On 29th September we discovered that the ships at Chiozza, near Venice, under Commodore Dubourdieu, had sailed; and Captain Hoste, in the Amphion, accompanied by the Active, Captain J. A. Gordon, immediately pushed for Ancona. Here we found the enemy, consisting of three large frigates, two corvettes, two brigs, one schooner, and a gunboat. Some of them were under sail outside the port, whilst others within appeared to be getting under weigh. We concluded they would immediately give us chase, but in the evening, to our great vexation, they all returned into port. Our calculation was, that they would push for Corfu, get reinforced by any ships that might be off or at that island, and then proceed in all probability for Sicily.
The Cerberus and Acorn joined our little squadron; and on our again reconnoitring Ancona on 17th October, we found that all our birds had escaped. Instantly every stitch of canvas that could be of use was spread, and our course was for Corfu, with the intention of looking into Lissa, en passant. Our hope was, by superior sailing, to arrive first at Corfu, and prevent their entering without risking a battle.
We fell in with a Sicilian privateer, that informed us she had just been chased by the enemy, who were steering for Corfu. Our calculations were thus verified; every sail was crowded, and our hearts rebounded with the expectation that the dawn would present to us the enemy in the offing. The morning came, however, and in vain did our eyes traverse in all directions within the verge of the horizon. Not a foe was to be seen, and the glowing hopes of a battle vanished. We stood for Brindisi, across to Cattaro, on the Albanian coast, and ran down the whole Adriatic; but all was disappointment. Finally we bore up for the island of Lissa, where, on our arrival, we found, to our infinite mortification, that the enemy had been before us, and had departed. In fact, the treacherous Sicilian had deceived us; and on the very day on which this ally had given us the false information, the French commodore, having learned from a fisherman that the English squadron was on a cruise, ran across to Port St. George; landed troops; committed great havoc and devastation; destroyed our prizes; took away three neutral ships that we had detained; and hurried back to Ancona. This was a bitter drug of disappointment; and none felt it more severely than our gallant captain. I dined with him that day, and saw the big drop trickle down his manly cheek. Never was there a more gloomy, melancholy dinner-party, or dinner-table, than this.
All sail was set, and we were following in the direction which the enemy had taken, or were said to have taken. At midnight of the ensuing day we had hazy weather with light winds and a heavy swell. In sweeping the horizon with an excellent night-glass, I imagined that some dark objects had obstructed my view on its edge. I had repeatedly ascertained this, and my observation was confirmed by the young gentleman of my watch, ere I took the resolution of acquainting my most gallant chief with the fact. I shall never forget the ecstasy with which he sprang from his cot, exclaiming emphatically, “We have them at last, thank God!—Thank you, O’Brien,” said this brave enthusiast in his country’s cause—“thank you for this good look-out; let the officers be called and all get quietly to their quarters; back your mizen top-sail, that Gordon (of the Active, the next ship in line) may get near enough to communicate without noise, and I shall be on deck in a moment.”
All these judicious orders were as rapidly executed as they had been given, and Captain Gordon received our joyful intelligence, and as duly conveyed it to the next in succession in the line. Every heart was full of unrestrainable joy at the approaching conflict; and proud was I at having been the officer who had discovered the enemy. Daylight came, and what was my mortification, what were the chagrin and disappointment of us all, when the enemy’s fleet turned out to be not exactly “des châteaux d’Espagne,” but a reality, though nothing more than paltry fishermen! We reached Ancona and found the fugitives safe in the harbour. The Moniteur, in noticing this wild-goose chase, had the impudence to state “that the English squadron, though superior to the French in force and numbers, had most sedulously avoided measuring strength with it.”[38]
The Cerberus left us for Malta to refit, but we were joined by the Volage, of twenty-two guns, and the Alacrity brig, of eighteen. Daily did we capture coasting vessels and insult the enemy’s coasts. The Volage, on the night of 27th November, in hazy weather, owing to a sudden shift of wind, ran foul of the Amphion; and both ships were obliged to leave the squadron. In Malta, whilst under repairs, I had the satisfaction of seeing my brave friends, Lieutenants Jones and Slaughter, advanced to the rank of commander in reward of their gallant services. My now becoming first lieutenant of the Amphion, my commander and they were pleased to call my birthright; but Lord Collingwood was dead, and Sir Charles Cotton the new commander-in-chief, a stranger to me, without consulting with Captain Hoste, placed my friend Lieutenant Dunn over my head, who was only eight months my senior.
On 26th February, 1811, both ships being ready for sea, we sailed for the Adriatic, and on 12th March arrived on our old cruising ground off the island of Lissa, where we found the Active and Cerberus—the Acorn sloop being on detached service. Our squadron consequently consisted of four ships, and all were now most anxious to reconnoitre the Ancona heroes, who had, with such consummate effrontery, stated that the Adriatic had been by them scoured of British intruders.
Their politeness, it would appear, anticipated our wishes, and surpassed our expectation, by inducing them to make the amende honorable for former conduct in paying us a visit before dawn of the next morning, Wednesday, 13th March, a day for ever memorable, at least with me, and all who shared its glories, and, I might add, not to be forgotten in Britain’s naval annals.
The Active being well to windward, on the look-out, Gordon descried a squadron of ships-of-war lying-to; he instantly made the night-signal for an enemy, and bore up to join us. At daylight our joy was indescribable—they were not much more than a mile off Port St. George. The force of our long-sought enemy, whom we immediately recognised, was ascertained to be, six ships, a brig, a schooner, xebec, and two gunboats; certainly a very superior number—the disparity, to all appearance, overwhelming; but, strange to say, there was not a soul in the Amphion, from the chief down, who did not anticipate a complete victory; and I have been informed since that the same feeling prevailed throughout the other ships.
All sail was made close-hauled, tacking occasionally to meet this Franco-Venetian squadron, under the same chief, Dubourdieu, who, at about six o’clock, was bearing down in two divisions to attack us. He, leading the starboard or weather-one, in the Favorite, a large frigate, followed by the Flore, Bellona, and Mercurio brig; the lee division was led by the Danaë, followed by the Corona, Carolina, and small craft.[39]