But it was decided otherwise. On October 17th the “Portland” was lying becalmed off Guadeloupe—that hot-bed of privateering, a fatal monument of the shortsightedness of our naval administration—when an armed schooner, full of men, came out of a creek at no great distance, and using her sweeps, bore down on the “Portland.”
A very light breeze enabled Mr. Taylor to get his ship’s head off shore, and to make way under easy sail towards Martinique, at which island he was to touch. All night the strange schooner hung upon the “Portland’s” wake, and at daylight, on the 18th, the distance between the vessels was the same as at dusk on the previous evening.
Shortly after the first light the schooner bore down towards the Packet, and Mr. Taylor, thinking it time to bring the matter to an issue, hoisted his colours and fired a shot at the approaching vessel. The shot was instantly returned, and the next moment the colours of the French Republic were flying at the peak of the schooner, surmounted—in strange companionship with the ensign of a great and honourable nation—by the bloody flag, which signified that she would give no quarter in the coming fight.
There were on board the “Portland” four officers, Captain G. A. Tonyn, 48th Regiment; Captain J. Johnston of the Buffs; Captain G. Rainy of the 45th Regiment; and Captain W. Maxwell, 93rd Highlanders; together, with Dr. Green, surgeon to the Forces at Antigua, and five merchants resident on that island, St. Vincent, or Martinique. All these gentlemen appear to have taken part in the action, so that Mr. Taylor’s available force, allowing for the loss of one man in the former action, was increased to forty-one men and boys, some of whom, however, had probably been wounded when their sea-mate was killed. On board the French vessel there were, as was afterwards discovered, sixty-one fighting men; and relying on this superiority of force, which they quickly discerned, the French, after a short cannonade, ran down to close quarters, intending to finish the affair by an impetuous assault.
Mr. Taylor seems to have desired nothing more, and resolving to hold his enemies to the ground which they had selected, he seized the Privateer’s jib-boom as it ran aboard, lashed it securely, and then called his men forward, requesting the passengers at the same time to maintain a close fire of musketry on anything which showed itself on the deck of the enemy.
Then began a series of hand to hand combats, fought out desperately with cutlasses and boarding pikes. No details of these fights are left us; but we are told that out of the Privateer’s crew no less than forty-one were killed or wounded, and that the remnant were at last driven to haul down their colours, finding the Falmouth men had gained secure possession of their deck.
Some of the French had taken refuge below, and a few of these, not knowing, it may be hoped, that the colours had been struck, fired a volley in the very moment when Mr. Taylor was restraining the fury of his men; and the brave young captain fell, shot through the heart in the moment of victory.
Whether this unhappy occurrence was, as the passengers decided at the time, an act of premeditated treachery, or whether it may not more probably have found some justification in the confused circumstances of the moment, is a question which can never be determined. It is clear, however, that at the instant when he fell, though the colours were then certainly struck, Mr. Taylor found his authority needed to restrain further carnage; and if this were so, the responsibility for his death does not rest with the French. In any case, no charge of treachery should be made against honourable foes, save on evidence much clearer than is here forthcoming.
By the united testimony of the passengers, Mr. Taylor, throughout the action, was “perfectly calm, cool, and collected.” He achieved part at least of his wish. He made his reputation, and though he did not live to wear it, yet it survived him many years, and forms one of the few bright spots in the history of the Falmouth Packets during the last decade of the eighteenth century.
At Lombard Street there was need of all the credit which his gallantry had earned; for troubles were gathering thickly round the administrators of the sea service, and in the City the voice of discontent was loud and menacing. The war had now lasted four years. Within that period twelve Packets had been captured, having on board—for there was not always a ship ready to embark the mail—no less than eighteen mails. On several occasions original letters and duplicates made for safety had both been lost. The inconvenience was immense, and the merchants grew restive under it.