking Bonaparte in
the face replied, 'There is no such drum-beat in the British Army. We
don't do it!'[72] To our forefathers of a hundred years ago, however,
'Cornwallis's Retreat,' as they themselves called it, was a source of
infinite pride and gratification. They did not hesitate to compare it,
and not unreasonably, with that famous tale of history, Xenophon's
_Retreat of the Ten Thousand_.

Here is the story, told in plain unconventional ballad form, as it
were by one present on the occasion. The details are historical, and
the words attributed to the admiral are his own, as reported at the
time. 'Billy Blue,' it should be added, was a favourite nickname for
Cornwallis in the Navy, although whether it had come into vogue as
early as the date of the incident is another thing.

[Illustration: 'CORNWALLIS'S RETREAT'

From an engraving in the _Naval Chronicle_.

 [On the left are the French frigates in a body to windward. The two
 leading British ships are the _Bellerophon_ and the _Brunswick_, the
 slowest sailers of the squadron. To the right centre is the _Royal
 Sovereign_ bearing down to help the _Triumph_ and the _Mars_. On
 the right is the _Pallas_ frigate (Captain the Hon. H. Curzon),
 Cornwallis's repeating frigate.]]

BILLY BLUE

A BALLAD OF THE FLEET

      It was just at break o' day,
      We were cruising in the Bay,
  With Blue Billy in the _Sov'ren_ in the van,
      When the French fleet bound for Brest,
      From Belleisle came heading West--
  'Twas so, my lads, the saucy game began.
                                      Billy Blue--
      Here's to you, Billy Blue, here's to you!

      Washing decks was hardly done,
      When we heard the warning gun,
  And we saw 'em, black and clear against the sky;
      Twelve big ships of the line,--
      And with frigates, twenty-nine,
  On the easterly horizon drawing nigh.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      We'd the _Triumph_ and the _Mars_,
      And the _Sov'ren_--pride of tars,
  _Billy Ruff'n_, and the _Brunswick_, known to fame;
      With the _Pallas_, and the _Phaeton_,
      Frigates that the flag did wait on--
  Seven ships to uphold Old England's name.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

       From the _Phaeton_ frigate first,
       In a flash the numbers burst,
  As the signal bunting 'broke' and fluttered free;
       But we cheer'd from ship to ship,
       And we set the guns to strip,
  For to fight 'em we could trust old Blue Billee!
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      He was shavin', so they say,
      When he heard the news that day,
  And his skipper came his wishes for to larn;
      But he only said, 'All right,
      Let 'em bark, for we can bite,
  For all they're like to try on us, I don't care a darn!'
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      'No, I don't care a rap
      For any Frenchy chap,
  When they come they'll get the dressing they deserve;
      I've the best four in the fleet,
      That the Frenchmen well could meet,
  With the "Fightin' _Billy Ruff'n_" in reserve.'[73]
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      'As she broke the line with Howe,
       So she's game to do it now,
  And repeat her "First o' June" here in these seas;
      With their name for dauntless pluck,
      And the _Billy Ruff'n's_ luck,
  I will fight as many Frenchmen as you please!'
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      But it wasn't merely bluff,
      For he saw the job was tough,
  And the signal promptly flew to 'Go about':
      With the slowest ship in front,
      And his own to bear the brunt,--
  So we headed back for England, guns run out.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      To the _Sov'ren's_ lads he told
      Like some hero chief of old,
  As he bade 'em from the quarter-deck 'Good luck';
      'To no foe upon the sea.
      You may take it, men, from me,
  Is the ensign of the _Sov'ren_ to be struck!'
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      'Let the odds be what they will,
      We must go on fighting still,
  For the honour of the _Sov'ren's_ old renown;
      And when, men, all is done,
      As we fire our last gun,
  With our colours flying still, we'll go down!'[74]
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      Soon we heard the _Branle-bas_
      What cheers up the Frenchy tar,
  And their 'Vives' for 'La Nation!' and 'La Patrie!'
      'Tis the way, as you should know,
      With the maritime Crappo,
  When he's got to do his fightin' on the sea.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      Then they came on, looking slaughter,
      Like to blow us from the water,
  As they near'd to port and starboard and astarn;
      But we put in double shot,
      And we paid 'em back so hot,
  That they looked at one another with consarn.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      'Just a broadside or two--_Certainement_,
       For the honour of their flag--_cela s'entend_,
  But it's more than very fine, seven ships to twenty-nine!--
      Most decidedly 'no go,'
      Not at all _comme il faut_,
  And a bit of British insolence for punishment condign!'
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      'Just a broadside, if they like,
      Then forthwith their colours strike
  Having rendered to their flag the homage due:
      It's sheer madness to pretend,
      They can fight us to the end--
  There's no other course the _Rosbifs_ can pursue!'
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      Next the _Triumph_ they attacked,
      And the _Mars_ got badly whacked,
  'Twas the _Sov'ren_ with her broadsides beat 'em back:
      Her three tiers all aflame,
      Sweeping round the flagship came,
  Leaving death and Frenchmen's wreckage in her track.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      And they didn't let us rest,
      For they did their level best,
  Fighting on and off from eight till after five;
      Till at length they seemed to see,
      That it wasn't going to be,
  That they shouldn't take us dead, nor yet alive.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      How it ended, is a story,
      Not at all to France's glory,
  Of a little game the _Phaeton's_ men did play;
      Making Mossoo go in fear,
      That the Channel Fleet was near,
  And think perhaps he'd better run away.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      For Blue Billy sent the _Phaeton_,
      When the pass looked like a strait one,
  To cruise out in the offing,--just in sight:
      'At a fitting time,' said he
      'You will signal down to me,
  That Lord Bridport will be with us before night.'
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      'You will fire guns, you know,
      And to'gallant sheets let go,
  As the custom is, reporting fleets at sea;
      With a signal that they're 'friends'--
      Which I think will serve our ends,
  To humbug those chaps astarn with Monsieur V.'[75]
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      The Frenchmen cried 'Morblo!'
      And they shuffled to and fro,
  Till they judg'd they'd haul their wind and go about;
      To Belleisle back all the way,
      At anchor there to stay,
  Till they learnt the coast was clear to venture out.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      Yet no Channel Fleet was near,
      To excuse the Frenchmen's fear,
  For Lord Bridport was still cruising leagues afar,[76]
      And a well-worn _ruse de guerre_
      Was a hardy game to dare,
  With French frigates--seventeen--the plot to mar.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      It so happened, for the rest,
      Just to point the _Phaeton's_ jest,
  By the merest chance--it wasn't meant at all--
      Distant coasters passing by,
      Chanced to fleck the evening sky,
  And still faster to impel the flying Gaul.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      Here's to Stopford of the _Phaeton_,
      And Flag-Captain Whitby bold,
  To Fitzgerald of the _Brunswick_, tried and true,
      Gallant Gower of the _Triumph_,
      Gallant Cotton of the _Mars_,
  Lord Cranstoun--_Billy Ruff'n_--here's to you!
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      Aye, Blue Billy:--here's to him, with three times three,
      To the honour of his name upon the sea!
  'He upheld Old England's credit,' said the country in its pride:
      'Cornwallis's Retreat,'
      Greek Xenophon's great feat,
  In its spirit we may claim to set beside.
                                      Billy Blue, etc.

      E'en our foes, the _Parley Voos_,
      At this feat of Billy Blue's
  Professed to be astounded--'_Etonnés_':--
      '_Hors de ligne_' 'twas, so to speak,
      '_Une affaire trop héroïque_,'
  '_Le Déterminé_,' they call him to this day.
                                      Billy Blue--
          Here's to you, Billy Blue, here's to you!

For the magnificent display made by one and all on the occasion,
Admiral Cornwallis and the captains of his squadron were thanked by
both Houses of Parliament, while every ordinary seaman on board the
ships was specially rated 'A.B.'[77] Of his men, indeed, Cornwallis
himself said in his official despatch, 'Could common prudence have
allowed me to let loose their valour on the enemy, I hardly know what
might not have been accomplished by such men.' The last survivor of
Cornwallis's squadron, one of the midshipmen of the flagship _Royal
Sovereign_, died in the year 1869.

'Billy Blue'[78] himself lived to command the Channel Fleet in the
great war with Napoleon, and, in conjunction with Nelson at the head of
the Mediterranean Fleet, to save England from invasion in 1805, when
the Grand Army stood on the heights above Boulogne every day expecting
an opportunity to cross over, 'battling,' in the words of Captain
Mahan, 'the wild gales of the Bay of Biscay in that tremendous and
sustained vigilance concerning which Collingwood wrote that "Admirals
need be made of iron."' A man-of-war of 74 guns, a model of which
is one of the treasures of the Royal United Service Institution at
Whitehall, was in 1813 named the _Cornwallis_ in honour of Admiral
Cornwallis, and that ship's immediate successor is our fine modern
battleship the _Cornwallis_ of to-day.

[Illustration: THE 'FIGHTING' _TÉMÉRAIRE_ TUGGED TO HER LAST BERTH TO
BE BROKEN UP

From the engraving by J.T. Willmore, A.R.A., after the picture by
J.M.W. Turner, R.A., in the National Gallery.

 [This print of Turner's _Téméraire_ differs from the painting. The sky
 was engraved by R. Dickens principally in dry-point, and was toned
 down by J.T. Willmore; the ship and tug were engraved in line by
 Saddler. The rigging of the _Téméraire_ and the mast and funnel of the
 tug do not correspond with the picture at the National Gallery, but
 Turner permitted it as making a better engraving.]]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 67: _Evelyn's Diary_, July 16, 1641.]

[Footnote 68: The court-martial was held at Chatham on January 27,
1696, and comprised two admirals and seventeen captains. The minutes
of the evidence and the sentence are in the Public Record Office.
(_Admiralty (Secretary's Dept.) In-Letters_, 5256.)]

[Footnote 69: Public Record Office, _Admiralty Out-Letters_: Order of
October 29, 1697.]

[Footnote 70: Sir Cloudesley Shovel is the popular form of the name. It
is here given as the admiral himself spelled it.]

[Footnote 71: The Naval Medal was granted for Cornwallis's Retreat with
a clasp inscribed '17 June 1795.' The _Gazette_ notification records
the service that the medal was granted for thus: 'Brilliant repulse of
a fleet four times superior in force.']

[Footnote 72: Compare the curious definition of the term 'Retreat'
in Falconer's _Naval Dictionary_ (2nd edition, 1789). 'Retreat:--The
order or disposition in which a fleet of French men-of-war decline
engagement, or fly from a pursuing enemy. (Note) The reader who wishes
to be expert in this manoeuvre will find it copiously described
by several ingenious French writers ... who have given accurate
instructions deduced from experience for putting in practice when
occasion requires. As it is not properly a term of the British marine,
a more circumstantial account of it might be considered foreign to our
plan.']

[Footnote 73: 'The _Bellerophon_,' wrote Cornwallis to the Admiralty,
'I was glad to keep in some measure in reserve.... I considered that
ship as a treasure in store, having heard of her former achievements
and observing the spirit manifested by all on board.' Quite
unaccountably, as it so happened, the _Bellerophon_, the fastest 74 in
the service, sailed very badly that day. According to one of her men,
the reason was this: 'it warn't in the natur' of her to run from an
enemy.']

[Footnote 74: Admiral Cornwallis's actual words were, 'Remember, men,
the _Sovereign's_ flag and ensign are never to be struck to an enemy.
She goes down with them flying.']

[Footnote 75: 'Monsieur V.' was the familiar term for the French
admiral then in command of the Brest Fleet--Admiral Villaret-Joyeuse.
The words of the last line are the actual words Cornwallis used.]

[Footnote 76: Severe comment was made at the time on Lord Bridport for
so disposing his fleet as to leave Cornwallis's squadron isolated and
in such a situation of extreme peril.]

[Footnote 77: 'Landmen' or 'Landsmen,' 'Ordinary Seamen,' and 'Able
Seamen' or 'A.B.s' were the three classes or ratings into which men
before the mast were divided, usually according to ability and length
of service. 'A.B.' was the highest rating, entitling those of the rate
to increased pay, and affording opportunities for promotion.]

[Footnote 78: It should have been mentioned earlier that he was the
same officer who so ably commanded the _Canada_ in Rodney's fleet on
the 12th of April 1782, and took a leading part in bringing about the
surrender of De Grasse, as has been described.]




V

THE 'FIGHTING' _TÉMÉRAIRE_

WHERE, HOW, AND WHEN SHE MADE HER NAME

 Heard ye the thunder of battle
   Low in the south and afar?
 Saw ye the flush of the death-cloud,
   Crimson o'er Trafalgar?
 Such another day never
   England will look on again,
 When the battle fought was the hottest,
   And the hero of heroes was slain.

 Francis Turner Palgrave.

 In England's song for ever
   She's the _Fighting Téméraire_.

 Henry Newbolt.


Trafalgar was her day. It was at Trafalgar that the _Téméraire_ made
her mark and won undying fame.

First of all--

   She came to Nelson's aid,
   The battle's brunt to bear,
 And nobly sought to lead the van,
   The Brave Old _Téméraire_.

Then she was 'the _Victory's_ companion in her closing strife,' as Mr.
Ruskin has called the _Téméraire_, 'prevailing over the fatal vessel
that had given Nelson death.'[79] That is one of the reasons why people
remember the _Téméraire_. There is another--that all the world knows.
To learn it one has only to visit the National Gallery. Turner's
masterpiece has made the _Téméraire's_ name a household word all the
world over. But, all the same, had Turner never painted his picture at
all, even without the aid of Turner's magic brush, the _Téméraire_ must
surely, for the part she took in the greatest sea-fight of history,
have achieved for her name an immortal renown.

How Turner came to paint his 'Fighting _Téméraire_' is a story in
itself. The famous picture came into being by the merest accident; as
the outcome of a happy chance, as the result of a casual meeting with
the old ship at a water-picnic on the Thames one autumn evening of the
year 1838.[80] Turner, with Clarkson Stanfield and some friends, was
boating off Greenwich marshes in Blackwall Reach when the old ship
passed them, coming up the river from Sheerness to meet her destined
end off Rotherhithe, where the shipbreaker Beatson's men were waiting
for her. She had been sold out of the service some days before for
£5530, barely the market value of the copper bolts that held her
timbers together--just a twelfth of the prime cost of the ship's hull
in labour and materials, or one-twentieth of the total value of the
ship, gunned and equipped for sea. Forlorn enough, and a thing for
pity, looked the grand old man-of-war as the Sheerness men had left
her, her sails stripped from the yards, her tiers of ports without
guns and closed down, her hull with its last coat of dockyard drab all
rusty-looking and weather-stained, cast off and discarded, as it were a
broken warrior being borne to a pauper's grave.

[Illustration:

 Emery Walker, sc.

 'Turner saw the tug and ship just before entering Greenwich Reach,
 and when before rounding the Isle of Dogs she would be steering
 about South-South-East up Blackwall Reach, with the summer setting
 sun astern of her in the North-North-West.'--Mr. R.C. Leslie in the
 _Athenæum_.]

Two tugs had the ship in tow, as contemporary accounts of the
_Téméraire's_ arrival in the river relate, not one, as Turner has
painted the memorable scene.[81] In Turner's picture the _Téméraire_ is
shown passing the water-party before she rounded the Isle of Dogs, when
heading south-south-east up Blackwall Reach, with the September sun
setting astern of the ship to the north-west. 'There's a fine picture,
Turner,' said Stanfield, pointing to the war-worn veteran of the sea as
she stemmed her way past them, and Turner went home full of the idea
to reproduce the scene on canvas, with touches of his own, to give the
world a picture 'of all pictures of subjects not involving human pain,'
says Mr. Ruskin, 'the most pathetic that ever was painted.'[82]

 Now the sunset breezes shiver,
   _Téméraire! Téméraire!_
 And she's fading down the river,
   _Téméraire! Téméraire!_
 Now the sunset breezes shiver,
 And she's fading down the river,
 But in England's song for ever
   She's the _Fighting Téméraire_.[83]

The Fighting _Téméraire_ tugged to her last berth to be broken up,'
was the title Turner gave his picture when he sent it in to the Royal
Academy Exhibition of 1839. He added these lines, composed apparently
by himself--

 'The flag that braved the battle and the breeze
         No longer owns her.'

The 'Fighting' _Téméraire_ was an Essex ship, built--nine-tenths of
her--of oak cut in Hainault forest and sent across to Chatham dockyard,
where the _Téméraire's_ keel was laid in July 1793.[84] Tuesday,
the 11th of September 1798, was the day of her launch, 'a squally
day with drenching rain.' She was a three-decker, a second-rate, 'a
ninety-eight,' in the Navy parlance of the time, a ship carrying
ninety-eight guns (32-pounders, 18's, and long 12's, with twelve
carronades as well), throwing a broadside weight of metal at each
discharge of 1336 lbs., very nearly twelve cwts.--three-fifths of a ton
of solid cast iron. 'She is one of the finest ships that we have seen,'
wrote an officer who inspected the _Téméraire_ on the stocks a little
while before she was launched.

An Essex man captained the _Téméraire_ at Trafalgar, Eliab Harvey, of
Rolls Park, Chigwell, Essex. He was a great-grandson of Eliab Harvey,
brother of Dr. William Harvey the discoverer of the circulation of the
blood, by whose side he now lies buried in the family vault under the
Harvey Chapel in Hempstead Church, near Saffron Walden. All Essex, we
are told, was represented at the funeral, or followed the coffin to its
last resting-place. Captain Harvey, during the time that he commanded
the _Téméraire_, had also a seat in Parliament for the county of Essex,
in accordance with a political usage of those days which enabled
officers on active service to represent constituencies at Westminster,
although Ministers apparently did not always find it satisfactory.
'I don't like your M.P. Navy Captains,' said Castlereagh once; 'they
are always off Cape Finisterre when they are wanted, and when they
are sent for they say they don't like being "whistled up merely to
give a vote."' Those who know their Marryat will remember the case of
the Hon. Captain Delmar, M.P., of H.M.S. _Paragon_, a frigate in the
Channel Squadron, 'which was never sea-going except in the Recess.' It
was better though than this with the _Téméraire_, which Captain Harvey
commissioned for the 'Western Squadron,' as in those days the Channel
Fleet was generally called, at Plymouth, in November 1803, six months
after the outbreak of the Great War with Napoleon.

Strange as it may seem to us, the _Téméraire's_ name at that moment had
for most people an unpleasant ring about it. The shadow of a terrible
tragedy rested just then over the name _Téméraire_. The public had not
yet got over the shock with which, barely two years before, the whole
country had learnt that the crew of one of the flagships of the Channel
Fleet, while lying in Bantry Bay, had mutinied, and offered violence to
their Admiral and officers, using ugly threats and proposing to point
guns loaded with grape-shot to sweep the quarter-deck. Nor had people
forgotten the grim sequel, the relentless severity of the retribution
that fell on the ringleaders; how eleven of the _Téméraire's_ men
had been hanged at the yard-arm, two flogged through the fleet at
Spithead, receiving two hundred lashes each, seven sent to the hulks
for life. The newspapers had been full of the terrible story, as
related day by day in the evidence at the two courts-martial that
sat at Portsmouth to try the mutineers. The trial lasted five days,
and the report of it in the _Times_ of the 13th of January 1802
took up the whole paper, all but two columns. Nor had the following
paragraph which appeared in the _Naval Chronicle_, done any good to the
_Téméraire's_ reputation:--'Plymouth, October 7th, 1802; The seamen of
the _Téméraire_ of 98-guns, Rear-Admiral Campbell, paid off, put on
crape hat-bands round their straw hats in memory of the mutineers in
that ship who were executed for the mutiny in Bantry Bay last year.'
That unhappy episode in the ship's story was, however, as far as the
_Téméraire_ herself was concerned, now past and done with. Now the
_Téméraire_ had a new ship's company throughout; captain, officers, and
men, with a future of their own before them.

Captain Harvey manned his ship to a large extent with Liverpool men,
sent round from the Mersey by tender, and sailed from Cawsand Bay on
the 11th of March 1804, to join Admiral Cornwallis off Brest.

It was perhaps the most critical period in our national history. On
the heights above Boulogne lay Napoleon's Grand Army, 160,000 men,
waiting for the French fleet to put to sea and secure its passage
across the Straits of Dover.[85] The fate of England depended on the
British Navy. There were twenty-one French line-of-battle ships in
Brest, six others at Rochefort, and five sheltering in the Spanish
port of Ferrol. At Brest, also, there were known to be upwards of
20,000 French soldiers; and another 20,000 under Augereau were under
canvas at Rochefort, 'supposed against Ireland,' according to Admiral
Cornwallis's instructions from the Admiralty. It was the business
of the Channel Fleet to hold the enemy in check at all points from
Ushant Island, off Brest, to Cape Finisterre, and prevent aid from
elsewhere arriving to enable them to put to sea. At the same time, as
his appointed part in the great strategic plan of campaign, Nelson off
Toulon kept his tireless watch over the French Mediterranean Fleet.
Thus the toils were set, the gambit was opened.

'They were dull, weary, eventless months,' says Captain Mahan in one of
his most telling passages,[86] 'those months of watching and waiting
of the big ships before the French arsenals. Purposeless they surely
seemed to many, but they saved England. The world has never seen a
more impressive demonstration of the influence of sea-power upon its
history. Those far-distant storm-beaten ships, upon which the Grand
Army never looked, stood between it and the dominion of the world.'

It was Napoleon with all the resources of his Empire in its full
vigour at his back, Napoleon at the zenith of his intellect and genius
for war, Napoleon in the year before Austerlitz--baffled and held at
arm's length by the British Navy. One has only to glance at the daily
newspapers of 1804 to realise the superb self-confidence with which
Great Britain braced herself to meet the threatening peril. The nation
knew its strength and on what, under Providence, it relied; the nation
knew it and the Navy knew it--as we too, after forgetting it for a
time, have in these later years at length come again to recognise the
vital root-fact of Great Britain's existence--

 No track of men, no footsteps to and fro
 Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the sea
 Invincible.

Six months of pitching and rolling in the dreary Bay of Biscay was
the _Téméraire's_ lot at the outset, as one of Vice-Admiral Calder's
squadron watching Rochefort. The most disliked of all billets perhaps
was blockade duty off the Basque Roads, ever facing the dreary sand
dunes of Aix and Oléron, stretching wearily along the featureless
coast, there and back, between Sables d'Olonne and the mouth of the
Gironde, buffeted week in week out by persistent gales and rough
weather. All there was to do, practically, was now and again to stop
some wretched neutral passing by--usually a Portuguese trading brig, or
a Prussian galliot, for or from Bordeaux--and examine her papers; but
for days together sometimes--

 The Wind at the West or thereabout,
 Nothing gone in and nothing come out,

was all that went down in their logs, according to the refrain on the
dull routine of their daily life of a gun-room ditty composed on board
one of the ships blockading Rochefort. Every two or three months, as
her turn came round, one or other of the ships would part company for a
week or ten days and proceed to Cawsand Bay--communicating on the way
with the fleet off Brest to take letters for England--to fill up her
water-casks and take in fresh stores and provisions, overhaul spars and
rigging, and then return bringing bullocks and bread and vegetables for
the squadron. That was their only relaxation. In her turn, towards the
end of May, the _Téméraire_ went in to Cawsand Bay, as the 'Plymouth
Report' of the Naval Chronicle records.

 _May 26._--Came in from the Channel Fleet, which she left all well,
 last Wednesday, the _Téméraire_ of 98 guns. The enemy as usual. Our
 frigates frequently go in to reconnoitre within a mile and a half of
 the outer-most ships, and within range of their shots and shells of
 which the enemy give them plenty but without damage.

In August, when Collingwood had relieved Calder, a closer watch on the
enemy than before was maintained, owing to the prevalence of rumours
that the French were on the point of putting to sea. Collingwood,
we are told, frequently passed the night on the quarter-deck of his
flagship, at intervals lying down on a gun-carriage to snatch a short
sleep, 'from which Admiral Collingwood would rise from time to time to
sweep the horizon with his night glass lest the enemy should escape in
the dark.'[87] The French, though, remained quiet all the time. One or
two of their ships would come out now and then and exercise at sail
drill in Basque Roads, and they had a small sham fight once, but no
attempt was made to run or force the blockade.

September saw the _Téméraire_ transferred from the Rochefort squadron
to 'the Team' off Brest, as the big ship division of Cornwallis's
main fleet was familiarly called in the Navy. There was more to do
and see off Brest, perhaps, but the life there was no less hard and
toilsome. The three-deckers cruised by themselves outside Ushant,
patrolling night and day; keeping far out to seaward when the wind was
from the west, and, as the standing order ran, 'well up with Ushant in
an easterly wind.' Off Black Rocks, between Ushant and the mainland,
cruised four or six two-deckers, the 'Inshore Squadron'; while close
in, off the mouth of Brest Harbour itself, just out of gunshot of the
shore batteries, watching every move in the French fleet as it lay at
anchor in the roadstead, were frigates and cutters on the look-out.
Every day they expected the enemy to leave port, but, as it had been
off Rochefort, in vain.

Then the winter storms set in, hard gales continuously and squally
weather. Twice during October severe storms from the south-west
compelled Cornwallis to stand off the coast and bear up for Torbay: to
lie there with the 'Blue Peter' at the fore, and not a soul allowed
on shore, until at the first sign of the wind shifting anchors were
weighed for Brest again. In November a rough north-easter drove part of
the fleet off the station many leagues out into the Atlantic. The rest
found shelter on the enemy's own coast, in Douarnenez Bay, less than
twenty miles from Brest, and rode the storm out there. 'It is with
great satisfaction,' says the _Times_ of the 16th of November 1804, 'we
understand that our fleet off Brest, has withstood the violent gales
which have of late prevailed, and continues to maintain that vigilant
position, which, we trust, will effectually obstruct the designs of the
enemy.'[88] December and the January of the New Year (1805) brought
worse weather still, a succession of fierce gales--'it blows harder
than ever we remember,' wrote the _Naval Chronicle's_ Portsmouth
correspondent in January--that crippled half the fleet and forced
Cornwallis to spend all February and half March repairing damages in
Torbay. Seven of the big ships, leaking seriously, with hulls strained,
gear swept overboard, masts sprung, spars carried away, had to go into
dock at Plymouth, among them the _Téméraire_, whose repairs took two
months to make good.

[Illustration: CAMP OF THE GRAND ARMY AT BOULOGNE, 1804

From a sketch by a British naval officer in the blockading squadron.

[The tents north of the harbour (to the reader's left) belong to
Vandamme's Division of Marshal Soult's Army Corps (the 4th). Those to
the south belong to an outlying brigade of Marshal Ney's Corps (the
6th). The camp inland is that of Suchet's and St. Hilaire's Divisions
of Soult's Corps. Napoleon's headquarters were near Mont Lambert, the
hill crowned by a signal station. In the centre of the sketch are seen
the masts of the 'Invasion Flotilla' behind a breakwater mounting heavy
guns.]]

She rejoined the flag off Brest in April, just as the startling news
came to hand that the French Toulon Fleet had appeared off Cadiz,
joined hands with the Spanish Fleet there and gone off westward. Their
destination was unknown and there was no news of Lord Nelson. All that
month of May the _Téméraire_ and her consorts off Brest held themselves
ready to clear for action at the shortest notice, daily expecting the
sails of Admiral Villeneuve's fleet to appear on the horizon to the
south-west. As if awaiting Villeneuve's arrival, also, the whole of the
Brest fleet had come out of harbour and was riding at single anchor,
twenty-one sail of the line completely equipped for sea, under the
cliff batteries of Bertheaume Bay. The British fleet off Brest for the
moment could only muster seventeen sail. In England, meanwhile, the
newspapers were full of accounts of how the Grand Army at Boulogne,
now vauntingly styled _l'Armée d'Angleterre_, was duly holding
embarkation and landing parades and drills on the sea-shore under the
eyes of Soult and Ney. At the end of the month intelligence arrived
that Villeneuve was in the West Indies, and that Nelson had gone in
pursuit of him. June passed in waiting for information of Villeneuve's
return to Europe, the Channel Fleet being continuously reinforced from
England, which enabled Collingwood and a 'Special Service' squadron
to be detached to keep guard off Cadiz and the Straits of Gibraltar.
On the 11th of July came the news that Villeneuve had been sighted in
Mid-Atlantic, homeward bound; after which, a fortnight later, came the
further news that Admiral Calder had had an indecisive battle with the
enemy off Cape Finisterre, and that Villeneuve had put into Ferrol.
Calder himself rejoined Cornwallis a few days afterwards, and then
Nelson came in with his fleet.

Cornwallis, from the ships now at his disposal, immediately made up
a new fleet of eighteen sail of the line to blockade Villeneuve in
Ferrol. It was placed under Calder's orders and sent off on the 16th
of August. The _Téméraire_ sailed with Calder, and so the story of her
service with the 'Western Squadron' ends.

Before they arrived off Ferrol they heard from a frigate that
Villeneuve had left the port. He had put to sea as though intending to
cross the Bay of Biscay direct to Brest, but when two days out, had
suddenly, for some unfathomable reason of his own, gone about and stood
southward. Whither he was bound could only be guessed, but Calder's
orders were to follow the French wherever they might go, and he made
for the Straits of Gibraltar under all sail.

Did he pass over a certain spot, some ninety miles north-west of Cape
Finisterre, where a mass of frigate wreckage and splinters and jagged
chips was floating about--like the ring of fluttered feathers that one
sometimes sees at the corner of a wood on an autumn afternoon telling
how a sparrow-hawk has passed that way? That flotsam off Finisterre,
could it have spoken, would have told a tale; the story of the incident
on which the campaign of Trafalgar hinged:--_why_ Admiral Villeneuve
had gone south instead of north.[89]

Off Cadiz Calder found Collingwood with half a dozen ships, and learned
that the French were refitting in that port. Collingwood had had the
narrowest of narrow escapes of being cut off and overpowered by the
enemy's sudden appearance off Cadiz,[90] but he had cleverly got out of
their way in the nick of time, and was now 'observing' them, making
believe by sham signals every day that he was in touch with a large
British fleet in the offing. Collingwood as the senior officer took
Calder under his orders, and the united forces continued to watch Cadiz
until at the end of September Lord Nelson himself arrived from England
to take the supreme command.

For three weeks, as we all know, Nelson kept watch and ward over the
enemy in Cadiz, until on the morning of Saturday the 19th of October
his look-out frigates off the mouth of Cadiz harbour at last made the
longed-for signal that the combined fleet was coming out of port.

They began to come out between seven and eight o'clock on Saturday
morning, and from that time until the two fleets were in presence of
each other off Cape Trafalgar on Monday morning, every move the enemy
made was signalled to Nelson, lying out of sight from Cadiz, off
Cape St Mary, by flag signals passed along a chain of ships in the
day-time, and with rockets and blue lights and the firing of guns
at night. 'For two days,' writes Midshipman Hercules Robinson of the
frigate _Euryalus_, Captain Blackwood's ship, in charge of the look-out
squadron, 'there was not a movement that we did not communicate, till
I thought that Blackwood, who gave the orders, and Bruce our signal
mid, and Soper our signal man who executed them, must have died of
it; and when we had brought the two fleets fairly together we took
our place between the two lines of lights, as a cab might in Regent
Street, the watch was called and Blackwood turned in quietly to wait
for the morning.'[91] So close to the enemy did the _Euryalus_ keep all
Sunday night that, in the words of one of the men on board (a marine
named Pearce) in a letter home, 'their lights looked like a street well
lighted up.'

Monday was Trafalgar Day. The enemy when first sighted from the British
Fleet at daybreak were about eleven or twelve miles off, 'a forest
of masts to leeward,' as one officer described them, standing along
the coast towards the Straits of Gibraltar. Nelson at once headed
eastward, straight for them:--'ere it was well light the signals were
flying through the fleet to bear up and form the order of sailing in
two columns.' Then, immediately after that, up went the flags 'Prepare
for battle,' Signal No. 13, and in response throughout the fleet, the
drums on board every ship at once struck up the stirring old war-beat
of the Navy, 'Hearts of Oak'--

 Come cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer,
 To add something more to this wonderful year.

By seven o'clock every ship in the fleet had been cleared for action
and all were ready for the enemy. A quarter of an hour was sufficient
to clear for action on board a smart ship in 'Eighteen hundred and
War time,' as our grandfathers called the days when the 'Fighting'
_Téméraire_ was at sea.

So admirably had Nelson organised his fleet and arranged things
beforehand that three signals were all that he needed to make to set
the day's work in train. At twenty minutes to seven the _Victory_
signalled--'Form the order of sailing in two columns.' Then, a moment
later, up went 'No. 13,'--the fighting flags--two flags, the upper one
comprising three horizontal bands, yellow, red, yellow; the lower,
three vertical bands, blue, white, blue--'Prepare for battle.' Ten
minutes later another signal went up--'Bear up and sail large on the
course steered by the Admiral.' The whole fleet on that headed directly
for the enemy under all sail. These three signals were all that were
necessary for the tactics of the battle, and all that Nelson made. What
other signals were made from the _Victory_ during the day, until after
the fight had been won, dealt with subsidiary points and were merely
incidental.

Here is the opening entry for the day in the _Téméraire's_ log. 'At
daylight saw the enemy's fleet in the S.E. Cleared ship for action and
made all sail. Light airs. Standing for the enemy.'

At eight o'clock all hands throughout the fleet were piped to
breakfast. 'The officers,' we are told by one of them, 'now met at
breakfast, and though each seemed to exult in the hope of a glorious
termination to the contest so near at hand, a fearful presage was
experienced that all would not again unite at that festive board.' More
than one seemed 'particularly impressed with a persuasion that he would
not survive the day.... The sound of the drum, however, soon put an end
to our meditations; and, after a hasty, and, alas, a final farewell to
some, we repaired to our respective posts.'[92]

All on board now went to quarters, to their stations for the battle;
the cooks' fires were put out, and the magazines opened and powder sent
up to the guns.

At nine o'clock the two fleets were about six miles apart. It was a
gloriously fine morning, with the sky almost cloudless. A light breeze
blew from the north-west, before which, with every sail set, the fleet
bore down towards the enemy, the ships lifting on the swell as the long
surging rollers from the ocean bore them forward.

At this point we may for one moment glance across at the enemy and see
how they on their side have been faring. With the Combined Fleet,[93]
as it happened, the situation was by no means promising. The coming
event was already casting its shadow before. Things had already
begun to shape themselves awkwardly. Admiral Villeneuve had found it
advisable to go about, and the Combined Franco-Spanish Fleet was now
standing northward, heading back towards Cadiz, and forming into line
of battle as they went along. The sight of the British fleet that
morning had been an unpleasant surprise for Admiral Villeneuve. His
look-out ships on the previous evening had reported the British fleet
to him as not more than eighteen sail of the line, and to leeward.
There were now in sight,--he could see them with his own eyes--upwards
of ten sail of the line, including several three-deckers, more than
that. Also--what weighed even more with Admiral Villeneuve--they were
to windward of him. That meant that a stronger force than Villeneuve
cared to meet was within striking distance of him and had the weather
gage. Whether he went on or whether he went back, he would have to
fight. He had cast the die. He had crossed the Rubicon.

 'Twas vain to seek retreat and vain to fear,
 Himself had challenged and the foe drew near.

As the best thing, if not indeed the only thing he could do in the
circumstances, he decided to turn back and make for Cadiz. If he could
not avoid a battle, he trusted to be able to get sufficiently near
Cadiz to have the port open to him after the battle, for his damaged
ships or as a place of general refuge should things go wrong.

With such thoughts in his mind, Villeneuve, just about the time that
Nelson was sitting down to breakfast, issued orders for the Combined
Fleet to go about, every ship independently, and form in line of
battle on the port tack, with half a cable interval between ships.
They were still in the middle of the manoeuvre at nine o'clock. It
was not till after ten o'clock that anything approaching the line of
battle as ordered had been formed, and then hardly half-a-dozen ships
were in station. All the enemy's efforts, at the end of two hours,
resulted in the formation of a crescent or bow-shaped array of ships,
sagging in the centre away to leeward like a slack cord, with the ships
distributed irregularly along its length, here in single file and with
wide gaps between, there in two's and three's. As things turned out
this malformation proved ideal for the occasion; but it was entirely by
chance.

It has been said, indeed, that Admiral Villeneuve had already begun to
anticipate defeat. As he took in the grouping and disposition of the
British fleet, the double column of attack and how the leaders were
pointing, there broke from his lips, we are told, an exclamation of
blank dismay. Before a shot was fired Villeneuve had already admitted
himself beaten. There was no precedent known to him for a battle
formation such as Nelson was adopting.[94] There was nothing like it in
Paul Hoste, nothing like it in the pages of De Morogues or Ramatuelle.
No text-book could help him, and to improvise a new order of battle
for himself on the spur of the moment was beyond Admiral Villeneuve's
capacity. Practically he could only await events and meet an absolutely
new form of attack, specially devised for the occasion by the greatest
master of the art of naval war that ever lived, with an order of battle
that was not new in the days of the Grand Monarque, with tactics such
as Tourville had employed at La Hogue. It was like the Prussian
General Rüchel at Jena opposing Napoleon with the tactics of Frederick
at Kolin; attempting to foil Ney and Murat by giving the order 'Right
shoulders up.'

There were on the Franco-Spanish side thirty-three ships (eighteen
French and fifteen Spanish); in the British fleet twenty-seven.
Nelson's plan of battle at the outset, as we shall presently see,
reversed the odds and turned them into odds in his own favour,
of twenty-seven against twenty-three. That is, the odds reckoned
numerically, by counting ships. The average British ship of the line in
1805 could fire three broadsides while a French ship was firing two,
which vastly increased the odds in Nelson's favour. The British fleet
came on in two columns; one (Nelson's own) comprising twelve ships;
the other (Collingwood's column) of fifteen. Nelson's plan of battle
was for Collingwood to break the enemy's line at about a third of its
length from the rear, and hold fast in close action the ships cut off.
He himself, after that, would break through the remaining two-thirds of
the Franco-Spanish line midway, and fall on the enemy's centre, joining
hands with Collingwood. With the wind as it then was, a little to the
north of west, the ten ships of the enemy's van squadron would be cut
off by these tactics and thrust to leeward, out of the battle. They
would have to work up round laboriously against the wind before they
could get to the aid of their consorts, a business that must take a
considerable time. Meanwhile the whole force of the British fleet would
have been brought to bear on two-thirds of the enemy with, as Nelson
confidently trusted, decisive results.

Throughout the British fleet the men were in the highest spirits, eager
and ready for the fray, and at the same time cool and confident. 'As we
neared the French fleet,' an officer in the _Ajax_ relates,[95] 'I was
sent below with orders, and was much struck with the preparations made
by the bluejackets, the majority of whom were stripped to the waist;
a handkerchief was tightly bound round their heads and over the ears,
to deaden the noise of the cannon, many men being deaf for days after
an action. The men were variously occupied; some were sharpening their
cutlasses, others polishing the guns, as though an inspection were
about to take place instead of a mortal combat, whilst three or four,
as if in mere bravado, were dancing a horn-pipe; but all seemed deeply
anxious to come to close quarters with the enemy. Occasionally they
would look out of the ports, and speculate as to the various ships of
the enemy, many of which had been on former occasions engaged by our
vessels.' Elsewhere, we are told, the men kept pointing out various
ships in the Franco-Spanish line, as seen through the open ports, and
calling to one another, 'What a fine sight them ships will make at
Spithead!' Particularly keen was every man that his ship should if
possible get alongside the huge Spanish four-decker which all could
see, near the centre of the enemy's fleet, the _Santisima Trinidad_. On
board the _Bellerophon_, one of Collingwood's leading ships, the men at
quarters on the main deck chalked '_Billy Ruff'n_, Victory or Death' on
their guns.[96]

How keen was the rivalry among the ships at the head of Nelson's
line, as the morning advanced, is shown by two incidents in which the
_Neptune_--a 98-gun three-decker like the _Téméraire_, the ship next in
the line to her--and the _Téméraire_ herself, both figured.

The _Téméraire_ had the post of honour in Nelson's line, that of
'second,' or chief supporter to the _Victory_, but the _Neptune_ had
gradually drawn up level with her. Not content with that, the _Neptune_
began to edge past the _Téméraire_, until, forging ahead, she had come
up alongside the flagship herself. Indeed, it appeared as though she
was ambitious of passing ahead of the _Victory_, and leading Nelson
into the battle. The Admiral himself stopped her. Nelson at the moment
that the _Neptune_ began to draw up level with the _Victory_, happened
to be in the stern gallery leading out of his cabin, observing how the
rear ships of the fleet were coming on. He saw what was taking place,
and at once hailed the _Neptune_. '_Neptune_ there,' he called out in a
sharp, rasping tone, 'take in your stu'ns'ls and drop astarn. I shall
break the line myself!'[97] The _Neptune_ had to comply forthwith, and
on her falling back the _Téméraire_ pushed up and resumed her allotted
berth as the ship next to the _Victory_.

Then came the incident that specially concerned the _Téméraire_. A
little time after the _Neptune_ had resumed her station the _Téméraire_
was herself hailed from the _Victory_ and ordered to pass the flagship
and lead the line. Captain Blackwood of the _Euryalus_, who with the
other frigate captains was on board the flagship, in his anxiety for
Nelson's personal safety that day, on having his first suggestion that
Nelson should direct the battle from on board the _Euryalus_ set aside
by the admiral, next suggested that the _Téméraire_ should be allowed
to lead the _Victory_ into battle, to help in drawing off some of the
enemy's fire. The enemy's fire, urged Blackwood, would be certain to
fall with exceptional severity on the leader of the line, particularly
when the leading ship was so easily recognisable a vessel as the
British flagship. Nelson assented--or seemed to assent. 'Oh yes,' the
admiral answered, with a significant smile and giving a look towards
Captain Hardy, 'let her go ahead--if she _can_!' Blackwood went aft and
himself hailed the _Téméraire_ to move up, and she was also signalled
to do so.

The hail was heard. Blackwood had a voice about which a number of good
stories used to be told in the Navy. 'It could,' one of his officers
once said, 'carry half a mile.'

At once the _Téméraire_ made every effort to press forward. She was,
as the sailors said, 'flying light' that day; having been away from
port for some time she was carrying less dead-weight than usual, most
of her sea-stores and heavy casks of beef and water having been used
up. Fast sailer as the _Victory_ was--she was admittedly the fastest
three-decker in all the Royal Navy--the _Téméraire_ before long began
to close on the flagship and overlap her, by degrees working up closer
to the _Victory_, and finally racing her side by side, almost abreast.
It was a grand moment for Captain Harvey and his gallant _Téméraires_.
But the goal was not yet won.

Nelson's mood had yet to be taken into account, and Nelson was in no
humour to see his flagship passed. No ship in the world should give
the _Victory_ a lead on the day of battle. As the _Téméraire_ sheered
alongside, the admiral stepped up briskly to the _Victory's_ poop and
from there hailed across in a curt tone to the quarter-deck of the
_Téméraire_. Speaking with a strong nasal twang, in his Norfolk accent,
as we are told, he called over: 'I'll thank you, Captain Harvey, to
keep your proper station, which is _astarn_ of the _Victory_!'

The _Téméraire_ had to drop back, exactly as the _Neptune_ had
previously had to do, and content herself with following in the
_Victory's_ wake. She closed up astern and kept so near that her
jib-boom, in Captain Harvey's own words, 'almost touched the stern of
the _Victory_.'[98]

The same spirit of eager anxiety to get early into battle prevailed
everywhere, coupled with the utmost friendliness and good-comradeship.
The _Tonnant_, the second ship in Collingwood's line, was ordered in
the course of the morning to give up the place of honour to the faster
_Belleisle_. As the _Belleisle_ was passing her. Captain Tyler of the
_Tonnant_ on a carronade slide and called across to the other captain
(Hargood): 'A glorious day for old England: we shall have one a-piece
before night!' A moment later the _Tonnant's_ band, by way of greeting
to the _Belleisle_, began to play 'Britons Strike Home.'[99]

Such was the spirit in which Nelson's Captains went into battle at
Trafalgar as the hour for the opening of the fight drew on.

There is, as it happens, no note in the _Téméraire's_ log of Nelson's
famous signal, 'England expects that every man will do his duty'; but
it is on record that it was received by Signal Midshipman Eaton, who
acknowledged it to the _Victory_. We know from Captain Blackwood, who
was with the Admiral at the time, how it was received by all the ships
near by with 'a shout of answering acclamation,' and the _Téméraire_
was the nearest ship of all to the _Victory_ at that moment. After the
battle the _Téméraire's_ officers had the words engraved on a brass
plate which was let into the quarter-deck in front of the steering
wheel, where it remained till the ship came to her end.

       *       *       *       *       *

At noon, almost to the minute, the first shot was fired--by the
enemy. It came from a French ship lying nearly opposite the head
of Collingwood's line, the _Fougueux_. It was aimed at the _Royal
Sovereign_--to try the range. The shot went home, and at once other
French and Spanish ships near by took up the firing. The _Royal
Sovereign_ was about 400 yards off at the moment, about three-quarters
gunshot.

At the same time the enemy all along their line hoisted their colours,
the Spaniards in addition hanging up large wooden crosses at their
gaffs. Why they did so has never been explained. Some of the Spanish
captains had held special religious services on board their ships at an
earlier hour that morning,[100] but it is not known that that had any
connection with the display of the crosses.

A midshipman fired the first shot on the British side at Trafalgar--by
accident. It came from the _Bellerophon_. To the surprise of the whole
fleet, as they were nearing the enemy a spurt of smoke flew out from
the side of the _Bellerophon_ followed by the boom of a single gun. It
was, according to the _Spartiate's_ log--the _Bellerophon_ herself does
not record it--just as Nelson's great message was going up. On board
every other ship they were holding their hands: the officers of the
batteries had orders to wait until their ship was in the act of passing
through the enemy. A boy midshipman of the _Bellerophon_ tripped, or
caught his foot, in the loose end of a gun-lock lanyard and let off one
of the ship's 32-pounders. His name is not on record, nor what they
did to him. The shot had the unfortunate effect of drawing the enemy's
attention specially to the _Bellerophon_, and as they got the ship's
range a little later they turned their guns on her and pounded at her
heavily, under the impression that the gun had been meant as a signal,
and that some officer of distinction was on board that particular ship.

Collingwood opened the battle on the British side and first of all
broke the enemy's line at Trafalgar, as all the world knows. All
the world knows also how he did it. The _Royal Sovereign's_ first
broadside, as she broke through immediately astern of the Spanish
flagship _Santa Ana_, struck down 400 men and dismounted fourteen guns.
'Il rompait todos,' it smashed down everything--as a Spanish officer on
board the _Santa Ana_ afterwards wrote. 'What sheep,'--asked in broken
English the Spanish officer who came on board Collingwood's flagship on
the surrender of the _Santa Ana_ to give up his sword on behalf of the
wounded Vice-Admiral Alava,--'What sheep is dis?' He was told. '_Royal
Sovereign!_' the Spaniard exclaimed, 'Madre de Dios! she should be
named de _Royal Devil_!'

The ships immediately facing Nelson as he advanced began their firing
a few minutes after the others, the _Victory_ and _Téméraire_ and the
leading ships of that column being farther off from the enemy. The
_Bucentaure_, an 80-gun ship, on board which Admiral Villeneuve was,
led off here.

Of the opening scene on the enemy's side at that point, we have a vivid
narrative from a French officer--Captain Lucas of the _Redoutable_, a
ship destined to fill a large part in the _Téméraire's_ story.[101]
'At half-past eleven,' says Captain Lucas,--giving the time, as it
would appear, according to his own watch, which was slow,--'the fleet
hoisted its colours, and those of the _Redoutable_ were done in an
imposing manner, the drums and fifes playing, and the soldiers[102]
presenting arms as the flag was hoisted. The enemy's column, which was
directed against our fleet, was now on the port side, and the flagship
_Bucentaure_ began firing. I ordered a number of the chief gunners
to mount to the forecastle and told them to notice how many of our
ships fired badly. They found that all their shots carried too low.
I then ordered them to aim at dismasting, and above all to aim well.
At a quarter to twelve the _Redoutable_ opened fire with a shot from
the first gun-division which cut through the foretopsail yard of the
_Victory_, causing it to lie over the foremast, whilst shouts of joy
resounded all over the ship.'

Lord Nelson held his fire. No notice was taken of the firing of the
French and Spaniards, except that, in response to the enemy's opening
shots, the whole British fleet simultaneously hoisted their colours.
Nelson showed a Vice-Admiral of the White's flag at the fore in the
_Victory_; Collingwood the flag of a Vice-Admiral of the Blue at the
fore in the _Royal Sovereign_; Lord Northesk, the third in command, a
Rear-Admiral of the White's flag at the mizen of the _Britannia_. All
the ships in both divisions displayed the White Ensign at the peak,
and, by Nelson's particular order, to ensure that there should be no
firing into friends in the smoke and confusion of battle, and in case
colours got shot away, every ship flew at least two other British flags
besides their ensigns: Jacks or Union flags, one on the foretopmast
stay and one on the main-topmast stay. Some ships showed more; the
_Victory_, for instance, flew five British flags; the _Orion_ flew
(including her ensign) four.

A young officer of the _Neptune_, the ship next astern to the
_Téméraire_, Midshipman Badcock, thus describes what things were
like near him about this time. 'Lord Nelson's van was strong:
three three-deckers--_Victory_, _Téméraire_, _Neptune_--and four
seventy-fours, their jib-booms nearly over the others' taffrails, the
bands playing "God Save the King," "Rule, Britannia," and "Britons
Strike Home"; the crews stationed on the forecastle of the different
ships, cheering the ship ahead of them when the enemy began to
fire, sent those feelings to our hearts that ensured victory.'[103]
'The _Téméraire_ at this moment,' Captain Harvey himself says, in a
letter to his wife after the battle, 'almost touched the stern of the
_Victory_, which station she had taken about a quarter of an hour
previous to the enemy having commenced their fire upon the _Victory_.'

The _Téméraire's_ log thus describes the opening of the battle:--

 P.M. Variable light winds. Running down with lower topmast and
 topgallant studding sails set, on the larboard side, within a ship's
 length of the _Victory_, steering for the fourteenth ship of the
 enemy's line from the van. Quarter past noon, cut away the studding
 sails and hauled to the wind. At 18 minutes past noon the enemy began
 to fire. At 25 minutes past noon the _Victory_ opened her fire.
 Immediately put our helm a-port to steer clear of the _Victory_, and
 opened our fire on the _Santisima Trinidad_ and two ships ahead of
 her, when the action became general.

Nelson broke through immediately astern of the French _Bucentaure_,
the ship on board which he had himself made up his mind, from her
position, Villeneuve would most likely be found. For some unknown
reason the French admiral's flag was not flying that day. Nelson,
however, as they advanced, had kept the _Victory's_ bowsprit pointing
for the _Santisima Trinidad_. Something instinctively told him that
he should find the enemy's Commander-in-Chief on board one of the two
ships immediately astern of the big Spanish four-decker, probably in
the ship next astern. He was right. Villeneuve was on board that ship;
the next astern to the _Santisima Trinidad_, the _Bucentaure_.

As the _Victory_ steered through the enemy's line the _Téméraire_ put
her helm over to port and drew out from her leader's wake. She had
to find a passage through the enemy for herself. It was not easy.
Immediately ahead of her the French _Redoutable_, a seventy-four, the
ship following the _Bucentaure_, barred the way. The _Téméraire_ for
some little time drifted along slowly. She had received serious damage
aloft to sails and rigging during the previous half-hour as she and
the _Victory_ were nearing the enemy under fire, and the breeze was
dropping lighter every minute. She opened a brisk cannonade on the
_Redoutable_ and on the French _Neptune_, a large 80-gun ship that came
next astern of her.

The _Redoutable's_ fire shot away the head of the _Téméraire's_
mizen-topmast. She held on, however, standing to the south-east and
outside the enemy's line, until at length she bore up to avoid being
raked by the _Neptune_ and to go through the line. There was scarcely
any wind at all now, and the smoke hung heavily all round. Slowly the
_Téméraire_ forged her way ahead, groping her course forward in some
little uncertainty as to her own whereabouts. As she passed through
the line, she unavoidably gave a chance to the French _Neptune_, which
ship, getting her port broadside to bear on the _Téméraire's_ starboard
bow, attacked her fiercely. The _Neptune_ shot away the _Téméraire's_
main-topmast and foreyard, and crippled the foremast and bowsprit,
besides causing other damage which rendered the _Téméraire_ almost
unmanageable. In the dense smoke all round her officers hardly knew for
the moment where they had got to. 'We were engaged with the _Santisima
Trinidad_ and the other ships,' wrote Captain Harvey in his letter
home, 'when for a minute or two I ceased my fire, fearing I might, from
the thickness of the smoke, be firing into the _Victory_.'

Then for a brief space there was a rift in the smoke. It showed the
_Victory_ alongside a French two-decker (the _Redoutable_), and foul
of her. The two ships were seen not far off and were drifting down
directly on to the _Téméraire_. Every effort was made to move out of
the way and keep clear, but in her disabled state it was impossible
to get the _Téméraire_ under control. Within the past few minutes,
under the _Neptune's_ punishing fire, all three of the _Téméraire's_
topmasts had been shot away, her mizen yard had come down, the rudder
head had been smashed off. All that could be done was to cannonade the
_Redoutable_ as she gradually drifted nearer until the actual collision
came.

That took place just as Captain Lucas was about to make an attempt to
board the _Victory_. His musketry from the tops seemed to have almost
cleared the _Victory's_ upper decks of men, and, mad as was the idea
of so settling with a British first-rate, and Lord Nelson's flagship
to boot, the captain of the _Redoutable_ actually entertained it. A
sweeping _mitraille_ of grape from the 68-pounder carronade on the
_Victory's_ forecastle, fired into the thick of the French boarders
as they crowded on the gangways from below, did not daunt him, and
he still persevered after the first rush had been checked by the
impossibility of getting across the space between the bulwarks of the
two ships. That difficulty Captain Lucas saw his way to meet. 'I gave
the order,' he says, 'to cut the supports of the main yard and to cause
it to serve as a bridge. Midshipman Yon and four seamen sprang on board
by means of the anchor of the _Victory_, and we observed that there
was no one left in the batteries. At that moment, when our men were
hastening to follow, the ship _Téméraire_, which had noticed that the
_Victory_ fought no longer, and that she would be captured without
fail, came full sail on our starboard side, and we were subjected to
the full fire of her artillery.'

It proved for the _Redoutable_, in the language of the prize-ring,
a 'knock-out' blow. As the _Téméraire_ came into collision with the
_Redoutable_ she fired her entire broadside, double-shotted, full
into the French boarding-parties as they stood massed thickly and
packed along the _Redoutable's_ upper decks from end to end. It meant
instant annihilation. It was a massacre. The awful tornado of the
_Téméraire's_ fire swept the _Redoutable's_ crowded decks clear of men,
as a garden broom sweeps a path clear of autumn leaves. It struck down
everything. At one blow it hurled into eternity nearly a third of the
_Redoutable's_ whole crew. Midshipman Yon, we are told, disappeared,
and was never seen again. Lieutenant Dupotet, at the head of the
boarders, was struck down, mangled and dying. Captain Lucas himself
received an ugly flesh wound--his first after seeing service in nine
battles.

Speaking of the _Téméraire's_ onslaught Captain Lucas in his official
report says: 'It is impossible to describe the carnage produced by
the murderous broadside of this ship; more than 200 of our brave men
were killed or wounded; I was wounded also at the same time, but not
sufficiently to prevent me staying at my post.'

[Illustration: CAPTAIN LUCAS

(From the Portrait in Hennequin's _Biographie Maritime_)]

The gallant captain of the _Redoutable_ stayed at his post. He set his
teeth and refused to admit that his ship had received her _coup de
grâce_. In spite of his awful losses the gallant fellow still tried
to make a show of fight. 'I ordered the rest of the crew to place
themselves promptly in the batteries and fire at the _Téméraire_ the
guns that her fire had not dismounted. This order was carried out.'
At the same time the _Redoutable_ met the _Téméraire_, as she swung
alongside, with a hail of bullets from the tops that almost cleared the
upper deck of Captain Harvey's ship, while the topmen also flung down
hand grenades and fire-balls. The _Redoutable's_ topmen, indeed, flung
the fire-balls about with criminal recklessness.[104] They endangered
their own ship. Some of the fire-balls falling short rebounded back on
board the _Redoutable_ and set the French ship herself on fire. One
fell blazing on board the _Téméraire_ and caused a fire below that
nearly led to a catastrophe which threatened to involve _Téméraire_,
_Redoutable_, and _Victory_ alike in one common destruction. The pluck
and presence of mind of the _Téméraire's_ master-at-arms, Mr. John
Toohig, saved the after-magazine, and with it the ship. The fire-ball,
as it was, caused a serious explosion and loss of life on the main
deck. At the same time the _Téméraire_ was set ablaze elsewhere, on the
upper deck, by a fire that had been caused on board the _Redoutable_
by one of her own fire-balls falling short, and had spread across to
the _Téméraire_, and also to the _Victory_ on the other side, but the
flames in all three ships were fortunately got under before they had
time to take serious hold.

The _Téméraire's_ captain very soon had something else to think of
besides the _Redoutable_. Hardly had the _Redoutable_ been lashed
fast alongside than another enemy came on the scene, and one that
was apparently approaching with the fixed intention of attacking the
_Téméraire_ at close quarters. The French _Neptune_ was at the same
time remaining near by, barely a ship's length off, firing her hardest
into the _Téméraire_.

The newcomer was the French _Fougueux_, the ship that had fired the
first shot in the battle. She had already had a rough time of it
elsewhere, but she was still full of fight, and with nearly 700 men
on board, was likely to prove a dangerous foe to a ship situated as
was the _Téméraire_ at that moment. The _Fougueux_ had been _matelot
d'arrière_, or 'second astern' to the Spanish flagship _Santa Ana_,
just as the _Redoutable_ had been the _Bucentaure's_ second. In that
capacity she had experienced some hard knocks at Collingwood's hands,
and then, after a brisk exchange of fire with the British _Belleisle_,
as that ship followed Collingwood into the fight, she had had a sharp
set-to with the _Mars_. Through all this the _Fougueux_ had not come
unscathed, but she was still a very formidable opponent for the
_Téméraire_ to tackle.

The _Fougueux_ came on as though bent on rescuing the _Redoutable_. It
did not look an impossible task. Both the _Victory_ and the _Téméraire_
showed signs of having undergone a very severe mauling, and there was
the French _Neptune_ near by, apparently quite fresh and ready to
lend a hand, only waiting for an opportunity to join in the fray. The
_Téméraire_ particularly, looked in a bad way. Under the _Neptune's_
punishing fire, she had been reduced aloft to the appearance of a
wreck. Her topmasts had gone, her foreyard was gone, her foremast was
tottering, all her rigging was torn and tangled, her sails hung down in
rags. Her ensign, too, had been shot away, or at least was down owing
to the fall of the gaff; very few men were to be seen alive on her
upper deck; not a shot came from her guns on the broadside facing the
_Fougueux_.

Captain Baudoin, the captain of the _Fougueux_, seemed at first
uncertain whether he would lie off to leeward, and with the _Neptune's_
help rake and cannonade the _Téméraire_ into submission, or come to
close quarters at once and board. The second alternative seemed to
promise quicker results, and he adopted it. He made up his mind to
bring the matter to an issue on the spot before other British ships
could interfere, and carry the _Téméraire_ by a _coup de main_. The few
people he saw about on the _Téméraire's_ upper deck was one inducement
to try boarding her. He could not know, of course, that Captain Harvey
had ordered everybody who could possibly be spared to go below so as
to avoid unnecessary loss of life from the _Redoutable's_ musketry.
Another was that the _Téméraire's_ attention seemed to be wholly
devoted to the _Redoutable_. Captain Baudoin put the _Fougueux's_
head directly for the _Téméraire_, and as they closed, the French
ship's shrouds quickly became black with men, cutlass in hand, while
more swarmed on the forecastle and gangways cheering and shouting 'À
l'abordage! à l'abordage!' So the _Fougueux_ neared the _Téméraire_.
For her part, as it befell, the _Téméraire_ had for some time foreseen
what was coming. She was by no means so incapable of meeting a new
antagonist as she looked.

The _Téméraire_, as it happened, had not yet fired a single shot
from her guns on the starboard broadside. She had her triple tier of
32-pounders and long 18's ranged there all ready, all double-shotted
and clear for action. To man these guns was quick work. Without
checking the fire that the _Téméraire_ was keeping up into the
_Redoutable_ and the _Neptune_, Lieutenant Kennedy, the first
lieutenant, rapidly called away sufficient hands from the guns on the
port side to man all the starboard batteries. Then the gallant officer
and his men waited--the captain of each gun standing ready with arm
raised and his firing lanyard out-stretched stiff as wire--all eagerly
watching the coming on of the _Fougueux_. Not a sign that the guns were
manned came from the _Téméraire's_ ports, as nearer and nearer the
French seventy-four swept down on her. Now she was 200 yards off--now
150--now 100--now 80 yards! Confidently came the _Fougueux_ on as to
certain conquest, amid wild tempestuous shoutings of 'A l'abordage!'
'Vive l'Empereur! Vive l'Empereur!' The supreme moment came.

'_Téméraires_--stand by--fire!'

Holding back until the yard-arms of the two ships all but touched,
with a deafening thunder-burst that for the instant overpowered all
other sounds of battle, the _Téméraire's_ whole starboard broadside
went off at once, in one salvo, like one gigantic gun. A terrific crash
re-echoed back, with yells and shrieks. There was no more shouting
from the _Fougueux_. As the smoke drifted off, the _Téméraire's_ men
looked and saw the enemy's rigging and forecastle and decks swept clean
and bare. The next minute, with her whole side practically beaten
in, crushed in like an eggshell trampled under foot, the hapless
seventy-four ran, blundering blindly, in hopeless confusion, right into
the _Téméraire_.[105]

Like the _Redoutable_ she was promptly lashed fast, and then--'Boarders
away!' was the call. A master's mate, a little middy, twenty seamen,
six marines, followed close behind Lieutenant Kennedy as he clambered
into the _Fougueux's_ main rigging, and thence down on to the
_Fougueux's_ quarter-deck. One of the seamen with the boarding-party
had a Union Jack rolled round his neck. 'It'll come handy perhaps,'
said the brave fellow as he followed his messmates over the side. There
was a sharp tussle on the quarter-deck of the _Fougueux_, where Captain
Baudoin, struck down by the _Téméraire's_ broadside, lay mortally
wounded. Second-Captain Bazin hastily rallied seventy or eighty men,
called up from below to meet the boarders, but the impetuous onset of
the nine-and-twenty _Téméraires_ carried everything before it despite
the odds. The _Fougueux's_ second captain was cut down. A lieutenant
who took his place was shot dead with a pistol bullet through the
heart. The Frenchmen then gave way and broke and were driven off the
quarter-deck pell-mell. Slashing and stabbing their way, without a
single fresh man from the ship, in less than twelve minutes Lieutenant
Kennedy's party were masters of the _Fougueux_. They hustled the
surrendered Frenchmen down into the hold, clapped the hatches on them,
and then the Union Jack came in 'handy' to hoist over the tricolour on
the _Fougueux_' ensign staff.

So the _Redoutable's_ would-be rescuer was added to the row of
four ships, all fast to one another side by side, the _Victory_,
_Redoutable_, _Téméraire_, and _Fougueux_.

Relieved from the hostile presence of the _Fougueux_, the _Téméraire_
turned her attention to finishing off the _Redoutable_, now plainly
at her last gasp, though still unsubdued. Her guns were silenced,
but musket shots still came from the tops. A few minutes later the
_Victory_ broke herself clear and steered away from the group. She
boomed herself off, leaving Captain Harvey to receive in due course the
submission of the _Redoutable_.

But even now Captain Lucas would not give up. 'The _Téméraire_, to
quote Captain Lucas's own words once more, 'hailed us to give ourselves
up and not prolong a useless resistance. I ordered some soldiers near
me to answer this summons by firing, which was done with alacrity.'
The end, though, was at last really at hand. Scarcely had the British
flagship broken away than the _Redoutable's_ main and mizen masts came
down. The main-mast crashed over the _Téméraire's_ poop, and in its
fall formed a bridge from ship to ship, across which a party of the
_Téméraire's_ officers and men, headed by the second lieutenant, John
Wallace, promptly clambered. With more than 500 of his original crew of
600 odd _hors de combat_, dead or wounded, there was no opposition
possible, and Captain Lucas had to yield up his sword.

[Illustration: _Victory._ _Redoutable._ _Téméraire._ _Fougueux._

BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR. October 21, 1805--2.15 P.M.

After J.C. Schetky.]

No captain, perhaps, ever fought his ship better against overwhelming
odds than Captain Lucas fought the _Redoutable_ at Trafalgar. Napoleon
had him specially exchanged as soon as possible, and sent for him to
St. Cloud where, in the presence of the assembled _État Major_, he
decorated him with his own hand with the Grand Cross of the Legion of
Honour.[106] 'Had my other captains,' said the Emperor, 'behaved as you
did, the event of the battle would have been very different.' There is
an ironclad _Redoutable_ in the French navy to-day which bears the name
in remembrance of the gallant two-decker lost with honour at Trafalgar.

The _Téméraire_, however, had still one of her first foes left. The
French _Neptune_ was still dangerously near. She was lying where she
had been from the first, pounding away steadily into the _Téméraire_
from a short distance off, 'willing to wound but still afraid to
strike.' It says little for the courage of the French captain that he
had not ventured to force home an attack at close quarters, and less
still for the gunnery of his men that it had not before this reduced
the _Téméraire_ to a sinking state. Not far off, also, there was, as
the _Téméraire's_ log notes, 'a Spanish two-decked ship ... on the
larboard bow or nearly ahead, who had raked us during great part of
the action.' On seeing the _Victory_ move off, the French _Neptune_
apparently took heart of grace. She now made as if she really meant
at last to close with the _Téméraire_. It was not very brave of the
_Neptune_, seeing how the _Téméraire_ was situated, with five-sixths
of her guns blocked in by the two prizes alongside. But all the same
the _Téméraire_ did her best to give the _Neptune_ a warm reception.
By clearing away the wreckage from aloft that overlay most of the
_Téméraire's_ upper-deck guns, Captain Harvey was able to get some
of these into action and keep the _Neptune_ off. Then a few minutes
later assistance arrived. The approach of the _Leviathan_, a British
seventy-four, once more daunted the _Neptune_, and she sheered off and
withdrew altogether from the scene.

After that came a well-earned breathing space for the _Téméraire_ and
her gallant crew, a brief half-hour's pause that Captain Harvey and his
men made use of in putting prize-crews in charge of the _Redoutable_
and _Fougueux_, and doing what they could towards repairing their
own damages and clearing away their wrecked top-hamper. The _Sirius_
frigate during this spell, in response to a signal from Captain
Harvey, took the _Téméraire_ and her prizes in tow.

A note in the _Téméraire's_ log shows how intermixed some of the
British ships had now got. 'The _Royal Sovereign_,' it says, 'was a
short distance to leeward, and the _Colossus_, dismasted, with one of
the enemy's two-deckers on board of her, who had struck, and appeared
to be Spanish.'

In the half-hour that the _Téméraire_ stood by, the battle passed
through its crisis, although fighting went on fiercely at many points
for another two hours yet. Before half-past two, six or seven of the
enemy had given in and could be seen 'lying with British ensigns
displayed at the stern over tricolours or Spanish flags.' By three
o'clock nearly a third of the enemy's fleet had either struck their
colours or were on the point of striking them, and another third were
hauling out of line and preparing to quit the battle and run for
Cadiz. The Spanish flagship _Santa Ana_, with every mast down and her
starboard side shattered to matchwood, had surrendered to the _Royal
Sovereign_. The French flagship _Bucentaure_ had hauled down her ensign
and Admiral Villeneuve was a prisoner on board the British _Mars_.

The surrender of the _Bucentaure_--although perhaps it only comes
incidentally into the _Téméraire's_ story--was one of the most
dramatic events of Trafalgar. When the French flagship, beaten to a
standstill, with her three masts shot down, one after the other within
five minutes, was on the point of surrendering, Admiral Villeneuve
ordered a boat to be lowered to take him on board another French ship.
'Le _Bucentaure_,' said Villeneuve as he gave the order, 'à rempli sa
tâche, la mienne n'est pas encore achevée.'[107] But every one of the
_Bucentaure's_ boats was found to have been smashed to pieces. Then
Villeneuve's flag-captain, Majendie, hurried aft and clambering into
the wreckage of the ship's stern gallery with his speaking-trumpet
hailed the _Santisima Trinidad_ to send a boat at once. There was no
reply. The _Trinidad_ was lying quite close to the _Bucentaure_ at that
moment, so close that only a very few yards separated Majendie from
her as he hailed, but the tremendous thunder of the guns all round
completely overpowered his voice. Nor did any one on board the Spanish
ship see him. There was no means of attracting help from elsewhere.
The _Bucentaure_ had indeed done her work--and Villeneuve's too. There
was left now but one thing to do. The colours of the _Bucentaure_ were
hauled down to the nearest British ship,--a seventy-four named, by
something of a coincidence, the _Conqueror_,--'and a white handkerchief
was waved from her in token of submission.' Captain Israel Pellew was
in command of the _Conqueror_. He was at the moment unable to spare
Lieutenant Couch, his First Lieutenant, to whom in ordinary course
the duty of boarding the prize would have fallen, and being unaware,
from the absence throughout the battle of Villeneuve's flag from the
_Bucentaure's_ mast-head, that the enemy's Commander-in-Chief had
surrendered to him, he told Captain Atcherley of the _Conqueror's_
marines to go in the First Lieutenant's place and take possession of
the _Bucentaure_. Atcherley went off in a small boat with two seamen
and a corporal and two marines. He was pulled alongside and clambered
on board the prize, little dreaming whom he was going to meet and the
reception in store for him. This is what then took place.

[Illustration: VILLENEUVE'S SWORD]

As Atcherley gained the _Bucentaure's_ upper-deck and the British
officer's red coat showed itself on the quarter-deck of the French
flagship, four French officers of rank stepped forward all bowing and
presenting their swords. One was a tall, thin, sad-faced man of about
forty-two, in a long-tailed uniform coat with flat high collar and
dark green corduroy breeches, gold-laced at the sides. It was Admiral
Villeneuve himself. The second was a short, rotund, jolly-faced man, a
typical _boulevardier_ in appearance:--Flag-Captain Majendie.[108] The
third was Second-Captain Prigny of the _Bucentaure_; and the fourth a
soldier resplendent in the full-dress uniform--somewhat besmirched by
powder-smoke--of a Brigadier of the Grand Army, General de Contamine,
the officer in charge of the four thousand troops that were serving on
board the French Fleet that day.

'To whom,' asked Admiral Villeneuve in good English, 'have I the honour
of surrendering?'

'To Captain Pellew of the _Conqueror_.'

'I am glad to have struck to the fortunate Sir Edward Pellew.'

'It is his brother, Sir,' said Captain Atcherley.

'His brother! What; are there two of them? Hélas!'

'Fortune de guerre!' said Captain Majendie with a shrug of his wide
shoulders as he became a prisoner of war to the British Navy for the
third time in his life. Prigny and De Contamine said nothing, as far
as we know.

Captain Atcherley politely suggested that the swords of such high
officers had better be handed to an officer of superior rank to
himself--to Captain Pellew. He then went below to secure the magazines,
passing between decks amid an awful scene of carnage and destruction.
'The dead thrown back as they fell lay along the middle of the decks in
heaps, and the shot passing through these had frightfully mangled the
bodies.... More than four hundred had been killed and wounded, of whom
an extraordinary proportion had lost their heads. A raking shot which
entered in the lower deck had glanced along the beams and through the
thickest of the people, and a French officer declared that this shot
alone had killed or disabled nearly forty men.'[109]

Atcherley locked up the magazines and put the keys in his pocket,
posted his two marines as sentries at the doors of the Admiral's
and flag-captain's cabins, and then returning on deck, he conducted
Villeneuve, Majendie, and Second-Captain Prigny down the side into
his little boat which rowed off in search of the _Conqueror_. The
ship, however, had ranged ahead to engage another enemy, and as her
whereabouts could not be discovered in the smoke, the prisoners were
temporarily placed on board the nearest British ship, which happened to
be the _Mars_.

The battle, however, even though both the French Commander-in-Chief
and the Spanish Second in Command[110] and also the big _Santisima
Trinidad_ with the Spanish Third in Command,[111] had surrendered, was
not yet over. There were still a number of ships of the enemy that were
yet apparently unbeaten, besides one group that had hardly fired a shot
as yet.

At three o'clock, or a few minutes after that, the _Téméraire's_ men
had again to stand to their guns. Fresh foes were seen approaching.

These were five of the ships of Villeneuve's van squadron under
Rear-Admiral Dumanoir. Admiral Villeneuve's last signal had been to
order Dumanoir's squadron, which had been cut off by Nelson's tactics
and had so far not been engaged at all, to head round and come to the
rescue of the centre and rear. There were originally ten ships under
Dumanoir's command, but five of them, after they came round, broke
away, and edged off to leeward towards where Admiral Gravina (the
Spanish Commander-in-Chief, now left by Villeneuve's surrender the
senior officer on the enemy's side) was rallying some of the rear
ships to try and escape into Cadiz. What befell these does not concern
us.

Dumanoir's remnant of five (four French ships and one Spaniard) stood
along a little to windward of the ships engaged as far as where the
_Téméraire_ lay, making it appear as though they were coming down to
attack. 'At 3,' says the _Téméraire's_ log, 'observed five of the enemy
in good order, starboard side. Sent the men from the quarter-deck guns
to assist on the other decks. The _Sirius_ made sail from us, when
four of the enemy's ships opened their fire on our starboard side;
having but few guns clear of the prizes, cut them loose.' 'While they
were about three-quarters of a mile to windward,' says Captain Harvey
describing what happened in his letter home, 'they opened their guns
upon the _Téméraire_ and her prizes, and for some time I could return
no guns; but when those we could fight with were brought to bear upon
the enemy, the gentlemen thought proper to haul to a more respectable
distance, and thus towards evening with me ended this most glorious
action.'[112] Dumanoir's fire did little harm to the _Téméraire_
herself. It mortally wounded one of her midshipmen who was on board the
_Redoutable_, and cut away the _Fougueux_' main and mizen masts,--the
_Fougueux_ had been cleared away from alongside the _Téméraire_ a few
moments previously, and allowed to swing athwart the _Téméraire's_
stern, end-on to Dumanoir's ships as they passed by,--but that was
practically all they did.

'Half-past 4,' says the _Téméraire's_ log, 'ceased firing.' The
_Téméraire_ had now played her part. It only remained to house and
secure the guns.

The battle was over--although near by there were still some three
or four of the enemy who had not yet gone through the formality of
lowering their ensigns. They were feebly firing, though they could
neither fight nor fly. All could see that the inevitable end could
hardly be long deferred. The knife was already at the throats of the
last of the destined victims of the day. The _Téméraire's_ last gun,
as a fact, went at the same instant that Nelson, in the cockpit of the
_Victory_, breathed his last.

Three-quarters of an hour later all resistance on the part of the enemy
had ceased, and there was a silence on the sea. Trafalgar had been
fought and won. Seventeen of the enemy had surrendered--eight French
ships and nine Spaniards. One French ship, in addition, was on fire and
her crew were being rescued by the boats of the nearest British ships.
The remainder of the enemy had run out of the battle and were in full
flight, some in one direction, some in another.

The scene all round at that moment, as it appeared from the
_Téméraire_, was one that the last survivor of Trafalgar could hardly
have forgotten to his dying day--

 Nobly, nobly, Cape Saint Vincent to the north-west died away,
 Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay,
 Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face, Trafalgar lay.

Cape Trafalgar was sighted from off the deck, we are told, just as the
battle was ending, and was made at about eight miles off. On either
hand lay ships with shattered bulwarks and hulls gashed all over
and riddled from the water-line upwards with gaping and splintered
shot-holes, the yellow strakes between the ports seared and scorched
by the back-blast from the guns and crusted over with half-burned
powder. Some also had several of their ports knocked into one, or their
port-lids unhung or wrenched away; others had their figure-heads clean
gone, and their bowsprits smashed off short; others, in addition, had
their stern and quarter galleries beaten in; and there were ugly smears
and stains down the sides of all where the scuppers opened overboard.
No fewer than nine ships were lying entirely dismantled--'ras comme
des pontons,' as a Frenchman put it. In these everything on deck
above the bulwarks was gone, shorn roughly off--rigging, spars,
masts--everything. A short stump, only a few feet high, remained in
one or two of the ships to show where a tall mast had that morning
stood--that was all. All else had disappeared--smashed down, shot by
the board and lying over the sides amid the tangled confusion of broken
spars, torn rigging, and ragged sails. Eight of the dismasted ships
were trophies of the battle, French or Spanish prizes--the _Bucentaure_
and the _Santisima Trinidad_ among them. The ninth was a British ship,
the cruelly battered _Belleisle_, which had undergone a terrific
mauling. The burning ship was the French _Achille_, which lay not far
off--a mass of flames from end to end. She had been set on fire by
accident in the last hour of the battle, and was now blazing fiercely
from stem to stern, sending off heavy volumes of dense black smoke into
the clear evening air, as the hapless vessel lay burning to the water's
edge, or until the flames should reach the magazine. Over yonder a
group of British ships, several with topmasts and yards gone, were
closing on a big three-decker that had only her foremast left standing,
Collingwood's _Royal Sovereign_. Nearer, the battered ships of
Nelson's column formed another group, collecting round the _Victory_.
Far to the north-west, towards Cadiz, could be seen the sails of eleven
ships that were escaping with Gravina. Among these fugitives was
the _Téméraire's_ first antagonist, the French _Neptune_, which, by
carefully avoiding every attempt to bring her to close action, had got
through the battle with a loss of only 13 men killed and 37 wounded.
Black dots against the western sky, now ablaze in all the wild glory of
a stormy October sunset, Dumanoir's flying ships could be seen--four in
number--standing away into the Atlantic. The fifth ship of the group,
the Spanish _Neptuno_, had been cut off and taken as the battle closed
by the British _Minotaur_ and _Spartiate_.

All the while during the final scene Nelson's flag remained flying
at the _Victory's_ mast-head--although the Admiral had for nearly
an hour now been lying dead. Those on board were, perhaps, loth to
lower it before they must. In accordance with one of the old fighting
instructions of the navy, the commander-in-chief's ship in action kept
her Admiral's flag flying in all circumstances until the battle was
over, whatever might have happened to the Admiral meantime. Whether he
was disabled or whether he was killed, the flag must still fly to the
end of the action in its accustomed place. As a fact, at Trafalgar,
Flag-Captain Hardy of the _Victory_ had had the entire handling of
the British fleet from the moment that Nelson was struck down until
the last shot had been fired. His descendants treasure to this day
the silver pencil-case that Hardy 'used to write down signals during
the battle of Trafalgar, _with the marks of his teeth on it made in
moments of excitement_!' It was shown at the Naval Exhibition at
Chelsea in 1891, one newspaper speaking of it as 'something like a
relic!' Nelson's flag flew till sunset, and, in consequence, except the
_Victory_ and the _Royal Sovereign_, to which Captain Hardy, of course,
had sent the news specially, and Captain Blackwood's _Euryalus_, barely
half a dozen ships of the fleet were aware of Nelson's death that
night; or even that he had been wounded. In the _Téméraire_ herself
the news was not known, owing to the dispersal of the fleet caused by
the stormy weather of the three following days, until the 24th, when
Captain Harvey first learnt what had happened by a casual signal from
the _Defiance_.

This is what was said on the spot of the way the _Téméraire_ had done
her work. 'I congratulate you most sincerely,' wrote Collingwood to
Captain Harvey, on the 28th of October, 'on the noble and distinguished
part the _Téméraire_ took in the battle; nothing could be finer; I
have not words in which I can sufficiently express my admiration of
it.'[113] This from a man so temperate in his language as Collingwood
was at all times was indeed high praise.

Her day's work at Trafalgar cost the _Téméraire_ in casualties exactly
123 killed and wounded; or as Captain Harvey put it: 'Killed, 47; badly
wounded, 31; slightly wounded, 45--in all, 123.' Captain Busigny and
Lieutenant Kingston of the Marines, one midshipman (John Pitts) and
Mr Oades, the carpenter, were the officers killed; one lieutenant of
the Royal Navy, the surviving lieutenant of Marines, a master's-mate
and a midshipman, with the _Téméraire's_ boatswain, were the officers
wounded. Forty-three more of the _Téméraire's_ men were drowned on
board the _Fougueux_ and the _Redoutable_, in the storm after the
battle.

As everybody knows, all Nelson's Trafalgar prizes except four
perished in the storm after the battle, or were set on fire or
scuttled. Whose fault it was, or how it came about that Nelson's
dying order to anchor immediately the battle was over, which would
probably have preserved all the prizes, was set aside, we need not
discuss. Both the _Téméraire's_ prizes were among the ships that
were lost--the _Fougueux_ being wrecked a few miles south of Cadiz
and the _Redoutable_ foundering in deep water. The _Redoutable_
foundered during the night of the 22nd, carrying down with her 13
of the _Téméraire's_ men. She was in tow of the _Swiftsure_, which
had relieved the _Téméraire_ of her, when, about five on the previous
afternoon, she made signals of distress. The straining of the
dismasted hull as it pitched and rolled in the heavy seas had reopened
the shot-holes below the water-line and the ship was filling. The
_Swiftsure_ hove-to and lowered her boats, which in two trips brought
off safely many of the prisoners and the wounded, and part of the
_Téméraire's_ prize crew. Then, however, the attempt had to be given
up. 'The weather was so bad and the sea so high,' that, in the words of
the _Swiftsure's_ log, 'it was impossible for the boats to pass.' They
were still, though, keeping the _Redoutable_ in tow, hoping she might
live out the night, when, at half-past ten, all of a sudden, the prize
foundered by the stern. The sinking was so sudden at the last that the
_Swiftsure's_ men had no time to cast loose the tow-rope and had to
chop it in two with axes. During the night a few of the _Redoutable's_
men were picked up floating on rafts that they had made, but upwards of
190 hapless fellows went down in the ship.

The _Téméraire_ herself had a bad time of it in the storm. All Tuesday,
the 22nd, the _Sirius_ kept her in tow, but it was so rough that little
could be done on board towards refitting the ship or attempting to rig
jury-masts or repair damages. On the 23rd the _Sirius_ was called off
by signal to recover prizes adrift which the sortie that the refugee
ships in Cadiz attempted that day was threatening. The _Africa_ was
told off to take the _Téméraire_ in tow, but the storm came on worse
than ever during the afternoon, and the _Africa_, whose badly damaged
masts were threatening to roll over the side every minute, could do
nothing but stand by. 'The state of the _Téméraire_ is so bad,' wrote
Captain Harvey, that night, 'that we have been in constant apprehension
of our lives, every sail and yard having been destroyed, and nothing
but the lower masts left standing, the rudder-head almost shot off and
is since gone, and lower masts all shot through and through in many
places.'

The _Téméraire_, however, managed to come through all safely, and she
again held her own by herself throughout the 24th and all the next day.
Unaided, she brought up in the end in safety off San Lucar, at the
mouth of the Guadalquivir some 25 miles north of Cadiz, at seven on
the morning of the 25th. Here the men stopped shot-holes above water,
cleared away wreckage and completed the knotting and splicing of the
damaged rigging and cleaning up of the ship, and got up jury-masts
and lower yards:--five days' hard work. On the 30th of October, the
_Defiance_ took the _Téméraire_ in tow for Gibraltar, where the ship
let go anchor on the afternoon of the 2nd of November, twelve days
after Trafalgar.

At Gibraltar the _Téméraire_ was patched up and refitted sufficiently
to enable her to proceed to England under sail. The _Victory_ had
arrived four days before, and was lying at anchor with Nelson's flag
and her ensign at half-mast, as were the other ships of the fleet,
upwards of a dozen, that had as yet come in. Four days afterwards
the _Euryalus_, from which Admiral Collingwood had removed into the
_Queen_, sailed for England, carrying on board Collingwood's completed
Trafalgar despatch,[114] the captured French and Spanish ensigns (to be
hung up in St. Paul's and left there to perish through neglect), and
Admiral Villeneuve himself, going to meet his doom. Within six months
the hapless French Admiral was dead--by his own hand. The story, so
long believed in England, that Admiral Villeneuve's death was another
foul murder to be charged against Napoleon has every probability
against it. Paroled on his arrival at Spithead, and exchanged on the
usual terms, Villeneuve had landed at Morlaix in Brittany, and was on
his way to report himself in Paris, when one evening a sealed letter
from the Minister of Marine was handed to him. Next morning he was
found in his bedroom at the inn where he had put up, stabbed to the
heart. A letter taking leave of his wife was found in the room. He was
buried that night without any honours.

[Illustration: VILLENEUVE'S SIGNATURE]

Poor Villeneuve! It was a pitiful and hapless closing to a career
that had opened with such bright promise for a certain young _garde
de la Marine_ on the quarter-deck of De Suffren's _Héros_[115];
a sad, unworthy ending for one in whose veins ran the blood of
eight-and-twenty knights of St. Louis, St. Esprit, and St. Michel; for
one who in his own right was of the highest of the old _noblesse_ of
Royal France, for a member of a House that had given one of the most
famous of Grand Masters to the Order, and a Saint and ten Bishops
to the Church.[116] Poor Villeneuve!--where moulders his unhappy
dust? The summer visitor from England, at the price of a cheap
ticket, may see where the poor remains of the vanquished of Trafalgar
rest to-day--if, that is, he can find the place. Beneath no storied
monument is it, among his country's greater dead; not in the vault of
the Villeneuves where his high-born kinsmen sleep:--not there. In a
forgotten spot in the old burial-ground at distant Rennes, a Provençal
he among stranger Bretons, the most luckless of his line lies there in
a suicide's desolate grave. And it is all the more pitiful too, when
one thinks of our own Trafalgar chiefs laid to their rest together in
honour in St. Paul's. Side by side in the vaulted crypt beneath the
Cathedral dome rest our three Trafalgar admirals in honour evermore.
Brothers-in-arms in life, like brothers in death they lie; till,
pealing out on land and sea, the dread Archangel's trump shall sound
their final call to quarters. Poor Villeneuve! What a contrast!

[Illustration: THE _TÉMÉRAIRE_ ENTERING PORTSMOUTH HARBOUR ON HER
RETURN FROM TRAFALGAR. Dec. 20, 1805

After J.C. Schetky.]

The _Téméraire_ followed the _Euryalus_ to England some days later.
She brought on board, like the other returning ships, three hundred
French prisoners, together with, as her special passenger. Captain
Infernet of the French _Intrépide_. She arrived at Spithead on the 5th
of December, the day after the _Victory_, with Nelson's remains on
board, had anchored at St. Helens, and on the 20th of December went up
Portsmouth Harbour to go into dock. It so chanced that an artist,
John Christian Schetky, afterwards marine painter to King George the
Fourth, William the Fourth, and Queen Victoria, was at Portsmouth on
the day the _Téméraire_ came in, cheered to the echo on all sides by
crowds on the Platform and Point batteries and by every boat and ship
that she passed. Sketchbook in hand Mr. Schetky made good use of his
opportunity.

Captain Harvey arrived in England to find himself a Rear-Admiral, one
of the officers specially promoted in honour of Trafalgar, included in
the promotion caused by the creation of the rank of Admiral of the Red.
He handed over the _Téméraire_ to Acting-Captain Larmour who, six weeks
later, paid the ship off for a refit and repair in Portsmouth dockyard
which lasted several months. Admiral Harvey was one of the pall-bearers
at Nelson's funeral. When in January 1815 he became a K.C.B. he was
granted as a special motto above his crest, the name _Téméraire_,
together with as supporters to the Harvey family arms,--a triton with a
laurel-wreathed trident, and a sea-horse with a naval crown inscribed
'Trafalgar,' bearing underneath all as an additional motto the legend
_Redoutable et Fougueux_.

How for six years after Trafalgar the _Téméraire_ did her duty before
the enemy, at one time helping to keep Marshal Soult out of Cadiz, at
another taking her part in holding in check the powerful new fleet
that Napoleon created in Toulon to avenge Trafalgar on some future day
that never came--all that is another story. Her last shotted guns were
fired to silence a French battery in Hyères Bay, near the entrance to
Toulon harbour, which rashly opened fire on the _Téméraire_ one day.
The _Téméraire_ closed with the battery and gave the French gunners
one tremendous broadside that practically cleared the battery out. Not
a shot came from it again. The war story of the _Téméraire_ ends six
months later with her final paying off at Plymouth.

There only remained for the _Téméraire_, after that, to complete her
allotted span and await the striking of the inevitable hour.

 For age will rust the brightest blade,
 And time will break the stoutest bow;
 Was never wight so starkly made,
 But age and time will bring him low.

She outlasted, indeed, her old captain at Trafalgar. In 1836, six
years after Sir Eliab Harvey had been gathered to his fathers, his old
ship entered on her last turn of duty, harbour service at Sheerness
as Guardship of Ordinary, Captain-Superintendent's ship for the Fleet
Reserve in the Medway. By an interesting coincidence, the officer who
last of all hoisted his pennant on board the 'Fighting' _Téméraire_
was the man who had been her first lieutenant at Trafalgar, now a
grey-headed old post-captain, holding his last appointment before
retiring from the Service as Captain-Superintendent of Sheerness
dockyard, Captain Thomas Fortescue Kennedy. Actually the last guns
that were ever fired on board the 'Fighting' _Téméraire_ were for the
Royal Salute in honour of Queen Victoria's Coronation Day. Six weeks
after that, on the 16th of August 1838, the _Téméraire_ was put up for
auction and sold for £5530 to Mr. Beatson, the Rotherhithe shipbreaker.
She was sold out of the Navy 'all standing,' with her masts and yards
still in her, just as her guard-ship crew left the vessel, as Turner
saw her and has faithfully painted her: a fact, also, that explains
what has puzzled many critics of the famous picture, the removal to be
broken up of a man-of-war rigged and masted and with yards across.

So we come, at length, to the _Téméraire's_ final hour and her
appointed end.

 Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
   Where knelt the vanquished foe,
 When winds were hurrying o'er the flood
   And waves were white below;
 No more shall feel the victor's tread,
   Nor know the conquered knee--
 The harpies of the shore shall pluck
   The eagle of the sea.

All the way up the river on her last day, we are told, the _Téméraire_
was cheered as she passed along by the crews of the merchant ships
and the people on board the river steamboats 'surprised as well as
delighted by the novel spectacle of a 98-gun ship in the Pool,'[117]
while after they had begun to break the _Téméraire_ up at Rotherhithe
numbers of people came to visit 'the ship that helped to avenge Nelson
at Trafalgar,' attracted by reports of the finding of Trafalgar relics
on board. One of these was a round-shot, found deeply embedded in
the centre of one of the _Téméraire's_ main-deck beams with a French
sailor's red cap, which had evidently been used as an improvised wad
in the hurry of the fighting, stuck fast to it. Another was the brass
memorial tablet (already spoken of), let into the quarter-deck near the
wheel, and bearing the inscription, 'England expects that every man
will do his duty.'[118]

Two gigantic figures, quarter-gallery decorations, taken from the
_Téméraire_ during her breaking up, are still in existence, preserved
by the successors to the firm at whose hands the old ship met her
fate.[119] Any one, also, who cares to make a pilgrimage among the
byways of riverside London on the south side, may come across a church
within a stone's-throw of where the final scene in the _Téméraire's_
career was enacted--St. Paul's, Globe Street, Rotherhithe--in which the
altar, altar rails, and sanctuary chairs are all made of heart-of-oak
carved from the frame timbers of the 'Fighting' _Téméraire_.

[Illustration: RELICS OF THE 'FIGHTING' _TÉMÉRAIRE_

Two quarter-gallery figures now in the possession of Messrs. H. Castle
& Sons, Millbank.]

So the story reaches its close. It can hardly end better than with the
eloquent passage in which Mr. Ruskin has delivered what is, in intent,
the funeral oration at the passing of the 'Fighting' _Téméraire_.[120]

'This particular ship, crowned in the Trafalgar hour of trial with
chief victory, prevailing over the fatal vessel that had given Nelson
death--surely, if anything without a soul deserved honour or affection,
we owed them here. Those sails that strained so full bent into the
battle, that broad bow that struck the surf aside, enlarging silently
in steadfast haste, full front to the shot, resistless and without
reply, those triple ports whose choirs of flame rang forth in their
courses into the fierce revenging monotone, which, when it died away,
left no answering voice to rise any more upon the sea against the
strength of England--those sides that were wet with the long runlets
of English life-blood, like press planks at vintage, gleaming goodly
crimson down to the cast and clash of the washing foam--those pale
masts that stayed themselves up against the war-ruin, shaking out their
ensigns through the thunder, till sail and ensign drooped--steeped
in the death-stilled pause of Andalusian air, burning with its
witness-clouds of human souls at rest--surely for these some sacred
care might have been left in our thoughts, some quiet space amidst
the lapse of English waters? Nay, not so, we have stern keepers to
trust her glory to--the fire and the worm. Never more shall sunset lay
golden robe on her, nor starlight tremble on the waves that part at
her gliding. Perhaps, where the low gate opens to some cottage garden,
the tired traveller may ask idly why the moss grows so green on its
rugged wood, and even the sailor's child may not answer, nor know,
that the night dew lies deep in the war-rents of the wood of the old
_Téméraire_.'

 There's a far bell ringing
   At the setting of the sun
 And a phantom voice is singing
   Of the great days done.
 There's a far bell ringing,
 And a phantom voice is singing
 Of renown for ever clinging
   To the great days done.

[Illustration: ALEXANDRIA--July 11, 1882. THE _CONDOR_ ATTACKING FORT
MARABOUT

After the painting by W.L. Wyllie.]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 79: Ruskin, _Notes on the Turner Collection_, p. 80.]

[Footnote 80: Thornbury's _Life of Turner_, vol. i. pp. 335-336.]

[Footnote 81: 'She was towed up the river by two steam tugs; every
vessel that she passed appeared like a pigmy.'--_Gentleman's Magazine_,
'Domestic Occurrences,' September 16, 1838.]

[Footnote 82: Ruskin, _Notes on the Turner Collection_, p. 81.]

[Footnote 83: The _Téméraire_, of course, was fading _up_ the river,
but the exigences of euphony no doubt required the inversion.]

[Footnote 84: The _Téméraire_, from which the Trafalgar _Téméraire_
took her name, was a French 74, captured by Admiral Boscawen in his
battle with De la Clue off Lagos in August 1759. She served in the
British navy for some years, and after being utilised as a floating
battery at Plymouth during the American War, was finally sold out of
the service in 1783.]

[Footnote 85: '"Thirty-six hours' calm, and England is ours," so says
one of the French papers in announcing that the invasion of England is
to be attempted before the 14th July. A division of the Imperial Guard
has already arrived at Havre on its way to Boulogne, where the Emperor
will arrive within a week.'--The _Observer_, June 24, 1804.

'By an American gentleman just arrived from the Continent, we have
received positive and authentic information that the Boulogne flotilla
is in a complete state of equipment and ready to embrace the first
opportunity of putting to sea. Whether that opportunity will ever
be permitted to the enemy by our blockading squadrons remains to be
seen. The troops stationed on the uplands above Boulogne, and in its
vicinity, amount to upwards of 160,000 men.'--The _Times_, August 14,
1804.]

[Footnote 86: Captain Mahan, _The Influence of Sea Power upon the
French Revolution and Empire_, vol. ii. p. 118.]

[Footnote 87: _Memoirs and Correspondence of Lord Collingwood_, by G.L.
Newnham Collingwood, p. 93.]

[Footnote 88: Says the _Observer_ for the 18th of December: 'The
motto of Admiral Cornwallis seems to be that from Dryden: "Endure and
Conquer." We could dwell upon this theme for ever. Others have simply
taught the British Navy (apt scholars enough) to triumph. He has
first instructed them in manly perseverance and endurance so opposite
to the impetuosity of their natures. We could name the periods, and
these too frequently occurring, when a damaged yard or topmast was a
sufficient excuse for a good fortnight in port, and this with officers
of acknowledged gallantry. What a contrast have we now! The hardy
veteran deserves an Order of Merit to be invented on purpose for him.'
Without detracting from the admiral's merits this is a little hard on
some of Cornwallis's predecessors--on Hawke, for instance, who in the
Seven Years' War blockaded Brest throughout 'one of the worst winters
on record.' Says Horace Walpole, writing on the 14th of January 1760:
'What milksops the Marlboroughs and Turennes, the Blakes and the Van
Tromps appear now, who whipped into winter quarters the moment their
noses looked blue. There is Hawke in the Bay weathering _this_ winter,
after conquering in a storm.']

[Footnote 89: The capture of Admiral Villeneuve's frigate the _Didon_,
sent out on a mission of the highest importance, by the British frigate
_Phoenix_, prevented Villeneuve's junction with another French fleet
cruising in the Bay of Biscay. Hearing nothing of his colleague,
Villeneuve, after leaving Ferrol, became nervous and turned south,
instead of pushing on across the Bay for Brest as Napoleon expected him
to do.]

[Footnote 90: Wrote Collingwood to his wife on the 21st of August: 'I
have very little time to write to you, but must tell you what a squeeze
we were like to have got yesterday. While we were cruising off the
town, down came the combined fleet of thirty-three sail of men-of-war:
we were only three poor things, with a frigate and a bomb, and drew
off towards the Straits, not very ambitious, as you may suppose, to
try our strength against such odds. They followed us as we retired,
with sixteen large ships; but on our approaching the Straits they left
us, and joined their friends in Cadiz, where they are fitting and
replenishing their provisions. We, in our turn, followed them back, and
to-day have been looking into Cadiz, where their fleet is now as thick
as a wood' (_Memoirs and Correspondence of Lord Collingwood_, by G.L.
Newnham Collingwood, p. 109).]

[Footnote 91: Rear-Admiral Hercules Robinson's _Sea Drift_, p. 209.]

[Footnote 92: Narrative by Lieut. P. Harris Nicolas, Royal Marines, of
the _Belleisle_, quoted in the _Memoir of Admiral Sir William Hargood,
G.C.B._, Appendix E, p. 279.]

[Footnote 93: The 'Combined Fleet' was the everyday term in the Navy
for the fleets of France and Spain while acting together. It was used
also by the French and Spaniards themselves.]

[Footnote 94: Admiral Duncan at Camperdown, eight years before,
attacked in a double column formation, but the circumstances otherwise
were totally different.]

[Footnote 95: _Memoirs and Services of General Sir S.B. Ellis, K.C.B.,
of the Royal Marines_, p. 4. General Ellis was a second lieutenant of
Marines in the _Ajax_ at Trafalgar.]

[Footnote 96: Letter from Lieut. W. Price Cumby, first lieutenant of
the _Bellerophon_.]

[Footnote 97: _Personal Narrative of Events_, Vice-Admiral Wm. Stanhope
Lovell (formerly Badcock), p. 45.]

[Footnote 98: James's _Naval History_, vol. iii. p. 391.]

[Footnote 99: Lieut. P. Harris Nicolas, Royal Marines, in the _Memoir
of Admiral Sir William Hargood, G.C.B._, Appendix E, p. 279.]

[Footnote 100: Episodios Nacionales, par B. Perez Galdos. _Trafalgar_,
p. 157. Octava edicion. Madrid, 1893.]

[Footnote 101: _Combat de Trafalgar. Rapport fait au Ministre de la
Marine et des Colonies_, par E. Lucas, commandant le _Redoutable_, etc.
Published by H. Letuaire. Hyères, 1891.]

[Footnote 102: There were nearly 4000 French soldiers distributed among
Admiral Villeneuve's fleet, mostly embarked for the West Indies when it
originally sailed from Toulon.]

[Footnote 103: _Personal Narrative of Events_, Vice-Admiral Wm.
Stanhope Lovell (formerly Badcock), pp. 46, 47.]

[Footnote 104: 'Les grenades pleuvent des hunes du
_Redoutable_.'--_Monumens des Victoires et Conquêtes des Français_,
vol. xvi. p. 174.]

[Footnote 105: A terrible account of the awful carnage and destruction
caused on board the _Fougueux_ by the _Téméraire's_ broadside is given
in a letter by Captain Pierre Servaux of the Marine Artillery on board
the French ship, which was published in Paris in the _Figaro_ on the
21st of October 1898.]

[Footnote 106: 6th May 1806. _Biographie Maritime, etc._, par M.
Hennequin, Chef de Bureau au Ministère de la Marine. Paris, 1837; vol.
iii. p. 85. Captain Lucas was born in 1764, and died in 1819. Two
pictures of 'The _Redoutable_ at Trafalgar' have been exhibited at the
Salon.]

[Footnote 107: _Histoire de la Marine Française sous le Consulat et
L'Empire_, par E. Chevalier, p. 214. See also _Monumens des Victoires
et Conquêtes des Français_, vol. xvi.]

[Footnote 108: See Rear-Admiral Hercules Robinson's _Sea-Drift_, p.
208.]

[Footnote 109: _Life of Admiral Viscount Exmouth_, by Edward Osler,
Appendix A, p. 377.]

[Footnote 110: Vice-Admiral Alava in the _Santa Ana_, who had
surrendered to Collingwood in the _Royal Sovereign_.]

[Footnote 111: Rear-Admiral Don B. Hidalgo Cisneros.]

[Footnote 112: Admiral Dumanoir, writing from Tiverton in Devon, where
he was interned as a prisoner of war, to the _Times_ on January 2,
1806, in reply to certain adverse comments on his conduct, pleads that
he was 'handled very severely' in his attack. Dumanoir and his ships
were intercepted off Cape Finisterre, ten days after Trafalgar, and
captured bodily by Sir Richard Strachan's squadron. One of his ships
is afloat to this day, our only existing Trafalgar prize, and with the
_Victory_ the last left of all that fought at Trafalgar--the Devonport
training-ship _Implacable_. The _Implacable_ fought at Trafalgar as the
_Duguay Trouin_. On being taken into the British service in 1806, the
Admiralty gave the ship her present name.]

[Footnote 113: Marshall's _Naval Biography_, vol. i. part i. p. 275.]

[Footnote 114: Collingwood sent off his first short despatch announcing
the battle and Nelson's death, by the _Pickle_, a 4-gun schooner, on
the 26th of October. The completed despatch gave full details of the
battle and the casualty lists from most of the ships.]

[Footnote 115: Vice-Admiral Pierre Charles Jean Baptiste Sylvestre de
Villeneuve-Flayosc was born on December 31, 1763, five years after
Nelson. He became _garde de la Marine_ at fifteen. At the Revolution he
dropped the _particle nobiliaire_ from his name, and was thenceforward
known simply as Villeneuve. Napoleon took a fancy to him after
Villeneuve's escape from the battle of the Nile, as a 'lucky man,' and
to that fancy Villeneuve owed his command at Trafalgar.]

[Footnote 116: Grand Master Hélion de Villeneuve, Grand Master of
Rhodes; buried at Malta: Sainte Roseleyne de Villeneuve, Abbess of La
Celle Roubaud.]

[Footnote 117: _Gentleman's Magazine_, 'Domestic Occurrences,'
September 16, 1838.]

[Footnote 118: See _Notes and Queries_, 7th Series, vol. vi. p. 371.]

[Footnote 119: Messrs. H. Castle and Sons, of the Baltic Wharf,
Millbank, S.W., to whose courtesy the author is indebted for the
photographs of the two figures here reproduced.]

[Footnote 120: Ruskin, _Notes on the Turner Collection_, pp. 81-82.]




VI

'WELL DONE, CONDOR!'

ALEXANDRIA, 1882


But little recked they of doubts or fears that vexed the soul of the
wise, They did as the world did round them, and they claimed their
share of the prize.

Sir Rennell Rodd.


The modern story of what Lord Charles Beresford's _Condor_ did at the
bombardment of Alexandria on the 11th of July 1882 closes our series.
Everybody knows in a general way something about it, but the details of
the fight deserve attention on their own account. It was no doubt only
one incident of the day, but all the same it was a good piece of work.

       *       *       *       *       *

This briefly is how the situation came into being at the outset.

The bombardment of Alexandria was brought about by the usurpation of
power in Egypt by Arabi Pasha and the so-called National Party early
in 1882, raising the cry of 'Egypt for the Egyptians.' Great Britain,
alarmed at their avowed hostility towards her, was forced to intervene
on behalf of her interests in Egypt, and to ensure the safety of
the Suez Canal. Diplomacy, and all efforts to induce the Sultan, as
suzerain of the Khedive, to take action, having failed, in June the
British Mediterranean Fleet was ordered to the scene, at first by way
of demonstration. A French squadron arrived at the same time, France
being specially interested in Egypt under the Joint Control agreement,
and other Great Powers sent representative ships. In reply Arabi and
his partisans began throwing up works and mounting additional guns at
Alexandria, and then riots broke out in the city and at Cairo leading
to a massacre of Europeans. At the end of June the arming of the forts,
which had been suspended under direct orders from Constantinople,
was defiantly resumed, drawing strong remonstrances from the British
Admiral, Sir Beauchamp Seymour, as the late Lord Alcester then was.
The discovery of a plot to wreck part of the Suez Canal and to block
Alexandria harbour, and the activity displayed on the fortifications,
resulted in leave being telegraphed from England to the British
Admiral to take action if necessary. Thereupon, on the 6th of July,
Admiral Seymour demanded the immediate disarmament of the harbour
forts on pain of bombardment. An evasive reply was given, while the
mounting of heavy guns proceeded with increased vigour at night, as the
searchlights of the fleet disclosed. On the 10th the British Admiral
notified to the Governor of Alexandria that, unless in the course of
that day certain of the harbour forts were evacuated and handed over to
him to dismantle, he would open fire next morning. The foreign consuls
were informed of Sir Beauchamp Seymour's intention, and during the
day all the foreign men-of-war withdrew outside, the French squadron
proceeding to Port Said.

The British Fleet off Alexandria comprised eight battle-ships and
five gun-vessels. When the British Admiral's ultimatum was sent off
on the morning of the 10th two of the battle-ships, the _Invincible_,
on board which Admiral Seymour had his flag, and the _Monarch_, with
the gun-vessel _Condor_ commanded by Lord Charles Beresford, and the
other gun-vessels, were inside the harbour. The rest of the fleet,
the battle-ships _Alexandra_, _Sultan_, _Inflexible_, _Téméraire_,
_Superb_, and _Penelope_, were lying outside.

At this point we take up the story of the _Condor_, and of the part
she played in the events of the hour. As it happened, Mr. Frederic
Villiers, the well-known artist and correspondent of the _Graphic_, was
on board as the guest of Lord Charles Beresford. His vivid narrative
of events gives a striking account of all that passed under his
eyes.[121]

For the last day or two everything had been ready and all the ships
were kept cleared for action. The Egyptians were expected to throw
off the mask and try to take the British fleet by surprise. Special
precautions were taken on board the _Condor_, which lay well up the
harbour in proximity to the Ras-el-Tin battery. There an exceptionally
dangerous piece, a breech-loading gun firing a 250-lb. shot, and
mounted on the Moncrieff disappearing system, was known to be in
position. The _Condor_ was a small second-class gun-boat of some 780
tons, and the thin iron sheeting on her sides was hardly stouter than
a piece of cardboard. A rifle bullet could penetrate it, and there
was not a scrap of armour about the ship. To protect his ship as far
as possible against the big gun, Lord Charles, we are told, converted
'the shore side of the _Condor_ into a temporary ironclad by dressing
her in chain armour. Every scrap of spare iron and chain on board was
hung over her bulwarks, giving her a rakish list to starboard.' Also,
as Mr. Villiers relates, 'all available canvas had been got out and
draped round the inboard of the ship's bulwarks. Hammocks had been
slung round the wheel to protect the steersmen from splinters. The
main-topmast was lowered, the bowsprit run in and the Gatling in the
main-top surrounded with canvas. Even the idlers, who constituted
the engine-room artificers, stewards, and odd hands on board, were
continually practised in drill.'

Shortly before sunset on the 10th Lord Charles Beresford, who had been
for instructions on board the flagship, returned on board the _Condor_
and turned up all hands. 'He at once,' says Mr. Villiers, 'called the
crew together and from the bridge addressed them to this effect.

'"My men, the Admiral's orders to the _Condor_ are to keep out of
action, to transfer signals, and to more or less nurse her bigger
sisters, if they get into trouble." Eloquent groans burst from the
men. "But," continued Beresford, "if an opportunity should occur," and
he (their commander) rather had an idea that it would, "the _Condor_
was to take advantage of it and to prove her guns." The crowd of
upturned faces listening to these significant remarks now shone with
satisfaction in the ruddy after-glow of the sunset, and then Lord
Charles added: "No matter what happened, he was confident that they
would give a good account of themselves and their smart little ship."
To see the gleam in their eyes, who could doubt that within them beat
hearts as stout as in those hearts of oak of the grand old days?'

The Admiral's instructions in writing, as issued to the commanders of
the gun-vessels early next morning, ran thus. 'They are,' he said, 'to
take up a position as far out of the line of fire or of forts, or of
the _Inflexible_, as convenient, moving away immediately it is found
that fire is being directed on them. They will take advantage of every
opportunity of annoying the enemy, especially where camps are to be
seen, or where infantry or other troops are seen; but they are to avoid
as much as possible the fire of the enemy's heavy guns.'

'There was little sleep that night,' says Mr. Villiers. 'As I lay in my
cot ... I could catch the familiar squeaking noise of the fiddle coming
from the fo'c'sle, as the crew passed the feverish hours before the
impending action with a horn-pipe or some popular ditty. Even the old
gun-boat seemed to bestir herself long before dawn, for the hissing of
steam and rattle of coal told me that the engineers were firing her for
the eventful struggle with Arabi's forts. At the first peep of day the
_Condor_ steamed off from her moorings, and followed the other vessels
out of the harbour, as they took up their stations for bombarding.'

Even then, though, it seemed possible that there might be a slip 'twixt
cup and lip.

At daybreak on the 11th the despatch boat _Helicon_, which had been
ordered to remain in harbour to the last, was seen standing out. She
had signals flying that she had on board Egyptian officers with a
letter from the Egyptian Government. The signal caused dismay for
the moment among the men. They were already at quarters, braced up
and eagerly awaiting the order to begin firing. Were the enemy going
to back down at the last moment? But the suspense was not for long.
The message, which purported to be a reply to the British Admiral's
ultimatum, was on the face of it merely a subterfuge to gain time. The
bearers of it were sent back again with a written statement that their
proposals were inadmissible. The Egyptian gunners in the batteries on
shore, indeed, could be seen ready for action at their guns. As soon as
the officers had been returned to shore the day's work began.

       *       *       *       *       *

The opening scene may perhaps be best described in the words of the
correspondent of the _Standard_ newspaper, Mr. Cameron, afterwards
killed in battle in the Soudan, who was on board the flagship
_Invincible_. 'At half-past six,' he says, 'a quiet order was passed
round the decks, "Load with common shell." A gleam of satisfaction
shone on the men's faces. Half-an-hour later a signal was made to
the _Alexandra_ to fire the challenging gun. That was done, and, the
Egyptians continuing hostile preparations, the flags ran up at the
_Invincible's_ mast-head for the fleet to commence action. The order
was given on board the _Invincible_ to begin "independent firing."
A deafening salvo from five 9-inch guns went from the side of the
_Invincible_, while overhead the ten Nordenfelt guns in the tops
swelled the din which burst forth from all the ships with a succession
of drum-like tappings.

'The smoke from the very commencement of the engagement was so dense
that we could see nothing of the effect which our fire was producing,
nor of what the enemy were doing; but soon after we began, a sharp
scream overhead, followed by the uplifting columns of spray to seaward
as the shots struck the water, made it clear that the enemy were
replying to our iron salute.... They appeared to have got our range
pretty accurately, and round and conical shot whistled thickly through
the masts. I went round the ship and found the men fighting the
main-deck guns all stripped to the waist. Between each shot they had to
sit down and wait until the smoke cleared a little.'

Meanwhile the _Condor_ and the other gun-vessels lay in the offing,
behind the battle-ships that were engaging Fort Mex, looking on and
awaiting their opportunity. The first thing that came the _Condor's_
way was to assist the _Téméraire_, which had got aground. The
_Téméraire_ was got off about eight o'clock, and immediately after that
the _Condor's_ chance offered.

[Illustration:

Emery Walker sc.

BOMBARDMENT OF ALEXANDRIA: JULY 11, 1882--9 A.M.

(In the course of the morning the _Inflexible_ and _Téméraire_, and the
_Alexandra_, _Sultan_, and _Superb_, shifted their positions.)]

Lord Charles Beresford, as he watched the battle, had observed
that the westernmost of the forts, Fort Marabout, was firing at the
British inshore-squadron opposite Mex, the _Invincible_, _Monarch_,
and _Penelope_, and apparently annoying them. He sent for one of his
officers and said, 'I shall stand down and make myself useful by
engaging that fort.' 'You must be mad, sir,' was the reply. 'It is the
second heaviest fort, and one shot from the heavy guns would knock us
into smithereens.' But the commander of the _Condor_ was not to be put
off that way. 'The apparently impossible,' he answered, 'is often the
easiest. Anyway, nothing can be done unless we try.... If I can get on
the angle of the fort, I believe we can hit their guns without their
hitting us. The thing is to get there.'

Fort Marabout mounted three 9-inch Armstrongs, firing 250-lb.
shells; one 7-inch Armstrong, firing 115-lb. shells; eight 10-inch
muzzle-loaders, firing 84-lb. hollow shot, or 100-lb. solid shot;
seventeen 32-pounders, smooth-bores; and seven mortars, two firing
13-inch shells and five 11-inch mortars. There were also in this
fort--whether mounted or not was unknown--two 10-inch Armstrongs,
firing 400-lb. shells; two more 9-inch Armstrongs, and one 7-inch.
Against that the little _Condor_ set out to match herself, with
one 7-inch gun, firing 12-lb. shells, and two 64-pounders, three
7-pounders, and one or two Gatlings. As has been said also, the
little sloop had not an inch of armour on her sides or deck:--boilers,
engines, magazines, all were open to the lightest of the enemy's shot.
All the same they steamed off towards the grey ramparts of the big fort
without a moment of doubt or hesitation.

Mr. Villiers carries on the story.

'The _Condor_ steamed ahead. Our men stripped off their jackets. The
decks were sanded, and the racers, or rails, on which the guns run were
oiled.

'As we neared Fort Marabout, its terraces and embrasures bristling
with Armstrong guns, not a man aboard but knew the peril of our
audacity,--for a little gun-boat, one of the smallest in Her Majesty's
service, to dare to attack the second most powerful fortress in
Alexandria,--but the shout of enthusiasm from the crew when the order
was given to "open fire!" readily showed their confidence in their
beloved leader. The guns, run out "all a-port," blazed away. The smoke
hung heavily about the decks. The flash of the cannonade lit up for a
moment the faces of the men, already begrimed with powder, and steaming
with exertion, for the morning was hot and sultry. The captain from the
bridge, glass in hand, watching anxiously the aim of her gunners, would
shout from time to time: "What was that, my men?" 'Sixteen hundred
yards. Sir!' "Then give them eighteen this time, and drop it in."
"Aye, aye, Sir!"

'Then a shout from the men on the main-mast told us on deck that
the shot had made its mark. The little ship quaked again with the
blast of her guns. The men were now almost black with powder, and
continually dipped their heads in the sponge buckets to keep the grit
from their eyes. One of our shots had fallen well within the enemy's
works; another had taken a yard of scarp off--for a slight breeze had
lifted the fog of smoke, and all on board could plainly see the enemy
working in their embrasures. The Arab gunners now trained one of their
Armstrongs in our direction. Our engine-bell sounded, and the _Condor_
at once steamed ahead. A puff of smoke from the fort, a dull boom, a
rush of shell through the air, and a jet of water shot up far astern,
followed by a shout from our men. The enemy had missed us. When the
Arabs reloaded and brought to bear, the _Condor_ steamed back again,
and the shell whistled across her bows.

[Illustration:

_Photo, London Stereoscopic Co._

VICE-ADMIRAL LORD CHARLES BERESFORD, K.C.B.]

'The enemy's fire on the ships attacking Fort Mex slackened, and
soon ceased altogether. Irritated by the constant fire of the little
_Condor_, the Egyptian gunners now devoted their entire attention to
us. They set about slewing their other Armstrongs in our direction.
Their long black muzzles slowly turned their gaping mouths towards
us. We looked at each other, then some of us looked at the captain,
for the situation was becoming critical.... In an instant he decided,'
proceeds Mr. Villiers, 'and gave the order for the _Condor_ to run
in closer, and we came within 1200 yards. We all saw in a moment the
wisdom of the seeming audacity. We were well within their guard; though
the Gyppies blazed at us, they could only practise at our masts; they
could not depress their guns sufficiently to hull us. We cheered again
and again as their abortive attempts to get at us failed, for a shot
below water-mark, with the lurch the _Condor_ was already making with
all her guns abroadside, would have sent her down to Davy Jones's
locker in less than ten minutes.

'The Egyptians, in their rage, opened fire with their smooth-bores from
the lower parapet. The round-shot would whistle through our rigging,
making us lie low awhile; but we would scramble to our feet again,
dropping another 9-inch shell well within their works, scattering their
gunners, and making things quite unpleasant for them. Only once did the
enemy touch us, when a deep thud started the little ship trembling from
stem to stern. The carpenter was ordered below. There was an anxious
moment or two, when at last he returned, reporting the glad news that
"all was well"; we had only been grazed.'

It may be noted, by the way, that at twelve hundred yards a gun like
the 9-inch guns on Fort Marabout has a velocity of 1233 feet a second,
and a penetrative power equal to carrying their 250-lb. shot clean
through a target of wrought iron nine and a half inches thick. Had
only one of these projectiles hit fairly, there would have been an end
of the _Condor_, there and then. That is certain. At the same time,
at twelve hundred yards the time of flight of a shot from muzzle to
mark would be 2.72 seconds, and the shot in that period would drop
75-1/2 feet. It was not an impossible task for the Egyptian gunners
on the ramparts to hit the _Condor_. That they failed utterly was the
_Condor's_ luck--the fortune of war, pure and simple. The _Condor's_
crew through it all seemed to bear charmed lives. Shots fell thick
in the water all round, as other ships observed, or cut the rigging
overhead. One big shot tore the awning over the quarter-deck. A 10-inch
shell struck the water close underneath the ship's bows, and the column
of water sent up by the splash knocked an officer and two men off the
forecastle.

To resume with Mr. Villiers.

'It was a scorching, thirsty time on deck. The particles of carbon from
the powder floating in the air dried our throats till we almost choked.
The captain's steward was always ready to quench the thirst of the
guests, Mr. Moberly Bell, the now famous manager of the _Times_, and
myself, with cool drinks whenever we found time between the shots to
rush below; but just as the tumbler reached our lips the blast of the
guns would almost shatter the glass against one's teeth, and we would
rush on deck to see how the shot had told.

'All the time the navigating lieutenant, with eyes fixed on the chart,
was calmly moving the vessel up and down a narrow tortuous passage
which we could distinctly see, by peering over the side of the vessel,
for the reefs on either flank of the narrow channel glistened from out
the blue-black of the waters.'

Here is Lord Charles Beresford's own account of the _Condor's_ day at
Alexandria, as briefly given once to an interviewer. 'The _Téméraire_
got aground on the northern part of the Boghaz Pass, so we went down
and towed her off. Whilst doing so the Marabout Fort opened fire on
the English ships inside the bar. The idea struck me that the _Condor_
being small, with low freeboard, might get through the zone of fire
and under the fort. It wasn't altogether easy work, for had one shell
struck the _Condor_ fair and square we should have been sunk to a dead
certainty. However, she was easy to handle, and when once we were on
the angle of the fort and under it we were all right. My dodge was to
throw a couple of missiles into the fort at a time, and then back or
fill, as the case might be, so that just when the Egyptians thought
they had got our right range, the _Condor_ was out of the way, and so
it went on pretty well all day.[122] The men behaved splendidly,--upon
my word, I don't think they have their equals!'

For upwards of two hours the _Condor_ fought Fort Marabout, and then
the Admiral, apparently thinking that she had as much as she could
manage, signalled to the _Beacon_, another gun-vessel (Commander
G.W. Hand), and the senior officer's ship of the flotilla, for the
_Bittern_, _Cygnet_, and _Decoy_ to go to her assistance. The fort,
though, had already, by that, been practically subdued. The Egyptians
had had enough, and soon afterwards ceased firing, although they kept
their flag flying until next day, when the officer who is now Admiral
Sir A.K. Wilson, V.C., landed, and hauled it down. He presented the
colours of Marabout to Lord Charles Beresford, in whose possession they
are now, together with another trophy of the fight, a fragment of one
of the _Condor's_ shells which was found to have passed through the
magazine of Fort Marabout, and did not explode until outside. Among
his most treasured mementos Lord Charles also preserves the _Condor's_
binnacle, as taken from the ship when, some ten or twelve years later,
she passed into the shipbreakers' hands at Dead Man's Bay, Plymouth
Sound.

In her action with Fort Marabout the _Condor_ expended over nineteen
and a half hundredweights of powder (a ton all but fifty-four
pounds), and two hundred and one projectiles:--65 rounds of 7-inch
shell, 128 64-pounder shells, and eight 7-pounder shells; besides 200
rounds of Gatling gun ammunition, 13 war-rockets, and 1000 rounds of
Martini-Henry small-arm ammunition.

When the gun-boats had finished their work Admiral Seymour made the
signal of recall, and they returned, passing close to the _Invincible_
to their stations.

Now it was that the celebrated signal to the _Condor_ was made. The
little vessel was passing the flagship, from on board which the
_Invincible's_ men were cheering her enthusiastically, when the Admiral
on the quarter-deck turned to his flag-lieutenant, Lieutenant Hedworth
Lambton,--the future captain of the _Powerful_ and the man who saved
Ladysmith,--and said, as if musing to himself, 'I should like to tell
them something.' Lieutenant Lambton made a suggestion, and within less
than a minute, the flags went up at the _Invincible's_ mast-head making
the words, 'Well Done, _Condor_!' That is the story of the _Condor_ at
Alexandria. The day ended for her with covering the landing-party sent
ashore at the close of the bombardment to spike the guns of Fort Mex.

       *       *       *       *       *

The story of the _Condor_ alone, of all the ships at the bombardment of
Alexandria, has been told. For one reason or another, what the little
gun-boat did in the action appealed specially to people at the time,
and attracted universal attention. It was, of course, largely a matter
of opportunity--the seizing of an exceptional chance for an effort of
individual daring. All at Alexandria did well, and the _Condor_ had
the best of the luck. In fairness, a few words must be also said of
others of the ships present on the occasion, and of the part that they
individually took in the fighting.

In addition to the _Condor_, another ship won the honour of a special
signal 'Well Done!' from the Admiral--the big _Inflexible_, captained
on that day by the officer who is now Admiral Sir John Arbuthnot
Fisher, G.C.B., First Sea Lord of the Admiralty. The _Inflexible_
during the earlier part of the engagement was posted outside the reefs
off the 'Corvette Pass' entrance to Alexandria harbour, enfilading the
Lighthouse batteries. 'It is invidious to particularise,' says the
_Times_ correspondent, who was on board another ship in the fleet,
'but the _Inflexible's_ firing to-day was certainly second to none.'
Describing how the _Inflexible_ shifted her position, and at ranges
between 3000 and 5000 yards shelled the Mex Fort with one turret, and
the Ras-el-Tin batteries with the other, the correspondent continues:
'Every shell seemed either to burst right over the Ras-el-Tin works,
or to pitch upon the very parapet of the Mex Fort upon the hill.'
It was just after this that Admiral Seymour signalled, 'Well done,
_Inflexible_!' The _Inflexible_ bore the brunt of the firing from the
Ras-el-Tin batteries for three and a half hours, until she had silenced
the Egyptian guns. After that, with the aid of the _Téméraire_, she
silenced the Lighthouse Fort and Fort Adda, the front of which strongly
fortified work her fire is said to have literally blown in.

It was on board the _Inflexible_ also that the late Commander
Younghusband performed an exploit of great daring--though only
characteristic of the man, and of the spirit that has ever existed in
the service to which he belonged. In the midst of the fighting the vent
of one of the _Inflexible's_ 80-ton guns had become choked; with the
result that for the time being the gun was completely out of action.
Lieutenant Younghusband (as the gallant officer then was) calmly got
inside the gun--a muzzle-loader--and caused himself to be rammed by
the hydraulic rammer right up the bore of the gun (a tube 16 inches in
diameter) until he reached the powder-chamber, when he managed with
his fingers to remedy the defect, all the time at imminent risk of
suffocation from the powder gases. When he had done his work, a rope
fastened to his feet hauled him back and drew him out of the gun.

The _Inflexible_ at Alexandria had numerous dents made in her armour,
and the unarmoured part of the hull was pierced by shot in several
places. Her most serious injury was from a 10-inch shell, which struck
the ship below the water-line outside the central armoured 'citadel,'
and, glancing up, passed through her decks, killing one of the men, and
mortally wounding Lieutenant Francis Jackson as he was directing the
fire of one of the light guns on the superstructure.

Her due, too, must be given to the 'Old _Alex_,' as the Navy used to
call the favourite flagship of the Fleet during the closing years of
Queen Victoria's reign. On board the _Alexandra_ (Captain C.F. Hotham)
Mr. Israel Harding, the chief gunner of the ship, won the V.C. Just
at ten o'clock, about three hours after the action began, a 10-inch
spherical shell crashed through the _Alexandra's_ side, at a part where
the ship was unarmoured, and with its fuse burning rolled along the
main-deck. With great gallantry and presence of mind, Mr. Harding, who
from below had heard the shout, 'There's a live shell just above the
hatchway!' rushed up the ladder, and taking some water from a tub near
by, dashed it upon the burning fuse, after which he seized the shell
and plunged it bodily into the tub, rendering it harmless. For this
act of valour, which undoubtedly saved many lives, Mr. Harding was
deservedly awarded the Victoria Cross. The shell was presented to His
Majesty King Edward, then Prince of Wales. It was in the circumstances
by no means an inappropriate presentation. The _Alexandra_ was so named
in honour of Her Majesty Queen Alexandra, then Princess of Wales, who
launched the ship on an April day of the year 1875 that Chatham is not
likely to forget. On the stocks, until a few days before she was sent
afloat, the ship had been known as the _Superb_, and her re-naming as
the _Alexandra_ was meant as a special compliment to her royal sponsor,
which met with universal applause. It drew forth, among other poetical
tributes elsewhere, the following Latin verses in the _Times_:--


THE LAUNCH OF THE ALEXANDRA

 Fulcra securifera fabri succidite dextra;
     Omen habet primas si bene tangit aquas.
 Dicite--Sit Felix--proraeque invergite vina;
     Nomen _Alexandrae_ dulce _Superba_ tulit.
 Nomine mutato, sit et omine fausta secundo;
     Sit sine rivali, nec tamen ipsa ferox.
 Jam neque tormentis opus est, nec triplice lamna,
     Forma tumescentes sola serenat aquas.
 Te capiente capi qui non velit ipse phaselus,
     'Ferreus, et verè ferreus iste fuit.'

 H.K.

To add to the _éclat_ of the _Alexandra's_ launch, the Archbishop of
Canterbury (Dr. Tait), with the Bishop of Rochester, conducted the
religious service on the occasion--the first time that a religious
service of any kind had been used at the launch of a British man-of-war
since the Reformation. To Queen Alexandra we owe the restoration of
the ancient usage of invoking, at the outset of their existence, the
protection of Almighty God on the ships by which our homes and our
Empire are guarded, and also on those who are to man them; and the
practice, so instituted, has continued to be observed at the launches
of all British men-of-war, ever since the launch of the _Alexandra_.

The _Alexandra_ came out of action after the bombardment of Alexandria
with twenty-four hits from shot or shell on the hull outside the
armour-plating, and with several dents in her armour, one of her
funnels damaged, and her rigging a good deal cut about. Most of the
enemy's shots, fortunately, had been aimed too high.[123]

The _Invincible_ (Captain R.H. More-Molyneux), on board which ship
Sir Beauchamp Seymour had his flag for the day,--the _Alexandra_ was
really his flagship, but he had removed into the _Invincible_ a short
time before because of her lighter draught in order to enter the
harbour,--had also numerous dents in her armour near the water-line,
and the unarmoured parts of her hull had holes through it in several
places. Her part in the fighting was for most of the time at anchor
off Fort Mex, and the precision of her firing was enthusiastically
applauded by the officers of the American ships who watched it from
the offing. It was from the _Invincible_ that the landing-party of
four officers and twelve men--all volunteers--went off, towards the
close of the action, to disable the guns of Fort Mex. The duty was an
extremely dangerous one. There was no means of knowing what troops
the enemy might not have under cover close behind the fort. To effect
their landing the little party--the officers were Lieutenants Barton
Bradford and Poore, Flag-Lieutenant Lambton, and Major Tulloch of the
Welsh Regiment (Military Staff Officer to the Admiral)--had to swim
through the surf. No opposition, however, met them, and after bursting
the guns with charges of gun-cotton the party returned on board without
a casualty.

Less is on record about what took place on board the other ships. All
did their duty, and it was not their fault that no chances of special
distinction came their way. The _Superb_[124] (Captain T. Le H. Warde)
was hit badly near the water-line, just above the armour-belt, by a
shell that shattered a hole in the hull 10 feet long by 4 feet wide.
One shot made a hole, 10 inches across, in the fore part of the ship
near one of her torpedo-ports, and another a hole, a foot across, a
little aft of her battery; besides which her armour was dented and her
foremast shot through. The _Sultan_ (Captain W.J. Hunt-Grubbe, C.B.,
A.D.C.) had an armour-plate on the water-line dented and 'started,'
four boats damaged, and one funnel shot through. The _Penelope_
(Captain St. G.C. d'Arcy-Irvine) was hulled eight times, and one of her
guns had its muzzle chipped. The _Téméraire_ and _Monarch_ (Captains
H.F. Nicholson and H. Fairfax, C.B., A.D.C.)--though the value of the
work they did and the way they were handled were second to none--came
out of action with little or no damage to report.

       *       *       *       *       *

Here we break off finally and close the book. Alike in our stories of
the far-off past and the last story of the nearer past, the men whose
names have been mentioned, round whom the incidents related centred,
are, after all, only typical of their fellows in the Sea Service at
the present hour. As occasion will prove too, when the time next comes
for Great Britain to stand to her arms once more in defence on the sea
of her rights and the honour of the flag against a European foe, the
enemy, whosoever he may be, will find the spirit of the Cornwallis's
and Rodneys and Faulknors and the Gardiners of the older day--to name
no other, no more recent names--burning as brightly as of yore in the
breasts of those who in that hour will officer and man the war-ships of
the British Fleet.

 No wonder England holds
   Dominion o'er the seas--
 Still the Red Cross shall face the world,
   While she has men like these!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 121: _Pictures of Many Wars_, pp. 177, etc.]

[Footnote 122: This is very much the way that the late Admiral Sir W.R.
Mends, G.C.B., (then a captain) handled the _Arethusa_ frigate (now a
training-ship in the Thames) under sail at the bombardment of Odessa
on the 22nd of April 1854, to the enthusiastic admiration of the whole
fleet.]

[Footnote 123: The first officer to hoist his flag in the _Alexandra_
was the late Admiral of the Fleet Sir Geoffrey Phipps Hornby, G.C.B.
She was afterwards the flagship, also in the Mediterranean, of the
late Duke of Edinburgh. Sir Geoffrey Hornby hoisted his flag on board
on Monday, the 15th of January 1877, and the _Alexandra_ was his
flagship when in the following year, at the most critical moment for
Europe of the Russo-Turkish War, Sir Geoffrey, with a division of the
Mediterranean Fleet, made the passage of the Dardanelles. Speaking
of the close association between the _Alexandra_ and the royal lady
who so auspiciously sent the splendid battleship afloat, Sir Geoffrey
Hornby's biographer, his daughter, Mrs. Fred. Egerton, says: 'H.R.H.
was recognised, so to speak, as the patron saint of the ship. Her
birthday, December 1, became the fête day of the ship; a Danish cross,
with a garland of oak leaves between the arms of the cross, was adopted
as the crest, and a photograph of the Princess, presented by her to the
officers, received the place of honour in the wardroom.']

[Footnote 124: One of Lord Beaconsfield's 'purchased squadron,' an
ironclad built in England for Turkey, and bought, with the _Belleisle_,
_Orion_, and _Neptune_, at the time of the 'scare' of 1878, during the
Russo-Turkish War, when the crossing of the Balkans by the Russian
armies threatened Constantinople and strained the diplomatic relations
between Great Britain and Russia almost to breaking-point.]




INDEX


  'Achille,' The, 272

  Admiral of the Red, 281

  Affleck, Commodore, 130

  'Africa, The,' 277

  'Agamemnon, The,' 79, 81

  Aix, 223

  'Ajax, The' (see under Ships)

  Alava, Vice-Admiral, 245, 268 (note 1)

  Alcester, Lord (see Seymour, Admiral)

  'Alcide, The' (see under Ships)

  'Alert, The,' 57

  Alexandra, Queen, 307-308 (and note)

  'Alexandra, The' (see under Ships)

  Alexandria, bombardment of, 287-311

  'Alfred, The,' 86-87

  Alms, Capt. James, 13, 41

  'America, The,' 94, 108

  'Andromache, The' (see under Ships)

  Anson, Admiral Lord George, 12

  'Anson, The,' 107

  Antigua, West Indies, 54, 56

  Antilles, the, 101

  April 12, day of Rodney's victory, 171 (note 1)

  Arabi Pasha, 287, 288

  'Ardent,' The, 141-142, 144

  'Arethusa, The' (see under Ships)

  'Arrogant, The,' 105

  'Asia, The,' 177-181

  'Astrée,' The, 97, 98

  Atcherley, Capt., 265-267

  Augereau, Marshal, 221

  'Auguste,' The, 67

  Austin, Capt., 39


  Bacon, John, statue of Rodney, 162

  Badcock, Midshipman (Vice-Admiral W.S. Lovell), 247-248 (and note)

  Balchen, Admiral, 183

  Balfour, Capt. John, 106

  Bantry Bay, 219

  Barbados, 54, 56

  'Barfleur, The' (see under Ships)

  Baron, Lieut., 27, 38

  Basque Roads, 223, 224

  Basse Terre, Guadeloupe, 97

  Battle formation adopted by Nelson, 236

  Baudoin, Capt., 256-259

  Bay of Biscay, 222, 228

  Bayne, Capt., 111

  Bazin, Capt., 259

  'Beacon, The,' 302

  Beatson, Mr., shipbreaker, 214, 283

  Beaulieu, Marquis de, 69

  Beaumanoir, de, 140

  'Bedford, The' (see under Ships)

  Bell, Moberly, 300

  'Belle Poule,' The, 67

  Belleisle, 205, 210

  'Belleisle, The' (see under Ships)

  'Bellerophon, The' (see under Ships)

  'Belliqueux, The' (see under Ships)

  'Bellona, The,' 182, 183

  Benbow, Admiral, 174

  'Benbow, The,' 45

  Beresford, Lord Charles, 198, 287, 289, 290, 294-304

  Beresina, Bridge of the, 195

  Bertheaume Bay, 227

  'Berwick, The' (see under Ships)

  Betisy, Vicomte de, 68

  'Bien Venu,' The (see 'Undaunted' under Ships)

  'Billy Blue,' 205-212

  Bismarck, Prince, 60

  Blackwall Reach, 214

  Blackwood, Capt., 231, 240-241, 243, 274

  Blair, Capt. Wm., 107, 111

  Blake, Admiral, 200

  'Blanche, The,' 197

  Blane, Dr., 76, 100, 101, 119, 120, 121, 126, 128, 129, 137, 138, 149,
  155, 159, 160, 168

  Boghaz Pass, Alexandria, 301

  Boscawen, Admiral, 202, 217 (note 2)

  Bougainville, Louis Antoine de, 66, 102, 132, 139, 141, 144, 154

  Bouillé, Marquis de, 73, 98, 158

  Boulogne, 212, 220, 227

  Bourayne, ----, 68

  'Bourgogne,' The, 67, 143, 149

  Bowen, Lieut., 176

  'Boyne, The' (see under Ships)

  Bradford, Lieut. Barton, 309

  Brest, 55, 205, 220, 221, 223, 224-225, 226, 227, 228

  Bridge of the Beresina, 195

  Bridport, Lord, 209, 210 (and note)

  'Britannia, The,' 247

  British Mediterranean Fleet, 288

  Broke, Capt., 170

  Brown, Capt. John, 177-180

  Bruce, Midshipman, 231

  'Brunswick, The,' 206

  'Bucentaure,' The (see under Ships--French)

  Buckner, Capt., 110

  Burnett, Capt., 137

  Busch, Moritz, 60

  Busigny, Capt., 275

  Byng, Admiral, 12, 19 (and note), 21, 202

  Byng, Sir George, 12

  Byron, Capt. Geo. Anson, 79, 80, 166

  Byron, John, 79


  Cadiz, 227, 228, 229, 230, 234, 235, 263, 269, 273, 275, 277, 281

  Cairo, 288

  Calder, Vice-Admiral, 222, 224, 228, 229, 230

  Caldicot Castle, 42

  Cameron, Mr., correspondent of the 'Standard,' 293-296

  Campbell, Lieut., 23, 31, 39

  Campbell, Rear-Admiral, 220

  Camperdown, battle of, 13, 41, 170

  'Canada, The' (see under Ships)

  Cape de Gata, 15, 34

  Cape Finisterre, 221, 228, 229, 269 (note 1)

  Cape Haitien, San Domingo, 55, 165

  Cape Palos, 16

  Cape Passano, 12

  Cape St. Mary, 230

  Cape St. Vincent, 107

  Cape Solomon, 82

  Carkett, Lieut., 22, 24, 27-31, 38

  Carronades or 'smashers,' 75

  Carthagena, 14-17, 33

  Caskets, the, 183

  Casse, du, 174

  Castellan, de, 67

  Castlereagh, Lord, 218

  Castries, 74

  Cawsand Bay, 220, 223

  'Centaur, The' (see under Ships)

  'César,' The (see under Ships--French)

  Ceuta, 15

  Champmartin, de, 68

  Charette, de la, 67, 143

  Charles I., 199-200

  Charles II., 11

  Charrington, Capt. Nicholas, 128

  Chatham, 11, 307

  Cherbourg Bay, 201

  Chesapeake Campaign, 63

  'Chesapeake, The,' 169

  Choissat, Sergeant, 120

  Cibber, Colley, 37

  Cibon, Comte de, 69

  Cisneros, Rear-Admiral Don B. Hidalgo, 268 (note 2)

  Clarke, Capt., 12

  Clearing for action, 232

  Clochetterie, Sieur de la, 67, 102

  Clue, Admiral de la, 15-16, 33, 217 (note 2)

  Cobb, G. Wheatley, 42

  Cochet, P., 40

  Collingwood, Admiral, 202, 212, 224, 228, 229-230, 239, 245, 247, 255,
  268 (note 1), 274-275, 278

  'Collingwood, The,' 10

  'Colossus, The,' 263

  Colours captured, fate of, 196, 278

  Combined Fleet, the, 234

  'Condor, The' (see under Ships)

  'Conqueror, The' (see under Ships)

  Contamine, General de, 266, 267

  Cornwallis, Hon. Wm. ('Billy Blue'), 77, 128, 144-145, 199, 203, 205-212,
  220, 221, 225, 226

  'Cornwallis's Retreat,' 203-211

  'Cornwallis, The,' 212

  Corvette Pass, Alexandria, 304

  Cotton, Capt., 210

  Couch, Lieut., 265

  'Courageux,' The, 183

  'Couronne,' The, 119, 144-145

  Cranstoun, Capt. Lord, 77, 100, 150-151, 166, 210

  Crillon, de, 58

  'Culloden, The,' 16

  Cumby, W. Price, 239

  'Cygnet, The,' 302


  D'Aigalliers, Brueys, 68

  Dardanelles, the, 308

  Dashwood, Sir Charles, 122-126, 170

  'Dauphin Royal,' The, 104

  Dead Man's Bay, Plymouth Sound, 303

  'Decoy, The,' 302

  Decrès, Bruix, 68

  Decrès, Admiral Denis, 68, 135-136

  'Defiance, The,' 274, 277

  Demerara, 54

  D'Escars, Baron, 67, 137

  Diablotin, the, 101

  'Diadème,' The, 122, 126, 127

  Diamond Rock, 82

  'Didon,' The, 229 (note 1)

  Dominica (see under West Indies)

  Douarnenez Bay, 225

  Douglas, Sir Charles, 75, 77, 82, 93, 99, 100, 105, 106, 112, 122-125,
  149, 150, 160

  Douglas, Sir Howard, 124

  Drake, Rear-Admiral Francis Samuel, 76, 85, 88, 89, 101, 106, 108

  Drouet, Postmaster, 73

  'Duguay Trouin,' The ('Implacable'), 269 (note 1)

  'Duke, The' (see under Ships)

  Dumanoir, Rear-Admiral, 268-269 (note 1), 270, 273

  Dumaresq, Capt., 128

  Duncan, Admiral, 170, 236 (note 1)

  Dupotet, Lieut., 252


  Eaton, Signal Midshipman, 243

  Edinburgh, Duke of, 308 (note)

  Edward, King, 198, 307

  Egerton, Mrs. Fred, 309 (note)

  Egyptian Government, diplomacy of Arabi Pasha and result of, 287-289

  Eliott, Gen., 58

  Ellis, Gen., 238 (note 1)

  Emeriau, ----, 68

  'England expects that every man will do his duty,' 243

  'Euryalus, The' (see under Ships)

  'Eveillé,' The, 119

  'Evelyn's Diary,' quoted, 200


  Fairfax, Capt. H., 310-311

  'Fame, The,' 107

  Fanshawe, Capt., 41, 116, 128

  Faulknor family, 182-183

  Faulknor, Commander Robert, 177-197

  Ferrol, 228, 229 (note 1)

  'Fighting Téméraire' (see 'Téméraire' under Ships)

  Fisher, Admiral Sir John Arbuthnot, 304

  Fitzgerald, Capt., 210

  Fontenoy, 58

  'Formidable, The' (see under Ships)

  Fort Adda, Alexandria, 305

  Fort Bourbon, Martinique, 174-197

  Fort Louis, Martinique, 175-189, 193, 194

  Fort Marabout, Alexandria, 296-303

  Fort Mex, Alexandria, 294, 296, 298, 304, 305, 309

  Fort Rodney, 80

  Fort Royal, Martinique (see under West Indies)

  'Foudroyant,' The, 12, 14-42

  'Fougueux,' The (see under Ships--French)

  'Four Days' Fight,' 200

  France, part taken _re_ Egypt, 288, 289;
    French Army, 73;
    Napoleon's Grand Army, 195, 220, 222, 227;
    Régiment de Touraine, 188;
    Régiment de Maréchal Turenne, 195;
    French Fleet, 71-72;
    French officers of the Fleet, 65-70

  Froude, J.A., quoted, 52


  Galvez, Don Bernardo, 56

  Gardeur de Tilly, Le, 68, 119

  Gardiner, Capt. Arthur, 19-41

  Gardner, Capt. Alan, 111-112, 127

  'Gentleman's Magazine,' 40

  Gibraltar, 12, 14, 16, 33, 35, 36, 58, 159, 228, 229, 231, 277

  Glandevés, de, 136

  'Glorieux,' The (see under Ships--French)

  'Glorious First of June,' 202, 207

  Gower, Capt., 210

  Grand Army, Napoleon's, 195, 220, 222, 227

  'Graphic, The,' Mr. Villiers correspondent of, 289-290

  Grasse, Admiral de, 53-72, 79, 81-152 157, 160-161, 163-164, 166, 169,
  174

  Grasse, Vicomte de, 68

  Gravina, Admiral, 268, 273

  'Great Harry, The,' 199

  Greenwich, 214-215

  Grey, Capt. George, 178, 179

  Gribeauval guns, 72

  Grimaldi, ----, 68

  Gros Islet Bay (see under West Indies)

  Grubbe, Capt. W.J. Hunt, 310

  Guadeloupe, 84, 85, 90, 95, 97


  Hammick, Stephen, 38

  'Hampton Court, The' (see under Ships)

  Hand, Commander G.W., 302

  Harding, Israel, 306-307

  Hardy, Capt., 241, 274

  Harvey, Capt. Eliab, 218;
    Trafalgar Day, 241-242, 248, 250-263, 269, 274, 275, 277;
    promotion of, 281;
    death of, 282

  Hawke, Admiral Lord, 12, 50-51

  'Hector,' The (see under Ships--French)

  'Helicon, The,' 292

  Hempstead Church, 218

  'Hercule,' The, 67

  'Hercules, The,' 108-110

  'Héros,' The, 279

  Hill, Lieut., 90

  Hill, Second Lieut., 190

  Hood, Sir Samuel, 76, 77, 81, 82, 85-90, 94, 102, 130-131, 134, 143,
  146-148, 152, 158, 161-162

  Hornby, Admiral Sir Geoffrey Phipps, 308 (note)

  Hoste, Paul, 236

  Hotham, Capt. C.F., 306

  Howe, Admiral Lord, 159, 202, 207

  Hyéres Bay, 282


  'Implacable, The' ('Duguay Trouin'), 269 (note 1)

  Indret, foundries of, 72

  Infernet, Capt., 280

  'Inflexible, The' (see under Ships)

  Inglis, Capt., 128, 129

  'Intrépide,' The, 280

  'Invincible, The' (see under Ships)

  Irvine, Capt. St. G.C. D'Arcy, 310


  Jackson, Lieut. Francis, 306

  Jamaica, 54, 55, 158, 162

  James, Duke of York, 12, 200

  Jena, 237

  Jervis, Vice-Admiral Sir John, 174, 176, 178, 191-193

  Joint Control Agreement (Egypt), 288

  Joyeuse, Admiral Villaret, 209 (and note)

  'Jupiter, The,' 165, 167


  Kennedy, Lieut. Thomas Fortescue, 257, 259, 283

  Kent, Duke of, 195-196

  Kerlessi, Trogoff de, 137

  Khedive, the, 288

  King, Commodore, 59

  'King's Letter Boys,' 64

  Kingston, Lieut., 275

  Kipling, Rudyard, quoted, 4

  Knight, Admiral Sir Joseph, 149

  Knight, Capt., 149-150


  Labat, Père, 69

  Ladysmith, 303

  Lagos, 217 (note 2)

  La Hogue, battle of, 12, 183, 201, 236

  Lambton, Lieut. Hedworth, 303, 309

  Langara, 107

  'Languedoc,' The, 41, 144, 146

  Larmour, Acting-Capt., 281

  La Ruelle, foundries of, 72

  Lascaris, ----, 68

  'Launch of the Alexandra,' 307

  Lauzun, de, 68

  L'Hermitte, 68

  Lighthouse Fort, Alexandria, 304, 305

  'L'Orphée,' 21, 33

  Lostwithiel, Cornwall, 36

  'Louisa, The,' 20 (note)

  Louisbourg, Cape Breton, 14

  Lovel, Vice-Admiral Wm. Stanhope, 240 (note 1)

  Lucas, Capt., 246-247, 251-254, 260-261


  MacMahon, ----, 68

  Macteigne, Macarty, 143

  'Magnanime,' The, 92

  'Magnificent, The' (see under Ships)

  'Magnifique,' The, 143

  Magon, ----, 68

  Mahan, Capt., quoted, 212, 221

  Maidstone, 36

  Majastre, de Castellane, 68, 143

  Majendie, Flag-Captain, 264, 266-268

  Malaga, 12

  Manners, Lord Robert, 77, 110-111

  Marigny, Bernard, Comte de, 138, 155

  Marigny, Charles Réné Louis, Vicomte de, 142

  'Marlborough, The' (see under Ships)

  'Mars, The' (see under Ships)

  Martinique, 173-197

  Matthews, Admiral, 19-20 (note)

  Mends, Admiral Sir W.R., 302 (note)

  Menneville, Marquis de Quesne, 16, 23-31, 35-36

  Metz, 73

  Minorca, 19

  'Minotaur, The,' 273

  Molyneux, Capt. R.H. More, 309

  Mona Passage, 162

  'Monarch, The' (see under Ships)

  Moncrieff disappearing system, 290

  Monk, Gen., 200

  Monmouth, Duke of, 11

  'Monmouth, The' (see under Ships)

  'Montague, The,' 17, 169

  Monteclerc, de, 67

  Montesquieu, ----, 68

  Montserrat, 54

  Morlaix, 278

  Morne du Diamant, 82

  Morogues, de, 236

  Mortemart, de, 68, 136

  M.P. Navy Captains, 218-219


  'Namur, The' (see under Ships)

  Napoleon, 170, 195, 204, 212, 219, 220, 222, 261, 278, 282

  'Naval Chronicle,' quoted, 186-187, 220, 224, 226

  Naval Exhibition, Chelsea, 274

  Neale, George, 170

  Nelson, Lord, 202, 212, 214, 221, 228, 230;
    Trafalgar Day, 231-270;
    death of, 270, 273-274, 278, 281, 285

  'Neptune, The' (see Ships--British and French)

  'Neptuno,' The, 273

  Nevis, 54, 73

  Newbolt, Henry, 50

  Ney, Marshal, 227, 237

  Nicholson, Capt. H.F., 310

  Nicolas, Lieut. P. Harris, 243

  'Nonsuch, The,' 106

  Northesk, Lord, 247

  Nugent, Capt., 188


  Oades, Mr., 275

  Odessa, bombardment of, 302 (note)

  Oléron, 223

  Order of Malta, 64

  'Orion, The,' 247

  Osborn, Admiral, 15-16, 23, 33, 36


  Paget, ----, 100

  'Pallas, The,' 206

  Paul, Capt., 138

  Pavillon, du, 99

  Pearce, ----, 231

  Pellew, Sir Edward, 266

  Pellew, Capt. Israel, 265, 266, 267

  'Penelope, The' (see under Ships)

  Penny, Capt. Taylor, 103, 104

  'Pepys's Diary,' quoted, 11 (and note)

  Pérouse, La, 68, 97

  'Phaeton, The' (see under Ships)

  'Phoenix, The,' 229

  'Pickle, The,' 278 (note 1)

  Pigeon Island, 74, 79, 80, 81

  Pigot, Admiral, 165, 166, 167, 169

  'Pique,' The, 197

  Pitons, The, or 'Sugar Loaves,' 60-62

  Pitts, Midshipman John, 275

  'Pluton,' The, 143

  Plymouth, 166, 167, 219, 227, 282

  Point du Cap, 81

  Polignac, Gabrielle Yolande de, 67

  Porchester Castle, 35

  Port Royal, 162, 163

  Port Said, 28

  Portsmouth, 202, 220, 280-281

  'Powerful, The,' 303

  Prigny, Second Capt., 266-268

  'Prince George, The,' 74, 107

  Prince Rupert's Bay, 84, 95

  'Princessa, The,' 106

  'Prince William, The,' 130, 141

  'Prothée, The,' 110


  'Quarterly Review,' quoted, 167

  'Queen, The,' 278

  Quiberon Bay, 50


  Ramatuelle, 236

  'Ramillies, The,' 19 (note), 149

  Ras-el-Tin battery, Alexandria, 290, 305

  'Redoutable,' The (see under Ships--French)

  Religious service at launches of men-of-war, 308

  Rennes, 280

  'Repulse, The,' 128

  'Resolution, The' (see under Ships)

  'Revenge, 'The' (see under Ships)

  Reynolds, Capt., 77

  'Richmond,' The, 135, 136

  Rions, Comte d'Albert de, 67, 143

  Riou, Capt., 188

  Robinson, Rear-Admiral Hercules, 231, 266 (note)

  Rochambeau, Gen., 174, 194

  Rochefort, 221, 223, 225

  Rochefoucauld, de, 68

  Rochester, Bishop of, 308

  Rodney, Admiral, statue of, in Jamaica, 162;
    battle against the French in West Indies, 41, 52-60, 76, 78-165, 171;
    treatment of, by Whig Government, 165-169

  Rodney, Lady, 168

  Rooke, Admiral Sir George, 12, 202

  Rotherhithe, 214, 284

  'Royal George, The' (see under Ships)

  Royal Naval Club of 1765 and 1785, 203

  'Royal Oak, The' (see under Ships)

  'Royal Sovereign, The' ('Cornwallis's Retreat') (see under Ships)

  Royal United Service Institution, 212

  Rüchel, Gen., 237

  Rupert, Prince, 12, 200

  Ruskin, quoted, 214, 216, 285-286

  'Russell, The' (see under Ships)

  Ruyter, Admiral, 12, 200


  Sables d'Olonne, 223

  Saffron Walden, 218

  'St. Albans, The' (see under Ships)

  Saint Césaire, de, 68

  St. Cloud, 261

  St. Eustatius, 73, 161

  'St. George, The,' 16

  St. Helens, 280

  'St. James's Day Fight,' 200

  St. Kitts (see under West Indies)

  St. Lucia, 52, 54, 56

  St. Paul's, French and Spanish ensigns in, 196, 278;
    tombs of Trafalgar heroes, 280

  St. Paul's, Rotherhithe, 285

  St. Pierre, 81

  Saints, the (see under West Indies)

  St. Simon, ----, 68

  St. Vincent, Earl (see Jervis, Sir John)

  San Domingo, 55, 56, 162

  Sandwich, Lord, 53

  San Lucar, 277

  'Sans Pareil, The' (see under Ships)

  'Santa Ana,' The (see under Ships--Spanish)

  'Santisima Trinidad,' The (see under Ships--Spanish)

  Saumarez, Capt. James, 107, 145

  Savage, Capt. Henry, 108

  'Sceptre,' The, 119-120, 144

  Schetky, John Christian, 281

  Ségur, de, ----, 68

  Serpents, 62

  Servaux, Capt. Pierre, 258 (note 1)

  Seven Years' War, 202

  Sévigné, de, ----, 68

  Seymour, Admiral Sir Beauchamp, 288-289, 291

  'Shannon, The,' 169, 170

  Sharks, 133-134, 155-156

  Sheerness, 214, 282

  Ships--
    British--
      Africa, 277
      Agamemnon, 79, 81
      Ajax, 76, 128, 130, 238
      Alcide, 106, 140, 141
      Alert, 57
      Alexandra (Superb), 289, 293, 306-308, 309
      Alfred, 86-87
      America, 94, 108
      Andromache, 79, 138, 166
      Anson, 107
      Arethusa, 67; modern, 302 (note)
      Arrogant, 105
      Asia, 177-181
      Barfleur, 74, 82, 89, 107, 131, 134, 143-148, 149, 150
      Beacon, 302
      Bedford, 130, 131, 138
      Belleisle, 242-243, 255, 272
      Bellerophon, 171, 206, 207, 210, 239, 244-245
      Belliqueux, 98, 141
      Bellona, 182, 183
      Benbow, 45
      Berwick, 17, 21, 33
      Bittern, 302
      Blanche, 197
      Boyne, 176, 179, 191, 192
      Britannia, 247
      British Fleet compared with French, 161
      Brunswick, 206
      Canada, 77, 128, 129, 140, 141,144-145, 212 (note)
      Centaur, 98, 138, 155
      Collingwood, 10
      Colossus, 263
      Condor, 287, 289, 290, 294-304
      Conqueror, 106, 264, 265-267
      Cornwallis, 212
      Culloden, 16
      Cygnet, 302
      Decoy, 302
      Defiance, 274, 277
      Duke, 74, 111-112, 113, 120, 127, 146
      Euryalus, 231, 240, 274, 278
      Fame, 107
      Formidable, modern, 44-49, 51;
        Rodney's, 52, 53, 54, 56, 74, 76, 78, 80, 81, 82, 84, 89, 90,
        98, 99, 102, 104, 105, 106, 112-125, 126, 127, 128, 131, 143, 148,
        149, 159, 160, 169-171
      Gibraltar, 16, 36
      Great Harry, 199
      Hampton Court, 17, 18, 22, 24, 26, 31, 33
      Helicon, 292
      Hercules, 108-110
      Implacable (Duguay Trouin), 269 (note 1)
      Inflexible, 4, 45;
        modern, 285, 292, 304-306
      Invincible, 289, 293, 294, 296, 303, 309
      Jupiter, 165, 167
      Louisa, 20 (note)
      Magnificent, 79, 81, 130
      Marlborough, 103-105, 131
      Mars, 206, 208, 255, 263
      Minotaur, 273
      Modern cruiser, details of construction, etc., 1-10
      Monarch, 17, 77, 98, 138, 160;
        modern, 289, 296, 310-311
      Monmouths, the, 1-41;
        'Gardiner's Monmouth,' 12, 13-41
      Montague, 17, 169
      Naming of, 43-44, 49-50, 52, 171
      Namur, 54, 74, 116, 128, 160
      Neptune, 239-240, 247
      Nonsuch, 106
      Orion, 247
      Pallas, 206
      Penelope, 289, 296, 310
      Phaeton, 206, 209, 210
      Phoenix, 229
      Pickle, 278 (note 1)
      Powerful, 303
      Prince George, 74, 107
      Prince William, 130, 141
      Princessa, 106
      Prothée, 110
      Queen, 278
      Ramillies, 19 (note), 149
      Repulse, 128
      Resolution, 77, 110, 111
      Revenge, 17, 21, 33
      Royal George, 10, 19, 24, 35, 72
      Royal Oak, 131, 137, 160
      Royal Sovereign, 199-202;
        'Cornwallis's Retreat,' 203, 205-211, 243-244, 245, 247, 263,
        268 (note 1), 272, 274
      Russell, 60, 107, 108, 145
      St. Albans, 84, 128, 129
      St. George, 16
      Sans Pareil, 45
      Shannon, 169, 170
      Sirius, 263, 269, 276, 277
      Spartiate, 244, 273
      Sultan, 289, 310
      Superb, 289, 310
      Swiftsure, 17, 18, 22, 24, 26, 29, 33, 276
      Téméraire, 217 (note 2);
        'Fighting Téméraire,' 213, 217-220, 222, 223-224, 227, 232;
        Trafalgar Day, 233, 239-242, 243, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249-278,
        280-286;
        Turner's picture of, 214-217;
        modern Téméraire, 289, 294, 301, 305, 310-311
      Tonnant, 242-243
      Torbay, 107
      Trident, 20 (note)
      Triumph, 206, 208
      Undaunted (Bien Venu), 191-193;
        various, 198
      Valiant 84, 98
      Victoria, 45
      Victory, 183;
        Nelson's 'Victory,' 10, 48, 72, 183, 214;
        Trafalgar Day, 232, 239, 240-242, 243, 245, 247, 248, 249, 250,
        251, 252, 254, 256, 260, 262, 270, 273, 274, 278, 280
      Warrior, 6, 10
      Zebra, 177-198

    French--
      Achille, 272
      Ardent, 141-142, 144
      Astrée, 97, 98
      Auguste, 67
      Belle Poule, 67
      Bien Venu, afterwards Undaunted, 191-193
      Bourgogne, 67, 143, 149
      Bucentaure, 246, 248, 249, 255, 263-268, 272
      César, 131, 135, 138, 142, 154-157, 158
      Courageux, 183
      Couronne, 119, 144-145
      Dauphin Royal, 104
      Diadème, 122, 126-127
      Didon, 229 (note 1)
      Duguay Trouin (Implacable), 269 (note 1)
      Eveillé, 119
      Fleet, 71-72, 161;
        De Grasse's Fleet, 62-63
      Foudroyant, 12, 14-42
      Fougueux, 243, 255-260, 270, 275
      Glorieux, 67, 120-129, 135-138, 165
      Hector, 67, 131, 135, 139, 140, 144
      Hercule, 67
      Héros, 279
      Intrépide, 280
      Languedoc, 41, 144, 146
      L'Orphée, 21, 33
      Magnanime, 92
      Magnifique, 143
      Marseillais, 143
      Neptune, 249, 250, 251, 255, 256, 257, 261-262, 273
      Pique, 197
      Pluton, 143
      Redoutable, 246, 249, 250-261, 270, 275-276
      Richmond, 135, 136
      Sceptre, 119-120, 144
      Soleil Royal, 201
      Souverain, 136
      Triomphante, 143, 161
      Ville de Paris, 72, 97, 98, 99, 102, 108, 109, 116-119, 132, 133,
      134, 139, 142-152, 154, 158, 160, 162, 164-165, 169
      Zélé, 92, 97, 98

    Spanish--
      Neptuno, 273
      Santa Ana, 245, 255, 263, 268 (note 1)
      Santisima Trinidad, 239, 248, 249, 250, 264, 272

  Shoeburyness, 45

  Shovel, Sir Cloudesley, 202

  Signals used by Nelson on Trafalgar Day, 232

  'Sirius, The' (see under Ships)

  Solebay, battle of, 12, 200

  'Soleil Royal,' The, 201

  Soper, ----, 231

  Soudan, the, 293

  Soult, Marshal, 46, 227, 281

  'Souverain,' The, 136

  Spain and France in the West Indies, 55-56

  Spanish Fleet combined with French (see Trafalgar Day)

  'Spartiate, The,' 244, 273

  Spithead, 142, 280

  'Standard, The,' Mr. Cameron, correspondent of, 293

  Stanfield, Clarkson, 214-215

  Stephens, ----, 169

  Stopford, Capt., 210

  Strachan, Sir Richard, 269 (note 1)

  Suez Canal, 288

  Suffren, Bailli de, 13, 58-59, 67, 279

  Sultan, the, 288

  'Sultan, The,' 289, 310

  'Swiftsure, The' (see under Ships)

  Symonds, Capt., 99, 100

  'Superb, The,' 289, 310


  Table Bay, 59

  Tait, Dr., Archbishop of Canterbury, 308

  Talleyrand, ----, 68

  'Tars of the Tyne,' 202

  'Téméraire, The' (see under Ships)

  Thompson, Capt., 108

  Thomson, Capt. Charles, 106

  'Times, The,' correspondent of, 269 (note 1), 304, 307

  Tiverton, 269 (note 1)

  'Tonnant, The,' 242-243

  Torbay, 225, 227

  'Torbay, The,' 107

  Toulon, 14, 15, 221, 282

  Toohig, John, 254

  Tourelles, M. de, 178-179

  Tourville, de, 68, 236

  Trafalgar, 213, 229, 230;
    Trafalgar Day, 231-285;
    Trafalgar relics, 284

  'Trident, The,' 20 (note)

  'Triomphante,' The, 143, 161

  'Triumph, The,' 206, 208

  Tromp, Admiral, 200

  Troude, ----, 68

  Trou Gascon, 74

  Truscott, Capt., 106

  Tryon, Sir George, 198

  Tulloch, Major, 309

  Turner, J.M.W., picture of the 'Téméraire,' 214-217, 283

  Tyler, Capt., 242


  'Undaunted, The' (see under Ships)

  Upnor Castle, 12

  Ushant Island, 53, 221, 225


  'Valiant, The,' 84, 98

  Varennes, 73

  Vashon, Capt., 57, 118

  Vaudreuil, Comte de, 67, 144

  Vaudreuil, Marquis de, 65-66, 85-90, 119, 132, 139, 143, 146, 149, 154,
  161, 164

  Vaugiraud, Comte de, 67

  Versailles, 73

  Vicomté, de la, 67, 140

  Victoria, Queen, 202

  'Victoria, The,' 45

  'Victory, The' (see under Ships)

  Vigo galleons, 12, 202

  'Ville de Paris,' The (see under Ships--French)

  Villeneuve, Admiral, 227, 228, 229 (and note 1);
    Trafalgar Day, 234-237, 246, 249, 263-268;
    death of, 278-280

  Villiers, Frederic, 289-292, 297-299, 300-301


  Wallace, Sir James, 77

  Wallace, Lieut. John, 260

  Wallis, Sir Provo, 170

  Walter, Lucy, 11

  Warde, Capt. T. le H., 310

  'Warrior, The,' 6, 10

  'Well done, Condor!' 303

  'Well done, Inflexible!' 305

  'Western Squadron,' 219

  West Indies--
    Antigua, 54, 56
    Antilles, the, 101
    Barbados, 54, 56
    Basse Terre, Guadeloupe, 97
    British Possessions, 53
    Cape Haitien, 55, 165
    Cape Solomon, 82
    Castries, 74
    Demerara, 54
    Diablotin, the, 101
    Diamond Rock, 82
    Dominica, 73, 84, 85, 95, 101, 161
    Fort Bourbon, 174-197
    Fort Louis, 175-189, 193, 194
    Fort Rodney, 80
    Fort Royal Bay, 53, 54, 56, 57, 72, 79, 80, 81, 82, 174-197
    Gros Islet Bay, 52, 53, 54, 60, 74, 78, 165
    Guadeloupe, 84, 85, 90, 95, 97
    Jamaica, 54, 55, 158, 162
    Martinique, 173-197
    Mona Passage, 162
    Montserrat, 54
    Morne du Diamant, 82
    Nevis, 54, 73
    Pigeon Island, 74, 79, 80, 81
    Point du Cap, 81
    Port Royal, 162, 163
    Prince Rupert's Bay, 84, 95
    St. Eustatius, 73, 161
    St. Kitts, 54, 57, 73, 161
    St. Lucia, 52, 54, 56
    St. Pierre, 81
    Saints, the, 90, 91, 95, 96, 100, 174
    San Domingo, 55, 56, 162
    Trou Gascon, 74

  Whitby, Capt., 210

  Willaumez, ----, 68

  William III., 200

  Williams, Capt., 107

  Wilson, Admiral Sir A.K., 302

  Winzar, David, 38

  'Woolwich Infants,' 45

  Wraxall, Sir Nathaniel, 151;
    'Memoirs'of, quoted, 168


  Xenophon's 'Retreat of the Ten Thousand,' 205, 211


  Yon, Midshipman, 251, 252

  York, James, Duke of, 12

  Younghusband, Commander, 305-306


  'Zebra, The,' 177-198

  'Zélé,' The, 92, 97, 98


THE END


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