“It seems as though France is never to have a navy,” said King Louis morosely, while sitting at supper with the Pompadour on the night that the Quiberon dispatches reached Versailles.
A British officer who went on board the Formidable on the morning after the battle, wrote down a description of the scene that met his eyes there. “A lieutenant and 80 men,” he says, “being ordered from our ship on board the Formidable to assist in repairing her rigging, etc., I embraced the opportunity of seeing the havoc that had been made by the fire of so many large ships who had battered her. The destruction of her upper works was dreadful, and her starboard side was pierced like a cullender by the number of shots she received in the course of the action. The loss of men was prodigious in killed and wounded, amounting to more than 500; among the former the Admiral, M. St. André de Verger and his brother, the first captain, all the other officers either killed or wounded, except a lieutenant-colonel, who assured me that every man of his detachment, drawn up on the quarter-deck and forecastle, etc., had been either killed or wounded but himself; that he had served in the army for thirty years, had been present at the bloody field of Fontenoy, but had never before witnessed such a scene of carnage. The grand-chamber was filled with wounded officers, many of whom had suffered amputation.... Monsieur major invited me below to certify the number of his patients, and there a melancholy scene presented itself. The large gun-room and every space between the guns on the lower deck was crammed with wounded soldiers and sailors, besides three rows of cradles in the hold, containing 60 seamen, and many not yet dressed.... I am afraid that few of the wounded could recover, considering their very miserable situation and circumstances.”
As soon as the weather would allow her to start the Formidable was sent off to England under escort. She arrived at Plymouth “almost in a sinking state, from the shot-holes she had received, and only kept afloat with great difficulty.” She rolled away her jury masts, we are told, and the cook’s coppers were washed out of the ship. The prize crew, the officers and men from the wrecked Essex, and the prisoners, had to live for four days on the boatswain’s tallow.
The Formidable was taken into the British Navy, and the name was registered on the roll of King George’s fleet in its original form; but the ship had suffered too severe a mauling to be fit for sea service again. Some ten years after her capture Hawke, as First Lord of the Admiralty, signed the death warrant of his old prize—the order that delivered his old Quiberon trophy over to the shipbreaker.
One final word. The Formidable’s magnificent defence was the redeeming event for the other side of the “Journée de M. Conflans,” as the French Navy, pillorying the memory of its unfortunate Admiral, has ever since called the battle. So, too, France has recognized it. A new Formidable was laid down in France at the first fitting opportunity, so named in honour of the Comte de Verger’s gallant man-of-war. The French battleship Formidable of to-day—not so long since, with her armour plates of 44 tons weight each and 75-ton guns, the pride of her fleet, and still, as reconstructed, a ship capable of striking a hard blow for the honour of her flag—commemorates the heroism of de Verger and his gallant men for the twentieth-century French Navy.
VI
WHEN THE VICTORY FIRST JOINED THE FLEET
Thou great vessel, whose tremendous claim
So well is proved to Victory’s famous name!
In stately guise, all smart and trim, rides the Victory to-day at the flagship’s moorings in Portsmouth Harbour, flying at her masthead the red St. George’s Cross flag of the Admiral holding the chief command at the principal naval port of the British Empire. To see her now, spick and span and as smart as paint can make her, she looks at the first glance barely a day older than the latest launched of the old style wooden men-of-war that are yet left among us doing harbour duty in various capacities. The old St. Vincent, which passed away only the other day, a worn-out veteran, was launched ten years after the Victory had fired her last shotted gun. The still existing Asia, at Portsmouth, was launched thirteen years after the Victory had finally retired from the sea. The Victory as a fact had been some years afloat and had fought her first battle long before the great-great-grandfathers of most of us were old enough to trundle a hoop or spin a top. She forms in herself, indeed, a direct and actual link between our own day and the times of George the Second.