The Boy who sailed with Blake

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Robert Blake in the Hampshire was ahead. How we envied him! At length, some way to the southward of Yarmouth, the two fleets of England and Holland appeared in sight, hotly engaged. With every stitch of canvas set below and aloft, he sailed on into action, firing his broadsides with terrific effect into the enemy’s ships.

We followed, eager to engage, as did the rest of the squadron, and were soon in the midst of it. Among the ships we perceived the James, Vice-Admiral Penn, alongside the well-known Brederode, with Van Tromp’s flag flying aloft. The Dutch had endeavoured to board the James, but were now being driven back, with fearful slaughter, and already scores of British seamen, slashing and cutting with their hangers, had gained her deck when a terrific explosion was heard. Up rose the deck of the Dutch ship, sending into the air the mangled forms of the boarders with the shivered fragments of planks.

The James cast off from her foe, it being believed that Van Tromp with his crew were about to founder, but the smoke clearing away, we saw them rushing up from below, with the admiral at their head. Before he could be captured, lowering a boat, he pulled away for a frigate which lay near, and was seen sailing through his fleet, assuring his followers of his wonderful escape.

But his efforts and those of his vice-admiral were in vain. Hard pressed by our ships, they ere long took to flight, and steered for Ostend, leaving eleven of their men-of-war in our hands, besides six sunk, two blown up, and one burnt, and nearly fourteen hundred prisoners, including a vice-admiral, two rear-admirals, and six captains.

The battle was won, but so shattered were our ships that, unable to pursue the enemy, we were compelled to put into harbour. Not until he saw his fleet at anchor would Admiral Blake allow himself to be carried on shore, when he invited me to accompany him to his country house of Knoll, near Bridgwater.

Dick, I should have said, had been summoned home by his father, but I bade farewell for a time to Lancelot, as also to old Martin, who, in spite of his years, preferred remaining on board to taking his ease on shore.

“Who knows but that the ship may be sent out to the Mediterranean, and if so, that I may have the chance of hearing of Mistress Audrey and Margaret, and Mr Kerridge and his daughter?” he said.

“For that reason I ought to remain,” I answered; “but the admiral has promised, should any ship sail for those parts, to let me go in her, and as he knows everything that takes place, I am not afraid of missing the chance.

“And very right, Master Ben, that you should take a holiday. You look as thin as a line, and I have been afraid that you’d wear yourself out before your time.”

So I set off with my noble patron. Great was the contrast which his life in that quiet abode presented to the uproar of battle and tempest, in which so many of his days had of late been passed. His board was frugal. His mornings were passed among his books or in writing letters, in which I assisted him; a long walk when his strength was sufficiently restored through the green fields and woods; his evenings in the society of a few chosen friends, when his conversation was chiefly on religious matters or on the affairs of state. To me the change was beneficial in the extreme. I felt refreshed in mind and body, still my thoughts were often far away with my sister and friends, captives still, as I believed, in Barbary.