On the capture of the Foudroyant, of 84 guns, by the Monmouth, of 64, Anno 1758.
As Louis sat in regal state,
The monarch, insolently great,
Accosts his crouching slaves,
'Yon stubborn isle at last must bend,
For now my Foudroyant I send,
The terror of the waves.
'When once he bursts in dreadful roar,
And vomits death from shore to shore,
My glory to maintain;
Repenting Britons then will see
Their folly to dispute with me
The empire of the main.'
He spake, th' obedient sails were spread,
And Neptune reared his awful head,
To view the glorious sight;
The Tritons and the Nereids came,
And floated round the high-built frame,
With wonder and delight.
Then Neptune thus the Gods address'd:
'The sight is noble, 'tis confess'd,
The structure we admire;
But yet this monst'rous pile shall meet
With one small ship from Britain's fleet,
And strike to Britons' fire.'
As from his lips the sentence flew,
Behold his fav'rite sails in view,
And signal made to chase;
Swift as Camilla o'er the plain,
The Monmouth skimm'd along the main,
Unrivall'd in the race.
Close to her mighty foe she came,
Resolv'd to sink or gain a name
Which Envy might admire;
Devouring guns tumultous sound,
Destructive slaughter flam'd around,
And seas appear'd on fire.
When lo! th' heroic Gardiner fell,
Whose worth the Muse attempts to tell,
But finds her efforts vain;
Some other bard must sing his praise,
And bold as fancy's thoughts must raise
The sadly mournful strain.
Carkett, who well his place supply'd,
The mangling bolts of death defy'd,
Which furious round him rag'd;
While Hammick[9] points his guns with care,
Nor sends one faithless shot in air,
But skilfully engag'd.
Baron and Winzar's[10] conduct show'd
Their hearts with untam'd courage glow'd,
And manly rage display'd;
Whilst every seaman firmly stood,
'Midst heaps of limbs and streams of blood
Undaunted, undismay'd.
Austin[11] and Campbell next the Muse
Thro' fiery deluges pursues,
Serenely calm and great;
With their's the youthful Preston's[12] name
Must shine, enrolled in list of fame,
Above the reach of fate.
Hark! how Destruction's tempests blow,
And drive to deep despair the foe,
Who trembling fly asunder;
The Foudroyant her horror ceas'd,
And whilst the Monmouth's fire increas'd,
Lost all her pow'r to thunder.
Now, haughty Louis, cease to boast,
The mighty Foudroyant is lost,
And must be thine no more;
No gasconade will now avail,
Behold he trims the new-dress'd sail,
To deck Britannia's shore.
If e'er again his voice be heard,
With British thunder-bolts prepar'd,
And on thy coast appears;
His dreadful tongue such sounds will send,
As all the neighb'ring rocks shall rend,
And shake all France with fears.
What is more interesting is that one of the Foudroyant's officers, while a prisoner of war on board and on the way to England, wrote a set of verses in honour of the captain of the Monmouth. They appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine for July 1758 in this form:—
Chatham, July 23.
Mr. Urban—By inserting the following Elegy, which was written by a French officer, taken prisoner on board the Foudroyant, you will oblige many of your readers, and particularly your humble servant,
P. Cochet.
ÉLÉGIE SUR LA MORT DU CAPT. GARDINER
Ce héros respectable a fini ses beaux jours,
Il a trop peu vécu, ce sage capitaine,
Le Monmouth pleure encore l'objet de son amour
Et moi la cause de ma gêne.
Aux combats il étoit un terrible ennemi,
Son exemple animoit le c[oe]ur le plus timide,
Au milieu des hazards le foible est affermi,
Ayant un tel chef pour son guide.
O Monmouth! quelle nuit, lorsque le Foudroyant,
Par ses bouches d'arain menaçoit votre ruine,
Vous tenez contre lui, vous êtes triomphant,
La victoire pour vous s'incline,
Conduit par ce héros, vos canons vomissoient
La foudre à gros bouillons, et la mort tout ensemble,
Il inspiroit sa force à ceux qui combattoient,
Ha! l'ennemi le sent et tremble.
O! quel funeste coup, ce héros n'est donc plus?
Le brave Gardiner tombe et finit sa vie,
Mais il vit dans nos c[oe]urs, il vit par ses vertus,
Est-ce le ciel qui nous l'envie?
Quelle aimable douceur envers ses prisonniers,
Sa tendresse pour eux égaloit son courage,
Il ne ressembloit point aux inhumains guerriers,
Qui ne respirent que carnage.
Whatever may be the quality or literary merit of these verses, there could, surely, be no higher tribute to the memory of a British officer, the tribute of an enemy in the bitter hour of defeat; and the incident in all its circumstances is unique. With it we may close the story.
The 'little black ship' Monmouth (Captain Fanshawe's ship), to which the officers of the French flagship Languedoc drank at dinner on the night of the 6th of July 1779, was the next successor to Gardiner's Monmouth, and it was this Monmouth on board which, in the East Indies, Captain Alms, on the 12th of April 1782 (actually the same day on which Rodney was fighting his battle in the West Indies) made so heroic a stand. The Camperdown Monmouth came next, and after her a Monmouth that was never commissioned at all. Finally we come to our modern Monmouth cruiser of the present hour.
The quondam French Foudroyant, as a man-of-war of the Royal Navy, fought for England and did well. Her successor of the same name in the navy had strangely varied fortunes. She began her life as one of Nelson's flagships; and when she was worn out was sold to a German shipbreaker, by whom she was re-sold at an immense profit to Mr. G. Wheatly Cobb, of Caldicot Castle, Chepstow, in Monmouthshire curiously, who interested himself in the fate of the Foudroyant, and 'for Nelson's sake,' as he himself put it, spent £25,000 out of his own pocket in re-purchasing her and re-building and fitting her out to make the old veteran of the sea look, as far as possible, as she appeared in Nelson's time. A cruel fate, however, cut short the nobly conceived project. Our second Foudroyant ended her days off Blackpool, of all places in the world, where, in the summer of 1897, in the hundredth year of her existence, she was wrecked in a gale.