Deeds that Won the Empire Part 1

Deeds that Won the Empire.

by W. H. Fitchett.

PREFACE

The tales here told are written, not to glorify war, but to nourish patriotism. They represent an effort to renew in popular memory the great traditions of the Imperial race to which we belong.

The history of the Empire of which we are subjects--the story of the struggles and sufferings by which it has been built up--is the best legacy which the past has bequeathed to us. But it is a treasure strangely neglected. The State makes primary education its anxious care, yet it does not make its own history a vital part of that education. There is real danger that for the average youth the great names of British story may become meaningless sounds, that his imagination will take no colour from the rich and deep tints of history. And what a pallid, cold-blooded citizens.h.i.+p this must produce!

War belongs, no doubt, to an imperfect stage of society; it has a side of pure brutality. But it is not all brutal. Wordsworth's daring line about "G.o.d's most perfect instrument" has a great truth behind it.

What examples are to be found in the tales here retold, not merely of heroic daring, but of even finer qualities--of heroic fort.i.tude; of loyalty to duty stronger than the love of life; of the temper which dreads dishonour more than it fears death; of the patriotism which makes love of the Fatherland a pa.s.sion. These are the elements of robust citizens.h.i.+p. They represent some, at least, of the qualities by which the Empire, in a sterner time than ours, was won, and by which, in even these ease-loving days, it must be maintained.

These sketches appeared originally in the _Melbourne Argus_, and are republished by the kind consent of its proprietors. Each sketch is complete in itself; and though no formal quotation of authorities is given, yet all the available literature on each event described has been laid under contribution. The sketches will be found to be historically accurate.

THE FIGHT OFF CAPE ST. VINCENT

THE SCEPTRE OF THE SEA.

"Old England's sons are English yet, Old England's hearts are strong; And still she wears her coronet Aflame with sword and song.

As in their pride our fathers died, If need be, so die we; So wield we still, gainsay who will, The sceptre of the sea.

We've Raleighs still for Raleigh's part, We've Nelsons yet unknown; The pulses of the Lion-Heart Beat on through Wellington.

Hold, Britain, hold thy creed of old, Strong foe and steadfast friend, And still unto thy motto true, 'Defy not, but defend.'

Men whisper that our arm is weak, Men say our blood is cold, And that our hearts no longer speak That clarion note of old; But let the spear and sword draw near The sleeping lion's den, Our island sh.o.r.e shall start once more To life, with armed men."

--HERMAN CHARLES MERIVALE.

On the night of February 13, 1797, an English fleet of fifteen s.h.i.+ps of the line, in close order and in readiness for instant battle, was under easy sail off Cape St. Vincent. It was a moonless night, black with haze, and the great s.h.i.+ps moved in silence like gigantic spectres over the sea. Every now and again there came floating from the south-east the dull sound of a far-off gun. It was the grand fleet of Spain, consisting of twenty-seven s.h.i.+ps of line, under Admiral Don Josef de Cordova; one great s.h.i.+p calling to another through the night, little dreaming that the sound of their guns was so keenly noted by the eager but silent fleet of their enemies to leeward. The morning of the 14th--a day famous in the naval history of the empire--broke dim and hazy; grey sea, grey fog, grey dawn, making all things strangely obscure. At half-past six, however, the keen-sighted British outlooks caught a glimpse of the huge straggling line of Spaniards, stretching apparently through miles of sea haze. "They are thumpers!" as the signal lieutenant of the _Barfleur_ reported with emphasis to his captain; "they loom like Beachy Head in a fog!" The Spanish fleet was, indeed, the mightiest ever sent from Spanish ports since "that great fleet invincible" of 1588 carried into the English waters--but not out of them!--

"The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain."

The Admiral's flag was borne by the _Santissima Trinidad_, a floating mountain, the largest s.h.i.+p at that time on the sea, and carrying on her four decks 130 guns. Next came six three-deckers carrying 112 guns each, two s.h.i.+ps of the line of 80 guns each, and seventeen carrying 74 guns, with no less than twelve 34-gun frigates to act as a flying cordon of skirmishers. Spain had joined France against England on September 12, 1796, and Don Cordova, at the head of this immense fleet, had sailed from Cadiz to execute a daring and splendid strategy. He was to pick up the Toulon fleet, brush away the English squadron blockading Brest, add the great French fleet lying imprisoned there to his forces, and enter the British Channel with above a hundred sail of the line under his flag, and sweep in triumph to the mouth of the Thames! If the plan succeeded, Portugal would fall, a descent was to be made on Ireland; the British flag, it was reckoned, would be swept from the seas.

Sir John Jervis was lying in the track of the Spaniards to defeat this ingenious plan. Five s.h.i.+ps of the line had been withdrawn from the squadron blockading Brest to strengthen him; still he had only fifteen s.h.i.+ps against the twenty-seven huge Spaniards in front of him; whilst, if the French Toulon fleet behind him broke out, he ran the risk of being crushed, so to speak, betwixt the upper and the nether millstone.

Never, perhaps, was the naval supremacy of England challenged so boldly and with such a prospect of success as at this moment. The northern powers had coalesced under Russia, and only a few weeks later the English guns were thundering over the roofs of Copenhagen, while the united flags of France and Spain were preparing to sweep through the narrow seas. The "splendid isolation" of to-day is no novelty. In 1796, as it threatened to be in 1896, Great Britain stood singly against a world in arms, and it is scarcely too much to say that her fate hung on the fortunes of the fleet that, in the grey dawn of St.

Valentine's Day, a hundred years ago, was searching the skyline for the topmasts of Don Cordova's huge three-deckers.

Fifteen to twenty-seven is enormous odds, but, on the testimony of Nelson himself, a better fleet never carried the fortunes of a great country than that under Sir John Jervis. The mere names of the s.h.i.+ps or of their commanders awaken more sonorous echoes than the famous catalogue of the s.h.i.+ps in the "Iliad." Trowbridge, in the _Culloden_, led the van; the line was formed of such s.h.i.+ps as the _Victory_, the flags.h.i.+p, the _Barfleur_, the _Blenheim_, the _Captain_, with Nelson as commodore, the _Excellent_, under Collingwood, the _Colossus_, under Murray, the _Orion_, under Sir James Saumarez, &c. Finer sailors and more daring leaders never bore down upon an enemy's fleet. The picture offered by the two fleets in the cold haze of that fateful morning, as a matter of fact, reflected the difference in their fighting and sea-going qualities. The Spanish fleet, a line of monsters, straggled, formless and shapeless, over miles of sea s.p.a.ce, distracted with signals, fluttering with many-coloured flags. The English fleet, grim and silent, bore down upon the enemy in two compact and firm-drawn columns, s.h.i.+p following s.h.i.+p so closely and so exactly that bowsprit and stern almost touched, while an air-line drawn from the foremast of the leading s.h.i.+p to the mizzenmast of the last s.h.i.+p in each column would have touched almost every mast betwixt. Stately, measured, threatening, in perfect fighting order, the compact line of the British bore down on the Spaniards.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BATTLE OFF CAPE ST. VINCENT. Cutting the Spanish Line. From Allen's "Battles of the British Navy."]

Nothing is more striking in the battle of St. Vincent than the swift and resolute fas.h.i.+on in which Sir John Jervis leaped, so to speak, at his enemy's throat, with the silent but deadly leap of a bulldog. As the fog lifted, about nine o'clock, with the suddenness and dramatic effect of the lifting of a curtain in a great theatre, it revealed to the British admiral a great opportunity. The weather division of the Spanish fleet, twenty-one gigantic s.h.i.+ps, resembled nothing so much as a confused and swaying forest of masts; the leeward division--six s.h.i.+ps in a cl.u.s.ter, almost as confused--was parted by an interval of nearly three miles from the main body of the fleet, and into that fatal gap, as with the swift and deadly thrust of a rapier, Jervis drove his fleet in one unswerving line, the two columns melting into one, s.h.i.+p following hard on s.h.i.+p. The Spaniards strove furiously to close their line, the twenty-one huge s.h.i.+ps bearing down from the windward, the smaller squadron clawing desperately up from the leeward. But the British fleet--a long line of gliding pyramids of sails, leaning over to the pressure of the wind, with "the meteor flag" flying from the peak of each vessel, and the curving lines of guns awaiting grim and silent beneath--was too swift. As it swept through the gap, the Spanish vice-admiral, in the _Principe de Asturias_, a great three-decker of 112 guns, tried the daring feat of breaking through the British line to join the severed squadron. He struck the English fleet almost exactly at the flags.h.i.+p, the _Victory_. The _Victory_ was thrown into stays to meet her, the Spaniard swung round in response, and, exactly as her quarter was exposed to the broadside of the _Victory_, the thunder of a tremendous broadside rolled from that s.h.i.+p.

The unfortunate Spaniard was smitten as with a tempest of iron, and the next moment, with sails torn, topmasts hanging to leeward, ropes hanging loose in every direction, and her decks splashed red with the blood of her slaughtered crew, she broke off to windward. The iron line of the British was unpierceable! The leading three-decker of the Spanish lee division in like manner bore up, as though to break through the British line to join her admiral; but the grim succession of three-deckers, following swift on each other like the links of a moving iron chain, was too disquieting a prospect to be faced. It was not in Spanish seamans.h.i.+p, or, for the matter of that, in Spanish flesh and blood, to beat up in the teeth of such threatening lines of iron lips.

The Spanish s.h.i.+ps swung sullenly back to leeward, and the fleet of Don Cordova was cloven in twain, as though by the stroke of some gigantic sword-blade.

As soon as Sir John Jervis saw the steady line of his fleet drawn fair across the gap in the Spanish line, he flung his leading s.h.i.+ps up to windward on the ma.s.s of the Spanish fleet, by this time beating up to windward. The _Culloden_ led, thrust itself betwixt the hindmost Spanish three-deckers, and broke into flame and thunder on either side.

Six minutes after her came the _Blenheim_; then, in quick succession, the _Prince George_, the _Orion_, the _Colossus_. It was a crash of swaying masts and bellying sails, while below rose the shouting of the crews, and, like the thrusts of fiery swords, the flames shot out from the sides of the great three-deckers against each other, and over all rolled the thunder and the smoke of a t.i.tanic sea-fight. Nothing more murderous than close fighting betwixt the huge wooden s.h.i.+ps of those days can well be imagined. The _Victory_, the largest British s.h.i.+p present in the action, was only 186 feet long and 52 feet broad; yet in that little area 1000 men fought, 100 great guns thundered. A Spanish s.h.i.+p like the _San Josef_ was 194 feet in length and 54 feet in breadth; but in that area 112 guns were mounted, while the three decks were thronged with some 1300 men. When floating batteries like these swept each other with the flame of swiftly repeated broadsides at a distance of a few score yards, the destruction may be better imagined than described. The Spanish had an advantage in the number of guns and men, but the British established an instant mastery by their silent discipline, their perfect seamans.h.i.+p, and the speed with which their guns were worked. They fired at least three broadsides to every two the Spaniards discharged, and their fire had a deadly precision compared with which that of the Spaniards was mere distracted spluttering.

Meanwhile the dramatic crisis of the battle came swiftly on. The Spanish admiral was resolute to join the severed fragments of his fleet. The _Culloden_, the _Blenheim_, the _Prince George_, and the _Orion_ were thundering amongst his rearmost s.h.i.+ps, and as the British line swept up, each s.h.i.+p tacked as it crossed the gap in the Spanish line, bore up to windward and added the thunder of its guns to the storm of battle raging amongst the hindmost Spaniards. But naturally the section of the British line that had not yet pa.s.sed the gap shortened with every minute, and the leading Spanish s.h.i.+ps at last saw the sea to their leeward clear of the enemy, and the track open to their own lee squadron. Instantly they swung round to leeward, the great four-decker, the flags.h.i.+p, with a company of sister giants, the _San Josef_ and the _Salvador del Mundo_, of 112 guns each, the _San Nicolas_, and three other great s.h.i.+ps of 80 guns. It was a bold and clever stroke. This great squadron, with the breeze behind it, had but to sweep past the rear of the British line, join the lee squadron, and bear up, and the Spanish fleet in one unbroken ma.s.s would confront the enemy. The rear of the British line was held by Collingwood in the _Excellent_; next to him came the _Diadem_; the third s.h.i.+p was the _Captain_, under Nelson. We may imagine how Nelson's solitary eye was fixed on the great Spanish three-deckers that formed the Spanish van as they suddenly swung round and came sweeping down to cross his stern.

Not Napoleon himself had a vision more swift and keen for the changing physiognomy of a great battle than Nelson, and he met the Spanish admiral with a counter-stroke as brilliant and daring as can be found in the whole history of naval warfare. The British fleet saw the _Captain_ suddenly swing out of line to leeward--in the direction from the Spanish line, that is--but with swift curve the _Captain_ doubled back, shot between the two English s.h.i.+ps that formed the rear of the line, and bore up straight in the path of the Spanish flags.h.i.+p, with its four decks, and the huge battles.h.i.+ps on either side of it.

The _Captain_, it should be remembered, was the smallest 74 in the British fleet, and as the great Spanish s.h.i.+ps closed round her and broke into flame it seemed as if each one of them was big enough to hoist the _Captain_ on board like a jolly-boat. Nelson's act was like that of a single stockman who undertakes to "head off" a drove of angry bulls as they break away from the herd; but the "bulls" in this case were a group of the mightiest battles.h.i.+ps then afloat. Nelson's sudden movement was a breach of orders; it left a gap in the British line; to dash unsupported into the Spanish van seemed mere madness, and the spectacle, as the Captain opened fire on the huge _Santissima Trinidad_, was simply amazing. Nelson was in action at once with the flags.h.i.+p of 130 guns, two s.h.i.+ps of 112 guns, one of 80 guns, and two of 74 guns! To the spectators who watched the sight the sides of the _Captain_ seemed to throb with quick-following pulses of flame as its crew poured their shot into the huge hulks on every side of them. The Spaniards formed a ma.s.s so tangled that they could scarcely fire at the little _Captain_ without injuring each other; yet the English s.h.i.+p seemed to shrivel beneath even the imperfect fire that did reach her.

Her foremast was shot away, her wheel-post shattered, her rigging torn, some of her guns dismantled, and the s.h.i.+p was practically incapable of further service either in the line or in chase. But Nelson had accomplished his purpose: he had stopped the rush of the Spanish van.

At this moment the _Excellent_, under Collingwood, swept into the storm of battle that raged round the _Captain_, and poured three tremendous broadsides into the Spanish three-decker the _Salvador del Mundo_ that practically disabled her. "We were not further from her," the domestic but hard-fighting Collingwood wrote to his wife, "than the length of our garden." Then, with a fine feat of seamans.h.i.+p, the _Excellent_ pa.s.sed between the _Captain_ and the _San Nicolas_, scourging that unfortunate s.h.i.+p with flame at a distance of ten yards, and then pa.s.sed on to bestow its favours on the _Santissima Trinidad_--"such a s.h.i.+p,"

Collingwood afterwards confided to his wife, "as I never saw before!"

Collingwood tormented that monster with his fire so vehemently that she actually struck, though possession of her was not taken before the other Spanish s.h.i.+ps, coming up, rescued her, and she survived to carry the Spanish flag in the great fight of Trafalgar.

Meanwhile the crippled _Captain_, though actually disabled, had performed one of the most dramatic and brilliant feats in the history of naval warfare. Nelson put his helm to starboard, and ran, or rather drifted, on the quarter-gallery of the _San Nicolas_, and at once boarded that leviathan. Nelson himself crept through the quarter-gallery window in the stern of the Spaniard, and found himself in the officers' cabins. The officers tried to show fight, but there was no denying the boarders who followed Nelson, and with shout and oath, with flash of pistol and ring of steel, the party swept through on to the main deck. But the _San Nicolas_ had been boarded also at other points. "The first man who jumped into the enemy's mizzen-chains," says Nelson, "was the first lieutenant of the s.h.i.+p, afterwards Captain Berry." The English sailors dropped from their spritsail yard on to the Spaniard's deck, and by the time Nelson reached the p.o.o.p of the _San Nicolas_ he found his lieutenant in the act of hauling down the Spanish flag. Nelson proceeded to collect the swords of the Spanish officers, when a fire was opened upon them from the stern gallery of the admiral's s.h.i.+p, the _San Josef_, of 112 guns, whose sides were grinding against those of the _San Nicolas_. What could Nelson do? To keep his prize he must a.s.sault a still bigger s.h.i.+p. Of course he never hesitated! He flung his boarders up the side of the huge _San Josef_, but he himself had to be a.s.sisted to climb the main chains of that vessel, his lieutenant this time dutifully a.s.sisting his commodore up instead of indecorously going ahead of him.

"At this moment," as Nelson records the incident, "a Spanish officer looked over the quarterdeck rail and said they surrendered. It was not long before I was on the quarter-deck, where the Spanish captain, with a bow, presented me his sword, and said the admiral was dying of his wounds. I asked him, on his honour, if the s.h.i.+p was surrendered. He declared she was; on which I gave him my hand, and desired him to call on his officers and s.h.i.+p's company and tell them of it, which he did; and on the quarterdeck of a Spanish first-rate--extravagant as the story may seem--did I receive the swords of vanquished Spaniards, which, as I received, I gave to William Fearney, one of my bargemen, who put them with the greatest _sang-froid_ under his arm," a circle of "old Agamemnons," with smoke-blackened faces, looking on in grim approval.

This is the story of how a British fleet of fifteen vessels defeated a Spanish fleet of twenty-seven, and captured four of their finest s.h.i.+ps.

It is the story, too, of how a single English s.h.i.+p, the smallest 74 in the fleet--but made unconquerable by the presence of Nelson--stayed the advance of a whole squadron of Spanish three-deckers, and took two s.h.i.+ps, each bigger than itself, by boarding. Was there ever a finer deed wrought under "the meteor flag"! Nelson disobeyed orders by leaving the English line and flinging himself on the van of the Spaniards, but he saved the battle. Calder, Jervis's captain, complained to the admiral that Nelson had "disobeyed orders." "He certainly did," answered Jervis; "and if ever you commit such a breach of your orders I will forgive you also."

THE HEIGHTS OF ABRAHAM

"Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!

To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name."

--SIR WALTER SCOTT.

The year 1759 is a golden one in British history. A great French army that threatened Hanover was overthrown at Minden, chiefly by the heroic stupidity of six British regiments, who, mistaking their orders, charged the entire French cavalry in line, and destroyed them. "I have seen,"

said the astonished French general, "what I never thought to be possible--a single line of infantry break through three lines of cavalry ranked in order of battle, and tumble them into ruin!" Contades omitted to add that this astonis.h.i.+ng infantry, charging cavalry in open formation, was scourged during their entire advance by powerful batteries on their flank. At Quiberon, in the same year, Hawke, amid a tempest, destroyed a mighty fleet that threatened England with invasion; and on the heights of Abraham, Wolfe broke the French power in America. "We are forced," said Horace Walpole, the wit of his day, "to ask every morning what new victory there is, for fear of missing one." Yet, of all the great deeds of that _annus mirabilis_, the victory which overthrew Montcalm and gave Quebec to England--a victory achieved by the genius of Pitt and the daring of Wolfe--was, if not the most s.h.i.+ning in quality, the most far-reaching in its results. "With the triumph of Wolfe on the heights of Abraham," says Green, "began the history of the United States."

The hero of that historic fight wore a singularly unheroic aspect.

Wolfe's face, in the famous picture by West, resembles that of a nervous and sentimental boy--he was an adjutant at sixteen, and only thirty-three when he fell, mortally wounded, under the walls of Quebec. His forehead and chin receded; his nose, tip-tilted heavenwards, formed with his other features the point of an obtuse triangle. His hair was fiery red, his shoulders narrow, his legs a pair of attenuated spindle-shanks; he was a chronic invalid. But between his fiery poll and his plebeian and upturned nose flashed a pair of eyes--keen, piercing, and steady--worthy of Caesar or of Napoleon. In warlike genius he was on land as Nelson was on sea, chivalrous, fiery, intense. A "magnetic" man, with a strange gift of impressing himself on the imagination of his soldiers, and of so penetrating the whole force he commanded with his own spirit that in his hands it became a terrible and almost resistless instrument of war. The gift for choosing fit agents is one of the highest qualities of genius; and it is a sign of Pitt's piercing insight into character that, for the great task of overthrowing the French power in Canada, he chose what seemed to commonplace vision a rickety, hypochondriacal, and very youthful colonel like Wolfe.

Pitt's strategy for the American campaign was s.p.a.cious, not to say grandiose. A line of strong French posts, ranging from Duquesne, on the Ohio, to Ticonderoga, on Lake Champlain, held the English settlements on the coast girdled, as in an iron band, from all extension westward; while Quebec, perched in almost impregnable strength on the frowning cliffs which look down on the St. Lawrence, was the centre of the French power in Canada. Pitt's plan was that Amherst, with 12,000 men, should capture Ticonderoga; Prideaux, with another powerful force, should carry Montreal; and Wolfe, with 7000 men, should invest Quebec, where Amherst and Prideaux were to join him. Two-thirds of this great plan broke down.

Amherst and Prideaux, indeed, succeeded in their local operations, but neither was able to join Wolfe, who had to carry out with one army the task for which three were designed.

On June 21, 1759, the advanced squadron of the fleet conveying Wolfe came working up the St. Lawrence. To deceive the enemy they flew the white flag, and, as the eight great s.h.i.+ps came abreast of the Island of Orleans, the good people of Quebec persuaded themselves it was a French fleet bringing supplies and reinforcements. The bells rang a welcome; flags waved. Boats put eagerly off to greet the approaching s.h.i.+ps. But as these swung round at their anchorage the white flag of France disappeared, and the red ensign of Great Britain flew in its place. The crowds, struck suddenly dumb, watched the gleam of the hostile flag with chap-fallen faces. A priest, who was staring at the s.h.i.+ps through a telescope, actually dropped dead with the excitement and pa.s.sion created by the sight of the British fleet. On June 26 the main body of the fleet bringing Wolfe himself with 7000 troops, was in sight of the lofty cliffs on which Quebec stands; Cook, afterwards the famous navigator, master of the _Mercury_, sounding ahead of the fleet. Wolfe at once seized the Isle of Orleans, which shelters the basin of Quebec to the east, and divides the St. Lawrence into two branches, and, with a few officers, quickly stood on the western point of the isle. At a glance the desperate nature of the task committed to him was apparent.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Siege of Quebec, 1759. From Parkman's "Montcalm & Wolfe."]

Quebec stands on the rocky nose of a promontory, shaped roughly like a bull's-head, looking eastward. The St. Lawrence flows eastward under the chin of the head; the St. Charles runs, so to speak, down its nose from the north to meet the St. Lawrence. The city itself stands on lofty cliffs, and as Wolfe looked upon it on that June evening far away, it was girt and crowned with batteries. The banks of the St. Lawrence, that define what we have called the throat of the bull, are precipitous and lofty, and seem by mere natural strength to defy attack, though it was just here, by an ant-like track up 250 feet of almost perpendicular cliff, Wolfe actually climbed to the plains of Abraham. To the east of Quebec is a curve of lofty sh.o.r.e, seven miles long, between the St.

Charles and the Montmorenci. When Wolfe's eye followed those seven miles of curving sh.o.r.e, he saw the tents of a French army double his own in strength, and commanded by the most brilliant French soldier of his generation, Montcalm. Quebec, in a word, was a great natural fortress, attacked by 9000 troops and defended by 16,000; and if a daring military genius urged the English attack, a soldier as daring and well-nigh as able as Wolfe directed the French defence.

Montcalm gave a proof of his fine quality as a soldier within twenty-four hours of the appearance of the British fleet. The very afternoon the British s.h.i.+ps dropped anchor a terrific tempest swept over the harbour, drove the transports from their moorings, dashed the great s.h.i.+ps of war against each other, and wrought immense mischief. The tempest dropped as quickly as it had arisen. The night fell black and moonless. Towards midnight the British sentinels on the point of the Isle of Orleans saw drifting silently through the gloom the outlines of a cl.u.s.ter of s.h.i.+ps.

They were eight huge fire-s.h.i.+ps, floating mines packed with explosives.