(The fact was, that the lighters and native boats were so unseaworthy that, until the weather moderated, the scheme, with all deference to the writer, was impracticable.)
"We hired native boats and large lighters, got out strong chain cables into them, and laid out 450 yards of chain cable between the Melita and ourselves, floated on these lighters. Thanks to the skill of our boatswain and a big quantity of men in the lighters this was done most successfully, though three lighters were sunk or destroyed in doing it.
"That afternoon, Friday the 1st, having got 450 tons out of the ship in forty-four hours, we got a fair pull at her with all three ships, the little Turk tugging manfully at his rotten hawser at one quarter and giving her a side pull occasionally. We gradually worked our mighty engines up to full speed, the chain cable tautened out as I have never seen chain do before and off she came.
"We manned the rigging and gave her cheer on cheer, the band playing the Marseillaise as the Melita towed her past our stern, while the Frenchmen hugged and kissed our men on their checks. It was a scene to be long remembered. The crowds of spectators lining the beach and walls, and our own men, 'spent but victorious' after their long forty-four hours of almost unceasing work, hardly anyone lying down for more than three or four hours either night....
"By noon on Saturday we had replaced all their gear on board, picked up their anchors and cables, etc., so that when their squadron came in that evening they found nothing left to do. They were really grateful and showed much good feeling, coming to call on us and being most friendly.
"On Monday night, when we left, the whole squadron cheered us manfully...."
The British admiral was afterwards asked by the French Government to allow the Undaunted to proceed to the Gulf of Lions where the French Fleet was lying, in order that the officers and men of the Undaunted might attend a reception in her honour. The Undaunted steamed down between the French lines, playing the Marseillaise, the French manning ship and cheering. Officers and men were most hospitably entertained with every mark of friendship and goodwill. The French Government most courteously presented me with a beautiful Sèvres vase, which is one of my most valued possessions.
When the time came for the Undaunted to go home, the commander-in-chief paid her a high compliment. The whole Fleet steamed out of Malta Harbour in line ahead, the Undaunted being the rear ship of the line. When we were to part company, every vessel, except the Undaunted, turned 16 points to port in succession (the line thus curving back upon itself) and steamed past the stern of the Undaunted. The commander-in-chief gave orders to cheer ship as each vessel passed the Undaunted: a stately farewell to the homeward bound.
On the passage home, in order to test the actual working of communication by signal between the Navy and the mercantile marine, a system whose reform had constantly urged, I signalled, between Malta and Plymouth, to 33 merchantmen. Of the whole number, only three answered my signal, and of the three, only one answered it correctly, although several vessels passed within 600 yards of the Undaunted. The signals I made were short, such as "Where are you bound?" "Where are you from?" "Have you seen any men-of-war?" "What weather have you had?" and some of them required only one hoist in reply.
The Royal Navy, a great part of whose duty in time of war would be the protection of commerce, was in fact at that time practically unable to communicate with the Merchant navy, either for the purpose of giving or receiving information, except by means of sending a boat to the vessel in question, a proceeding which must often be impossible, and which would always involve a delay which might bring serious consequences. No condition of affairs could more powerfully exemplify the national neglect of preparation for war. For in war, the maintenance of the lines of communication from ship to ship and ship to shore, is of the first importance.