He reached Rochester on the 11th. His long military experience and his natural sagacity must have shown him at once that the case was hopeless. A few soldiers of a Scotch regiment scattered between Sheppey, Sheerness, and Chatham represented the sum-total of his effective military resources. The officers seemed to have known something of their business, and Pepys praises them for being men of few words, and also, a very characteristic trait of the time, for being content to ride about their duties on horseback, whereas Lord Brouncker, one of the Navy Commissioners, would move only in a coach and six. But the Scotch regiment was not numerous enough to prevent a landing, and there was nothing else. The fireships were unmanned. The workmen of the dockyards refused to render the slightest help. Of eleven hundred who ought to have been present, only three were forthcoming when Monk called upon them. In fact, neither in Chatham nor in London itself could any man be found to do work except for money down. The sailors openly rejoiced in the embarrassments of the Government which had cheated them of their pay, and had fed them on stinking food. Their wives collected round the Navy Office with their husbands' unpaid tickets, and taunted Mr. Pepys and his colleagues. It was universally believed that the Dutch fleet was full of Englishmen, and, though there was no doubt some exaggeration in this, it has a foundation in fact. In the second year of the war Parliament had found it necessary to pass a special Act against Englishmen serving in the States of Holland. It is a fact that English prisoners of war, who might have been released, preferred to take service with the States. They said that the punctual pay of the Dutch was better than the broken promises of the King of England. Pepys has reported a story that when the Royal Charles was taken possession of by the enemy, a number of the men who boarded her were found to be English, who declared, in a rude popular copy of the cynical tone of the Court, that they were coming to present their pay tickets for payment.

On the 9th of June De Ruyter had sent a squadron up the Thames as far as Gravesend. The merchant ships in the river fled up before it, and there was nothing in the shape of an armed force to prevent Van Ghent from coming on to London Bridge. But the wind fell, and on the turn of the tide the Dutch officer was stopped. Calculating that, as the advantage of surprise had been lost, London would prove too strong to be attacked, De Ruyter recalled his subordinate, and decided to be satisfied with the taking of Chatham. On the 10th of June he entered the Medway, after battering down the half-finished fort at Sheerness with the utmost ease. The command of the fort and of the fireships had been given to a naval officer, Sir Edward Spragge, who made all the fight that was possible in the circumstances. The sailors and a detachment of the Scotch regiment under his orders stood their ground in the fort till the Dutch cannon had battered it about their ears, and fell back when the enemy landed to storm. A great magazine of naval stores, and fifteen guns, fell into the hands of the enemy. It must be recorded, to the honour of the Dutch, that, although they had received provocation which might have been held to justify reprisals in the burning of Terschelling, they did no injury whatever to private property, but contented themselves with carrying off the stores belonging to the Crown, which were fair prizes of war. During the 11th they were engaged in working up the Medway. In the meantime Monk had been desperately endeavouring to arrange a defence. A great iron chain working on pulleys on either side of the stream had been prepared in Gillingham Reach, for the purpose of stopping such an attack as the Dutch were now about to make. The fact that the chain had been provided is one of many proofs that the Government was not taken by surprise by the Dutch invasion, but was only utterly mistaken in its estimate of effective measures. The chain was drawn across the river not without difficulty, and five or six vessels were anchored behind it in order to support it by their fire. There were also two trifling batteries, one at either end. In the dockyard there was nothing but panic and confusion, the unpaid men refusing to serve, and the higher officials running away with their private property. They, with Mr. Commissioner Pett at their head, took all the available boats, and thereby deprived Monk of his best means of removing the men-of-war lying at their moorings in the dockyard farther up the river. When Pett was afterwards called to account for his conduct on this occasion, he caused some laughter by saying that he considered it his duty to save his models, and was sure that the Dutch would rather have them than any of the king's ships. If the enemy had been aware of the little value of the means of resistance collected against them, they would probably have shown less hesitation in attacking than they did. The command on the spot was left to Van Ghent. De Ruyter and the delegate, Cornelius de Witt, remained outside with the bulk of the fleet. Van Ghent gave the command of the ships appointed to break the chain to Captain Brackel. Our ancestors consoled their national vanity by inventing a story that the enterprise was considered so dangerous that it was not undertaken until this officer, who was in disgrace at the time, volunteered on it as on a forlorn hope, in order to re-establish himself in favour. In point of fact, the difficulties in the way of the Dutch were wholly caused by the intricate navigation of the river, not by any strength of armed opposition. On the 12th of June, Brackel, having with him some frigates and several fireships, came on with the flood-tide, and steered straight at the chain. The first fireship hung on the obstruction, the weight of a second snapped the chain, and then the Dutch poured through. The English ships nearest this barrier were immediately set on fire. Three of them, the Unity, the Amity, and the Mathias, or, as it is called in the Dutch account, the Honingen Castle, were prizes taken by us in the war. They were vessels of some size, and with them were some lighter craft which shared their fate.

While Brackel was burning the ships at the chain, Monk was doing all that lay in his power to save the vessels lying farther up the river. The panic of Mr. Commissioner Pett and his brother officers, aided as it was by the mutinous discontent of the men, made it impossible for the Lord General to move the greater ships farther up the river. One of these was the Royal Charles. She had carried the Duke of York's flag in the battle of Lowestoft, and Monk himself had been in her in the Four Days' Battle. This vessel now fell into the hands of the Dutch. She had only thirty of her guns mounted, and could only have been saved by flight, and, as there were no means of towing her farther up the Medway, flight was impossible. She was run aground, and then her crew escaped to the shore. The Dutch sent out boats which took possession of the deserted vessel, and she was dragged off. Monk sank the Royal James, the Royal Oak, and the Loyal London.

When the tide turned, the Dutch fell back and anchored. There were hopes that the interval might be utilised for the purpose of blocking the river. In the account which he afterwards gave to the House of Commons of the miscarriage of the war, Monk pleaded that he had sunk three vessels in what he was told was the only passage by which the Dutch could come farther up, but that he was misinformed, and that they actually made their way up by another. It is very unsafe to rely on the evidence of men who were probably in confusion at the time, and who afterwards had strong motives for disguising the truth. Monk indeed was by nature courageous and phlegmatic, and not the man to lose his head, but he probably had no great scruple in excusing himself by throwing the blame on others. Wherever the responsibility for the failure may rest, it is certain that on the following day the Dutch returned with the tide and passed up to Upnor Castle, which it had been hoped would stop them by its fire, without the slightest difficulty and with very little loss. They found the upper works of the Royal James, Royal Oak, and Loyal London standing out of the water, and immediately set them on fire. Then, when the tide again turned, they once more fell down the river, their trumpeters playing the air called "Joan's placket is torn," which it was at that time a custom of the sea to play, for the purpose of glorifying over a beaten enemy.

The loss of seven large ships burnt or captured, of an uncertain number of smaller craft destroyed or taken, and of the stores in the magazines at Sheerness, was far from representing the whole extent of the injury inflicted by the Dutch. For six weeks after they retired from Chatham they remained completely masters of the mouth of the Thames and of the southern and eastern coasts of England. The enemies of the house of De Witt complained that more had not been done. It was alleged that but for the want of spirit of the delegate, Cornelius de Witt, the dockyard at Chatham might have been completely destroyed, and London itself attacked. But it does not appear that the fleet carried any considerable body of troops, and, as the militia were rapidly collecting on the English coast, it would have been rash to land small parties. The Dutch naval officers, too, must have been aware that a certain risk was run by remaining among the shallows of the Thames. Two or three of their vessels were stranded and lost. Ample damage could be done to England, and ample humiliation inflicted on her pride, without running hazards for which there was no adequate object. De Ruyter withdrew his advance squadron to the Gunfleet and established a blockade of the river. The terror of his presence continued to work in London for some time. Even after he had withdrawn from the Medway, vessels were sunk in the upper reaches of the Thames to obstruct the navigation, in case he should return. The king and the Duke of York were themselves seen below the bridges directing these operations; and so great was the flurry of the navy officers that they actually sank a transport laden with naval stores to the value of several thousand pounds belonging to our own fleet. De Ruyter did not return; and it was fortunate he did not, for there was neither sense nor unity of will at headquarters, and in the subordinate ranks there was only discontent, and a bitter, jeering gratification over the enemy's success. Pepys, whose invaluable evidence meets us at every turn, tells us that even at this moment the king's officers were thinking every man of himself. Nobody would take the trouble to do more than he was compelled to do. The Ordnance Department, for instance, when called upon to supply powder to the fireships, would only send the materials for making it—though, to be sure, we cannot, with our still fresh recollection of the Crimean War and the feats of the Government departments at that time, attribute this necessarily to corruption or discontent. It was perhaps only what is practically nearly as mischievous as either of them—and that is red-tape.

The Dutch made an attack on the Landguard Fort below Harwich, but were beaten off. Then De Ruyter, leaving Van Ghent to blockade the Thames, sailed along the Channel as far as Plymouth without meeting any English force to oppose him, or, so great was the panic, any number of English merchant ships at sea. The desperate exertions of the Government did at last succeed in collecting a squadron of frigates and fireships in the Thames under the command of Sir Edward Spragge. Some very vague and inconclusive skirmishing, out of which our national vanity strove hard to make a victory, took place between Sir Edward and Van Ghent, but the Dutch fleet was cruising unimpeded in our waters at the end of July, when a messenger brought the news of the signing of the Peace of Breda.

CHAPTER XIII
THE ALGERINE PIRATES AND THE THIRD DUTCH WAR

The conclusion of peace with the United Provinces in July 1667 gave the king an interval of quiet. He had already begun secret negotiations with Louis XIV., which were certain to lead him once more into hostilities with Holland, but in the interval there was some work to be done of a more honourable character. It has been said already that the Barbary pirates had speedily forgotten the sharp lesson taught them by Blake. One of the first duties of the navy in the reign of Charles II. had been to cruise against Algiers. The squadron left by the Earl of Sandwich on their coast, under the command of Sir John Lawson, had done something to renew their respect for the power of England, but it had not done enough. Like most other barbarians and Orientals, the Barbary pirates could not believe in the reality of a Power which was not always present to their eyes, and was not exercised with uniform severity. Therefore, so soon as the second Dutch war began fully to employ the naval power of England, they resumed their old practices. From Sallee in the West to Tripoli in the East, their cruisers were out again plundering and capturing every English ship they found unprotected by a convoy. No English Government could afford to offend the whole trading class by allowing these outrages to go on unchecked, so, in the year after the conclusion of the Dutch war, Sir Thomas Allen was sent with a squadron into the Mediterranean to expostulate with the Dey of Algiers, and if possible to bring him to order. Allen sailed in August, and was off the pirates' stronghold on the 8th of October. The Spaniards, to whom we were in fact giving the protection they had now become too feeble to provide for themselves, allowed us to make use both of Cadiz and of Port Mahon in the Balearic Isles, as naval stations.

Allen succeeded in making one of the long string of treaties with the Algerines. These barbarians were generally ready to promise when they were under pressure, and never hesitated to break their word when our fleets were out of sight. Their conduct on the present occasion was in exact accordance with their usual practices. Having secured their worthless engagements on paper, Allen returned home in the autumn. He was hardly out of the Straits before they began again. Once more he was sent out, this time with the determination to make clean work. His squadron, eighteen strong, sailed from England on the 22nd July 1669 and reached Cadiz on the 30th. From the Spanish port Allen returned to Algiers, not to negotiate, but to blockade. In this work he had the assistance of a Dutch squadron under the command of that Admiral Van Ghent who had burnt the ships at Chatham two years before. The Dutch had as good reason as ourselves to complain of the Algerines, and in this field we could act together for a common purpose. The united efforts of Allen and Van Ghent did something to clear the sea. On the 8th of August six of the pirates who were fleeing from Van Ghent were cut off by a detachment of Sir Thomas Allen's squadron under the command of Captain Beach. They were all destroyed. Those of their crews who were Mohammedans were made prisoners, the English and Dutch who were found in slavery among them were restored to their countrymen.

In this year there took place an action which was long remembered in the navy as particularly heroic, and is interesting because it makes us acquainted with a singularly fine specimen of the Tarpaulin naval officer of the seventeenth century. John Kempthorne was a Devonshire man, the son of an attorney at Modbury, who had fought as a cavalry officer in the service of Charles I. and had died in poverty. The son was apprenticed to the sea, and entered the service of the Levant Company. In 1657, on his way home from the Levant, Kempthorne was attacked by a Spanish privateer of the name of Papachino, and taken after a desperate resistance. There is a legend which may be accepted as a more or less poetical version of the facts, that, having used up all his bullets, he had recourse to firing bags of dollars into the Spaniards. Papachino treated him handsomely. In the following year the Spaniard fell into our hands, and owed his release on comparatively easy terms to the friendly offices of Kempthorne. Such a man was obviously destined by nature to end in the fighting fleet. In the second Dutch war he served with distinction as a captain, and had the honour to be chosen to act as Rear-Admiral of the Blue in the battle of the 25th of July. In 1669 he carried an English envoy to Morocco in his ship, the Mary Rose. Having landed his passenger at Tangier, Kempthorne went on to Sallee, one of the most notorious of the pirate strongholds. A gale blew him off the coast into the Straits of Gibraltar. Here he fell in with a squadron of seven corsairs. There were two small merchant ships in sight. One of the pirates sailed in pursuit of them, and the other six fell on Kempthorne. The old opponent of Papachino was not the man to be carried tamely into slavery by any enemy, however superior in numbers. He fought, and was well supported by his crew. The Mary Rose was cut to pieces, eleven of her men were killed and seventeen wounded, but Kempthorne reduced the principal ship of the corsairs to a sinking condition. The others sheered off and left him to make his way unmolested to Cadiz. All sea fighting at this time was fierce, but there was a peculiar quality of ferocity in actions with the Barbary pirates. They themselves gave their victims the choice of slavery or death, and it was given to them. Immediately before this action in the Straits, Kempthorne had retaken a prize from the corsairs, and had sold the prize-crew of twenty-two men as slaves. Kempthorne's fight lived long in the memory of the navy as a model of stout-hearted courage, and it rounds the story off pleasantly that he was imitated eleven years later by his son, Captain Morgan Kempthorne. In 1681 the younger Kempthorne, who was then twenty-three years of age, was commander of a small vessel called the Kingfisher in the Mediterranean. He was attacked by a squadron of Algerines, said to have consisted of seven vessels, one more than the force his father had fought. The Kingfisher repeated the obstinate resistance of the Mary Rose. Morgan Kempthorne was himself killed by a cannon-shot early in the action, but his lieutenant, Wrenn, an officer who afterwards rose to high rank, filled his place. The pirates were finally beaten off, and the Kingfisher, though seriously damaged, and having lost a large part of her men, was carried safely into Naples.

Sir Thomas Allen remained in the Mediterranean till the close of 1670, when he returned home at his own request, leaving his second in command, Sir Edward Spragge, behind him with a part of the squadron. During the short remainder of 1670 and the whole of 1671 Spragge carried out the most uniformly energetic and the most effective of our cruises against the Barbary pirates. In December 1670 he managed, by disguising his ship, to tempt some of the quick-sailing pirates to come too near him, and was able to effect the destruction of one among them. In the spring of the following year he struck a far more brilliant blow. News reached him in April that a squadron of Algerines was lying at Bougie, a port to the east of Algiers. Spragge set out with his squadron and several fireships, with the determination to destroy them. A storm crippled one of his vessels so severely that she was compelled to return to the coast of Spain, and it also inflicted some temporary damage on a fireship. But, though weakened, the admiral considered himself still able to deal with the pirates. He refitted the fireship at sea, and then went on, reaching Bougie on the 2nd of May.

The squadron had approached with a brisk gale, but as it drew near the land the wind fell, and for the remainder of the day there were only treacherous breezes, with calms between. In these conditions no direct attack by the heavy ships was possible, but Spragge was in hopes that something might be done with a fireship after dark. There were three vessels of this class in the admiral's force, two small and one somewhat larger—too large, in fact, to be used conveniently against an enemy who drew few feet of water, and was hauled up close to the land on a shelving beach. The smallest of the three was chosen. She could be rowed, and was therefore independent of the wind. The combustibles having been arranged and the slow matches laid, the fireship left the squadron, accompanied by armed boats under the command of Nugent, the first lieutenant of the flagship. The night was very dark, and the enemy, lying close under the shadow of the land, was invisible. The pirates had also no doubt taken the obvious precaution of putting out their lights. In the prevailing blackness Nugent overshot the enemy. Calculating that he had gone too far, he stopped the expedition, and turned back with his own boat only to grope for the enemy. In a few moments he came upon them, and then silently, with muffled oars, slipped away to bring on his fireship. At that moment she burst into flames, alarming the whole coast. Perhaps she was ill fitted, and the inflammable matter in her caught fire by accident. Perhaps she was prematurely fired by her men. The work of the "brander" was singularly trying to the nerves of the crew; they were always liable to become flurried, and the less resolute among them were subject to the temptation to seek strength in the use of spirits, which betrayed their senses just when the utmost coolness was needed. Whatever the cause of the misfortune may have been, the chance was lost. The enemy was alarmed, and, as he could succeed only by surprise, Nugent returned to the flagship.

For nearly a week Spragge was baffled by calms and catspaws of wind. His second small fireship was consumed through the folly of a drunken gunner, who fired off his pistol in some idle extravagance, and so set her in flames. There was now but one fireship left, the Little Victory, and, as she drew eight feet of water, she could not be used against an enemy who was drawn up on the very edge of the shore. The corsairs had in the meantime dismasted their vessels to form a boom, so that the difficulty of attacking them increased as the means diminished. On the 8th May a convoy of ammunition was seen approaching Bougie along the coast, escorted by Arab horsemen. But Spragge had resolved not to go till he had struck an effective stroke, and fortune favoured his pertinacity, as she is apt to do. He had lightened the Little Victory till she drew only four feet of water. So soon as the wind served, the greater ships were to engage the forts. Under the cover they afforded, a detachment of boats was to cut the boom, and the fireship was to be steered through the opening. Just as the convoy was nearing the town, amid the premature rejoicings of the Algerines, the wind began to blow in strong from the sea. Then Sir Edward Spragge carried out his plan. He himself engaged the forts. The boats, under the command of the younger Harman, Pearce, and Pinn, cut the boom. The Little Victory was steered through the breach and laid across the bows of the nearest pirate ship. Under the impulse of the wind the flames spread quickly, and before next morning there were six skimmers of the sea the less on the waters of the Mediterranean.

The destruction of the ships at Bougie was a severe blow to the Algerines. Being unable to avenge themselves on the English, they vented their rage on their own Dey. He was murdered, and a successor was appointed. The new ruler did what the old must have done if he had been spared. He made peace. Even so it required another visit of Spragge's squadron to Algiers to compel the pirates to keep faith. At last a treaty was made, and English trade appeared to be safe for the time from the pirate vessels of Algiers. Spragge returned home in the spring of 1672, having effected the purpose for which his squadron was sent abroad with an exceptionally full measure of success.

It was, however, only for the time being. The outbreak of the third war with Holland in 1672 employed the whole naval force of the English Government. The fact was soon known to the Barbary States. It is convenient to forestall the course of events, and finish with this chapter of naval history. Although the subsequent proceedings against the pirates belonged to the years which followed the signing of the peace with Holland, they may be told here, since they form part of the same story and stand wholly apart from the war in the Channel and North Sea. The excesses of the pirates were so notorious, and the outcries of the English merchants so loud, that another squadron was despatched to the Mediterranean in 1674. The command was given to Sir John Narbrough. The reader will remember that this officer comes second in what Lord Macaulay calls the strange line of descent from Myngs to Shovell. John Narbrough was a Norfolk man, belonging to a family which held a position intermediate between that of the county families and the working class. He was, in fact, almost a gentleman by birth, but his family seemed to have been poor, and the lad, like many other gentlemen in his position at that time, was apprenticed to a trade. Whether he was ever, as Macaulay puts it, cabin-boy to Sir Christopher Myngs may possibly be doubtful. There would be nothing in the habits of the time to make it improbable. The cabin-boy of an admiral, or even of a captain, would be very much in the position of the page of a nobleman or the maid of his wife. We know that gentlemen and ladies of very good birth served as the pages and maids of people of rank, and that this position in the household of a great man was not thought discreditable. Whether he was cabin-boy or not, Narbrough undoubtedly served under Sir Christopher Myngs, and owed much to his recommendation. He had fought in the second Dutch war. In the interval of peace he had commanded a curious expedition into the South Seas. He was sent with a commission from the Duke of York to visit the possessions of the Spaniards on the Pacific coast of South America. The object seems to have been to see whether it would be possible to establish a trade. The commercial policy of the Spaniards ought to have been sufficiently well known to the English Court to forbid any such hope. Narbrough reached the coast of Chili. He was received by the Spanish officials with a mixture of courtesy and suspicion, and returned, after a brief stay in the Pacific, having effected nothing. The Spaniards would not allow of any trade, and Narbrough was too much the king's officer to begin a course of piracy, after the model of private adventurers when they were debarred from commerce in the Spanish Seas.

His command in the Mediterranean was eventful and creditable. The chief offenders on this occasion were rather the Tripolitans than the Algerines. Narbrough cruised against them all through 1675. He began in the customary way by negotiations which led to no result, and then had recourse to active hostilities. In the June of that year he drove one of their largest ships ashore and destroyed it. At the end of August he struck another blow at the enemy. The English squadron was cruising outside Tripoli when a Sattee, a large lateen-rigged ship working both with sails and sweeps, was seen endeavouring to slip into port by hugging the shore. It was a calm, and she was worked with her oars. Narbrough despatched the boats of his squadron to cut her off. The Sattee, finding that the boats had cut her road home, ran on shore. The English boats were thereupon anchored close to her, with the intention of endeavouring to set her on fire by means of a fireship, so soon as it could be got ready. The Tripolitans were soon made aware of the dangerous position of the Sattee. Two large armed galleys were sent out to drive off the English boats and tow the pirate vessel into the bay. For a time they were successful. The English boats retired, and the galleys took the Sattee in tow. But while this was in progress the sea breeze got up. The light frigates of Narbrough's squadron were able to stand in, and all three corsairs were cut off together. Both the Sattee and the galleys were now driven on shore, and while in this helpless position were fired by the English boats.

This blow was so far effectual that the Bey of Tripoli was induced to open negotiations for peace. Narbrough employed as his representative his first lieutenant, Cloudesley Shovell. Shovell is the third in Lord Macaulay's line of descent. He came into the navy under the protection of Narbrough. He also was a Norfolk man, and his name will be conspicuous in the campaigns of the English Navy throughout the whole of the next generation. Shovell was still young, and it is said that the Bey considered himself insulted by the choice of so youthful a diplomatic agent. He vented his ill-will by insult to Shovell. The young lieutenant was by no means of a long-suffering disposition, but he was an officer of great care and judgment. He bore the insolence of the barbarian with patience, and in the meantime turned his leisure to account by making careful observations of the position of the pirate ships in the harbour at Tripoli. His inspection satisfied him that the corsairs were open to a vigorous boat attack, and he reported as much to Sir John Narbrough. Since the Bey was obviously resolved not to make peace until he was compelled to do so, Sir John decided to apply the necessary pressure. The year 1676 had now begun, and it was on the 14th of January that the English admiral resolved to act. The boats of the fleet were armed and supplied with combustibles. Under cover of night they entered the harbour. A guardship which was found lying ready for the purpose of protecting the vessels at anchor was carried by boarding, and the boats, pushing on, took possession of and set fire to four of the Bey's best vessels. They then returned to the squadron without having suffered any loss. This stroke abated the insolence of the enemy, but he was not yet sufficiently cowed to make a really satisfactory peace. The English insisted that the pirates should not only release the prisoners in their possession, but should pay an indemnity for the damage done to English trade. This they refused to do. Finding that the burning of their vessels had not been enough, Sir John Narbrough bombarded the town, and also effected a landing at a place some distance from Tripoli, and burned a magazine of timber accumulated for the construction of other cruisers.

The necessity of refitting his squadron now compelled Sir John Narbrough to return to port. He was allowed to make use of Malta by the Knights of St. John. After having refitted his ships, Narbrough returned at once to Tripoli. This persistence finally broke down the spirit of the corsairs. They agreed to make peace, on the conditions that they should release their prisoners and pay eighty thousand dollars. Even yet the work was not thoroughly done. No sooner had Sir John Narbrough obtained the signature of the treaty and sailed away from before the town, than some of the pirate vessels belonging to it (which, having left on a cruise some months before, had escaped the English squadron) returned. The captains of these adventurers, supported by their crews, raised an agitation against the Bey for his weakness. He was compelled to flee. The report of this revolution reached Sir John Narbrough before he had left the Mediterranean, and with it came the news that the pirates were again beginning to plunder English trading ships. He returned to Tripoli, and once more bombarded the town. This last act of vigour finally persuaded the pirates that they were the weaker. The new Bey confirmed the treaty made by his predecessor, and the ringleaders of the revolt were handed over to the English admiral as a guarantee for the sincere observance of the treaty.

Sir John Narbrough felt justified in returning home with his squadron in the spring of 1677, but his stay there was short. One or other of the pirate towns was always sure to seize upon the chance afforded by the temporary absence of English warships to renew its depredations. On this occasion it was Algiers which broke its engagements. Undeterred by the lesson inflicted upon Tripoli, and the memory of the punishment they had received from Sir Edward Spragge, the Algerines returned to their old courses in 1677. Narbrough was sent out in the summer of that year. His second campaign in the Mediterranean lasted for two years, and was directed against the Algerines. Several of their cruisers were captured, and on one occasion Sir John made prize of twelve of their merchant vessels, and two men-of-war which were sailing with them as convoy. Then he bombarded Algiers, but the strength of the place was so great that this measure proved of little effect. A success gained in the month of November in 1678 did more to cow these enemies of Christendom. The Algerines fitted out a squadron for the purpose of retaliating on English commerce. It consisted of five vessels—the Greyhound of 42 guns, the Golden Tiger and Five Stars of 36, the New Fountain of 34, and the Flying Horse of 32 guns. But the whole of this squadron fell together into the hands of Sir John Narbrough, who took it after a smart action and carried it bodily into the friendly port of Cadiz. This blow so far weakened the Algerines that Narbrough returned home in May 1679, with fifteen of the ships of his squadron which stood most in need of repair. He left a detachment behind him under the command of Arthur Herbert, who remained on the station till 1682. The active operations of the English fleet were put a stop to when our navy was reduced to impotence at the end of the reign of Charles II. Herbert we shall meet again. The operations which took place under his command are not of sufficient importance to call for notice.

The third Dutch war, and the last in which England had Holland for a principal adversary, lasted for two years, from the spring of 1672 to the spring of 1674. It is not a passage in our history that Englishmen can look back upon with pride. Our seamen indeed fought as gallantly as ever, but the leadership they found was of the poorest. This of itself might have been only a misfortune due to a temporary clouding of the military intelligence of our chiefs. But the war was essentially infamous. It was undertaken for no national purpose, and on no sufficient grounds. It is true that, in a way, it brought us a certain profit. The colossal piece of brigandage organised by Louis XIV., and encouraged by the co-operation of Charles II., did undoubtedly give the death-blow to the commercial supremacy of Holland, and it was England that stepped into her inheritance. Yet it is certain that the United Provinces, limited as they necessarily were to a small territory, must have been outstripped by the great consolidated States about them. The war can by no possibility have done more than hasten the date of their fall. As a set-off to what we gained through the distress of the Dutch, we have to put the immediate loss inflicted on English commerce, the infamy which the character of the war fixed on our Government, and the stimulus given to those passions and fears which brought England to the very verge of a civil war. It may be doubted whether the advantage we gained was worth the price we paid for it. Unless a small money profit is a sufficient compensation for a national shame, we certainly lost. It may be asserted, with as much confidence as can be shown in maintaining any historical opinion, that the frantic fever of terror and suspicion, which threw England into the cruelties of the Popish Plot, can be traced directly to the policy which produced the third Dutch war.

The conclusion of the peace with Holland in 1667 was due at least as much to the hidden policy of Charles II. and the aims of Louis XIV. as to the necessities of the Crown. The King of France was resolved to extend his kingdom towards the north and north-east, where it was not shut in by mountain barriers, by absorbing the Spanish Netherlands. These aims of his had at once excited the fears of the Dutch and of the more patriotic among English politicians. It was not the interest of England to see France established as mistress of the Netherlands. Therefore the second Dutch war was barely over before the majority of Englishmen were ready to forget their late rivalry with the States, and to enter into the Triple Alliance with Holland and Sweden. The avowed object of this league was to compel Spain to make certain concessions to France, but its unavowed though well-known purpose was to provide the means of offering an effectual resistance to France if she went farther than she had yet done. So long as this bond remained unbroken, there was a barrier in the way of the ambition of the French king. For that very reason it was the interest of the French king to break the Triple Alliance, and he found the means of effecting his purpose in the character and position of Charles II.

The preliminaries of the infamous Treaty of Dover, signed in May 1670, need not be repeated here. In its main lines this treaty bound the King of England to assist in the conquest of the Dutch Republic by an army and a fleet. When the conquest was effected, England was to receive as her share of the spoil the island of Walcheren and some other points on the Dutch coast. During the progress of the war Charles was to receive a pension from the King of France. The treaty was kept rigidly secret, even from the majority of the king's most trusted servants.

The turbulence of the House of Commons during the sessions of 1667, 1668, and 1669 had unquestionably a large share in inducing the king to enter into this secret agreement. In 1667 the House was in the first flush of its anger against the mismanagement which had led to the final disasters of the war. It was intent on paring down the expenses of government, and insisted both on apportioning the fixed revenue for definite purposes, and on inquiring into the spending of the money voted for the war. It was no less resolute in voting against a standing army, which the king was endeavouring to form, and against Popery, which he was dimly suspected to favour. Popular fury was for a time diverted into a clamour against Clarendon, who was driven from office and the country. But when the House met in February 1668, it was found to be intent as ever on investigating the miscarriages of the war. Peter Pett, the Commissioner of the Chatham Dockyard, and Sir William Penn were both called before the House and threatened with impeachment on a long string of charges. The Commons called for and received a long apologetic statement from Monk. The proceedings against Penn and Pett fell through, and Pepys contrived to make a plausible case for the Navy Office, but the House was in so dangerous a humour that the king did not dare to cross it openly. The war had left him embarrassed with debt, and it was soon made clear that, until the House was satisfied that there would be better management in future, it would not vote a penny for the relief of the king's necessities. The pressure thus applied to him drove the king at last to promise that supply should be collected and issued for those purposes, and by such persons only as the House of Commons should think fit. He agreed, in fact, to the demand of Parliament to be allowed to appropriate its votes to particular services. The concession was really great, but the Commons still refused to relieve the king, and continued to insist on retrenchments and the regulation of the revenue. In desperation the king prorogued the House, and did not summon it again for nearly a year and a half. At last want of money drove him to call Parliament together in October 1669. It was not found that this interval of delay had produced any reduction in the passions of the members of the Lower House. Once more they went into the abuses in the accounts, and they expelled Sir George Carteret, who had been Treasurer of the Navy. These incessant attacks, which, though nominally directed against his servants, were in reality aimed at himself, made the king long more eagerly for a release from an intolerable position. He found a body of courtiers who were prepared to assist him in carrying out his policy of alliance with France against Holland. The members of this informal council were called the Cabal, a word originally only applied to what we now call a Cabinet. It happened, oddly enough, that the first letters of their names, Clifford, Ashley, Buckingham, Arlington, and Lauderdale, spelt the word, and as their policy ended by becoming odious, an unfavourable sense was ever afterwards attached to the phrase. They were called "The Cabal," and the term became synonymous with everything that was unscrupulous and unpatriotic. With the help of these men, the king contrived so far to manage his Parliament in 1671 that it voted him something for the payment of his debts. As the intrigue with Louis XIV. was ripe just at this moment, the money voted by the House came at a convenient time. It was, however, not sufficient, and probably would not have been if it had been spent with more care than was ever bestowed on the management of the king's revenue. When the time came to give active assistance to the King of France, it was found necessary to cast about for other resources. Charles dared not summon his Parliament and ask it for funds to help the aggressive Roman Catholic King of France to destroy a Protestant State. A way out of the difficulty was found by plundering the creditors of the Crown. When Parliament voted the king money, it was then the custom to raise the funds at once from the bankers, who advanced the money entrusted to them by their clients on the security of the revenue. They received 8 per cent. for the accommodation, and were accustomed to pay their own clients 6—the difference was their profit. Of course one result of this method of managing the revenue was, that as the taxes came in they were paid over to the bankers. If the money advanced by the capitalists had been wasted so soon as it was received, the king was naturally as poor as ever. This was exactly what had happened. Money being absolutely indispensable, the Crown provided for itself by repudiating its debts. Orders were given that no more payments should be made out of the Exchequer to the bankers. Thus the king received the parliamentary vote twice over—once when it was advanced by the bankers, and once again as the taxes came in. This was the famous closing of the Exchequer which brought such profound discredit on the Government of Charles II. It was the result of conducting government on the principles of a wasteful private person.

The closing of the Exchequer took place in January 1672. It put the king so far in funds that he was able to meet the House of Commons with some confidence. He could now at least go on to make war without waiting till the House voted him more money. During the whole of 1671 the danger menacing the Low Countries had been notorious. John de Witt tried hard to secure allies, and was prepared to make great concessions to England, in return for support against the French. But the king had decided that the French alliance was more profitable. The piratical character of the war was shown by the very first measure taken by the English Government. Negotiations were still in progress with Holland when Sir Robert Holmes was ordered to attack the home-coming Dutch Smyrna and Lisbon convoys. The seventy or eighty merchant ships forming convoys were known to be laden with very rich cargoes. If they could be seized bodily, they would not only put a great deal of booty in the way of officers employed on the service, but would also give Charles's Government the command of a much-needed sum of money. The duty of seizing them was given to Sir Robert Holmes. The force at his command was supposed to be amply sufficient for the work. He had nominally thirty-six warships under his orders, and, as the Dutch merchant ships were only accompanied by six men-of-war for their protection, he would, supposing his force to be efficient, have been able to overpower them easily. But the strength of his fleet existed mainly on paper. Of the ships actually ready there were only five or six. Holmes was cruising with these vessels in the neighbourhood of the Isle of Wight, when the Dutch fleet under the command of Van Nes came up the Channel. It had perhaps been supposed by the English Court that the Dutch would be found unprepared. They were, however, on their guard. Although the States General had tried to pacify the King of England, they had not been so foolish as to neglect the risk that he would attack them. Van Nes had been warned, and was ready to defend himself. Throughout the whole of the war now beginning, the average conduct of the Dutch officers was better than it had ever been before. The strong measures taken by John de Witt to improve the discipline of the service had had their effect, and it may be believed that the deadly peril of their country had some effect in rousing the courage of the Dutch. They are not an easily moved people, but, when once thoroughly inflamed, their valour is singularly tenacious. On this occasion the Dutch officer handled his convoy with the utmost skill as well as resolution. Twenty of his merchant ships carried guns, and Van Nes made use of them as fighting ships. The decks were hampered with cargo, but this the Dutch skippers threw overboard to make room for working the guns. Van Nes adopted the usual order for a convoy. He arranged his warships and armed merchant ships in the so-called half-moon. This formation had been adopted by Tromp at the battle of Portland. It was, in fact, an angle, the flagship being at the apex, and the vessels from which fighting was expected being arranged in two lines branching out to right and left from her. The unarmed vessels would be put in the space contained in the angle. The action began on the afternoon of the 13th of March. The courage of Holmes was, in fact, more conspicuous than his good management. If he was outnumbered, it was largely due to his own fault. On the day before the Dutch came in sight, he had met the ships returning from the Mediterranean under Sir Edward Spragge. These were the vessels which had been engaged in the operations against the Algerine pirates described above. Spragge had passed the Dutch convoy on the way. He was not acquainted with Holmes's orders, and Sir Robert did not tell him what they were. The fact, no doubt, is that Holmes thought himself strong enough to capture the Dutch convoy without help, and was unwilling to share prize-money with another officer. This was only one more example of the then general practice of subordinating the public service to private interests. Holmes paid for his greed by failure. He found the Dutch far too strong for him. When he attacked on the afternoon of the 13th of March, the English ships fought well, for, although Holmes was a man of a conceited, violent, and turbulent character, he was abundantly brave, and his captains backed him up stoutly. They could, however, make no impression on the Dutch. When night fell, they were glad to draw off badly cut up, and the enemy continued on their way. During the darkness the English ships were refitted. Holmes's own flagship, the St. Michael, was so severely mauled that he was compelled to transfer his flag to the Cambridge, but he was reinforced in the morning by three fresh vessels. The second day's fighting was as fierce as the first had been, and was somewhat more successful. One Dutch vessel was sunk, and five or six were captured. Several officers fell on both sides. The great bulk of the Dutch convoy was carried safely into port. Holmes and Spragge are reported to have had a quarrel. Sir Edward thought that his brother officer had been meanly anxious to deprive him of prize-money, and the probabilities are that he was right.

The failure of this attack was a great disappointment to the Government. The open declaration of war could no longer be delayed. The king had informed Parliament of his intention to make war on the Dutch, and referred it to his Declaration for his reasons. The Declaration, as might be expected where the Government could not avow its real motives, was a somewhat pitiful document. An attempt was made to justify hostilities by complaints that the Dutch had not fulfilled their treaty obligations in regard to Surinam, and had persisted in offensive measures against our trade in the East Indies. Much prominence was given to their offences in the matter of the salute to the English flag. This was a convenient pretext whenever an English Government wished to quarrel with a neighbour. It could always say that it was asserting the national dignity. In the present case the falsity of the pretext was glaring, for the king, who was so exacting towards the Dutch, was prepared to waive his rights as against the French. Louis XIV. never would allow his ships to render the salute, and King Charles did not insist on this mark of deference from his paymaster. The greater part of the Declaration was divided between assertions that the Dutch Republic was the enemy of all kings, and complaints of personal insults directed against King Charles. It was thought ridiculous, even in times which had a profound reverence for royal dignity, that an appreciable portion of so serious a document as a declaration of war should be found to be devoted to a rather whimpering complaint that the Dutch had drawn pictures of His Majesty in undignified positions. This wordy document, written in the style of a pamphlet, produced very little impression on the House of Commons. Members, in fact, were too intent on resisting the spread of Popery, and had been made too angry by the king's Declaration of Indulgence to dissenters, to pay much attention to the war. The session was employed in passing the Test Act, and in the meantime the campaign against the Dutch was carried on with such resources as the king had been able to provide by closing the Exchequer and by taking the money of France.

Although one side had long been resolved on war, and the other had every reason to consider it inevitable, the fleets of England and Holland were so little ready that nearly two months passed before serious operations were begun. The English Government collected its fleet in the course of March, April, and May by the methods already described, and in the face of much the same difficulties as had been met with in former wars. The Navigation Laws were suspended. On the occasion of the last war this had been done by the king without question. But the recently published Declaration of Indulgence had startled Parliament by showing it what extension might be given to the king's prerogative to dispense with penal statutes. The suspension, then, of the Navigation Acts did not on this occasion pass without exciting comment. Yet there was no resistance to the king's exercise of his authority. In war-time the measure was indispensable. In later ages Parliament was accustomed itself to suspend the Acts, since it was evident that the country did not contain a sufficient number of sailors to man both the merchant ships and the war fleet. Crews were found by a free use of the press. Officers who had not been employed during the peace were recalled to the king's service. Such men, for instance, as Richard Haddock now found the opportunity to serve the king in the higher commands of his navy. Richard Haddock was the son of William Haddock, who had served the Commonwealth with distinction, and had been rewarded by the gift of a jewel as a special mark of favour. The family had for centuries been seamen and skippers of the town of Leigh in Essex. Richard Haddock had fought in the previous war, but, finding no employment in peace, had returned to the command of a merchant ship, of which he was part owner. There were still hundreds of others who, like him, were naval officers only in war and merchant seamen in peace. The difficulties which were put in the way of manning the fleet by the defects of the Administration were not less than they had been before, but in this war the King of England did not act alone, and the strain on the Navy Office was not so great.

While the English fleet was being got ready for sea, the Dutch also were preparing. The whole extent of their peril had now been revealed to them. A French army of overwhelming strength poured over their border. The Loevenstein Party had always been jealous of the army. It feared the devotion of the soldiers to the House of Orange, and had not only reduced their numbers, but had disorganised the diminished force it did maintain by omitting to fill up the higher commands. This measure, which was intended to make combined action on the part of the soldiers the more difficult, proved utterly disastrous when the country was suddenly entangled in war with a formidable enemy. The towns fell fast before the invader. The neglected army was found to be utterly inefficient, and it looked for a time as if the end of Holland had come. The States General made appeals to the Kings of France and England, but in vain. They were answered by both with demands which, if complied with, would have entailed the entire destruction of Holland. There are few more odious passages than this in European history. Nothing like it was seen again until the time of Napoleon. The States General, driven to despair, made desperate efforts to prepare forces for the defence of the country. These efforts, though hampered by the divisions of the Dutch Admiralty, were more successful at sea than on land. If the fleet sent to sea under the command of De Ruyter was late in getting ready, it was at least a powerful and efficient force when once it had been collected. It consisted of over a hundred vessels. Between seventy and eighty were of the line or were frigates. If it had been out a month sooner, it is possible that the naval war might have begun by a crushing disaster to the allies. The French squadron appointed to co-operate with the English did not make its appearance in the Channel till the first days of May. It anchored on the third of that month at Portsmouth. The command was given to the Count d'Estrées, Vice-Admiral of France. D'Estrées was not a seaman, but a great noble who was entrusted with the military direction of the fleet only. The navy of Louis XIV. was as yet but new and inexperienced. The forty vessels under d'Estrées were likely to be more of a burden than a help to the English fleet, yet the vessels were among the finest then afloat. While the French admiral was at Portsmouth, he was visited by the king, who admired the size and beauty of his ships. In the meantime the English fleet was painfully collecting in the Downs. If at this moment De Ruyter had been in a position to attack, it is extremely possible that he might have beaten the allies in detail; but his fleet also was not ready, and so the French and English were allowed to join one another in the Downs unmolested. The English fleet consisted of some sixty ships of the line and a number of smaller vessels. Monk was dead, and the command was again in the hands of the Duke of York as Lord High Admiral. The king was still childless, and the duke was the heir-presumptive to the throne; but although this had been made an excuse for recalling him from active command in 1665, it was not allowed to prevent him from going to sea in 1672. The second in command of the English fleet was the Earl of Sandwich. When the whole force of the allies was collected, it was divided, according to the custom of the time, into three squadrons, carrying respectively the red, the white, and the blue flag. On this occasion the White Squadron consisted wholly of the French. It was natural that they should carry this ensign, for the flag of the French monarchy was white. But as the White Squadron formed the van in the order of sailing of a great fleet, it was made a charge against the Cabal that they had sacrificed the dignity of England by leaving this place of honour to a foreign Power. The Red Squadron was under the direct command of the Duke of York. His vice-admiral was Sir Edward Spragge, and his rear-admiral Sir John Harman. Sandwich commanded the Blue Squadron, with Sir Joseph Jordan as vice and Sir John Kempthorne as rear-admiral.

On the 19th of May the whole fleet was at anchor in the Downs when the Dutch fleet was seen off the North Foreland. The Duke of York immediately put to sea, with the intention of forcing on a battle. De Ruyter was perfectly ready to fight, but he was also resolved not to give battle until he saw a fair prospect of striking an effectual blow. He therefore drew off before the allies to the coast of Holland. He perhaps calculated on the inexperience of the French to cause some confusion in the allied fleet. To judge by the movements of the allies, the Duke of York and his English advisers were far from sure of the seamanlike efficiency of their associates. Soon after the fleet had got under way, the weather became misty and squally. Thereupon the allies proceeded to Southwold or Solebay, and came to an anchor on the evening of the 20th. Here they remained, making no movement, for several days. The fleet was anchored some seven or eight miles off shore. This was hardly what was to be expected from a commander who felt confident of the capacity of his force to fight and manœuvre. The Duke of York may have had another reason for remaining at Solebay. The work of provisioning an English fleet was usually so wretchedly done at that time, that he may very possibly have been already in want of stores. Yet his necessities cannot have been so great as to compel him to remain at anchor when an enemy was within a few hours' sail. Another explanation of his action may be found in this, that the duke was essentially no commander at all, but only a very dull man who had acquired some knowledge of the mechanical parts of seamanship, and was intrinsically incapable of thinking out any plan of action. Such a man might naturally prefer to remain quiescent till his enemy came in sight and saved him the trouble of thinking. Whatever the explanation may be, it can hardly be consistent with the efficiency of the allied fleet or the capacity of its commander. The disadvantages of the situation in which the naval force of the allies was kept was patent to many of the subordinate commanders. A well-known and fairly well-authenticated story tells how Sandwich expostulated with the Duke of York at dinner on the evening of the 27th. The Admiral of the Blue called the duke's attention to the fact that when the wind was from the sea the fleet was in a dangerous position, and recommended that it should either stand out or be drawn nearer the shore. What Sandwich probably meant was, that as it lay, the fleet could get no support from batteries on shore, and might, if the wind blew from the E. or N.E., be so attacked that the Dutch could double upon one end of it, part of them placing themselves outside, and the others coming between the English ships and the land. This danger might be averted either by getting under way, or by anchoring so close to the shallow water that the enemy would be unable to come inside. The warning was much needed, and the advice was good. But the Duke of York took neither one nor the other. He only answered with a silly jeer at the courage of Sandwich. The story is credible enough of the only member of the House of Stuart of whom it can be said that he occasionally acted like a boor, and was always essentially dull.

The value of the opinion attributed to Sandwich was demonstrated on the morning of the 28th of May. The French look-out frigate reported that the Dutch fleet was at hand. The morning was hazy, and De Ruyter was close on before he was seen from the flagships. So little was the Duke of York prepared for a risk of which the probability must have been patent to every thinking man in the English fleet, that a number of the boats were getting water. That the ships had not supplied themselves during the seven days they had been lying idle, speaks volumes for the slovenly stupidity of the management in the French and English squadrons. The conduct of the battle is worthy of what had gone before. The moment the Dutch were known to be coming on, the allies did what they ought to have done earlier. They got under way, but of course they had to do in hurry and confusion what they might have done coolly and in good order. The wind was blowing from the N.E. in the early hours of the morning. If it had held steady, De Ruyter would have been upon his enemies before they had time to get into any kind of order, but it fell for a short space, and then shifted round towards the south. This pause gave the allies time to cut their cables and get under way. In the very act of preparing for battle they divided themselves into two, thereby committing the most fatal possible blunder in the presence of a capable enemy. The Blue Squadron was anchored to the north. To the south of it was the Red Squadron, and south of that again the White. In the usual order of sailing it would have fallen to this last to lead. If the Duke of York meant to allow the Blue Squadron to lead, he should have made his meaning perfectly clear beforehand, since, in the absence of particular instructions, d'Estrées would naturally act on the general sailing orders. But if the White Squadron was to lead, it must, with the wind at N.E., stand out to S. of E. on the port tack. This was the course taken by d'Estrées, and, unless he was told not to take it, he was right, both because he followed the regular sailing orders, and because this course would lead him to the open sea. But while d'Estrées was steering south-east, the Blue Squadron, with the Red Squadron after it, was standing to the W. of N. They went out on the starboard tack. Why this course was followed does not appear. It presented no possible advantage, but had, on the contrary, the serious drawback that it carried the English ships near the coast, where they were in imminent danger of being cooped up between the enemy and the shallow water. Haste and want of thought, or confused directions from the Duke of York, probably account for the blunder.

When once it had been made, the allied fleet lay at the mercy of Michael de Ruyter. The course followed by the White Squadron was carrying it away to leeward, whence it could not return except by tacking against the wind. The Dutch admiral could therefore afford to neglect it and employ the main strength of his force in attacking the English. De Ruyter's fleet had come down in line abreast, stretching from north to south. The ships at the northern end formed the squadron of Admiral van Ghent. De Ruyter himself commanded in the centre. The left wing, or most southerly end of the line, was the squadron of Bankert. The Dutch admiral ordered this officer to follow and watch d'Estrées. Bankert's duty was not to force close action with the French admiral, but to keep himself to windward and check every attempt of the enemy to return to the support of the Duke of York. This duty he performed so thoroughly that the French were thrown out of action all day long. Our ancestors accused d'Estrées of want of personal courage, or at least of disloyalty to his ally, but it may be that he could not help himself: having once fallen to leeward, his squadron had not the seamanship to work back against the Dutch.

While d'Estrées and Bankert were engaged in a distant cannonade, a furious battle was raging between the squadrons of Van Ghent and De Ruyter on the one hand, and the Blue and Red Squadrons on the other. Whether he deliberately planned to do it or not, De Ruyter contrived to concentrate a superior force on the English line. In the order in which we went into action, the ships at the head of the line were commanded by Sir John Kempthorne. Next to him came the Earl of Sandwich, with his flag in the Royal James. Sir Joseph Jordan followed the Admiral of the Blue. Then came Sir John Harman, with the rear ships of the Red Squadron. Then the Duke of York, and then Sir Edward Spragge. It would appear that the Dutch attack was directed mainly on those parts of our line which were immediately about the Earl of Sandwich and the Duke of York. I am not aware that this is anywhere stated, but as it is said, on the authority of eye-witnesses, that the Dutch had a superiority of three to two in the battle, and as they certainly could not have had this advantage after detaching the ships under Bankert if they had engaged from end to end, I conclude that they managed to be superior at the point of attack, though only equal in number to the English fleet, by concentrating in this way. It is made further probable that this was the case by the fact that, after the battle had lasted some time, Sir Joseph Jordan tacked with his division of the Blue Squadron, gained the wind of the Dutch, and came to the support of the Duke of York, who was hard pressed. It is said, indeed, that Jordan had previously beaten off his own immediate assailants, but the conduct of the Dutch in the other parts of the battle renders it improbable that Sir Joseph would have been in any condition to manœuvre if he had been seriously attacked. The probabilities are, that a few vessels only were employed to watch rather than attack Jordan, and that the main strength of the Dutch was concentrated on the flags of Sandwich and the Duke of York. It is certain that at these two points the English suffered very severely. As De Ruyter bore down on the English line, he summoned his steersman, or, as we should say, quartermaster, to him, and, pointing with his finger to the Duke of York's flagship, the Prince, said, "That's our man." The Seven Provinces, in which, as in the former war, De Ruyter had hoisted his flag, was brought to within pistol-shot of the Prince, and the two admirals set an example of fierce and close fighting to their fleets. The Dutch boasted that the broadsides of De Ruyter were fired with the rapidity of volleys of musketry, and, as he had no doubt kept his old crew and many of his old officers about him, he may well have had them in a high state of efficiency. The gunnery of the English fleet was generally good, and there was abundance of courage, but the discipline had fallen from the standard of former years. The Prince was cut to pieces without being able to inflict equivalent damage on the Seven Provinces. The Duke of York's mainmast was shot down, and his vessel otherwise so damaged that he transferred himself and his flag to the St. Michael, of which Sir Robert Holmes was captain. Although a regular corps of naval officers was being formed, it had not yet been made the rule that a man who served as admiral on a particular service was always entitled to that rank, and Holmes, who had been a flag-officer in the former war, was only a captain at Solebay. The St. Michael was nearly as badly mauled, before the day was done, as the Prince had been, and the duke was again compelled to transfer his flag to the Loyal London, the flagship of Sir Edward Spragge. While the centre of the English line was thus being broken down under the strenuous attacks of De Ruyter, the Earl of Sandwich was hotly beset by Van Ghent. The Dutch admiral himself fell in the heat of the battle, but the Royal James was none the less furiously assailed. Whatever the defects of his character may have been, Sandwich fought his ship on this the last and most glorious day of his life with determined courage. The Dutch steered fireship after fireship down upon him, but they were one after the other sunk by his guns. At last the enemy succeeded. A shot from the top of one of the Dutch ships wounded the left foot of Richard Haddock, the captain of the Royal James. He limped into his cabin, and was under the hands of the surgeon, who was cutting away some loose skin and one of his toes, when he heard the cry that a fireship had at last grappled the Royal James. It was said that Haddock made his way out of the cabin to the admiral on the quarter-deck. The amount of damage suffered by the ship makes it probable that some of her spars had fallen, bringing down the sails with them, which would be hanging over the side, and that they caught fire in the flames of the fireship. It is at least certain that the Royal James was blazing in a moment, and it is difficult to account for the rapidity of the conflagration in any other way than this. Haddock, so the story runs, implored the admiral to throw himself overboard and endeavour to escape by swimming, but Sandwich, stung by the Duke of York's unmannerly sneer at his well-proved courage, chose to perish in his ship. It is probable that this is a legend invented by someone unfriendly to the duke, for the purpose of increasing the glory of Sandwich. If he had stayed, he would have been burnt in his ship. But his body was picked up some days afterwards, so disfigured that it was only recognised by the star on his coat. The great majority of the officers and men of the Royal James perished with the admiral. Haddock was picked up, and it is said by the Dutch that one of the lieutenants was taken out of the water by their boats. They put into the mouth of this officer a confession of his admiration for their fighting, and a statement that this battle exceeded anything seen in the previous war. "It is not yet midday," he is reported to have said, "and more has been done than in any of the Four Days' Battles." Whether any imprisoned English officer said these words or not, it is true that the battle of Solebay was extraordinarily fierce. So savagely had both parties fought, that in the early hours of the afternoon they were exhausted. It was probably not long before this that Jordan came to the relief of the Duke of York. He was foolishly enough abused in the House of Commons as if he had deserted his own admiral, but his movement was undoubtedly correct. It relieved the pressure on the centre of the English line, and prevented De Ruyter from overpowering our fleet as completely as he might have done but for this interruption. Jordan could, however, do no more than relieve the over-taxed Red Squadron. De Ruyter was able to draw off, leaving the English so crippled that they were utterly unable to follow, and the French, true to their character throughout the whole battle, made no effort to pursue.

Very persistent but also rather foolish attempts have been made to represent the battle of Solebay as a victory for us. It was not that, nor even a drawn battle. It is true that the obstinate valour of the officers and men averted an utter defeat. On our side, Solebay was a sailors' battle, to adapt a phrase usually applied to armies. With the exception of Sir Joseph Jordan's movement to support the Red Squadron, there was no sign of skilful management among our leaders. De Ruyter, on the contrary, showed the qualities of a great commander. Though inferior in numbers on the whole, he took advantage of his enemy's blunder to be superior at the point of attack, and he pressed his assault so fiercely home as to inflict the maximum of damage. Then, having crippled his enemy so effectually that no counter-attack was probable for some time, he took his own fleet home damaged, but still in a state to serve. Indeed, so little was he disabled from keeping the sea, that he met and convoyed home the returning East India ships. The fruits of victory were his.

Although the whole of the summer remained to the allies, nothing was done against the Dutch. The French and English squadrons did indeed pay a visit to the coast of Holland, but they made a very short stay there, and the trade of the States was not seriously interrupted. The internal condition both of Holland and England had much to do with suspending hostilities. In the Low Countries revolt broke out against the Loevenstein Party. The partisans of the Prince of Orange succeeded not only in replacing him at the head of the army and navy, but in restoring to him the whole extent of his authority as Stadtholder. The De Witts were cruelly murdered by the mob, and their party effectually destroyed for the time. Although the revolution was accompanied by circumstances of atrocious barbarity, it was on the whole beneficent to Holland. William III. made no attempt to undo what the Loevenstein Party had effected for civil freedom and religious toleration, and he gave his country what it needed if it was to be saved from the invader—that is to say, unity of military command. Having no jealousy of the army, he was able to apply himself with whole-hearted vigour to making it efficient. Holland rose against the French, as it had risen against the Spaniards. The dykes were opened, and the country put under water. During the interval of leisure provided by this desperate measure, much was done to make the defence of the country once more possible. In the midst of so terrible a crisis as this, the naval war was inevitably neglected by Holland. De Ruyter had done enough to avert the danger of invasion from the sea, and offensive operations against England would have served no useful purpose. So hard pressed, indeed, were the Dutch, that they were compelled to land the powder from the ships to be used by the soldiers.

In England other causes were at work to prevent the Government from pushing the war. The king found that the old jealousy of Holland had been replaced, at least for the time, by another and more pressing emotion. The growth of the power of France, the aggressive policy of its king, the danger to a neighbouring Protestant State, combined with the king's obvious intention to favour the Roman Catholics as shown by his Proclamation of Toleration, had frightened the nation into one of its paroxysms of fear of Popery. Parliament showed an obstinate determination to give the king no help in this war. It called in question his right to suspend the penal laws against dissenters, and the session was devoted to passing the Test Act, which was especially meant to exclude Roman Catholics from all offices under the Crown. Although it was one of the secret articles of the king's treaty with France that he was to proclaim himself a Roman Catholic whenever a favourable opportunity occurred, he was compelled to allow the bill to become law, for fear that an obstinate refusal would provoke an explosion of disloyalty to the Crown. Hitherto the Parliament had been profuse in declarations of loyalty to the king's person. It drew careful distinction between him and his servants, and always professed to be inspired by a tender anxiety for his safety, even at the moment that it was engaged in defeating what it well knew to be his policy. According to his usual custom, Charles escaped the peril by bowing to it, and by sacrificing his servants. Among those who were thrown over to pacify the House of Commons was the Duke of York. On the passing of the Test Act he resigned his commission as Lord High Admiral, and was therefore necessarily removed from the command of the fleet. He was replaced by Prince Rupert. The choice of his cousin to command at sea was probably due less to any confidence the king had in his ability than to the prince's rank. As the English fleet was to co-operate with the French, it was desirable to have someone at the head of it whom a French noble would recognise as his social superior. Louis XIV. had given strict orders to his officers to avoid disputes with the English, but it is very doubtful whether even the commands of his own king would have been enough to compel the Count d'Estrées to render ready obedience to Spragge or Jordan.