Every Man Will Do His Duty

by Dean King

  In our pursuit of the enemy strange vessels were seen daily. One of the number, a French line of battle ship, took our fleet for hers; but, being a superior sailer, she escaped from being captured. It was a touch and go affair with her. However, two of the enemy’s sloops of war stood close into the rear of our fleet one evening, and by daylight they were in our centre. They had not made any signals, or taken the usual precautions on such occasions. Consequently, when they found out their mistake, they attempted to make off: in vain, as they were instantly captured.

  Some of the officers from these vessels were sent to the Defence. They became my messmates. One of them, a gentleman of fortune, had been ruined by the Revolution, and taken to the naval service of his country as his last resource. He related to me many of the horrors of that unfortunate period. He spoke in very high terms of the discipline of the French fleet, making quite sure that we should be beaten when we brought them to action. Nevertheless he could not help expressing his astonishment at the cleanliness and good order of the Defence, which led him at times to let slip some remarks indicating apprehensions and doubts of the final success of his countrymen on the day of trial. He watched all the motions of our fleet with extreme anxiety, and the maneuver which seemed to attract his attention most was the rapidity with which our ships were tacked; often within five minutes, whereas the French ships, he told us, were always a ¼ of an hour under that evolution.

  Meeting so many vessels led us to believe that we were not far from the enemy, and it became evident that reinforcements were on their way to him. I may mention here the critical state of France at that period. From the failure of the harvest, that country was on the brink of a famine, and the National Convention had contracted with America for ample supplies of corn and flour. They had sent some ships of war to convoy them home from the States.7 Another squadron8 was ordered to look out for those ships—upwards of 300 sail of them—and assist in escorting them into the French ports. We on our side had detached a squadron to intercept and capture such a valuable convoy.9

  On the morning of May 28, having strong breezes and hazy weather, the fleet being on the starboard tack, about 8 o’clock the signal was made from the flying squadron that a strange fleet was in sight, some distance to windward, which proved to be the enemy we had been so anxiously looking for. His ships were not, by appearance, in any regular order of sailing. Lord Howe made the signal to prepare for battle, and for the flying squadron to chace and engage the enemy. So soon as those signals were displayed to our ships, a state of excitement was manifested totally beyond my powers of description. No one thought of anything else than to exert himself to his utmost ability in overcoming the enemy. It was also very satisfactory to observe the change of disposition in the ship’s company of the Defence. All animation and alacrity pervaded these men: no more sulky looks. The enemy was near, and all hands were determined to support their captain. The ships when near each other were cheered by their crews in succession. Death or Victory was evidently the prevailing feeling.

  The enemy’s fleet did not alter its course upon seeing us: therefore it neared. But unluckily the wind, increasing to a gale, obliged us to reef the topsails, and our progress was in consequence much delayed. Our Captain exerted himself in a wonderful manner, determined to set a noble example to all under his command. Whilst we were in chace, a splinter netting was fitted over the quarter deck to receive the blocks that might be shot away aloft, and a cask of water was hoisted into the main top, to be prepared for fire. The enemy, having closed us to about eight miles, hauled to the wind (in the western quarter). The whole of our fleet being in chace, the order of sailing was no longer an object. About 4 o’clock in the afternoon the wind moderated a little. Just at this time we noticed one of the advanced squadron, under Rear Admiral Pasley,10 firing upon the enemy’s rear. Some of our sails were split, but luckily held on. At 7 o’clock our ships were closing, and brought the French to action about 8 o’clock. The engagement was followed up with great spirit, but moderated, and finally ceased, as night came on. The wind had lulled, and as total darkness prevailed, all further operations were at an end. Every ship in the British fleet carried distinguishing lights, to prevent mistakes with the enemy’s, and the night was passed in watching each other’s motions, as well as it could be done.

  At daylight on the 29th, the two fleets were on opposite tacks, and the leading ship of our van, the Caesar of 80 guns, exchanged shots with the rear of the French. But our opponents had contrived to keep the weather gage. We soon tacked, to place ourselves upon a line with our adversaries. We now missed the Audacious, 74. It was evident she had parted from us during the night. Her absence reduced our number to 25 sail of the line. In counting the enemy’s fleet, we made out 26 of the line. It was afterwards ascertained that the Audacious had parted company in attempting to take possession of the Revolutionnaire,11 a French three decker that had been disabled by the fire of our ships on the previous evening; but, failing to do so, fell in the next morning with a squadron of enemy, and was obliged to run off to prevent being captured: and, finally, instead of trying to rejoin our fleet, put into Plymouth.

  We had a commanding breeze this day, but as our opponents kept well to windward, we could not close with them. However, about 10 o’clock, the enemy’s van gradually edged down towards ours, and they began a distant engagement before 11 o’clock. Lord Howe then made the signal for the Caesar, the leading ship, to tack and cut through the French rear. But this signal not being obeyed disconcerted his Lordship, who was completely at a loss in not having his plan of attack carried into effect. Meanwhile the firing on both sides was kept up with determined spirit. The signal mentioned was repeated several times, but the Caesar kept on her course. At length Lord Howe tacked, in the Queen Charlotte, and those ships near followed the example. When he thought that he should succeed in the desired object, he made the signal for a general chace. That signal left every captain at liberty to follow his own plan in bringing his ship into action, and the line of battle was no longer in force. Consequently every ship was trying to attack the enemy in the best way that offered. However, this signal was entirely annulled by the sudden visitation of a violent squall of wind, accompanied by a thick mist with rain, during which no object could be distinguished at 100 yards’ distance. Such an unexpected event brought the English fleet into a state of disorder. When the mist cleared away, scarcely any two ships were on the same tack, and many were near running on board each other. Nothing but confusion was visible in our fleet, whilst the enemy’s line was in perfect order. Had the enemy availed himself of the opportunity thus offered, not intentionally, of attacking our broken line, who knows what might have been the result?

  Every British officer was aware of our critical position: therefore no time was lost in forming the line as well as it could be done. Lord Howe had cut through the enemy’s line at the 5th ship from his rear. Many ships had followed, and, at last, it came to our turn. At the opening that had been made in the enemy’s line lay a large French 80-gun ship, l’Indomptable. All her topmasts had been shot away, and she was motionless. But she kept up a most spirited fire as we passed her. The Orion, 74, had taken a position on her lee quarter, and we concluded that she would be taken. However, whilst all these operations were going on, the French admiral noticed the dangerous situation of the ship mentioned, as well as of another, le Tyrannicide, also disabled. He wore his fleet, and by that means rescued them.

  So soon as we had passed through the French rear, we attempted to tack, but failed; then were obliged to wear. In performing that evolution we nearly ran on board of another ship, as several of ours were rather crowded, and too close together to admit of forming the line without risk. Nevertheless, with care and good management we extricated ourselves from all these difficulties; and, having finally brought to the wind on the starboard tack, we became exposed to the attack of a large French three decker. The shot from him flew about us like hailstones. As yet we had not any man hurt, but our sails
and rigging were much injured. At this critical moment the Defence lay over so much that our quarter deck was open to the enemy’s fire, our opponents pelting away without intermission. Presently one of his shot struck the upper part of the quarter deck bulwark, on the larboard side, killed one man and wounded nine. One or two shots passed so close to the captain that I thought he was hit. He clapped both hands upon his thighs with some emotion: then, recovering himself, he took out of his pocket a piece of biscuit and began eating it as if nothing had happened. He had evidently been shook by the wind of the shot. He had on a cocked hat, and kept walking the deck, cheering up the seamen with the greatest coolness.

  I had never seen a man killed before. It was a most trying scene. A splinter struck him in the crown of the head, and when he fell the blood and brains came out, flowing over the deck. The captain went over, and, taking the poor fellow by the hand, pronounced him dead. The others, who were wounded, were taken below to the Surgeon. Just at that moment, a volley of shot assailed the poop, cut away the main brace, and made sad havoc there. Some of the men could not help showing symptoms of alarm: which the captain noticing, he instantly went up, and, calling the seamen together, led them to set the brace to rights. At this instant [Lieut.] Twysden made his appearance, and explained to the captain that our guns from the main deck had no effect upon the three decker. To prove this, he waited till the smoke had cleared away, then went down and, giving one of the guns the utmost elevation, fired it. The shot only reached halfway to the Frenchman. Consequently our firing was useless. Under these circumstances our guns were kept quiet. We were in a most trying situation, receiving the enemy’s fire without being able to return the compliment. But, luckily, one of our three deckers, the Glory, noticing the danger to which we were exposed, closed upon us and, directing his broadsides upon our adversary, drew off his attention. This act of the Glory’s gave us a little breathing time, by which we were enabled to set the ship to rights.

  I was quartered on the lower deck under Lieut. Beecher. He had the command of the seven foremost guns, and three of them in the bow were under mine. As we could not use the guns below, I availed myself of that circumstance to attend on the quarter deck, to witness all that was passing. Never having been before present in an action of the kind, my curiosity and anxiety were beyond all bounds. The danger to which I exposed myself had not the slightest influence over me. Owing to that desire I saw more than most of the mids, who kept to their stations, and I can now relate what I really did see. The result of this action, which had fallen sharply upon a few of our ships, was the obtaining of the weather gage: an advantage of considerable importance, as it enabled the British admiral to direct his attack upon the enemy when it suited his convenience.12 The two ships that suffered most in our fleet were the Royal George,100 guns, Admiral Sir Alexander Hood,13 and the Queen, 98, Sir Alan Gardner.14 The sails of both those ships were literally torn into shreds. There they lay, perfectly motionless, the eyes of the whole fleet turned upon them, whilst their crews were occupied in unbending and replacing their useless sails. L’Indomptable and le Tyrannicide, two deckers, bore the brunt of the action on the side of France, as those ships lay exactly in that part of their line where ours cut through. In due time both fleets were formed in the order of battle, and, about 5 o’clock, all again in as complete a condition as circumstances would permit. The French ships appeared to have suffered more than ours, as several had lost topmasts and yards, whereas on our side nothing of the kind was discernible.

  At this season of the year we could reckon upon daylight till past 8 o’clock. We had, therefore, plenty of time to renew the action. Why that was not done astonished all hands on board the English fleet. Lord Howe had obtained, by clever tactics, the position most desirable for his operations, and we all expected the signal would be made to renew the battle. But this was not the case. It was the custom with the French to wait the attack, instead of being the aggressors. They were under easy sail to leeward of us, on the larboard tack, evidently anticipating our closing upon them. Lord Howe, it seems, was not satisfied that the enemy had shown a resolution to fight, and not evade us. Under that impression, he determined to take his time. By that decision we had two or three days of more anxiety, previous to our having an opportunity of bringing affairs to a conclusion. The night was passed in tolerable quietness.

  On the morning of the 30th we had foggy weather. Our fleet not being in very good order, the signals were made from Lord Howe’s ship to form in line of battle. The Caesar happened at that moment to be close to us, pumping out quantities of water, the effect of the shot she had received below. We heard that one of her guns had burst on the previous day, by which 18 men were killed and wounded. The fog partially clearing away, the enemy was seen to leeward. The admiral instantly made the signal to prepare for action, upon which the Caesar threw out the signal of inability to do so. Our fleet formed in line of battle as well as circumstances would allow, but the hazy weather rendered our evolutions uncertain, and there did not appear any probability, that day, of any more fighting. Finally, the fog becoming thicker, we lost sight of the French, so that we could not close upon the enemy.

  The morning of the 31st was still misty, with favourable symptoms of its clearing away, the wind in the S.W. quarter. In the afternoon, the fog disappearing, we beheld the enemy some distance to leeward. We prepared for action, and made sail to close upon him. By 7 o’clock we had reached within five miles of the French fleet. The weather became fine, and we enjoyed one of the most splendid sights ever witnessed—the two fleets close to each other in line of battle, only waiting for the signal to commence the work of destruction, the repeating frigates of the two nations within gunshot. However, all passed off in quietness. Lord Howe, having placed his fleet in an exact line with that of the enemy, he drew off for the night, which we passed in extreme anxiety. We could not reckon on more than six hours of darkness, and therefore concluded that we should commence operations with the dawn. Very few of the Defences took off any clothing, and the hammocks were not piped down. Our whole thoughts hung upon the approaching event. As to your humble servant, being rather fatigued, I preferred, it being a beautiful starlight night, to remain on deck. I selected one of the topsail halyard15 tubs on the forecastle, and coiled myself as well as I could inside of it, where I took a snooze which I enjoyed, and felt more refreshed when awoke by the tars than I should have done had I gone to bed: at least I thought so. I felt an elasticity beyond expression.

  RISING THEN from my tub, I beheld the enemy about 10 miles off to leeward, on the starboard tack. There was a fine breeze and lovely weather. It was Sunday, and I thought the Captain would not have much time for prayers, as the work in hand would be of a very different nature. Lord Howe drew up the fleet in capital order. He made several changes in the disposition of the ships, to render every part of his line equal. The Defence was the seventh ship in the van. When his Lordship had completed his arrangements for attacking the enemy, he made the signal for the different divisions, that is the van, centre and rear, to engage the opposite divisions of the French: then for each ship in the English line to pass through the enemy and attack his opponent to leeward. Next, the fleet was hove to, that the crews might have their breakfasts. This was going to work in a regular methodical manner. His Lordship knew that John Bull did not like fighting with an empty stomach; but it was a sorry meal, scarcely deserving the name. We had not had much time for a fire in the range for cooking since the 28th of last month. All the tables and conveniences were stowed below; all the partitions taken down; nothing to be seen on the decks but powder, shot, ramrods and instruments of destruction. Whilst the ship’s Company were making the best of the time allowed for refreshment, the Captain collected most of his officers in the cabin, where a short prayer suitable to the occasion was offered to the Almighty for protection against the impending event. The half hour having elapsed, up went the signal for the fleet to bear down and bring the enemy to action, it being then near 9 o’clock
. What an awful moment! How shall I describe it? A scene of magnificence and importance, not of common occurrence, and not often equalled on the ocean—upwards of 50 sail of the line viewing each other, and preparing to pour out their thunder destructive of the human species, which would decide the fate of either fleet, and probably that of the nation.

  Our Captain went round the ship and spoke to all the men at their guns in terms of encouragement, to fight for their country. The replies he received were gratifying in the highest degree. The noblest feelings of patriotism were proclaimed, with expressions of the warmest enthusiasm: in short, a determination to conquer prevailed throughout the ship—and, I may as well say, throughout the British fleet. As we neared the French up went our colours—

  “High o’er the poop the flattering winds unfurl’d

  Th’ imperial Flag that rules the watery world.”

  The Defence, being a good sailer, made rapid speed through the waves, going under double reefed topsails with a commanding breeze. Twysden, noticing that we had advanced too far beyond our line, hastened on to the quarter deck to point out to his Captain, with becoming respect, that he was exposing his ship to the utmost danger by going on singlehanded without support, and that he ran the risk of being either sunk or totally disabled. The maintopgallant sail had been set by us, the only ship in the line to have done so. In fact, when the signal had been made to bear down, the ship came before the wind, and the Captain, anxious to obey orders, was striving to commence the action as soon as he could. Lord Howe had observed this action of Capt. Gambler’s, and mentioned it to the officers near him, saying, “Look at the Defence. See how nobly she is going into action!” His Lordship then turning round and casting his eyes over the fleet, said, “I believe I cannot make any more signals. Every ship has had instructions what to do”; then, shutting his signal book, left the poop to take his chance on the quarter deck. Lieut. Twysden prevailed on his Captain to take in the maintopgallant sail, but the ship still proceeded, and extended her distance beyond the British line. Then the mizen topsail was braced aback, by which more wind filled the maintopsail. Therefore, instead of retarding her motion, it was accelerated. The lieutenant mentioned this, but the Captain would not make any more reduction of sail. He said, “I am acting in obedience to the admiral’s signal. Fill the mizen topsail again. It may probably be thought that I have no wish to do so if I shorten sail.” This last reply quieted Twysden. As I happened to be present at that particular moment, I heard every word that passed. The mizen topsail was braced round to receive the wind, and our whole attention was then directed to the ship in the enemy’s line—the 7th—that we were to engage.