A Middy's Recollections, 1853-1860. Victor Alexander Montagu
days, when the affair had well blown over, this information was imparted to me by the coxswain.
On the 11th of February 1854, the Baltic Fleet was ready for sea. Three divisions (of squadrons) were formed, under Vice-Admiral Sir Charles Napier, Commander-in-Chief, Vice-Admiral Corry, and Rear-Admiral Chads; and a most imposing sight it was. Besides the line-of-battle ships, there were frigates and paddle-sloops. These frigates were lovely ships: the Imperieuse and the sister vessel, the Euryalus, were beautiful models, carrying 51 guns. There was a very fine 40-gun frigate whose name I cannot recall: she was commanded by one of the best and most popular officers in the service, Captain Yelverton. I had the honour, many years afterwards, of serving under him when he was Commander-in-Chief in the Mediterranean; and nothing could have exceeded the happiness of the fleet at that time. There was great rivalry in those days (and even long before) among some of the ships. Sail drill was the principal cause of it. The ships’ companies became so intensely jealous if one or more ships had completed an evolution in less time, that when general leave to go ashore was granted strict orders were given that leave should not be granted to those respective ships at the same time, for fear of a free fight between their men. I well recollect serious rows when they did meet one another. To my idea, nothing could have been finer than the display of competitive feeling. Some of the ships used to have all sorts of dodges (as we called them) to enable time to be saved during drill, and when I was Flag-Lieutenant on the station I was ordered to watch minutely, to see if all was fair play. The paddle-wheel sloops and frigates were comfortable vessels (one in particular, the Terrible, carrying 21 guns—and heavy ones they were). The Gorgon and the Basilisk rendered good service during the war. These were smaller, and carried 14 or 16 guns, I think. Of the liners, the Duke of Wellington, the flagship, bore the palm. She carried 131 guns, and was a beautiful sailer as well as steamer. The St. Jean D’Arc, of 101 guns, was a lovely ship. The Acre, commanded by Harry Keppel, was always what we termed our chummy ship: the Princess Royal was generally next her in the line.
Then came the great event of the day. The Queen arrived from Osborne in the Fairy, to review the Fleet before it weighed anchor. The very fact of Her Majesty announcing her intention to bid us Good-bye caused intense excitement through the Fleet, and I recollect well how highly this mark of honour was appreciated. We were all anchored in three lines, and the lovely little Fairy threaded her way through the ships as we manned yards and cheered to the echo. After this inspection the Queen summoned all her Admirals and Captains in command on board the Fairy, and personally took leave of them all. I was lucky enough to be present, as I had charge of my Captain’s cutter; and Her Majesty, on being told that one of her godsons was present, immediately ordered me to be sent for. It can be imagined that it was a most nervous moment for a boy of my age—scarcely thirteen—when I was hailed to go alongside the Fairy, as the Queen wished to see me. I remember well my coxswain pulling off a piece of flannel I had round my neck (as I was suffering from a severe sore throat, and the weather was very cold) before I left my boat to step over the side of the Queen’s yacht. After the Admirals and Captains had made their last obeisance, my turn came. Standing cap in hand, I made my bow; and Her Majesty said to me, “How do you do, Mr. Montagu? I have not seen you since you were quite a little boy;” and then asked after my mother, who had not many years previously been one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. I then had the honour of shaking hands with His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, who was standing near, for the first time, and with the Princess Royal and the Princess Alice, all of whom said some kind words. I felt very proud indeed, after having got over my nervousness; and many were the interrogations when I returned on board. Yes: this was all a great honour; and so impressed was I at the time that nothing of this great reception has escaped my memory, nor the scene as I witnessed it at the time. His Royal Highness the Prince Consort also, I think, was on board; but I did not have the honour of seeing him. Shortly after this the Fleet weighed. Her Majesty placed herself at the head of the Fleet, and forthwith led us out to sea. When the Fairy left us a parting signal was flown on board the Fairy, the whole Fleet cheering Her Majesty’s departure. It was one of the grandest scenes imaginable: God be praised for having spared our gracious Sovereign to be reigning over her loving subjects still. In a man-of-war we are all constantly reminded of our Sovereign and the honour due to her station. At eight o’clock, when the colours are hoisted, the band plays our National Anthem, and all officers and men salute the colours as they are hoisted to the Peak. The Quarter-Deck is always saluted when officer or man comes on to it: simply because it is the Queen’s Quarter-Deck, and is honoured as such. At every mess, when the wine is passed round, our first duty is to recollect our Sovereign and raise our glasses to “The Queen (God bless her)!” All these matters tend to keep us in perpetual recollection of our Queen and the duties we owe to Her Majesty; and it is indeed a fine sentiment.
The Princess Royal called in at the Downs, and embarked an officer; and our last letters were sent on shore. On our way across the North Sea the Fleet was scattered in a fog. Our first rendezvous was Wingo Sound; and by degrees the ships rejoined, and we made that place our first anchorage. The ice farther north had not broken up: so there was a good deal of delay and cruising about.
The Fleet generally was sailing under very easy canvas (double-reefed topsails), as the wind was pretty strong, and we used to wear in succession after a few hours’ sail on one tack. Day after day this went on; and the only interest I took in it was in watching the ships while the evolution of wearing was going on: turning through the curve of a half circle, endeavouring to keep their proper distances apart. Of course, some of the ships carried more sail than others, as there was a material difference in their respective speeds. It was monotonous work, and, the weather being still cold and occasionally pretty rough, many of us suffered a good deal from sea-sickness and ennui. The paddle steamers used to ply across to Copenhagen, or other port, for fresh food; but I do not think the blue-jackets got much of this fare, and I know the gun-room mess did not. Indeed, we had a very wearisome fortnight during breezy weather, jogging about under easy sail off Gotska Sands. All was done in quite the old naval style, and gave me an insight into “the good old days.” A great deal of salt pork and salt junk, with a moderate allowance of water, was our fare; and all were desirous of pushing on.
I find myself writing about this time, evidently very homesick:—
People tell me I shall like the Service better as I get on, but one gives up home and all its joys for coming to sea, or otherwise for honour; one can do without honour but not without home, besides, why should I not get honour at home as well as at sea?
I quote this because it is curious to see how a boy’s mind wavers; for shortly afterwards, having seen a few shots fired at Hango at some Russian forts, I wrote home:—
I like the Service better every day. I begin to understand things, and they interest me.
We rode out a heavy gale in Kioge Bay, while some of the ships, dragging their anchors, were steaming ahead, with topmasts struck and two anchors down.
CHAPTER III
WAR WITH RUSSIA DECLARED
On the 14th of April, lying in this same bay, we suddenly saw a mass of bunting flying on board the Duke of Wellington. The signal, indeed, gave us great joy. It announced that “War was declared with Russia.” I shall never forget officers and men all rushing on deck helter-skelter. The blue-jackets were up the rigging in a jiffy, and cheer after cheer echoed through the Fleet. I believe the actual date of the Declaration was the 15th of March, just three weeks previously.
The signal flying for war, and Fleet cheering.
I shall not attempt to describe what are now well-known matters of history—the events during the summer of 1854;—nor shall I speak of the do-nothing policy, which (with the exceptions of the storming and taking of Bomarsund, the destruction of grain stores in the Gulf of Bothnia, occasional scrimmages for fortified posts, and the hemming in of the Russian Fleet at Kronstadt) kept