CHAPTER V

Some Mediæval Sea-fights

"The King's own galley, he called it Trenchthemer
That was first on way, and came the ship full near.
. . . . . . . . . . .
The ship cast hooks out, the galley to them to draw;
The King stood full stoutly, and many of them slew;
Wild-fire they cast, the King to confound;
. . . . . . . . . . .
The King abased him not but stalwartly fought.
. . . . . . . . . . .
The ship that was so great, it foundered in the flood;
They counted fifteen hundred Saracens that drownèd were,
Forty and six were selected, and were all that were saved there.
The sum could no man tell of gold that was therein
And other riches to sell, but all they might not win.
. . . . . . . . . . .
It sank soon in the sea, half might they not get.
Richard bade, 'Haul up your sails, may God us lead,
Our men at Acre lie, of help they have great need.'"
Peter of Langtoft (modernized), thirteenth-century poem.

One of the most interesting episodes of mediæval war afloat was the sinking of the great Turkish Dromon, off Beyrout, by King Richard I. After having effected the junction of his fleets off Messina, he had gone on to Cyprus, where fighting, and other matters with which we need not concern ourselves, had delayed him for some time. At length he and his "busses"[16] and galleys set out for Acre. The following day—6th June, 1191—the British fleet made the Syrian coast, near the Castle of Margat, and continued their way, pretty close under the land, for the town of Acre. About noon the day following, when near Beyrout, it was reported to the King, who led the fleet in his galley Trench-the-Mer, that an enormous ship was in sight. None of the English had ever seen such a leviathan. "A marvellous ship," says an old chronicler, "a ship than which, except Noah's ship, none greater was ever read of—the Queen of Ships!" It was a fine and beautiful summer morning, with but little wind. The strange ship showed no distinguishing colours, and was putting on as much sail as she possibly could; but she made little, if any, way at all:

"The weather was full soft, the wind held them still,
The sail was high aloft, they had no wind at will",

to quote an ancient poem dealing with the fight that ensued. The big ship was of great bulk, painted green on one side and yellow on the other, probably to render her inconspicuous against either a sandy or a green background, or at sea, when her green side was towards the enemy. But in spite of this curious colouring she is said to have presented a very beautiful appearance, and her decoration was considered "very elegant".

The vessel is stated to have carried 1500 men—an enormous complement—which included 7 Emirs and 80 chosen Turks, for the defence of Acre. She was equipped with bows, arrows, and other weapons, many jars filled with the dreaded Greek fire, and "200 most deadly serpents prepared for the destruction of Christians". Most historians consider that these "serpents" were some kind of firework used as a missile, since "serpentine" was an early name for one of the smallest-sized cannon. Personally, I do not see why we should not accept the word "serpents" in its everyday meaning. The adjective "deadly" is suggestive, and in one old account it is particularly stated that "the 200 serpents were drowned". There have been instances of hives of bees being hurled as missiles from war-engines, so why not baskets of deadly snakes? But it is more probable that these serpents—since none of them were expended in the battle that took place—were intended to have been introduced into the camps of the Crusaders after being landed at Acre.

As soon as the big Dromon—as she is generally called by old writers—was sighted, Richard dispatched Peter de Barris in his galley to find out who she was. The word Dromon, by the way, was used at that time to denote any exceptionally large ship; just as we use "Dreadnought" in a similar way. But the actual and original meaning of the word was not a big, but a fast, ship. The word is connected with speed and racing, and is of Greek origin. We use it in its proper sense now in hippodrome, velodrome, aerodrome, &c.

As De Barris pulled alongside the Dromon, she showed the French king's colours on a lance, and, on being hailed, stated that she was taking French Crusaders to Acre. Further interrogated, another story was tried. She was a Genoese, bound for Tyre. All this was suspicious enough, but in the meantime one of the men in the King's ship announced that he recognized her—he had seen her once at Beyrout—and was brought before Richard. "I will give my head to be cut off, or myself to be hanged," asserted this mariner, "if I do not prove that this is a Saracen ship. Let a galley be sent after them, and give them no salutation; their intention and trustworthiness will then be discovered." Richard adopted the suggestion. Another galley shot out from the fleet and surged up alongside the towering Dromon. There was no mistake this time. Down came whistling flights of arrows, while pots of Greek fire crashed into flame as they struck the galley. Off dashed Richard in the Trench-the-Mer to the rescue. "Follow me, and take them," he cried to the other galleys, "for if they escape, ye lose my love for ever; and if ye capture them all their goods shall be yours!" The Turk could not get away, she was practically becalmed, and the oar-propelled galleys of the Crusaders closed around her.

But the assailants were in the same predicament as were the Romans when they attacked the lofty ships of the Veneti. The sides of the Dromon towered far over their heads, and do what they would they could not get on board her. The Turks had thrown a grapnel and made fast to the King's galley at the very beginning of the fight. Greek fire and missiles of all kinds rained upon the heads of the English, fully exposed on the decks and benches of their low galleys. The apparent hopelessness of their situation began to affect the efforts of the Crusaders. Richard saw that "something must be done", and he rose to the occasion.

"Will ye now suffer that ship to get off untouched and uninjured?" he shouted. "Oh, shame! after so many triumphs do ye now give way to sloth and fear? Know that if this ship escape, every one of you shall be hung on the cross or put to extreme torture!"

That was his way of bestowing the cross—a wooden one, not an "iron" one! But it had its effect. The galley-men dived overboard, and, fastening ropes to the enemy's rudder, "steered her as they pleased". It is rather difficult to understand the precise advantage gained by his manœuvre, unless the wind had sprung up and the big Turkish vessel was gathering a good deal of way and dragging the whole press of galleys along with her, and that many were in danger of being swamped. However, after this they were able to climb up her sides by means of ropes, and a desperate hand-to-hand conflict took place on her decks. Here the martial prowess of the Crusaders had full play. Wielding their heavy trenchant swords, they drove the Saracens right forward into the bows of the ship; but just when they thought victory was in their grasp, up came a torrent of fresh assailants from below, and in such overwhelming numbers that the boarders were hurled back into their galleys.

Things were now very black indeed, but Richard once more showed his generalship. He ordered the whole of his galleys to cut loose from their elephantine enemy, to draw off and form line abreast with their bows towards the foe. Then, at his signal, down went the long oars with a great splash into the water, and, every rower putting his full strength into his stroke, the galleys roared through the sea at the big yellow and green Dromon. There was a series of rending crashes as the iron beaks of the galleys struck her sides, like sword-fish attacking a whale. The Crusaders backed their oars for all they knew, to get clear, and, staggering and rolling to her doom, the huge Saracen gradually foundered as the water poured in cataracts through the gaping holes in her sides. Only fifty-five of her crew were saved, being men whom the Crusaders considered would be useful to help them to make the military engines, for which, it would seem, the Saracens were renowned. The remainder who had escaped the swords of the English were "sent home by water", according to the custom of Chaucer's "schipman" at a later date. This cruel habit would seem to have died hard, for we find one of the English captains in the Armada fight regretting that they had not "made water-spaniels" of the crew of a captured Spaniard who were reported to be short of provisions.

We will now forge right ahead through a couple of hundred years, and take a glimpse at a sea-fight in the days of Richard II. The merchants of Flanders, La Rochelle, and some other places had agreed to sail together in considerable force for mutual protection to La Rochelle, in order to buy wine and other merchandise. The English had wind of this expedition and had every intention of catching them en route. But the Flemings contrived to elude them and get safely to their destination. There was nothing for it but to make another attempt, and cut them off on their return journey.

"The English navy", says Sir John Froissart, "lay at anchor before Margate at the Thames mouth, toward Sandwich, abiding their adventure, and specially abiding for the ships that were gone to La Rochelle; for they thought they would shortly return. And so they did. . . ."

When he saw he would have to fight, Sir John de Bucq, the commander of the Flemings, made ready his 700 cross-bowmen and his guns.

"The English ships approached," continues Froissart, "and they had certain galleys furnished with archers, and these came foremost rowing with oars, and gave the first assault. The archers shot fiercely, and lost much of their shot; for the Flemings covered them under the decks and would not appear, but drave ever forward with the wind: and when they were out of the English archer's shot, then they did let fly their bolts from the cross-bows, wherewith they hurted many.

"Then approached the great ships of England, the Earl of Arundel with his company, and the Bishop of Norwich with his; and so the other lords. They rushed in among the Flemings' ships, and them of La Rochelle: yet the Flemings and cross-bows defended themselves right valiantly, for their patron, Sir John de Bucq, did ever support them: he was in a great strong ship, where he had three guns shooting so great stones, that wheresoever they lighted they did great damage. And even as they fought they drew little and little towards Flanders; and some little ships, with their merchants, took the coasts of Flanders, and the low water, and thereby saved them, for the great ships could not follow them.

"Thus on the sea they had a hard battle, and ships broken and sunken on both sides; for out of the tops they cast down great bars of iron, sharpened so that they went through to the bottom. This was a hard battle and well fought, for it endured three whole tides; and when the day failed they withdrew from each other, and cast anchor, and there rested all night, and there dressed their hurt men: and when the flood came, they disanchored and drew up sails and returned again to battle.

"With the Englishmen was Peter du Bois of Ghent, with certain archers and mariners; he gave the Flemings much ado, for he had been a mariner, therefore he knew the art of the sea, and he was sore displeased that the Flemings and merchants endured so long. But always the Englishmen won advantage of the Flemings, and so came between Blankenburgh and Sluys, against Cadsand; there was the discomfiture, for the Flemings were not succoured by any creature; and also at that time there were no ships at Sluys, nor men of war. . . . By this discomfiture of Sir John de Bucq, as he came from La Rochelle, the Englishmen had great profit, specially of wine, for they had a nine thousand tuns of wine; whereby wine was the dearer all the year after in Flanders, Holland, and Brabant, and the better cheap in England, as it was reason. Such are the chances of this world; if one hath damage another hath profit."

There are one or two very interesting points in this account. One, of course, is the fact that there were three guns mounted on John de Bucq's ship, which evidently was exceptional at the time, or attention would not have been so particularly drawn to them. Moreover, they were not little guns, like those which were mounted in such numbers a few years later, but of some size, since they fired "great stones". But the most noteworthy point that emerges from the story of the fight is that not only were the cross-bowmen able to fire from under cover on the English without exposing themselves, but their bows had actually outranged the long-bows. Now we know that a long-bow in expert hands would kill at 400 yards, so that the effective range of the cross-bow must have been considerable.

CHAPTER VI

The Navy in Tudor Times

"The various ships that were built of yore,
And above them all, and strangest of all
Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall,
Whose picture was hanging on the wall,
With bows and stern raised high in air,
And balconies hanging here and there,
And signal lanterns and flags afloat,
And eight round towers, like those that frown
From some old castle, looking down
Upon the drawbridge and the moat."
"The Building of the Ship." Longfellow.

The Tudor period, to which this chapter is devoted, is noteworthy as witnessing the birth of the Royal Navy as a permanent national institution. Though we have accounts—probably to a great extent mythical—of the 3600 "very stout" ships of the Saxon King Edgar (A.D. 975), which are said to have been divided into three squadrons, cruising on the north, east, and west coasts of Great Britain; though Edward III, after the victory over the French at Sluys, was dubbed "King of the Sea"; and though Henry V got together the most formidable navy of his time, yet at none of these periods was there what we may term a navy of the realm. Indeed, for the two years, August, 1447, to August, 1449, there may be said to have been no navy at all, since during the whole of this time only £8, 9s. 7d. was expended upon what we now regard as our first line of defence.

At the death of Henry V, in 1422, the "Little Navy" disease broke out again, and nearly the whole of his fine fleet was sold. Things went from bad to worse, till the disgust and uneasiness of the nation found expression in a little work entitled The Libel of English Policie. The author, who is supposed to have been Bishop Adam de Molyns, exhorted the nation to "Keepe the Sea and namely the Narrow Sea", and also to secure both Dover and Calais. "Where bene our shippes", says he, "where bene our swerdes become?" He went on to point out how much our naval force had deteriorated since the time when Edward III had caused the famous Golden Noble to be struck, in which he is represented standing in a ship, sword in hand and shield on arm, and thus referred to the signification of the device:

"Four things our Noble sheweth unto me:
King, Ship and Sword and Power of the Sea".

That this appeal had some kind of effect is shown by the fact that in 1442 an order was issued "for to have upon the See continuelly, for the sesons of the yere fro Candlimes to Martymesse, viii Shippes with forstages; ye wiche Shippes, as it is thought, most have on with an other eche of hem cl men. Item, every grete Shippe most have attendyng opon hym a Barge and a Balynger." "Hym" strikes one, by the way, as a curious way to refer to a ship. These vessels with "iiii Spynes", which seem to have been what we might call dispatch vessels, were stationed, one at Bristol, two at Dartmouth, two in the Thames, one at Hull, and one at "the Newe Castell". The whole fleet combined was manned by 2160 men. It was a poor affair, but still it was better than nothing.

Then came the Wars of the Roses, which, naturally, diverted men's thoughts from the navy. That Edward IV, when he had established himself on the throne, had some idea of emulating the naval deeds of the third Edward may be suspected from his having issued a gold noble, which was evidently closely copied from the one we have already referred to. But nothing much was done either by him or by his successor, Richard Crookback, and it was left to Henry VII to reap the honour of being, to some extent, the founder of the Royal Navy of which we are all so proud. Though by some his son, "Bluff King Hal", may be regarded in this light, on account of the very formidable fleet which he raised and organized and the improvements which he is said to have made in its ships, yet I think we must admit that Henry VII laid the foundation-stone upon which his successor built.

He depended greatly on hired merchantmen—we do not despise this method of augmenting our navy even at the present day—but he resurrected the Royal Fleet. Though it was but a very small one, of only about a dozen ships, yet two of them, at any rate, were finer ships than any the British Navy had before possessed. These were the Regent and the Sovereign. While we had neglected our shipbuilding, to carry on war between ourselves, it had progressed abroad, especially in France, and there is little doubt that the Regent, built on the River Rother, was inspired by the French ship Columbe, which, perhaps, was the ship which had brought Henry to England. The Regent had four masts, the Sovereign three, and each of them was much more like some of the ships we are familiar with in pictures of the Spanish Armada fight than the old cogs of a few years previously, even in their most improved forms. The armament of the Regent consisted, it is said, of 225 "serpentines". The number is formidable, but not the weapons themselves. They were merely what might be called breech-loading wall-pieces, corresponding to Chinese "jingalls", and firing balls weighing from 4 to 6 ounces.

In a contemporary picture of the destruction of this ship in her action with the Marie la Cordelière in 1512, when both ships caught fire and blew up, the Regent is shown with very heavy guns firing through port-holes. Port-holes, by the way, are said to have been invented by Desharges, a Brest shipbuilder, in 1500. I am inclined to think that they were known at an earlier date—possibly Desharges invented port-lids. It is, of course, possible that these were cut in the Regent some time after her original construction, and heavier guns mounted in place of some of her serpentines. According to some writers this ship was originally christened the Great Harry, while the Sovereign was built out of the remains of an older ship called the Grace Dieu. As a very large and renowned Henri Grace à Dieu was launched in 1514, there has been a considerable amount of confusion between one ship and the other. But if the Regent was called the Great Harry, she had nothing whatever to do with the Henri, which is also sometimes referred to as the Harry Grace à Dieu.[17] As a matter of fact, the latter was built to replace the former, the loss of which was considered a national disaster, and so much so that an attempt was made to keep her fate a secret. "At the reverens of God", wrote Cardinal Wolsey, "kepe these tydyngs to yourselfe." There was probably another reason for the construction of an exceptionally fine ship, and that was the desire that the English should not be eclipsed by the Scots in this respect.

THE GREAT HARRY, THE FIRST BIG BATTLESHIP OF THE BRITISH NAVY

For, the year before the Regent was blown up, the King of Scotland, who was hand in glove with the French, had put afloat what a contemporary chronicler terms "ane verrie monstrous great schip". This was the famous Great Michael. Her constructor was Jaques Tarret, a Frenchman, and it has been written that "she was of so great stature and took so much timber, that except Falkland, she wasted all the woods of Fife, which were oak wood, with all the timber that was gotten out of Norway". She took "a year and a day to build", and we are given her dimensions, which compare favourably in point of size with many much later line-of-battle ships. "She was 12 score feet in length and 36 feet within the sides; she was 10 feet thick in the wall, and boarded on every side so slack and so thick that no cannon could go through her." It is rather difficult to understand what "slack" means in this context.

"This great ship", goes on the account, "cumbered Scotland to get her to sea." By the time she was afloat and fully equipped she was reckoned to have cost the King from thirty to forty thousand pounds. She carried a heavy battery, and if her cannon were as formidable as their names, they must have been most effective in action. "She bore many cannons, six on every side, with three great Bassils, two behind in her dock, and one before, with three hundred shot of small Artillerie, that is to say, Myand and Battered Falcon and Quarter Falcon, Slings, pestilent Serpentines and Double Dogs, with Hagtar and Culvering, Cross-bows and Hand-bows. She had three hundred mariners to sail her: she had six score of gunners to use her artillery, and had a thousand men of war by her, Captains, Skippers, and Quartermasters." A "basil" or "basilisk", it may be explained, was a gun throwing a ball of 200 pounds weight, a much heavier projectile than any used at Trafalgar.

Space forbids further details as to the "menagerie" of other pieces that armed the decks of the Great Michael, but you will find more about these and other old-fashioned cannon in another chapter. As soon as she was afloat the King had her fired at to test the resistance of her tremendously thick sides, but, says our old writer, "the cannon deired hir not"; that is to say, could not penetrate her. This is the oldest experiment of the kind of which we have any record. But the most remarkable thing about the Great Michael—at least to my mind—is her size. According to the old account from which I have quoted, which, by the way, was written by one Robert Lindsay of Pitscottie, she must have had almost the exact dimensions of the Duke of Wellington, one of the last and finest of our steam three-deckers. Now I have a perfect idea of her size, because I had the honour of serving on board her for a couple of years. She was in the "sere and yellow leaf" then, her masts had gone, her engines had disappeared, and she had a roof which made her look much more like Noah's Ark than a battleship, but I can remember her in all her glory when she carried the flag of the commander-in-chief at Portsmouth. I was only a boy then, but I recollect that her appearance was fine in the extreme. In reckoning the beam of the Great Michael we must remember to add 20 feet for the thickness of her sides, since Pitscottie only gives us her internal width. Having done this, I will put down the dimensions of the two ships for comparison—

Great Michael, length, 240 feet; beam, 56 feet.
Duke of Wellington, length, 240 feet, 7 inches; beam, 60 feet, 1 inch.

Now if Pitscottie's figures are correct, either the Michael must have been almost incredibly bigger than any ship of her day, or, as I have before suggested, the old war-ships of that and earlier centuries were in reality a good deal larger than contemporary representations and records of "tunnage" would lead us to expect.

The old Scots writer, however, offers to prove his figures; for he says: "If any man believe that this ship was not as we have shewn, let him pass to the place of Tullibardine, where he will find the length and breadth of her set with hawthorne: as for my author he was Captain Andrew Wood, principal Captain of hir, and Robert Bartone, who was made her Skipper".

Rough Diagram, showing Comparative Sizes of Famous Ships at Different Periods

The sizes of these ships can only be shown approximately, as in some cases only the length of the keel is known; in others a mean has to be taken between length of keel and length over-all; while in others the authority does not say where the length was measured. H.M.S. Queen Elizabeth—650 feet long, with a beam of 94 feet—is bigger than all the rest put together.Rough Diagram, showing Comparative Sizes of Famous Ships at Different Periods

With regard to the plan of the vessel in hawthorns, I am indebted to Lady Strathallan for the following interesting items: Tullibardine Castle has quite disappeared. What little was left of it was used in the construction of farm buildings from 1830-40. The spot where the hawthorns were planted to show the dimensions of the Great Michael is still known, but there is nothing to mark it. When the great ship was built, the carpenter or "wright" of the castle went down to superintend the shipwrights. When he got home, as the people at the castle were very anxious to form some idea of the size of this "Dreadnought" of that period, he was given orders to have an excavation made of the exact size of the ship. The hawthorns were, it would appear, planted round the excavation, which was tilled with water and aquatic plants, and remained as an ornamental pond till about the time of the battle of Waterloo. In 1837 the shape of the vessel was distinctly perceptible, but three only remained of the hawthorn-trees that formerly surrounded it. Some time ago Lady Strathallan, anxious that this curious monument of antiquity should not disappear altogether, directed the forester to renew the hawthorn outline of the Great Michael. The trees were procured for the purpose, but the tenant of the farm on which it was situated objected that it would take up too much room in his field, so that the project was abandoned. It seems a thousand pities that something cannot, even now, be done to perpetuate this relic of the famous Scots man-of-war, which, year by year, is being rendered more and more indistinguishable by the plough. The field in which traces of the hollow may be looked for is situated 400 yards from the old parish chapel, which was restored a good many years ago and used as a burial vault.

The Great Michael did not long remain a Scots ship. The fleet of Scotland went to France in 1513, and in the following year she was bought by Louis XII for 40,000 francs, to replace the Cordelière, which, as you will remember, was blown up with the Regent. This brings us back to the Henri Grace à Dieu, which was built to replace the latter ship. But before we turn our attention to her we cannot but note the difference between the alleged cost of the Great Michael and that for which she was sold. The bargain does not seem worthy of the Scots reputation for "canniness". But we must bear in mind that a "pound Scots" was not at all the same thing as an English pound at that date. Ever since 1355 its value had been falling, till by 1603 it was only worth twenty pence instead of twenty shillings. It was, in fact, at the time of the sale, the kind of "silver pound" that the "chieftain to the Highlands bound" paid or promised the boatman if he would row Lord Ullin's daughter and himself "o'er the ferry". But even if we put it at about a tenth of a pound sterling in 1513, the bargain seems a poor one. Probably it was more of a political deal than anything else, comparable to the German sale of the Goeben to Turkey.

The Henri Grace à Dieu—I think we may as well call her the Henri for short, and save time and paper—is a ship about which we have the most extended information in some respects—those dealing with her decoration and equipment, for instance; but we are left entirely in the dark as to her size and measurements. The only dimensions I have been able to find are those indicated on a plan which, on very insufficient grounds, is claimed to be a copy of the official one on which she was built, and which is stated to be—or at any rate to have been within the last century—at Plymouth dockyard. So far this original has not been traced, and I may remark that anyone who knows anything about the Navy would not dream of referring to the dockyard in the western port except as "Devonport Dockyard". However, I give the dimensions for what they may be worth—not much, I think:

Length, 145 feet; beam, 35 feet 9 inches; tonnage, 839.

Now if this, by any chance, is anything like correct she must have been a very much smaller ship than the Great Michael, which is not very likely, since Henry VIII would naturally have wanted "to go one better". Moreover, she is generally credited as having been of at least a thousand tons displacement, and carried a battery little, if any, inferior in weight and numbers to that of the Michael.

She was heavily equipped with ordnance, very little of which is apparent in her pictures. According to her inventories she carried something like 185 guns of all sorts and sizes, but many of these must have been kept on shore as reserve stores. She is generally credited with carrying 14 heavy guns on the lower and 12 on the main deck, and 46 light cannon on her upper works. Some of the large and all the smaller ones were breech-loaders, and as most were provided with at least two "chambers" or breech-pieces, which contained the powder-charge and could be quickly substituted one for the other, we may almost call them "quick-firers". She was gorgeously decorated in the first place, and poop, waist, forecastle, and tops were hung with shields showing alternately the St. George's Cross, the Golden Fleur-de-Lis on a blue ground, and the Tudor Rose on a green and white ground. Her sails were woven with a decorative design in gold damask, and she carried a lion figure-head, but the lion was badly executed and a very tame one. Like all Tudor ships she flew a profusion of flags, standards, and immense streamers bearing the St. George's Cross, the fly or long-pointed end being half green and half white. These were the Tudor livery colours. The plain red-cross flag or "Jack" was well in evidence and generally carried on the fore masthead as well as among the smaller flags placed on poles at equal distances along the bulwarks. The royal standard was also carried, but not in every ship, and sometimes it appears "impaled" with the national red-cross flag—that is to say, the two were placed side by side on the same flag.

The national status of the Royal Navy was becoming recognized. Before this time, though the English "Jack" generally found a place somewhere on board an English ship, the banners and pennons of the nobles and knights on board were most in evidence. Now we see nothing but royal and national emblems. In the war with France in 1455 the ships of the squadron forming the "van" or leading portion of the fleet carried the St. George's Cross at the fore, those of the centre at the main, and the rear squadron at the mizzen.

In describing the Henri we have practically described all the "great shippes" of her class, of which there were a considerable number, though none were quite so large, or probably quite so elaborately decorated. Of course she was what we may call "a show ship", like the Royal James and Sovereign of the Seas of a later date.

But by 1546, if we may accept Anthony Anthony's Roll as correct, "timber colour" with scarlet masts and spars was uniform for all classes of ships.

But it is time we turned our attention to the men who manned them. The changes in this respect were quite as important as those we have noted in the ships themselves. To begin with, the nobles and gentry of the kingdom were beginning to wake up to the fact that war afloat offered them at least equal opportunities of distinction to those they had hitherto looked for in land warfare. Besides, they had now little or no chance of that at home, and there was no longer any land frontier over in France across which they could ride and raid and harry and fight as their fathers and grandfathers had so often done. Naval strategy was still confined to cross raiding, but ships were now better fighting-machines and were not merely used as platforms for hand-to-hand fighting and as transports; so that men of the class which had hitherto looked down on ships and sailors began to turn their eyes towards the sea.

Ships of the Time of Henry VIII
(From a Drawing of 1545)

Looking at the lofty hulls, the immense mainsails, and the nearness of the ports to the water-line, we can easily understand how a want of care wrecked the Mary Rose. The ship in the background on the right is apparently trying to reduce sail, and has had to lower her main-yard. Her mainsail is almost in the water, to the apparent danger of the ship.

This does not mean that they became seamen. No, they still remained and considered themselves soldiers, and did not trouble to learn any seamanship. That was still the special job of the master or skipper. But they recognized that the command of a fighting-ship was worth having. I may instance the Carew family.[18] At least three of them were serving in command of ships in the battle at Spithead in 1545. Sir George Carew lost his life when his ship, the Mary Rose, went down; his brother, Peter Carew, who had been a year or two before in command of a company of infantry in the English army in France, commanded a Venetian ship—probably hired—the Francisco Bardado; while their uncle, Sir Gawen Carew, commanded a third. As for the men, the seamen, thanks to more seaworthy vessels, had probably improved in their seamanship, while the navy was formed into a regularly-organized force consisting of "mariners, soldiers"—or, as we should call them now, marines—"and gunners". Every ship had her proper complement of each. Thus the Henri Grace à Dieu carried 260 seamen, 400 soldiers, and 40 gunners; the Mary Rose 180 seamen, 200 soldiers, and 20 gunners; the Peter Pomgranate 130 seamen, 150 soldiers, and 20 gunners; and so forth, according to size.

A SEA FIGHT IN TUDOR TIMES
Facsimile woodcut from "Holinshed's Chronicles"

Which particular battle this picture is supposed to represent cannot be stated, since old Holinshed uses it over and over again for almost every naval engagement to which he makes reference right back as far as the Conquest. That cannon were not then in existence does not appear to trouble him at all. But we may take it as fairly representative of an action at sea in the times in which the historian lived and wrote.

Though there are indications of a somewhat similar arrangement in earlier times, it would appear that the seamen were either paid by the king or hired with their ship, while the soldiers were paid by some noble or even bishop who had supplied them as a feudal obligation.

The pay does not seem to have been quite so liberal as in former times, but it was not bad if we allow for the difference in its value compared with that of to-day. In the Gabriel Royal, for instance, Sir William Trevellian, the captain—a soldier—got 1s. 6d. a day. The master and the rest of her company, officers, seamen, and soldiers, got 5s. a month (of twenty-eight days), but the master and other officers got in addition what were called "dead shares", in number from six to one-half. This means that the master got six men's pay besides his own—altogether 35s.—a month, and so on in proportion. The gunners got extra pay, called "rewards"—we might call it "efficiency pay"—varying from 5s. a month for the master gunner to 1s. 8d. for the private gunners.

The provision allowance was respectable—England was renowned for good feeding at this period. Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays each man had ½ pound of beef and ¼ pound of bacon for his dinner, and the same for supper. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays they had to be content with two herrings and 1/8 pound of cheese for each of these meals, while on Fridays or "ffishe days beynge ffastinge dayes" they had to go without supper, but for dinner had either half a cod or half a stock fish and a pound of butter between four men, or, if they preferred it, could divide ten herrings and a pound of cheese between them. As for bread, every man got either a pound of bread or biscuit daily, while instead of the "grog" or "optional cocoa" of to-day, he got a liberal allowance either of beer or "beverage" made of two parts water to one of "sack".

As for the clothing of the Royal Navy, we have very little information so far as the Tudor period is concerned. That there was some attempt at uniformity may be gathered from the constant references to the provision of coats or jackets of green and white cloth. Some were satin or damask of the same colouring, presumably for officers. But what these garments were like we do not know. In Anthony Anthony's drawing of the Galley Subtle the master of the ship appears in the old "jack" with the red cross, while the rowers are apparently clad in pink. This may be intended to represent their bare flesh, for they might be stripped to the waist for rowing, but it is more probable that it was originally red and that the colour has faded. It is said that the rowers of Henry VIII's royal barge wore this colour, and it seems quite possible that the Galley Subtle, the only one of her class and a profusely-decorated vessel, was regarded as the royal barge.

We know, too, from the costume of the Yeomen of the Guard, or "Beefeaters", that red was making its appearance as a military colour, for their uniform is that of Henry VIII's body-guard. The standard under which Henry VII secured the crown at the battle of Bosworth Field was a red dragon on a white and green field, and was supposed to represent that of Cadwallader, the last of the British kings, from whom the victor claimed descent. The descent, I dare say, was genuine enough, but Cadwallader must have died before the invention of heraldry. But Wales has always been associated with a dragon of this kind, which has from time immemorial been a world-wide emblem of sovereignty. Henry seems to have adopted the colour of the dragon as the royal livery colour—as it remains to-day—but at the same time retained the white and green for the navy. Much in the same way "blue" is accepted as a royal colour, and as such is worn as the facings of royal regiments and as the uniform of the Royal Navy and Royal Artillery.

But it seems probable that blue—very possibly from dye of that colour being easily procurable; the Ancient Britons, we may remember, decorated themselves with blue woad—had been for centuries a very usual colour for seamen to wear; and when, in 1553, Sir Hugh Willoughby's North Sea expedition was fitted out all his crews were provided with "parade suits" of "Wachett or Skie-coloured cloth". Watchett was a place in Somersetshire where this special material was made. But these, perhaps, were not men actually belonging to the Royal Navy. As for the soldiers or marines, we may suppose that they wore the white "jack" with the red cross, which was so universal at this time that "whitecoat" was used for "soldier" just as "redcoat" was at a later date. The "gunners" wore the white and green and may have been regarded as "seamen gunners".