THE ANSON.

The year 1807 was most disastrous to the British navy: during that

period, we lost no less than twenty-nine ships of war, and, unhappily,

the greater part of their crews. Some of these vessels foundered at

sea, others were wrecked or accidentally burnt, and it was at the

close of this eventful year that a calamity occurred which equalled,

if it did not surpass, any previous disaster.

The Anson, of 40 guns, under the command of Captain Charles Lydiard,

after completing her stores for a few months' cruise, sailed from

Falmouth on the 24th of December, to resume her station off Brest. The

wind was adverse, blowing very hard from the W.S.W., until the morning

of the 28th, when Captain Lydiard made the Island of Bas, on the

French coast. As the gale was increasing rather than subsiding, he

determined to return to port, and accordingly shaped his course for

the Lizard. At three o'clock P.M. land was discovered, apparently

about five miles west of the Lizard, but owing to the thickness of the

fog, there was a difference of opinion as to the land that was seen,

and therefore the ship was wore to stand out to sea. She had not been

long on this tack before land was descried right ahead.

It was now evident that their position was extremely dangerous,--the

ship was completely embayed, and the wind raged with increasing fury.

Every exertion was made to keep the Anson off shore, but without

success, and it was not until she was fearfully near to the rocks that

she could be brought to an anchor, in twenty-five fathoms, with the

best bower anchor veered away to two cables' length. The top-gallant

masts were lowered upon deck, and in this state she rode from five

o'clock P.M., when she anchored, till four o'clock the next morning,

when the cable suddenly parted. During the night, the gale was

tremendous, and the sea ran mountains high; they had nothing now to

depend upon for the safety of the ship but a small bower anchor, which

was immediately let go, and this held until eight o'clock, when it

also parted. The ship was no longer an object of consideration;

Captain Lydiard felt that he had done his utmost to save her, but in

vain, and that now every energy must be put forth for the preservation

of human life. The tempest raged with such fury that no boat could

possibly come to their aid, nor could the strongest swimmer hope to

gain the shore. It appeared to Captain Lydiard that the only chance of

escape for any of the crew was in running the ship as near the coast

as possible. He gave the necessary orders, and the master run the

vessel on the sand which forms the bar between the Loe Pool and the

sea, about three miles from Helstone. The tide had been ebbing nearly

an hour when she took the ground, and she broached to, leaving her

broadside heeling over, and facing the beach.

The scene of horror and confusion which ensued on, the Anson striking

against the ground, was one which baffles all description. Many of the

men were washed away by the tremendous sea which swept over the deck;

many others were killed by the falling of the spars, the crashing

sound of which, as they fell from aloft, mingled with the shrieks of

the women on board, was heard even amidst the roar of the waters and

the howling of the winds. The coast was lined with crowds of

spectators, who watched with an intense and painful interest the

gradual approach of the ill-fated vessel towards the shore, and

witnessed the subsequent melancholy catastrophe.

Calm and undaunted amidst the terrors of the scene, Captain Lydiard

is described as displacing in a remarkable degree that self-possession

and passive heroism, which has been so often the proud characteristic

of the commander of a British ship of war under similar harassing

circumstances. Notwithstanding the confusion of the scene, his voice

was heard, and his orders were obeyed with that habitual deference

which, even in danger and in death, an English seaman rarely foils to

accord to his commanding officer.

He was the first to restore order, to assist the wounded, to encourage

the timid, and to revive expiring hope. Most providentially, when the

vessel struck, the mainmast, in falling overboard, served to form a

communication between the ship and the shore, and Captain Lydiard was

the first to point out this circumstance to the crew. Clinging with

his arm to the wheel of the rudder, in order to prevent his being

washed overboard by the waves, he continued to encourage one after

another as they made the perilous attempt to reach the shore. It was

fated that this gallant officer should not enjoy in this world the

reward of his humanity and his heroism. After watching with

thankfulness the escape of many of his men, and having seen with honor

many others washed off the mast, in their attempts to reach the land,

he was about to undertake the dangerous passage himself, when he was

attracted by the cries of a person seemingly in an agony of terror.

The brave man did not hesitate for a moment, but turned and made his

way to the place whence the cries proceeded; there he found a boy, a

protégé of his own, whom he had entered on board the Anson only a few

months before, clinging in despair to a part of the wreck, and without

either strength or courage to make the least effort for his own

preservation. Captain Lydiard's resolution was instantly taken,--he

would save the lad, if possible, though he might himself perish in the

attempt. He threw one arm round the boy, whilst he cheered him by

words of kind encouragement, with the other arm he clung to the spars

and mast to support himself and his burthen. But the struggle did not

last long; nature was exhausted by the mental and physical sufferings

he had endured; he lost his hold, not of the boy, but of the mast, the

wild waves swept over them, and they perished together.

It must not be supposed that the people on the shore were unconcerned

spectators of the fearful tragedy that was enacted before their eyes.

British fishermen are proverbial for their daring and intrepidity.

Inured from childhood to the dangers and hardships attendant on their

perilous calling, with very few exceptions our fishermen have always

been ready to succour the wrecked and tempest-tossed mariner. There is

not, we believe, a fishing village between the Land's End and the

Orkneys, that cannot produce its true _heroes_--men who have risked,

and are willing again to risk, their own lives to save others. Our

fisheries are the best nurseries for our navy. Englishmen may be

justly proud of the boatmen, from amongst whom spring those 'hearts of

oak' which have so long rendered our fleets pre-eminent over those of

every other country in the world. But, besides the generous

disposition to assist any perishing fellow creature, there were in

this instance more powerful motives to exert every effort to save the

crew of the Anson. This ship had been stationed for some time at or

near Falmouth, so that acquaintances, friendships, and still dearer

ties, had been formed between the inhabitants of the neighbouring

towns and villages, and the people of the unfortunate vessel. But a

few days before they had witnessed a far different scene, when she

left their shores in all the pride of a well-ordered and

well-disciplined man-of-war, amidst the shouts, and cheers, and

blessings of the multitude, who now beheld her lying within a few

fathoms of them a helpless wreck, her masts gone, her bulwarks broken

in, the waves sweeping over her, and breaking up her timbers.

The surf ran so high, it was impossible that any boat could reach the

wreck. The life-boat, in 1807, had not been brought to the state of

perfection it has attained in our day; and the many inventions which

science and art have since introduced for the preservation of life,

were for the most part unknown in the times of which we are now

writing.

Several men attempted to swim to the ship, but without success; they

were all, one after another, cast back exhausted upon the beach, and

many of them without sense or motion. At last, when there seemed no

hope left of affording aid to the sufferers, Mr. Roberts, of Helstone,

seized hold of a rope, and boldly struck out in the direction of the

Anson. He was a powerful swimmer, and his courageous efforts were

watched from the shore and from the wreck with intense interest, and

many a heartfelt prayer was breathed for his safety and success.

Tossed on the foaming waters, at one moment lost to sight, and almost

suffocated in the spray, and at another rising on the top of a huge

wave, he at last reached the ship, and was hailed as a deliverer by

those who were still clinging to the spars and rigging. The rope which

Mr. Roberts had taken with him was made fast to the wreck, and this

formed a communication with the shore, by which many a poor wretch was

saved who must otherwise have perished.

Another instance of heroic self-devotion was exhibited by a Methodist

preacher, a little later in the day, when, as no one appeared on the

ship's side, it was supposed that every one had either come on shore,

or had been drowned; but this brave and good mail thought that there

might be some still left on board who were unable to make an effort to

save themselves, and, under this impression, he ventured his life

through the surf, followed by a few other daring spirits like himself.

With great difficulty they gained the wreck, where, as they had

anticipated, they found several persons lying below, all too much

exhausted to get upon deck. Some, in terror and despair, called upon

God for mercy; others, in hopeful trust, seemed resigned to their

fate; and others were so weak as to be indifferent to the horrors

around them. Two women and two children were of the number. The

preacher and his gallant comrades had the happiness of saving the

women and some of the men, but the children were lost.

Sixty men, amongst whom were Captain Lydiard and his first-lieutenant,

perished in the wreck of the Anson. The survivors of the crew were

conveyed to Helstone, where they received every attention and kindness

which their unfortunate condition required. The body of Captain

Lydiard, which was washed on shore, was interred at Falmouth with

military honours.

We feel assured that the following particulars of the life of Captain

Lydiard will not be unacceptable to the reader.

He entered the navy in the year 1780, in the flag-ship of Admiral

Darby, who then commanded the channel fleet, and from that time served

as a midshipman under several commanders on various stations, both at

home and abroad, during thirteen years. In 1794, he was appointed a

lieutenant of the Captain, of 74 guns, in which ship he served in two

general engagements in the Mediterranean. In July of the following

year he removed to the Southampton frigate, commanded by Captain

Shields, and afterwards by Captain Macnamara.

On the evening of the 9th of June, 1796, the Southampton was stationed

with the fleet under Sir John Jervis, off Toulon, when a French cruizer

was discovered working up to Hieres Bay. The commander-in-chief called

the captain of the Southampton on board the Victory, and pointing out

the ship, directed him to make a dash at her through the Grand Pas.

Accordingly, the Southampton weighed, and, in order to delude the

French into the supposition that the ship was either a neutral or a

French frigate, hauled up under easy sail close to the batteries at the

north-east of Porquerol. The stratagem succeeded; for before the enemy

were aware of the approach of the Southampton, the ship was alongside

of the French cruizer. Captain Macnamara cautioned her commander not to

make a fruitless resistance; but he replied by snapping his pistol, and

pouring in a broadside. In a moment, the English boarded, led on by

Lieutenant Lydiard, with an impetuosity that nothing could withstand.

After ten minutes' spirited resistance on the part of the French

captain and a hundred of his men under arms, the 'Utile' surrendered,

but not before the death of her gallant commander, who fell at the

beginning of the onset.

Lydiard was instantly promoted, and appointed to the command of the

ship he had so gallantly captured. In the year 1801, he was advanced

to the rank of post-captain, and though frequently soliciting

employment did not succeed in obtaining a command until 1805, when he

was appointed to the Anson.

These pages will not admit of our recounting the many instances in

which this officer's gallantry was conspicuous. Before concluding,

however, we cannot refrain from laying before our readers the

following account of the last enterprise in which Captain Lydiard was

engaged, and which is related by his biographer in _The Naval

Chronicle_.[11]

'No sooner had the Anson been refitted, than she was again selected,

with three other frigates, under the command of Captain Brisbane (as

Commodore), of the Arethusa, to reconnoitre, and, if possible, to

sound the minds of the inhabitants of Curaçoa upon the suggestion of

an alliance with this country; but the gallant Brisbane, and his

equally gallant partner in this expedition, soon formed a plan for

curtailing this mode of proceeding, and determined, at all risks, by a

_coup de main_, either to capture the island, or to perish in the

attempt.

'With this resolution, having arranged their plan of attack, they

proceeded in their course for the island, and they reached the

entrance of the harbour just at the dawn of day, on the 1st of

January, 1807.

'In order to inform the reader, who may not be acquainted with the

amazing strength of Curaçoa on the sea face, we will give some account

of the difficulties which they had to contend with; and, at the same

time, shall avail ourselves of such statements of the facts as the

different official and other communications upon the subject will

furnish us with.

'The harbour was defended by regular fortifications of two tier of

guns. Fort Amsterdam alone mounting sixty-six pieces of cannon; the

entrance only fifty yards wide, and so circumstanced, that it is

impossible for a ship to return by the same wind that takes it in.

Athwart the entrance of the harbour was the Dutch frigate Kenaw

Hatslam, of 36 guns, and the Surinam, of 22 guns, with two large

schooners of war; a chain of forts was on Mesleberg heights, and that

almost impregnable fortress, Fort Republique, within the distance of

grape-shot, enfilading the whole harbour. The cool determined bravery

of British seamen perceives obstacles only to surmount them; and with

this determination the squadron entered the harbour, the Arethusa,

Captain Brisbane, leading, followed in close line by the Latona,

Captain Wood; Anson, Captain Lydiard; and Fisguard, Captain Bolton.

'When the headmost ship got round the point of the harbour's mouth,

the wind became so unfavourable that she could not fetch in; but to

return was impossible--it was too late. What a trying moment! At that

instant, however, there came on a squall, in which the wind shifted

two points in their favour, and they proceeded close together.

'The enemy were panic-struck at such unexpected gallantry, and all was

confusion. A severe and destructive cannonade now commenced, and the

Dutch frigate was boarded by Captain Brisbane, when the Latona

instantly warped alongside and took possession, and Captain Brisbane

proceeded to the shore. The Surinam was boarded from the larboard bow

of the Anson, while her starboard guns were firing at the batteries;

and Captain Lydiard, upon securing the Surinam, went immediately on

shore, and landed at the same moment with Captain Brisbane.

Immediately debarking their respective officers and ship's companies,

they proceeded to storm the forts, citadel, and town, which were by

seven o'clock completely in their possession, and at ten o'clock the

British flag was hoisted on Fort Republique. Captains Brisbane and

Lydiard were the first upon the walls of Fort Amsterdam. Indeed, too

much cannot be said in praise of the almost unparalleled bravery

displayed by the officers and men of all the ships on this occasion.

It may be truly said to be 'perfectly in union with everything

glorious in the past, and an example of everything glorious to the

future.''

The same year that opened so brilliantly upon the career of Captain

Lydiard, witnessed, at its close, the total destruction of the Anson,

and the untimely fate of her brave commander.