by Roy Adkins
In the autumn of 1810 Hoste learned that Dubourdieu had arrived in the Adriatic and was based at the Italian port of Ancona, and from that time there was a series of cat-and-mouse maneouvres and skirmishes between the two squadrons. The British ships were based at the island of Lissa (now Vis) off modern Croatia. This coast, like that of Italy opposite, was also under French control: Lissa was a precarious British foothold in the region. Donat Henchy O’Brien, who as a midshipman had escaped from Bitche in September 1808 and was picked up two months later by Hoste’s frigate, the Amphion, was now a lieutenant on board that ship. O’Brien described how they went looking for Dubourdieu’s squadron:[On] reconnoitring Ancona on 17th October, we found that all our birds had escaped. Instantly every stitch of canvass that could be of use was spread, and our course was for Corfu . . . We fell in with a Sicilian privateer, that informed us she had just been chased by the enemy, who were steering for Corfu . . . In fact, the treacherous Sicilian had deceived us, and on the very day on which this ally had given us the false information, the French commodore having learned from a fisherman that the English squadron was on a cruise, entered Port St. George, landed troops, committed great havoc and devastation, destroyed our prizes, took away three neutral ships that we had detained, and steered for Ancona.2
Port St George was the anchorage at Lissa, and while Hoste was elsewhere Dubourdieu led this daring raid on 22 October - the day after the fifth anniversary of Trafalgar. In the absence of effective opposition, the French spent six hours recapturing the prize ships anchored there and driving the British shore parties into the hills. By the time Hoste returned, the French had retreated to the safety of their base at Ancona. Like Hoste, O’Brien was stung by the French success: ‘This was a bitter drug of disappointment, and none felt it more severely than our gallant captain. I dined with him that day, and saw the big drop trickle down his manly cheek.’3
The raid was hailed as a great victory in French-controlled Europe, and the Moniteur newspaper enhanced it by twisting the facts to state that ‘the English squadron, though superior to the French in force and numbers, had most sedulously avoided measuring strength with it’.4 Hoste realised that the version of events reported in the Moniteur would reach Britain before his dispatches, and on top of this humiliation he found out that Collingwood, who had died on 7 March 1810, was being succeeded as commander-in-chief of the Mediterranean by Admiral Sir Charles Cotton. Collingwood had been ill for some time. He had been almost continuously at sea since he sailed from Britain in 1804, and had not seen his wife and family since then. After Trafalgar he had inherited the Mediterranean command from Nelson, carrying it out efficiently and conscientiously, despite his failing health. Without his dedication and expertise in maintaining the blockades, the French ships in Mediterranean ports may well have managed to regroup and pose a significant threat once again.
In Collingwood, Hoste had lost one more link with Nelson, and even before Dubourdieu’s raid, he was weary of the war: ‘If ever I should (and why should I not?) get quietly home, and this war is past, I think the measure of my happiness will be to remain an easy, plodding, country farmer, with all my friends around me. I am almost tired of this unsociable life, but I have no right to complain, and must rough it through.’5 Hoste suspected that Cotton might order him back to England, but he was retained because his experience in the Adriatic was valued. Captain George Eyre in the battleship Magnificent became his superior, but Hoste still had a great deal of freedom of operation, and his three frigates and a sloop were boosted by the addition of the frigate Volage.
After his raid Dubourdieu waited for further reinforcements before attempting a decisive assault on Lissa and the British. Hoste and his squadron continued to harass shipping, but on 12 March 1811 Hoste’s ships began to leave Lissa, intending to sail to Dubourdieu’s base at Ancona the next day and perhaps tempt the French into battle. As dawn broke on the 13th, the British were confronted by a forest of masts from ten warships accompanied by a gunboat. On board the Amphion O’Brien could see that ‘they were not much more than a mile off Port St. George. The force of our long-sought enemy, whom we immediately recognised, was ascertained to be six ships, a brig, a schooner, xebec, and two gun-boats; certainly a very superior number - the disparity, to all appearance, overwhelming: but, strange to say, there was not a soul in the Amphion, from the chief down, who did not anticipate a complete victory: and I have been informed since, that the same feeling prevailed throughout the other ships.’6
Of the six ships O’Brien mentioned, five were frigates and one a schooner, with only one gunboat, not two, but it was still the largest enemy fleet that had been seen in the Adriatic. Dubourdieu had put together a force of French and Venetian frigates to deal with Hoste’s squadron, and his smaller ships carried some five hundred troops to destroy the British base on Lissa itself. Hoste’s squadron was outnumbered in both ships and cannons, and Dubourdieu had been training his crews intensively over the previous months. Despite this they still could not hope to match the skill and expertise of the British sailors, who were so confident of victory against the odds.
The British ships formed a line of battle, but the French were intending to break this line in two places, in an echo of Nelson at Trafalgar, to create a confused mêlée. Dubourdieu, with his crews outnumbering the British, wanted to create conditions in which Hoste’s ships could be boarded. O’Brien watched as the French and Venetian ships approached:Dubourdieu . . . was bearing down in two divisions to attack us. He, leading the starboard, or weather-one, in the Favorita [Favorite], a large frigate, followed by the Flora [Flore], Bellona, and Mercure brig; that of the lee was led by the Danaë, followed by the Corona, Caroline [Carolina], and small craft. Our ships were in a very compact line-ahead, the Amphion, Active, Cerberus, and Volage, having every sail set, that we might close as soon as possible. When nearly within gunshot, Captain Hoste telegraphed ‘Remember Nelson!’ which was answered by three loud cheers from the crews of our squadron, who manned the rigging on the occasion.7
The coming battle was to be a struggle for control of the Adriatic, but on top of that it was a matter of pride for Hoste, who felt he had been denied the opportunity of retaliation after the humiliation of Dubourdieu’s raid on Port St George five months earlier. Now he had his chance, and as his commodore’s pendant was unfurled from the Amphion’s mainmast, O’Brien said that he ‘cried out most emphatically “There goes the pride of my heart!”’8 The Amphion then tried a ranging shot, which just fell short of the bow of the leading ship, and within a few minutes a furious battle began. The seamanship of the British made it impossible for any enemy vessel to pass between them, and the ferocious gunfire they maintained prevented Dubourdieu breaking the line. Instead he attempted to swing alongside and board the Amphion, as O’Brien recorded:A most tremendous fire was opened, and became general on both sides: ours was so well directed, and our ships so close in line, that the French commodore, who evinced great gallantry, was completely foiled in the attempt to board us on the starboard quarter, and which sealed his destruction, for at the moment that his jib-boom had nearly plombed our taffrail, his bowsprit and forecastle being crowded with boarders, himself in full uniform amongst the foremost, displaying great intrepidity, and animating his men, a brass five-and-a-half inch howitzer, which had been previously loaded with between seven and eight hundred musket balls, and well pointed, was discharged right at them. The carnage occasioned by this, together with an incessant fire of small arms from the marines and seamen, as well as round, grape and canister, from every great gun that could be brought to bear, was truly dreadful. Numbers of the poor wretches were swept away, and amongst the fallen was distinctly observed their gallant leader.9
By now the British ships were dangerously close to the shore and the signal was made for them to wear together, to reverse the order of sailing and head away from the coast. As the French attempted the same manoeuvre, the battered Favorite failed to make the turn and ran aground - Dubourdieu had
been killed, and his ship was out of the battle. The French Flore managed to pass behind the stern of the Amphion, firing a broadside down the length of the ship. O’Brien, who was in charge of the main-deck guns, saw what was about to happen and ordered the gun crews to lie down, ‘as by standing they were uselessly exposed, it being impossible to bring a gun to bear on the enemy at the moment. With the young gentlemen [midshipmen] or officers I left it optional to act as they pleased, and they remained erect with me, and I lament to say suffered in consequence of their gallantry, for Messrs. Barnard and Farewell, two promising young men, were immediately knocked down and taken to the cockpit, badly, though not mortally wounded.’10
The Flore and the Bellona successfully trapped the Amphion between them, and a fierce fight began. The Danaë also attacked the Volage, but soon realised the disadvantage of being too close because the British ship was armed with 32-pounder carronades. The Danaë regained the advantage by pulling away to a point out of range of the carronades, but still close enough for cannons to be effective. On board the Volage the gunpowder charges were increased in an attempt to improve the range of the carronades, but as a result these guns broke loose from their tackles, some overturned and some split open. This left the Volage almost defenceless, until the Active came to the rescue, and ‘the Danaë made all sail to escape to Lessina, as did the Carolina, and the small craft scampered off in various directions’.11
The Carolina and Corona had been in battle with the Cerberus, and the Corona continued the fighting until the British ship Active intervened. The Corona then retreated, pursued by the Active, and this Venetian ship put up a desperate fight before being forced to surrender. Meanwhile the Amphion, still caught between the two enemy ships, concentrated on defeating the larger of the two, as O’Brien explained: ‘We suffered much in the Amphion from the well-directed fire of the two ships, Flora and Bellona, so judiciously placed on our quarters, but the former being the most formidable, demanded our chief attention, and being to leeward, we were enabled by bearing up to close and pass ahead so as nearly to touch her, when we poured our starboard broadside into her larboard bow, and the consequence was, she soon ceased firing and struck her colours.’12 The Amphion then tackled the Bellona, which also eventually surrendered, but in the meantime the Flore took the opportunity to escape, meeting up with the Danaë and reaching a safe anchorage on the island of Lessina. The battle was over, leaving the British with the Bellona and Corona as prizes. The Favorite, which had run aground, was set on fire by the crew and later blew up.
The battle had been hard fought. Some of the British ships, particularly the Amphion and Volage, were badly damaged, and Hoste himself was wounded by a musket-ball in his arm, and his face and hands were burnt. The casualties on board the enemy ships were far worse, however, and O’Brien was shocked by the scene in the Bellona:It would be difficult to describe the horrors which now presented themselves; - the carnage was dreadful - the dead and dying lying about in every direction: the agonies of the latter were most lamentable and piercing. The surgeon, a herculean man, with an apron and his shirt-sleeves tucked up, attended by his assistants and others, bore a conspicuous part in the tragedy, being busily employed in examining wounds, ascertaining the bodies from whom the vital spark had actually fled, and superintending their interment, or rather launching out of the ports! Strange to say, every man stationed at one of the guns had been killed, and as it was supposed by the same shots [the guns being double-shotted], which passed through both sides of the ship into the sea. At another gun, the skull of one poor creature was actually lodged in the beam above where he stood, the shot having taken an oblique direction: in short, the scene was heart-rending and sickening.13
Initially the British squadron with its prizes returned to Lissa for repairs, and in the following days the crew of the Favorite was rounded up and taken prisoner. Hoste then led his ships and their prizes to Malta, where, as he wrote to his mother, they had a heroes’ welcome: ‘If I was to tell you our reception at this place yesterday, you would laugh at me, and call me a vain, foolish man. Indeed it is enough to make any man so, and I may in truth say yesterday was the proudest day of my life. The whole of the garrison manned the lines, and cheered us from the time of our entry into the port to that of our anchoring.’14 In a later letter to her he said ‘we have had balls and fêtes given to us by all classes here, and it is impossible to convey to you the sensation our success has given rise to’.15
As expected, Hoste soon received orders to bring his two most damaged ships and the prizes back to Britain for proper repairs, and, as was often the case with returning ships, they carried a few passengers from Malta. Among these was the poet Lord Byron, who, although not yet at the peak of his fame, was nevertheless a celebrity. He wrote to his friend John Cam Hobhouse from the Volage: ‘We left Malta on the 2nd, with three other frigates, inclusive of the Lissa prizes, and we are on our way, they to glory, and I to what God pleases.’16 The Amphion’s crew was paid off at Deptford on 12 August, and although Hoste was given congratulations and rewards, these were not in proportion to the strategic importance of his success. The battle at Lissa had destroyed any hopes of the French for securing a south European route to the East in the foreseeable future, as well as giving a further blow to the morale of the French Navy. Dubourdieu had been one of the best French commanders, and many experienced seamen had also been lost.
Like France, Britain still needed a constant supply of men to replace those who were discharged or died, but since so many had originally been pressed into service and had spent many years at sea, desertion was a major problem too. Whenever they had a reasonable chance of success many sailors took the opportunity to run away. The Chesapeake -Leopard affair of 1807 that had been sparked off by a dispute over deserters had not halted the major sources of aggravation between America and Britain - in the ruthless quest for recruits, Americans continued to be pressed into the Royal Navy, and American ships were still being searched for so-called deserters. In early 1811 the twelve-year-old Samuel Leech in the newly launched frigate Macedonian recorded one incident when they were about to leave the port of Lisbon: ‘Being in want of men, we resorted to the press-gang which was made up of our most loyal men, armed to the teeth; by their aid we obtained our full numbers. Among them were a few Americans; they were taken without respect to their protections, which were often taken from them and destroyed. Some were released through the influence of the American consul; others, less fortunate, were carried to sea, to their no small chagrin.’17 He added: ‘To prevent the recovery of these men by their consul, the press-gang usually went ashore on the night previous to our going to sea; so that before they were missed they were beyond his protection. Sometimes they were claimed on our return to port.’18
The French-American traveller Louis Simond believed that ‘the danger to which a real American sailor is exposed, of being forcibly taken away by the first English man of war met at sea, is certainly in the highest degree revolting, and will lead to interminable wars as soon as there is more equality of strength between the two nations’.19 His prediction was gradually coming true, because two months after the battle of Lissa, a serious clash occurred between the President and Little Belt only a few miles from where the Chesapeake -Leopard encounter had taken place. Several seamen had recently been taken from American ships in that area, and in one incident the British frigate Guerriere had seized an alleged deserter from the merchant brig Spitfire just 18 miles off New York. As a result, Captain John Rodgers of the heavy frigate President was immediately given orders to set sail and cruise off the coast. One officer on board the President wrote to the New York Herald:We learn that we are in pursuit of the British frigate who had impressed a passenger from a coaster. Yesterday, while beating down the bay, we spoke a brig coming up, who informed us that she saw the British frigate the day before off the very place where we now are; but she is not now in sight. We have made the most complete preparations for battle. Every one wishes it. She is exactl
y our force, but we have the Argus [sloop] with us, which none of us are pleased with, as we wish a fair trial of courage and skill. Should we see her, I have not the least doubt of an engagement. The commodore [Rodgers] will demand the person impressed; the demand will doubtless be refused, and the battle will instantly commence . . . The commodore has called in the boatswain, gunner, and carpenter, informed them of all circumstances, and asked if they were ready for action. Ready was the reply of each.20
In the evening of 16 May 1811 a warship was spotted off Cape Henry that was believed to be the Guerriere, but the vessel refused to show identification. A shot was fired, though it was never established who fired first, as subsequent reports from both sides were contradictory in every detail. Broadsides were exchanged, possibly lasting forty-five minutes, and the vessels then drifted apart. The Chesapeake and Leopard had been evenly matched, but at daylight the British vessel on this occasion was discovered not to be the frigate Guerriere but the much inferior sloop Little Belt (also called Lille Belt, its original Danish name before being captured at Copenhagen in 1807). The Little Belt, under Captain Arthur Batt Bingham, had earlier sailed from Bermuda with orders to meet up with the Guerriere. Ironically he had specific instructions ‘to be particularly careful not to give any just cause of offence to the government or subjects of the United States of America’.21
The British had eleven dead and twenty-one wounded, some severely, while the Americans had only one wounded. In his report to the Admiralty, Bingham was of the opinion that the President had set out for a fight, even though Britain and America were not at war. ‘By the manner in which he [Rodgers] apologized,’ Bingham commented, ‘it appeared to me evident, that had he fallen in with a British frigate he would certainly have brought her to action; and what further confirms me in that opinion is, that his guns were not only loaded with round and grape shot, but with every scrap of iron that could possibly be collected.’22 The Naval Chronicle said that ‘we have seen several private letters, all of which flatly contradict the assertion, that Captain Bingham fired first; and add, that the President fired the first single shot, and also the first broadside’.23 The President was virtually unscathed, but the Little Belt limped into Halifax a near wreck, as Bingham described: ‘His Majesty’s sloop is much damaged in her masts, sails, rigging and hull, and as there are many shots still remaining in her side, and upper works all shot away, starboard pump also, I have judged it proper to proceed to Halifax.’24
