A strong fleet was indeed necessary, for the French king had at last decided on making a serious attack in the Channel. His Toulon squadron was to be brought round from the Mediterranean, and was to join the Vice-Admiral du Ponant, the Count de Tourville, at Brest. Then the whole force, which was intended to reach the imposing figure of 78 ships of the line, 30 fireships, and 15 galleys, besides frigates and other attendant small craft, was to come into the Channel. The French Government, exaggerating the meaning of the discontent in England, was under the impression that a Jacobite rising would take place upon the appearance of the French fleet. On our side there was no understanding of the gravity of the coming crisis. In March Admiral Killigrew was dispatched with thirteen sail of the line and two fireships to protect the Mediterranean convoy. He was joined by some Dutch men-of-war. The combined squadron met with bad weather, and put into Cadiz on the 3rd of April. While lying here Killigrew received information that Châteaurenault was to be expected shortly on his way out to the ocean. Killigrew left Cadiz, and went into Gibraltar Bay, where he was joined by Captain Skelton, who was also on convoy duty with six ships. The combined force stood over to the Barbary coast to look for Châteaurenault, who might be supposed to be likely to hug the shore of Africa in order to escape observation. The common fate of our fleets at that time attended this operation. Killigrew was too late. On the 11th of May, Châteaurenault was seen outside the allied fleets. Killigrew pursued, but his ships were foul with long cruising, perhaps by neglect, for some of them had not been cleaned for seventeen months. The French squadron easily outsailed its pursuers. Killigrew then returned to Cadiz, and collected the trade before returning home. He reached England at the beginning of July and there heard of a disaster further up channel, which left him no resource but to carry his ship into the Hamoaze, and there take shelter behind batteries.
This disaster was the Battle of Beachy Head, which the French call the Battle of Bévisier, a corruption of Pevensey Bay. As the year grew on, the English Government became aware that a large French force might soon be expected in the Channel. The crisis was a very dangerous one, since the king had sailed for Ireland with all the best troops. There were few left in England, and the discontent of the Jacobites was notorious. The naval preparations made to meet an enemy were insufficient. When Torrington was at last sent down to Portsmouth on the 28th May there were but thirty-two English ships and eighteen Dutch collected.
Tourville had sailed from Brest on the 13th of June. The reinforcements brought him by Châteaurenault raised his fleet to something over seventy ships of the line, with thirty fireships and some small craft. He sailed into the Channel, and his approach was first known to Torrington on the 22nd. The English admiral was completely surprised by the appearance of the enemy. At a later period, when his conduct was called into question, he endeavoured to throw the blame for his want of knowledge on the ministers, who, as he complained, had not sent him down till the last of May, when it was too late for him to station look-out ships off Brest. It does not, however, appear why he thought it necessary to stay in London till he was driven out by a special order. After the change in the Admiralty Board he had no official duties in the capital, and if he stayed there till he earned from the sailors the nickname of Lord Tarry-in-Town, it was presumably because he did not wish to leave. Even so, he was with the fleet on the 30th of May, and might have detached look-out ships to the mouth of the Channel. He said he did, and then immediately afterwards said he did not, because all his frigates were engaged in shipping Lord Pembroke’s newly raised regiment of marines. The Dutch, to whom he entrusted the duty, without taking the trouble to see whether it were executed, were too busy shipping their stores to have leisure for anything else. The allied fleet, in fact, presented a picture of sloth and carelessness. When the enemy was known to be in the immediate neighbourhood, it weighed anchor, and dropped down to Dunnose. Here it was joined by two English and three Dutch ships of the line, which raised it to fifty-five. Torrington anchored and remained at anchor until the 25th. On that day he again weighed with the wind at N.E. and on the afternoon sighted the French to the south of the Isle of Wight. They were much scattered, and some of them were far to leeward. In such circumstances Monk would at once have attacked the enemy within striking distance in the hope of crippling him severely before he could be reinforced. Torrington drew his fleet into a line of battle and made towards the enemy. But he soon came to the conclusion that “they had enough in a body to have given us more than sufficient work.” He could not understand why they had not attacked him. It is probable that they abstained because he was to windward and they were scattered. To Monk the fact that the enemy was shy would have been an extra reason for attacking. To Torrington it only suggested dismal reflections as to what might happen if the French became enterprising, and therefore he retired. During the 26th he worked back from the south of the Isle of Wight to the N.E. A letter which he wrote on this day to the Council is marked on every line with glee over the embarrassment the crisis was likely to cause to his political opponents. He did indeed say that he would watch the enemy, and get to westward of them if he could; but before this he had expressed his opinion that the best course was to fall back to the Gunfleet, and then the ships from the west might come up to Portsmouth, and join him over the “Flats,” that is the shallows at the mouth of the Thames. The ships from the west were Killigrew’s squadron. Torrington knew that they had been cruising and must be foul, and it was certainly within his knowledge that they were less numerous than his own fleet. Yet he proposed to subject them to the risk of passing the French fleet, which he thought too great to be run by himself. This was not how Tromp had behaved when he united the fleets of the Maas and the Texel in defiance of Monk at the end of the First Dutch War.
It would seem that there are two types of fighting man. The first when in presence of the enemy instinctively thinks, “How can I strike with the most effect.” The great race are of this type. To it belong Blake and Monk, Hawke, Hood, Nelson, and their like, among our admirals; and, among our enemies, Tromp, De Ruyter, and Suffren. Then there is another kind of fighting man who may be brave enough personally, but who, when he is a commander, instinctively says, “How can I prevent the enemy from hurting me.” This kind of leader has fortunately been rare with us at sea, but Herbert was of the race, and so was Byng. Such men are always looking over their shoulders, always making the most of the enemy’s force, always exaggerating the defects of their own command. They seek for excuses to do nothing, and when they do come to the resolution to fight, the opposite determination to retreat forms itself underneath, as it were spontaneously. This was the natural tendency of Herbert as he had already shown in Bantry Bay, and it was strengthened by his wish to punish those political rivals in London who had refused to take his advice, and had turned him out of the Admiralty.
When his letter of the 26th reached the Council it was not unnaturally interpreted by them as indicating a wish to retire to the Gunfleet at once. This may have been a mistake, but an admiral who said that he had “heartily given God thanks” that the enemy declined battle, and added, “I shall not think myself very unhappy if I can get rid of them without fighting,” had no ground to complain if he was thought to be wanting in spirit. No member of the Council was more bitter against Herbert than his brother seaman Edward Russell, a rancorous man, and an extreme Whig. He was very probably moved by jealousy, but the queen and the civil members of the Council can hardly be severely blamed for not entirely trusting one admiral, when another admiral condemned him without stint. On general grounds the Council was justified in expecting more energy from Torrington. The danger was not that a great French army could land, this the queen’s counsellors knew to be impossible, but that a small corps of French troops might be thrown on shore which could act as a rallying point to the partizans of King James. It was a great object to rouse the general patriotic feeling of the country, and there was no more effectual method of doing that than a battle. The case was one in which it was better to fight, and be beaten, than not to fight at all. A letter was written in the queen’s name to Torrington. It was worded with no apparent want of confidence, and it left him free not to fight if he preferred; but it ordered him strictly not to lose sight of the French, to get to windward of them if he could, but to fight on the first advantage rather than to go to the Gunfleet.
The letter reached Torrington on the 29th of June. He called a council of war which agreed with him that it implied an order to fight on the first advantage. A previous council of war had confirmed his opinion that it was better not to fight. It may be laid down as a general rule that a council of war is a mere blind for the commander-in-chief. When it does not consist of his dependants it must still necessarily be full of his inferiors in rank, who have been trained by the habits of their life not to contradict the commanding officer. Besides, when he wants to fight, it looks cowardly to recommend retreat, and, when he wants to retreat, it looks like a reflection on his courage to insist upon fighting.
The fleet was now lying off Beachy Head some nine or ten miles to the south. The enemy again were some eighteen miles off to the S.W. The fleet weighed anchor at nine o’clock at night, and remained beating to and fro till daybreak. The wind was off the shore. The enemy also was under way at sundown, but at two o’clock in the morning Tourville was heard to fire guns as a signal to anchor. The sound was heard and understood in the English fleet. An opportunity now presented itself for slipping between the French and the land, and getting to the westward of them for the sake of joining Killigrew. Tromp would have made a push, but Torrington seems to have been in a dogged and stupid mood with no very fixed intention in his mind, save to make all the trouble he could for other people. At daybreak the fleet had not much altered its position. Beachy Head was still twelve miles to the N.E. and the French were visible at anchor to the south. At four o’clock the signal was made to form the line, and at eight o’clock the “bloody flag,” the red flag hoisted at the fore-topmast-head, which was the signal to engage the enemy, was run up in the flagship. Two vessels had joined Torrington since he left Dunnose. His total force now consisted of thirty-five English, and twenty-two Dutch. According to the order established for the fleet, the Dutch led when it was upon the starboard tack. As the wind was N.E. and the enemy to the South and West, the fleet bore down with the wind on the right quarter, the Dutch led. Torrington himself was in the centre with the Red Squadron, with Sir John Ashby between him and the Dutch, and Sir George Rooke between him and the Blue Squadron in the rear. Sir Ralph Delaval commanded the Blue Squadron. The fleet it must be understood was not perpendicular, but parallel to the enemy though a little behind him. Thus the ships of the allied fleet had to bear down on the French in a number of lines which struck upon them at an angle, but were parallel to one another. When the allied fleet was seen to be approaching, the French weighed anchor and lay with their heads pointing to N. of W. in a long concave line. The official French list gives seventy-two vessels present in the line, but the English counted that there were thirty-four ahead of the French admiral and forty-eight behind him. In this there was probably exaggeration, and perhaps downright lying. Tourville himself had his flag in the Soleil Royale, a magnificent ship of 110 guns. The van was commanded by the Lieutenant-General Châteaurenault and Lieutenant-General the Marquis de Villette Mursay. The rear was under the command of Count D’Estrées, Vice-Admiral du levant, and the Lieutenant-General Gabaret, who had been promoted after the action of Bantry Bay.
Fire began at nine o’clock when the Dutch ships under Admiral Cullemburg came into action with the French van. Owing to the inferiority of the allies in numbers there was a danger that as they could not stretch all along the line of the French fleet some of the ships in the French line would turn to windward, and put either the Dutch or the English, according to circumstances, between two fires. The danger was one which De Ruyter had had to face in the battles of 1672 and 1673, and he had provided for it by telling off a squadron to watch the enemy’s van and had then thrown the bulk of his own force on the rear. It shows how useless experience is to naturally stupid men, that although all the senior officers present had served either with, or against, De Ruyter, none of them thought of following his example. All the allied leaders could do was to endeavour to get as near as they could to stretching themselves out to the same length as the enemy by sending the van down against the French van; by keeping the Red Division opposite the enemy’s centre; and by leaving the attack on the rear to Sir Ralph Delaval. While they were bearing down, Herbert changed his mind once, or twice, as to the exact point of the enemy’s line he wished to reach, and altered the course of his ship accordingly. The result was that Sir John Ashby became puzzled as to the intentions of his commander-in-chief, and finally ended by attaching himself to the Dutch. In the end Torrington placed himself opposite the rear of the French centre so that there came a gap between him and Ashby. Being afraid that the French would stand out of their own line, in order to pass through this opening, Herbert kept his ships a good distance from the enemy so that he might be the better placed to head off such as attended this movement. As the French began to move ahead slowly, just as the allies came down, the Dutch could not get abreast of the leading ship, and struck on them at the ninth.
The Dutch began to fire at nine, Sir Ralph Delaval at half-past nine, and the centre at ten. At the two extremities the fighting was hot. Sir Ralph Delaval pressed eagerly on the squadron of Count D’Estrées, and pushed his attack with such energy that the enemy seemed to flinch. Sir John Ashby in the van found himself abreast of Tourville. He fired two guns in order to see whether the Vice-Admiral du Ponant would be a “reasonable enemy.” Tourville disdained to strike first at his inferior in rank, and it was not until Ashby’s first broadside had been delivered that the Soleil Royal opened fire. The wind, which had been strong in the early morning was still blowing a good breeze. It was used by the ships at the head of the French line to work to windward. Between eleven and twelve o’clock they succeeded in doubling on the Dutch and putting them between two fires. Admiral Cullemburg’s squadron fought gallantly but was overpowered. What had happened was seen on the centre and rear. Torrington’s attention was called to the movement by his flag-captain who asked if he also intended to allow himself to be weathered. He answered that he did not, and began at once to work up to windward. As Sir Ralph Delaval had pressed closely on D’Estrées, he had fallen to leeward of the commander-in-chief, and there was an “elbow” in the English line. By two o’clock the wind fell away to a dead calm and movement became restricted on either side to what could be done by towing, or drifting along with the tide. Cannonading went on between the two stationary fleets for some time. At last the ebb-tide set up a strong westerly current. The Dutch dropped anchor with all sails set. As the French were not seamen enough to do the same thing they drifted to the west. One Dutch ship which was too much damaged to anchor floated away, and became a prize. Then Herbert drifted down to the neighbourhood of the Dutch and anchored close by them. The allies remained at anchor, till the easterly current began to flow with the flood-tide in the evening. Then they got up anchor and tided eastwards towards the Thames. The pursuit of Tourville was timid. He followed next day, but in line of battle which limited the speed of his fleet to that of the slowest vessel in it. To this timidity Torrington owed his safety from complete destruction. A few of the more severely crippled Dutch and English vessels were set on fire, but the great bulk of the allied fleet got safely into the Thames.
The subsequent movements of Tourville may be dismissed in a few lines. He remained in the Channel until the early days of August, ranging at will up and down and of course paralysing commerce, but he did nothing more against our coast than burn the little town of Teignmouth in South Devon. There was nothing in fact that he could do. The Jacobite rising did not take place because he had no troops to land to help the country gentlemen, who were resolved not to move until they were secure against being attacked by the Government’s forces before they were sufficiently organised to offer any resistance. In August Tourville returned quietly to Brest. There had been a furious outbreak of anger in the country against Torrington and a great movement of patriotism which was unspeakably to the advantage of King William’s government. Yet when Torrington was brought to trial in December he was acquitted. The acquittal was intelligible. King William’s victory at the Boyne, gained just after the battle of Beachy Head, had put the country into good humour, and the admiral’s most bitter accusers were the Dutch who were not popular in England. But it was none the less a misfortune. Torrington had not done his utmost. His position indeed was a difficult one, but it was not worse than Monk’s in 1666, or De Ruyter’s in 1672, ’73, and he had not behaved as these men had done. When a court martial could find no fault with his management it lowered the whole standard of conduct expected of an English naval officer. It showed that a man who leaned to the side of timidity would not be condemned by other officers. Then, too, the court, which could see nothing to blame in his feeble effort of attack on the 30th June, must have been composed of men of a lower level of intelligence than the sea chiefs, whether Dutch, or English of the previous wars. It laid the foundation of that pedantic adherence to the line and the practice of engaging from van to rear which afterwards led to the monstrous sentence on Admiral Mathews, to the helpless weakness of Byng, and to the stupidity of Graves. Perhaps the ugliest feature of the whole transaction was this, that the English excused Torrington very largely on the ground that the chief sufferers in the battle had been the Dutch. There was something very base in the code of honour of people who did not think it ignoble to throw the burden of battle on an ally.