Under this agreement the “Despatch,” a Dover Packet, commanded by Captain John Osborn, set sail as usual; but on February 20th, while lying in Ostend Roads, she was summoned to surrender by a French Privateer. Captain Osborn had no means of resistance. His protests were disregarded, his ship was seized, and he with his crew were made prisoners of war.
The “Despatch” was carried into Dunkirk, and, despite the remonstrances of the British Government, was condemned as a prize. Captain Osborn was exchanged within a few weeks of his capture, but his crew were less fortunate. One of his sailors, after remaining in prison for nearly three years, during the whole of which period, if his statement may be trusted, he supported life on a handful of horse beans, served out every twenty-four hours, and a small allowance of dirty water, came over to England in a cartel in December, 1795. The rest of the crew were then still in prison, and probably remained there until peace was declared in 1802.
Under the stimulus of this unfortunate event the work of arming the Packets proceeded briskly. The guns and small arms for the Falmouth boats were shipped on board a vessel lying in the Thames, and after a series of irritating delays, caused chiefly by the necessity of waiting for convoy, reached their destination towards the end of March. The few guns needed for the Harwich Packets were soon provided. It had been intended to give them 4–pounders, but the commanders objected, declaring that four 2–pounders each were as much as their ships could carry. This was probably true enough, for the North Sea Packets ranged only from fifty to eighty tons burden. And indeed they had small need for heavy armaments, for though they doubtless had occasionally to skirmish with row-boats it does not appear that throughout the war any one of these Packets was attacked, or at least seriously engaged on the high seas—a somewhat remarkable immunity, which is perhaps to be accounted for partly by their own excellence of sailing, and partly by the thoroughness with which the important trade route over which their various voyages were made was patrolled by British cruisers.
It had not been customary in former wars to arm the Holyhead and Dublin boats, but a few light guns were now allowed to them, as well as to those from Port Patrick to Donaghadee. The Packets running between Milford Haven and Waterford were somewhat more exposed to the attacks of Privateers, which might be expected to hang about the entrance to St. George’s Channel in the hope of intercepting the shipping out of Bristol, but here a curious difficulty was raised by the proprietors, a body of merchants, nineteen in number. All but six of these gentlemen were members of the Society of Friends, and, being sincerely convinced of the sinfulness of war, they put in a decided objection against the proposal to provide their vessels with implements of strife and destruction.
The Postmaster General proceeded to reason with these ardent theorists, and pointed out that as, by the existing rule, the Department was bound to pay the value of captured Packets it was but reasonable that it should be allowed, at its own cost, to protect them. The men of peace, touched by the financial argument, admitted this, but retorted that if only the Government would refrain from the wickedness of placing guns and cutlasses in the hands of their sailors, they, that is to say the thirteen Quaker proprietors, would waive all claim to compensation in the event of capture. It was true, they admitted, that the six proprietors who were not Quakers were by no means ready to make this sacrifice, but the Government, they urged, might fairly be expected to risk the liability for six-nineteenths of the loss when a principle was at stake.
By this time, however, the Postmaster General had become tired of the discussion, and closed it with a brief intimation that if the Packets were not armed the contract would be withdrawn, and in view of this unsympathetic attitude the Quakers sold their shares and retired from the concern.
That the unwarlike attitude of the Quakers was by no means always accompanied by any want of natural courage was demonstrated not long after this period by a certain inhabitant of Falmouth, an old and greatly respected member of the Society of Friends. This gentleman held the appointment of surgeon to the Post-Office establishment, and was one day cruising on board a Packet when a French Privateer hove in sight. It was obvious that there was going to be a fight; and the commander, knowing his passenger’s principles, suggested that he had better go below. The doctor, a fine tall man, declined to budge from the deck; and the captain thereupon offered him a cutlass and pistol, observing that as he intended to remain in the way of danger, he might at least use weapons in self-defence. But this suggestion also the doctor refused to entertain; and, standing quite unarmed on the quarter-deck, he remained an interested and placid spectator of the action. After a sharp cannonade, the French vessel hurled her boarders into the Packet. The doctor showed no sign of excitement as he saw the fierce St. Malo men swarming up the sides, cutlass in hand; but when, a moment later, a swarthy giant came clambering up unperceived, at a point where there was no one to resist him, the doctor calmly stepped forward, threw his arms round the astonished Frenchman with a grip few men could have resisted, and saying, gently, “Friend, thee makes a mistake, this is not thy ship,” tossed him into the sea.
The work of armament was complete at last. The Packets, armed on the new system, sailed on their distant journeys; and at the General Post-Office there was no more to do than to await the reports how they fared.
The interval of waiting must have been full of anxiety. It was generally known that the number of French Privateers which were being sent out from St. Malo, Bordeaux, Nantes, and a dozen other ports, to prey on British commerce was beyond all precedent. Many of these Privateers cruised with the express intention of intercepting the Packets, attracted not only by the bullion which the Falmouth vessels frequently had on board, but even more by the hope of intercepting the Government despatches, and of striking blows at British trade by sending mercantile correspondence to the bottom of the sea.
How seriously such disasters were felt in the City of London the Postmaster General knew well; and they knew too that the West India merchants, those unfriendly critics who were constantly at their side, would pounce unmercifully on the first misfortune, and declare that the new system had broken down. Month after month went by, however, and no bad news reached Lombard Street. Packet after Packet came into port, and recorded uneventful voyages. Some had been chased, a few had exchanged shots with an enemy; but not one had been seriously engaged, or had experienced the least difficulty in escaping an antagonist; and the end of the year came before any Packet crept in beneath Pendennis Castle with battered sides, and sails torn by shot.