Stockwin's Maritime Miscellany (9 page)

Peter the Great was the founder of the Russian navy and the first tsar ever to venture outside his country’s borders. From a very young age he was keen on ships and sailing, and he developed an abiding and very much hands-on interest in shipbuilding.

In 1697 the young tsar began his ‘Grand Embassy’, a fact-finding mission to look into ways of modernising his country. After studying shipbuilding in Holland Peter made it known to King William III that he now wished to see something of England’s maritime capability. When Tsar Peter arrived in England in 1698, the king provided a number of attendants to accompany him and arranged for him to have every assistance, as well as excellent accommodation.

Peter was given the use of Sayes Court, a fine house adjacent to Deptford royal shipyard; conveniently its back gate led directly into the yard. The tsar loved to watch the craftsmen at their operations and would pick up tools and work alongside them himself. Often he wore the dress of a common shipwright as he roamed about the shipyard, although with his height of just over 2 m he was hardly inconspicuous.

The owner of Sayes Court, the diarist John Evelyn, was initially delighted to have such a famous tenant, but was later incensed at the damage Peter and his companions caused to his property. Furnishings were ruined and many of the fine paintings had been used as shooting targets. What particularly appalled Evelyn, a keen gardener, was the harm done to his fine holly hedges by a riotous game in which Peter and his friends were raced around the grounds in wheelbarrows. Eventually the King’s Surveyor recommended that Evelyn be paid £350 in compensation
.

When Peter visited the dockyard at Portsmouth the king arranged for the fleet to put to sea and staged the first-ever mock battle in the Channel in his honour. Peter was so delighted that he said: ‘If I were not the Russian tsar I would have wished to be an English admiral.’

While in Portsmouth he asked to see the arrangements used for hanging sailors who had been given a death sentence. There was nobody scheduled for execution at the time, so Peter offered one of his own men for a demonstration. The offer was politely declined.

When the time came for Peter to return to Russia the king presented him with
Royal Transport
, a lavishly furnished yacht armed with 24 guns. The tsar set off with a number of English naval craftsmen whom he had engaged to help him build up his own navy.

Peter’s deep connection with shipbuilding and the sea continued
throughout
his life. He became a competent marine architect and shipwright; some said he was the best in Russia. One of the first major projects in his new imperial capital at St Petersburg was the construction of an Admiralty building, where he would spend at least one or two hours every day.

Tsar Peter had courage to match his physical stature. In November 1724, aged 52, he leapt into freezing water and worked tirelessly through the night to rescue 20 sailors from a ship that had been grounded. Shortly afterwards he contracted a fever and died.

Come, cheer up, my lads! ’Tis to glory we steer

To add something more to this wonderful year…

Heart of oak are our ships

Jolly tars are our men…

We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again

Annus mirabilis
, 1759, during the Seven Years’ War, was possibly the most significant year in British history since 1066. It was immortalised by the playwright David Garrick in ‘Heart of Oak’.

In August Admiral Boscawen engaged the French fleet at Lagos, off the southern coast of Portugal. After his flagship was disabled he shifted his command to another ship. When the boat taking him there was hit by a round shot and a strake was stove in, Boscawen calmly plugged the hole with his wig. He continued the chase all night and captured three French ships and destroyed two, returning to Spithead with his prizes and 2,000 prisoners. The victory prevented France from sending an invasion force from Brest.

On the other side of the globe, Quebec, the key to the conquest of upper Canada, was captured by Wolfe and Admiral Saunders in the autumn. The superb charts of the area produced by James Cook enabled the fleet to bring formidably sized ships up the St Lawrence River. Seamen landed guns ashore and hauled them up to an area overlooking the city. While Wolfe took Quebec, the fleet lay off the city, denying supplies and reinforcements to the defenders.

In November Admiral Edward Hawke caught up with Admiral Conflan’s fleet at Quiberon Bay, where they planned to embark an army of 20,000 men and invade England. Hawke hoisted the signal for ‘general chase’. His ships crowded on sail to pursue the enemy into the bay as darkness was falling, using the French ships as markers to try to keep clear of the treacherous rocks in the shallow waters of the bay. Hawke’s master urgently warned him of the peril ahead, to which Hawke replied, ‘You have done your duty in pointing out to me the danger. Now lay me alongside the enemy flagship.’

The French did not believe the British would follow them on to a lee shore, but they did. In a fierce action, the French lost seven ships of the line with 2,500 men dead. Two British ships ran aground and were wrecked, but it was a decisive strategic victory which once again averted the threat of invasion.

This glorious year, which became known as ‘the year of victories’, also saw a keel laid in Chatham Dockyard for a new warship called
Victory
– and the first birthday of the man who would lead her at Trafalgar.

BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA – having two equally undesirable alternatives.
DERIVATION
: part of maintenance of a wooden ship was the application of hot pitch to the devil, a seam between the waterways, the timber fashioning which ran along the side of the ship from the bow to the stern. The task involved being swung out precariously in a bosun’s chair over the rolling sea.

Admiral Adam Duncan and Admiral Jan de Winter were both over 1.9 m tall and proportionately well built – and their physical size matched their prowess as sea warriors.

The two Goliaths faced each other at the Battle of Camperdown in 1797. A furious engagement, echoing the fights of the seventeenth-century Dutch wars, was maintained by both sides until De Winter’s flagship was overwhelmed. Admiral Duncan refused to accept his sword in surrender saying, ‘I would much rather take a brave man’s hand than his sword.’

De Winter was conveyed to England and treated with great courtesy by his captors. When Duncan heard that De Winter’s wife had suffered a stroke he quickly arranged for his repatriation. In accordance with the ancient customs of parole and exchange De Winter gave his word never to fight the English again and left the sea for diplomacy. However, after the Peace of Amiens Napoleon abolished this gentlemanly code of behaviour and De Winter returned to the sea.

One of the most unusual battle trophies of all time must be the coffin made from the wreckage of the French flagship
L’Orient
that blew up at the Battle of the Nile in 1798. It was presented to Nelson by Captain Hallowell of HMS
Swiftsure
on 23 May 1799. Hallowell had retrieved a large section of her mainmast and instructed his carpenter to fashion it into the macabre gift. Nothing was used in its construction that had not come from
L’Orient
and an accompanying note certified to this fact. It is not clear why Hallowell had this coffin made in the first place, nor why he waited ten months before he sent it to Nelson. The two were friends who had seen service together, and perhaps Hallowell feared the effect of all the praise showered on Nelson after his celebrated victory at the Nile.

A covering letter sent with the coffin stated: ‘My Lord, herewith I send you a coffin made of part of the
L’Orient
’s mainmast that when you are tired of this life you may be buried in one of your own trophies – may that period be far distant is the sincere wish of your obedient servant.’

While his officers were appalled, Nelson was amused and for some time he had the coffin standing upright against the bulkhead of his cabin, behind the chair he sat on for dinner. Subsequently it accompanied him as part of his luggage during his long overland journey home to England with Emma and William Hamilton in 1800. In London it was stored with Nelson’s agents, Messrs Marsh, Page and Creed. During a brief period of leave in the autumn of 1805, just before the Battle of Trafalgar, Nelson visited them and instructed that the certificate of authenticity be engraved on the lid, adding, ‘I think it is highly probable that I may want it on my return.’ Was this cryptic comment a presentiment of his early death?

John Jervis, who was to become Admiral of the Fleet and Earl St Vincent during the Napoleonic Wars, joined the navy at 13 with no money apart from his pay. His father would not honour a draft of £20 he had drawn on him, but Jervis paid back the debt, shilling by shilling over three years. This left him so poor that he could not afford to pay his mess expenses, so he did not eat with other midshipmen or associate with them in any way, except for official duties. Instead, he made friends with the lower ranks and developed a deep knowledge of their ways.

Throughout his 73 years in the navy ‘Old Jarvie’ was much loved by common seamen. His nickname reflected his aggressive, rather bull-like appearance; a ‘jarvie’ was a hackney driver inured to plying his trade in all weathers.

The sailors appreciated his taut but fair discipline; almost alone of all the captains he never exceeded the maximum sentence allowed of one dozen lashes. His concern for the health of his crews was legendary, he instigated well-equipped sick bays, and a special hospital ship kept company with the fleet to care for the severely sick and wounded.

On occasion individual kindnesses further endeared him to the sailors. In one famous incident Petty Officer Roger Odell playfully jumped off the foreyard fully clothed to go swimming – forgetting he had his entire life savings of £70 in his pocket. Back aboard Odell broke into tears on finding his pounds reduced to pulp. Jervis admonished the man for crying, but said he was a fine seaman and replaced the money from his own pocket.

Jervis loathed waste and inefficiency. It was said he knew the exact quantity of stores on each ship down to the last box of nails and ball of twine and would audit a ship’s stores without notice. He did much to reduce the corruption within the navy. Jervis was also fanatic about sail drill and gunnery practice in all weather.

‘Old Jarvie’ was not always popular with the officers or their wives. When he was appointed to the command of the Channel Fleet he put a stop to the easy-going regimen whereby captains could spend a good deal of their time ashore at social functions. The story is told of one lady at a dinner party giving as a toast, ‘May his next glass of wine choke the wretch!’