You’ll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,
Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk;
Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow;
The rest is all but leather or prunella.”
—Pope, Essay on Man.
SIR CLOUDESLEY SHOVEL.
On the south side of the choir of Westminster Abbey may be seen a very handsome and costly monument, on which reclines a life-sized figure in marble, representing a naval commander. The grotesque uniform and elaborate wig are of the style of Queen Anne’s time. The commander himself has all the look of a well-bred gentleman and a brave officer. He is a capital type of the old school of naval heroes, stout in person, jolly in temper, but terrible in action, by whom our shores were defended, our colonies secured to us, and the power and stability of the British Empire were established for centuries to come. These men had, in many instances, risen from the lowest social status, and had been compelled to begin their nautical career in the humblest fashion, accepting the most menial position the naval service could offer them. When they came to hold positions of command, they had, perhaps, no culture nor general education; the little knowledge they possessed was confined to the arts of navigation and warfare, and this they had picked up in actual service. Such knowledge served them well, and made them equal to any emergency. It made them capable of deeds of valor and enterprise, that brought renown to their own name and honor to their country. They could sail round the world; they could, by their discoveries, add new territories to the British crown, and open up splendid fields for commercial enterprise; they could keep their vessels afloat in a gale of wind, get to windward of the enemy if they wanted, pour a broadside into him, board and capture his vessels or blow up his forts; and, very often fighting against fearful odds, beat him by dint of superior skill in seamanship and greater courage in action. Such a commander was “old Benbow,” whose name appears so often in the nautical songs of the last century; and such a commander was his contemporary, Sir Cloudesley Shovel, to whose memory the handsome monument just referred to is erected. Let us pause for a moment to read the inscription. It runs thus:
“Sir Cloudesley Shovel, Knt., Rear-Admiral of Great Britain, Admiral and Commander-in-Chief of the Fleet: The just reward of long and faithful services. He was deservedly beloved of his country, and esteemed though dreaded by the enemy, who had often experienced his conduct and courage. Being shipwrecked on the rocks of Scilly, in his voyage from Toulon, the 22d of October 1707, at night, in the fifty-seventh year of his age, his fate was lamented by all, but especially by the seafaring part of the nation, to whom he was a worthy example. His body was flung on the shore, and buried with others in the sands; but being soon after taken up, was placed under this monument, which his royal mistress has caused to be erected to commemorate his steady loyalty and extraordinary virtues.”