Rupert, Prince Palatine

by Eva Scott

But notwithstanding the friendly disposition of the natives Rupert could not prolong his stay in the river. The time of the tornadoes—May to July—was drawing near, and preparation was necessary. The Princes therefore broke up their Spanish prize, as unfit for service, bequeathed her guns to the Courlanders, and sailed for the Cape de Verd Islands. By the way some of their ships were missed, and they anchored on the coast to await them. During the delay, the natives stole away one of Maurice's sailors, and Maurice, finding fair words unavailing, sent a force, under Holmes, to recover him. The two boats, in which Holmes and his men were embarked, were overturned in the surf, and lost at their landing, but happily, the liberated negro, Jacus, came to their help with a party of his friends. Then Maurice sent a third boat to bring his men back, but with orders not to land unless Jacus advised it. Holmes and his force were safely re-embarked, when the captain of the boat, mistaking Maurice's orders, declared that they were to take Jacus back with them. On hearing this, Holmes went once more on shore, to speak to Jacus, and, during the delay involved, the hostile negroes began to attack the crew. The sailors shot a negro, and captured one of their canoes, which so incensed the rest that they seized upon Holmes and another man who had accompanied him. The men in Maurice's boat saw themselves outnumbered, and returned in all haste to their ship, with the bad news. Both Princes were "extremely moved," and, swearing that they would rescue their comrades or perish in the attempt, they went ashore to treat with the natives. The negroes declared, through Jacus, that they would release Holmes if their canoe were returned, and the men in her set at liberty. Rupert at once signalled to the Vice-Admiral to free the canoe, but no sooner was it done than Jacus came running down to the shore, with the news that his countrymen intended treachery, and would not release their prisoners. It proved too late to re-take the canoe, but the Prince fired on the natives, who were gathering round him, and signalled all his ships to send men to his aid. The natives fought with much courage; and Rupert himself was wounded by a poisoned arrow, which he instantly cut out with his knife. While he engaged the attention of the hostile negroes, Jacus and his friends contrived to free Holmes and his comrade, and to embark them safely in Maurice's pinnace. This done, the Princes retreated to their fleet; but they did not show themselves ungrateful to Jacus, "whose fidelity," says one of the crew, "may teach us that heathens are not void of moral honesty." On the day following, Rupert sent his thanks, and an offer to take Jacus with him and "to reward him for his faith and pains." But Jacus, wishing the Princes all good luck, declined their offer; he was, he said, not in the least afraid to remain with his own tribe.[[40]]

The missing ships being come up, the Princes continued their voyage towards the Cape Verd Islands, taking a large English prize on the way. Two smaller English vessels were captured by the "Revenge" at Mayo, and Maurice took a Dane, but was promptly ordered to release her, by his brother. Then most of the ships went with Maurice to St. Iago, taking a present of 900 hides out of the spoil, to the Governor; the Admiral and the "Revenge" went on to Sal. The "Revenge," as it happened, was largely manned by the sailors taken in the prizes. These men, being naturally disaffected to the Princes, overpowered their officers in the night, and stole away to England. They reached home in safety, and were able to give a very edifying account of Rupert and his crews to the Parliament: "For their delight is in cursing and swearing, and plundering and sinking, and despoiling all English ships they can lay their talons on." Still the report of the Royalists' condition must have been very encouraging to their enemies. "The 'Swallow' and the 'Honest Seaman' were so leaky that they had to pump day and night, and consequently cannot keep long at sea. They had not above three weeks' bread, and nothing but water, at the time when they took the three ships in the River Gambia," said the escaped prisoners.[[41]] Rupert, on missing the "Revenge," guessed what had happened, but he touched at Mayo to ask if she had been sighted. His presence there so terrified a Spanish crew that they landed all their cargo, which was at once seized by the Portuguese. Rupert then returned to Santiago, where he took in water and provisions, bestowed the hulk of a prize on "the Religious people of the Charity," made "a handsome present to the Governor, in acknowledgment of his civilities," and took a final leave of the Island.[[42]]

The Princes were now fairly on their way to the West Indies; but, near Barbadoes, the Admiral sprang a leak, and had to put into Santa Lucia, in the Caribbees, the men "being almost spent with extreme labour."[[43]] Four days later, the leak being stopped, they proceeded towards St. Martinique, meeting on the way some Dutch men-of-war, with the officers of which they exchanged visits and civilities. The French Governor of St. Martinique proved very hospitable, and, moreover, sent the Princes a timely warning that all the English possessions in the West Indies had surrendered to the Parliament. Having returned grateful thanks for this information, the Royalists proceeded to San Dominique, where the natives brought them fruit, in exchange for glass beads. On the day before Whit Sunday they reached Montserrat, where they seized two small ships, but one, proving to be the property of Royalists, was released. At Nevis they found a large number of English vessels, which, like a flock of frightened animals, "began to shift for themselves," some endeavouring to escape, and others running ashore.[[44]] A brief engagement took place, in which Rupert's secretary was shot down at his side, but no prizes could be taken, because the enemy's vessels were so fast aground that they could not be brought off.

After a brief visit to La Bastare, the Princes went to the Virgin Islands, intending to unload and careen the Admiral, and on the way thither, they added to their numbers by purchasing from a Dutch man-of-war a prize she had taken. They had hoped to find cassava roots in the islands, but these proved scarce, and consequently they suffered greatly from want of food. Rupert was even forced to reduce his men's rations, but, seeing that their Princes shared equally with them in all hardships, the sailors bore the privation with cheerful courage. The scarcity of food caused them to leave the Virgins as soon as the leaky ships were repatched, and, having burnt three small prizes as unseaworthy, they sailed southwards.

Now came the crowning misfortune of the unhappy Prince who had been so long "kept waking with new troubles."[[45]] Not far from Anguilla the fleet was caught in a most terrible hurricane. So strong was the wind that the men could not stand at their work; so thick the weather that no one could see more than a few yards before him. For two days the ships ran before the wind, the Admiral escaping wreckage on the rocks of Angadas by a miracle. On the third day the hurricane abated, and the Admiral found herself alone at the uninhabited island of St. Ann, in the Virgins; the "Honest Seaman" had been cast ashore at Porto Rico, and the Vice-Admiral had totally disappeared. "In this fatal wreck," says Pyne, "besides a great many brave gentlemen and others, the sea, to glut itself, swallowed Prince Maurice, whose fame the mouth of detraction cannot blast; his very enemies bewailing his loss. Many had more power, few more merit. He was snatched from us in obscurity, lest beholding his loss would have prevented others from endeavouring their own safety; so much he lived beloved and died bewailed."[[46]] Rupert's grief was beyond words. He had lost the only member of his family to whom he was bound by close ties of affection, the most faithful and devoted of his followers, his favourite companion, his best-loved friend. From the very first he accepted the situation as hopeless, and he bore his sorrow in grim silence, not suffering it to crush him as his grief for the loss of the "Constant Reformation" had done. There was no Maurice now to fall back upon, and the needs of the ship could not be neglected. Alas, one ship, the "Swallow," was all that remained of the gallant little fleet, and Rupert, finding himself thus alone, resolved to return to France. First he paid a farewell visit to Guadeloupe, where he was kindly received, and supplied with wine. There also he took an English prize, naively likened by the writer of his log to "Manna from Heaven."[[47]] But well might the crew rejoice at the capture, seeing that their rations were now reduced to three ounces per diem. Touching at the Azores, they were surprised to be received with bullets, and not suffered to approach within speaking distance of the land. Rupert therefore sailed straight for Brittany, stopping at Cape Finisterre for fresh provisions. His health was completely broken down, and the food on board both scarce and nasty, and we read: "His Highness had not been very well since he came from the West Indies, and fresh provisions being a rarity, a present of two hens and a few eggs was very acceptable."[[48]]

But the Prince was nearing the end of his hardships, if not of his troubles. Early one morning in the March of 1653, he came into the Loire and anchored at St. Lazar. The next day, in attempting to get higher up the river, he ran his ship aground. The crew were anxious to leave her to her fate, but Rupert had not come through so many difficulties only to succumb to the last, and by his "industry and care" he brought her safely off. Having secured his prizes, he sent the "Swallow" back to the mouth of the river to refit. "Here, however, like a grateful servant, having brought her princely master through so many dangers, she consumed herself, scorning, after being quitted by him, that any inferior person should command her."[[49]]

Thus closed the most singular episode in a much chequered career. The morality of Rupert's proceedings during his three years' wanderings on the high seas has been much debated. In theory he was a loyal Admiral holding his own against a rebel fleet, but in fact, it must be owned, he was little more than a pirate, or at best, a privateer. He was never able to meet the fleet of the Parliament in battle, and could only wage war by crippling the trade of the hostile party. Moreover, though his desire to injure the trade of the enemy was both earnest and sincere, he was still more anxious to gain merchandise, by the sale of which he could support his destitute sovereign and his fleet. Yet he kept within the limits he had set himself, and made prizes only of ships belonging to adherents of the Commonwealth or to its Spanish allies. The capture of a Genoese vessel has been admitted, but that was in the nature of a reprisal, and it has been seen how a Danish and a Royalist ship taken by mistake were set free. That the Prince endured hardship, difficulties and dangers out of a loyal devotion to his cousin, is shown by the readiness with which he renounced his private share of the spoil in Charles's favour, when he sent home the cargo of 1652. The devotion evidently felt for him by his crew speaks well for his character as a commander, and all his recorded dealings with the natives of Africa and the various islands, show a humane and enlightened spirit in which there is nothing of the buccanneer. Indeed the various logs which bear record of his voyages are marked by a tone of great decorum. In them the chaplain figures frequently, and on one occasion it is noted, "The second day being Sunday, we rode still, and did the duties of the day in the best manner that we could; the same at evening."[[50]] And even granting that the decorous tone of the logs is forced and exaggerated of set purpose, the fact remains that no specific charge of cruelty was ever brought against the Prince by his enemies or any one else. This, when it is remembered how lawless were the high seas in those days, is no slight praise. But, whatever may be thought of the ethics of the case, it will be universally acknowledged that to keep the seas as Rupert kept them for three years, with no previous experience in nautical affairs, with never more than seven, and usually only three ships at his command, with those ships hopelessly leaky and rotten, and continually beset by every possible form of danger and disaster, was a feat deserving of wonder and admiration.

[[1]] Clarendon State Papers. Hyde to Rupert, Oct. 19, 1650.

[[2]] Cary's Memorials, Vol. II. p. 164.

[[3]] Warburton, III. p. 306, note.