THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
The lot of the modern seaman is of a vastly different order of things
from that of the eighteenth-century sailor. Hardships though there may
be in this twentieth century, yet they are not to be mentioned when
we remember the hard-swearing, bullying days of Queen Anne. Morals,
both ashore and afloat, were at a particularly low ebb; irreligion and
blasphemy were rampant. On board ship there was very rarely Divine
worship, even on the large East Indiamen, although this neglect was
certainly contrary to orders. But the managers themselves, in order to
save the expense of having to carry a chaplain, used to rate their big
ships as of only 499 tons, and so keep themselves within the law.
One of the most interesting personalities of this period was William
Hutchinson, who for some time was a famous privateer. As an instance
of the kind of tyrannical captains of his day, he mentions one whom he
remembered in the Jamaica trade. The latter used to make his ship a
veritable floating hell for all concerned. He was an excessive drinker,
he was a notorious gambler, always seeking a quarrel, and much addicted
to heavy swearing. He never got the best out of his people, for the
reason that when he was not maltreating his men he was damning his
officers. If during a heavy squall the officer of the watch offered to
take in sail or to bear away, this virulent skipper would regard such
a suggestion as an act of piracy. And yet he himself was so heedless
of what was prudent, that he would sometimes run his ship before the
wind and carry on till she was overpressed and could not be controlled
by the helm. And there came a time when this skipper and his ship put
forth to sea and never came back at all.
Hutchinson wrote one of the most interesting books on seamanship which
it has ever been my pleasure to read. His complaint was that too many
men were so devoted to the methods which they had been accustomed
to, that they could not be prevailed upon to try others which were
better. There certainly was a good deal of ignorance about in this
eighteenth century. Some men, he says, endeavour to make ships perform
impossibilities, as, for instance, backing their craft astern to clear
a single anchor when the wind is right aft against the windward tide;
or trying to back a ship with sails so set as to prevent her shooting
ahead towards a danger when laid-to; or driving broadside with the
wind against tide, not knowing that a ship driving on either tack will
always shoot forward the way her head lies, in spite of any sail set
aback. He complained, too, of the neglect of sea officers’ education.
One may add that the only training which naval officers received
at this time was by going to sea. They came from the shore to the
quarter-deck and picked up what knowledge they could. It is true that,
in 1727, George II established a Naval Academy at Portsmouth. But it
was a very exclusive institution, and open to only a few of the sons of
the nobility and gentry. Therefore it languished through neglect before
very long, but in 1806 was raised to the dignity of a Royal Naval
College.
[Illustration: COLLIER BRIG.
As seen by E. W. Cooke at the beginning of the nineteenth century. In
the time of Hutchinson these collier brigs were slightly different and
carried spritsails. But on the whole the brigs of both periods were
very similar.]
The eighteenth-century midshipman of the Royal Navy was a man of low
social standing. His age varied from ten to forty-five, the older
men having been promoted from before the mast. Mere boys, who knew
but little about the ways of a ship, and in any case had had but
little training, were given the rank of lieutenant. The country had
so much fighting on hand that it badly needed men. Forty thousand
men were voted in 1705, justices of the peace being authorised to
seek out seamen and deliver them to the press-gangs. Whilst penalties
were threatening for those who concealed seamen, rewards were held
out to those who should discover and help to arrest them. Landsmen
being eligible, it was not surprising that a raw, incompetent lot
of gaol-birds had to do service for their country on the seas. But
they were not even healthy of body. One has only to read Anson’s
“Voyage Round the World.” Among the men that were sent to him by the
authorities, thirty-two out of one batch of 170 were straight from the
hospital and sick-quarters. Of the soldiery he was to carry, all the
land forces that were to be allowed him were 500 Chelsea pensioners,
consisting of men invalided for age, wounds, or other infirmities.
But there were some very fine fellows in two branches of the merchant
service. Hutchinson calls attention to these: “Those seamen in the
coal and coasting trade to the city of London, are the most perfect in
working and managing their ships in narrow, intricate, and difficult
channels, and in tide ways; and the seamen in the East India trade are
so in the open seas.” “The best lessons for tacking and working to
windward in little room,” he remarks elsewhere, “are in the colliers
bound to London, where many great ships are constantly employed,
and where wages are paid by the voyage, so that interest makes them
dexterous.” The mainmast of such craft stood further aft than was
customary. Therefore they had a strong tendency to gripe, and so they
often used their spritsail and all head sail for going to windward and
making them manageable. In narrow channels, when the wind was blowing
so strongly that all hands could not haul aft the fore sheet, this had
to be done by the capstan. These little brigs had no lifts to the lower
yards, no foretop bowlines, but short main bowlines, and snatch-blocks
for the main and fore sheets. The main braces led forward so that the
main and maintop bowlines were hauled and belayed to the same pin. “We
have ships,” he says, “that will sail from six to nine miles an hour,
upon a wind, when it blows fresh and the water is smooth, and will make
their way good within six points of the wind, in still water, a third
of what they run by the logg.”
The accompanying illustration shows the well-known manœuvre of
boxhauling, which Hutchinson was most anxious to teach his brother
seamen. For the benefit of the non-nautical reader, I may explain
that this is a method of veering a ship when the sea is so bad that
she cannot tack, and is dangerously near the lee shore. Boxhauling,
insisted Hutchinson, is the surest and best method of getting a ship
under command of helm and sails in a limited space. “There is a saying
amongst seamen,” he adds, “if a ship will not stay you must ware her;
and if she will not ware, you must box-haul her; and if you cannot
box-haul her, you must club-haul her--that is, let go the anchor to
get her about on the other tacks.” Every maritime officer to-day has
written across his mind in imperishable letters the five L’s--“log,
lead, look-out, latitude, and longitude.” In Hutchinson’s day the
sailor had only three of these, and he quotes the great Halley
as emphasising the importance of the three L’s--lead, latitude, and
look-out. For the difficulty of the longitude was still unsolved.
[Illustration: BOXHAULING.
Hutchinson relates that on one occasion he saved his ship from
foundering in Mount’s Bay only by boxhauling, as here indicated. Fig.
2 shows that as soon as the ship ceased coming round in stays, the
foresheet was hauled aft, the headsails trimmed flat, whilst the sails
were slacking, and the helm put hard alee. She then made a stern board.
Thus gathering way, she turned short on her heel till she filled main
and maintopsails the right way. The helm was then put hard aweather, so
that the ship got headway with the sails trimmed, as in Fig. 1. Later
on she was able to turn to windward, as in Fig. 3, far enough off the
lee shore so as to weather the Lizard.]
[Illustration: EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY “BITTACLE.”
There was a compass on either side, and the lamp was placed in between.]
Briefly, the history of this problem is as follows. Longitude is,
of course, the distance which a ship makes east or west. These
eighteenth-century navigators had their quadrant for finding their
latitude, and they used the log-line, log-ship, reel, and half-minute
glass to tell them roughly and inaccurately the distance sailed by
the ship. These, by the way, were kept stowed in the “bittacle”
(binnacle), which in those days was a wooden box arrangement containing
a compass on each side with lights in between. There were usually
two of these “bittacles” on board, viz. one for the steersman and
one for the “person who superintends and directs the steerage,” says
Moore, “whose office is called conning.” The accompanying illustration
will indicate quite clearly the appearance of an eighteenth-century
“bittacle.” Throughout history all sorts of efforts had been made to do
for longitude what the quadrant and cross-staff had done for latitude.
The great voyages of discovery in the early sixteenth century had
especially given this research an impetus. In 1530 and again in 1598 a
means had been sought. Philip III of Spain offered a thousand crowns to
him who should discover the instrument for finding longitude. All sorts
of prizes were offered by different Governments at different dates. The
States of Holland held out an offer of 10,000 florins. The melancholy
wreck of Sir Cloudesley Shovel on the Scillies with his squadron caused
the English Parliament, in 1714, to offer £20,000 for any method which
could determine the longitude. Two years later the French Government
offered 100,000 livres, and so the impetus continued without avail. The
whole civilised world was crying out for something which no scientist
could give.
And then, in 1765, the English prize was at last won by John and
William Harrison, who were able to make instruments most suitable
for this purpose, and received the £20,000. This was that invaluable
little article the chronometer, which means so much to the modern
mammoth steamships. Dr. Maskelyne, the Astronomer Royal, had, in 1754,
discovered the method of finding longitude by lunar observations on
shore. After navigators at last began to employ chronometers the
dawn of modern methods had already occurred. In 1767 came the first
publication of the “Nautical Almanac,” Hadley’s quadrant was made known
in 1731, and the sextant in 1761. Perhaps, as the sailing masters in
the Navy had to provide their own nautical instruments, there was
not such an incentive to accustom themselves to new methods as might
otherwise have been the case.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF AN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY THREE-DECKER.]
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF AN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY MAN-OF-WAR.
Showing decks, cabins, holds, etc.]
Till the time when Hadley’s quadrant was adopted, masters had always
stuck to Davis’. The ship’s time was still kept by half-hour glass. The
quartermaster, when the sand had run down, capsized the glass again and
struck the ship’s bell--on eight occasions during the watch. All
the different courses sailed during a watch of four hours were marked
by the quartermaster on a circular disc of hard wood. This was called
a traverse board, and thereon were marked the different points of the
compass. On the line of each point radiating from the centre were eight
little holes, just as one sees in a cribbage-board. One at a time, pegs
were placed into these holes to register the various courses sailed in
every watch. And then, later on, the courses were entered on a log-book
or slate, and the course and distance made good reckoned out.
[Illustration: QUARTER-DECK OF AN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FRIGATE.
Showing the steering wheels in use.]
I have not been able to find any authority which would settle the
date when wheels for steering a ship were first invented; but I am
convinced that it was somewhere about the middle of the eighteenth
century. Hutchinson, whose “Practical Seamanship” was published in
1777, speaks of the steering wheel in the following terms: “The great
advantages experienced from steering a ship with this excellent machine
has occasioned it to become more and more in use; even small ships that
have their tillers upon deck frequently now steer with a wheel.” And he
states that most of these wheels have eight spokes, though large ships
have a ten-spoked wheel.
The Newcastle colliers, of which we were speaking just now, had
anything but good charts to guide them, and their methods of coasting
are certainly worth noting. About two-thirds of their voyage from
Newcastle-on-Tyne to the Pool of London will be found to have consisted
of navigating in the region of dangerous shoals. And yet in that
eighteenth century, even though they had not a really reliable chart
between them, hundreds of these little brigs used to sail backwards
and forwards between the metropolis and the north with scarcely ever a
shipwreck. Indeed, so few were the losses that the owners very rarely
had their craft insured. That meant that they could afford to carry
their coal, iron, timber, hemp, flax, or whatever it might be, at
low freights. There was keen competition to get their goods first to
market, and some very sportive passages were made. The last of these
interesting old craft, so cleverly handled, so fascinating as they must
have been to watch, I believe ended her days in a North Sea gale not
very long since.
[Illustration: COLLIER BRIG DISCHARGING HER CARGO.
After E. W. COOKE.]
Hutchinson’s enthusiasm for these is infectious. He has no literary
power of expression, but in the plain, staccato language of a hard
merchant sailor and privateer he makes one jealous of the sights which
he saw with his own eyes and can never be seen again. There is not
to-day--certainly as regards British waters--any such craft as a brig,
unless there is one small training ship still cruising about Plymouth
Sound. But in his day one sometimes saw a fleet of 300 of them all
turning to windward, having every one of them come out of the Tyne on
the same tide. The sight of so many fine little ships crossing and
recrossing each other’s bows so quickly, and with such little room,
made a distinguished Frenchman hold up his hands, and remark “that it
was there France was conquered.”
In going through such shallow and narrow channels as Yarmouth Roads
the fleet collected themselves for mutual safety. In the absence of
good charts and efficient buoyage--it was not till 1830 that the
singular distinction of producing the worst charts passed away from
England--it was essential to use great caution in such strong tideways.
The procedure was, therefore, as follows: The fleet being now together,
each ship had a man in the chains heaving his lead. He sung out the
soundings loud enough for his neighbours to hear. This happened in
every ship; so that those vessels announcing shoal water would be
recognised as getting too near the sands; that other bunch of craft
declaring consistently deeper water would be in the channel, and the
rest could follow their lead. In this manner the best water was always
found.
Anyone who has navigated up or down the Swin Channel at the entrance to
the Thames Estuary knows that the region is full of shoals, made still
more dangerous by the strong tides which set athwart them. In clear
weather the excellent modern buoyage makes the passage easy. But in the
eighteenth century, and in thick weather, when the fleet from Newcastle
came to the Swin, they hoped to have a head wind, and not to be able
to lie their course. Why? Well, they smelt their way by continuous
soundings, and if they were beating to windward they would find as they
prolonged each tack the water began to shoal; it was then time to ’bout
ship, and they stood on the other tack till the shallow water warned
them once more. But if they had had a fair wind and been able to keep
straight on, they ran the risk, they said, of getting piled up on the
wrong side of the sand-spits in some swatch-way. Therefore the fleet
adopted clever tactics. The lesser draught ships endeavoured to wait
till the bigger vessels passed ahead. The former would then follow
close behind, knowing that if the largest craft could float, so also
could they. But when the bigger ships found the water shoaling, they,
too, would let go anchor and let the smaller ships go ahead. Then the
tide having flooded still more, and the small fry having been observed
to be all right, up came the cables and the procession went on its
way. It was just because these vessels had to experience such a great
deal of anchor work that they held the record of any ships afloat for
breaking out their hooks with their windlass in the shortest time.
Whenever an ex-collier’s crew shipped aboard another vessel, it was
found that the windlass needed half the men to do the work.
[Illustration: AN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY MAN-OF-WAR.
The illustration shows a three-decker in a shipbuilder’s yard ready for
launching.]
[Illustration: COLLIER BRIGS BEATING UP THE SWIN.]
Those were the days of real seamanship of all kinds and sorts, so we
can afford in these modern times to admire a lost art. “Nice managers
of sloop-rigged vessels,” says this fine old skipper, “turning to
windward in narrow channels, when they want but little to weather a
point, rather than make another tack, have a practice of running up
in the wind till the headway ceases, then they fill again upon the
same tack; this they call making a half board.” But Hutchinson had
no great faith in “weather-glasses,” and even doubts “their being of
any great service to seafaring people.” However, he does admit that
on one occasion he had warning of an approaching storm in the English
Channel from Tampion’s portable barometer. About seventy sailing ships
had got under way from the Downs with a moderate south-east breeze. In
the morning the quicksilver fell from 29½ inches to 28½. He had all
his small sails up, and ordered all hands to set to work and take
in the small sails and lower the t’gallant yards. About eight in the
evening the storm came on, the ship being now abreast of the Lizard,
the wind having shifted to south-south-east. Suddenly it flew round
to north-north-west, blew very strongly, and though he had no canvas
aloft except the foresail in brails, yet it laid the ship more down on
her broadside than ever he had known her. Later on they passed a ship
bottom upwards, which had obviously foundered in the same squall.
Hutchinson, who himself preferred squaresails cut deep and narrow
rather than shallow and broad, alleging that thus they stood better on
a wind, opined that because of this superior shape the colliers and
timber-carriers already mentioned sailed so well and required so few
hands. And we get just a brief reference to the hardy Liverpool pilots
of those days. Perhaps the reader is aware of the heavy sea which gets
up among the sands at the mouth of the Mersey, and that in those waters
it was and is often a most difficult undertaking to put a pilot on
board an incoming ship. In such weather that it was impossible for the
pilot-sloop to get alongside the incoming ship the two craft would get
as near to each other as they dared, and then the bigger craft would
throw a small line aboard the sloop, which the pilot would quickly
hitch round his body, leap overboard, and so be pulled on board--more
drowned than alive, one would have thought. Sometimes the incoming
craft would veer out a rope astern which the sloop would pick up, and
the same business followed as before. But even the Liverpool pilots
were not so brilliant as those whose duty it was to take ships out from
the Tyne across the treacherous bar, when sometimes they were compelled
to let the ship lie almost on her beam ends so as to float out into the
North Sea without hitting the shoals at the river’s mouth.
[Illustration: MODEL OF H.M.S. “TRIUMPH.”
A two-deck, 74-gun line-of-battle ship. Launched 1764, having been
designed on the lines of the _Invincible_, captured from the French by
Lord Anson in 1747.]
[Illustration: “COMPELLED TO LET THE SHIP LIE ALMOST ON HER BEAM ENDS.”]
We have not much room to deal with the glorious fights of the
privateers of those days. Those who are interested in the subject
will find what they require in Captain Statham’s “Privateers and
Privateering.” But we cannot pass on without at least a reference
to these adventurous craft. Handsome enough were the prizes which
sometimes they gained; but many were the times they failed for the
reason that, after some years of peace, their crews were undisciplined
and untrained. But about the middle of the eighteenth century
improvements had been made in the metal, the casting and the boring
of the cannon, which were now made not quite so heavy, and therefore
of less inconvenience to a ship. Bags of horsehair were employed for
protection against musket shot, whilst a rail, breast high, was affixed
each side with light iron crutches and arms and netting to hold the
men’s hammocks and bedding long-ways. Rope shakings and cork shakings,
too, were also employed as a further protection from the enemy’s fire.
But the powder that was served out in those scandalous days was often
enough disgustingly weak and lacking in velocity.
In the golden days of the privateer, so soon as she had got out to
sea all hands would be called to quarters and officers sent to their
stations; there would be a general exercise of guns and small arms,
everything made ready for action, and the general working of the ship
thoroughly well drilled. Chasing and fighting had been brought down
to the condition of a fine art, and there were recognised tactics
according as to whether your opponent were as big, bigger, or smaller
than yourself. If your enemy were your superior, it was better not to
bring your ship right alongside, but, before the attack opened, get on
his weather quarter, luff your ship into the wind with the helm alee,
until your after lee gun, which you fired first, could be pointed on
to the enemy’s stern. Then batter away with your lee broadside. They
endeavoured also to rake the enemy fore and aft with their biggest guns
as they passed, their object being, if possible, to smash the rudder
head, the tiller, tiller ropes and blocks--in fact, to destroy any of
the steerage tackle so that the ship might become unmanageable, and
thus readily fall into the hands of the privateer.
[Illustration: AN INTERESTING BIT OF SEAMANSHIP.
Hutchinson remarks that it often happens there is no room to turn a
vessel to windward through a crowd of ships, so she has to let the tide
drive her through stern first. In Fig. 1 below, the yards are braced
sharp up, and she is driving astern to windward. In Fig. 2 the ship is
being put on the other tack so as to clear the shore in the bend of the
river. In Fig. 3, the tide having slacked, the ship has come to anchor
with wind against tide.]
One or two devices which have since passed away, but were in use during
the eighteenth century, may be mentioned before we pass on. I wonder
how many “seamen” now serving on steamships would know what “fothering”
meant? It was a device that in the days of the old wooden sailing
ships saved both lives and ship on more than one occasion. This was
an ingenious means of stopping a leak below the vessel’s water-line
when at sea and unable to beach or dry-dock. It was employed at least
once during Captain Cook’s voyages at a critical time after the
ship had struck on a rock, and the sea was pouring in so fast that the
pumps were of little avail. Moore, in his “Midshipman’s Vocabulary,”
published in 1805, describes the method as performed by fastening a
sail at the four corners, letting it down under the ship’s bottom, and
then putting a quantity of chopped rope-yarns, oakum, wool, cotton,
etc., between it and the ship’s side. By repeating this operation
several times the leak sucks up a portion of the loose stuff, and so
the water ceases for the most part to pour into the ship. Hutchinson
also mentions that once when cruising the step of their foremast
carried away in a gale of wind, and made so great a leak that pumping
was little good. They were far from the nearest land, and matters were
critical; so they unbent the spritsail, stitched it over one side with
oakum, then with ropes to the clews and ear-rings they applied it to
the leak, and so effectually stopped the hole that before long the
pumps had freed the ship of water.
There is nothing new, apparently, even in sea-sayings. Probably there
is not an officer to-day in the Merchant Service who has never heard
the maxim, “Better to break owners than orders.” Well, Hutchinson knew
this phrase, and used it not for trading, but for privateering. The
owners’ orders were usually “to proceed with all possible expedition
to the designed station to take prizes.” And he had a very ingenious
device, which, if I mistake not, was actually resurrected and tried
with modifications in Southampton Water three or four years ago.
Hutchinson’s idea was to scrub ships’ bottoms while at sea instead
of having to bring them to dock or careen them. He had himself used
this new method, which could easily be performed while at anchor or
on the ocean in a calm. The device consisted of a frame of elm-boards
enclosing a couple of 10-gallon casks with square spaces each side
filled with birch-broom stuff that projected and was to come in contact
with the ship’s bottom. To use this a block was lashed under the
bowsprit, and another at the stern on the driver boom. A single rope
was rove through these blocks just long enough to haul the scrubber,
which did its work fore-and-aftwise underneath the ship.
The accompanying illustration may seem to the reader a fanciful
picture, but it is nothing of the kind, and was made from a sketch
done on the spot. In this will be noticed a ship with no fewer than
thirty different sails. Hutchinson declares that in a light air--when
he needed all the canvas he could spread--he turned to windward with
all the sail drawing. As an ingenious piece of seamanship it is worthy
of note, and surpasses the achievements of the clippers with their
reputation for skysails and moonrakers. He speaks of the sail on the
aftermost mast as the mizzen, and that curious-looking canvas right at
the stern as a large driver with a light boom to make it set properly.
There were two tail blocks at the outer end thereof, lashed to the
rail; and in order that it might set better a bowline was attached.
Below this will be observed the strange sight of a water-sail _aft_ as
well as forward. It was really a foretopmast stuns’l, and was hauled
out to the end of the boom of the driver. As an example of what an
ingenious skipper could do to get way on his ship in light airs, I
think this illustration will be impossible to beat.
[Illustration: AN INGENIOUS SAIL-SPREAD.
Every one of these thirty sails was actually drawing. (See text.)]
There is an interesting volume entitled “A Mariner of England,” which
gives an account of the career of a William Richardson, who from
cabin boy rose to the rank of warrant officer between the years 1780
and 1819, a record that gives one a real insight into the life of a
seaman at that time. When he joined H.M.S. _Minerva_, in 1793, as a
bluejacket, there were no slop-chests, but the purser at stated
periods served out as many yards of dungaree as were required to each
man for jackets, shirts, and trousers. Needles and thread were also
served out, and then the men made the garments for themselves. He gives
you, also, some idea of the mismanagement that went on; the crews made
up of raw, ignorant, and stupid men, commanded by a young post-captain
who only three or four years ago had been midshipman. In tacking and
wearing, however, the strictest discipline was enforced. Not a word
was allowed to be spoken; only the voice of the commanding officer was
to be heard on those occasions, and the boatswain’s pipe was just loud
enough to be heard. Swearing was checked by putting down the names of
the delinquents on a list, and these men were subsequently punished
with seven or eight lashes at the most. The launch was stowed on the
main deck under the booms; and on certain nights a lantern was hung up
on deck, and a fiddler seated on the topsail-sheet bitts, and there
would be dancing for those who cared.
The reader will remember we called attention some time back to those
spritsails which seem so curious to us moderns. They were also known
as “water sails” and as “Jimmy Greens,” both appellations being due,
obviously, to the unhappy knack they possessed of scooping up the sea.
They are now long since obsolete, but they were retained for a long
time for veering the ship’s head round to leeward in the event of
her foremast being shot away. But they were also used even when the
foremast was standing--both on a wind and off. If on a wind the yard
could be topped, and the sail could also be reefed diagonally.
When Hood sent his dispatch to the Controller of the Navy announcing
the victory of the British fleet at the Battle of the Saints in 1782,
he made reference to some of Rodney’s signals, e.g. for a general
chase; to steer more to starboard or port; to shorten sail; to set more
canvas; and if the admiral should wish to order his ships to cease
firing, “the white flag at the fore topgallant masthead, before dark,
calls every ship in.” There were also night signals in use in the Royal
Navy about this time. Thus, for instance, when the admiral wished to
order his fleet to unmoor and ride short he hung out three lights,
one above another, in the main topmast shrouds above the “constant”
light in the maintop, and fired two guns, which were answered by the
flagships, each private ship hanging out a light in her mizzen shrouds.
So also when the signal was being given to weigh anchor, the admiral
hung out some light on the maintopmast shrouds and fired a gun, which
was answered by the flagships and private ships as before.
[Illustration: AN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY THREE-DECKER.]
Apart altogether from the unsatisfactory kind of seamen which often
made up the crews of the English Navy, matters were far from ideal
among their officers. There was a spirit of decadence even here. When
Benbow was sent to the Spanish Main to seize Cartagena, and fell in
with the French, his own captains disobeyed orders, kept out of action,
and allowed Benbow to fight the enemy practically single-handed.
Similarly, when Matthews was in the Mediterranean attacking the
combined Spanish-French fleets, he was basely betrayed by Lestock, who
kept astern out of action. As the result of an inquiry, not only was
Lestock not punished, but Matthews, who happened to sit in Parliament
on the side of the Opposition, had his name struck off the Navy List.
There are, unfortunately, too many instances of this kind of thing on
record during this century. Some were loyal and straightforward, but
none the less inefficient. The captains, wrote Admiral Keppel to Lord
Hawke in August, 1778, “are indeed fine officers, and the ships
are fine. Some of them, indeed, want more experience in discipline to
do all that can be expected from them, but a complete fleet cannot
be formed in a day. Our greatest want is petty officers, and that
deficiency is general.” And then, you will remember, all the discontent
among the seamen culminated in the year 1797, when a series of mutinies
broke out. The first was at Spithead, when Lord Bridport was about to
take his fleet to sea. He had made the signal to unmoor, when suddenly
every ship’s company gave three cheers and refused to go until their
pay was increased. They made one exception, however; if the French
fleet were out then they would put to sea to fight them, otherwise
they declined to go. Lieutenant Philip Beaver, who was serving on the
_Monarch_, writing to his sister two days after this event, admits that
with one exception all the crews behaved “with great prudence, decency,
and moderation ... and obey their officers as before in the regular
routine of ship’s duty--saying that they are not dissatisfied with
their officers or the service, but are determined to have an increase
of pay, because it has not been increased since the time of Charles the
First, and that everything since that period has risen 50 per cent,
that no attention had been paid to their petitions.” Eventually the
statements of the men were found to be well substantiated, and they
were pardoned. But there was another mutiny on May 7; six days later
another broke out at the Nore, and in the same month among the men of
Admiral Duncan’s fleet off the Texel, and even in Jervis’ fleet off
Cadiz.
In no respect is the canker of the eighteenth century better shown
than in the condition of tactics displayed by the admirals of this
time. During the Anglo-Dutch wars, many a valuable and wholesome
lesson had been learned by the English Navy, but the Battle of Malaga
in 1704 showed that instead of tactical progress being made, the age
had become--to quote an apt expression of Admiral Mahan--“the epoch
of mere seamanship.” As soon as inspiration deserts art, we all know
how valueless becomes mere technique. It was much the same with
eighteenth-century tactics. There was not a breath of inspiration; it
was a period of formality, of stiff insincerity both ashore and afloat.
The curse of our policy in fighting naval battles was the fetish of
the cast-iron tactics which no officer dared to modify. It was not
till Hawke came swooping down that these lifeless, formal affairs
began to improve. Till his time there was far greater respect for the
letter than the spirit of tactics, so that a naval battle between the
English and her enemy was just this: the English fleet came along in
line-ahead, and then each ship laid herself alongside the corresponding
ship of the enemy’s line, with the result that there was a series of
duels.
Hawke’s idea was not that, but to concentrate his whole force against
a part of the enemy’s fleet, and this idea was carried out by Rodney,
when he defeated the French at the Battle of the Saints in 1782. It
is true that the signal book then in use in the Royal Navy, plus the
inefficient state of the service generally, caused Rodney’s signal to
be misunderstood. But it turned out better than it might have done.
In medieval times, the great idea was to lay your ship aboard the
other ship and fight her to a finish. Then, the reader will remember,
came the Cromwellian period, which altered all this. But instead of
continuing this progress, the eighteenth century actually reverted to
the medieval method, and this was the practice against which Hawke and
Rodney set their faces determinedly.
[Illustration: THE “INVINCIBLE” AND “GLORIOSO.”
Showing the highly decorated sterns and poop-lanterns of the eighteenth
century.]
In the matter of tactics, as in shipbuilding, the French were decidedly
our superiors. And our officers--or, at any rate, those who were keen
and zealous for the service--recognised this. “I believe you will,
with me, think it something surprising,” wrote Captain Kempenfelt to
the Comptroller of the Navy, “that we, who have been so long a famous
maritime power, should not yet have established any regular rules for
the orderly and expeditious performance of the several evolutions
necessary to be made in a fleet. The French have long since set us the
example.... Oh, but ’tis said by several, our men are better seamen
than the French. But the management of a private ship and a fleet
are as different from each other as the exercising of a firelock and
the conducting of an army.... The men who are best disciplined, of
whatever country they are, will always fight the best.... In fine, if
you will neither give an internal discipline for your ships, nor a
system of tactics for the evolutions of your fleet, I don’t know from
what you are to expect success.... We should, therefore, immediately
and in earnest set about a reform; endeavours should be used to find
out proper persons, and encouragement offered for such to write on
naval tactics, as also to translate what the French have published on
that subject. They should also enter into the plan of education at our
marine academies.” The date of this letter was January 18, 1780, and
in saying what he did Captain Kempenfelt was placing his finger on the
real point of the matter.
It was two years after this that John Clerk published his “Essay on
Naval Tactics.” British officers of this period had a supreme contempt
for book learning, just as the simpler sort of seaman has to-day. But
it was not till Clerk published the above book that officers began
to change their mind. Up till now works on tactics had been French.
Clerk’s was the first volume on this subject in the English tongue.
It is not too much to assert that this completely revolutionised
British naval tactics, and that to its teaching were largely due the
victories of Rodney, Howe, Duncan, and St. Vincent. And the interesting
fact was that it was written not by an officer, but by a layman; not
by a seaman, but by a Scotch laird. Those who are attracted by the
subject of tactics will find much in this book that is instructive,
even though steam and steel ships and our present-day weapons never
entered into Clerk’s contemplation. And the numerous plans criticising
actual contemporary sea fights will be found most helpful to a complete
understanding of the nautical events of this period.
One of the most memorable battles in the whole of our naval history
was that which is known as the “Glorious First of June,” 1794. The
tactics which Howe employed on this occasion are interesting, because,
although he formed his fleet in line-abreast, and was able to disable
the enemy’s rear, forcing their van and centre to break away to support
their rear, yet there was such a ship-to-ship mode of attack that it
may seem to have been a reversion to the olden days of medievalism. But
the reason for this was that Howe was well aware that, crew for crew,
the English were superior to the French. The result proved that his
belief was well grounded, for at this time the crisis in the British
Navy had just passed, the improvement in tactics had taken place, and
the decadent ebb had already run its course.
[Illustration: MODEL OF AN ENGLISH FRIGATE, 1750.
She carried 24 nine-pound guns, and had a crew of 160. She was of 511
tons, and measured 113 feet on the gun-deck.]
The kind of fighting instructions which had been issued by Russel in
1691 and continued till after the Battle of the Saints in 1782, was
superseded very shortly after the latter date. It was Lord Howe who
made this change, so that the basis of the new tactical code was no
longer the Fighting Instructions, but the Signal Book. Instead of the
signals being secondary to the instructions, the position was now
exactly reversed. In 1790 these fighting instructions took a second
form, in the shape of a new code of signals, and upon this tactical
system were based all the great actions of the Nelson period. The
code continued until the year 1816, when an entirely new signal book
appeared, which was based on Sir Home Popham’s code, the latter having
been in use for a number of years for “telegraphing.” It was Popham’s
code that was used for making Nelson’s famous signal at Trafalgar.
Howe’s tactics at the Glorious First of June were illustrative of the
ideas which were then rooted in the minds of British admirals. By
sailing in line-abreast instead of adhering rigidly to the eternal
line-ahead, Howe showed that he was conscious of the modern progress
in tactics. But there his appreciation ended. For, as you peruse the
events of this battle, you find that the rest of the contest became
confused and haphazard, the British admirals throwing over the lessons
of Clerk and employing just their own ideas and initiative. The credit
of the Battle of St. Vincent belongs to the daring of Nelson in taking
upon himself a heavy responsibility when he saw that Jervis had made a
tactical mistake. We have no room to deal with this here; but I wish
to remind the reader that the line-head formation was that adopted by
Jervis. Just before the battle, when he perceived how the Spaniards
were disposed in two divisions, he resolved to pass between them in
single line-ahead, separate them thoroughly, and then _concentrate on
the one division which was much larger than the other_. Thus, clearly,
he belonged to the same school of tacticians as Rodney and Howe.
It was in the middle of the reign of George II that a regular uniform
was first adopted for the officers of the English Navy. Hitherto they
had worn the same kind of clothes which their contemporaries wore in
the streets ashore. Every man dressed in the manner he preferred. But
in the year 1747 the question of a uniform colour and pattern was being
discussed when the King himself settled the point. It happened on this
wise. A certain admiral had been sent to the Admiralty on an entirely
different matter by the Duke of Bedford, who was then First Lord. He
was ushered into an apartment surrounded by various dresses, and was
asked to state which of these he considered the most appropriate; to
which the admiral answered that he thought blue or red, _or_ red and
blue, since these were our national colours. “No,” replied the Duke,
“the King has determined otherwise; for having seen my Duchess riding
in the Park a few days ago, in a habit of blue, faced with white, the
dress took the fancy of His Majesty, who has appointed it for the
uniform of the Royal Navy.”[52] Since that time, as the reader is
aware, these two colours, blue and white, have remained the colours of
our Navy, although the cut of the clothes has altered from time to time.
[Illustration: A 32-GUN FRIGATE READY FOR LAUNCHING.
This shows H.M.S. _Cleopatra_ (built in 1779) in her cradle, ready to
go down the ways. She measured 126·4 feet on gun-deck, 35·2 feet wide,
depth 12·1 feet, and was of 689 tons.]
We alluded just now to the introduction of wheels on board sailing
ships, and endeavoured to fix the date as approximately the middle of
this century. The following account of the Great Storm on November
27, 1703 (in which no fewer than thirteen men-o’-war were lost, many
more seriously damaged, and the Eddystone lighthouse destroyed), shows
that tillers, as in Elizabethan days, were still used, and the wheel
not yet invented. The following is the autograph report by Admiral
Sir Cloudesley Shovel, commanding a squadron of eight ships in the
Downs. The fact that the ships drifted all the way from the Downs to
the Galloper (in the North Sea) gives some indication of the fury of
that autumn hurricane. This dispatch is among the MSS. preserved in the
British Museum:--
“On Saturday last soone in the morning wee had a most miserable
Storme of Wind, which drove us to some Streights, for after wee had
veerrd out more than three Cables of our best bower that Anchor
broke, soon after our Tillar broke, and before we could secure our
Rudder it broke from our Sterne, and has shaken our Stern Post
that we prove very leakey, and had our four Chaine Pumps and a
hand Pump goeing to keep us free. We lett go our Sheete Anchor,
and veered out all the Cables to it, butt that did not ride us,
butt wee drove near a sand called the Galloper, of which we saw the
breach; I directed the Maine Mast to be cutt by the Board, after
which we ridd fast. Of eight Ships that came out of the Downes
four are missing, the _Association_, _Russell_, _Revenge_, and
_Dorsettshire_; pray God they drove cleare of the sand....
“P.S. I doubt it has farr’d worse with the four Ships that have
drove away than it has done with us: I have some hopes that some
of them have drove to Sea; but if so they are without Anchors or
Cables and may be without Masts: I judge it will be of Service if
some Frigg^t were sent out to looke for them.”
And yet there was at least one ship which had the wheel invention in
the year 1747. In Hawke’s dispatch to the Secretary to the Admiralty,
recording the action off Rochelle, in August, 1747, after relating
that he kept his wind as close as possible so as to help the _Eagle_
and _Edinburgh_, which had lost her foretopmast, he relates that “this
attempt of ours was frustrated by the _Eagle’s_ falling twice on board
us, having had her wheel shot to pieces.” We may, therefore, fix the
date of the first steering wheel as not earlier than 1703, and not
later than 1747.