Looking Back

by Sir Seymour John Fortescue

The days and months passed by quickly enough, if in somewhat monotonous fashion, until the spring of 1874, when we were ordered to reinforce the Mediterranean Fleet, then under the command of Admiral Sir Hastings Yelverton. Sir Hastings was then flying his flag on board the Lord Warden, one of our very early iron-clads. She really merited the name of iron-clad, for she was a wooden ship with wrought-iron plates bolted on to her. Sir Hastings was himself quite one of the best specimens of the great sea officer of those days. A very fine gentleman, with a thorough knowledge of the world, he was an invaluable servant to his country at that particular moment, as Spain was in a state of semi-revolution, and it was fortunate for England that the Commander-in-Chief united in his person all the best characteristics of the diplomatist, the man of the world, and the sailor. The trouble began from the Naval point of view, when the Revolutionary party seized two Spanish men-of-war of considerable size and importance, the Vittoria and Almanza, and started on what was probably going to be a piratical cruise in foreign waters. The British Navy, amongst its other numerous duties, has always been busy in the suppression of piracy, so that in a very few days the Vittoria and Almanza were duly rounded up, the crews landed, and the ships themselves safely interned at Gibraltar. The next move of the Intransigentes,—as the revolutionary party called themselves,—was to seize the forts that commanded the arsenal of Carthagena, and they then took possession of the greater part of the Spanish Fleet. Our Mediterranean Fleet promptly went to Carthagena and the neighbouring ports on the east coast of Spain to watch the course of events. Being short of funds, the Intransigentes conceived the idea of cruising down their own coast, sticking to territorial waters, and demanding money from all the towns along the coast. In case of refusal the towns were to be bombarded. In the interest of humanity the English Fleet used to hover round and place themselves between the Intransigente Fleet and the shore, and insist on forty-eight hours’ grace being given to enable the women and children to be removed to a place of safety. The local Carthagenan butcher, who, I think, was for the moment the Intransigente admiral, was given to understand that unless he complied with the request of the British admiral, he and his squadron would, in all probability, be blown sky high. Being a sensible man, he did as he was told, but, occasionally, after the necessary interval on which we had insisted had expired, a bombardment would take place. I was present at one, and enjoyed the spectacle most thoroughly. Alicante was the town in question. In the way of defence it possessed a charming old sixteenth-century citadel, as well as two or three little batteries on the beach that could just manage to return a salute. None the less, the Governor of Alicante, on being asked “for his money or his life,” with true Spanish chivalry, firmly declined to pay any sort of ransom, manned his little popguns, and prepared for the worst. We, as usual, were anchored between the town and the Intransigente squadron, and after the forty-eight hours’ interval had come to an end we retired like “seconds out of the ring,” purposely taking as long as possible over this necessary manœuvre. Then the fun began. The Intransigentes, some of whose ships were very heavily armoured for those days (they carried 9-inch guns, which really were 240-pounders), began to bombard, and the citadel and batteries returned the fire. At that time I was midshipman of the foretop, so up there I ensconced myself, and a splendid view I got of the whole proceedings. It was a deliciously comic performance. The Intransigente shooting was so bad that the proverbial haystack would have been quite safe. Indeed, as we saw later when we landed, they could not even hit a town, and barring a few broken windows there was no harm done at all, and no casualties. The shore defenders meanwhile fired little round shots that went skipping along the top of the water until they were tired and sank. It is needless to remark that had they actually hit one of the iron-clad vessels at which they were directed, they would have had no more effect than the classical patting of the dome of St. Paul’s would have had on the Dean and Chapter. After a few hours of this performance, the Intransigentes wearied of it and went on to some other coast town to try their luck there, shadowed by another portion of Sir Hastings’ fleet. The captain of the foretop, who was a great friend of mine, was much looked up to by his top mates as a sort of encyclopædia of knowledge of all sorts, so I was much amused to hear the following conversation, which, of course, was not intended for my chaste ears, while I was looking through my spy-glass at the bombardment. The captain of the foretop was being interrogated: “Bill, ’oo is that there ’ere Queen of Spain at all?” Bill replied: “The Queen, she’s a . . .” and then followed a string of lurid adjectives, leading up to the suggestion that the royal lady in question belonged to what Rudyard Kipling calls the oldest profession in the world.

I did not see much more of the Intransigente Fleet, but not long afterwards it brought its cruising to an inglorious end. The Spaniards succeeded in getting together a few loyal ships under a real admiral, as a means of putting an end to this potential piracy. Just before the expected general engagement could take place, the Intransigente admiral,—who, though doubtless he may have known a great deal about bullocks and sheep, was woefully deficient in knowledge of fleet manœuvring,—succeeded in ramming and sinking one of his own squadron. This untoward incident upset his nerve and that of his companions to such an extent that the whole of his fleet ignominiously surrendered.

Shortly after the Intransigente episode considerable changes were made in the personnel of the senior officers of the Narcissus. Rear-Admiral Campbell hauled down his flag and was succeeded by Rear-Admiral Randolph, the Captain and Commander were relieved, and our First-Lieutenant was about the same time promoted to the rank of Commander and left us. With the exception of the ship’s company and junior officers, the Narcissus had become almost a new ship, and of course there was the usual grousing that always takes place on these occasions among the junior officers. To our experienced minds nothing that was new could be right, and I must confess that so far as efficient seamanship and smartness aloft were concerned, the old lot could hardly have been improved on. The squadron remained in the Mediterranean, but was no longer closely attached to the Commander-in-Chief, and went eastward for a cruise in the Levant.

Amongst other ports visited was Smyrna, and there a couple of my messmates and I got into rather considerable trouble. The Consul at Smyrna had arranged a special train to give the Admiral and Officers of the squadron a chance of visiting Ephesus, where a number of archæologists were then busy excavating the celebrated Temple of Diana. We, in our wisdom, thought it would be dull work going up with a number of officers, most of whom would be our seniors as the companions of this excursion, so having hired horses, we slipped away early in the morning and proceeded to ride some thirty miles up country to Ephesus. Of course we never dreamt of bothering about a guide or any detail of that kind, but somehow or another midshipmen generally manage to turn up at their destination, and after a delightful ride over a fine grass country, we arrived all right. Meanwhile, unfortunately for us, the Flag-Lieutenant had, in a casual way, mentioned to the Admiral at breakfast that three of the youngsters had started to ride up. The Admiral had been previously warned by the Consul that the country outside Smyrna is infested with brigands, and on account of the bother that it would have given him had anything happened to us, he was full of wrath, which was eventually to descend on our innocent heads. Orders were at once sent ashore to the Consul to inform the Turkish Governor, and altogether such a fuss was made that eventually a squadron of Turkish cavalry was sent out to get hold of us and bring us back. By this time we had about three hours’ start, and as, probably, from what I know of Turks, the Cavalry did not hurry over much, they never got near us. None the less, when we arrived at Ephesus our troubles began. We were looking about for some place to put up and feed our horses, preparatory to feeding ourselves in view of our ride back, when we happened unluckily to meet the Flag-Captain, who got into what we thought a most unnecessary state of rage, and ordered us at once to get into the train and go back in that comparatively undignified conveyance to Smyrna, then to go straight on board the ship, and report ourselves as prisoners under close arrest. This was a bore of course, but with my usual philosophy I consoled myself with the reflection that, as a prisoner, I should not have to keep any watch that night, and would have a good night in, which would be infinitely preferable to walking the deck for four hours after a long outing. The first part of the programme was carried out all right, but, to my disgust, when I tried to excuse myself for not going on duty, pleading that, as a prisoner, I was incapable of doing duty, the Commander calmly informed me that I was temporarily released, so on watch I had to go.

Our arrest lasted about a month and came to an end very unexpectedly. Somehow or other (we youngsters, who were naturally the severest of critics, all thought from very faulty seamanship) the Narcissus and another ship of the squadron took the ground rather badly off the coast of Sicily. Of course there was a Court-martial, and to our intense delight our Captain was dismissed his ship and our arrest came to a triumphant conclusion. With the usual pitilessness of youth, we looked upon it as a judgment upon our superior officer, and to round the episode off nicely, I, having been just relieved from watch when the ship went aground, was one of the witnesses at the Court-martial. I am ashamed to say that our delight when the sentence was promulgated was scarcely, to say the least of it, decent, and when the unfortunate Captain returned on board to turn over his command to an acting successor who was at once appointed, he must have almost heard the uproarious cheering in the midshipmen’s berth. What brutes boys are!

Nothing particularly exciting happened during the rest of my time in the Narcissus. She was paid off in the summer of 1874 on her return to England, and I managed to get some leave whilst waiting for an appointment to a new ship.

In August 1874 the appointment came, and the “new ship” turned out to be the Audacious, fitted out at Chatham as the flagship of Vice-Admiral Ryder, a distant connection of my own, who had been appointed to the command of the China Station.

The Audacious and her sister ships, one of which was the Vanguard which was sunk later by another sister, the Iron Duke, in a collision in the Channel, were a type of middle-sized battleships evolved about that period by the Chief Constructor of the Navy and his Naval Advisors at the Admiralty. I have seen some fairly useless types of vessels produced in my time, but really the “Audacious” type was almost unique in that way. Fairly heavily masted and barque rigged, the Audacious could not even sail with a fair wind, for it was impossible to steer her unless the engines were kept going. With considerable horse-power her full trial speed was barely twelve knots; indeed I do not think that in the whole of her career, which was a long one, she could ever really do ten knots for six consecutive hours. The main armament consisted of 9-inch muzzle-loading guns. These guns were very much on the same lines as the modern howitzer as far as length was concerned. This type of weapon had such a high trajectory that it was practically useless unless the range was known within 100 yards, an almost impossible condition at sea. They were mounted on what was known as the Box Battery System—a name that described the battery so well that any further explanation is superfluous, and, as the name implies, the whole formed the most perfect shell-trap that could be conceived by the ingenuity of man. There is always a reason for everything, and there was some sort of reason for the “Audacious” class. The Navy in the early ’seventies was mad on the subject of ramming. The lesson was, of course, learnt from what had occurred at Lissa, but probably it was terribly over-applied. There was a consequent craze for what were supposed to be short, handy ships, and that was where the failure of the system came in. They were short, but they were never handy, for shortness can never make up for the consequent loss of speed and bad steering. However, having served for nearly four years in sailing frigates, I was duly impressed by the size and magnificence of this new monster of the ocean. It was only by experience that we learnt what an appallingly bad ship ours was, even as compared with already existing types.

I must now say something about the superior officers. Admiral Ryder had the reputation of being an extremely erudite and scientific officer, so naturally we midshipmen distrusted him instinctively. I saw a great deal of him later on, and a kinder and more amiable old gentleman never lived. Captain Philip Colomb was his Flag-Captain. He, at any rate, was a very able man, and, far in advance of his time, was one of the earliest advocates of the abolition of masts and yards, as being useless appendages and a danger in action. How right he was we know by our modern Navy; and the experience he was about to acquire,—I allude to what I have already written about the sailing qualities of the Audacious,—could only have confirmed his judgment. Our Commander was the present Admiral Sir Cyprian Bridge, so—as in the Narcissus (though of a totally different stamp),—I was again fortunate enough to be serving under a very distinguished group of officers. Two or three of the midshipmen in the Audacious had been in the Narcissus before, and it is needless to relate how convinced we were that, as seamen, we were sure to compare very favourably with the poor unfortunates who had only had experience of life at sea in what we irreverently called a tin pot.

Chatham was a foul locality in those days, and, for all I know, may still be unattractive. The only incident I remember well, however, was the excitement in the Dockyard when the then Princess of Wales, in the heyday of her exquisite beauty, came down to christen her godchild, the Alexandra, which was launched about that time. Soon after this the Audacious sailed for her Station, and we began to realise what we were in for in our new ship. One good point she certainly had. Owing to a variety of reasons, at sea she was as steady as the proverbial rock. There were reports current that this steadiness was the result of carrying all the principal weights,—guns, armour, spars, etc.,—abnormally high. However, the Constructor’s Department, by means of all sorts of figures (and of course figures cannot lie), clearly proved that she was, if possible, unnecessarily safe; but, anyhow, as we midshipmen knew nothing about angles of safety, and cared still less, we greatly appreciated the fact of her steadiness. Her other good point was that she was high between decks, which made the gunroom mess a little more habitable, and gave us more air when tucked up in our hammocks at night, as compared with the old-fashioned frigate barely 6 feet high at the beams.