by Dean King
At last the old admiral came up in his nightdress, and asked what direction the enemy was in; and I, being nearest to him, said she was going from us on the other tack. He immediately sent for Captain Whitby, who was then on the forecastle, and, when he came, told him to haul down the steering sail, put the ship about, then steer after the enemy, and he would have sufficient time to get the guns ready; so accordingly this was done, or we should not have met each other till we had got to the Antipodes.
We came up with them early in the morning, our people all eager for battle; but when daylight appeared (which was waited for, knowing they could not escape our superior sailing), we were much disappointed in seeing them hoist Portuguese colours; so we sent a boat to board the frigate, and found they were from Goa, and bound to another port in the Portuguese settlements on this coast; so we let them proceed, but could not help laughing to see their seamen going aloft dressed with stuffed clothes, cocked hats, and some with boots on.
The Minerva was under good discipline, and, had we had an experienced captain to carry on the duty, should have been more comfortable; but he was too young—had come out with the admiral on this station a midshipman, and in the course of three or four years had got made a post captain when only nineteen years of age; he could work the ship very well, and that was all. Not a word was to be spoken in wearing or tacking the ship except from the commanding officer; everything was done as silently as possible, and the boatswain’s pipe just loud enough to be heard, the admiral not allowing the side to be piped for him or any other officer; they were not to be whistled in like dogs.
Not an oath was allowed to be spoken, but as there were so many new pressed men in the ship it was almost impossible to avoid it, and when any was heard to swear their names were put on a list, and at seven next morning were punished, though not severely, few getting more than seven or eight lashes; yet it was galling, and how I escaped God only knows, for my name had been put on the list several times, and I suppose it must have been through the kindness of my good friend Mr. Robinson, the first lieutenant.
Though the punishment was light, it displeased the men very much, who had not had time to divest themselves of this new crime they had been so long accustomed to, and was nearly attended with serious consequence. Every evening, weather permitting, it was customary for the people to have a dance, and one of these evenings the lanthorns were lighted as usual, and hung on each side of the launch, which was stowed in those days on the main deck under the booms, and the fiddler on the topsail sheet bits began to play away on his violin; but nobody came to dance.
By-and-by the gunners’ wads began to fly about in all directions, the lights were extinguished, the lanthorns knocked to pieces, and a wad rolled into the admiral’s cabin as he walked there. The old boy soon saw that something was the matter and sent for Captain Whitby; but when Captain Whitby came he pretended that he knew nothing was the matter with the ship’s company. The admiral’s steward came into the cabin at the time, and being asked if he knew what was the matter with the people, replied that he heard the men say that there was too much dancing at the gangway in the morning to keep them dancing in the evening; so the admiral, seeing through it immediately, instead of using severe means (as many a tyrant would have done, and perhaps caused a real mutiny), adopted a better way, and that was in cautioning Captain Whitby not to use the cat on such light occasions, and never to flog a man again without his permission.
When the people heard of this they were greatly satisfied, and did their duty more cheerfully and better, and not a man was flogged after this but one, and he richly deserved it—it was for striking an officer when on shore on duty. But in all my experience at sea I have found seamen grateful for good usage, and yet they like to see subordination kept up, as they know the duty could not be carried on without it; but whenever I hear of a mutiny in a ship, I am much of the opinion of Admiral Lord Collingwood, who said it must assuredly be the fault of the captain or his officers.
Our ship being leaky, we went to Bombay and there docked her, and during this time the Bien Aimé and prize arrived; but the turtle had all lately died from the cold weather at nights. The prize was immediately sold, and I received three rupees and a quarter for my share.
My little prize money was soon expended, together with my watch, which I sold to pay my part of the expenses of the mess; and the most of it went for gin, though I was averse to ardent spirits. But some of them were as wild as March hares, and among them a little Welshman named Emmet, whom we had sometimes to lay on a chest and tie his hands and feet to the handles till he was sober. One day when he was on shore on liberty, and of course tipsy, in passing a shop in Bombay he saw a large glass globe hanging in it, with gold fish swimming and live birds in it; he stopped and stared at it with astonishment, and muttered to himself, “What, birds swimming and fish flying!—impossible”; and in order to be satisfied, he threw a stone which hit the globe and knocked it all to pieces about the shop.
He was soon arrested and sent to jail, and a report was sent on board next morning that one of our people was there. An officer was sent to see who it was and there found poor Tom Emmet very much cast-down in the mouth. He was released and brought on board, but the globe was to be paid for; therefore the ship’s company subscribed eight hundred rupees (a great sum for the value of the globe) and paid the owner for it!
One day a Gentoo, who spoke a little English, came on board, and said he was from Dongaree and sent by one of our men for his leg, as he could not return on board without it. This demand seemed so strange that they took no notice of it at first, but the Gentoo in his bad English insisted that he was right, and, after a deal of puzzling, one of the people recollected that Bandy (the ship’s cook) was on shore, and inquiring among his messmates, found that one of them who had been on shore with Bandy, and slept in the same house, had brought away Bandy’s wooden leg by way of frolic—and no wonder the man could not return without his leg, which was soon sent to him, and he returned on board.
The Minerva, having got her leak stopped, and new coppered, was brought out of dock, and the Bien Aimé went in; but she was found so rotten that they broke her up, after being only a few months in the service (she mounted 20 guns). We then began to rig the Minerva with all speed; and I could easily have deserted here, but we had such accounts from England that the war could not last six months, as almost all Europe were at war against the French Republic, that I fixed my mind on returning to England in the Minerva, in order, when paid off, to visit my remaining friends and relations, then bid them a long farewell, return to Calcutta, and there remain until I could do something to better my situation.
The Minerva being rigged and stored, we sailed from Bombay on January 12, 1794, none of us knowing (except the admiral) where we were bound for, for he always kept the ship’s destination a secret to himself. Some said we could not be bound for England, as we had left several casks of water behind on the Bunder Head, and that no ship had come out to relieve us; however, when we got a little distance out we shaped a homeward-bound course, which made us rejoice.
Near the entrance of the British Channel we came up with and passed two homeward-bound Indiamen, but as they hoisted Dutch colours we did not stop to examine them, as we were then at peace with that nation; but we heard afterwards that they were French, and were captured soon afterwards and carried into Plymouth by one of our frigates.
In proceeding up Channel we were chased a whole day by a line-of-battle ship, which in the dusk got within hail of us; we were all ready to fight her, as our admiral hoped to succeed by manoeuvring, though she was of such superior force. They hailed to know from whence we came, and our reply was “His Britannic Majesty’s ship Minerva”; they then asked if it was not the Minerva out of Havre de Grace, and were very suspicious of us; we answered that it was H.M. Ship Minerva, Rear-Admiral Cornwallis, from India, and this satisfied them; they shortened sail, hove to, and their captain came on board to pay his respects, and we found her to be the
Intrepid (64 guns). One of their boat’s crew, an Irishman, when alongside was hardly satisfied that we were English, for, said he, what right had we to have a poop, being only a frigate? One of our wags told him it was to keep our prize-money in, and Pat believed him!
Next morning we saw four frigates ahead standing across our bows, little thinking they were enemies; fortunately a fog came on, and we passed them. Next morning we saw four more, who would not let us escape. The first that came up was the Arethusa, Sir Edward Pellew (since Lord Exmouth), who, seeing our flag, brought to and came on board, and told us the other three frigates were the Flora, Concord, and Melampus, all under the command of Sir John Borlase Warren. When he was told we had passed four English frigates yesterday (he very near committed himself for swearing), he said, with an oath, that there were not four British frigates together in the Channel but themselves, therefore the others must be French; so hastening to his ship he gave us a salute, then bore down to his commodore, gave him news, and off they all set in search of the other four frigates, and the next day, being April 23, 1794, they overtook them. A smart action ensued, and ended with the capture of the Pomone (44 guns), the Engageant (56 guns), and Babet (28 guns); the other escaped, having run on shore on the French coast, being chased by the Concord, Sir Richard Strachan.
That same day we came to anchor at St. Helens, after a fine passage from Bombay of three months and seventeen days; but instead of finding the war over, found it only beginning—a sad drawback to many of our hopes. Next morning, the Channel fleet, under Lord Howe, weighed from Spithead and anchored here, previous to the glorious battle of June 1, and we got under way went to Spithead, and there moored ship.
As the admiral was dressing to go on shore, he saw out of the cabin windows two wherries pulling up to the ship full of girls; he came out much agitated, and sending for Captain Whitby, desired him not to allow any such creatures to come near the ship, so they were hailed to keep off; but as soon as the admiral got on shore they were permitted to come on board, and the ship was soon full of them.
It was very strange that the admiral—a religious and good man—could not bear the sight of a female; and yet he had been very much among them in his youthful days, and called a wild fellow. It was reported on board here as a fact that he once went on shore to dine with the Governor at Madras, and, as some ladies began to take their seats at the table while he was there, he arose, took up his hat, and left the company, to the astonishment of them all, and came on board!
I now began to weigh matters and ponder on my situation, and found that since I had left England the balance was much against me: then I had a chest of clothes and bedding, and my liberty; now I have little clothing, no shoes or stockings, and no liberty, and much decayed in my condition; my gums were swelled over my teeth by the scurvy so that I could not chew my victuals without them being covered with blood. I and several others ought to have been sent to the hospital, but instead of that were not allowed to set our feet on the land!
The admiral struck his flag and went to London; the Minerva went into Portsmouth Harbour to be paid off; and after being a week in there (the ship stripped and nearly cleared of her stores), without having a moment’s liberty on shore, after being so long abroad in unhealthy climates, thirty-seven of us were drafted on board the Royal William at Spithead, and the same day drafted again into the Prompte, a frigate of twenty-eight guns (Captain Taylor), and ready for sea. Here was encouragement for seamen to fight for their king and country! A coolie in India was better off! This took place on May 2, 1794. However, by getting good, fresh provisions the scurvy began to abate, thank God! and my gums broke away bit by bit at a time, and without any pain as the new ones came.
Had the Minerva arrived at Portsmouth any earlier, Richardson probably would have been drafted by one of the ships of the Channel fleet under Admiral Lord Howe, soon to see action at the Glorious First of June. As it turned out, Richardson would see some significant action later in his career (another episode from his narrative, “With Stopford in the Basque Roads, 1808–1809,” begins on page 213). But for the time being he was relegated to convoy duty in and around home waters.
A month after Richardson entered the crew of the Prompte, the first major fleet action of the war took place—without him—some four hundred sea miles west of Ushant, France. There, Howe, with twenty-five ships of the line, battled a French fleet of twenty-six ships of the line commanded by Rear-Admiral Villaret-Joyeuse. The French fleet was protecting a convoy of 125 merchantmen loaded with badly needed grain from America. Lord Howe’s job was to stop the grain from getting to France.
1 Charles Cornwallis, 1st Marquis Cornwallis (1738–1805), served as governor and commander in India from 1786 to 1793.
2 See footnote 1, page 28.
William Henry Dillon
Commence the Work of Destruction: The Glorious First of June
1794
A DIMINUTIVE FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD AND already a four-year veteran of the Royal Navy, Midshipman William Henry Dillon rushes wide-eyed into one of the great fleet actions of the era. HMS Defence, 74 guns, under Captain Gambier, is the first British ship into battle this day and remains in the thick of the action throughout. Dillon’s perspective on the great battle of the first of June is through the lower-deck ports of the Defence, where he commands three of the great guns. Despite this limited vantage point, his account of what transpires on the smoky lower deck does much to illuminate the furious nature of the battle. But first he recounts the tense days at sea immediately preceding the Glorious First of June.
A NAVAL PROMOTION of flag officers and captains having taken place, our whole thoughts were turned to the fleet. On April 23 the first division of it under Admiral Graves1 (in which the Defence was included) proceeded to St. Helens. During our stay at this anchorage several Indiamen and merchantships of all descriptions assembled here, to be escorted down Channel by the Grand fleet under Lord Howe. By May 2, all being ready, we weighed and made sail by divisions. We had delightful weather, and the sight was a splendid one—so many fine ships coming out in succession and forming into order. There were the East India, West India and Newfoundland convoys, with men of war appointed to take charge of each of them. On the 5th, we had cleared the Channel. Lord Howe then made the signal for the convoys to separate, and to his fleet to form the order of sailing, in two lines. By degrees these operations were executed with beautiful precision. Seven sail of the line left us—Rear Admiral Montagu2 with six two-deckers—to cruize on a detached station. The Suffolk, 74, under Commodore Rainier,3 in which was my friend Jekyll, had charge of the Indiamen. So soon as we were clear of all the convoys, a course was shaped for the Island of Ushant, which we saw the next day. Our fleet consisted of 26 sail of the line, three of 100 guns, four of 98 and two of 80: all the rest 74’s with 7 frigates, one fire ship and an hospital ship. All these were in an excellent state of discipline, anxious to meet the enemy.4
Lord Howe was the favourite of that day. He had been allowed, not only to select the ships to be placed under his command, but also the officers commanding them. There were a great many 64’s in our Navy, but his Lordship, as if aware of the general inferiority of our line of battle ships to those of the French, would not have any of that description with him, so that the 74 was the smallest ship in his fleet.
On the 14th, we recaptured and sent into port the brig Argo, under charge of one of our mids and seven seamen. Several more of our merchant vessels were recaptured daily. From these we learned that an enemy’s squadron had taken the Castor,5 32 guns, and her convoy from Guernsey and Jersey bound for Newfoundland. On the 18th we chased a strange squadron of ships of war, which proved to be Rear-Admiral McBride. Shortly afterwards, the fleet returned to the Island of Ushant, not far from Brest. Two sail of the line, with two frigates, were sent in-shore to reconnoitre that port. On the evening of that day, the 20th, when they rejoined us, they brought intelligence of the enemy’s fleet being at sea. This news caused the greatest excitement on
board our ships, and nothing was heard but bringing the French to action. A course was now shaped to meet the enemy, and the signal was made to prepare for battle. Many more merchant ships fell in with us that had been taken by the enemy, but Lord Howe could not spare any more seamen from his fleet. Consequently they were burned. The ship that we were ordered to set on fire proved to be the Demourisque, belonging to Guernsey, a very fine vessel indeed of her class, taken by the French frigate la Seine. It made my heart ache when I saw the flames spreading over her; in fact hurling her to destruction. From these vessels we took out the Frenchmen, who did not fail to boast famously of the powers of their fleet.
One of our first duties whilst in quest of the enemy was to fill an ample quantity of powder for the use of our guns. This service is generally performed at night, when all the fires and lights are out. On that occasion, when the gunner’s crew were at work in the magazine, I could not rest, having, while asleep in my hammock, had three different dreams that the ship would be blown up. I therefore turned out, and requested the officer of the watch to allow me to go and take charge of the lightroom.6 This was readily granted. I hastened to the place, and relieved the mid stationed there. He was very glad at my appearance, cordially thanking me for taking his place. When he was gone, I called out to the gunner through the horn of the lantern to inquire if all was going on right with the powder. He assured me that all was in good order, and no danger. However, my anxiety on this account was so intense that I could not help repeating my question so often that the old gunner would not make any further reply. At last he told me to mind my own business, and that I was sent there to mind the candles. “Mind,” said he, “that you snuff them properly, or I will report you for neglect of duty.” By 6 o’clock in the morning the magazine duties were over, and my mind relieved from an oppression that I could not control, the recollection of which is still fresh in my memory to this day.