This hasty departure – and the unnecessary risks that came with it – entailed Marryat’s first encounter with the kind of administrative inflexibility and pigheadedness that had already riled Cochrane to such an extent that he was willing to stand as MP. Marryat was less than impressed, particularly when they resulted in near fatal consequences, as he later recalled:
A few hours more would have enabled us to proceed to sea with security, but they were denied; the consequences were appalling, they might have been fatal. In the general confusion, some iron too near the binnacles had attracted the needle of the compasses; the ship was steered out of her course. Midnight, in a heavy gale at the close of the month of November, so dark that you could not distinguish any object, however close, the Imperieuse dashed upon the rocks between Ushant and the Main.
The cry of terror which ran through the lower decks; the grating of the keel as she was forced in; the violence of the shocks which convulsed the frame of the vessel; the hurrying up of the ship’s company without their clothes; and then the enormous waves which again bore her up and carried her clean over the reef, will never be effaced from my memory.
Our escape was miraculous: with the exception of her false keel having been torn off the ship had suffered little injury; but she had beat over a reef, and was riding by her anchors, surrounded by rocks, some of them as high out of water as her lower yards and close to her. How nearly were the lives of a fine ship’s company, and of Lord Cochrane and his officers, sacrificed in this instance to the despotism of an admiral who must be obeyed.
This was a pretty rough – not to mention terrifying – introduction to life aboard a naval vessel and it doubtless didn’t help that Frederick suffered from seasickness, which must have made this first night even more of an ordeal; he was unwell, bewildered, and very much out of his depth. Yet he rapidly got to grips with things. As midshipman, he was essentially a trainee officer: separate from the seamen, but still expected to work alongside them in order to learn how to handle a ship correctly. This involved going up the rigging to set sails, general maintenance, and errand running. In addition to this, as a trainee who one day hoped to make the rank of lieutenant, the midshipman would be expected to learn the art of navigation and take command of some of the smaller open boats from time to time. If a midshipman was really fortunate, he might also be asked to take command of a captured prize and bring her to the safety of a neutral port.
As already noted, the midshipman’s mess was a bit of a pit and, being filled with as many as ten young gentlemen, it was far from a pleasant or wholesome environment. Bullying was rife and there was a very clear hierarchy, with youngsters having to submit to the ‘oldsters’ as Marryat described them, going on to depict life as ‘severe’ and ‘demoralising’. He was therefore fortunate that the dominant force within his mess was William Napier, a man who later found fame as a politician and diplomat. At the time when Marryat met him, he was master’s mate, a kind of halfway house between midshipman and lieutenant, and in this role he seemed to offer the youngsters some protection.
If Napier helped to keep peace in the midshipman’s mess, there was no preventing Lord Cochrane making things extremely interesting on deck. The Imperieuse had been dispatched to patrol south-west France where a squadron of naval vessels had been tasked with blockading La Rochelle and the ports surrounding it. It was winter, and this storm-tossed section of Atlantic coastline was a truly intimidating place to operate a ship of war. As a frigate, the Imperieuse enjoyed a degree of freedom and was generally despatched to the south on patrols of the coast. She would have endured many hazards on this stormy, unforgiving coast, but Cochrane was undeterred by the weather and Marryat’s diary is a litany of attacks and seizures of craft. It was a very educational period for young Marryat: unquestionably he must have been scared at times, for many of the actions were brutal and violent, yet the young sailor was far from dismayed, as this later recollection reveals:
The cruises of the Imperieuse were periods of continual excitement, from the hour in which she hove up her anchor till she dropped it again in port; a day that passed without a shot being fired in anger, was with us a blank day; the boats were hardly secured on the booms than they were cast loose and out again; the yard and stay tackles were for ever hoisting up and lowering down. The expedition with which parties were formed for service; the rapidity of the frigate’s movements, night and day; the hasty sleep, snatched at all hours; the waking up at the report of the guns, which seemed the only key-note to the hearts of those on board: the beautiful precision of our fire, obtained by constant practice; the coolness and courage of our captain, inoculating the whole of the ship’s company; the suddenness of our attacks, the gathering after the combat, the killed lamented, the wounded almost envied; the powder so burnt into our faces that years could not remove it; the proved character of every man and officer on board, the implicit trust and the adoration we felt for our commander; the ludicrous situations which would occur even in the extremest danger and create mirth when death was staring you in the face, the hair-breadth escapes, and the indifference to life shown by all – when memory sweeps along those years of excitement even now, my pulse beats more quickly with the reminiscence.
Marryat was quickly learning about the harsh reality of war. Life was certainly cheap, but the youngster did not seem to care. Nevertheless, it must have come as something of a relief when the Imperieuse made her return to home waters, anchored off Plymouth, and was finally at rest. Marryat was allowed some leave and it was natural that the youngster swaggered home overflowing with tales of bravery, bloodshed and glory. Given that he revelled in the excitement of the service, it was perhaps fortunate that he had accrued a good stock of it, for the Imperieuse’s next cruise was singularly devoid of incident. The problem was that Cochrane had become too preoccupied with politics and, as a result, a Captain Skene was put in charge of the frigate on a temporary basis. His period of command was as uneventful as the preceding cruise had been dramatic and Marryat noted:
Our guns were never cast loose or our boats disturbed out of their booms. This was a repose which was however, rather trying to the officers and ship’s company, who had become accustomed to an active life.
Skene remained in command for five months, but in September 1807, Cochrane returned and officers and men once more looked forward to relentless action. Down in the mess room, Marryat was being forced to endure action of a different kind, for the arrival of a new midshipman by the name of William Cobbett, son of the famed reformer of the same name, had changed the heretofore peaceful dynamic of the mess, and bullying became severe. Although barely 15, Marryat was already a voluble force within the mess room and he was clearly unafraid to back up his sharp tongue with physical violence if required. He and Cobbett frequently came to blows and much of this long-running battle was recounted in his later works, particularly his first novel, the semi-autobiographical Frank Mildmay. One particularly vicious incident involved the cutting of hammock ropes, a foolish prank, which sends the slumbering victim crashing to the deck amid much hilarity. Having fallen victim to Cobbett, Marryat determined to pay back the compliment, but took the further step of ensuring the sharp corner of a trunk was positioned just under Cobbett’s head. The consequence of this was that Cobbett was laid up for many days recovering. Marryat was clearly not one to be trifled with.
If the occupants of the mess room had entered into more stormy waters, the same could not be said of the Imperieuse, which had been dispatched to the Mediterranean at the head of a convoy of trading vessels. Once the convoy had dispersed without incident, she proceeded to Valetta on the island of Malta to receive further orders. There was much excitement aboard the frigate, for the officers and men were thrilled at the opportunities that awaited them. Considering the amount of damage they had managed to inflict on the storm-tossed Atlantic coast the previous winter, they realised the potential was all the higher in the calmer waters of the Mediterranean. Unfortunately the first serious acti
on they were involved with was an unmitigated disaster.
Cruising along the coast of Corsica, a large, heavily armed polacca, square-rigged on the main but with lateen sails on the fore and mizzen, was spotted cruising the coast. Although she was flying British colours, the officers aboard the Imperieuse thought her worthy of further investigation as a possible prize. The weather being calm, several of the frigate’s boats were lowered, manned and armed in order to pay the stranger a visit. Marryat was in a boat commanded by William Napier, and it was as they approached that matters turned truly unpleasant. Napier hailed the polacca, asked her business and requested permission for the navy to step aboard and inspect the vessel. The captain of the mysterious ship replied that she was Maltese and therefore an ally but he would not allow any of the men aboard to inspect his ship as he did not believe they were naval officers. This was all the provocation that was required and the men in the boats prepared to board, surging forward with a cheer. They were met with a volley of grapeshot and the air was soon alive with the crackle of gunfire as the Imperieuse’s boats ranged alongside. Eager cutlasses slashed through the nettings of the polacca and soon the adversaries were engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand battle as the men of the Imperieuse desperately sought to get a footing aboard the stranger. Marryat was in the thick of the action, launching himself on deck to grapple with the errant crew. For ten breathless minutes, which must have seemed to last for hours, blood ran red on the polacca’s deck. All the while the sun shone down benevolently on the shimmering sea, the boarded vessel rolling gently in the greasy swell while men aboard her toiled and struggled and died. Ultimately it was the men of the Imperieuse who came out on top, but the tally of two dead and thirteen wounded was a high one for a single prize. The price seemed all the higher when it was ascertained that the captured vessel was indeed a Maltese privateer and therefore, at least theoretically, an ally.
Cochrane was dismayed and knew he would have to vindicate himself in front of the court of the Admiralty in Valetta. He was relieved that he had been in the right to attack the vessel when he made enquiries on arriving in Malta and discovered that the polacca was in fact a pirate ship and that there was a bounty of £500 for her capture. He presented this case to Court of the Admiralty, assuming he would be duly praised and rewarded. Unfortunately, the Maltese authorities were notoriously corrupt and a number of members of the court had a financial interest in the polacca and her activities. As a result, Cochrane was fined £500 and left the court even more embittered than before.
Thus chastened, the Imperieuse returned to her patrolling, and ranged almost the entire scope of the Mediterranean in her search for prizes and glory. It was the capture of a small trader that was to lead to the next really significant piece of action, as one of the captives aboard hinted that a large French privateer was currently anchored in the Spanish port of Almeria Bay. This vessel had already beaten off the frigate HMS Spartan with great loss of life and Cochrane made for the Spanish coast with due haste in order to intercept the ship and exact revenge. In the early hours of 21 February 1808, the Imperieuse ghosted into Almeria Bay flying the neutral American flag from her rear mast. The assignment was a tricky one; the port was heavily fortified, with several batteries of guns trained upon the shipping in the bay. In addition to the French privateer, there were five smaller vessels, all armed and hostile to the British. Cochrane dropped his anchor in the midst of these boats and within range of the batteries of Almeria. It was a bold move, and the daring captain took the wise precaution of setting up springs on the anchor chain. These meant that the frigate could be quickly hauled around to allow her guns to be trained on various targets. At the same time her boats were launched, and all were fully prepared for an epic battle. Marryat was in a boat commanded by First Lieutenant Caulfield. This vessel was first away and received the full force of the French broadside as they ranged alongside. Many of Marryat’s companions fell back into the boat dead. Immediately, the bay erupted into life with the thunder of cannonballs and the cries of men. The garrison manning the battery was suddenly well aware of the intruders and brought cannon to bear on the Imperieuse. The frigate was far from caught unawares, however, and Cochrane used his anchor springs to good advantage, swinging the big frigate back and forth and raking the enemy vessels with shot. This tactic proved highly effective and it was not long before the British were on top. In a mere eight minutes they had overwhelmed their adversaries.
For Marryat, however, the action was extremely brief, for he had been crushed under the weight of men who had fallen back into the boat during that first valiant assault. To his horror, he discovered that he was being suffocated by the corpse of his valiant commander, Caulfield. Badly wounded himself, he passed out at this point and remembered no more. He regained consciousness back on deck, and describes the scene thus:
The first moments of respite from carnage were employed in examining the bodies of the killed and wounded. I was numbered among the former, and stretched out between the guns by the side of the first lieutenant and the other dead bodies. A fresh breeze blowing through the ports revived me a little, but, faint and sick, I had neither the power nor inclination to move; my brain was confused; I had no recollection of what had happened, and continued to lie in a sort of stupor, until the prize came alongside of the frigate, and I was roused by the cheers of congratulation and victory from those who had remained on board.
It was at this point that Marryat’s hated adversary, Cobbett, spotted his lifeless body and could not bring himself to be magnanimous, even in the face of death. Gently kicking at the lifeless body, he then exclaimed: ‘Here is a young cock that has done crowing! Well, for a wonder, this chap has cheated the gallows.’
Yet the young midshipman was not dead, and Cobbett was in for a rude shock, as Marryat recalled:
The sound of the fellow’s detested voice was enough to recall me from the grave, if my orders had been signed: I faintly exclaimed, ‘You are a liar!’ which, even with all the melancholy scene around us, produced a burst of laughter at his expense. I was removed to the ship, put to bed, and bled, and was soon able to narrate the particulars of my adventure; but I continued a long while dangerously.
It was indeed some weeks before Marryat had fully recovered from this ordeal and it was shortly after his convalescence that he made the first in a remarkable series of rescues. Marryat was a strong swimmer at a time when many in the navy could not swim at all, so when the cry of ‘man overboard!’ rang through the ship one day while the Imperieuse was anchored off Malta, Marryat did not hesitate to jump in and rescue his shipmate, who turned out to be Cobbett, his hated enemy. The water was warm and the ship was not moving, but Cobbett could not swim and was on the verge of death when Marryat saved him. It was a selfless act for which he was roundly praised. As for Cobbett, the hatchet was well and truly buried and Marryat wrote to his mother: ‘From that moment I have loved the fellow as I have never loved before. All my hate is forgotten, I have saved his life.’
The adventures continued thick and fast and much of Marryat’s career reads like pure fiction, but it is backed up by Admiralty reports. The next scrape involved a small brig in young Marryat’s charge. Cochrane had ranged far and wide in his search for prizes and each time he took one, he had to man it with some of the Imperieuse’s crew, already depleted by injury and death at the hands of the enemy. By the time a small brig laden with wine was captured, he had little choice but to give the command to Marryat, and ordered him to sail the vessel back to Gibraltar. The trip turned out to be a catastrophe. Cochrane could only spare Marryat three hands and this was not enough to handle the ship properly. Not that Marryat was worried: ‘I was so delighted with my first command, that, I verily believe, if they had only given me a dog and a pig I should have been satisfied’, he later recalled.
Once clear of the Imperieuse, Marryat shaped a course simply by following the coast, as he had limited navigational knowledge. The freshening wind started to develop into a gale and th
e crew struggled to take in her upper sails. It was soon clear there would be no means of shortening the big lower sails with so few crew, so the vessel raced on before the gale at breakneck speed. It was unfortunate for Marryat that the prize was loaded with wine, for the sailors soon perceived that here was an excellent opportunity to get drunk and duly broached the cargo. Marryat takes up the story with a dryness clearly not present at the time:
Sea Fever Page 18
