The War of Wars

by Robert Harvey

  His choice of tactics bore out his judgment: it would have been more dangerous and suicidal to run away than to engage. He and his crew had displayed faultless skills that had saved them in an almost impossible situation – in particular those precise movements backwards and forwards from the larger ship to avoid being boarded without bringing them out from under the arc of the Gamo’s guns. Further, he had displayed his remarkable courage in boarding a vessel when his men were so overwhelmingly outnumbered. His coolness, clear-thinking, and superb tactics under nearly impossible conditions had been extraordinary. Finally he had shown the talent for mischievous deception that was to become his trademark. It was, as has been said, an engagement unique in naval history.

  Cochrane’s astonishing feat did not capture the imagination of the old men in the Admiralty. The real start of the feud between the dashing young commander and his superiors can be dated from this moment. When he had been appointed to the command of the insignificant little Speedy, his superiors had never envisaged such a triumph as this. Their attempt to tame him or relegate him to obscurity, however, had backfired. He had performed as an individual commander operating on his own but that grated on men accustomed to co-ordinated team action. He had been continually contemptuous of such men as Lieutenant Beaver, his immediate superior; and he had too full an opinion of himself. The crusty Lord St Vincent, now elevated to First Sea Lord, was not impressed by Cochrane’s reputation for insubordination, and possibly even less so by the popular interest his spectacular action had aroused. The old man had almost certainly come to hear of Cochrane’s criticism for the escape of the French fleet in the Mediterranean in 1799.

  The system of promotion from lieutenant to post-captain was through political favour, or through coming to the attention of the commander-in-chief, usually by serving aboard his flagship; or, more legitimately, through distinction in action. Cochrane qualified on at least two counts. He was clearly being victimised. Cochrane, although formally a lieutenant, was effective commander of the Speedy, a position equivalent to major in the army. They took rank from the moment of their appointment, and would qualify to become admiral in this order, so it was of immense importance. After three years they became equivalent to an army colonel.

  The young hero, who although critical of his superiors, bore no particular grudge against them and was in the full flush of success, suddenly found himself steamrollered by the naval establishment, as though, far from having achieved one of the most spectacular single-ship victories in British naval history, he had committed a major transgression. After a much lesser triumph, it was customary for an officer to be made post-captain (the modern equivalent of captain). Cochrane was denied this accolade for capturing a ship four times bigger than his own.

  It was normal, too, for a warship of such enormity as the Gamo to be absorbed into the British navy, with a large part of the prize money being paid to those who had captured her. Instead it was announced by the Admiralty, without explanation, that the Gamo would be sold off as a merchantman to the ruler of Algiers, so that there would be virtually no prize money. Most offensively of all, the Admiralty resolutely blocked Cochrane’s attempts to secure promotion for his able and courageous second-in-command, Parker, badly wounded in the fighting. How is this to be explained? Presumably the old disciplinarian could not bear that so junior and independent an officer should achieve such popular fame so quickly. For all his incorruptibility, St Vincent was a deeply unattractive figure, and he was certainly the prime mover in the Admiralty’s unprovoked vendetta against the young lieutenant. But many of Cochrane’s own contemporaries disliked him because he did not play by the rules and had thus in a sense ‘betrayed his class’. On the other hand, Cochrane arguably had shown that he was not prepared to abide by the rules or take slights lying down, and a show of deference might have restored him to official favour. Treated badly by his superiors immediately after so extraordinary a victory, he showed exactly the same fearlessness towards them that he had in attacking the Gamo.

  Meanwhile, he was ordered to go on a routine diplomatic mission to the ruler of Algiers who, ironically, had bought the Gamo. As he reported:

  I was ushered through a series of galleries lined with men, each bearing on his shoulder a formidable-looking axe and eyeing me with an insolent scowl, evidently meant to convey the satisfaction with which they would apply its edge to my vertebrae, should the caprice of their chief so will . . . On reaching the presence of the Dey – a dignified-looking and gorgeously-attired person, seated cross-legged on an elevated couch in one corner of the gallery and surrounded by armed people of most unprepossessing appearance – I was marched up between two janizaries, and ordered to make three salaams to his highness.

  This formality being complied with, he rudely demanded, through the medium of an interpreter, ‘What brought me there?’ The reply was that ‘I was the commander of an English vessel of war in the roads, and had been deputed, on behalf of my government, respectfully to remonstrate with his highness concerning a vessel which his cruisers had taken contrary to the laws of nations’. On this being interpreted, the precocious scowls of the bystanders were exchanged for expressions of injured innocence, but the Dey got in a great passion, and told the interpreter to inform me that ‘remonstrance came with an ill grace from us, the British vessels being the greatest pirates in the world, and mine one of the worst amongst them’, which complimentary statement was acknowledged by me with a formal bow.

  ‘If I did right’, continued the Dey, through his interpreter, – ‘I should put you and your crew in prison, till’ (naming a captured Algerine vessel) ‘she was restored; and but for my great respect for the English government, and my impression that her seizure was unauthorized, you should go there. However, you may go, with a demand from me that the vessel unjustly taken from us shall be immediately restored.’

  Disappointed in promotion, he was allowed to resume his raiding career in the Speedy. He, soon capturing a six gun Spanish privateer which he put under the command of his brother Archibald and embarking on a raid in conjunction with a bigger ship, the Kangaroo, on the Spanish convoy at Oropesa. Cochrane was a strong advocate of raiding along the Spanish coast, but he was one of its few practitioners. It was at this time, as he continued relentlessly capturing prizes, that he began to develop a paranoid hatred of the Admiralty’s system for awarding prize money.

  Cochrane’s obsession with prize money, although driven by a strong mercenary trait in his character, was far from unjustified. The pay of able seamen at the time was a derisory 33/6 a month and for ordinary seamen 25/6, and this was usually awarded only when a ship had returned to port after what might be years of sailing on a long posting, and for a ship in port not until six months in arrears to discourage desertions. Sailors often quickly spent this in binges on shore. Prize money offered the temptation of huge potential rewards, however infrequently realized. One quarter of the prize was awarded to the lower ranks; two eighths went to the captain, and one eighth to the Admiral under whose command he sailed. An eighth was awarded to ‘captains of marines, land forces, sea lieutenants and masters’, to be divided equally among them. An eighth went to ‘lieutenants and quartermasters of marines, lieutenants, ensigns and quartermasters of land forces, boatswain, gunner, purser, carpenter, masters’ mates, surgeons and chaplains’. Yet another eighth went to the midshipmen, surgeons’ mates, sergeants of marine and various petty officers, while the remaining quarter went to the crew and marines.

  Cochrane’s success was startling: by July 1801, after just a year in command of the Speedy, he had captured more than 50 prizes equipped with 122 guns and taken 534 prisoners. This meant that his own ordinary seamen were better rewarded than the officers in some other ships. But in a great many cases the prize money obtained was derisory, and Cochrane felt he had been cheated. His view was that other British commanders did not bother taking prizes simply because there was no money in doing so.

  His evident concern for his men was a part
icularly attractive feature of life under his command on the Speedy. It was observed from the first how extraordinarily easy it seemed to be for the young lieutenant to get the best out of his men. This was no easy task in some ships, where sullen and resentful men would barely do the bidding of their commanders.

  Cochrane secured this respect in part because he was as good a seaman as any on board, in part because of his approachability and unfailing courtesy and above all because of his dazzling success. It was exciting to serve under such a commander, and the men would follow him willingly into danger. He lost remarkably few because he calculated the odds so carefully in undertaking such apparently suicidal actions as the attack on the Gamo. In addition, although Cochrane ran his ship efficiently, discipline was not excessive and he never had a man flogged – although he did not express opposition to flogging in principle. It was just that he had no need to resort to this deterrent. He was a natural-born captain.

  Another spectacular joint action followed. At noon on 9 June the Speedy attacked a 20-gun xebec accompanied by three gunboats escorting a Spanish convoy. For several hours the ships fired broadsides at each other, until a 12-gun felucca and two more gunboats arrived from Valencia to reinforce the Spaniards. But the Speedy gained the upper hand, sinking the xebec and, eventually, all four gunboats. By now the Speedy had used up 1,200 shot and the Kingfisher had also almost run out of ammunition. Extreme measures were required to finish the action, and Captain Pulling ordered his ship to close on the fort, whose defenders promptly fled, while the Speedy sailed straight at the felucca and the other gunboats, which also turned tail. Three merchantmen were captured, three sunk, and four driven on shore, where they were protected by Spanish troops.

  The legendary career of the plucky little Speedy was brought to an end, fittingly, in one of its most glorious actions. To Cochrane’s fury, in the summer of 1801 he was assigned to act as convoy to the mail packet that ran between the British naval base of Port Mahon in Minorca and Gibraltar. The packet ship was barely seaworthy and the mail was transferred to the Speedy as soon as the two ships were out of port, and then back aboard the packet as they approached Gibraltar, to give the impression the packet had carried the mail all the way. Impatient and frustrated, Cochrane cruised along the coast, keeping an eye out for possible prizes. He soon spotted some small merchant ships near Alicante, and got close. The Spaniards ran them aground. Cochrane could not disembark to capture them where they lay beached so he fired his cannon at them to set them on fire. One happened to be carrying oil, which blazed fiercely through the night, to Cochrane’s satisfaction.

  But the flames attracted the attention of three French battleships also heading for the Straits of Gibraltar. Cochrane’s lookouts spotted the topsails on the horizon the following morning. Cochrane concluded that they must be Spanish treasure ships. He had made a fatal mistake. As he sailed towards them, it gradually became apparent that they were the pride of the French fleet: the Indomitable, the Dessaix and the Formidable were fast closing on the Speedy, which was trapped between them and the shore.

  Faced with such odds, any other commander would have surrendered at once. Once they came within range, a single broadside by any one of them would be enough to sink the Speedy. But Cochrane was determined to make a break for it, believing, as with the Gamo, in the surprise of so bold a policy on his enemies. He put on all possible sail, dumped his little guns overboard, as well as all other surplus weight. He then began to tack as the ships approached so as to ensure that he was never broadside to them. The French guns in bow and stern managed to damage his rigging, but his bobbing and weaving prevented them concentrating their fire. He suddenly made a break for it between the Dessaix and the Formidable. The astonished French, who had expected the Speedy to flee at their approach, managed to let off a single broadside as the little ship sped past, but missed. The Speedy made it out into the open sea.

  For a moment it seemed Cochrane had succeeded. But as repeated shots from the Frenchman’s bows ripped into the Speedy’s canvas, the little ship began to slow and the Dessaix caught up after an hour, at last overhauling it. As Cochrane reported:

  At this short distance she let fly at us a complete broadside of round and grape, the object evidently being to sink us at a blow, in retaliation for thus attempting to slip past, though almost without hope of escape. Fortunately for us, in yawing to bring her broadside to bear, the rapidity with which she answered her helm carried her a little too far, and her round shot plunged in the water under our bows, or the discharge must have sunk us; the scattered grape, however, took effect in the rigging, cutting up a great part of it, riddling the sails, and doing material damage to the masts and yards, though not a man was hurt. To have delayed for another broadside would have been to expose all on board to certain destruction, and as further effort to escape was impotent, the Speedy’s colours were hauled down.

  He was rowed aboard the Dessaix and offered his sword to Palliere. ‘I will not accept the sword of an officer who has for so many hours struggled against impossibility’, the Frenchman told him chivalrously, in exultation at having at last brought to an end the career of the legendary terror of the Spanish coast and its commander. Cochrane was treated with full courtesy on the remainder of the trip to anchorage at Algeciras near Gibraltar.

  When they reached Algeciras, Cochrane was informed of the approach of a squadron of six British warships of 74 guns each under the command of Admiral Sir John Saumarez. Palliere asked him whether they would attack. Cochrane replied: ‘An attack will certainly be made, and before night both the French and British ships will be at Gibraltar, where it will give me great pleasure to make you and your officers a return for the kindness I have experienced on board the Dessaix.’

  The French commander ordered his ships to move closer to the protection of the Spanish batteries but, in their haste, the three ships ran aground. As the two men had breakfast the following day a cannonball smashed into the cabin, spraying them with glass from a shattered wine bin nearby. They ran on deck to witness several marines being cut down by intense British fire. Cochrane, not wishing to be killed by his own side, discreetly withdrew to a safe place. He recounted what happened next:

  The Hannibal, having with the others forged past the enemy, gallantly filled and tacked with a view to get between the French ships and the shore, being evidently unaware of their having been hauled aground. The consequence was that she ran upon a shoal, and remained fast, nearly bow on to the broadsides of the French line-of-battle ships, which with the shore batteries and several gunboats opened upon her a concentrated fire. This, from her position, she was unable to return. The result was that her guns were speedily dismounted, her rigging shot away, and a third of her crew killed or wounded; Captain Ferris, who commanded her, having now no alternative but to strike his colours – though not before he had displayed an amount of endurance which excited the admiration of the enemy.

  A circumstance now occurred which is entitled to rank amongst the curiosities of war. On the French taking possession of the Hannibal, they had neglected to provide themselves with their national ensign, and either from necessity or bravado rehoisted the English flag upside down. This being a well-known signal of distress, was so understood by the authorities at Gibraltar, who, manning all government and other boats with dockyard artificers and seamen, sent them, as it was mistakenly considered, to the assistance of the Hannibal.

  On the approach of the launches I was summoned on deck by the captain of the Dessaix, who seemed doubtful what measures to adopt as regarded the boats now approaching to board the Hannibal, and asked my opinion as to whether they would attempt to retake the ship. As there could be no doubt in my mind about the nature of their mission or its result, it was evident that if they were allowed to board, nothing could prevent the seizure of the whole. My advice, therefore, to Captain Palliere was to warn them off by a shot – hoping they would thereby be driven back and saved from capture. Captain Palliere seemed at first inclined to tak
e the advice, but on reflection – either doubting its sincerity, or seeing the real state of the case – he decided to capture the whole by permitting them to board unmolested. Thus boat by boat was captured until all the artificers necessary for the repair of the British squadron, and nearly all the sailors at that time in Gibraltar, were taken prisoners!

  The British sent a boat under a flag of truce to suggest an exchange of prisoners. Palliere refused, but he did agree to parole the young British lieutenant. Cochrane returned to a hero’s welcome at Gibraltar.

  It was still a moment of extreme danger and anxiety for the British garrison on the Rock. A Spanish flotilla of six warships was on its way to rescue the three French craft. Saumarez, with just five ships, sailed into the attack as night fell. In the ensuing confusion two of the biggest Spanish warships of 112 guns started firing and destroyed each other, in two spectacular night explosions as their magazines went up, giving the British victory. Cochrane watched the whole show along with the garrison at Gibraltar.

  A few days later Cochrane was formally court-martialled for the loss of the Speedy. Such court-martials, with all their ceremony and pomp, automatically took place on the loss of a ship. Cochrane was acquitted with honour. The same day Cochrane was promoted to post-captain, reflecting his achievement at last in capturing the Gamo – but the appointment was not backdated, so he was left at the bottom of the seniority list, well below many undistinguished colleagues of his own age and with no chance at all of being given a command in view of the huge surplus of officers to ships.