by Sam Willis
Even with these typical mortality figures, there is some suggestion that surgeons at Camperdown performed particularly well. A volume of the medical journal The Lancet, published in 1848, claimed that, at the Battles of Camperdown and the Nile combined, a total of 30 British sailors suffered amputation and not one died. That is an astonishing achievement for an era without either antisepsis or anaesthesia and with only vinegar as a disinfectant and oil of turpentine to seal stumps.
The surgical procedures took little time, perhaps 15 or 20 minutes in total for a thigh amputation, with most of that taken up preparing the wound site for the cut and then tidying the loose tendons, securing the blood vessels with silk ligatures, trimming the stump and sewing shut the wound. All of this was performed and endured in the most appalling conditions. The surgeon set up his operating table in the orlop deck. Here in the bowels of the ship, far below the waterline, the injured would not get in the way of the men still fighting and were in little danger of further injury. Lighting was poor, with no more than a dull orange glow cast by tallow candles shining through thick horn lanterns. There was no system of triage. The men lay cradling their wounds, damp with their own blood, as they waited their turn. We are particularly fortunate in this instance because one of the very few descriptions of surgery during battle to have survived was written by Robert Young, a surgeon in Duncan’s fleet.
Young was serving aboard the Ardent and, once battle commenced, operated non-stop from 1.00 p.m. until 4.00 the next morning, treating no less than 90 patients. Throughout that entire period, ‘Melancholy cries of assistance were addressed to me from every side by wounded and dying, and piteous moans and bewailing from pain and despair.’ But Young kept his head. ‘In the midst of these agonising scenes, I was able to preserve myself firm and collected, and embracing in my mind the whole of the situation, to direct my attention where the greatest and most essential services could be performed.’ Young berated those who were noisy but ‘cheered and commended the patient fortitude of others, and sometimes extorted a smile of satisfaction from the mangled sufferers, and succeeded to throw momentary gleams of cheerfulness among so many horrors’. At one stage their suffering was made worse when an explosion in the cockpit hatchway, where many of the wounded were waiting, knocked ‘14 or 15 wretches … down upon each other, their faces black as a cinder, their clothes blown to shatters and their hats on fire’. Young saved some but others died, including a corporal of marines ‘with all the gluteal muscles shot away so as to excavate the pelvis’.8
There was no school of military surgery providing training in the treatment of battle wounds and surgeons required no official qualifications, although they were required to pass an oral examination by the Admiralty before they received their commissions. Some surgeons, but only those on the very largest of ships, had mates to assist them. One commentator, writing shortly after Camperdown, began a treatise on the state of medicine in British ships with the potent phrase: ‘To the life of a navy surgeon there are, God knows, no seductions.’9
There are three hospital ships named here: Spanker, Mohauk and Monarch. By 1797 the Royal Navy had established large shore hospitals in both Portsmouth (Haslar) and Plymouth (Stonehouse) and these were augmented by hospital ships such as these in various locations around the country.
A list of persons who have lost their Beds & Apparel in the Action of the 11th of October
The aftermath of any battle was miserable for the survivors. Even those who had come through unscathed would be cold, wet and exhausted once the adrenaline had stopped flowing. The food was often destroyed and beer barrels burst. Livestock was often thrown overboard before action so that it wouldn’t get in the way of the guns. This list suggests powerfully the physical discomfort of some of Duncan’s victorious sailors.
DIRECTOR AT THE NORE 3RD NOVr 1797
Sir
According to a Memorandum dated Octr 25th in Yarmouth Roads. – I beg leave to inclose a list of persons who have lost their Beds & Apparel in the Action of the 11th of Octor.
I am Sir
Your most obedient very humble Servant
Wm Bligh
Bedding and rugs could be easily replaced but the loss of a pair of shoes, well-worn and soft-fitting, would have been a bitter blow. The very existence of this list suggests that these items were either replaced or that the sailors were compensated for their loss. An important distinction here is that hammocks were issued to sailors by the navy but beds, bedding and clothes were bought from the purser out of the sailors’ wages. This, therefore, is a list of personal loss and the fact that the navy is taking an active interest is evidence of the service at its benevolent best. The man who wrote the letter to Vice-Admiral Onslow certainly knew about discomfort. William Bligh, once captain of the Bounty, had survived that epic 3,500-mile open boat journey across the Pacific.
‘Beds’ are not to be confused with hammocks. Sailors all slept in hammocks but each sailor was also issued with a ‘bed’, a thin mattress that fitted inside his hammock. Each bed was 5 ft 10 in long and 2 ft 1 in wide and stuffed with rags, wool or, the best, with goat’s hair. Each bed usually came with its own blanket 6 ft 10 in long and 5 ft 4½ in wide, a good size to get cosy in. Each sailor should also have been issued with a bolster or pillow, though none appears to have been lost on board unless they were included in the term ‘bedding’.
‘Nankeen’ was a distinctive pale yellow cloth. ‘Musquito’ – or mosquito – trousers were a particular style of close-fitting canvas legwear. The ‘pea’ jacket was the classic navy blue woollen coat, known by sailors as a ‘bum-freezer’ because, unlike the landsmens’ long coat, it was cut short to ease work aloft. These ‘short’ coats were one of the reasons that sailors were instantly recognisable when ashore.
J. Walker to E. Nepean, 16 October 1797
Written in Yarmouth Roads several days after the battle, this next letter is from Captain James Walker of the Monmouth, one of the three converted East Indiamen in Duncan’s fleet. Walker had just arrived in Yarmouth with one of the seven Dutch prizes, the Alkmaar, and did not yet know that the Delft, which also struck to the Monmouth, had sunk.
Walker describes his ‘good fortune’ in being able to bring the Alkmaar safely back to Yarmouth roads. It was clearly a close-run thing and was only achieved by throwing 21 of her guns overboard. Such drastic action was only taken in the direst circumstances. Guns were exceptionally heavy but also very valuable. The Alkmaar was a 56-gunner and her heaviest guns would have been no larger than 24-pounders. Nevertheless a 24-pounder cannon still weighed as much as two tons. Throwing 21 guns overboard, even if they were not all 24-pounders, would therefore have lightened the ship by some 30 or 40 tons. She would thus have drawn significantly less water, reducing the pressure on her hull and hence the rate of her leaks, thereby easing the task of the sailors at the pumps.
Walker is keen to emphasise to the Admiralty how his men were so anxious to ‘expunge from the records of their Country the remembrance of their ever having forgot their duty’, a reference to the recent mutinies. It is worth noting, however, that his sailors did not necessarily do this spontaneously. We know that Walker made a conscious effort to remind them of their recent behaviour moments before the battle. At battle stations he roared: ‘My lads, you see your enemy; I shall lay you close aboard and give you an opportunity of washing the stain off your characters in the blood of your foes. Now, go to your quarters and do your duty.’10 Walker had every reason to encourage his men: we know that he was 70 men short of his full complement.
HIS MAJESTY’S SHIP MONMOUTH IN YARMOUTH ROADS THE 16TH OCTOBER 1797
Sir
I beg You will be pleased to inform their Lordships of my arrival at this Anchorage with His Majesty’s Ship under my Command and the Alkmaar Dutch Man of War in Tow, I send likewise a Journal of our proceedings from the morning of the 11th inst (as we unavoidably parted Company with the Admiral,) and the state and condition of the ship.
Two ships struck
to the Monmouth in the Action, the Delft of 60 Guns and 375 Men, and the Alkmaar of 56 Guns and 350 Men: we were engaged with them both for Fifty minutes, when the weathermost one having lost his Main Topmast and Mizen Mast, and being otherwise so much cut up as to prevent her escaping we attatched ourselves more closely to the other; after exchanging three Broadsides with him, observing that he kept away, we bore round up, ran athwart his Hawse, rak’d Him and backing alongside of him to Leeward, engaged him very Closely for Forty minutes, when he struck, I immediately sent the First Lieutenant Mr Bullen with a party of Men who took possession of the Delft, and Lieut. Caley with another Party on board the Alkmaar, having made the signal, twice that we were ready to renew the Action which remained unanswered, I thought it my duty to secure the Prizes, and the Alkmaar being the most disabled took her in Tow, and we have had the good Fortune, neither to be obliged to cast her off, nor have the Hawsers broke although we were two days on a Lee shore, which we could not get off, and on the 13th had a heavy Gale of Wind in which the Prize had nearly foundered, and was obliged to throw 21 of her Guns overboard.
All the Officers and Men of His Majesty’s Ship did their duty as became British Seamen; the Brave exertions and active Abilities of Mr. Bullen the 1st Lieutt were conspicuous as were also those of Mr. Murray the Master, and Captain Clark of the Marines, while the exertions of the Men strongly evinced how much they wished to expunge from the records of their Country the remembrance of their ever having forgot their duty.
We had Five Men Killed and Twenty two Wounded amongst the former we have to lament Lieut. Ferret a Brave and worthy officer, who has left a Wife to Deplore his loss – the Alkmaar had 29 Men Killed and 62 wounded, I have not spoke the Delft since the Action therefore cannot state her loss but believe it to be considerable. I have the Honor to be
Sir
Your most obedient
Humble Servant
James Walker
EVAN NEPEAN ESQR
Walker’s letter is proof that the influence of the 1797 insurrection had, by now, become powerfully positive. It is also proof that British sailors were aware of the weight of their own history and were consciously influenced by past events. Too often British success in these wars is associated only with British triumphs in battle, the energy of pride and expectation snowballing from one victory to another. We must, however, also acknowledge the impact of shame and failure, whether caused by mutiny or by outright British naval failures such as the attempted French landing at Bantry Bay in December 1796 or the real French landing in Wales a few weeks later. Both of these enemy naval operations were entirely unopposed by the Royal Navy. The reputation of British tars in this period traced a series of peaks and troughs and the relationship between the British public, politicians and the navy was by no means always healthy. Only in the brief afterglow of a victory was it uniformly positive and successes could be forgotten as easily as failures could be remembered.
The Alkmaar was taken into British service along with the other captured Dutch ships but none was coppered or considered of sufficient quality to serve in a British line of battle.11 The Alkmaar became a troopship before being converted first into a hospital ship and then a storeship; the Gelikheid became a prison ship, then a guard ship and finally a sheer hulk; the Haarlem became a troopship and then a receiving ship; the Admiral de Vries, the largest of the Dutch 68-gunners, became a troopship, then a prison ship and finally a receiving ship; the Wassenar became a troopship and then a powder hulk; the Jupiter became a prison ship and then a powder hulk; and de Winter’s 74-gun flagship, the Vrijheid, shared an identical fate. The British careers of these captured ships are one of the most telling indicators of the superiority of British warship design. Some French, Dutch and Spanish ships were exceptionally beautiful or notably swift but, when it came to fleet battle where robustness was key, none could withstand as much fire as a British warship.
The Battle of Camperdown did not on its own destroy Dutch seapower. However, along with the surrender of the Dutch squadron at Saldanha Bay in 1796 and the subsequent capitulation of another powerful Dutch squadron at Den Helder in 1799, it contributed to the breaking both of Dutch naval capability and of the will of Dutch politicians to wage an aggressive war against Britain. Confusion and recrimination after the battle tore Dutch politics apart and the country became paralysed by disagreement and indecision. The French insisted that the Dutch rebuild their fleet, a burden that crippled a Dutch economy already shattered by the 100,000,000-florin indemnity imposed by the invading French in 1796. Dutch maritime, economic and political power collapsed to the extent that, by 1806, Napoleon had had enough. On 5 June he crowned his brother Louis King of Holland.
Camperdown deserves its place as one of Britain’s most impressive naval victories because it embodied so many of the ideals that came to characterise British naval success. It was dashing and impulsive; it was hard-fought and ferocious; it was a fleeting opportunity seized and exploited. Duncan was created a viscount and given the title Camperdown and, although some considered the reward insufficient, his reputation soared. A poem was soon popularised that celebrated the three victories of the war:
‘St Vincent drubbed the Dons, Earl Howe he drubbed Monsieur
And gallant Duncan now has soundly drubbed Mynheer;
The Spanish, French and Dutch, tho’ all united be.
Fear not, Britannia cries, My Tars can beat all three’
When Duncan died only six years later, Nelson wrote to his son with the telling words ‘The name of Duncan will never be forgot’.12 Duncan’s precipitate attack and decisive victory was certainly a big influence on Nelson, who was recovering from the recent amputation of his arm in London6 when he heard the news and exclaimed that he would have given his other arm to have been present.
The mob which prowled the streets, ensuring that everyone had lit their candles in celebration of Duncan’s victory, hammered on the door of 141 Bond Street, Nelson’s London home, but the windows stayed resolutely dark. The baying crowd, confronted by an irate Frances Nelson anxious to let her hero husband sleep, dutifully crept away when they discovered the identity of the man lying in the darkness, saying ‘You will hear no more from us tonight.’13
Nelson recovered, though the pain in his arm plagued him for months afterwards, possibly as a result of a nerve being caught in the silk ligatures that secured the blood vessels in his stump. He was ready again for service the following spring, eight months after receiving the injury in the disastrous attack on Santa Cruz in Tenerife. By then, with the Dutch reeling after Camperdown and the Spanish crushed at St Vincent, the invasion threat had been lifted and the British were ready to sail back into the Mediterranean for the first time since December 1796.
In France, meanwhile, Napoleon, with his political influence growing, urged the Directory to sponsor a major operation against British India and the Ottoman Empire, the first stage of which would be the conquest of Egypt. The Parisian politicians, delighted that they would see the back of this ambitious and troublesome young general, approved the idea. Thousands of men were assembled in hundreds of transports along the southern French coast but the British had no idea of their intended destination. The Admiralty turned to Nelson, equipped him with a fleet of magnificent ships and superb crews, and ordered him to find Napoleon and destroy his fleet, wherever it went. On 29 March 1798, Nelson hoisted his flag on HMS Vanguard and set in motion the next maritime dance between Britain and France. This one would lead to the most overwhelming battle of them all at the mouth of the mighty River Nile.
The Battle of the Nile
La Bataille d’Aboukir
1 August 1798
‘As yet we know not all the circumstances but those which we are already acquainted with are frightful in the extreme’
E. Poussielgue, Comptroller General of the Expenses of the Eastern Army, 3 August 1798
AT A GLANCE
DATE:
1-3 August 1798
NAVIES INVOLVED:
<
br /> British and French
COMMANDING OFFICERS:
Rear-Admiral Horatio Nelson and Vice-Admiral F. Brueys d’Aigalliers
FLEET SIZES:
British, 13 ships of the line; French, 13 ships of the line
TIME OF DAY:
18.20 – c. 22.00 when L’Orient exploded. Recommenced sporadically after 04.00 on the second day
LOCATION:
Aboukir Bay, Egypt. 31°20'N 30°07'E
WEATHER:
Moderate breezes and clear
RESULT:
9 French ships of the line captured, 2 destroyed
CASUALTIES:
British 896; French 3,179
BRITISH COURT MARTIALS:
None.
DISPATCHES CARRIED HOME BY:
Nelson’s flag captain Edward Berry, who was captured, and Lieutenant Thomas Capel who travelled to London via Naples and Vienna.
