A Short History of the Royal Navy, 1217 to 1688

by David Hannay

The Dutch, though they bore the lordly arrogance of England tamely enough, when all that was at stake was the matter of the salute, were pertinacious in insisting on their own way on points of material advantage. Thus, for instance, they insisted upon prohibiting all trade by English vessels to the ports of Flanders held by the Spaniards, though they themselves never suspended their lucrative commerce with Spain at any period during the war. In pursuit of their belligerent rights, they did not hesitate to attack Spanish vessels, or those belonging to the Spanish Netherlands, even in English waters. Sir William Monson recounts the difficulty he found in preventing two Dutch cruisers from attacking a vessel belonging to Dunkirk, in the very roadstead of Sandwich. His task was made harder by the fact that the men of the English seaports sympathised openly with the Dutch. The hostility to Spain had grown strong during the great queen's reign, and had not yet given place to the hatred of the Hollander. The great change produced by the accession of the House of Stuart is forcibly illustrated by the fact that one of Monson's first duties, during the reign of King James, was to contrive the smuggling over from Dover to Flanders of some thousands of Spanish soldiers, who were driven to take refuge in our ports. They had come up Channel with eight war galleons, the largest force which by the terms of the new treaty was allowed free entry to an English harbour. It seems difficult to believe that the Spaniards would have risked so small a squadron in the Channel in face of the naval power of Holland, unless they had assurances that it would not only be protected, but helped to make its way into Flemish ports. Sir William Monson has not told by what artful management he contrived to pass the Spaniards, who had taken refuge at Dover, across the Channel. The story might have cost him some ill-will, and he thought it better to keep silent. But if the Dutch learned, as they not improbably did, that he had been giving so much zealous assistance to an enemy who was endeavouring to conquer their country, it is not wonderful that they doubted his impartiality. Not the least important part of his duty consisted in escorting "such princes, ambassadors, and others, as were entitled to the honour." Of these he convoyed no less than thirty-two in eleven years, with all their servants and followers, who, on some occasions, reached the figure of three hundred, all of whom Sir William had to feed. One of these guests, the Count of Villa Mediana, was confined for five days by foul weather in Monson's ship, having with him a train of two hundred persons, who consumed, in all, ten meals each. The honour of discharging such a dignified function as that of protector of princes and ambassadors was embittered for Monson, and indeed for naval officers, as late as Nelson's time, and later, by the meanness of the Government, which left them to bear the expense of entertaining these guests of the State. Monson has left it on record that at the end of his service he was "as yet unsatisfied" for no less a sum than fifteen hundred pounds spent in this way. Five or six thousand pounds would probably be the modern equivalent. But Monson, who took a pension from Spain, had ways of making the loss good. These, varied by an occasional raid on foreign fishermen engaged in poaching on our waters, represented the usual duties of the officer commanding the Channel squadron, or, to use the language of the time, the Winter and the Summer Guard, in the early seventeenth century.

Sir William Monson had a piece of work to do at the very end of his active service of a much more lively character than any of these, and one too characteristic of the time, and the conditions of sea life, to be passed over.

In 1614 the king's Scotch subjects petitioned him for help against the pirates who were infesting the coasts. The call was pressing, and was favourably received by the king. Sir William Monson and Sir Francis Howard were despatched at once with four ships in such haste that the "victuals and other things" they needed were to be sent after them. The little squadron left Margate on the 14th of May, and reached Leith on the 23rd of the same month. Here Monson applied to the "Lords of that Realme," for information concerning the pirates, desiring "to be furnished with able pilots, for His Majesty's ships were of greater burden and value than usually had been employed on these coasts, and besides, that the navigation to the northward of that place (Leith) was not frequented by our nation, and therefore unknown to us." Able pilots were duly supplied, and information was forthcoming. From the Frith of Forth Monson sailed to the north, to Sinclair Castle, the house of the Earl of Caithness, by whom he was informed that the number and powers of the pirates had been much exaggerated in the petition to His Majesty. Instead of twenty, there were but two, and they men of "base condition." From the expression it appears likely that Monson would have not been much surprised to learn that his pirates were gentlemen of good birth, and indeed there would have been nothing wonderful in it at a time when a member of the distinguished Buckinghamshire family of Verney was a noted leader among the Algerines. Monson's pirates were very small deer. One of them hardly deserved the name, being only a trader who had been terrified into joining his captors. This man had seized the first chance to escape, and had just rendered up himself and one of the two vessels to the Earl of Caithness. The other pirate turned out to be one Clarke, who had formerly been a boatswain's mate with Monson in the Channel. From Caithness the English officer sailed to the Orkneys in pursuit of Clarke. Here "he found more civil, kind, and friendly usage than could be expected from such kind of creatures in show." Leaving Sir Francis Howard to guard the coast, he sailed in pursuit of the runaway Clarke to Shetland. From Shetland he went on to the Hebrides, where he intended that his consort should join him. "The brutishness and uncivility of those people of the Hebrides exceeds the savages of America," is the rude description given of the islanders by Sir William Monson. Clarke was not to be found in the Hebrides, but Monson obtained information of a certain gentleman, Cormat by name, living in Ireland near Broadhaven, who was known as a favourer and protector of pirates. To Broadhaven, then, Monson sailed, meeting on the way with such weather as is "fit only for a poet to describe." In the great storm and ground seas the squadron was scattered. Of the four ships Monson had with him, one went down, and the three others were separated, "and saw one another no more till they met in England." On the 28th June Monson reached Broadhaven, a place which would have been unknown to him, if he had not had with him a pirate whom he had taken out of the hands of the Earl of Caithness. This man guided him into the haven, and then was of material assistance in carrying out a stratagem which Monson had devised for the more effectual discovery and punishment of Cormat (whose real name was probably Cormac) and his lawless associates.

So fine was the distinction between the lawless and the law-abiding on the seas at that time, that Monson had no difficulty in picking out from his crew a number of men who had formerly been pirates. "These men he sent in his boat to the gentlemen of that place, and took upon him to be a pirate and the name of Captain Manwaring." The ex-pirate, whom Monson trusted, acted so as to prove the truth of the adage touching the wisdom of employing a thief to catch a thief. He entered into the plot with almost scandalous zest. Mr. Cormac had three daughters, all of whom, it appears, had pirate sweethearts. "These silly women" were cruelly deluded with stories to the effect that Captain Manwaring was very rich with plunder, and very generous, also that he was acquainted with all their sweethearts. Misled by this fiction, Mr. Cormac and his belongings were at once consumed with a desire to make the acquaintance of Captain Manwaring. He put cattle at a convenient place on the coast with their ears slit, in order that the supposed pirates might take them in a "warlike manner, that it might appear their cattle were taken by violence." Next day Monson sent for the cattle, sending fifty armed men under Captain Chester in a "disorderly manner like pirates." Captain Chester was civilly received by the Misses Cormac, "whose desire was to hear of their sweethearts, but all in general coveted to see Captain Manwaring, who they confidently believed would enrich them all." In the course of the day Mr. Cormac sent two "ambassadors," who "delivered a friendly (though in a rude manner like their country) message of their love." It was an invitation to a dinner and dance.

Monson now began to put his stratagem in force. He laid the two messengers by the heels in the hold of his ship, after cruelly asking them whether they thought she looked like a pirate. Then he landed himself with more men in a disorderly manner. He was received on the beach by a large crowd with an effusive welcome. One of the crowd was an English trader, another was a merchant from Galway. Both of these made a trade of buying plunder from pirates. A third noted character in the hospitable mob was Cormac's schoolmaster; for an Irish gentleman, however lax he might be in the matter of piracy, was never indifferent to learning. Surrounded by cheers and enthusiasm, the imaginary Captain Manwaring made triumphant progress to Mr. Cormac's house. A royal entertainment had been prepared. The harper, a recognised member of every Irish household, played to welcome him, and the Misses Cormac proposed a dance. Monson would not himself dance, but he allowed his followers to amuse themselves. In the meantime he talked with Cormac and his daughters, "laughing and jeering at their two messengers aboard who they did not suspect were detained prisoners, but drinking and frolicking in the ship, as the use was upon the arrival of pirates." Then he had some talk with the trader, of whom he draws a most engaging picture. Believing that he had in truth to deal with a pirate, the man was completely candid. He explained how he treated the sheriffs, showing "a pass procured upon false pretences from the Sheriff of that county, authorising him to travel from place to place to make inquisition of his goods, which he falsely pretended he was robbed of at sea; he laughed at the cheat he had put upon the Sheriff in getting his pass, and urged the advantage that might be made of it in sending to and fro in the country without suspicion.... His antic behaviour was enough to put the melancholist man in good humour, sometimes he played the part of a Commanding Sheriff; then he acted his own with many witty passages as to how he deceived the Sheriff." Sir William Monson pumped this clever fellow, of whom he was making a dupe, and in particular got a letter from him to certain mariners in the county who were the regular associates of pirates.

So soon as he had this useful document in his pocket, Sir William sprang his mine on this innocent Irish family. He told them who he was, and that they were all prisoners. "Here was seen the mutability of the world; their mirth was turned into mourning and their dancing into lamenting, each bewailing and repenting as is the custom of offenders." The inexorable Sir William returned on board, leaving them all under guard, and his carpenter busy in setting up the gallows, but the end was not tragic for the family of Cormac and their guests. After giving them "four-and-twenty hours' fright" in irons, and receiving a solemn promise that they would never connive at pirates again, Monson pardoned them. He was perhaps the more readily induced to be merciful by the fact that in the meantime another vessel had turned up outside Broadhaven, and had at once stood off to sea on finding the anchorage occupied. Rightly judging that the new-comer was a pirate, Monson compelled Cormac to give help in bringing him to justice. The old rogue was perfectly prepared to save his own neck, and wrote letters which induced the new-comer to remain on the coast and send a large part of his crew ashore for cattle. Monson, who watched his compulsory allies with sleepless vigilance, seized the opportunity to board the pirate while a large part of his crew were on shore. Hauling his boats over a strip of land between Broadhaven and the place where the pirates were, he dropped during the night on the deceived malefactors and captured them without difficulty. His new prisoners were treated with less tenderness than the Cormacs. "Examining the behaviour of all the pirates, of many he picked out the worst, who had tasted twice before of His Majesty's gracious pardon." This time they tasted of His Majesty's justice, being duly hanged as a terror to evil-doers. If Monson is to be believed, this severe example cleared the Irish coast of pirates, but he undoubtedly overrated the efficacy of the remedy. Years afterwards, when Strafford came to Ireland as Lord Deputy, the coast was still infested with pirates, and very stringent measures had been taken to re-establish security for trade.

This story, though it may seem somewhat out of place when told at such length in a history of the Royal Navy, has appeared to me to be worth repeating. One concrete example will do more than any number of general statements to show what the condition of a country was. All through the reign of Elizabeth and the first two Stuarts piracy was common on the coast of Great Britain and Ireland. Sir William Monson's experiences show why it could flourish. The number of ships kept in regular commission by the king was small, and much of their time was taken up in carrying princes and ambassadors between England and the Continent. In outlying districts there were always persons of the stamp of Mr. Cormac and his "hackney daughters," who were prepared to give the pirates a friendly welcome in consideration of a share of the booty. Traders were ready to buy their stolen goods. And it is even obvious, from Monson's casual mention of members of his crew who had been pirates, that nobody thought very much the worse of a man for having followed the trade once in a way. The sea was still very lawless, and the Royal Navy had hardly yet taken its police duties firmly in hand.

The improvement in shipbuilding which took place in this reign was mainly the work of the most able member of a remarkable family of shipwrights, sea-captains, and navy officials who are found engaged in and about the royal dockyards from the reign of Edward VI. to close on the end of the reign of Charles II. Phineas Pett, who was born in 1570 and died in 1647, was the son of Peter Pett, master shipwright at Deptford in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. He received a better education than had probably been given to any previous member of his family. After preliminary schooling at Rochester and Greenwich, he entered the famous Puritan college, the "House of Pure Emanuel," at Cambridge in 1586. The death of his father, in 1589, left him destitute, and Phineas was for some years compelled to pick up a precarious livelihood in the dockyards or in sea voyages. In 1597 he entered the service of Lord Howard, which no doubt means his service as Lord High Admiral, but not in any domestic capacity. His foot being now well down, Pett kept his place, and very considerably bettered it before long. Having been employed by Howard to build a miniature ship for Henry, eldest son of James I., he attracted the favourable notice of the prince, who in his short life certainly proved that he possessed a remarkable eye for men of brains and character. Pett's favour drew upon him a great deal of jealousy in the dockyard, and he was at last openly accused by his rivals of incompetence. But he stood his ground stoutly, and finally justified himself in an inquiry held before the king at Woolwich. James, like all the house of Stuart, had a taste for clever scientific men. He was mainly a scholar and a theologian, as his son Charles I. was a judge of pictures and of literature, and as his grandson Charles II. had a taste for natural science and chemical experiments. But he could understand the merits of such a question as was debated before him at Woolwich, and his inclination would be to support an educated man against the merely practical men who were accusing him of bungling because he departed from their familiar old rules of thumb. The whole house of Stuart, indeed, had a liking for ships and sea affairs, which they showed even before they became kings of England. Under royal protection, Pett was able to bring about great improvements in construction by reducing the amount of timber used and relying on better proportion for strength. The great ship called the Prince Royal, designed by him, and launched in 1610, was the finest yet built for the Crown, and he surpassed her in the Sovereign of the Seas, launched in 1637, during the reign of Charles I. He established his family so firmly in the dockyards, that they overran all the offices in them by the middle of the century.

The labours of this skilful shipbuilder would have been of little avail but for the exertions of others among the king's servants who in 1618 prevailed over the interested opposition of the Lord High Admiral to the appointment of a Committee to inquire into the state of the navy. Even in the great queen's reign all had not been perfect in the dockyards. During her later years, when they had lost the vigilant supervision of Hawkins, a good deal of corruption had begun to creep in. Under the lax government of James I., and when there was no longer a permanent state of war to brace the energies of the admirals and captains, and to apply a perpetual check on the execution of work, the naval administration fell rapidly into an inefficient condition. As early as 1608 there had been talk of an inquiry. But Lord Howard of Effingham, or, to give him his later title, the Earl of Nottingham, used his influence to put a stop to the proposal. He no doubt considered that he was personally insulted when the conduct of the department under his command was called in question. Yet inquiry was certainly needed. We cannot believe that the hero who led the English fleets against the Armada, and was joint commander with Essex in the triumphant expedition to Cadiz, was himself guilty of corruption. The truth is, that he looked upon the minute examination of accounts as work beneath his dignity, and fit only for subordinate officials, whom he regarded as his servants. He managed the navy, in fact, very much as a profuse, easy-going noble would have conducted the affairs of his own house. Of course he was robbed by his servants, and, when they were accused of misconduct, he resented the interference as implying a reflection on his judgment. So fraud and peculation flourished under the protection of his honourable name.