Fletcher's Glorious 1st of June

by John Drake

  There was one other thing I was given and which had to do with my being a gentleman. In fact it was a pair of things. Black Dick sent me a brace of horseman’s holster-pistols, a spare pair of his own, by Griffin & Tow of Bond Street. Twenty years old and a bit battered, but fine pieces with good, fast-acting locks. He put a little note in with them, in his own hand.

  My dear Fletcher,

  You have not the look of a manufacturer about you, but rather that of a warrior. You may find these of use should we get aboard of the enemy.

  Howe.

  And there’s another little insight into human nature. Howe liked me, and so he supposed that I must be like him, and thirsting to kill Frenchmen. He must also have thought it a kindness to help me escape my base roots in trade. But if you’ve read this far of my memoirs, you’ll know which I consider the better between a warrior and a tradesman.

  But there was no sending them back, and the implication was obvious. Should it come to hand-to-hand work, then I couldn’t slip below and find a quiet spot.

  None the less, I suppose I should be thankful (though I’m not) for the unrivalled opportunity that I was given to see the events of the next few days. For the great battle that I was about to witness was really a scrambling chase over the five days of 28th May 1794 to 1st June 1794.

  From 26th May to sunrise on 28th May, the Channel Fleet cracked on sail and lumbered northwards towards the Frog rendezvous point. The screen of frigates ranged out ahead and the formidable line-of-battle ships came on behind them. There was considerable contact with other ships during these few days, including the recapture of elements of a Dutch convoy, out of Lisbon, that had been made prizes by the Froggy Fleet. The Hollanders were overjoyed to be free and passed on all sorts of information on Villaret de Joyeuse’s Fleet. This included the welcome news (to every man in the British Fleet with one exception) that the Frogs were determined upon close action and a fierce encounter.

  But what a puff that was! On the 28th, at half-past six in the morning, our frigates finally caught sight of enemy sail. It wasn’t the Grain Convoy but the Brest Fleet itself. And they didn’t want to fight! The Frogs were to windward of us, which gave them the easy choice of joining action, for in a sea fight under sail, the windward fleet can easily bear down upon the enemy, but has to beat into the wind to escape. Whereas the leeward fleet can easily run downwind, but must beat into the wind to attack.

  It helps to think of upwind and downwind as uphill and downhill. A ship running downwind is like a man running downhill. A ship running upwind is the opposite. For a great clumsy fleet of square-riggers you should think in terms of a very steep hill, and of men burdened with heavy packs. So in trying to close with the French on that morning, Howe’s ships were struggling “uphill”, and much dependent on the French choosing to come down to us.

  By ten o’clock that morning, the fleets were in sight of one another and the Frogs seemed to be bearing up bravely towards us. Spirits rose aboard Queen Charlotte and everyone hoped for action before supper time.

  Leaving aside their five frigates, since frigates take no part in a fleet action, the Frogs were twenty-six strong, exactly the same as ourselves, but some of their ships were bigger than ours and most were better sailers, which is to say that despite the poor seamanship of their Froggy crews, the ships themselves were better built. And Villaret de Joyeuse’s flagship Montagne was a colossus of 120 guns, a truly magnificent ship that was the envy of every British officer who set eyes on her. Furthermore, the Frogs had another three more first-rates besides, each of 110 guns, to oppose our total of three 100-gun first-rates. Not only that, but ships nominally equivalent in number of guns were not equal. On our side the heaviest gun was the 32-pounder, while the Frogs’ equivalent was the 36-pounder French measure which fired a shot of 38 British pounds! There are many more comparisons of this kind, all to the favour of Monseer le Crapaud, but those I’ve listed are quite enough to give you the idea.

  Just after ten, when the Frogs were nine or ten miles from us, they hauled to the wind on the larboard tack and lay to. Thunderous cheers echoed through the British Fleet as it was seen that the French were forming their battle line.

  Imagine a string of pearls laid on a table. Pull the string from each end until it lies in a straight line. Now imagine that each ship is a two-decker or three-decker, and you know what a battle line is. Fleets had to fight like that because each ship’s firepower is almost entirely on the broadside.

  The classic fleet action consisted in two lines of pearls manoeuvring alongside of each other so that each pearl had a partner in the other line to pound into blood-stained, smoke-blackened wreckage.

  Battles exactly like that had taken place many times over the centuries. Particularly against the Dutch in the 1600s and early 1700s, for the Dutch are a valiant and seamanly people who never hang back from a fight. And if the Yankees had had a battle fleet, I don’t doubt they’d laid their ships alongside ours in just the same way. Finally, to give the Frogs their due (not a thing I often do, for they haven’t got much due to them) the old Royal French Navy had also known its business in this respect. But the Red Republican Frogs were another matter.

  On 28th May 1794 there’d not yet been any engagement between a British and a French Fleet since the war began in the previous year. On our side every man from Lord Howe down to the snottiest-nosed ship’s boy was just aching to get at the French. It’s true, I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. And so, when the French took up their battle formation, joy was unbounded.

  But the Frogs never did come down upon us. They backed and filled and shuffled their line while we strained every spar to come up with them. Howe paced about growling at everything and at half-past one, he sent a flying squadron of his fastest ships ahead of the fleet to do what they could. Finally, an hour later, when it was obvious that the rogues were inclined to make off, he gave the signal for general chase.

  Gunfire was exchanged with the rearmost Frogs at about three in the afternoon, and at about six o’clock the most furious engagement took place between our Bellerephon, 74, and the great three-decker Revolutionnaire. With a strong wind and lively sea the powder smoke cleared rapidly and we could see everything from Queen Charlotte. Having no duties I could please myself and got up into the mizzen top for a better view. By George it was exciting! Bellerephon went at the big Frog hammer and tongs. But the Frenchies were firing well too and by my reckoning the rate of fire was three British to two French broadsides. Bellerephon fired ripple broadsides, and the Frogs salvoes by sections. Then Revolutionnaire’s mizzenmast went over the side and we thought she was ours. But poor Bellerephon was too cut about in the rigging to take her and could not follow when her huge opponent wore and ran downwind like a beaten dog. But that wasn’t the end of her troubles by any means.

  Several of our ships fired at Revolutionnaire as she tried to escape, though at long range and without visible effect. Then at just after nine in the evening Audacious, another of our 74’s, managed to get under her lee quarter (that is downwind and “downhill” so she couldn’t run away) and gave her the close-range battering she so richly deserved. It was like nothing so much as a bulldog sinking its teeth into a mastif and hanging on for dear life.

  Within half an hour the Frog three-decker was a beaten ship. I’d borrowed a glass by then and I could see that besides her mizzenmast, she’d lost her fore and main yards and the maintop-sail yard too. Finally, at about quarter to ten, I saw her colours come down in surrender. Immediately Audacious ceased firing and we heard the delighted cheers of her people.

  But then, contrary to all the rules of war, the Frog got herself under way with her foretopsail drawing and managed to slip under Audacious’s stern, and so run downwind as she’d wanted to in the first place, while poor Audacious was so cut about in her own rigging that she could do nothing to prevent it. This dastardly abuse of surrender — strildng their colours to gain respite, and then carrying on the fight afterwards — was a feature of Fr
ench behaviour throughout the engagement and only goes to prove what I’ve always said, which is that you can never trust the bastards.**Fletcher’s typically coarse and distasteful comment takes no account of the fact that French Captains were, at this time, under the dreadful threat of execution should they surrender. A fact which must inevitably have mitigated against their behaving as tradition required. S.P.

  Eventually, the Frogs had to take Revolutionnaire in tow of one of their frigates and she played no further part in the action, while Audacious was so badly damaged that she was last seen running to leeward under reduced sail, unable to rejoin the fleet.

  So that was the first day of the battle. Sunset found both fleets on the starboard tack, a few miles from each other and steering parallel courses. Each had lost a capital ship. But they were down a 110-gun first-rate while we’d lost a 74.

  And so we pranced about for the next three days. Twenty-five ships in each fleet: thousands of heavy guns, tens of thousands of men, each Admiral trying to gain advantage over the other.

  Daylight on the 29th brought stronger winds and heavy seas, with the French clear in sight, a forest of masts and a cloud of sails, six miles off. Howe tried mightily to trap their rear and failed, and all the while Queen Charlotte’s pumps were going, for her lower-deck gun-ports were no more than four and a half feet from the sea and she was shipping it badly on the lee side. This was another problem endemic to three-deckers, and caused by the designer’s need to sacrifice sea-keeping qualities to the cramming in of the utmost artillery.

  That night we were losing the Frogs if anything and each fleet was on the larboard tack some ten miles apart. On the 30th we could do little as a fog closed down upon us. Howe signalled for the fleet to form two columns as the long battle line meant a greater chance of ships losing contact. On the 31st we thought we’d got them. The fog began to lift at about nine in the morning and by midday we could see the Brest Fleet once more, which was a relief, since we feared they’d got free of us.

  Excitement rose as, at about two in the afternoon, the Frogs formed battle line, still on the larboard tack. They were eight or nine miles away, to the north-west of us, and this time we had the weather gauge. That meant we could run “downhill” upon them. Accordingly, at three-thirty, Howe formed our battle line and signalled to engage them van, centre, and rear. There was a huge swell of enthusiasm at this in the British Fleet. Bands played, cheers echoed, and the men danced hornpipes at their guns: “the hotter the war, the sooner the peace” was what the lower deck believed.

  To fall upon the enemy and yet maintain our line, our ships sailed slantwise fashion, neither quite in line astern nor in line abeam, but something between the two; “lasking” this was called. But it all came to disappointment once more, when the Frogs edged off and slipped away to leeward when our ships got close. It was infuriating, and despite angry signalling from Black Dick to maintain the battle line, our faster ships began to haul away from the slower.

  Confusion reigned and our splendid formation degenerated to a shuffling herd as every Captain raced to put his ship in action before all the others. Howe was unsafe to be near at this time. He blistered the paintwork and cursed God. Some said that his famous nickname had more to do with his temper than his swarthy looks, and I could see the truth in this.

  “Damn your eyes and bones, you slovenly nincompoop!” says he to his Signals Lieutenant. “Can you not make known my wishes to the fleet? Look, sir! Exercise your bloody eyes in this direction! Are you blind as well as bloody stupid?” He stabbed his finger furiously at Brunswick, under full sail and plunging bravely out ahead of the fleet with her Captain, John Harvey, waving his hat in the air to encourage his men to their work. “Tell that bloody bugger Harvey to shorten bloody sail this instant, or I’ll break the bugger!”

  Then he clapped his glass to his eye and studied the French flagship.

  “Disgraceful!” says he. “Villaret de bloody Joyeuse? Huh! Will you not give battle, sir? Bah! In King Louis’ time the lubber would have been strung up by his own bollocks to his own yardarm, and the punishment too bloody good for him!”

  But it was no good, and at about seven in the evening and faced with the likelihood of a piecemeal engagement at night, with all the dangers of mistaken identification and British ships firing into each other, Howe was forced to give up. He signalled the fleet to fall off and prepare for battle tomorrow.

  At sunrise on 1st June 1794, the wind was still south-westerly, but was only a moderate breeze and the sea was smooth. The French were six miles off to leeward, still in battle formation, still on the larboard tack. At six in the morning Howe tried again, and our ships bore up together, steering north to engage the enemy. This time the French did not start to waver and it was soon clear that they’d found their courage at last. At quarter-past seven Howe signalled that he would pass through the enemy centre and attack their flagship from leeward. This would prevent her being able to run. Each other ship of our fleet was to act similarly. It was a manoeuvre long planned by Howe, which his Captains were familiar with. In theory, at least.

  By eight o’clock Howe was so sure that the French would not run that he ordered the fleet to heave-to so that the men could have their breakfast. This sometimes causes landsmen to smile as if it were a trivial matter, or an affectation like Drake’s playing bowls as the Armada bore down. The facts here were different.

  Hardly a man in our fleet had slept properly for days, and with the ships cleared for action life was uncomfortable aboard them. And if it did come to a general engagement, then the men would be asked to perform the heavy labour of manning the guns for hour after hour. So all in all, a quarter of an hour spent issuing food to the hands was time well spent, for they’d soon need every scrap of strength that they’d got.

  With breakfast over, we filled and bore down on the French. To accommodate Howe’s plan to cut their line at every point, our ships came on in line abeam, which meant we approached all the faster, but had few guns to bear on the enemy.

  Every ship in both fleets was now under battle-canvas, with no more than single-reefed topsails. The French were drawn out in their line, east to west, and closed up with as little space between as they could manage. We came up from the south-west at a steady five knots, which is a painful slow rate of progression when you’re expecting the broadsides of an enemy line and all you can reply with is your bow chasers.

  At twenty-four minutes past nine, the ships at the head of the French line opened up on ours. It was like rolling thunder, as so many guns fired as to blur the distinction of the individual detonations.

  Soon after, we aboard Queen Charlotte came under fire, at first from Montagne the French flagship and then from the three ships astern of herjacobin, 80, Achille, 74, and especially Vengeur, 74. It was poorly directed but Queen Charlotte shuddered as heavy shot crashed into her timbers. At that moment, we had hardly a gun to bear on Montagne but our starboard battery had a good sight of Vengeur and Black Dick gave this ship the honour of receiving our first fire.

  “Sir Andrew,” says he to Snape-Douglas, Queen Charlotte’s Captain, and pointed at Vengeur, “be so good as to return the fire of that ship before it becomes a nuisance. Upper deck and quarterdeck batteries only, if you please. I wish to reserve our heavy guns for Montagne as we break the line.”

  You’ll notice that Black Dick was polite as could be once battle had been joined. What’s more, he didn’t even object when Queen Charlotte’s gunners disobeyed his orders. For it was too much to ask of our middle deck and lower deck to hear the guns above them in action and yet hold their fire while Vengeur was large in their sights and firing at us. So the whole starboard side of Queen Charlotte vanished in jets of flame, banks of smoke and ear-splitting bellows as our whole battery set to work.

  We were very, very close to the French by then and their line stretched away on either hand, thundering away at ours. Howe was stamping up and down in delight with Queen Charlotte’s being the first of our ships to
break the Frog line. There was no chance now of their getting away and we were about to pass under Montagne’s stern and ahead of Jacobin immediately astern.

  Now the great 120-gunner was mere yards off our larboard bow. We were so close that the great ensign waving at her stern flagpost actually swept against our main shrouds as we passed under her stern. Musketry from her tops was banging away and bullets cracked and whined about the quarterdeck. You could see faces, uniforms, hats, every detail of the Frogs, right down to the hammocks stowed in the bulwark nettings. I could see what was coming and checked the priming of the pistols his Lordship had given me. I had a cutlass too. Someone had offered me a more gentlemanly fighting sword, but it felt like a twig in my hands.

  Then at no more than twenty-feet range, our larboard gunners blazed away into Montagne’s stern, straight in through the stern windows and down the length of her decks. A torrent of shot smashing and tearing its way from end to end of her. The very heaviest blow we could deliver, and upon the very weakest part of the enemy. Immediately, we put down our helm to take up the position Black Dick wanted, close alongside Montagne and in her lee.

  Half deafened by our gunfire, I saw Snape-Douglas yelling into Howe’s ear and pointing. Jacobin had made sail to reach ahead of Montagne and to leeward of her. It was an intelligent move, for it anticipated our intentions and would catch us between the fire of two ships. I couldn’t hear what Howe said, but he shook his head vehemently and pointed at Montagne.

  Snape-Douglas smiled and saluted. Then he yelled in the ears of his Sailing Master who yelled in the ears of the quartermasters at the ship’s wheel. The result was that Queen Charlotte held her course. Nothing in the world now would stop Black Dick from placing his ship broadside to broadside with Villaret de Joyeuse. But he was going into deadly peril.