How Britannia Came to Rule the Waves / Updated to 1900

by William Henry Giles Kingston

of each boat were to board and all aid in the enterprise. The rendezvous was to be on the Hermione’s quarter-deck. At half-past seven the boats were hoisted out, the crews mustered, and away they pulled from the Surprise. As it happened, within a mile of the Hermione the expedition was discovered by two gunboats, and the alarm being given, firing commenced. Captain Hamilton on this pushed for the frigate, believing that all his boats would do the same, but some, misunderstanding his orders, engaged the gunboats. On approaching, lights were seen at every port, with the ship’s company at quarters. Captain Hamilton pushed for the bows, and climbing up, his foot slipped and his pistol went off; but he soon succeeded in gaining a footing on the forecastle, and those who had been ordered to loose the sails immediately got the foresail ready for bending and hauling out to the yard-arms, thus forming a screen to themselves, for not a Spaniard was there to interfere with them. On looking down from the forecastle, they saw the crew of the Hermione at quarters on the main-deck, firing away into the darkness, utterly unconscious that the enemy were on board. Captain Hamilton, with the gunner and fourteen men, now made his way to the quarter-deck—part of them, however, under the gunner, being driven back by the Spaniards, who gained possession of the forecastle. Another party of English also neglecting to rendezvous on the quarter-deck, the captain was left for some minutes to defend himself against the attack of four Spaniards, one of whom stunned him, when he fell. Happily, some of his men came to the rescue, and a party of marines climbing over the larboard gangway, now gave a favourable turn to affairs. The rest of the boats coming up, the marines formed, fired a volley, and ran down with fixed bayonets on the main-deck. About sixty Spaniards retreated to the cabin, and surrendered. For some time, however, fighting continued on the main-deck and under the forecastle. The cables were cut, the sails were loosed, while the gunner and two men, though severely wounded, standing at the helm, the boats took the frigate in tow, and she stood out of Puerto Cabello. The batteries immediately opened, and a Portuguese reported that he heard the Spanish prisoners threatening to blow up the frigate. A few muskets fired down the hatchway restored order, and in less than an hour after Captain Hamilton was on board, all opposition had ceased, and the Hermione was his prize. By 2 p.m. the ship was out of gunshot of the batteries, the towing-boats were called alongside, and her crews came on board. In this wonderful enterprise the British had only 12 wounded, while the Spaniards, out of a crew of 365, lost 119 killed and 97 wounded, most of them dangerously. The cutting-out of the Hermione may well be considered one of the most desperate services ever performed, and no man was ever more deserving of the knighthood he received than Captain Hamilton, who had planned every detail, and personally led the bold attack. He himself was among the most severely wounded; besides a blow on his head, he received a sabre wound on the left thigh, another by a pike in his right thigh, and a contusion on the shin-bone by grape-shot; one of his fingers was badly cut, and he was also much bruised.

For some time previously to this, detectives, if they may be so-called, were stationed at each of the ports to discover the members of the crew who had been on board the Hermione at the time of the mutiny. No mercy was shown to those who had taken part in it. A large number were hung; it used to be said, indeed, that more suffered than actually then belonged to her, though they might have done so at some former period.

Sir Edward Hamilton long lived to enjoy his honours.

The days when fabulous amounts of prize-money were to be picked up had not yet passed by, although the rich Spanish galleons which went to sea in the times of Drake were seldom to be found. In October of this year, 1799, fortune smiled on the officers and ships’ companies of two British frigates. The Naiad, of 38 guns, Captain Pierrepoint, while cruising in latitude 44 degrees 1 minute north, and longitude 12 degrees 35 minutes west, came in sight of two frigates, to which, notwithstanding the disparity of force, he gave chase. They proved to be the Spanish 34-gun frigates Santa Brigida and Thetis, from Vera Cruz, bound to Spain. He followed them all night, when, early in the morning of the 16th, another ship was seen in the south-west, which hoisting her number showed herself to be the 38-gun frigate Ethalion, Captain James Young; and soon afterwards two other 32-gun frigates, the Alcmène, Captain Digby, and the Triton, Captain J. Gore appeared. The Spaniards, hoping to escape, steered different courses, but each were pursued by two British frigates, which, before long coming up with them, compelled them to haul down their colours. Fortunately, a breeze coming off the land, the captors with their prizes were enabled to stand off the coast, just in time to save themselves from being attacked by four large ships, which came out of Vigo. While the English frigates were preparing to receive the enemy, the four ships put back into port. The prizes were found to have on board a cargo of specie, besides other merchandise, to an amount which gave each captain upwards of 40,000 pounds, each lieutenant 5000 pounds, each warrant officer upwards of 2000 pounds, each midshipman nearly 800 pounds, each seaman and marine 182 pounds. Even the seamen and marines might have been well contented with the gold pieces they had to chink in their pockets; though in too many instances they were probably all dissipated before they had been many days on shore. Yet complaints were general of the uneven way in which prize-money was distributed. It was a common saying among sailors, that when the pay-clerk went on board ships to pay prize-money, he clambered with his money-bags into the main-top and showered down the money at random; all which remained upon the splinter-netting (a coarse rope netting spread as a kind of awning) was for the men, and all that went through for the officers. The captain of a ship not under the admiral’s flag received three-eighths of the net proceeds. In this instance the three-eighths were divided among the four captains who assisted in the capture of the two Spanish frigates. On the treasure being landed, it was escorted in sixty-three artillery waggons, by horse and foot soldiers, and armed seamen and marines, attended by bands of music, and a vast multitude, to the dungeons of the citadel of Plymouth, whence it was afterwards removed, much in the same style, and deposited in the Bank of England.

Still more fortunate, a few years later, was Lord Cochrane, when, in command of the Pallas, he captured three rich prizes in succession, of which the value could not have been far short of 300,000 pounds. As, however, he only took one fourth, his share amounted to about 75,000 pounds. As it was, however, he nearly lost not only a large portion of his booty, but his liberty, as, while returning home after he had taken the last prize, three of the enemy’s line-of-battle ships were seen. The wind freshening to half a gale, the Pallas was standing on, carrying all the sail she could, when it was found that the enemy were gaining on her. In this desperate emergency Lord Cochrane ordered every stitch of sail to be suddenly taken in, and the three ships of the enemy, one being on the weather, another on the lee beam, and the third nearly on the weather quarter, unable to get their canvas off and haul to the wind, shot miles away to leeward. The Pallas on this wore round and made sail on the opposite tack. The enemy, however, were soon again in chase, but night coming on, a lantern in a cask was put overboard, and the Pallas, altering her course, got clear of her pursuers, and reached Plymouth in safety. As he sailed up the harbour Lord Cochrane had a gold candlestick, five feet in height, fixed to the mast-head, and, as may be supposed, he never after this had any difficulty in manning his ship, when gold candlesticks were to be picked up, in addition to “pewter” and “cobs,” the nickname given by seamen to silver and dollars. They have always been found ready to volunteer on board dashing frigates sent to stations where such prizes were supposed to abound.

The last important action was that known as the Battle of the Baltic. Napoleon had induced the Northern powers of Denmark, Sweden, and Russia to form a league, denominated an armed neutrality, for the French being unable to keep the sea, he hoped under their flags to obtain provisions and ammunition for his armies. To counteract this formidable confederacy, the English sent a fleet of 18 sail of the line, with a few frigates, and a number of bomb-vessels and gunboats, in the first place to attack the Danish fleet, and then to take in hand the other two confederates. After many delays, and attempts to induce the Danes to come to terms, on the 2nd of April, 1801, a portion of the fleet, which had been intrusted by Sir Hyde Parker to Lord Nelson, appeared before Copenhagen, and commenced an attack on the floating batteries and forts prepared by the Danes for the defence of their city. There is not space to give the details of the battle. The Danes fought heroically, their floating batteries being remanned over and over again from the shore. After three hours’ cannonading, from which both parties suffered severely, Sir Hyde Parker, understanding that two of the British line-of-battle ships were in distress, threw out a signal for discontinuing the action. On its being reported to Nelson, he shrugged his shoulders, repeating the words, “Leave off action? Now, damn me if I do. You know, Foley, I have only one eye—I have a right to be blind sometimes;” then putting the glass to his blind eye, in that mood of mind which sports with bitterness, he exclaimed, “I really do not see the signal—keep mine for closer battle flying! That’s the way I answer such signals. Nail mine to the mast.”

At 1:30 p.m. the Danish fire slackened, and at 2 p.m. ceased along nearly the whole of the line. Among the British officers who fell was the gallant Captain Riou, who was cut in two while carrying his frigate, the Amazon, into action. After the flags of all the chief batteries had been struck, some of the lighter vessels that had got adrift fired on the boats which approached to take possession of them. Nelson prepared a letter to send to the Crown Prince of Denmark, threatening to destroy the prizes unless this proceeding was put a stop to. He concluded his letter, “The brave Danes are the brothers and should never be the enemies of England.” A wafer was then given him, but he ordered a candle to be brought from the cock-pit, and sealed the letter with wax, affixing a larger seal than is ordinarily used, remarking as he did so, “This is no time to appear hurried and informal.”

The remainder of the batteries having at length ceased firing, a flag of truce arrived from the shore, when the action, which had continued for five hours, was brought to a close, the total loss of killed being 255, and of wounded 688. The Danish loss amounted to between 1600 and 1800. The result of the victory was the secession of Denmark from the league, and the Emperor of Russia dying soon afterwards, the armed neutrality was dissolved.

Napoleon now began to hope more ardently than ever that he should ere long land his victorious legions on British ground. To carry them over, he had collected a large flotilla, chiefly at Boulogne. By Lord Nelson’s orders, a desperate attempt was made by the boats of the squadron to destroy them. Some were gun brigs of between 200 and 250 tons; others were flats, vessels capable of carrying a crew of 30 men and 150 soldiers, with either a mortar or a long 24-pounder, as well as swivels and small-arms. Though some few were captured, all attempts at their destruction failed. The British cruisers, however, kept too good a watch to allow them to put to sea.