In the latter days of July 1664, our gallant sailor once more put to sea. The fleet in which he served under the Duke of York was most successful, striking such terror on the coast of Holland that the Dutch Admiral was afraid to venture out. There was also great success with his fleet in the Goree, and 150 ships of the Bordeaux fleet laden with wine brandy, etc., were brought into our ports. In the meantime there were all manner of Cabals at home, not only ignoring Lord Sandwich’s prowess, but impugning his courage and disinterestedness. Pepys is much vexed with the silence maintained on my Lord’s account as regards some of those grand naval victories “to set up the Duke and the Prince, [Rupert] but Mr. Coventry did declare that Lord Sandwich, both in his councils and personal service, had done honourably and serviceably.”
Jealous of his fame at sea and his favour at court, the Admiral’s enemies, with Monk at their head, sought for some pretext to undermine his prosperity, and they hit on the following. It appeared that it was contrary to the strict regulations of the Admiralty that Bulk, as it was called, should be broken into until the captured vessels were brought into port. Now in a noble engagement with the Dutch, Sandwich, Admiral of the Blue Squadron, broke through the enemy’s line, being the first who practised that bold expedient: and he, willing to reward his seamen for their gallant conduct in the action, gave them some portion of the prize money, (which was their due) at sea, not waiting until they had come into port. This was turned to his disadvantage, and his adversaries even dared to insinuate that he had helped himself, as well as his crew. But this accusation was too barefaced, and the King stood by him in these difficult times. Charles II. has often been accused of ingratitude, but at least he never forgot his obligations to, or his personal friendship for, Lord Sandwich, although His Majesty’s unconquerable indolence prevented his influence being as great and decisive as might have been expected in the Monarch of the Realm.
In the intervals of his employment, Lord Sandwich, who was the fondest of fathers, came up to London frequently to settle the preliminaries of his daughter Jemima’s marriage to the son of Sir George Carteret, an alliance which gave great satisfaction to both families, and the negociations for which were carried on by the indefatigable Pepys. Indeed it was a good thing at that moment to find any cause for rejoicing, as our Diarist’s pages are now full of the record of calamities, caused by the Plague then raging—“no boats on the river, the grass growing up and down Whitehall; all the people panic stricken, and flying from one place to the other for safety”—with innumerable ghastly records of that terrible time.
Lord Sandwich was appointed Ambassador Extraordinary to the Court of Madrid, to mediate a Treaty of Peace between Spain and Portugal. After some conference with the Queen-Regent Mariana, he prevailed with her to acknowledge the King of Portugal, and to agree that the King of England should be Mediator to the Peace. For this purpose he left Madrid and arrived at Lisbon, January 22, 1667. The Peace was concluded in the most satisfactory manner, and the King and the Duke of York wrote Sandwich autograph letters of thanks and commendation. He returned to Spain to take leave of the Queen-Mother, who was most friendly and grateful to the English Envoy, and presented him with full length portraits of herself and her son, the Child-King, painted, says Lord Sandwich, “by her Court painter, Don Sebastian de Herrera, and most excellent likenesses.” The portrait of himself, of which we are now speaking, was also painted during his residence in Spain, and he pronounces that also an excellent resemblance.
Lord Sandwich’s letters show his steady adherence to the Protestant religion, and to the interests of his country: likewise his excellent judgment. He was much opposed to the sale of Dunkirk, and strove to arrest the increasing power of France. In fact, the measures he advocated gained him the good will of the whole fleet and of the disinterested part of the nation, but gave great offence to the Duke of York. In the year 1672, on a new war breaking out with the Dutch, Lord Sandwich served as Vice-Admiral under the man who had become his enemy. On May the 19th, the English fleet, which had been joined by a French squadron, came in sight of the Dutch fleet about eight leagues off Gunfleet, but being separated by hazy weather, the English stood into Southwold Bay, and there anchored till May 28th. Jollity and feasting seem to have been the order of the day on board the English ships, whereupon Lord Sandwich expostulated at such a critical moment, advising that they should stand out to sea, seeing they ran in danger of being surprised by the enemy, as the wind then stood. The Duke of York not only declined to follow this excellent advice, but is said to have returned an insolent and taunting reply. The next day proved the prudence of his wise Admiral’s advice, as the firing of the scout ship’s cannon gave notice of the enemy’s advance. Then the cables were cut and the vessels ranged in as good order as time would permit. Lord Sandwich, in his brave ship the “Royal James,” one hundred guns, sailed almost alone, and was the first to engage the enemy at seven o’clock in the morning: his Royal Highness was the next to fire, his vessel being becalmed; and this sudden calm, combined with the resolution and prompt bravery of Lord Sandwich, saved the fleet, otherwise endangered by the fireships. Interposing between his yet disordered squadron and the “Great Holland,” Captain Brakel, sixty guns, (which was followed by a fireship, and soon seconded by the whole squadron of Van Ghent,) the gallant Englishman defended himself for many hours, disabled several of the enemy’s men-of-war, and sank three of their fireships single handed! while Sir John Jordan, his own Vice-Admiral, and several others, instead of coming to the rescue of the Blue, sailed to the Red to assist the Duke of York. About noon, until which hour he stood at bay like the brave lion that he was, and after giving, as a Dutch historian has it, the utmost proofs of “unfortunate valour,” a fourth fireship, covered by the smoke of the enemy, grappled the “Royal James,” and set her in a blaze. Of one thousand men who formed his crew at the beginning of the action, six hundred were killed on the deck, (among whom was his son-in-law Carteret) many wounded, and only a few escaped. When Lord Sandwich saw it was all over with the “Royal James,” he ordered his first captain, Sir Richard Haddock, the officers, his own servants, etc., into the long-boat, peremptorily declining to leave the ship, in spite of every entreaty: and when the boat pushed off, the noble form of their commander still stood erect on the quarter-deck of the burning vessel. As Sir John Jordan, whose duty it was to relieve him, sailed past in the morning, Lord Sandwich had remarked to the byestanders that if they were not relieved they must fight it out to the last man, and bravely did he keep his word. Thus perished the man whose noble end to a noble life, called forth eulogiums from friend and foe. Bishop Parker, a partisan of the Duke of York, says: “He fell a sacrifice to the service of his country: endued with the virtues of Alcibiades, untainted by his vices; capable of any business; of high birth, full of wisdom, a great commander on sea and land; learned, eloquent, affable, liberal, magnificent.” The Duke of Buckingham, who was in the fleet says: “Lord Sandwich was such a loss, the Dutch might almost have called it a victory.” Gerard Brandt, a Dutchman, says: “He was valiant, intelligent, prudent, civil, obliging in word, and deed, and of great service to his King, not only in war, but in affairs of state and embassies.” We have seen by Pepys’ testimony, how beloved he was in domestic life.
On the 10th of June, his body was found off Harwich, clad in the uniform he had worn with so much honour, still adorned with the insignia of England’s noblest Order, of which he had proved himself so worthy a knight, the gracious form, strange and almost miraculous as it may appear, unblemished in every part, save some marks of fire on the face and hands. Sir Charles Littleton, Governor of Harwich, received the remains, and took immediate care for the embalming and honourably disposing of the same, despatching the master of the vessel who had discovered the body to Whitehall, to present the George belonging to the late Earl, and to learn his Majesty’s pleasure, upon which the King, “out of his regard for the great deservings of the said Earl and his unexampled performances in this last act of his life, (and indeed it might have been said his life throughout) hath resolved to have the body brought to London, there at his charge to receive the rites of funeral due to his quality and merit.” The remains were conveyed to Deptford in one of the royal yachts, and there taken out, and a procession formed of barges, adorned with all the pomp of heraldry, the pride of pageantry, with nodding plumes of sable hue—attended by his eldest son as chief mourner, by eight Earls his peers, by the Lord Mayor and many companies of London, with drums all muffled, and trumpets, and minute guns discharged from the Tower and Whitehall: the body covered by a mourning pall of sumptuous velvet, beneath the shadow of the British Flag under which he had served so long and died so nobly. All that was mortal of Edward Montagu, first Earl of Sandwich, was interred on the north side of the altar in Henry VII.’s chapel in Westminster Abbey, on July 3rd, 1672.
The compass which he wore during the last hours of his glorious life, and the Blue Ribbon which clung to the heart even when it beat no longer, still hang in the same frame with the miniature portraits of himself, and his wife, beside the spirited picture of his last action, by Vandevelde, in the ship-room at Hinchingbrook, where the hero’s name is still revered, and his memory cherished with honest pride by his descendants.
“Pride in the just whose race is run,
Whose memory shall endure,