by Roy Adkins
By now Cochrane had been ordered by Gambier to withdraw and hand over to Captain Wolfe of the Aigle, so that he could transport back to England Flag Captain Sir Harry Neale with dispatches. Overall the attack had been a success, as well as a psychological blow to the French, demonstrating that their ships were not even safe within their most protected anchorages. In Britain it was hailed as a victory, and The Times produced a gushing report extolling Cochrane’s virtues in the same vein that had so often been used for Nelson. Many French were taken prisoner, and the removal of some of the crew from one ship that had surrendered was transformed into a ‘rescue’: ‘Our Hero soon turned his attention to rescue the vanquished from the devouring elements; and in bringing away the people of the Ville de Varsovie, he would not even allow a dog to be abandoned, but took a crying, and now neglected little favourite up into his arms, and brought it away. It may be supposed that he has conveyed this fortunate little trophy into the bosom of his family, where it ought to be ever cherished as an instance of his generous care.’22
Cochrane was rewarded by being made a Knight of the Bath, but still annoyed by Gambier’s caution he made it clear that in his position as Member of Parliament for Westminster he would oppose the customary vote of thanks to Gambier. This, along with a whispering campaign against Gambier that the victory was not as complete as it might have been, led Gambier to demand a court martial to clear his name. This was held in July and he was exonerated, but Cochrane refused to accept its findings. When the vote of thanks to Gambier was eventually proposed Cochrane spoke in opposition, but it was still passed, not least because it would have been a blow to the government had it failed. Opinion among naval officers was divided, but many thought Cochrane was right. The physician O’Meara later published a conversation that he had with Napoleon on St Helena about this episode:I [O’Meara] said that it was the opinion of a very distinguished naval officer whom I named, and who was well known to him, that if Cochrane had been properly supported, he would have destroyed the whole of the French ships. ‘He could not only have destroyed them,’ replied Napoleon, ‘but he might and would have taken them out [captured them], had your admiral supported him as he ought to have done . . .The terror of the brûlots (fire-ships) was so great that they actually threw their powder overboard, so that they could have offered very little resistance. The French admiral was an imbecille, but yours was just as bad. I assure you, that if Cochrane had been supported, he would have taken every one of the ships.23
Cochrane was still a hero in the eyes of the British public, although in some quarters a tarnished one. While the Admiralty still saw him as an asset, it was not willing to employ him on his own terms, turning down his suggestions as to where he might best be used. He was soon distracted by his political interests and did not see active service again during the rest of the war.
One of Cochrane’s suggestions rejected by the Admiralty was that he should be an observer with the expedition against Napoleon’s naval base in the Scheldt estuary. Captain George Wolfe of the frigate Aigle was also affected by the Basque Roads dispute as he was obliged to resign his command in order to attend the court martial of Lord Gambier. In his place Lieutenant William Dillon, who had been released from imprisonment at Verdun nearly two years earlier, was appointed acting captain. Dillon reached Plymouth to take over the Aigle on 13 June 1809 and was not impressed: ‘I found her in a most dirty, slovenly state, the cabin full of rolled-up sails, without any circulation of air . . . I saw at a glance that extraordinary exertions would be required to get the ship ready for sea.’24 He considered the discipline far too lax and complained that ‘Capt. W. had the mania of placing himself upon a very familiar footing with the seamen, giving them the preference to his officers. On the first day that I went on board [before Wolfe left] I had noticed one or two seamen entering the cabin with as much freedom as if in their own homes, and speak to their Captain in the most familiar tones. He seemed to encourage that, as he styled them Tom, Jack, Bill, etc. My plan of proceeding was diametrically opposed to this, my opinion being that familiarity breeds contempt.’25
After only eight days the frigate was almost prepared for sea, when at four in the morning the crew mutinied by refusing to scrub the deck. Dillon ordered his first lieutenant to seize the first man who refused the order and have him flogged, commenting that ‘that punishment, and the decision with which it was performed, made a strong impression upon all hands. The officers were not prepared for it, declaring that Capt. Wolfe would not have acted so.’26 Later the same morning, Dillon recorded, he met Admiral Young, commander-in-chief of Plymouth, who advised him that the crew were about to be paid, after which they should proceed to Spithead:‘As the Aigle is going to Portsmouth,’ said he, ‘they can lay out their cash there. You will explain that to them before you weigh anchor.’ When I returned to the ship, the pay officers were on board. Plenty of Jews occupied the Main Deck: there were many women on board: nothing to be seen but confusion. I had considerable difficulty getting rid of Moses and his party, but perseverance drove them all out. The hands were ordered to unmoor, and when they were ready I had them aft, and told them that, by the ship’s being ordered to Portsmouth, they would not be deprived of their usual indulgence. I hoped they would show their good will, and I would, in return, make up to them what might be required. They then gave three vociferous cheers, and unmoored ship in double quick time. These fellows were fractious at 4 o’clock in the morning, and 12 hours afterwards they were ready to do anything they were ordered. Such is the material of a frigate crew.27
At Spithead, Dillon learned, ‘reports were in circulation that an expedition amounting to 40,000 men would soon be fitted out . . . Its destination was all a matter of speculation, excepting those who were in the secret.’28 Despite the supposed secrecy, newspapers daily carried details of the preparations for what they called the ‘grand expedition’, with great optimism about what it might achieve. In mid-July The Times reported: ‘While the destination of the expedition, which is now on the point of setting out, remains, in some degree, a secret at home, the enemy, it appears, fancies he knows exactly whither it is to go. The most recent papers from Flushing state, that in Holland it is universally believed that the first object of the expedition is to take possession of the island of Walcheren, and after having seized the naval treasures at Flushing, then to proceed up the Scheldt and attack Antwerp.’29
This account was entirely correct, but the expedition was also a diversion. Because Napoleon’s army in central Europe was much weakened owing to the campaigns in Spain and Portugal, Austria in early 1809 decided to attack the French, initially with some success. In April Britain had signed a treaty of alliance with Austria and was persuaded not only to assist financially, but also to keep the French occupied elsewhere so that his troops on the Danube could not be reinforced. Being severely short of specie - gold and silver coins - the British government decided on a second front close to home: an attack on the French shipping, arsenals and dockyards along the long, winding River Scheldt, which flowed into the North Sea.
The River Scheldt was formerly the boundary between the Austrian Netherlands (Belgium) and the United Provinces (Kingdom of Holland). While nominally independent, Holland was ruled by Napoleon’s brother, Louis Bonaparte. The river, though notorious for its shifting sandbanks and fierce tidal currents, could be navigated by large ships all the way to Antwerp (Anvers in French) in Belgium, and it was here that Napoleon was rebuilding his navy, with heavy supplies such as timber transported along the numerous tributaries and canals. The Scheldt had become Napoleon’s second-largest naval base, after Toulon. As the River Thames was less than twenty-four hours away, it had long been feared that Napoleon would launch an invasion of England from here. The Admiralty kept a permanent close watch on the area, and spies and naval vessels constantly reported on the situation. Intelligence had been received that the troops on the northern coast of France and Holland had been ordered to join Napoleon’s Grand Army in Austria, le
aving only a small force to guard Antwerp and Walcheren, and so this was a good time to attack. Towards the end of April Captain John Martin Hanchett of the sloop Raven, who had been gathering information in the Scheldt estuary, advised that Flushing should be a prime target:Having served with Sir Sidney Smith in the Antelope, during the time he commanded the squadron off Flushing, in the early part of the present war, and from that circumstance being well acquainted with the anchorage, fortifications, &c. of that port, I have no doubt that the enemy’s fleet, if they are laying in the outer Roads, may be easily destroyed by fire-ships, or, should they lay in the Basin, from the depth of water and the navigation, with which I am well acquainted, a line-of-battle ship may be run alongside the walls of the town so close, that men may land from the yard-arms; and I volunteer to be the first man that lands from them.30
Flushing (Vlissingen in Dutch) was a town on the southern side of the island of Walcheren, and although the island was Dutch, Flushing had been ceded to France. The so-called secret plan was for a combined army and navy expedition that would destroy the French fleet and arsenals along the River Scheldt, as well as Napoleon’s shipbuilding capability. It was a formidable expedition, the largest that had ever been assembled in Britain. Some of the troops were to be landed on the islands of Walcheren and South Beveland in the Scheldt estuary (part of the Dutch province of Zeeland or Zealand49) and on the island of Cadsand to the south. Most of the islands were below sea level and were protected from flooding by sand dunes and massive dykes. At the estuary, the Scheldt split into two channels, but as the East Scheldt on the north side of Walcheren was especially difficult to navigate, the navy was to force its way past Flushing along the West Scheldt. Most of the troops would disembark at the village of Sandvliet and then march 20 miles to attack the port of Antwerp. What was required was speed, surprise and efficient co-operation, but when the plan was first devised, the army could not supply enough men, as so many had been lost in the recent campaign in Spain and Portugal, and those who had returned safely from Corunna and Vigo after their retreat were in a poor physical state. Delay followed delay, and the element of surprise was lost.
Once the expedition had been decided upon, an overall commander was needed, but to widespread consternation, John Pitt, the second Earl of Chatham, was chosen, ‘a man reputed to possess excellent understanding, but whose very name was almost proverbial for enervation and indolence’.31 Lord Chatham was an army officer, the elder brother of the former prime minister, William Pitt, and a favourite of George III. Captain James Seton of the 92nd Highlanders remarked: ‘He may be a very able statesman, but I am afraid he is a d——d bad general.’32 Rear-Admiral Sir Richard Strachan, known to his men as ‘Mad Dick’ because of his fierce temper, was appointed naval commander. These two contrasting characters proved incapable of working together, but the captain of the Marlborough, Graham Moore, was very confident: ‘The Naval part of it is well commanded. Strachan is one of those in our service whom I estimate the highest. I do not believe he has his fellow among the Admirals, unless it be Pellew, for ability, and it is not possible to have more zeal and gallantry.’33 For the past few months Strachan had been in charge of a squadron watching the Dutch coast, but now he was placed in charge of a huge fleet of nearly four hundred transports and around 265 warships, including thirty-five ships of the line. Serving under Strachan were Sir Home Popham and Sir Richard Keats.
Preparations for the expedition continued slowly, over many weeks, as it was an immense undertaking to gather together all the ships, over six thousand horses, artillery, ammunition and other stores, as well as over seventy thousand men belonging to the army and navy. The biggest problemwas the lack of transport ships, particularly those for horses. Sir Home Popham, who knew the Scheldt waters well, was giving much thought to the combined operation, and in mid-June he wrote anxiously to Lord Castlereagh, the minister for war: ‘I see the season advancing fast; and, if we are imperceptibly led on till the midsummer fine weather is past, we shall have the most dreadful of difficulties, the elements, to encounter.’34 By the end of the month preparations were gathering pace, and thousands of troops, cavalry and infantry began to march from all over the country towards the embarkation ports of Deal, Dover, Chatham, Harwich, Ramsgate and, primarily, Portsmouth, so as to give the impression that they were preparing for renewed action in Portugal.
In the last week of June 1809 the artists Benjamin Robert Haydon and David Wilkie travelled from London to Portsmouth, where, with a letter of introduction, they were shown over the dockyard by Sir Roger Curtis, the port admiral. The two tourists were taken out to look round one of the largest ships of the line, and Haydon recorded his impressions as an artist: ‘In the afternoon we went out to see the Caledonia [Gambier’s flagship at Basque Roads], 120 guns, at Spithead. What a sublime and terrible simplicity there is in our navy! Nothing is admitted but what is absolutely useful. The cannon, the decks, the sailors, all wore the appearance of stern vigour, as if constituted only to resist the elements. No beautiful forms in the gun-carriages, no taste or elegance in the cannon; the ports square and hard; the guns iron; the sailors muscular. Everything inspired one with awe.’35 Haydon was also struck by the presence of so many vessels: ‘What grandeur in the sight of three hundred and fifty sail of men-of-war and transports destined for a great enterprise! We rowed or sailed among them for the rest of the day and did not return until the evening to Portsmouth.’36
The artists Haydon and Wilkie were not the only sightseers, because all along the coast of south-east England thousands of people were watching the preparations, as the Annual Register described:The present age had not witnessed so numerous a body of British soldiers, marines, and sailors assembled for the purpose of invading the continent. The number of the whole amounted to about 100,000 men. The expectations of the nation were raised to the highest pitch. The fleet while it lay, or was leaving the Downs, was a spectacle grateful to the pride, and flattering to the hopes of Britain. Dover, Deal, Ramsgate, and Margate were full of visitors, of persons of the most respectable classes of both sexes, come to see the sailing of this great armament. Among these was lord Castlereagh, accompanied by his lady and a number of his particular friends, contemplating with delight a work of his own creation, from which farther glory was anticipated, from its success confidently expected. Among the visitors of the fleet, was one who attracted much notice by the pomp of his appearance, or what may be called his equipage. This was sir William Curtis50, who was wafted to the Downs in a yacht, either of his own, or hired for the purpose, or borrowed, beautifully painted, adorned with a streamer bearing devices prognosticating victory and glory, and carrying delicate refreshments of all kinds to the military and naval commanders, and the principal officers.37
Most of the warships and transports were not docked alongside wharfs, but remained offshore in deeper anchorages, so huge numbers of smaller craft were needed to convey supplies and men to the vessels. To Private William Wheeler of the 51st Regiment, ‘Spithead is all bustle, crammed with vessels, from the huge three decker to the smallest craft, thousands of lighters and boats are on the move continually.’38 Gunner William Richardson arrived at Spithead on board the Caesar. He related that ‘a report came on board that we were going on some grand expedition and will have to take troops on board’,39 adding that in order to make room for these troops ‘soon after a lighter came from the gun wharf to take on shore our lower deck guns and carriages’.40 The troops began to embark in mid-July, and John Harris of the 95th Regiment, a survivor of the retreat from Spain, recorded a distressing picture as thousands of families were parted:At Deal, the Rifles embarked in the Superb, a seventy-four, and a terrible outcry there was amongst the women upon the beach on the embarkation; for the ill consequences of having too many women amongst us had been so apparent in our former campaign and retreat that the allowance of wives was considerably curtailed on this occasion, and the distraction of the poor creatures at parting with their husbands was quite heart-rendin
g; some of them clinging to the men so resolutely, that the officers were obliged to give orders to have them separated by force. In fact, even after we were in the boats and fairly pushed off, the screaming and howling of their farewells rang in our ears far out to sea.41
Private Wheeler described how his regiment boarded a ship at Spithead: ‘We embarked on board several cutters . . . It being the first time I was ever on salt water nothing could be more pleasant; our little cutter skimmed over the waves like a seagull . . . The whole Regt. was put on board [the warship Impetueux], she had her lower deck guns taken out and the larboard side of the lower deck was all the room allotted to us, the remainder was occupied by the ships company . . . When the gun fired all the soldiers were ordered down except the watch.’42 As The Times reported, the soldiers ‘take very little baggage, and only one blanket for each man - no beds’.43 They slept squashed together on the planking of the lower deck, and the next day there was an awful scene: ‘The decks had been newly caulked, the heat of so many bodies had drawn the pitch and tar, so that we were stuck fast in the morning. It was the most ludicrous sight imaginable, some were fast by the head, others had got an arm secured, those who had laid on their backs were completely fast, some who were wrapped in their blankets came off best, but their blankets were completely spoiled. It was a fine treat for the blue jackets to see all the lobsters [redcoats] stuck fast to the decks.’44