The battles which followed make up among them the so-called "Four Days' Battle" of the Annus Mirabilis, 1666. The first encounter took place somewhere between the Flemish coast from Ostend to Dunkirk on one side, and the northern end of the Downs on the other. The Dutch had anchored in three divisions some little distance at sea. They lay stretching from S.W. to N.E. The south-westerly squadron was that of Van Tromp; next to him, towards the N.E., was the division of De Ruyter; and farther still to the N.E., the squadron of Jan Evertszoon. As the wind was in the S.W., De Ruyter and Evertszoon were to the leeward of Tromp. This disposition afforded Monk exactly the opportunity he sought. Coming down from the W. or N.W., on Friday the 1st June, he directed his attack on the squadron of Van Tromp. The English fleet was on the starboard tack—that is to say, it had the wind on the right side, and was heading to the S.E. It passed well clear of the centre of the Dutch line, and therefore at a greater distance from the squadron of Evertszoon, in order to fall with all its strength on the ships of Tromp. The English line was in beautiful order, but, as was commonly the case, the ships in the rear had a tendency to straggle. The distance between them and the leading vessel was so great, that when the ships at the head of Monk's line were abreast of Tromp, those at the rear were barely visible to observers on the decks of the Dutch. Tromp, on being attacked, immediately cut his cables and stood to the south. The battle began at about three o'clock in the afternoon, and for some time the two fleets ran on cannonading one another. But their course, if followed far enough, would have stranded both of them near Dunkirk. Both Tromp and Monk therefore reversed their course almost simultaneously, and, instead of standing to the S., turned towards the N. or N.N.E. In the course of these movements the lines had come very close together, and the English, acting on their usual rule of pressing an attack home, had stood down on the Dutch. Several English ships broke through the Dutch line, and among them were the two admirals, Sir William Berkeley and Harman of the Blue Division. Berkeley was the brother of the Lord Falmouth killed in the battle of the 3rd of June in the previous year. His vessel, the Swiftsure, being cut off for a time from all English support, was attacked by several Dutch ships at once and overpowered. She surrendered, but not until she was completely cut to pieces and the admiral had fallen. He had been struck in the heat of the action by a musket bullet in the throat, and, staggering into the captain's cabin, fell dead on the table, where he was discovered lifeless and covered by his blood when the Dutch took possession of his ship. Harman, who had been in equal danger, fought his way through. His vessel caught fire, and a panic spread among the crew. Harman, who looks in his portrait by Lely a man of a singularly fierce type, restored order by his example and a vigorous use of his sword. The fire was got under, but the fall of a topsail yard broke the admiral's leg. He did not leave the deck, and, when hailed by a Dutch officer to surrender, only answered, "No, no; it has not come to that yet." The fire of his broadside was severe enough to make the Dutchmen sheer off, and Harman rejoined his fleet. As the English fleet stood back, De Ruyter had worked sufficiently far to windward to bring his ships into action. Joining with Van Tromp, he made an attack with superior numbers on the end of Monk's line. It was here that the fight was hottest, and the loss most severe. The last of the twilight had come before fire ceased, but as the darkness fell the Dutch could see Monk leading his line, little diminished in number, and still in excellent order, seaward to the west.
This was the fortune of the first day of the Four Days' Battle. The English had suffered, but they had shown themselves the better fighters and manœuvrers. The Dutch must have been depressed by finding how little their superiority of numbers had availed them. Yet all had not done equally well on the side of the English. The anxieties of the last few days had made the Court very anxious to know what was happening with the fleet. Sir Thomas Clifford was sent to gain information. Embarking at Harwich in a small vessel, in company with Lord Ossory, the gallant son of the Duke of Ormonde, he joined Monk on the 2nd June. We are told by him that there were at that time only thirty-five ships with the English admiral, and that this weakness was due to the desertion of some of the smaller vessels. Bad example, bad pay, bad food were beginning to produce their effect; and although there were many of a higher courage, and some who, although greedy and unscrupulous, were yet personally brave, there were others in our fleet who were beginning to imitate the conduct of those Dutch captains chastised by De Witt. Men who do not scruple to steal may be brave, yet it is not unnatural that one kind of dishonesty should lead to another, and that the captain who got his command by bribery, and made it pay by pilfering, should have no scruple about deserting his post.
The battle had begun on Saturday the 2nd of June before Ossory and Clifford reached Monk's flagship, the Royal Charles. It had been in progress since eight o'clock in the morning. When day broke, the two were in sight of one another, the English to the west of the Dutch, and both somewhere between Ostend and the North Foreland. The Dutch were rather to the south, and, as the wind was still at S.S.W., a little to windward. The two fleets stood towards one another, and the English ships, being the sharper built and more weatherly, gained the weather-gage from the Dutch—that is to say, the two lines met at a very obtuse angle, the English crossing the course of the Dutch, and passing to the south of them, then they curved inwards, and the two lines crossed on opposite tacks, cannonading as they went by. The ships in the rear of the Dutch line were commanded in this battle by Van Tromp. Seeing that as the English turned in they had fallen off the wind, he tacked to gain the weather-gage upon them, and thus separated himself from the bulk of De Ruyter's fleet. At the same time, or very shortly afterwards, some of the vessels in the van of the Dutch line behaved in a fashion which shows that the executions of the previous summer had not yet produced the full effect desired. They turned before the wind and fairly ran. Thus De Ruyter found himself left at the same moment by his rear through the wilfulness of one admiral, and by his van through the misconduct of others. He had but a choice of evils, and of these he probably chose the less when he bore up and went to leeward for the purpose of overtaking the runaways, and bringing the bulk of his fleet again into order. Yet he gave Monk an extraordinarily fine opportunity of cutting off the squadron of Van Tromp. The English chief had only to pass to leeward of the Dutchman, and he must separate him from the bulk of his fleet. Probably because he believed that the weather-gage was the more advantageous position of the two, Monk did not take this course. At least it appears that the English passed to windward of Tromp. In the meantime, De Ruyter, having recalled the runaway van ships, reversed his course and stood back to the assistance of his self-willed and unruly subordinate. The two divisions of the Dutch fleet were allowed to rejoin, and they remained to leeward of us huddled in a confused body.
There was at this point a pause in the battle. It may be that the English had defects to make good in their spars and rigging, for the Dutch, according to their usual custom, fired high. Perhaps Monk was so conscious of his inferiority of numbers that he did not care to entangle himself too far. De Ruyter was allowed to restore order in his line, and then, during the last hours of the day, the fleets again passed on opposite tacks, and the battle ended in an ineffectual cannonade.
The absence of Prince Rupert had been acutely felt during this prolonged conflict. Monk had fought with a remarkable combination of intrepidity and skill, but, though he had inflicted severe punishment on the enemy, he could not but know that he was much weakened by loss and desertion. If Rupert did not return shortly, and the wind were to shift to the N. or N.E., he might have the whole Dutch fleet on his hands when it would be no longer possible for him to pick his own point of attack. On the Sunday, then, he decided to retire into the Thames. Selecting sixteen of his best and strongest vessels, he arranged them in a line abreast—that is to say, side by side, stretched from north to south. The injured and the weaker ships were placed in front, and the whole body retired together towards the river. The Dutch pursued, but not with much energy, or at least at no great rate of speed. If it had not been for an error of judgment, and, I am afraid we must add, a certain want of nerve on the part of Sir George Ayscue, it would seem that the retreat might have been successfully effected with very little loss. Sir George had his flag in the Prince, which was counted the finest ship in the English fleet. Her place was on the extreme right, or northern end of Monk's line. It was of course desirable to place powerful ships at the extremities, in case the enemies should attempt to turn them. The approach to the Thames is made difficult by successive rows of shallows: one of these is the Galloper Sand, a long and narrow shoal lying N.E. of the North Foreland, and stretching from E. of N. to W. of S., and directly opposite the coast of Essex between Walton-on-the-Naze and Clacton. The pilot of the Prince, or whoever else directed her navigation, miscalculated her room, and the vessel ran on the southern end of the sand. A few of the other ships touched, but were got off. This accident was instantly seen by both fleets. The Dutch crowded on, under the immediate direction of Van Tromp, to attack the stranded vessel. The English turned for her support, but, before they could render any effectual assistance, Sir George Ayscue had surrendered. He was severely blamed for want of spirit, perhaps unjustly; and yet we cannot but believe that if the Prince had carried the flag of Sir John Harman, she would have made a longer and perhaps a successful resistance, for she was a heavily-armed vessel of ninety guns. The loss of the Prince was made the more exasperating to the English by the long-desired appearance of Rupert, who was seen coming past the North Foreland with his twenty fresh ships, pressing on to rejoin Monk. The reinforcement came, however, too late to save the Prince. At the sight of Rupert's flag the Dutch did indeed give up all hope of carrying her off. They removed her officers and crew, and set her on fire. She burned in the sight of the English fleet.
Monk's often-proved valour and strength of character were never more conspicuous than now. After three such days the most stout-hearted of men might have thought that enough had been done for honour. But the Lord General was resolved to fight again. He anchored for the night, and on Monday, the 4th of June according to the old calendar and the 14th according to ours, got under way to engage the enemy once more. The Dutch also had anchored, and when they got under way they stood on the port tack with the wind still from the south. The English headed in the same direction, and, being the more weatherly vessels, forced a close action. Each fleet had fought well on the three previous days, but on this last they may be said to have thrown away the scabbard. The English, holding their wind, endeavoured to force their way through the Dutch line, and, where their enemies were leewardly ships, or ill-handled, they succeeded. The furious mêlée lasted for hours, and Rupert's squadron fought as if it was its purpose to make up for absence on the previous days. At the end of hours of conflict the two fleets were broken in confused masses, the Dutch to windward here, and the English to windward there. A portion of the English had headed the Dutch line: they were pursued by some of the Dutch; while in the meantime the battle in the centre and the rear was raging between De Ruyter and Monk, the Dutch admiral being still to windward. Van Tromp, with all the energy and more than the judgment he had displayed on the second day of battle, recalled the pursuers, and, joining them to his own ships, fell on the main body of the English on the opposite side to that on which they were engaged with De Ruyter. This was the last phase of the long and desperate struggle. Monk was for a time in great peril, surrounded by enemies, and deprived of all support from his own side, but he broke his way through. Even when the fight had clearly gone against them, the English had sold their defeat dear. Their fireships had destroyed two of the enemy, nor had any English vessel struck till she had exacted her full price from the Dutch. Night, a fog, and fatigue on both sides ended the Four Days' Battle. The English retired into the river, the Dutch remained outside for a short time, and then returned to refit.
The Four Days' Battle bears a certain resemblance to Blake's engagement with Martin Tromp near Dungeness. It was a defeat, but one which did nothing to diminish the pride of the English seamen or their belief in their inherent superiority to the Dutch. We had fought against superior numbers by our own choice, frequently with success, and never with what could be called rout. At the close we had lost some twenty vessels, and a number of men estimated by various authorities from 3000 to 5000 in killed and wounded. One admiral had died, and a score of captains were slain or wounded. Our fleet had retired into the river, and the enemy was left for a space with the sea clear, but his own injuries were so serious that he could make no other immediate use of his victory than to return home and make ready for the next battle, which he knew well that the English would be ready to offer him before many weeks were over.
The effect produced in London and at Court by the news of this great battle is audible to us now in the Diary of Pepys. He is a very unsafe authority for the truth of any particular statement, for he heard all the gossip of the day and noted it down as it came. Yet, for that very reason, he is an invaluable witness to the fluctuations of the feelings of his contemporaries. We can trust him thoroughly when he reports how all the world rejoiced in this new victory over the Dutch, until it learned that we had been defeated, and that De Ruyter was for the moment master of the Thames. His Diary records the contradictory rumours of the day, and also the complaints of Monk's rashness, and the sneers at the misconduct of this or that officer—the snarling and tittle-tattle of the lower deck and the ward-room. This, also, is not without its value as evidence. It was ominous of that fall in the spirit and vigour of the navy which was to come in the next generation, that men were found to blame Monk for giving battle to superior numbers. The evil of the time was the gradual debauching of the spirit of the nation by self-seeking and corruption, and it is visible on every other page of Pepys. We find him recording that captains were suspected of deserting their admiral without incurring any particular shame. He himself, though patriotic and zealous for the king's service in his way, did not allow the disasters of the fleet to interfere with his innumerable little schemes for increasing that comfortable private fortune whose growth he records with such unfeigned satisfaction; and if others differed from him, it was in being less patriotic and much more self-seeking.
It is to Pepys that we owe our knowledge of one of the most heroic scenes of the time. Sir Christopher Myngs, Rupert's second in command, had fallen mortally wounded on the last of the Four Days' Battle. He had been shot in the throat, and had held the wound together with his fingers till a second shot disabled him completely. It was at first not supposed that his hurt was mortal, but he died within a few days of the battle. The Council of State had buried Deane, and Cromwell had buried Blake, in Henry VII.'s Chapel with splendour. The king allowed Sir Christopher Myngs to be carried to his grave unattended, except by Sir William Coventry, who went out of spontaneous good feeling, and by Pepys, who went because Sir William Coventry was going. These were the only official representatives of the nation at the funeral of Sir Christopher Myngs, but there were others who of their own free will came to do honour to the stout-hearted seaman in the name of the navy. Pepys records how, on leaving the church, he had the sentimental pleasure of witnessing a truly touching scene: "One of the most romantique that ever I heard of in my life, and could not have believed, but that I did see it, which was this:—About a dozen able, lusty, proper men come to the coach side with tears in their eyes, and one of them that spoke for the rest began and says to Sir W. Coventry, 'We are here a dozen of us that have long known and loved and served our dead commander, Sir Christopher Myngs, and have now done the last office of laying him in the ground. We would be glad we had any other to offer after him, and in revenge of him. All we have is our lives; if you will please to get His Royal Highness to give us a fireship among us all, here is a dozen of us, out of all which choose you one to be commander, and the rest of us, whoever he is, will serve him; and, if possible, do that that shall show our memory of our dead commander, and our revenge.'" Sir William Coventry was much moved, and Mr. Pepys even shed tears, but we do not learn that anything effectual was done. At the time when Sir Christopher Myngs was allowed to go to his grave neglected, the young captains who owed their commands to Court influence incurred no punishment for deserting their admiral in battle. Nobody denied that the impunity permitted to such misconduct as this was an evil. Sir William Coventry knew as well as any man how inferior the new captains were to the old, and foresaw what the consequences of employing them must be. Before the second war with Holland he had been in the habit of denouncing the little service the Cavalier captains could do to the king. The evil was not that they were Cavaliers, but that they got their places for any reason on earth except fitness to hold them. Neither Sir William Coventry nor any other man, but one, could have provided a remedy. The king could indeed have made all right, but he would not. He could not give up his idle, pleasure-seeking life in order to work at his business of king, and he would not annoy his friends and courtiers by allowing their relations and protégés to be punished. Thus the whole standard of conduct and discipline in the navy was degraded. The king himself was growing tired of the war, which had brought him neither profit nor popularity, and within a few months he was about to take a series of steps for the purpose of obtaining peace, which brought such a disgrace on the nation as it had never suffered before, and has never been called upon to endure since.