FOOTNOTES:
[10] Life of Sir Nisbet Willoughby.
THE ANSON.
The year 1807 was most disastrous to the British navy: during that period, we lost no less than twenty-nine ships of war, and, unhappily, the greater part of their crews. Some of these vessels foundered at sea, others were wrecked or accidentally burnt, and it was at the close of this eventful year that a calamity occurred which equalled, if it did not surpass, any previous disaster.
The Anson, of 40 guns, under the command of Captain Charles Lydiard, after completing her stores for a few months' cruise, sailed from Falmouth on the 24th of December, to resume her station off Brest. The wind was adverse, blowing very hard from the W.S.W., until the morning of the 28th, when Captain Lydiard made the Island of Bas, on the French coast. As the gale was increasing rather than subsiding, he determined to return to port, and accordingly shaped his course for the Lizard. At three o'clock P.M. land was discovered, apparently about five miles west of the Lizard, but owing to the thickness of the fog, there was a difference of opinion as to the land that was seen, and therefore the ship was wore to stand out to sea. She had not been long on this tack before land was descried right ahead.
It was now evident that their position was extremely dangerous,—the ship was completely embayed, and the wind raged with increasing fury. Every exertion was made to keep the Anson off shore, but without success, and it was not until she was fearfully near to the rocks that she could be brought to an anchor, in twenty-five fathoms, with the best bower anchor veered away to two cables' length. The top-gallant masts were lowered upon deck, and in this state she rode from five o'clock P.M., when she anchored, till four o'clock the next morning, when the cable suddenly parted. During the night, the gale was tremendous, and the sea ran mountains high; they had nothing now to depend upon for the safety of the ship but a small bower anchor, which was immediately let go, and this held until eight o'clock, when it also parted. The ship was no longer an object of consideration; Captain Lydiard felt that he had done his utmost to save her, but in vain, and that now every energy must be put forth for the preservation of human life. The tempest raged with such fury that no boat could possibly come to their aid, nor could the strongest swimmer hope to gain the shore. It appeared to Captain Lydiard that the only chance of escape for any of the crew was in running the ship as near the coast as possible. He gave the necessary orders, and the master run the vessel on the sand which forms the bar between the Loe Pool and the sea, about three miles from Helstone. The tide had been ebbing nearly an hour when she took the ground, and she broached to, leaving her broadside heeling over, and facing the beach.
The scene of horror and confusion which ensued on, the Anson striking against the ground, was one which baffles all description. Many of the men were washed away by the tremendous sea which swept over the deck; many others were killed by the falling of the spars, the crashing sound of which, as they fell from aloft, mingled with the shrieks of the women on board, was heard even amidst the roar of the waters and the howling of the winds. The coast was lined with crowds of spectators, who watched with an intense and painful interest the gradual approach of the ill-fated vessel towards the shore, and witnessed the subsequent melancholy catastrophe.
Calm and undaunted amidst the terrors of the scene, Captain Lydiard is described as displacing in a remarkable degree that self-possession and passive heroism, which has been so often the proud characteristic of the commander of a British ship of war under similar harassing circumstances. Notwithstanding the confusion of the scene, his voice was heard, and his orders were obeyed with that habitual deference which, even in danger and in death, an English seaman rarely foils to accord to his commanding officer.
He was the first to restore order, to assist the wounded, to encourage the timid, and to revive expiring hope. Most providentially, when the vessel struck, the mainmast, in falling overboard, served to form a communication between the ship and the shore, and Captain Lydiard was the first to point out this circumstance to the crew. Clinging with his arm to the wheel of the rudder, in order to prevent his being washed overboard by the waves, he continued to encourage one after another as they made the perilous attempt to reach the shore. It was fated that this gallant officer should not enjoy in this world the reward of his humanity and his heroism. After watching with thankfulness the escape of many of his men, and having seen with honor many others washed off the mast, in their attempts to reach the land, he was about to undertake the dangerous passage himself, when he was attracted by the cries of a person seemingly in an agony of terror. The brave man did not hesitate for a moment, but turned and made his way to the place whence the cries proceeded; there he found a boy, a protégé of his own, whom he had entered on board the Anson only a few months before, clinging in despair to a part of the wreck, and without either strength or courage to make the least effort for his own preservation. Captain Lydiard's resolution was instantly taken,—he would save the lad, if possible, though he might himself perish in the attempt. He threw one arm round the boy, whilst he cheered him by words of kind encouragement, with the other arm he clung to the spars and mast to support himself and his burthen. But the struggle did not last long; nature was exhausted by the mental and physical sufferings he had endured; he lost his hold, not of the boy, but of the mast, the wild waves swept over them, and they perished together.
It must not be supposed that the people on the shore were unconcerned spectators of the fearful tragedy that was enacted before their eyes. British fishermen are proverbial for their daring and intrepidity. Inured from childhood to the dangers and hardships attendant on their perilous calling, with very few exceptions our fishermen have always been ready to succour the wrecked and tempest-tossed mariner. There is not, we believe, a fishing village between the Land's End and the Orkneys, that cannot produce its true heroes—men who have risked, and are willing again to risk, their own lives to save others. Our fisheries are the best nurseries for our navy. Englishmen may be justly proud of the boatmen, from amongst whom spring those 'hearts of oak' which have so long rendered our fleets pre-eminent over those of every other country in the world. But, besides the generous disposition to assist any perishing fellow creature, there were in this instance more powerful motives to exert every effort to save the crew of the Anson. This ship had been stationed for some time at or near Falmouth, so that acquaintances, friendships, and still dearer ties, had been formed between the inhabitants of the neighbouring towns and villages, and the people of the unfortunate vessel. But a few days before they had witnessed a far different scene, when she left their shores in all the pride of a well-ordered and well-disciplined man-of-war, amidst the shouts, and cheers, and blessings of the multitude, who now beheld her lying within a few fathoms of them a helpless wreck, her masts gone, her bulwarks broken in, the waves sweeping over her, and breaking up her timbers.
The surf ran so high, it was impossible that any boat could reach the wreck. The life-boat, in 1807, had not been brought to the state of perfection it has attained in our day; and the many inventions which science and art have since introduced for the preservation of life, were for the most part unknown in the times of which we are now writing.
Several men attempted to swim to the ship, but without success; they were all, one after another, cast back exhausted upon the beach, and many of them without sense or motion. At last, when there seemed no hope left of affording aid to the sufferers, Mr. Roberts, of Helstone, seized hold of a rope, and boldly struck out in the direction of the Anson. He was a powerful swimmer, and his courageous efforts were watched from the shore and from the wreck with intense interest, and many a heartfelt prayer was breathed for his safety and success. Tossed on the foaming waters, at one moment lost to sight, and almost suffocated in the spray, and at another rising on the top of a huge wave, he at last reached the ship, and was hailed as a deliverer by those who were still clinging to the spars and rigging. The rope which Mr. Roberts had taken with him was made fast to the wreck, and this formed a communication with the shore, by which many a poor wretch was saved who must otherwise have perished.
Another instance of heroic self-devotion was exhibited by a Methodist preacher, a little later in the day, when, as no one appeared on the ship's side, it was supposed that every one had either come on shore, or had been drowned; but this brave and good mail thought that there might be some still left on board who were unable to make an effort to save themselves, and, under this impression, he ventured his life through the surf, followed by a few other daring spirits like himself. With great difficulty they gained the wreck, where, as they had anticipated, they found several persons lying below, all too much exhausted to get upon deck. Some, in terror and despair, called upon God for mercy; others, in hopeful trust, seemed resigned to their fate; and others were so weak as to be indifferent to the horrors around them. Two women and two children were of the number. The preacher and his gallant comrades had the happiness of saving the women and some of the men, but the children were lost.
Sixty men, amongst whom were Captain Lydiard and his first-lieutenant, perished in the wreck of the Anson. The survivors of the crew were conveyed to Helstone, where they received every attention and kindness which their unfortunate condition required. The body of Captain Lydiard, which was washed on shore, was interred at Falmouth with military honours.
We feel assured that the following particulars of the life of Captain Lydiard will not be unacceptable to the reader.
He entered the navy in the year 1780, in the flag-ship of Admiral Darby, who then commanded the channel fleet, and from that time served as a midshipman under several commanders on various stations, both at home and abroad, during thirteen years. In 1794, he was appointed a lieutenant of the Captain, of 74 guns, in which ship he served in two general engagements in the Mediterranean. In July of the following year he removed to the Southampton frigate, commanded by Captain Shields, and afterwards by Captain Macnamara.
On the evening of the 9th of June, 1796, the Southampton was stationed with the fleet under Sir John Jervis, off Toulon, when a French cruizer was discovered working up to Hieres Bay. The commander-in-chief called the captain of the Southampton on board the Victory, and pointing out the ship, directed him to make a dash at her through the Grand Pas. Accordingly, the Southampton weighed, and, in order to delude the French into the supposition that the ship was either a neutral or a French frigate, hauled up under easy sail close to the batteries at the north-east of Porquerol. The stratagem succeeded; for before the enemy were aware of the approach of the Southampton, the ship was alongside of the French cruizer. Captain Macnamara cautioned her commander not to make a fruitless resistance; but he replied by snapping his pistol, and pouring in a broadside. In a moment, the English boarded, led on by Lieutenant Lydiard, with an impetuosity that nothing could withstand. After ten minutes' spirited resistance on the part of the French captain and a hundred of his men under arms, the 'Utile' surrendered, but not before the death of her gallant commander, who fell at the beginning of the onset.
Lydiard was instantly promoted, and appointed to the command of the ship he had so gallantly captured. In the year 1801, he was advanced to the rank of post-captain, and though frequently soliciting employment did not succeed in obtaining a command until 1805, when he was appointed to the Anson.
These pages will not admit of our recounting the many instances in which this officer's gallantry was conspicuous. Before concluding, however, we cannot refrain from laying before our readers the following account of the last enterprise in which Captain Lydiard was engaged, and which is related by his biographer in The Naval Chronicle.[11]
'No sooner had the Anson been refitted, than she was again selected, with three other frigates, under the command of Captain Brisbane (as Commodore), of the Arethusa, to reconnoitre, and, if possible, to sound the minds of the inhabitants of Curaçoa upon the suggestion of an alliance with this country; but the gallant Brisbane, and his equally gallant partner in this expedition, soon formed a plan for curtailing this mode of proceeding, and determined, at all risks, by a coup de main, either to capture the island, or to perish in the attempt.
'With this resolution, having arranged their plan of attack, they proceeded in their course for the island, and they reached the entrance of the harbour just at the dawn of day, on the 1st of January, 1807.
'In order to inform the reader, who may not be acquainted with the amazing strength of Curaçoa on the sea face, we will give some account of the difficulties which they had to contend with; and, at the same time, shall avail ourselves of such statements of the facts as the different official and other communications upon the subject will furnish us with.
'The harbour was defended by regular fortifications of two tier of guns. Fort Amsterdam alone mounting sixty-six pieces of cannon; the entrance only fifty yards wide, and so circumstanced, that it is impossible for a ship to return by the same wind that takes it in. Athwart the entrance of the harbour was the Dutch frigate Kenaw Hatslau, of 36 guns, and the Surinam, of 22 guns, with two large schooners of war; a chain of forts was on Mesleberg heights, and that almost impregnable fortress, Fort Republique, within the distance of grape-shot, enfilading the whole harbour. The cool determined bravery of British seamen perceives obstacles only to surmount them; and with this determination the squadron entered the harbour, the Arethusa, Captain Brisbane, leading, followed in close line by the Latona, Captain Wood; Anson, Captain Lydiard; and Fisguard, Captain Bolton.
'When the headmost ship got round the point of the harbour's mouth, the wind became so unfavourable that she could not fetch in; but to return was impossible—it was too late. What a trying moment! At that instant, however, there came on a squall, in which the wind shifted two points in their favour, and they proceeded close together.
'The enemy were panic-struck at such unexpected gallantry, and all was confusion. A severe and destructive cannonade now commenced, and the Dutch frigate was boarded by Captain Brisbane, when the Latona instantly warped alongside and took possession, and Captain Brisbane proceeded to the shore. The Surinam was boarded from the larboard bow of the Anson, while her starboard guns were firing at the batteries; and Captain Lydiard, upon securing the Surinam, went immediately on shore, and landed at the same moment with Captain Brisbane. Immediately debarking their respective officers and ship's companies, they proceeded to storm the forts, citadel, and town, which were by seven o'clock completely in their possession, and at ten o'clock the British flag was hoisted on Fort Republique. Captains Brisbane and Lydiard were the first upon the walls of Fort Amsterdam. Indeed, too much cannot be said in praise of the almost unparalleled bravery displayed by the officers and men of all the ships on this occasion. It may be truly said to be 'perfectly in union with everything glorious in the past, and an example of everything glorious to the future.''
The same year that opened so brilliantly upon the career of Captain Lydiard, witnessed, at its close, the total destruction of the Anson, and the untimely fate of her brave commander.