A useful chapter in naval history and tactics could be written on the defence of convoys, by which it might perhaps be made manifest that a determined bearing, accompanied by a certain degree of force, and a vigorous resolution to exert that force to the utmost, would, in most cases, save the greater part of the convoy, even against powerful odds. In the well-known instance, in which Captain Richard Budd Vincent sacrificed his ship, in a contest where he was from the first sure to be overpowered, he gained sufficient time for most of his flock of merchant-ships to escape.
In February, 1805, this gallant officer, in the Arrow, of 18 twenty-four pounders, ably supported by Captain Arthur Farquhar, in the Acheron bomb, carrying not half that number, actually engaged two large French frigates, mounting in all 90 guns and 1300 men, while the English force was only 26 guns and 90 men. The damage and delay caused to the enemy by this spirited resistance enabled the convoy to disperse, and all get off but three, out of thirty-two. The English ships did not strike till they were so much cut up that one sunk immediately afterwards, and the other was burned by the captors as useless.
On the occasion of our voyage in 1812, however, the fortitude and skill of our East India ships were put to no such proof, as our most interesting evolutions were confined to the interchange of good dinners; for your Indiamen know as well how to eat, drink, and be merry, as to fight, if need be. Their chief business is to trade; but their trading is a widely different thing from that of the ordinary merchant service. The East India Company's officers are bred in many respects like naval men, and they feel in the same manner. Being sprung from as good a stock as the officers of the Navy, they possess a kindred gentleman-like spirit, and are in every respect suitable allies in battle.
In fine weather, during our whole voyage, there scarcely occurred a day on which, in the course of the morning, if the sea were tolerably smooth, and the wind not too strong, the dinner invitation signal was not displayed from the commodore, or from some of his flock. When there was a breeze, and the ships were making way through the water, some technical address was necessary to avoid delay. This will easily be understood, without going into minute details, when it is remembered, that there must always in a convoy be found certain ships which sail worse than others, and that, although these tubs, as they are most deservedly called, crowd all their canvas, the rest are obliged to shorten sail in order to keep them company; as Lightfoot, in the fairy tale, was obliged to tie his feet in the race. If it be the commodore who gives the dinner, he either heaves to, while the boats of the several captains come on board, or he edges down to the different ships in succession, passes them at the distance of a quarter of a cable's length, picks up his guests, and resumes his station ahead, or to windward, or wherever it may suit him to place himself so as best to guard his charge. If any of the fast sailers have occasion to heave to, either before or after dinner, to lower down or to hoist up the boat which carries the captain backwards and forwards to the ship in which the entertainment is given, and in consequence of this detention any way has been lost, that ship has only to set a little more sail that she may shoot ahead, and regain her position in the line.
The bad sailers of all fleets or convoys are daily and hourly execrated in every note of the gamut; and it must be owned that the detention they cause, when a fine fresh breeze is blowing, is excessively provoking to all the rest, and mortifying to themselves. Sometimes the progress of one haystack of a vessel is so slow that a fast-sailing ship is directed to take her in tow, and fairly lug her along. As this troublesome operation requires for its proper execution no small degree of nautical knowledge, as well as dexterity, and must be performed in the face of the whole squadron, it is always exposed to much sharp criticism. The celerity with which sail is set, or taken in, by the respective ships, or the skill with which broken spars are shifted, likewise furnish such abundant scope for technical table-talk, that there is seldom any want of topic in the convoy. Sailors, indeed, are about as restless as the element on which they float; and their hands are generally kept pretty full by the necessity of studying the fluctuating circumstances of wind and weather, together with due attention to the navigation.
These occupations served to give a high degree of interest to this Indian voyage, which, to most of us, was the first; the mere circumstance of having to pass successively and quickly through a number of different climates, first in the order of increasing warmth, and then in the reverse order of increasing cold, was of itself most striking. The change of latitude being the chief cause of these phenomena, a succession of astronomical variations were necessarily attendant upon the progress of the voyage; easily explained by reasonings, and the actual, practical exhibition, as it may be termed, of the truths of astronomical science failed not to strike the unfamiliarised imagination as both wonderful and beautiful.
When we sailed from England the weather was very cold, raw, and uncomfortable; and although we had a couple of days' fair wind at starting, we were met in the very chops of the channel by hard-hearted southerly and south-westerly winds, which tried our patience sorely. On the evening of the tenth day we caught a glimpse of the north coast of Spain; and the rugged shore of Galicia was the last which most of us saw of Europe for many years. It was not till after a fortnight's hard struggling against these tiresome south-westers that we anchored in Funchal Roads, having by the way dropped several of our convoy. These stray sheep came in during the few days we remained to refresh ourselves at this most charming of resting-places. After nearly a week's enjoyment, we proceeded on our course to the southward; within three days we came in sight of Palma, the most northern of the Canary Island group. It was thirty miles distant in the south-east quarter; and Teneriffe, the sea "monarch of mountains," lay too far off for us to perceive even his "diadem of snow," which at that season (April), I presume, he always wears. Some years after the period in question, when I paid him a visit, in the month of August, the very tip-top was bare, and the thermometer at 70°.
Under more favourable circumstances, we might possibly have seen Teneriffe from the Volage, for our distance was not above a hundred miles. This, however, it must be owned, is a long way to see the land, unless it form a continuous ridge of great elevation, like the Andes; and even then, to be distinguished well, it requires to be interposed between a bright sky and the ship. At day-break, and for about half an hour before sunrise, if the weather be clear, even sharp peaks, like the cone of Teneriffe, may be seen with a degree of distinctness which is very remarkable, when viewed from the distance of a hundred miles and upwards, as I have several times experienced when navigating in the Pacific. But when the full splendour of the sun's light begins to fill the air, these gigantic forms gradually fade away amongst the clouds, or melt into the sky, even when no clouds are visible. I have likewise been told, that, in sailing directly away from Teneriffe (or other high insulated peaks), and keeping the eye pretty constantly fixed in the proper direction, it may be retained in sight at much greater distance than it can be discovered on approaching. I am disposed to consider this very probable, but have never had a good opportunity of trying the experiment.
It was late in April, as we were stealing slowly past these distant Canary Islands, when the first real puff of the Trade-wind caught our sleeping sails, and made the braces, haulyards, and all the other ropes connected with the yards, crack again. This breeze served more effectually to detach our thoughts from European interests than anything which had occurred since our leaving England. At the very moment, however, when we were chuckling at this disentanglement of our feelings from domestic anxieties, and all the varied agitation of home concerns, we observed a ship crossing our path at some distance. Signal being made to chase, we instantly darted off from the convoy to examine the stranger, which proved to be an English ship from Lisbon. We hailed, and asked, "What news?"
"Badajoz has fallen," replied the other, "after a terrible siege."