Prince Rupert, believing his last moments were at hand, waved his brother Maurice to bring his vessel, The Honest Seaman, under the Admiral’s stern, to bid his beloved brother an eternal farewell, to give him his last directions and express his last wishes. Maurice, regardless of his own safety, commanded his men to lower a boat, either to save Rupert, or to put him on board and let them die together. His officers refused, as they said it would be to their own destruction, and be of no avail in saving Rupert. They made, indeed, a feint of lowering the boat, but paid little heed to the agony of their commander. Then the crew of The Admiral came to a noble decision. Deeply touched by the devotion which his Highness displayed, they conjured him to seek safety in the one little boat that was left them. This he steadily refused, saying ‘that as they had run all risks with him, so he would participate them.’ Thus did either try to breathe their last in unspeakable magnanimity. The brave seamen were not to be foiled; they elected a crew of undaunted lads, hoisted out their boat, and by force thrust their brave Prince into the same. He was put aboard The Honest Seaman, and immediately sent back the skiff to save as many as was possible, specifying the names of three officers, one of whom alone (and that the captain in command) accepted the offer. Fearnes was blamed by many for deserting his ship’s company. He and the Prince’s servant were boarded on one of the vessels, but the unfortunate little skiff was swamped. The Prince strove in vain to approach The Admiral, but it could not be done from stress of weather, and the doomed crew waved a sad farewell from the deck of the sinking ship to their comrades. In all, 333 men perished in this fatal storm, but the whole story remains a glorious passage in the annals of British seamen. Rupert’s regret for the loss of a noble ship, with a rich freight on board, was little in comparison with his grief for that of his valued messmates. He was again threatened with a watery grave in a tremendous hurricane which overtook the fleet when at a short distance from the Virgin Islands, and in this fatal storm he had to deplore the loss of his devoted friend and brother, Prince Maurice, who went down on the deck of the well-named Honest Seaman. Yet once more he had an escape from drowning when at Paris at the Court of Louis the Fourteenth, in company with Charles the Second. A letter from a Roundhead thus details the circumstance:—
‘The Seine had like to have made an end of your Black Prince Rupert’ (he was swimming with the King and Duke of York); ‘he was near being drowned if it had not been for the help of one of his servants, who dragged him up by the hair of his head.’ These ‘highly liveried blackamoors,’ like all other dependants of the Prince, were much attached to their noble master.
On his return to England in 1662 Rupert seems to have given himself up to the pursuit of philosophical and scientific studies, even (so it was affirmed by many) to those of an occult nature. He fitted up for himself a workshop in the High Tower of Windsor Castle, furnished with forges, crucibles, retorts, instruments of all sorts, and here ‘the hero of a hundred fights’ might be seen with blacksmith’s apron and bare brawny arms indulging in all the experiments of vital interest to a chemist and an alchemist. In this laboratory he was frequently visited by his royal cousin the King, and his favourite the Duke of Buckingham, both of whom took a great delight in Rupert’s occupations. This strange man had other apartments assigned to him in the castle, where he kept stores of armour and weapons from all parts of the world, together with a library of valuable books, the catalogue of which is still extant. John Evelyn was a great admirer of Rupert’s versatile talents, and was a delighted listener when the Prince related to him the discovery that he had made of mezzotint engraving. The story is well known how on one occasion, when at Brussels, the Prince observed a sentinel at some distance from his post very busy doing something to his piece. Rupert asked what he was about; he replied the dew had fallen in the night, had made his fusil rusty, and that he was scraping and cleaning it. The Prince, examining the gun, was struck with something like a figure eaten into the barrel with innumerable little holes closed together like friezed work on gold or silver, part of which the soldier had scraped away. This suggested to the Prince a contrivance which resulted in the discovery of mezzotint engraving, carried out in company with his protégé, the painter, Wallerant Vaillant. Great rivalry was excited on the occasion, and many people laid claim to an invention which was clearly that of Rupert.
Other discoveries and inventions of this wonderful man we leave to his more complete biographers. He found time in the midst of these engrossing pursuits to become enamoured of the charms of Francisca Bard, daughter of Lord Bellamont, by whom he had a son, on whose education he bestowed much care. He was called Dudley Bard, and grew up to emulate his father’s military ardour and undaunted courage, but was killed at the siege of Buda in 1686, having just attained his twentieth year.
Negotiations were carried on at one time for an alliance between Rupert and a member of a royal house, but came to an end in consequence of the Prince’s slender means.
In 1660 he once more embarked to oppose the French, alternating his beloved studies with his military and naval duties, but an old wound he had received in the head some time before put him to great torture and endangered his life, so much so that he was obliged to be trepanned. Requiring rest after the operation, he joined the Merry Monarch’s merry Court at Tunbridge Wells, and had not long been there before he formed a connection with the fair Mistress Hughes, an actress belonging to the King’s company, and one of the earliest female performers, who began her theatrical career in 1663, and gained great distinction in the character of Desdemona. The fascinations of this lady had a softening and refining influence on the manners and habits of his Highness, and even his beloved studies were neglected for the delights of her society. His dress was no longer neglected, and he vied with the other courtiers of his royal cousin in gallantry and compliments, but the beautiful comedian was not so easy of access as most of her compeers, and it was some time before she was induced to listen to her royal lover’s suit. He was most lavish in his expenditure, grudging nothing to the fair siren. He purchased for her the magnificent seat of Sir Nicholas Crispe, near Hammersmith, afterwards the residence of the Margrave of Brandenburg, which cost £25,000 in the building.
By her he had a daughter named Ruperta, married to General Howe, of whom there is a most characteristic portrait in the collection of the Earl of Sandwich at Hinchingbrook. Mrs. Hughes remained on the stage for many years after Prince Rupert’s death, who saw little of her in his later days, but bequeathed a large property to her and her daughter.
After leaving Tunbridge Wells he returned to Windsor, and resumed his studies, until called once more into active service. In 1673 he was appointed Lord High Admiral in place of the Duke of York, and commanded the fleet against the United Provinces, when, as usual, he distinguished himself. On the 29th of November 1682 Prince Rupert died in his house at Spring Gardens, ‘mourned and respected’ by men of the most differing interests. A magnificent funeral was allotted to him, and he was buried in Westminster Abbey.
Count Grammont, in his Memoirs, gives anything but a flattering description of the Prince’s personal appearance, but we are more inclined to credit the testimony of such painters as Honthorst, Lely, and Kneller, whose portraits are undoubtedly noble and prepossessing.