The French officers, in the first instance, deposed quite ingenuously, before the consular authorities, upon their oath, that their ship was captured two or three leagues—six or eight miles—off the coast; that they did not see any fort, nor hear any guns fired; in fact, they accepted the position that they were fairly made prisoners, and their vessel, with all her rich cargo, was now English property. The depositions of the English and French officers were sent to the Admiralty Court at Gibraltar, and the ship was condemned as "good prize" without hesitation.
Meanwhile, the Spanish naval authorities had politely given permission for the English privateer to be taken over to the Government yard for refitting, and all her movable gear, of every description, was landed and placed in the warehouse, in order that the ship might be "careened," or "hove down," to examine and clean her bottom.
On February 19th came the first attack from the Spaniards. The Governor of Cadiz sent for the English Consul, Mr. Goldsworthy, and told him that he was obliged to send troops on board the prize, having received orders to detain her. In spite of the Consul's vigorous protest, the threat was confirmed with every warlike accompaniment—guns manned in the fort, artillerymen standing by with lighted matches, and so on. Both vessels were seized, but before dark the Governor, having apparently some misgivings as to the legality of the business, ordered the troops to be withdrawn, "after having broken open several chests, and carried away everything they could find of the officers and crew, and the very beef that was dressing for dinner."
On February 26th the Governor informed the Consul that he had orders to deliver the prize to the French Consul. Captain Foster offered to place the ship in the Governor's hands until the case should be decided, which was a very proper and businesslike proposal; but it was refused, and the captain declaring that the English colours flying on the prize should never come down with his consent, matters came to a climax, and, in spite of the unwillingness of the Spanish Admiral, who probably realised the injustice of the proceedings, the Governor insisted that two men-of-war should be sent to enforce his orders; a 60-gun ship and a 36-gun frigate took up their positions quite close to the prize, and upon Foster refusing to lower his colours, they opened fire, killing six men and wounding two. The flag halyards were shot away almost immediately; but, in spite of the colours coming down, they would not desist. The prize made no attempt at resistance, and on the following day—March 3rd—the captain and crew were imprisoned.
On the 5th came an order from Madrid to stop all proceedings against the prize and consult with the English captain alone; to allow the prize to remain in our possession, but not to leave the port until further orders.
The Spanish Governor, however, having evidently some very amenable perjurers up his sleeve, disregarded the injunction, refusing to return the ship to the English Consul; and on the following day there arrived from Gibraltar the formal decision of the Admiralty Court, condemning the Duc de Penthièvre as "good prize," on the evidence of the French officers, delivered two days before she was forcibly seized.
However, the French Ambassador at Madrid, inspired and instructed by the Consul at Cadiz, was very urgent in the matter, and the Spaniards succeeded in finding some unscrupulous persons who swore that the action took place within gunshot, while other independent witnesses were very certain that it did not; and the King of Spain, being somewhat uneasy in his mind, intimated to our Ambassador at Madrid that the prize was only to be detained until strict inquiry could be made into the merits of the case.
This appears to have been hailed, by the Antigallican Society, as equivalent to victory; the narrator of the story expresses his great joy over the restitution of the prize, and gives a copy of a letter from his Society to Pitt, whose good offices with the Spanish Government had been enlisted, thanking him enthusiastically for his successful intervention.
They were counting their chickens before they were hatched; the Spanish half-concession was merely an elaboration of their favourite word, mañana—and this "to-morrow," upon which the English were to have the ship which they had fairly captured, never dawned! There was an immense amount of correspondence on the subject, but in 1758, two years later, the matter was not settled—or rather, it was settled against the English; and they never got their £300,000, or their ship. It appears almost incredible, but this appears to be the truth about the Antigallican and her rich prize. We have no more reports of any privateering business by the Antigallican Society; so we must conclude that the members had had enough of such ventures.
The following is a translation of the deposition of the first lieutenant of the Duc de Penthièvre, made before the British Consul at Cadiz: