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.