The privateer who plays so conspicuous a part in the maritime history of France is but a dim and subordinate figure beside the great disciplined and triumphant navy of this country. We can generally afford to neglect him and his doings altogether. Yet in the Seven Years’ War he does for one moment come forward in a manner so characteristic and instructive, that we may look at him very briefly before turning to the operations of honest warfare. Ever since the reign of Henry VIII. it had been the custom to favour these skimmers of the sea in Acts for the Encouragement of Seamen, which invited all sorts and conditions of men to set out armed ships to plunder the enemy. In the age of Elizabeth their part was honourable, for the privateers then were often gallant gentlemen—Raleigh or the Earl of Cumberland—who fitted out warships against the national enemy, as their ancestors had raised bands of spearmen and archers to follow King Edward or King Harry. But as the State grew in power and resources, such men found their proper place in the regular forces. The privateer tended more and more to become a mere vulgar plunderer. His competition with the navy for men had made him a nuisance, as far back as the time of the Commonwealth. The private ship with its slovenly discipline, and the greater chances of earning booty it offered, attracted all the restless spirits to whom the order of the navy was grievous. “A regular built privateer” became the naval officer’s phrase for a dirty, ill-managed, inefficient ship. The last great age of the privateer was the War of the Austrian Succession, when the navy was bad and incapable of blocking the enemy’s ports. In the Seven Years’ War, when the navy was equal to its work, the innate tendency of men, whose sole aim was plunder, to sink into mere pirates was rapidly shown. As French commerce soon disappeared off the sea, the privateers were driven to choose between starvation and the robbery of neutrals or even of their own countrymen. They made the choice which might have been expected of them. Very soon the outrages of the privateers in the Channel became a downright pest. They took to boarding neutral vessels, and to extorting booty or blackmail. At last the complaints of friendly states drove the British Government to adopt vigorous measures of repression. Extreme offenders found their way to Execution Dock, and in 1759 an Act was passed limiting the right to receive a “letter of marque” to vessels of over one hundred tons, belonging to owners who could give some guarantee of good conduct. An exception was made for small vessels belonging to the Channel Islands, which did some useful piloting and scouting work. The privateers are only mentioned here because the measures taken to restrain them show that the navy was growing in power to discharge its proper function, and that the country was coming to realise that it ought to leave the duty of representing it on the sea to a disciplined force with a code of honour.

It has been said already that some time passed, after the formation of Pitt’s great ministry in June 1757, before the naval and military powers of the country could be co-ordinated for definite and profitable purposes. One of the uses to which they were put reflects little honour on the sagacity of the Great Commoner. He reverted to futile expeditions against the coast of France. By the inevitable working of unvarying conditions these revivals of old errors produced identical results. They do not deserve that more time should be spent on them than is necessary to record that they took place, and came to an unavoidable failure. In September of 1757 Hawke sailed with a strong squadron, carrying a detachment of troops under General Mordaunt, for the purpose of taking Rochefort. He sailed on the 8th of that month, and by the 6th October he was back, and Rochefort was not taken. We did plunder the poor little island of Aix, and that was all—all except the ensuing court of inquiry and wrangle. Yet it was decided to make another and more serious effort next year, for Pitt clung with persistence to this part of his military policy. His critics called it breaking windows with guineas, but he valued it for two reasons. He hoped that the pressure on their coast would constrain the French to withdraw part of their troops from Germany where they were threatening the king’s electorate of Hanover, and were weighing on our ally the King of Prussia. It was a bad reason, for if an effectual diversion was to be made we ought to have landed a substantial army, capable of establishing itself in France. The second and perhaps better reason was given in 1759 by Captain Hervey of the Monmouth, who was serving in the Brest blockade, under Hawke, when he landed on the little island of Molines and levied a contribution on the inhabitants. The priest appealed to him to spare their poverty, and Captain Hervey answered, “That he was sorry to distress the poor inhabitants, but what he now did was to show the enemy and all Europe that the French could not protect their people in their own sight, much less dare the invasion of England.” After the shameful panic of 1756, there was something to be said for the policy of showing that our fleets could sweep along the French coast, and that the enemy would not dare to give them battle. This purpose at least was achieved to the full by the great combined expedition which made three sorties in 1758. A fleet of twenty-four sail of the line under Anson convoyed 14,000 troops under the Duke of Marlborough to St. Malo in June. The place proved too strong, and the expedition came back to the Isle of Wight. A scheme for attacking Cherbourg was defeated by a storm, and the expedition returned. The Duke of Marlborough was now replaced by General Bligh, a veteran called over from Ireland to take up the “buccaneering” work when officers of more interest had come to regard it with weary disgust. A second sortie was made, and Cherbourg was taken on the 6th August. This was our only genuine success, for several privateers were destroyed and some guns were brought away. As it was thought that more might have been done, the expedition sailed on its third sortie in September to make another attempt on St. Malo. But by this time we had achieved our purpose of inducing the French to withdraw troops from Germany and look to their own coast. The soldiers landed to invest the town were assailed by superior numbers, and driven to re-embark in the Bay of St. Cas with heavy loss. The military management was not good, but no skill could have secured success. The naval work of transport and convoy was thoroughly well executed.

It is a satisfaction to be able to turn to scenes where the navy was more effectually employed. In March of 1758 a squadron of small vessels, under the command of Captain Holmes, drove a French and Austrian garrison out of Embden, a port belonging to our ally the King of Prussia. This was a most useful piece of service, since it helped us to retain the power to land soldiers on the continent for the defence of Hanover and the prosecution of the war in Germany. In the following month of April Hawke was allowed to use a squadron in a way much better calculated to convince the French of our superiority at sea, and of their inability to invade, than any number of mere sporadic raids on their coast, since it gave them no chance of retaliating as they did in the Bay of St. Cas. Pitt, who was always well informed of the enemy’s movements, learnt early in the year that a great convoy was being prepared in the Basque Roads for America, and was to sail under protection of a small squadron. Hawke was sent to intercept it with seven sail of the line and three frigates. He found five French line-of-battle ships and several frigates, with forty merchant ships carrying 3000 troops to reinforce the American garrisons, starting or about to start from the Basque Roads and the Pertuis d’Antioche, the anchorages on the mainland just opposite the islands of Oléron and Ré. Between the 4th and 6th of April he broke up the convoy and drove it into the mud. In their anxiety to escape to Rochefort up the Charente the Frenchmen threw their guns overboard and started their water to lighten the ships. When it is remembered that they were five to seven, and on their own coasts, the prompt flight of the French liners speaks aloud of the little spirit of their navy at this period.

On the 7th of the same month of April Captain John Campbell of the Essex, 64, and a fireship, the Pluto, Captain James Hume, fell in with and scattered a convoy of twelve French merchant ships from Bordeaux under protection of a frigate and a large privateer. The two armed ships were taken after a resistance which cost Captain Hume his life. Such pieces of service as these were not glorious, but they were typical examples of the work done by the fleet to sweep the enemy off the sea.

Far beyond the waters of Europe the navy was beginning to apply itself to the task of rooting out the French settlements. The operations of 1758 were preparatory for the great undertaking of the following year; one of them makes us acquainted with the oddest figure of all this war, the Quaker Thomas Cumming. This man was a trader on the west coast of Africa, who had elaborated a scheme for expelling the French from all their stations. When asked how he reconciled his active share in hostilities with his religious principles, he answered with ingenious casuistry by saying, that if his scheme had been executed with the force he thought necessary there would have been no resistance, and therefore no fighting. Mr. Cumming had been busy from early in 1757 in urging his ideas on Ministers, but it was not till he secured a hearing from Pitt and in the following year that he saw his advice put in practice, though on a smaller scale than he wished. In the interval a French squadron, commanded by M. de Kersaint, had made an unsuccessful attack on Cape Coast Castle. This event may have served to awaken ministers to the need there was for putting our settlements on a safer footing. The fortunes of M. de Kersaint may be followed for the sake of one name with which they make us acquainted, and also because they show how wide-ranging are the movements of war at sea. Having failed at Cape Coast Castle the French officer stood across the Atlantic to the West Indies. At Cape Français, now called Cape Haytiën, in Hispaniola, he was engaged on convoy work, when he had an action with a British squadron under Commodore Forrest on the 21st October. The English and French accounts cannot be reconciled. According to our version three of our ships engaged most gallantly with a much stronger French force and got the better of them. Our story runs that M. de Kersaint, having shown a disposition to engage, Commodore Forrest consulted his two subordinate captains, and one of them answered that it would be a pity to disappoint the Frenchman. The officer to whom this spirited reply is attributed was Captain Maurice Suckling, to whom we owe the introduction into the navy of the heir of all its past labours, and the most famous of all its chiefs, his nephew, Horatio Nelson. The action need not be discussed. It was counted a gallant affair long before Nelson, with whom it was always a cherished memory and the 21st October a fateful day, was known to fame. Beyond confirming our growing sense of superiority to the French it produced no effect, for the convoy got away. If, as the French deny, M. de Kersaint was in much greater force, he no doubt acted on the rule of his service described above, and threw away his chance of overpowering the three British ships in order to fulfil his mission to see the merchant vessels safe to port.

It was in March 1758 that Mr. Cummings saw his idea put into practice. A small squadron, under Captain Henry Marsh, sailed on the 9th of that month, carrying the Quaker with it. On the 30th April (the month in which Hawke scattered the French convoy in the Basque Roads), St. Louis de Senegal was taken, and the supply of slaves for the French colonies much reduced. An attack on the island of Gorée in May failed, and then the commodore sent on to the West Indies with the trade, which in plain English meant the kidnapped negroes.

So far the enterprise had been successful enough to encourage a repetition and to earn Mr. Cummings “the gratification of a handsome pension.” It was decided to complete the conquest begun by Commodore Marsh. The officer chosen for the task was Keppel. On the 26th October he sailed from Cork with four line-of-battle ships, one 50-gun ship, six smaller vessels, and a body of troops. He was driven back by bad weather, but started finally on the 11th November. On the way out the 50-gun ship, the Lichfield, was lost on the coast of Morocco. The loss was of no great importance to the squadron, but it is to be mentioned because we afterwards, and that at a time when Pitt took a tone of haughty superiority to the civilised powers of Europe, condescended to pay the bloodstained savage, whom we termed Emperor of Morocco, a heavy ransom to save the crew from slavery. It was one of the worst passages in our long ignominious toleration of the pirates of Barbary. On the 14th December Keppel was at the Canaries, and on the 28th he reached Gorée a little island near the Cape de Verd. The French post soon surrendered under the combined pressure of bombardment by the ships from the sea and attack by the troops under Colonel Worge on shore. Worge remained as governor of Senegal, and Keppel returned home.

While Marsh and Keppel were expelling the French from the slave-producing region of West Africa, the navy had taken a foremost share in delivering the first great blow at the French dominion in North America. Boscawen and Amherst had taken Louisbourg, and had thereby cleared the way for the capture of Quebec by Wolfe and Saunders in the following year. The incapable Government of France was now fairly launched into a war in Germany, and could spare neither attention nor adequate forces for the defence of its colonies.

A squadron of six line-of-battle ships and five frigates left early in the year for Louisbourg and arrived in safety. Three of the liners were armed en flûte, and were practically mere transports. Such a handful of vessels as this was not even a match for the English ships which had wintered at Halifax. Our squadron in North American waters was now under the orders of Sir Charles Hardy, who came out in the Captain in early spring. M. Drucourt, the naval officer who was governor of Louisbourg, foreseeing that he would be seriously attacked, could only use the vessels in the port to strengthen his defences of the place. Three frigates, the Biche, the Echo, and the Fidèle, were sunk to block the entrance to the harbour. The measures taken to prevent the English from coming in had one good effect for the French. They prevented the useless sacrifice of more of their ships than were already in harbour. On the 29th May Captain Duchaffault de Besné, who had left Rochefort on the 2nd with four liners, one armed en flûte and three frigates, appeared outside Louisbourg. Finding the entrance closed he landed the soldiers he brought with him and went on to Quebec, where he remained a helpless spectator of the disaster.

Boscawen meanwhile had left Spithead on the 18th February with a powerful fleet, escorting 13,000 troops under the command of Amherst, who had Wolfe with him as one of his subordinates. The soldiers were distributed in 150 transports. This great armament sailed first to Halifax, where Boscawen collected the whole naval force in those waters, now amounting to twenty-three sail of the line and eighteen frigates. When the necessary arrangements had been made at the base of operations soldiers and sailors started, “well combined in mutual love to each other and common resolution against the enemy,” on the 29th of May, just when Duchaffault was landing the last French reinforcement. On the 2nd June the fleet reached Gabarus Bay, on the south-eastern coast of Cape Breton, below the place where a heap of ruins marks what was once the site of Louisbourg. The combined operations lasted till the 26th July, when Drucourt beat the chamade after a stout fight. As there was no enemy at sea the bulk of the work fell to the army, and was performed in a fashion presenting a welcome contrast to the futility of Carthagena and Pondicherry. Amherst was a capable general, and Wolfe, besides being the most exact of officers in all matters of detail, had the calm and rapid mind of the born leader in war, and that zest for the joys of battle which makes the supreme fighter. To the navy it fell to land the troops, to supply them, to assist in the bombardment by which some of the French ships in the harbour were destroyed, and to do one dashing piece of work in its own line.

The steady bombardment from land and sea had greatly reduced the French squadron in the harbour, but two of their ships remained in a condition to aid in the defence as late as the 24th of July. These were the Prudent, 74, and the Bienfaisant, 64. Boscawen resolved to cut them out, that is, to send in armed boats to board them and bring them away. At noon of the 24th a barge and a pinnace or cutter from every ship, each commanded by a lieutenant and a mate or midshipman, met at the flagship. The command of the whole was given to George Balfour of the Etna fireship, and John Laforey of the Hunter sloop, the two senior commanders of the fleet. The commander was, and is, the captain who is not of full, or “post” rank. It might have given a thinking Frenchman some ground for reflection if he had known that of these officers Balfour was a Scotchman, and therefore one of a people which had once been the old ally of France, while Laforey’s name is only the anglicised form of La Foret, and he was of Huguenot descent, one of the thousands whose swords and skill were turned against their persecutors by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. The boats collected at evening round the flagship of Sir Charles Hardy, who commanded the advance ships at the mouth of the harbour. At midnight they put off in a thick fog with muffled oars and in strict silence. The steady fire from our batteries attracted the attention of the French, who were on the ramparts in expectation of an immediate assault, and were keeping up a constant musketry fire. Laforey and Balfour led their boats past the battery at the mouth of the harbour unseen and unheard. They had carefully marked the place of the French ships during the day, and were able to take a sweep out into the harbour and advance through the night and the fog, till the hulks of the Prudent and the Bienfaisant loomed up through the darkness. Then the uncontrollable love of the British seamen for shouting broke out into wild cheering, and all the boats dashed alongside the liners. Laforey carried the Prudent and Balfour the Bienfaisant. One of them is said by tradition to have made his way into the bows of the French ship by a place more convenient than seemly. The actual taking of the vessels was not difficult, as most of their crews were ashore aiding in the defence. But the noise in the harbour drew the fire of the land batteries, and the duty of taking the prizes out was one of great hazard. The Prudent was aground and could not be moved, so that Laforey had to set her on fire, but the Bienfaisant was towed away in spite of the fire from the batteries. It was next day that M. Drucourt surrendered. The total loss of the French Navy was four line-of-battle ships burnt and one taken, four vessels sunk to block the entry to the harbour and frigate taken. Only one vessel, the Comète frigate, found an opportunity to slip through the blockade and escape to France.

After the fall of Louisbourg, Sir Charles Hardy was despatched to the mouth of the St. Lawrence with a body of troops, commanded by Wolfe, to destroy some French ports and intercept the squadron of Duchaffault, who, it was calculated, would endeavour to get away before the winter. The destruction was effected, but the ships escaped. Boscawen returned home with the bulk of the fleet, leaving Rear-Admiral Durell to winter in Halifax, and resume the blockade of Quebec in spring. The victorious British fleet and the French squadron were making their way home in the stormy autumn weather by the same route. On the 27th October, when Boscawen’s ships were much scattered by gales and he had only four liners—one being the captured Bienfaisant—and some frigates with him, he fell in with Duchaffault, seventy miles to the west of Ushant. The French squadron consisted of four of the line and one 56-gun ship belonging to the American company. It had just captured the Carnarvon, East Indiaman. The stormy weather prevented a close action, which was fortunate for the Frenchman, for two of his liners were only armed en flûte. Duchaffault’s vessels scattered after some confused firing. He himself got to the Basque Roads, the Carnarvon was retaken, and the other vessels, with one exception, reached home. The unlucky ship which did not was the Belliqueux, 74, commanded by Captain Martel, who seemingly became confused between the bad weather and the British fleet. He lost his course completely, came up on the wrong side of the Land’s End, and was embayed in the Bristol Channel. While at anchor under Lundy, he was sighted by the Antelope, 50, Captain Thomas Saumarez. According to our account the Belliqueux surrendered, and was a valuable prize, for she was found to be full of fine furs. The French will have it that she was unfairly taken, her captain having appealed to the humanity of our officer on the ground of the distressed state of his ship, and having also cited cases in which English vessels had been helped at French ports in war. The incredible tale is still told to illustrate the “disloyalty” of the English.

It goes much further to prove how much the French warships were used as transports and traders, partly by the Government, but also by their own officers, who made up for bad and irregular pay by what they called la pacotille, i.e. commercial ventures. If Captain Martel did, as his countrymen say, propose to go into Bristol and throw himself on the “loyalty” of the English for relief, it is also highly probable that he meant to get money for his furs from the Bristol merchants.

We have now come to the annus mirabilis of the Seven Years’ War, 1759. It was a year of extraordinary events and changes of fortune, and was also emphatically the year of the navy. From first to last the fleet was our main weapon, but both before and after 1759 it met with no worthy adversary at sea, and was mostly employed in co-operating with troops. In this year it had to contend with other fleets, and the tale to be told is one of true naval warfare.

The experience of 1758 had not been wholly lost on the French Government, incapable as it was. It had been brought to see that its fleets must be better used if its colonial possessions were not to fall one by one before such expeditions as had taken Louisbourg. To meet the English everywhere was plainly impossible, but there was one course which, if followed with success, would bring swift and decisive victory. England itself might be invaded. A blow struck home to her heart would be mortal, and would at once undo all the effect of her successes in distant seas. The ministers of King Louis XV. were the more encouraged to try the venture because they were convinced that the British fleet would be so weakened by distant enterprises as to be unable to collect a superior force in the Channel. So a plan such as had been laid before by Louis XIV., and was to be laid again by Napoleon, was drafted. Troops were collected on the coast of Normandy, and at Vannes in the Morbihan, on the south side of Brittany. To clear the way for them the fleet was to be used in a fashion which shows that the boasted originality of Napoleon’s genius was in this, as in so many other fields, largely mere imitation of the methods of the old monarchy. The first object was to draw off and distract the British fleet. A squadron was to be prepared at Dunkirk, and put under the command of Thurot, a very brave and honest privateer captain, who had made for himself a reputation. It was to sail north and draw off our ships by menacing the coasts of Scotland and Ireland. The main French fleet had its headquarters at Brest, and was to be led by M. de Conflans, Vice-Admiral and Marshal of France. La Clue was to sail from Toulon, pass the Straits and join the fleet at Brest. The two were then to cover the passage of the army under the Duc d’Aiguillon, which again was to come out from Vannes in transports, and from the coast of Normandy in flat-bottomed vessels building at Havre. It will be seen that this is essentially Napoleon’s plan in a simpler and less hazardous form, with the further merit that it was to be executed by the French fleet alone, and not with the co-operation of a most inefficient and reluctant ally. His scheme could not have come within measurable distance of success save by miracles of good fortune and the help of incredible ineptitude on our side on which he had no right to calculate. Of this one it may be said that if the French fleet had been efficient, and the chiefs prompt and bold, it might at least have driven us hard in the Channel. But it needed these conditions, and also that the naval resources of England should have been less than they were, and her admirals less vigilant and resolute. As every one of these conditions was wanting, the invasion scheme broke down in a long succession of failures and disasters. Pitt met it by effectual counter-measures in European waters, and did not for one instant slacken in his efforts to sweep the French from the continent of North America, the West Indies, and the Eastern Seas. Every aggressive French naval force in Europe was faced by an opposite more powerful than itself, and meanwhile Wolfe and Saunders sailed to Quebec, while Moore and Hodgson acted in the West Indies. In those waters the French Navy did appear, represented by a squadron under M. de Bompart, who sailed early and came back late, in time to be one of the causes which hurried on the final disaster of the great invasion scheme.

In all this year the sun looked down, as the world rolled round on its diurnal course, first on Pocock and D’Aché contending on the coast of Coromandel, then on the mobile, elastic, and impenetrable barrier drawn by the fleets of Boscawen and Hawke round the coast of France, then on the British squadron helping to break the French dominion in America to pieces. All else went on behind the home fleets, and was dependent on them, and as no narrative can be simultaneous, but must needs be consecutive, the first place is to be given to the operations of the war in Europe. At the most northerly point of the line we had to defend, Commodore Boys was stationed to watch Thurot’s squadron in Dunkirk. Admiral Smith was stationed with Piercy Brett in the Downs, and between them and Boys, Rodney watched the flotilla preparing at Havre de Grâce. Hawke, with the grand fleet, took in hand the blockade of Brest, while the duty of preventing the junction of La Clue with Conflans, by blockading Toulon, or by holding the Straits of Gibraltar, was entrusted to Boscawen. A glance at the map will show that the advantage of position lay with us. The hazards and uncertainties of war at sea are always many—and they were more numerous in the times when the ships depended on sails and the wind. Yet the balance of chances was on our side, since it was more probable on the whole that Hawke and Boscawen could combine, if either failed to stop his immediate adversary, than that Conflans or La Clue could. On the supposition, however, that Boscawen was eluded and left behind, so that Hawke was in peril of having both French fleets on him at once, he could still fall back on, or be joined by, the ships in the Downs. Then he would be able to give battle, while Boscawen could follow, and either make our force overwhelming, or bring up a fresh squadron on the French when newly damaged by battle. Our squadrons had in fact the advantage of having shorter distances to go than the French in order to join forces, and even if driven back they would be driven back on the support of friends.

In order of time the first effectual blow struck by our navy at the French as they endeavoured to unite for the invasion of England was the bombardment of Havre, on the 2nd July, by Rodney. Flat-bottomed boats were being constructed there, and we poured bombs on them, with good effect, for a whole day. In order to direct the service the better, Rodney transferred his flag from the Achilles, 60, which drew too many feet of water to come close in on that shallow coast, to the Venus frigate, commanded by Captain Samuel Hood. This service brought together two men of strong and widely different character, who will be found acting together at a great crisis twenty-two years later—not, however, for the first time, for Hood had been a subordinate with Rodney in the Ludlow Castle long before. The bombardment was effective, and so was a stroke struck at some of the French boats as they endeavoured to slip down the coast later on. Meanwhile Boys watched Thurot at Dunkirk so closely that the Frenchman had no chance to escape till the very end of the year. The first ruinous blow at the complicated French scheme was given far to the South.

Boscawen sailed from Spithead on the 14th April with eight sail of the line and frigates to take over the command on the Mediterranean. He joined Brodrick, who was already blockading Toulon, off Cape Sicié, on 16th May. The fleet now consisted of fifteen ships of the line, with twelve frigates and sloops and two fireships. La Clue, who had been unable to drive off Brodrick’s smaller force, could do nothing against Boscawen. His squadron was not yet ready for any service. The blockade lasted till the 8th July, when want of water and the necessity for cleaning his ships compelled Boscawen to return to Gibraltar. While before Toulon he had made an unsuccessful attempt to destroy two French frigates under protection of the coast batteries. He reached Gibraltar on the 4th August, after taking in fresh water on the neutral coast of Spain, and began to clean and refit. Frigates were stationed on the Spanish shore and the coast of Barbary to give notice of any attempt of the French to pass the Straits.

The retreat of our squadron opened the way to the French, and if La Clue had thought himself able to act at once, he might have passed the Straits while Boscawen’s ships were taking in their water on the coast of Spain. But the sense of inferiority, material and moral, which plainly weighed on the minds of all French naval officers in this year, made him hesitate. Having that to do which could only be done by extreme promptitude, he did not leave Toulon till the early days of August, when the British admiral was already at Gibraltar, and in a position to intercept him in the Straits. During the night of the 16th-17th of August the French fleet approached the passage leading to the Ocean. It was sighted by Captain M‘Cleverty, of the Gibraltar frigate, who was cruising between Estépona and Ceuta Point, and who reported at once to the admiral. Boscawen’s fleet was still at work refitting, and in the flagship, the Namur, the sails were unbent—that is, not fixed to the yards. But such good speed was made that by ten o’clock at night the ships were all out. They went as they were ready and as place served, with no pedantic attention to the fopperies of order. Boscawen had with him the Warspite, Culloden, Swiftsure, Intrepid, America, Portland, and Guernsey. Admiral Brodrick could not clear the bay till later than his commander-in-chief, and followed him with the other ships. There was an interval of some miles between them, but the wind was easterly, and Brodrick was certain of being able to join his chief if the leading ships were able to overtake the enemy. Both pressed eagerly along the route they calculated that the enemy must have followed.

Meanwhile the French admiral, who had with him twelve sail of the line and three frigates, had headed his pursuers, and as the British ships were leaving Gibraltar Bay had got as far as Cape Spartel, and had cleared the current which runs from the ocean into the Mediterranean. At ten at night he had his ships about him, though not in good order; for some of them were bad sailers, and were lagging behind his flagship L’Océan. Yet he believed that he could communicate his orders, or at least show the course he meant to follow. So he headed W.N.W., and then put out the guiding light of the flagship in order to conceal his route from the English frigates. The calculation that his own captains would see and understand, in the darkness and the excitement, was rash—and all the more because when he left Toulon it was understood that if the Straits were passed the fleet was to head for Cadiz, anchor there, and make another start. It was a foolish plan, because it invited another blockade. La Clue, therefore, was absolutely right in making for the open sea. But now was seen the influence of that miserable theory, that war can be waged effectually by hasty runs from one cover to another and by evasion. Five of the French line and all the frigates were at some distance from the flagship. When La Clue and the six vessels so close to him, that they had no shadow of excuse for not seeing what he was doing, steered to the W.N.W., the laggards acted on the supposition that the obvious course was to run for cover, and headed nearly due north for Cadiz. Thus all through the night the two sailed on diverging lines, and when day broke the French admiral found himself with seven sail only of his fifteen about him, and saw that five of his line and all his frigates had vanished in what direction he knew not, though he might well have guessed, under the horizon.

At this moment the best course he could have followed might well have been to steer for Cadiz, whither it was probable that his lost vessels had gone, and where they were indeed waiting for him. The next best course might have been to keep on straight for Brest. But he remained where he was, looking about for the liners which had parted company. Some sail were seen on the horizon, and La Clue headed towards them in the hope that they were his friends. They turned out to be Swedish merchant-ships. Then other sails were seen behind, and for them also the Frenchman steered only to discover that they belonged to the fleet of Boscawen. Nothing now remained to be done but to flee for refuge, and in the circumstances the only cover La Clue had any chance of reaching was the neutral coast of Portugal, to the North.

When the French were seen on the forenoon of the 18th August, the British fleet was still in two divisions: Boscawen was leading with one, and Brodrick was some distance astern. The easterly breeze was stronger near the land than out at sea, and when the presence of the enemy was signalled, Brodrick crowded on sail, and rapidly reduced the space between himself and his admiral. It is a proof of the superiority of our officers and men in seamanship, the art by which the utmost is made of a ship, that although the French vessels were as a rule better built for speed than ours, and although those with La Clue were swift and their crews had every motive to make haste, yet the van of the British fleet forced on action early in the afternoon. The French would only make a running fight, as their pursuers overtook them, one by one, and ranged themselves on either side. Captain de Sabran-Grammont, of the Centaure, 74, the last ship in the French squadron, and the first to be overtaken, showed the virtue which redeemed the follies and vices of the nobles of his country, a flawless personal valour. He made a gallant effort to cover the flight of his brother-captains. Though Boscawen and two others attacked him at once, he made so fierce a resistance that the Centaure did not surrender till long after dark, when the captain was dead, 200 of her men had fallen, and she was so shattered that the prize crews had the utmost difficulty in keeping her afloat. Boscawen’s flagship the Namur lost her mizen-mast, and the admiral had to transfer his flag to the Newark. But for errors of management on the part of individual captains, the whole of the French squadron must have been taken. Some of our captains were awkward in handling their ships, and allowed other vessels of ours to get between them and the enemy. Others who came up on the lee side of the French did so at such a distance that they were never able to force a close action. These mistakes provoked Boscawen into declaring when all was over, that “It was well, but that it might have been a great deal better.” No French vessel was taken on the 18th except the Centaure. During the night two, the Guerrier and the Souverain, turned to the west, and escaped in the dark. Both reached Rochefort. The four remaining with the admiral took refuge in the waters of Portugal at Lagos. The flagship L’Océan and the Redoutable ran ashore, the Téméraire and the Modeste anchored some distance out, in reliance on Portuguese neutrality. But Boscawen would not allow that to be any protection. Both were taken, and the two which had been beached were burnt. La Clue, who had lost a leg by a cannon-shot in the action of the day before, died at Lagos. For the breach of Portuguese neutrality we afterwards apologised, but no rebuke was given to Boscawen.

The Toulon fleet’s share in the great invasion scheme had completely failed. Boscawen returned home with part of his fleet and a large convoy of merchant-ships. Admiral Brodrick remained to blockade the French, who had taken refuge in Cadiz. A storm drove him off in January 1760, and they were able to escape to Toulon.

Though a combined operation was no longer possible, after the disaster of the 18th and 19th August, the French still clung to the hope that an invasion might be carried out from Brest, where M. de Conflans lay with the main fleet. All through the fine-weather months he was keenly watched by Hawke. The French force was of twenty-one sail of the line, the English of twenty-five, and the difference was enough to convince the ministers of Louis XV. that it was useless to expect a victory from the use of open force. Yet they would not renounce the hope of carrying out an invasion by means of a fleet confessedly unequal to the hazard of giving battle on the way to our shores. The situation must have arisen in any case, for even if La Clue had escaped Boscawen’s pursuit, it was to be supposed that the English admiral would follow him, and thereby bring his own ships to reinforce Hawke. The two would have formed a very superior force to the combined fleets of Conflans and La Clue, even if the second, after evading Boscawen, had also avoided running into Sir Edward’s much stronger fleet outside of Brest. If he had steered for Rochefort, the French admirals would still have been divided. When this combination was ruined by the defeat of La Clue, by the capture and destruction of five of his best ships and the imprisonment of most of the others at Cadiz, all hope of invading England ought to have been resigned. But the French king and his ministers could not reconcile themselves to failure. So they hit upon a scheme of folly such as would be incredible in other than men too ignorant to understand the task they had undertaken, too vain to allow themselves to be taught, and so reckless in their selfish frivolity that rather than allow themselves to be blamed for doing nothing they would do what in all probability would bring ruin to the officers and men at their orders.

In substance it was that M. de Conflans was to wait till bad weather drove Sir Edward Hawke away from Brest. Then he was to slip out, pick up the transports and troops collected for the invasion at Vannes, and convoy them to some point on the coast of Great Britain. The calculation was that even if Conflans was intercepted by Hawke, he would be able to cover the transports, which could go on to their destination, or at the worst could come back safe. Yet the French ministers had the means of knowing that there was a British squadron in reserve behind Hawke in the Downs, and that the events at Lagos had set free Boscawen. We still hear of invasion schemes no wiser than this, and it is no waste of space or time to insist on the folly of this historical plan. Conflans, who was visibly unequal to the duty of giving Hawke battle, was to go to sea hampered by a convoy and there run the hazard of being brought to action. The convoy, notoriously incapable of defending itself, was to be supposed to go on even when its protecting ships were assailed, though there were other British ships than Hawke’s, and he could have spared part of his fleet for the purpose of pursuing the transports, and yet have left himself equal to Conflans. If Napoleon had not laid plans equally fantastic, if projects for the invasion of England every whit as absurd were not elaborated by soldiers of the kind called “scientific” to-day, we should be tempted to think that the plan of campaign drafted at Paris in 1759 could only have been the work of the feather-headed harlot who managed the languid debauchee on the French throne, and of the men who got office by her favour.

With most naval battles we can afford to treat the sea as an open plain needing no description. But this is not the case with the battle of Quiberon. The lie of the land is as necessary to be kept in mind as the shape of the country is for the proper understanding of Oudenarde or Salamanca. It has been said above that while Conflans lay blockaded at Brest, the troops for the invasion of England were collected at Vannes, in the Morbihan, on the south side of the Breton Peninsula. From the Pointe de Penmarch, the south-westerly headland of Finisterre, the coast runs to the east, but with a slope to the south, till it reaches the entry of the river Vilaine. Here it turns wholly to the south, and stretches down to the Pyrenees and the coast of Biscay. It is mostly foul on the southern side of Brittany, and fringed with islands. At two-thirds or so of the distance from the Pointe de Penmarch to the mouth of the Vilaine, the peninsula of Quiberon juts out to the south, in shape something like a lobster’s claw with its hook turned to the east. On the eastern side is the bay of Quiberon. The anchorage is fine where the bottom of sand mud and shells is free from rocks, but in many places it is foul, and of its total breadth of nine miles, only five or six are really safe for large vessels. Following the line of the mainland on the north side, we reach the entry to the tangle of islands, deep passages, shallows, and lagoons named the Morbihan, to the north of which is the town of Vannes. In this refuge the transports had been collected to wait till the fleet came round from Brest and secured them a safe passage to the sea. The Morbihan is closed on the south side by the peninsula of Rhuis. The coast goes eastward from Rhuis to the Vilaine, and then runs south in a rolling line to the Pointe de Croisic, at the northern side of the Loire, beyond which it need not now be followed. The peninsula of Quiberon, the entry to the Vilaine, and the Pointe de Croisic form roughly a right angle. Now draw a line from Croisic to the Pointe de Conguel on the north-west, which is the southern extremity of the peninsula of Quiberon. All along that line, with openings of clear water here and there, are piled the perils of the Breton coast, innumerable and thrown together in inextricable confusion. In front of Croisic and at low tide a number of black rocks at distances of from three and a half to five and a half miles show the position of the mass of sunken reef called the Plateau du Four. To the west of the Four there is an open passage closed on the outer side by the rocks called the Grands Cardinaux. From them stretches to the north-west an unbroken column of islands and rocks, separated from the Pointe de Conguel by the passage known as La Teignouse. The approach to this is made perilous on the west by the Plateau de Mirvideaux. To the south and west of the small islands between Les Grands Cardinaux and La Teignouse lies the Fair Island, Belleisle. The entry to Quiberon by La Teignouse being hazardous, the bay is approached from the south-east—that is to say, between Les Grands Cardinaux and Pointe de Saint Jacques on the peninsula of Rhuis, which is due north of them. This opening is ten miles across. When a fleet was coming in from the open sea, it would pass to the south of Belleisle and of Les Grands Cardinaux. Then it would turn first to the north, and afterwards bend to the north-west, till it reached the clean anchorage inside the peninsula of Quiberon. The triangle of perils and barriers here roughly described was the scene of the most heroic achievement in the long history of the Royal Navy.

Hawke established the blockade of Brest early in June. No serious attempt to drive him off was made by the French. On the 2nd July Conflans tried to do by trick what he dared not venture to do by force. The bulk of Hawke’s fleet lay some distance off at sea, while an inshore, or advanced, squadron under Captain Hervey watched the French fleet at anchor in Camaret Bay, just outside the entrance to Brest. This was the Augustus John Hervey, afterwards third Earl of Bristol, who was the son of the Lord Hervey so savagely attacked by Pope, and of the beautiful Molly Lepel. He maintained the well-established reputation of his family for immoral ability. His marriage to, and collusive divorce from, the notorious Elizabeth Chudleigh, bigamous Duchess of Kingston, are conspicuous events in the scandalous chronicle of the time. But though his private life was always disorderly and occasionally ignominious, he was a very brave and skilful naval officer. All through the summer of 1759 he and Captain Keppel were the eyes and hands of the fleet. When on the 2nd July four French line-of-battle ships stood out of Camaret Bay to drive him off, Hervey did not hesitate to engage for a moment, though he had with him only two of the line and some frigates. He well knew that the sound of his guns would soon bring up Hawke’s fleet, and it did. The French drew back immediately under the protection of their batteries. Their intention had been, after driving off Hervey, to go round to Quiberon, chase away the small squadron under Captain Reynolds, of the Firm, and liberate the transports at Vannes—a proposal worthy of the intelligence they showed all through the year. The sub-blockade of Quiberon remained unbroken. When the Firm became foul, Reynolds was relieved by Captain Duff, of the Rochester, 50, who remained in possession of the waters of the French bay with four 50-gun ships and some frigates till he was swept into the great hurricane of wind and battle of the 20th November.

The fine weather and the energy shown by Pitt in supporting the fleets at sea made it possible to keep the crews well supplied with provisions. They enjoyed a good health of which there were few examples in the previous history of the navy. Yet the blockade was tedious work, relieved only by such events as this action of the 2nd July, by the cutting out of the Modeste from under the French batteries, a gallant feat of Hervey’s, or by the unsuccessful attempt of Captain Barrington of the Achilles to destroy some French ships in the Morbihan. Meanwhile there was growing impatience at Paris with the timidity of Conflans, who showed extreme reluctance to go to sea without an express order. Conflans had served with some credit, but he owed his command to court favour, and had no reputation as a manœuvrer in the French Navy, while all his words and actions show him to have been light and ostentatious, with no firmness of character. The instructions he issued to his captains when he did go out are full of a pretence of confidence which was ridiculous after the timidity of the summer, and more ridiculous when read by the light of the final disaster. He wrote as if he feared that Hawke would not give him a good chance to fight.

On the 9th November a gale, and the needs of the blockading fleet, did for the French what they could not do for themselves. Hawke was compelled to bear up for Torbay. Frigates were left to watch Brest. The westerly gale which had forced Hawke to draw off from the dangerous lee shore of Brest, brought home the French squadron of M. de Bompart, now coming back from the West Indies. To his surprise and relief, he found the way to port open. His safe arrival convinced Conflans that Hawke must be gone. Taking the crews out of Bompart’s ships to reinforce his own, the marshal put to sea on the 14th November, when the wind had moderated, and the last great effort of the French to carry out the invasion began.

On the same date Hawke left Torbay to resume the blockade of Brest. On the 16th he was met by the news that the French had been seen twenty-four leagues to the north-west of Belleisle, steering to the south-east. There could be no doubt in Hawke’s mind that they were bound for Quiberon, and he instantly headed in pursuit. The news that the French were at sea spread rapidly over England, and produced an outburst of popular anger against Hawke, which gives the exact value of the most sweet voices of the mob. It ought to have rejoiced to hear that the enemy was out, and had only to look at the measures taken by Government to see that there was no peril. The troops and militia were put to some disturbance, which was unnecessary, save for the purpose of quieting the national nerves. A more rational measure was the formation of a reserve squadron of six ships of the line under Rear-Admiral Geary to reinforce Hawke. In these days, too, Vice-Admiral Saunders reached the mouth of the Channel on his way back from the conquest of Quebec. He had but three liners with him, and they were much tried by service, yet without a moment’s hesitation he sailed to join the Channel Fleet. It is true that he did not arrive in time to be of service, but it was fine conduct, and an instance of the noble spirit now animating the navy which of itself was enough to calm all fears.

While the hubbub was raging at home, Hawke was straining to overtake Conflans. The wind between the 14th and the evening of the 19th November either fell calm or blew from the east, hampering both fleets. On the evening of the 19th it began to blow strong from the west, and there was every sign of a coming gale. Conflans was to the south-west of Belleisle, and Hawke behind him. Fearing that the force of the wind would cause him to make the land during the night, the French admiral carried little sail. Hawke, who was farther out, had less motive for caution, and was able to carry more sail than his opponent, thereby reducing the distance between them. When the late November daybreak came, this was the position; out at sea was Hawke with twenty-three sail of the line. Ahead of him, and just so far ahead of him as to be under the horizon line, was Conflans with twenty-one sail and five frigates or sloops. Both were flying before a rising gale from the W.N.W. and heading to enter Quiberon Bay by the passage between the Grands Cardinaux and the Plateau du Four. Ahead of Conflans was the Vengeance frigate of 28 guns, whose captain, Nightingale, was carrying all the sail he could bear, and was firing signal guns rapidly to warn Commodore Duff at anchor in Quiberon Bay that the French fleet was at hand. Duff at once ordered the cables to be cut and all speed to be made to sea, for there was not a moment to be lost if his little squadron was to escape from between the land and an overwhelming enemy. The surest road to safety was round the Pointe de Conguel, and through La Teignouse to the north of Belleisle. But to beat through that channel, all scarred as it is with rocks, in the face of a gale blowing right down from the W.N.W., was a feat which only one of his ships could achieve. The others were compelled to take the frightfully perilous course of running down the east side of Belleisle and rounding it to the south. Every yard of the road brought them nearer to the French fleet, which was coming up from the west and south. It was a question of minutes whether Conflans’ ships would or would not cut the path of escape. Never since the fleet of Bazan was seen stretching across the roadstead of Flores in the Azores had an English squadron been in greater peril than Duff’s, and the men knew it well. Therefore it was that when the lookout-man at the masthead of the Rochester hailed to report that he saw Hawke’s sails to windward of the enemy, a wild shout of joy went up, and the men threw their hats into the sea at the French, in a horseplay of defiance. It was the gesture of the boxer or single-stick player at a country fair who gave a challenge. It was now about eight o’clock in the morning. The reader will bear in mind that Duff’s ships were just about to be pinned to the south coast of Belleisle, that the French ships were closing in on them from the sea, and that the topsails of Hawke were rising over the horizon against the grey November sky. The clouds were driving furiously overhead. The Norsemen, whose descendants were numerous in the English fleet, and not absent from the French, would have seen the Valkyries riding, and would have heard the voices of the “choosers of the slain.” Here is the list of the ships and the captains:—

THE FLEET OF HAWKE