A Middy's Recollections, 1853-1860. Victor Alexander Montagu
did not seem to be gifted with much enterprise (possibly he was hampered by orders from home); but I do know that we all longed for some active service, and wished that the Russian ships would come out from under their batteries and give us a fair chance. We used to see them loosing their sails at their anchorage, and many were the surmises as to whether they intended to “sheet home” or only let them fall off the yards to dry.
They were, I think, nearly all sailing ships; though they had paddle-wheel steamers that occasionally would make a dash out at some yacht that had come out to see the fun, and had got in too close to the batteries. I fancy we must have felt as Nelson felt when blockading Toulon—longing for his enemies to come out. But, after all, why should an enemy be expected to give battle with hopeless odds against him? Perhaps, on the other hand, the Russians wondered why we did not attack their forts. The explanation is that the channels were narrow, and what they called in those days “infernal machines” were supposed to have been laid down in those channels to obstruct the passage of our ships.
There were some pretty sights to be seen during that summer’s campaign. The two that struck my juvenile eyes most were the sailing of our huge Fleet through the Great Belt and the first meeting with the French Fleet. In the former case, imagine one long row of nearly twenty line-of-battle ships, several frigates, and a few sloops, tearing through the Belt, with a strong fair wind (there is a very clever picture of this scene drawn by Brierly, a famous marine artist of those days), the Duke of Wellington leading under close-reefed topsails, and some of the slower sailers carrying a press of canvas to enable them to keep their stations. It was amusing how we middies used to compare notes as to our respective sailing qualities, and argue, till we nearly came to blows, over details as to how one ship could spare another an extra reef in a topsail or a top-gallant sail, or the lee clew of a mainsail, as the case might be.
And what a lovely sight a line-of-battle ship was, under all plain sail—and still more lovely, to my mind, a handsome 50-gun frigate! Yes: one sometimes longs to see such sights again. One of the prettiest manœuvres I ever heard of in my time was done by the old Arethusa, a 50-gun sailing frigate. She attacked a fort off Odessa, in the Black Sea. Sailing in, she fired first one broadside; in tacking, she fired her bow guns; then she hove about, and fired her other broadside; wore round, and fired her stern guns. I do not know how many times this manœuvre was repeated; but it was a fine display of handling.
The second incident to which I have alluded was our meeting the French Fleet for the first time. They were under sail, and remained hove to, with their main topsail to the mast, as we, the English Fleet, steamed in one long line across their bows. We hoisted the French Tricolour at the main, and they, to return the compliment, hoisted the English Ensign, while the bands played the National Anthem as we passed. It was a beautiful calm day, and the sight glorious. Yes: here we were, allies, bent on the same cause near at hand, and past days obliterated from memory. When at anchor together the two Fleets formed a most imposing sight: forests of masts covering the seas, and at eight o’clock, or when the colours were hoisted in the morning, the bands of the Fleets playing each the other’s National Anthem.
Apropos of bands: I shall never forget finding, while lying at anchor in the pleasant little landlocked harbour of the Piræus, off Athens, eight or ten vessels of different nationalities. At eight o’clock in the morning, as the colours went up, all our respective bands played one another’s National Anthem. The music was discordant. There was a great deal of etiquette as to which anthem was to be played first. Ultimately it was arranged that we should begin with the Hellenic air, and that the others should follow according to seniority of the ships present; but soon the discord became pronounced. It took the best part of half-an-hour to complete the set.
While the Fleet was cruising off Hango (a fairly strong position of the enemy’s) several of our paddle steamers were sent in to reconnoitre, and soon became engaged with the forts. My Captain, Lord Clarence Paget, could not stand a distant view of this engagement: so he ordered his boat to be manned, and we pulled in the direction of the ships engaged. We only had the satisfaction of gazing at some highly-elevated shells that exploded far above our heads, though some of the fragments fell into the water, unpleasantly near. The engagement ended in smoke, though a few losses occurred on board the paddle steamers; and, to our astonishment, the Fleet retired. I could not see the object of this mild display.
The attack of Bomarsund, later, was a success. The authorities had taken a considerable time to make up their mighty minds when to begin the bombardment. There was an idea that we could not subdue the place without troops. Thus, we waited long for the arrival of 10,000 French troops, which were brought up the Baltic on board some obsolete old 3-deckers in tow of steamers. It took some doing to lay Bomarsund low. We landed blue-jackets and marines, and heavy ordinance from the Fleet, and threw up a few batteries on the flank of the largest fort; and on a given day our smallest 2-deckers and paddle frigates were sent in to demolish the place. The forts were blown sky-high, and the Russians suffered heavily.
We fraternised with the French Fleet. Each ship in our squadron had its own particular chum, and, besides exchange of dinners, many were the orgies at night. The nights being very short, two, three, four in the morning was not an unusual hour for boats, with lively occupants returning to their respective ships, to pass to and fro.
The Princess Royal always fraternised with the French liner, the Austerlitz, a very fine screw 2-decker of 90 guns. I scarcely set foot ashore during the cruise. Excepting at Led Sound (where we lay waiting for the French troops), there was little opportunity of a run. An immense deal of drill went on, and boat duty was constant. Thus one’s education was entirely neglected: the Naval Instructor, the midshipmen’s instructor, was voted a secondary consideration. Let me refer to boat duty for a moment. Great excitement prevailed when the mails arrived from England. All eyes were watching for the signal 768, implying “Send boat for letters.” Then came a regular race, every boat pulling its best to the flagship for mails and parcels; and, as it was a case of First come first served, the slow-going boats had sometimes to wait two or even three hours for their mails if, as was usual, many ships were present. I have seen as many as thirty or forty boats waiting alongside the Duke of Wellington.
Soon after the fall of Bomarsund, the Princess Royal was sent to Revel, to join the sailing squadron then lying at anchor, or cruising off that port; and after this, in October, my uncle, knowing that there was little chance of my seeing any more active service (and as I was not in very good health), took the opportunity of transferring me to his old friend Harry Eyere’s ship, the St. George, a sailing 3-decker of 120 guns.
The sailing squadron had received orders to leave for England: so in October four beauties—the Neptune (120 guns), the St. George (120), the Monarch (84), and the Prince Regent (90)—made for England; and a very interesting and instructive sail we had down the North Sea. The second in command on board my ship was Paddy May, a very fine seaman of the old school, a man whose name was much respected in the Service. Everything was done quite in the old style; and thus I can fairly claim the distinction of having belonged to the old school—anyhow to the remains of it—as all the ships of this squadron were minus engines and boilers.
The Monarch was far away the fastest ship, though in a breeze the Prince Regent held her pretty close. Off the island of Bornholm we were caught in a fresh gale; and, the St. George being a very crank old craft, it was deemed advisable to send our upper-deck carronades down into the hold. As we were short of water and provisions, the extra weight of these guns below counteracted our want of ballast. A 3-decker in a gale of wind was rather a curious being. Under close-reefed topsails you could not lay her near enough the wind to enable her to meet the seas comfortably. The effect of the wind on her huge sides was to drive her bodily and very fast to leeward: in fact, you simply drifted.
It was pleasant to watch these ships speeding gaily on their course for England. We carried on when the weather permitted. The Monarch was generally in the van, showing us a high turn of speed. At sunset, or soon after, we collected and sailed in two lines; and, as was customary, took in a reef or two of the topsails, to make all snug for the night. When daylight broke every stitch was set again.
On arrival in England we anchored at Spithead. My father was soon on