Or sear-cloth masts with strong tarpauling coats;
To try the shrouds one mounts into the wind,
And one below their ease or stiffness notes.’
Two other poets of the day treated the story of the Dutch war, but
their verses were written under the influence of the disgrace of 1667,
and they wrote satires instead of eulogies. In a series of poems, four
in all, generally known as _Directions to a Painter_, Sir John Denham
parodied Waller’s _Advice_ and carried the story down to the end of the
war. All are printed in the collection of political satires published
in 1703 called _Poems on Affairs of State_ (i. 24-54). When the first
part appeared ‘abusing the Duke of York and Lord Sandwich and Penn and
everybody, and the King himself, in all the matters of the navy and
war,’ Pepys was sorry because his patron Lord Sandwich’s reputation was
involved. Later still he thought the verses witty and amusing. When
the last part came out with its description of De Ruyter’s attack on
the Thames in June 1667, the satire made his heart ache, ‘it being too
sharp and so true.’ (_Diary_, vi. 101; vii. 1, 116). Another satirist,
more vigorous and yet bitterer than Denham, told in indignant verse the
story of the same disaster. Andrew Marvell, in _The last Instructions
to a Painter about the Dutch Wars_, devoted about three hundred lines
to describing the fight in the Medway, the breaking of the chain, the
burning of the English ships, and the capture of the Royal Charles.
His attack was directed against the Government itself, rather than
against the commanders of the navy, and some of his bitterest sarcasms
are aimed at the attempt to screen those really responsible for the
Chatham disaster, by laying all the blame on the luckless Peter Pett,
the commissioner of the navy in charge at Chatham. Marvell’s satire,
though probably circulated in manuscript in 1667 or 1668, was too bold
to be printed, and was not published till 1689 (Marvell’s _Poems_, ed.
Aitken, ii. 20-52, 127-157). He did not confine himself to satire, and
in a separate poem entitled _The Loyal Scot_ he commemorated in glowing
lines the heroism of Captain Douglas, an officer stationed on the Royal
Oak, who, refusing to leave his post without orders, was burnt with the
ship on June 12, 1667 (_Poems_, ed. Aitken, i. 126, 212).
While the second Dutch war fills so large a place both in poetry and
in the ballads, the third, which covers the period from March 1672 to
February 1674, was left comparatively unsung. It was not a national war
in the same sense that the first and the second had been, but rather
the outcome of a diplomatic intrigue, and excited less public interest.
It is represented in this collection by two ballads only, one on the
battle of Solebay on May 28, 1672, the other on the capture of a Dutch
frigate by an English one in 1674 (pp. 82, 83-6). On the other hand,
the war produced a small crop of elegies on the officers who fell in
different engagements. The fashion began in the first war. There is an
elegy on Captain Henry Terne of the Triumph, killed in the four days’
battle in June 1666. Similarly there is an _Elegy on that grand Example
of Loyalty, Valour, and Conduct, Sir Edward Spragge, unfortunately
drowned (after incomparable proof of heroic gallantry) in the late
engagement with the Dutch, August 11, 1673_. We have also _English
Iliads, or a Sea-Fight reviewed, in a Poem occasioned by the death of a
Person of Honour slain in the late War_ (Lord Maidstone, killed in the
battle of Southwold Bay). Captain Francis Digby, who fell in the same
battle, became more famous in ballads. Dryden wrote a song beginning
‘Farewell, fair Armida, my joy and my grief,’ which was meant to
represent Digby’s farewell to the Duchess of Richmond, with whom he was
passionately in love. This was expanded into a popular ballad entitled
_Love and Honour_ (_Roxburghe Ballads_, vi. 36). Another ballad-writer
produced a supplement, _The sorrowful Ladies Complaint, relating how
a Damosel lamenteth the loss of her Lover, who behaved himself very
valiantly in a late engagement at sea, but was unfortunately slain_
(_ib._ iv. 397). An abbreviated version of this, entitled _The Drowned
Lover_, was still sung a few years ago (Baring Gould, _Songs of the
West_, 4th edition, p. xxiii).
Usually these elegies are rhetorical exercises of very little interest,
but that on _The Death of the noble Knight, Sir John Harman, who died
October 11, 1673_, contains an account of his career which deserves
quotation:
Britannia, Queen of the Ocean, bade me write
Something memorial of this Noble Knight,
It must be Great, or nothing. Nay, said I,
Let Homers then, or Virgils Poetry
Record his deeds. ’Tis not for meaner things
To speak or think of Admirals or Kings.
* * * * *
When first in youth some voyages he made,
To prosecute Experience or Trade,
His worth disclos’d itself, and made men see,
None was more English Mariner than he.
Though hearty, sturdy Oak our ships do frame,
Our Seamen too (if rightly stamp’d) the same,
And such was this well-timber’d man, be sure,
That such hard storms and bickerings could endure.
* * * * *
When British Seas and Honour were assail’d
By Belgian Rivals; when the Plague prevail’d
At home; by which when most Men’s Courage fail’d
He snatched some men from Death’s Commands, and Man’d
The Royal Charles, by Royal Charles Command;
* * * * *
Next year was Sixty-six, (that fatal Time
When Londons old Foundations burnt to Lime)
Rear Admiral of the White he then appear’d
And by his foes he made his Henry fear’d.
Three Etnas did at once beset Her round
Some of her men were Burnt, and some were Drown’d:
Yet then (as if he did both Elements scoff)
He fought his way, and brought her bravely off.
His Leg (but not his Courage) broke; and then
He sympathized with his maimed men.
Knighted, and Admiral made in sixty-seven,
With Fire Ships Two, and Fighting Ships Eleven,
T’America he steers, and did such Feats
Dull Europeans will believe us Cheats
If we but tell the Truth. As how he storm’d
Strong Martinico, wonders there perform’d;
Into their Harbour how he forced his way
When Thirty warlike French and Dutch there lay;
Burnt Nine, sunk More; the rest (to escape his hands)
Did sink themselves, to hide amongst the Sands.
Three Forts he there Attaqu’d and Fir’d. And then
To Syrenham and Chien wafts his Men:
Courage and Conduct, there no less he shew’d.
Whereby he those Two Countreys soon subdu’d.
In Seventy-two Vice Admiral of the Blew,
He like a Tyger ’mongst the Dutchmen flew,
Nine Dutch begirt his Charles. There (sad to tell)
Three or four hundred of his Brave Men fell.
He paid them off; and when no boot to stay
He nobly brought his tattred Hull away.
Lastly in Sev’nty-three, this present Year,
His long-try’d Courage lasting did appear
Vice Admiral of the Red. Though sick and weak,
When scarcely could he go, or stand, or speak,
Yet could he fight, direct, encourage, see
All well perform’d. Meanwhile poor Gallant he
Sate like a Mark for ev’ry shot, in Fight.
We’l not reflect on any Man; nor tell
Who did amiss; only that He did well.
And having done his All, he then gave o’re
He made to Port, dropt Anchor, came ashore,
Never to plough the briny Ocean more.
From midst of Storms, Blood, Noise, Confusion, Fires,
He coolly, calmly, peaceably Expires,
Whose Death Religious: Living Actions were
Valiant, Just, Humble, Patient and Sincere.’
Next in importance to the Dutch war was the struggle with the piratical
states in the Mediterranean, which still continued. Though it was
marked by many brave exploits it left surprisingly little trace in
the naval literature of Charles the Second’s time. There were many
engagements worthy of record. On December 19-29, 1669, for instance,
Captain John Kempthorne in the Mary Rose, a forty-eight-gun ship,
beat seven Algerines, and preserved the merchantmen under his charge.
Kempthorne was knighted for this service on April 30, 1670. A picture
of the fight was engraved by Hollar, which will be found in Ogilby’s
_Africa_, and the incident apparently inspired a ballad too. The
picture of the action at Greenwich bears the following inscription:
‘Two we burnt and two we sank and two did run away,
And one we carried to Leghorn Roads to show we’d won the day.’
These lines are almost identical with two lines in _Captain Mansfield’s
Fight with the Turks at Sea_ (printed on p. 86). The ballad on
Mansfield’s fight is perhaps an eighteenth century version, or
imitation, of one on Kempthorne.
Often merchantmen successfully defended themselves. About October 1671,
Captain John Baddison, of the Swallow, a merchantman of 180 tons and
twenty-six men, fought an Algiers ship of thirty-eight guns and 220
men, and not only repulsed two desperate attacks, but captured four of
the Turks who boarded him. A poem entitled _An Encomium on that Worthy
Exploit of Captain John Baddison_ was published in 1671. The only copy
known is in the possession of Lord Crawford, who has kindly permitted
me to extract the following narrative of the engagement:
From Port a Port our Hero took his flight,
With Canvas Wings, to entertain the Night
On th’ Oceans deep, where Billows lofty rise,
Mounting their Surges to th’ unconstant Skyes;
And after two dayes spent, he lost the sight
Of great Bajona, and prepared to fight
With a proud Turk, who from Argier was sent,
And swiftly gave them chase, to the intent
That they might take, and ransack, and enthral
The Bodies, Minds, and Christian Souls of all.
But those base Pagans never can prevail,
If once our English Banners them assail.
Our worthy Captain first did cause to fly
Two little Ships that by him close did lye;
Who from the Fury of the Foes did glide,
Being befriended by Night, Wind, and Tyde.
Then being ready, and his Guns run out,
He then prepared for a bloody Bout,
Like Thunder, Lightning, and a Tempest great;
Like Raging Waves, which on the Rocks do beat;
Ev’n so our Captain, at his drawing nigh,
Vollies discharged at his proud Enemy;
The Waves did tremble, and the Heavens blush,
When these two Champions did together rush.
The Turks they board us knowing not the strength
Of Valiant English, which they felt at length:
Presumption prompt(s) them on to graple strong,
Which was too hot to be endured long;
For being on Deck, some in the Air did fly,
Others our warlike Engines forced to die;
Yet six remained, which almost laid us waste
By cutting Sails and Rigging from our Mast;
For which bold fact, two made the Sea their grave,
The rest cried Quarter, which we freely gave.
There might you see their Bodies go to wreck,
Heads, Arms, and Legs bestrewed upon the Deck.
This was their fate, which then they could not shun,
Their blood did off the Deck, like water, run.
Our Men between Decks with the great Guns tore
And rent the Hull of the Turks Ship so sore,
Made them leave off, and from our sides to shrink
Lest they should all of the Salt-water drink;
Their Ship lying by to stop her Leaks, and then
Resolves to prove our Valour once agen.
Our Seamen bold, that never daunted were,
To their proud Foes, like Lions did appear,
Threatening destruction, whilst a lucky Gun
Made their Ship tremble, and our sides to shun;
Not once more daring to approach us nigh
But from us at a distance far to lie.
The Night came on, a pleasant gale appears,
They left each other; and directly steers
To her desired Port: safely arrived
Our English Captain, and all that survived.
Sixteen were wounded, and three killed outright;
The Ship sore shattered, and Sails burnt in fight;
Only the Sprit and Mainsail left untore,
Which brought them safely to the English Shore:
Where being arrived, were by his Majesty
And Royal Duke welcomed most graciously.
For which brave Act the King an Order gave
The Captain should a Chain and Medal have.
The Merchants did with honour him commend
Because their goods he bravely did defend.
Prose narratives of this engagement are to be found in the _Calendar
of Domestic State Papers_ for 1671 (pp. 536, 554). ‘King Charles in
consideration of that stout and memorable action of Captain Baddison
... was pleased to order a gold chain and medal for him’ (_The
Historian’s Guide_, 1688, p. 82). Another merchant captain, Robert
Robertson, Charles knighted for fighting an Algerine man-of-war (Le
Neve’s _Knights_, p. 2). More often weakly armed merchantmen were
captured in defiance of treaties, as the narratives of captives such as
Adam Elliot, taken in 1670, Joseph Pitts in 1678, and Thomas Phelps in
1684, all illustrate. A petition dated between 1671 and 1681 affirmed
that since the last peace the Algerines had taken not less than 140
British ships, and had more than 1,500 English slaves, ‘who suffer and
undergo most miserable slavery, put to daily extreme and difficult
labour, but a poor supply of bread and water for their food, stripped
of their clothes and covering, and their lodging on the cold stones and
bricks; but what is more, their extreme hard and savage lading them
sometimes with great burthens of chains, and shut up in noisome places,
commonly adding some hundreds of blows on their bare feet, forcing out
the very blood, and sometimes on the back, sometimes on the belly, and
sometimes on them all, insomuch that many are long decrepit, some for
ever, and some dying under their hands.’
The fate of these captive sailors is illustrated by a ballad
published about 1684, called _The Algiers Slave’s Releasement, or the
Unchangeable Boatswain_ (p. 88). Such captives were usually redeemed by
the contributions of the charitable, under the authority of warrants
known as ‘briefs’ licensing collections in churches for the purpose.
(W. A. Bewes, _Church Briefs_, pp. 193-206). Some were ransomed by the
king himself, others recovered by treaty or recaptured. Squadrons under
Allin, Spragge, Narbrough and other commanders were successively sent
to the Mediterranean to coerce the pirate states. The _Diary_ of Henry
Teonge, who served as chaplain on various ships engaged in that service
from 1675 to 1679, contains some account of Narbrough’s proceedings
against Tripoli, and throws a flood of light on the conditions of life
in the navy during the reign of Charles II. It was published in 1825.
Teonge’s _Diary_ contains a ballad on the destruction of a vessel
belonging to Tripoli by the English frigate Assistance in 1675 (p. 63),
besides other specimens of his muse, mainly of an amatory nature (pp.
73, 79, 168, 241, 259). Still more curious than Teonge’s _Diary_ is
along narrative poem describing a cruise in the Mediterranean, from May
1669 to April 1671, under Sir John Harman. It is called _The Straights
Voyage or St. David’s Poem_, was published in 1671, and was written by
John Balthorpe, a clerk on board the St. David, Harman’s flagship. It
appears to have escaped altogether the notice of naval historians.
One of the heroes of this war was Captain Thomas Harman, sometimes said
to be the son of Sir John, and certainly a kinsman. There is a ballad
on his capture of the Dutch frigate Schaherlaes in February 1675 (p.
53), but his career began in the Mediterranean. On May 8, 1671, Sir
Edward Spragge’s squadron destroyed seven Algiers men-of-war and their
prizes in the harbour of Bugia. The boom which defended the Algerines
was cut by three of Spragge’s boats, thus making way for a fireship to
enter. Harman seems to have been in command of one of the boats. ‘The
Admiral,’ says a contemporary letter, ‘had every man killed and wounded
in his boat, save Mr. Harman, who is deservedly commended and is said
to have cut the boom in half pistol shot under their biggest castel
(where the chains reached not) and heads of their men-of-war’ (_Cal.
State Papers_, Dom. 1671, p. 249). Dryden, in some lines addressed
in 1677 to Nat Lee on his play of _Alexander the Great_, refers to
these two exploits of Harman’s to prove the proposition that some
men’s merits are too pre-eminent for rivalry: for instance, Lee’s as a
dramatist or Harman’s as a sailor:
‘’Tis here as ’tis at sea; who farthest goes,
Or dares the most, makes all the rest his foes.
Yet when some virtue much outgrows the rest,
It shoots too fast and high to be opprest,
As his heroic worth struck envy dumb,
Who took the Dutchman and who cut the boom.’
When this was written Harman’s brief but glorious career had just
ended. In September 1677, while in command of the Sapphire, 34, he
engaged an Algerine ship called the Golden Horse, 46, failed to take
her, and was mortally wounded in the fight. _Elegiac Verses on the
death of Captain Thomas Harman, late commander of his Majesties Frigot
the Sapphire_, addressed and presented to the Duke of York, are
amongst the Luttrell collection in the British Museum. Like a sturdy
oak, stricken by thunder, says the poet, Harman’s body fell on the
deck, but his soul flew upwards to heaven, and the other dead British
heroes helped him in to the mansions of the blest,
‘Lawson, Minnes, Spragge and many more beside,
As soon as they the labouring soul espied,
Let down their beams, and pointed out the way
To the bright mansions of Eternal Day.’
Our last ballad of the reign of Charles II. is _The Benjamin’s
Lamentation_. Though no ship of that name can be found in the lists of
the navy, it will serve as an example of the class of ballads relating
to shipwrecks, and its metrical form is of some interest. Possibly it
is an early chanty.
The short reign of James II. affords us only two ballads of interest,
both of which come from the collections of Samuel Pepys. One relates
the prosperous hunt of William Phipps for the treasure of a Spanish
galleon wrecked in the Bahamas (p. 96). He sailed in September 1686
in a King’s ship called the James and Mary, returning in June 1687
with cargo valued at 300,000_l._ (Luttrell’s _Diary_, i. 407-8;
Hutchison, _Massachusetts Bay_, i. 397; Ellis, _Correspondence_, i.
295, 325). James knighted him on June 28, 1687. The second is still
more interesting, for it shows that even in time of peace the hostility
of the Spaniards to the English in the West Indies was so great that a
man of war was treacherously attacked as it lay in a Spanish harbour.
The Dartmouth, the vessel in question, was a fifth-rate, carrying
twenty-eight guns, and according to a note by Pepys the ballad was
composed by Hovenden Walker (subsequently Rear-Admiral of the White)
who was then serving on board her (p. 92).
With the reign of William III. there was a great increase in the number
of naval ballads published, due to the increased interest which the
nation took in maritime affairs.
The war with France was popular both with the navy itself and with
the people. ‘Lewis, that Christian Turk,’ was generally hated as a
sovereign who designed to ruin all Protestant princes, and sought to
‘lay a heavy yoke’ on the free English nation. This is the argument set
forth in _The Boatswain’s Call_ to induce sailors to enter the navy.
Impressment was necessary. ‘Some,’ continues the ballad, ‘dread and
fear the press as much as dying,
‘And skulk like frighted slaves here in distraction
To hide in dens and caves from warlike action.’
But for the moment popular feeling was in favour of impressment. So
at all events the ballad called _The Maiden’s Frolic_ seems to prove,
which relates how ‘six lusty lasses pressed fourteen tailors.’ Another
ballad, _The Undaunted Seaman_, describes a sailor resolving to venture
his life ‘to subdue the pride of France’ in spite of ‘his love’s
sorrowful lamentation.’ A fourth relates a maid’s attempt to buy her
lover’s discharge for ten pounds.
‘Not ten pounds or twenty will buy his discharge,
Fair maid, you must patiently bear;
He shall go to sea for his King to engage,
And he must bid adieu to his dear.’
Thus the captain answers, and the maid is convinced, and resigns
herself to the parting (pp. 97-106).
The first task the navy took part in was the reconquest of Ireland.
Unfortunately there seem to be no ballads extant either on the relief
of Londonderry or the fight in Bantry Bay. Crofton Croker’s _Historical
Songs of Ireland_, published by the Percy Society in 1841, contains
half a dozen ballads on military operations in Ireland under William
III., but none on naval. But the Pepysian collection supplies a
ballad on the capture of the Pelican frigate in Dublin Bay, under
the eyes of ‘Old James and his Teagues,’ by Sir Clowdisley Shovell
(see p. 107). This took place in April 1690, and the account of the
exploit given is so detailed that it looks as if it were written by
some one who served under Shovell (see Luttrell’s _Diary_, ii. 35).
Next month came a rumour that Admiral Henry Killigrew with a squadron
in the Mediterranean had beaten the French fleet under Chateau
Renault, sinking two ships and taking three (Luttrell’s _Diary_, ii.
47, 57, 61). The rumour was untrue, for his attempt to bring them
to an engagement was unsuccessful (Burchett, _Transactions at Sea_,
pp. 37-43). Nevertheless the fictitious triumph was embodied in a
ballad called _The Seaman’s Victory_ (see p. 108). On June 30, 1690,
Torrington was worsted by de Tourville at Beachy Head. ‘Both the
admirals,’ says Burnet, ‘were equally blamed--ours for not fighting and
the French for not pursuing.’ Torrington was sent to the Tower, and
accused by the popular voice of want of courage as well as of want of
conduct. Of this feeling the ballad called _Torringtonia, or a New Copy
of Verses on the late Sea Engagement_, is the expression (p. 110).
Another incident which occurred in the same month is related in an
elegy, _In the memory of the truly Loyal and Valiant Captain John
George, late Commander of their Majesties Frigate the Rose, being a
full and true Relation of a bloody Fight between the said Frigate and a
French man-of-war to the eastward of Cape Sables on Saturday the 24th
of May, 1690_. John George was in charge of a convoy when he sighted
the French ship, which was superior in force to his own. The enemy
‘Twenty odd guns on either side hauled out,
Seamen and soldiers full four hundred [stout].
The _Rose_ a fifth-rate, not full thirty guns,
Six score brave lads, burthen three hundred tuns.’
George was killed by a ball from the Frenchman’s maintop, but David
Condon, his lieutenant, carried on the fight (assisted by that ‘gallant
spark,’ Captain Ben Clark of Wapping, ‘in the European of London, a
mast ship,’ which carried ten guns), and beat off the assailant. When
New England rose against the government of Sir Edmund Andros in April
1689, George had been made a prisoner, but was released by order of
the King, though much distrusted by the supporters of the revolution.
One reason for publishing the relation was that the base Bostonians,
‘cursed sons of Cham,’ said that the captain had betrayed his convoy
(see _Cal. State Papers, Dom. 1690-1_, p. 376; _ib. America and West
Indies, 1689-92_, pp. 66, 121, 269; Charnock, _Biographia Navalis_, ii.
98, 308).
In 1691 Admiral Russell was in command of the fleet in the Channel, but
though he cruised from May to September, achieved nothing (Burchett,
pp. 63-91). A satirical ballad, ironically entitled _England’s Triumph
at Sea_, probably by the same author as _Torringtonia_, hints that ‘the
cherry-cheeked Russell’ was very careful not to meet with his foes
(p. 112). Two regiments of marines had been raised in April 1690, and
served in the fleet, and the first allusion ballads make to this branch
of service is contained in the following lines:
‘We had sea colonels o’ th’ nature of otter,
Which either might serve by land or by water,
Though of what they have done we hear no great matter.’
In September 1691 Russell’s fleet put into Plymouth in a violent storm,
losing two ships, the Coronation, a second-rate, and the Harwich, a
third-rate. This disaster is commemorated in _England’s Great Loss by a
Storm of Wind_, which exaggerates, as ballads generally do, and makes
him lose nine ships (p. 113).