Frigate Commander (22 page)

. . . but seeing that we must bring her to action if she persisted, she kept to windward of Cape Barfleur and ran ashore in the entrance of the little Port of Barfleur, the tide being at that time very little fallen. The
Melampus
was very near within reach of her Lee guns of her, but from our being quite light, and, consequently, heeling very much, our shot did not reach her. As the wind was directly on shore, and the tide falling, we could not go near enough to cannonade her.

Moore abandoned the attack and headed off for Le Havre, but next morning in a light easterly breeze, abreast of Port-en-Bessin, he sighted another corvette some six or seven leagues from the shore. As the
Melampus
was inshore, the corvette had no option to turn northwards and Moore set off in hot pursuit. By 3pm he gave the order to commence firing with the frigate’s bow chasers, and the first ranging shots were thrown over and ahead of the corvette,

. . . upon which she hoisted French colours and fired her stern chasers at us. We kept so exactly on the angle of her quarter that she was obliged to yaw to fire even the stern chase guns at us, and sometimes she ventured to yaw to fire her broadside guns at us, she only struck us once which did us no damage. We never yawed the least but kept the ship steadily after her firing the two Bow guns at her when they could bear in order to confuse her: at a little before five o’clock we were within ¼ of a mile of her, and as I was then certain she could not escape us I was going to give her a broadside, lest, by continuing her fire, she might do us some damage, when she discharged all her guns in the air and struck. She proved to be a National Corvette mounting 18 long 12 pounders and 137 men called
L’Etna
. . . She had on board a considerable quantity of Naval and Military stores and 100 cases of Jesuit’s Bark for St. Domingo.
^a

Moore took 100 of the corvette’s crew on board the
Melampus
and replaced them with a prize crew of thirty seamen commanded by the First Lieutenant. Both ships worked their way into Spithead on the following morning. Strachan arrived two days later, with no prize, and having spent the intervening days battling with contrary winds. When Moore went on board the
Diamond
to report, he was deeply hurt at an implication from the Commodore that he was dragging his heels in port:

It was on this occasion that I had the appearance, for the first time, of a disagreement with Sir Richard,
[a]
circumstance which was painful to me, and would have been still more so if I had not been conscious of acting right and of his treating me rather ill on the occasion. I however felt more grief than resentment.

Moore responded to this by spending two weeks in London while the
Melampus
was refitting. He met Earl Spencer but decided against asking for a new station; besides he was now more concerned about his personal than his professional life. He noted that although he was now
‘. . . on the wrong side of thirty, I have never seen but one woman whom I should wish to marry’.
Moore’s financial position was not strong enough to make a formal approach to the lady’s father, and furthermore, she

. . . has pretensions to a much better match, from her situation in life as well as her beauty and accomplishments. In fact, I have not the least reason to think that she feels any thing stronger for me than Friendship. Still I have an unreasonable vanity fed, idea that she almost loves me.

Although he convinced himself he would marry her, he lacked the courage to call upon her while he was in town. He left London without having resolved the issue in any way and it would come back to haunt him.

The
Melampus
sailed again on 19 December and joined Strachan, with the
Latona
and the
Camilla
, two days later. On the 23rd, the squadron chased a French brig which attempted to run inshore under a battery. The
Melampus
and the
Diamond
sailed in close, hurling shot over the brig so that it could be seen falling on the adjacent shore, and in some alarm the Master of the brig promptly surrendered. The brig proved to be
L’Esperance
, from Dunkirk. On Christmas day the squadron stretched north across the Channel in a heavy storm, with the
Melampus
leading. During the refit, the frigate’s standing rigging had been replaced but a week at sea had stretched the ratlines so that every roll threatened to throw the main and mizzenmasts over the side. Fortunately, the crew of the
Melampus
were still alert enough when Portland Light suddenly loomed out of the gloom, and signalled to the rest of the squadron to wear. The next morning, Moore managed to get some of the slack taken out of the rigging, but he couldn’t secure the masts and decided to run for Plymouth Sound. However, the gale brought sleet and the land soon disappeared from sight. In desperation, Moore decided to haul to the southward, and in this way was finally able to tension his starboard rigging. The gale continued severely, and on the 27th, the
Melampus
stormed into Plymouth Sound, closely followed by the frigate
Latona
;

We lay all that night in a very dangerous situation with two anchors ahead and the wind blowing almost a hurricane.

As the storm continued with little abatement, the Sound was gradually filled with frigates and other ships seeking shelter. Then worrying news arrived in the form of several battered ships from Colpoy’s squadron, who reported that the French fleet had put to sea from Brest and was thought to be making for Ireland. In a classic example of the occasional inadequacies of the naval support systems, Colpoys was unable to give chase because his ships were now short of provisions and water. All available ships were hurriedly prepared for sea again, and the
Melampus
sailed on 3 January, in spite of the fact that she had thirty-three men on the sick list. Most of these were suffering relatively minor ailments, mainly colds or injuries sustained in falls during the recent rough weather – though, as Moore noted grimly, a number were suffering from the effects of drunkenness or debauchery while in port. With the lack of any authentic intelligence about the French fleet, rumours spread that they had landed at Bantry Bay with 20,000 troops. Moore remained sceptical, believing that the weather had been too rough for such a landing. The day after leaving port Moore fell in with Bridport’s fleet in the Channel and spoke to their lookout frigate, the
Daedalus
. Strachan was thought to be still off Cape Barfleur, and Moore decided to head southwards to join him, realising that if Strachan’s squadron were being held on the station, in spite of the apparent crisis, the Admiralty considered control of the area of great importance. Resignedly Moore realized that, despite the fears over the French landing, as he was

. . . pretty well acquainted with the ground, it is likely they will keep me always upon it. It is after all, better than being sent to the West Indies, so I shall trouble myself no more on the subject.

There was no sign of the
Diamond
off Barfleur, but the
Melampus
was joined by the
Latona
and the
Greyhound
, who had picked up rumours that the French had been driven out of Bantry Bay and were therefore likely to fall in with Bridport’s fleet. Surveying seas empty of enemy shipping, Moore could only lament privately,
‘Oh lord what would I give to command a 74 with Lord Bridport at this moment’.

Although the group fell in with the
Diamond
on 9 January, the weather continued to be uncomfortable. With little to do other than patrol back and forth and keep themselves safe, Moore became listless and irritable. With little to occupy his mind he could not help once again pondering what he believed to be his own deficiencies, and those of his First Lieutenant. Moore’s thoughts on this give valuable confirmation of the important role that the first officer played in the day to day management of the ship:

The common routine and detail of duty which must be a good deal attended to, in order to keep a ship in good order, has something very insipid in it, and I find it rather an up hill work for me to look into the different wheels of the machine to see that they all perform their proper functions. There is nothing more necessary to facilitate this kind of plain work than laying down a certain regular plan of operations to be invariably followed up, in short, acting methodically, which I have never been able to do; by neglecting method I occasion to myself ten times more trouble than a man of method has in doing the same thing better. From this irregularity in my mode of proceeding the ship I command will always resemble her captain, either in a great bustle, or else doing nothing. I have very little assistance, in the general business, from the next to myself
[i.e. the First Lieutenant]
, as he wants method totally, is lazy, non effective in a time of difficulty when presence of mind is requisite, as good natured almost as myself, but a tolerable, slow, sailor. In this way the ship is hardly ever neat, but always in a kind of hugger mugger way fit for service. In my opinion, my taste for certain branches of Belles letter goes all against the arrangement in the Ship, my mind being almost always intent upon something not immediately about me, until my attention is roused by some circumstances out of the common road.

Moore’s self-criticism was hardly justified. It was not the commanding officer’s duty to see to the minutiae of running the ship – and indeed, a captain who bothered himself too much with this was more likely to irritate his seamen and become obsessed with appearance etc. Moore knew this and had himself criticized it in others. He was not an officer of that type. However, there was clearly an ongoing problem with his First Lieutenant.

When the weather finally moderated in the third week of January, Strachan’s squadron reassembled off Alderney. Moore hoped that he would be detached to cruise in company with the
Latona
, for he had formed a very high opinion of her commander, Arthur Legge, a younger son of the Earl of Dartmouth. Legge was a good example of an officer with an aristocratic background and lots of ‘interest’ behind him, who had proved himself as a frigate commander of a professionally high standard. He was certainly turning into one of the navy’s star captains, and Moore thought the
Latona

. . . an uncommonly well appointed frigate: her Captain as fine a fellow as I know in our service, and a man whose society I like much. But all these men of interest do all they can to keep clear of this station which is exceedingly harassing without being profitable: I therefore suppose that when the
Latona
goes into Port we see no more of her.

As they continued to cruise off the north coast of Brittany, they learned that the Channel Fleet had had no contact with the French:

I much fear that the opportunity of striking a great blow has been let slip and that our Fleet are cruising off Brest which is little better than being at Spithead at this time. It will be a most mortifying circumstance if these fellows are not met by Lord Bridport. It is certainly a bad plan when our superiority in numbers is so great to keep one squadron until all its provisions and water is expended before they relieve it with another squadron.

Counter rumours that the French fleet had in fact been sent to attack Portugal simply added to the fog of confusion that existed, as Moore noted in some exasperation:
‘Our intelligence on this occasion has been very bad.’

True to Moore’s prediction, the
Latona
was soon detached from the squadron, Legge having reported a sprung mast. Moore watched enviously as she went. He was now desperate to leave his existing station, believing it
‘. . . the most teasing and harassing of all the home stations’.
By 26 January, the squadron received copies of London newspapers full of confused reports about the French fleet having returned to Brest from Ireland after a series of disasters, and Strachan’s attention appears to have turned back to the East. This was essential anyway as the spring tides were imminent. At 8pm that evening, Moore stopped an American vessel which reported that a number of ships were preparing to sail from Le Havre, including a 24-pounder frigate. After a conference with Strachan, it was decided that the
Diamond
and the
Melampus
should wait just out of sight of Le Havre in the hope of luring out the French ships. The prospect of some action enlivened Moore:

Since I got this intelligence I have been all alive, I have good hopes we shall meet some of them. Beating about the Channel without any prospect is the Devil, but now we have an Object.

Sadly, his optimism was to be short lived. For three days the
Melampus
and the
Diamond
hovered off Cape Le Havre, but the French ships did not come out. The spring tides began to fall;

We have had a great deal of stormy weather, but that is nothing in annoyance compared to the insipidity that I groan under; would it were peace, or that we had more to do with the Enemy! I am sick of the business I have to attend to, and sick of those who are chained to the oar with me . . . I cannot say that I like the act of fighting, but I like to be in the way of it when it is fitting to be there, and I mortally hate much ado about nothing – I think this Irish Bravado will not be relished by the French Nation, it was too serious a Joke, and they may thank Fortune it was no worse . . .

Strachan decided to abandon the position, for it was clear that the French were not coming out. He decided that the two frigates should stretch north across the Channel before heading down towards the Race of Alderney. By the time they reached Cape La Hague, a very thick fog was setting in and visibility was reduced to about a ship’s length. Sometime between 7pm and 8pm, when they were three or four leagues north-west of the Cape, lookouts at the bow of the
Melampus
suddenly shouted a warning about rocks ahead. Moore immediately gave orders to back the ship and box her head around, but before these actions could take any effect, the
Melampus
struck on the rocks and hung by the heel as far forward as the mainmast. Peering through the fog, a line of rocks could be seen extending along their starboard side and quarter, whilst another line of rocks extended on the larboard bow. Moore gave orders to trim the sails in another attempt to back the ship off of the rocks, whilst at the same time guns were fired to warn the
Diamond
. It was something of a relief to hear guns replying about a mile to the south-east. The wind was onshore, but fortunately there was little swell,
‘. . . the ship seemed to thump entirely on her keel, and it was dead low water’.
Moore now had the frigate’s boats swung out and had the stream anchor carried out to the north to try to pull the ship’s head round as the tide rose. The after sails were clewed up, and as the wind was off the starboard bow they kept the head sails ‘braced a box’ (the headyard braced flat aback to the wind to ensure that the bow moved in the required way). As the hours passed, the tide gradually rose, bringing with it a freshening wind. Eventually the bows began to swing round to the north, the headsails began to fill and as soon as the ship took the wind aft they sheeted home the main- and mizzen topsails and made all sail;