A Short History of the Royal Navy, 1217 to 1688

by David Hannay

The West Indian interest, though not so great as it afterwards became, was highly important in London, and the Government made an effort to afford the plantations relief. A squadron of ten ships, mostly, if not all, merchant vessels, taken for the occasion and fitted as men-of-war, was sent out under the command of Captain John Berry. Berry was a Devonshire man, the son of a clergyman who had been expelled from his living in the Civil War. He was bred to the sea in the West India trade, and had entered the king's service in 1663 as boatswain of the Swallow. First in that capacity, and then as lieutenant, he had seen service against pirates in the West Indies. In this service he is said to have distinguished himself, and although the story is of dubious authority, it may be told for the excellent doctrine it contains. The Swallow had been despatched in pursuit of a certain sea-rover, and overtook him. The chase turned out to be a larger vessel than the Swallow, and Berry's captain "rather hesitated to attack him, expressing himself in the following words:—'Gentlemen, the blades we are to attack are men-at-arms, old buccaneers, and superior to us in number and in the force of their ship, and therefore I would have your opinion.' Mr. Berry is reported to have immediately answered, 'Sir, we are men-at-arms too, and, which is more, honest men, and fight under the king's commission, and if you have no stomach for fighting, be pleased to walk down into your cabin.'" The pirate was attacked and taken. A man of whom such a story looked probable would not be wanting in resolution. On his arrival in the West Indies, Berry exerted himself to retaliate on the enemy for their success at St. Christopher's. He succeeded in doing some real damage to the enemy, and in protecting Nevis from attack; but although several French prizes were taken, and a spirited action was fought with the allies, Berry could do little more than keep them at bay till reinforcements arrived from England.

Harman had been appointed in March, but he cannot have sailed until May. He went first to Barbadoes, and from thence to Nevis, where he joined Berry. Their combined forces were apparently enough to overawe the French and Dutch, who separated and left the English in command of the sea. Harman would willingly have retaken St. Christopher's, but, as the English had been expelled from the island, he had no help to expect on shore. The other English plantations gave him no assistance, and he had brought no troops from England. In these circumstances he was confined to pushing the war against the enemy at sea, and fortunately an opportunity presented itself. The French admiral had retired to Martinique, and had withdrawn himself under the protection of some forts. Their position was reconnoitred by the Portsmouth ketch and reported to Harman, who, with the hearty agreement of his subordinates, determined to attack. He reached Martinique on Monday 24th June, and would have attacked at once, but the breezes are always treacherous under the land in the West Indies. It fell calm before Harman could get at the ships, though he was able to silence the forts. On Tuesday morning the sea breeze was favourable, and he fell on. There is a tradition that the admiral was so seriously ill with the gout as to be unable to move, but in the excitement of battle he mastered his disease so completely that it disappeared for a time. The forts having been silenced, there was nothing to distract Harman's attention from the ships, and he assailed them with such success that eight were burned, including the admiral's vessel, and most of the others driven on shore. This victory disposed of the French as active enemies at sea in the West Indies for the time being, and Harman was left free to assail the Dutch. Their posts were chiefly on the mainland of South America, in Guiana, or on the islands off the coast of Cumana. Harman cruised against them with great success during what remained of the war. The proclamation of peace in July cut short his activity. He remained in the West Indies for the protection of trade till the close of the year, and then returned to England with a great convoy in January 1668.

Within a few weeks after Harman sailed on this successful expedition, the country received a lesson, which it has fortunately never forgotten, on the folly of supposing that cruises against an enemy's commerce can ever compensate for the want of a force capable of meeting his main fleet in battle. All through the early spring there had come one report after another, that the Dutch were fitting out a great naval force under Michael de Ruyter. The Court, however, learned no wisdom, but continued to rely on its fortifications. Even if these had been efficient, they would not have availed to avert a disaster, but the work was done in the slovenly style common in this reign. The fort at Sheerness, though begun in plenty of time, was not finished when it was wanted, and was therefore not armed. Yet as late as the month of May the Court was diminishing the crews of the few fireships that were still kept in commission in the Thames. Meanwhile the Dutch were resolved on a serious effort. Towards the end of May a squadron under the command of Van Ghent was despatched to the coast of Scotland. Its object was probably partly to protect Dutch commerce against Smith's squadron, and partly to distract the attention of Charles's Government in a more effectual fashion than his own. Van Ghent entered the Firth of Forth, and, although he was beaten off in an attack on Burntisland, and was unable to land at Leith, he did great injury to trade, and he certainly gave a remarkable demonstration of the feebleness of the Government. From the Firth of Forth Van Ghent sailed south to join De Ruyter.

On the 1st of June the main Dutch fleet started on the cruise designed to revenge Holland for the plunder of Terschelling in the previous year. A storm scattered it on the 4th, but the ships were rapidly got together again, and, on the 7th of June, Michael de Ruyter's fleet, now seventy sail strong, was sighted off the North Foreland. The officers commanding the forts on the coast, and the county magistrates, hurried the news up to London; and then at last, when it was too late, when De Ruyter was anchored at the Gunfleet, and an advance squadron had come up the river as far as Gravesend, the Court woke up to the facts of the case. If the honour of England had not been concerned, the ensuing scene would have been comic in the highest degree. For once, and for a moment, the Court was reduced to sobriety. The courtiers slunk away by back doors, and the terrors of the Navy Office were dismal. Pepys, we know, made his mind up that something dreadful was going to happen, and that, if he and his colleagues were not thrown out as a sacrifice to appease the mob, they might still be massacred in an explosion of popular fury. He has described how he took his old father and his wife into his wife's bedroom, and, having locked the door, informed them of the perils accumulating on all hands. In the hopes of saving something from impending ruin, the careful Pepys sent his father and wife off to the country, with all his available ready money. If others of that generation had been as much in the habit of making plenary confessions to their diaries as was the Clerk of the Acts, we should probably know that many such scenes were transacted during those days in the neighbourhood of Whitehall.

The surprise of the nation, and its ignorance, made the danger seem greater than it really was. Along with the well-founded report of De Ruyter's appearance off the North Foreland, came stories of a French army ready to be embarked for the invasion of England. This danger was imaginary, because the King of England had entered on that course of secret intrigue which ended by making him the vassal of his cousin. The actual peril was rather that we should be insulted and injured than invaded. It was fortunate that this was the case, for the Government was utterly unprepared to deal even with the lesser peril in front of it. It was not until the 10th of June, when De Ruyter's plans were matured and his attacking force was ready, that what deserved to be called measures of defence were taken. The London train bands were called out, and the militia of the counties immediately threatened were ordered to march down to the coast. The Court had, as usual, recourse to the one man who was to be trusted in a crisis. Monk was ordered down to Chatham. The militia and train bands must have in any case arrived too late, and Monk only reached Chatham in order to be the helpless eye-witness of a national disgrace.

He reached Rochester on the 11th. His long military experience and his natural sagacity must have shown him at once that the case was hopeless. A few soldiers of a Scotch regiment scattered between Sheppey, Sheerness, and Chatham represented the sum-total of his effective military resources. The officers seemed to have known something of their business, and Pepys praises them for being men of few words, and also, a very characteristic trait of the time, for being content to ride about their duties on horseback, whereas Lord Brouncker, one of the Navy Commissioners, would move only in a coach and six. But the Scotch regiment was not numerous enough to prevent a landing, and there was nothing else. The fireships were unmanned. The workmen of the dockyards refused to render the slightest help. Of eleven hundred who ought to have been present, only three were forthcoming when Monk called upon them. In fact, neither in Chatham nor in London itself could any man be found to do work except for money down. The sailors openly rejoiced in the embarrassments of the Government which had cheated them of their pay, and had fed them on stinking food. Their wives collected round the Navy Office with their husbands' unpaid tickets, and taunted Mr. Pepys and his colleagues. It was universally believed that the Dutch fleet was full of Englishmen, and, though there was no doubt some exaggeration in this, it has a foundation in fact. In the second year of the war Parliament had found it necessary to pass a special Act against Englishmen serving in the States of Holland. It is a fact that English prisoners of war, who might have been released, preferred to take service with the States. They said that the punctual pay of the Dutch was better than the broken promises of the King of England. Pepys has reported a story that when the Royal Charles was taken possession of by the enemy, a number of the men who boarded her were found to be English, who declared, in a rude popular copy of the cynical tone of the Court, that they were coming to present their pay tickets for payment.

On the 9th of June De Ruyter had sent a squadron up the Thames as far as Gravesend. The merchant ships in the river fled up before it, and there was nothing in the shape of an armed force to prevent Van Ghent from coming on to London Bridge. But the wind fell, and on the turn of the tide the Dutch officer was stopped. Calculating that, as the advantage of surprise had been lost, London would prove too strong to be attacked, De Ruyter recalled his subordinate, and decided to be satisfied with the taking of Chatham. On the 10th of June he entered the Medway, after battering down the half-finished fort at Sheerness with the utmost ease. The command of the fort and of the fireships had been given to a naval officer, Sir Edward Spragge, who made all the fight that was possible in the circumstances. The sailors and a detachment of the Scotch regiment under his orders stood their ground in the fort till the Dutch cannon had battered it about their ears, and fell back when the enemy landed to storm. A great magazine of naval stores, and fifteen guns, fell into the hands of the enemy. It must be recorded, to the honour of the Dutch, that, although they had received provocation which might have been held to justify reprisals in the burning of Terschelling, they did no injury whatever to private property, but contented themselves with carrying off the stores belonging to the Crown, which were fair prizes of war. During the 11th they were engaged in working up the Medway. In the meantime Monk had been desperately endeavouring to arrange a defence. A great iron chain working on pulleys on either side of the stream had been prepared in Gillingham Reach, for the purpose of stopping such an attack as the Dutch were now about to make. The fact that the chain had been provided is one of many proofs that the Government was not taken by surprise by the Dutch invasion, but was only utterly mistaken in its estimate of effective measures. The chain was drawn across the river not without difficulty, and five or six vessels were anchored behind it in order to support it by their fire. There were also two trifling batteries, one at either end. In the dockyard there was nothing but panic and confusion, the unpaid men refusing to serve, and the higher officials running away with their private property. They, with Mr. Commissioner Pett at their head, took all the available boats, and thereby deprived Monk of his best means of removing the men-of-war lying at their moorings in the dockyard farther up the river. When Pett was afterwards called to account for his conduct on this occasion, he caused some laughter by saying that he considered it his duty to save his models, and was sure that the Dutch would rather have them than any of the king's ships. If the enemy had been aware of the little value of the means of resistance collected against them, they would probably have shown less hesitation in attacking than they did. The command on the spot was left to Van Ghent. De Ruyter and the delegate, Cornelius de Witt, remained outside with the bulk of the fleet. Van Ghent gave the command of the ships appointed to break the chain to Captain Brackel. Our ancestors consoled their national vanity by inventing a story that the enterprise was considered so dangerous that it was not undertaken until this officer, who was in disgrace at the time, volunteered on it as on a forlorn hope, in order to re-establish himself in favour. In point of fact, the difficulties in the way of the Dutch were wholly caused by the intricate navigation of the river, not by any strength of armed opposition. On the 12th of June, Brackel, having with him some frigates and several fireships, came on with the flood-tide, and steered straight at the chain. The first fireship hung on the obstruction, the weight of a second snapped the chain, and then the Dutch poured through. The English ships nearest this barrier were immediately set on fire. Three of them, the Unity, the Amity, and the Mathias, or, as it is called in the Dutch account, the Honingen Castle, were prizes taken by us in the war. They were vessels of some size, and with them were some lighter craft which shared their fate.

While Brackel was burning the ships at the chain, Monk was doing all that lay in his power to save the vessels lying farther up the river. The panic of Mr. Commissioner Pett and his brother officers, aided as it was by the mutinous discontent of the men, made it impossible for the Lord General to move the greater ships farther up the river. One of these was the Royal Charles. She had carried the Duke of York's flag in the battle of Lowestoft, and Monk himself had been in her in the Four Days' Battle. This vessel now fell into the hands of the Dutch. She had only thirty of her guns mounted, and could only have been saved by flight, and, as there were no means of towing her farther up the Medway, flight was impossible. She was run aground, and then her crew escaped to the shore. The Dutch sent out boats which took possession of the deserted vessel, and she was dragged off. Monk sank the Royal James, the Royal Oak, and the Loyal London.

When the tide turned, the Dutch fell back and anchored. There were hopes that the interval might be utilised for the purpose of blocking the river. In the account which he afterwards gave to the House of Commons of the miscarriage of the war, Monk pleaded that he had sunk three vessels in what he was told was the only passage by which the Dutch could come farther up, but that he was misinformed, and that they actually made their way up by another. It is very unsafe to rely on the evidence of men who were probably in confusion at the time, and who afterwards had strong motives for disguising the truth. Monk indeed was by nature courageous and phlegmatic, and not the man to lose his head, but he probably had no great scruple in excusing himself by throwing the blame on others. Wherever the responsibility for the failure may rest, it is certain that on the following day the Dutch returned with the tide and passed up to Upnor Castle, which it had been hoped would stop them by its fire, without the slightest difficulty and with very little loss. They found the upper works of the Royal James, Royal Oak, and Loyal London standing out of the water, and immediately set them on fire. Then, when the tide again turned, they once more fell down the river, their trumpeters playing the air called "Joan's placket is torn," which it was at that time a custom of the sea to play, for the purpose of glorifying over a beaten enemy.

The loss of seven large ships burnt or captured, of an uncertain number of smaller craft destroyed or taken, and of the stores in the magazines at Sheerness, was far from representing the whole extent of the injury inflicted by the Dutch. For six weeks after they retired from Chatham they remained completely masters of the mouth of the Thames and of the southern and eastern coasts of England. The enemies of the house of De Witt complained that more had not been done. It was alleged that but for the want of spirit of the delegate, Cornelius de Witt, the dockyard at Chatham might have been completely destroyed, and London itself attacked. But it does not appear that the fleet carried any considerable body of troops, and, as the militia were rapidly collecting on the English coast, it would have been rash to land small parties. The Dutch naval officers, too, must have been aware that a certain risk was run by remaining among the shallows of the Thames. Two or three of their vessels were stranded and lost. Ample damage could be done to England, and ample humiliation inflicted on her pride, without running hazards for which there was no adequate object. De Ruyter withdrew his advance squadron to the Gunfleet and established a blockade of the river. The terror of his presence continued to work in London for some time. Even after he had withdrawn from the Medway, vessels were sunk in the upper reaches of the Thames to obstruct the navigation, in case he should return. The king and the Duke of York were themselves seen below the bridges directing these operations; and so great was the flurry of the navy officers that they actually sank a transport laden with naval stores to the value of several thousand pounds belonging to our own fleet. De Ruyter did not return; and it was fortunate he did not, for there was neither sense nor unity of will at headquarters, and in the subordinate ranks there was only discontent, and a bitter, jeering gratification over the enemy's success. Pepys, whose invaluable evidence meets us at every turn, tells us that even at this moment the king's officers were thinking every man of himself. Nobody would take the trouble to do more than he was compelled to do. The Ordnance Department, for instance, when called upon to supply powder to the fireships, would only send the materials for making it—though, to be sure, we cannot, with our still fresh recollection of the Crimean War and the feats of the Government departments at that time, attribute this necessarily to corruption or discontent. It was perhaps only what is practically nearly as mischievous as either of them—and that is red-tape.