When Bankert broke through the French fleet, he found Rupert and De Ruyter to the northward and a little to the leeward of him. The English admiral had not waited quietly for the enemy to bear down upon him. He sheered off a little towards the sea, for the purpose of drawing the Dutch out. The intention was to entice them to such a distance from their own coasts, that they might not be able to run back speedily and take refuge among the shallows. It was a somewhat poor-spirited device, since the most effectual way of preventing the Dutch from returning to their sandbanks would have been to get between them and the land. Rupert's ships were the more weatherly, and, if he had kept his wind and had pressed harder on the Dutch, it is possible that he might have worked through them as Monk had done in the last of the Four Days' Battle. In any case, severely crippled Dutch vessels must have drifted down on his line, and if he had remained steady he might have taken them, whereas by edging away he made them a present of a margin of safety. Moreover, he laid himself open to a peril which he may be excused for not having foreseen. When Bankert had run through the French and found the two central divisions to leeward of him, it was in his power to join De Ruyter by simply putting himself before the wind and coming down. This he did, and his arrival enabled the whole of the Dutch centre and van to concentrate on the Red Squadron. This misfortune might have been averted by the French. The wind which carried Bankert to leeward would equally have carried them. But the French did nothing, and, in fact, took no further part in the action. They remained idle until late in the evening, when the battle was over and the victory had fallen to De Ruyter. As the Dutch admiral pressed closely on Rupert, he had broken through the Red Squadron towards the rear. When Bankert's squadron joined him, he was able to concentrate thirty of his ships upon twenty of ours. If the gunnery of the seventeenth century had not been very wild, these vessels must infallibly have been destroyed. If the Dutch fleet under the command of Admiral de Winter in 1797 had been able to bring a force proportionately superior to bear on the ships of Duncan, he would most certainly have ruined them. But in the earlier century the fire of ships' guns was still very ineffective, and therefore Rupert escaped destruction, though he did not escape defeat. The English squadron was compelled to fall away to leeward, and to look about for the help of the Blue Squadron in the rear.
While the French were demonstrating their entire worthlessness as allies, and while Rupert was being overpowered, the Blue Squadron and its immediate opponent, the Dutch division of Tromp, were carrying on a desperate battle by themselves. The story reads like a passage out of a mediæval chronicle. It has been pointed out already that Sir Edward Spragge had been pitted against Tromp in the two previous battles of the war. A species of personal rivalry had grown up between them. While the fleet was refitting in the Thames, Spragge had visited the Court, and there, perhaps provoked by some jest, or perhaps merely in ostentation, had promised the king that he would bring Tromp home prisoner from the next battle, or would lose his life in the attempt. Having given the promise, Spragge was the man to endeavour to keep it. When the battle began, he fixed his attention exclusively on his own conflict with Tromp. As the Dutch bore down, he did not continue his course in the wake of the Red Squadron as he should have done, but lay-to to wait for Tromp. Lying-to means that a ship braces some of her sails round so that the wind blows them against the mast, while the others are still kept in such a position that the wind blows behind them. The two kinds of pressure neutralise one another, and the ship, instead of forging ahead, begins to drift slowly to leeward. She does not remain stationary, because the wind is always pushing her sideways against the water, and, although she moves very slowly, yet she will drift some miles in the course of a few hours. The result of Spragge's action was to separate his squadron by a long distance from that of Rupert. The prince continued moving to the south, though with a slant towards the west. Spragge floated slowly away to the west. He did not go alone. Tromp, who was at all times ready enough to separate his squadron from that of his commanding officer, could not resist the temptation offered, and he accepted the challenge thrown out to him by the English admiral. He bore down, and the two squadrons engaged ship to ship. There was no manœuvring, no attempt on either side to gain an advantage by skilful fence. Each side laid on the other with might and main. Spragge and Tromp engaged ship to ship. Spragge's flag was flying in the Royal Prince and Tromp's in the Golden Lion. So well were the two matched that they had soon beaten one another to a standstill. Then Spragge transferred his flag to the St. George and Tromp his to the Comet. Then they renewed their duel. Before long the St. George was as complete a wreck as the Royal Prince. Once more Sir Edward Spragge prepared to shift his flag, but he was destined to fulfil the alternative promise he had made the king. He was not to bring Tromp back a prisoner, but to give his own life in the effort to take him. His boat had hardly gone ten times her length from the side of the St. George when it was struck by a cannon-shot, which took a great piece out of the bottom. The crew made a manful attempt to regain the St. George, baling the boat and rowing hard. But the damage done was too great The boat went down before they could again reach their ship. Sir Edward Spragge was drowned. Of the short list of English admirals who have died in battle, the majority have fallen in action with the Dutch.
The erratic valour of Sir Edward caused no small embarrassment to his chief. When he turned towards the Blue Division, Rupert found it miles to leeward of him and in no position to give him any support. The White Division showed no sign of coming to his assistance, but lay idle to windward, where it was in vain for the prince to endeavour to reach them. He made no attempt to reunite with his untrustworthy allies, but, turning off before the wind, bore down in the direction of the separate battle raging between the squadrons of Tromp and Spragge. De Ruyter accompanied him, and for a time the battle ceased between the two centre divisions. It may be that their powder was becoming exhausted. The two ran down side by side together, each aiming to regain touch with the rear division of his own fleet. This was effected towards evening, and, the fleets being together again, the action was resumed. The superiority of force was now with the Dutch, for the Blue Division had been very severely cut up in the action with Tromp, and De Ruyter, having been joined by Bankert's squadron, had the whole of his ships together, and excelled the English by some ten vessels. The renewed action lasted until about seven o'clock in the evening, when De Ruyter drew off. From the French accounts it appears that they joined Rupert about this time. Whether De Ruyter withdrew because he saw the French coming down, or whether the French plucked up heart of grace on seeing that the Dutch had retired, is uncertain.
This battle ended the war, and it also ended the possibility of a co-operation between the English and French fleets. It was the firm belief of every man in the navy, from Prince Rupert downwards, that our allies had betrayed us. The nation was convinced that the fleet was right, and it came to be taken for granted that the Count d'Estrées had deliberately allowed the English to be overpowered. It was said that he acted on express orders from his king, directing him to keep his squadron out of action and to leave the Dutch and the English to exhaust one another. No evidence that any such orders were given has been produced. If it is improbable that they ever were given, the reason is rather that they would have been thoroughly silly than that they would have been base. King Louis and his ministers were quite intelligent enough to see that if they allowed the Dutch to destroy the English, they would have to deal with them single-handed. There is no need to attribute so much unscrupulous, and withal silly, cunning to the French Government. The inexperience of d'Estrées, and the natural dislike of Englishmen and Frenchmen for one another, at least in that century, account quite sufficiently for the failure of the allies to co-operate with success. The French must have been perfectly well aware that the English king's alliance with their master was odious to his subjects. They knew that the English considered them the supporters of Popery, and they, for their part, looked upon the English as heretics. In this war the English wished success to their enemy and defeat to their friend. A coalition is seldom successful in war, and, when it is conducted under such conditions as these, is inevitably doomed to defeat.
The battle of the Texel was the end of the war in Europe. When the fleets drew off from one another on the evening of a long day's fighting, there was no list of prizes to show on either side. The loss of life in the English fleet was great, for the ships were crowded with the soldiers who were to have been landed on the coast of Holland, and the slaughter had been proportionately severe, but no vessels had been lost. Still, the victory was undoubtedly with De Ruyter. The allies retired, giving up even the pretence of an attempt to land men or maintain a blockade on the Dutch coast. He had, therefore, gained the main object for which he fought; and if that does not constitute victory, it is difficult to attach a definite meaning to the word. The terms on which the allies stood to one another made it certain that they would not act together again, and, if De Ruyter did not know that on the evening of the battle, he must have learned it before very long. The relations of the French and English were patent to all the world. There is a story that a Dutch sailor, whose comrade expressed some surprise at the inactivity of the French, explained it by saying, "Why, you see, they have hired the English to do their fighting for them, and have no business here except to see that their servants do their work." That sailor may not impossibly have been an invention of the Dutch press, which was able and active. But the opinion put into his mouth was not unlike what was being said in England. Englishmen felt that the king had sold himself and them, to do the work of Louis XIV., and the war was intensely unpopular. As was usual with Charles, he yielded immediately that the opposition of his Parliament and people began to be dangerous. The war was first allowed to die down, and then peace was made in the beginning of 1674.
The fighting which took place outside the North Sea was not important in this war. Some colonial posts were taken and retaken between the English and the Dutch in the West Indies. Sir Tobias Bridge, who commanded for us, and Evertszoon, who led for Holland, however, did not come to an engagement. A more interesting passage of warfare took place far to the south in the Atlantic. The island of St. Helena had been early occupied as a watering station and storehouse by the East India Company. It had once before been taken by the Dutch, and retaken by us. The Dutch were then, and for long afterwards, in possession of the Cape of Good Hope, and it was an obvious object of policy with them to secure possession of all those places on the road to Asia which could be used for the purpose of refreshing a fleet. They were always ready to endeavour to correct the oversight by which they had allowed the island to fall into our hands. In 1672, when the news of the outbreak of the war reached the settlement at the Cape, an expedition was at once despatched against St. Helena. It was beaten off in the first attempt to land, but one of the English planters turned traitor. A convenient landing-place was pointed out by this man. The Dutch were able to reach the higher ground, and once there they soon made themselves masters of the East India Company's little fort. The governor, whose name was Beale, took refuge in a ship then at the anchorage, and fled to Brazil. On the coast of Brazil he fell in with a squadron consisting partly of the king's ships, the Assistance and the Levant and the Castle fireship, and partly of two vessels belonging to the East India Company. It was under the command of Sir Richard Munden. At that time, and indeed to the very close of the eighteenth century, the voyage to the East Indies was expected to last six months. Vessels on their way out, or on their way home, always put in to the Portuguese ports in search of fresh vegetables and water. Sir Richard Munden had been despatched to protect the home-coming East India trade from capture by the Dutch "Capers" or privateers, which were sure to lie in wait for them at the approaches to the Channel. He would naturally go down to meet them where they could be expected. The arrival of the fugitives at once showed Munden that he had an even more pressing duty to perform. If St. Helena was not recovered from the Dutch, the home-coming trade would almost certainly sail into their hands and be lost altogether. He was an officer of great spirit, a Tarpaulin seaman of the best stamp, whose tombstone in Bromley Church records, that though he died at the early age of forty, he had "what upon public duty and what upon merchants' accounts, successfully engaged in fourteen sea fights." Munden prepared to retake the island. Among the fugitives who had reached Brazil with Governor Beale was a negro named Black Oliver. Black Oliver was known to possess an exact knowledge of the landing-places and interior of the island. He had been sold by his master to a Portuguese, but Munden redeemed him and took him as guide. The English squadron reached the island of St. Helena on the afternoon of the 14th of May 1673. It was not observed by the Dutch. By the advice of Black Oliver, it was decided to land at a spot, afterwards named Prosperous Bay to record the success of the enterprise. The command of the landing-party was given to Richard Keigwen, a Cornishman, who was first lieutenant of the Assistance, and who afterwards had a curious and varied career in the service of the East India Company. The plan was to climb up the cliffs surrounding the bay, and then go on to the high ground on the side of James's Valley, where they would be in a position to dominate the settlement at the only convenient anchorage in the island. It was no easy work to get up the cliffs. There was no path, and, in order to effect the ascent, it was necessary to send one of the party on in advance, who climbed up the precipice with a ball of twine in his pocket. As the climber made his way up, his comrades below called out to him, "Hold fast, Tom!" and the name has remained attached to the cliff. Tom made his way to the top, and then, by use of the twine, hauled up a rope. The rest of the party now scrambled up after him. If the Dutch had been on the alert, the enterprise would have been physically impossible, but they were quite unaware that the English were in the island. The party marched past Longwood, destined in after times to be the prison of Napoleon, and then seized the summit of Rupert's Hill on the east side of James's Valley. At the same time, Richard Munden brought his ships round to the anchorage, and the Dutch, attacked both by sea and land, were compelled to surrender.
The success of the English did not end here. News of the taking of St. Helena in the previous year had been forwarded to Holland. A ship was sent out bringing a Dutch governor. She sailed into the anchorage, where Munden lay with the Dutch flag flying, and was taken. By use of the same stratagem he all but made a further capture of much greater value. A home-coming squadron of six Dutch East Indiamen came to the island, under the impression that it was in the possession of their countrymen. Two of them laden with rich cargoes fell into our hands. The other four escaped through the over-haste of the English ships, which gave them the alarm. Still, the success of Munden was fairly complete. He returned to England, having achieved a most useful piece of service, and having fairly earned his knighthood. Keigwen was left behind as governor, and it is satisfactory to be able to add that Black Oliver was handsomely rewarded for his services by his freedom and the gift of a little piece of land.
The third war with the Dutch ended in deserved failure, and was followed by a period of decadence. Yet the years between 1660 and 1673 were, on the whole, a time of growth. The long and generally successful series of operations against the Barbary pirates, the victorious campaign of Harman in the West Indies, the timely intervention of Munden so far south in the Atlantic as St. Helena, the presence of the king's ships at Bombay, were proofs that the Royal Navy was already growing to its full stature. It was putting out its arm round the world, not indeed to take hold as yet, but to feel its way and measure. The advance in organisation was real. Though the captain was still only captain while in commission, and the Admiral of the Red, White, or Blue held rank only while the fleet was collected, the foundation of the corps of officers was laid by the list of 1668. The principle was recognised, and a very slight extension of the practical application was all that was required to form a complete establishment. What had been gained was to be held for good. The decline of the navy at the close of King Charles's reign was due to the personal and temporary vices of his government. When the reins were again in stronger hands the lost ground could be rapidly recovered, and it would be found that the work of the earlier and better years was a permanent possession.