The Grass in Paris streets so long had grown
That farmer Rodney thought it should be mown,
So up his Formidable scythe he took
And cut the Grass of Paris at one stroke—
was one effusion that is among the best. Throughout the country, as the laurel-bedecked stage-coaches passed the news along, there was hardly a village that did not ring its bells and have its bonfire. Half the taverns, we are told, painted out their 'Markis o' Granby' signboards for 'The Admiral Rodney,' and Rodney's is to this day the most common of naval names on inn signboards. There are, as a fact, more 'Lord Rodneys' up and down the country than 'Lord Nelsons.'
Rodney, at Port Royal, accepted the situation with quiet dignity. He said nothing, handed over the command to Admiral Pigot, and shifted out of the Formidable forthwith into the smaller Montagu, then under orders to proceed to England. Twelve days after Pigot's arrival, Rodney sailed. There is no need to carry the story further. How Rodney was rewarded by the country, and how he passed his closing years, are matters of general history.
One of the Formidable's men on Rodney's day was a smart young seaman named Stephens. He lived to be 'Mr.' Stephens, the boatswain of the famous Shannon when she met the Chesapeake, on which occasion, too, he lost an arm. He found a place in Captain Broke's despatch, and had the further distinction of being asked by the officers to sit for a statuette of himself to be made, which became one of the special treasures of the last of the Shannon's officers, the late Admiral of the Fleet, Sir Provo Wallis. The last surviving officer of Rodney's flagship was Sir Charles Dashwood, who died in 1847, Vice-Admiral of the White, and K.C.B. The last survivor of all, both of the Formidable's company in 1782, and of all who fought in the battle itself, was a seaman of the Formidable, George Neale, who died at Coventry in 1849.
We will close the story with one final word about the Formidable's after career. She outlasted Rodney by nineteen years, and served in the interim throughout the war with the French Revolution and with Napoleon. Had it not been for an accidental delay she would have been Duncan's flagship at Camperdown. The Formidable had been fitted for Admiral Duncan's flag, and sailed from the Downs for the Texel on the very day that the battle was fought. Her end came in 1813, in which year the fine old veteran of the sea was struck off the Navy List as unfit for further service, and handed over to the shipbreaker.
To Dead Man's Bay when her day is past,
To Dead Man's Bay comes the ship at last.
Thus for the present we close the record of this 'blustering adjective' from the point of view of naval history. Enough has been told. 'A nation,' says Guizot, 'is safe in the greatest crisis of its fate if it can remember its own history.' Those who on a future day may serve in our present Formidable before an enemy, will be none the worse for remembering the associations of old-time victory that form part and parcel of their ship's famous name, in virtue of which, that name finds its place to-day on the roll of the Royal Navy for 'one of the best' among the battle-ships of the British Fleet.[59] 'No man,' wrote a young officer of the famous Bellerophon, in his last letter home on the evening before Trafalgar, 'can be a coward on board the Billy Ruff'n.' No man on board the Formidable, who knows the story of his ship, should be found wanting on the day of battle. It will rest as a point of honour with those who then man the Formidable to remember Rodney and prove the Formidable 'worthy of her name.'
FOOTNOTES:
[13] Admirals All, and Other Verses, p. 15.