Admiral Earl Howe

THE name of Howe, albeit that of a stranger to the land, has a just claim upon the esteem and cordial remembrance of Americans. The elder brother of the subject of this sketch, during the few short months in which he was brought into close contact with the colonists of 1758, before the unlucky campaign of Ticonderoga, won from them not merely the trust inspired by his soldierly qualities and his genius for war, — the genius of sound common sense and solidity of character, —but got a deep hold upon their affections by the consideration and respect shown to them by him, traits to which they had been too little accustomed in the British officers of that day. Nor was this attitude on his part only a superficial disguise assumed by policy to secure a needed support. The shrewd, suspicious provincials would soon have penetrated a veil so thin, that covered only the usual supercilious arrogance which they had heretofore encountered. Lord Howe, almost alone among his military contemporaries, warmly greeted them as fellow-countrymen, men of no alien or degenerate blood. He admitted at once the value of their experience, sought their advice, and profited by both; thus gaining, besides the material advantage of methods adapted to the difficulties before him, the adhesion of willing hearts that followed enthusiastically, confident in their leader’s wisdom, and glowing with the unaccustomed sense of being appreciated, of receiving recognition long withheld, but now at last ungrudgingly accorded. “The army felt him, from general to drummer boy. He was its soul; and while breathing into it his own energy and ardor, he broke through the traditions of the service, and gave it new shapes to suit the time and place. . . . He made himself greatly beloved by the provincial officers, and he did what he could to break down the barriers between the colonial soldiers and the British regulars.” ¹

In campaign, Lord Howe adopted the tried expedients of forest warfare, associating with himself its most practiced exponents; and on the morning of his death, in one of those petty skirmishes which have cut short the career of so many promising soldiers, he discussed the question of Ticonderoga and its approaches, lying on a bearskin beside the colonial ranger, John Stark, to whose energy, nineteen years later, was due the serious check that precipitated the ruin of Burgoyne’s expedition. Endeared as he was to American soldiers by the ties of mutual labors and mutual perils gladly shared, and to all classes by genial bearing and social accomplishments, his untimely end was followed throughout the Northern colonies by a spontaneous outburst of sorrow, elicited not only by the anticipated failure of the enterprise that hung upon his life but also by a sense of personal regret and loss. Massachusetts perpetuated the memory of her grief by a tablet in Westminster Abbey, which hands down to our day “the affection her officers and soldiers bore to his command.”

Captain Richard Howe of the Royal Navy, afterwards Admiral and Earl, succeeded him in the Irish viscounty which had been bestowed upon their grandfather by William III. Of a temperament colder, at least in external manifestation, than that of his brother, the new Lord Howe was distinguished by the same fairness of mind, and by an equanimity to which perturbation and impulsive injustice were alike unknown. There seems to have been in his bearing something of that stern, impassive gravity that marked Washington, and imposed a constraint upon bystanders; but whatever apparent harshness there was in the face only concealed a genuine warmth of heart, which at times broke with an illumining smile through the mask that covered it, and was always ready to respond to the appeals of benevolence. If, as an officer, he had a fault conspicuously characteristic, it was a reluctance to severity, a tendency to push indulgence to undue extremes, into which may perhaps have entered not merely leniency of disposition, but the weakness of loving popularity. To be called by the seamen, as Howe was, the “sailor’s friend,” is in the experience of navies a suspicious encomium, involving more of flattery to a man’s foibles than of credit to his discretion and his judgment. But at the time when the quarrel between Great Britain and her colonies was fast becoming imbittered, the same kindliness, coupled with a calm reasonableness of temper, ruled his feelings and guided his action. Although by political creed a moderate Tory, he had none of the wrong-headedness of the party zealot; and the growing alienation between those whom he, like his brother, regarded as of one family, caused only distress and an earnest desire to avert coming evils. Influenced by these sentiments, he sought the acquaintance of Franklin, then in London as a commissioner from the colonies; and the interviews between them, while resultless by reason of the irreconcilable differences of opinion severing the two parties to the dispute, convinced the wary American of the good will and open-mindedness of the already distinguished British seaman. The same qualities doubtless suggested the selection of Howe for the mission of conciliation to America, in 1776, where his associate was his younger brother, Sir William, in whom the family virtues had, by exaggeration, degenerated into an indolent good humor fatal to his military efficiency. The admiral, on the contrary, was as remarkable for activity and untiring attention to duty as he was for amiability and resolute personal courage, — traits which assured adequate naval direction, in case conciliation should give place, as it did, to coercive measures.

It is to be regretted that the methods of naval biographers and historians of the past century have preserved to us little, in detail and anecdote, of a period whose peculiarities, if not exactly picturesque, were at least grotesque and amusing. The humor of Smollett has indeed drawn in broad caricature some of the salient features of the seaman of his day, which was that of Howe’s entrance into the navy; and those who are familiar with the naval light literature based upon the times of Nelson can recognize in it characteristics so similar, though evidently softened by advancing civilization and increased contact with the world, as to vouch for the accuracy of the general impression conveyed by the earlier novelist. It is, however, correct only as a general impression, in which, too, allowance must be made for the animus of an author who had grievances to exploit, and whose great aim was to amuse, even if exact truthfulness were sacrificed at the shrine of exaggerated portrayal. Though not wholly without occasional gleams of light, shed here and there by recorded incident and anecdote upon the strange life of the seamen of that period, the early personal experiences of individuals have had scant commemoration; and with the exception of St. Vincent, who fortunately had a garrulous biographer, we learn little of men like Hawke, Howe, Hood, and Keppel, until, already possessors of naval rank, they stand forth as actors in events rather historical than biographical.

Of Howe’s first services, therefore,not much record remains except a bare summary of dates — of promotions, and of ships to which he was attached — until 1775, the beginning of the Seven Years’ War, when he was already a post-captain. Born in 1725, he entered the navy in 1739, at the outbreak of the war with Spain which initiated a forty years’ struggle over colonies and colonial trade. With short intervals of peace, this contest was the prominent characteristic of the middle of the eighteenth century, and terminated in the conquest of Canada, the independence of the United States, and the establishment of British predominance in India and upon the ocean. This rupture of a quiet that had then endured a quarter of a century was so popular with the awakened intelligence of England, aroused at last to the imminent importance of her call to expansion by sea, that it was greeted by a general pealing of the bells, which drew from the reluctant prime minister, Walpole, that bitter gibe, “Ay, to-day they are ringing their bells, and to-morrow they will be wringing their hands. ” Howe embarked with Anson’s squadron, celebrated for its sufferings, its persistence, and its achievements, to waste the Spanish colonies of the Pacific; but the ship in which he had started was so racked in the attempt to double Cape Horn that she was forced to return to England. The young officer afterwards served actively in the West Indies and in home waters, and was posted just before the close of the war, on the 20th of April, 1747, at the early age of twenty-two. Thus he was securely placed on the road to the highest honors of his profession, which were, however, not beyond the just claim of his already proved personal merit.

During the first thirty months of the Seven Years’ War, Howe was closely engaged with, and at times in command of, the naval part of combined expeditions of the army and navy, fitted out to harass the French coasts. The chief, though not the sole aim in these undertakings was to effect diversions in favor of Frederick the Great, then plunged in his desperate struggle with the allied forces of Russia, Austria, and France. It was believed that the latter would be compelled, for the defense of her own shores against these raids, — desultory, it is true, but yet uncertain as to the time and place where the attack would fall, —to withdraw a number of troops that would sensibly reduce the great odds then overbearing the Prussian king. It is more than doubtful whether this direction of British power, in partial, excentric efforts, produced results adequate to the means employed. In immediate injury to France they certainly failed, and it is questionable whether they materially helped Frederick; but they made a brisk stir in the Channel ports, their operations were within easy reach of England in a day when news traveled slowly, and they drew the attention of the public and of London society to a degree wholly disproportionate to their importance relatively to the great issues of the war. Their failures, which exceeded their achievements, caused general scandal; and their occasional triumphs aroused exaggerated satisfaction at this earlier period, before the round of unbroken successes under the first Pitt had accustomed men, to use Walpole’s lively phrase, to come to breakfast with the question, “What new victory is there this morning ? ” The brilliant letter-writer’s correspondence is full of the gossip arising from these usually paltry affairs; and throughout, whether in success or disaster, the name of Howe appears frequently, and always as the subject of praise. 舠Howe, brother of the lord of that name, was the third on the naval list. He was undaunted as a rock, and as silent, the characteristics of his whole race. He and Wolfe soon contracted a friendship like the union of cannon and gunpowder. ” “ Howe, ” he says in another place, 舠never made a friendship except at the mouth of a cannon.”

Of his professional merits, however, professional opinions will be more convincing. A Frenchman, who had acted as pilot of his ship, the Magnanime, when going into action, was asked if it were possible to take a lighter vessel, the Burford, close to the walls of another fort farther in. 舠Yes, ” he replied, 舠but I should prefer to take the Magnanime. ” 舠But why ? ” it was rejoined ; “for the Burford draws less water.” “True, ” he said, “mais le capitaine Howe est jeune et brave.” Sir Edward Hawke, the most distinguished admiral of that generation, gave a yet higher commendation to the “young and brave ” captain, who at this time served under his orders, — one that must cause a sigh of regretful desire to many a troubled superior. Fifteen years later he nominated Howe for a very responsible duty. The appointment was criticised on the ground that he was the junior admiral in the fleet; but Hawke answered, in the spirit of St. Vincent defending his choice of Nelson, “I have tried Lord Howe on most important occasions. He never asked me how he was to execute any service entrusted to his charge, but always went straight forward and did it. ” Some quaint instances are recorded of the taciturnity for which he was also noted. Amid the recriminations that followed the failure at Rochefort, Howe neither wrote nor said anything. At last the Admiralty asked why he had not expressed an opinion. In the somewhat ponderous style that marked his utterances, he replied. “With regard to the operations of the troops I was silent, as not being at that time well enough informed thereof, and to avoid the mention of any particulars that might prove not exactly agreeable to the truth.” The next year, an army officer of rank, putting several questions to him and receiving no answer, said, “Mr. Howe, don’t yon hear me ? I have asked you several questions.” Howe returned curtly, “I don’t like questions,” — in which he was perhaps not peculiar.

It was during the continuance of these petty descents upon the French coast, in 1758, that Howe was directed to receive on board, as midshipman, and for service in the fleet, the Duke of York, a grandson of the reigning monarch; in connection with whom arose a saying that was long current, perhaps is still current, in the British navy. The young lad of nineteen, before beginning his routine duties, held a reception on board Commodore Howe’s ship, at which the captains of the squadron were presented to him. The seamen, unpracticed in ceremonial distinctions other than naval, saw with wonder that the midshipman kept on his hat, while the rest uncovered. “The young gentleman,” whispered one, “isn’t overcivil, as I thinks. Look if he don’t keep his hat on before all the captains!” “Why,” another was heard to reply, “where should he learn manners, seeing as how he was never at sea before ? ”

It is likewise from this period of Howe’s career that two of the rare personal anecdotes have been transmitted, illustrative of his coolness and selfpossession under all circumstances of danger, as well as when under the enemy’s fire; one of them also touched with a bit of humor,— not a usual characteristic of his self-contained reticence. The service involved considerable danger, being close in with the enemy’s coast, which was indifferently well known and subject to heavy gales of wind blowing dead on shore. On one such occasion his ship had anchored with two anchors ahead, and he had retired to his cabin, when the officer of the watch hurriedly entered, saying, “My lord, the anchors are coming home, ” — the common sea expression for their failure to grip the bottom, whereupon the ship of course drags toward the beach. “Coming home, are they ? ” rejoined Howe. “I am sure they are very right. I don’t know who would stay abroad on such a night, if he could help it,” Yet another time he was roused from sleep by a lieutenant in evident perturbation: 舠My lord, the ship is on fire close to the magazine; but don’t be frightened; we shall get it under shortly.” “Frightened, sir! ” said Howe. “What do you mean? I never was frightened in my life.” Then, looking the unlucky officer in the face, he continued, “Pray, Mr. 舒, how does a man feel when he is frightened? I need not ask how he looks. ”

During the Seven Years’ War, the French navy, through the persistent neglect of the government and its preoccupation with the continental war,— a misdirection due mainly to the intrigues of the Pompadour, — reached the lowest depths of material insufficiency that it has ever known. The official staff and the personnel generally were far better than in the Revolutionary and Napoleonic period, but the matériel had dwindled to impotency. To this was due the loss of Canada, with its far-reaching effects upon the feeling of independence in the British colonies which became the United States ; to this the impunity with which the French coasts were harassed, the British squadrons having no cause to fear for British interests elsewhere; and to this also that the period in question, though one of great naval activity, was marked by no great naval battle, a sure indication of the overwhelming predominance of one of the contestants of the sea.

There was, however, one great naval action, if not fully entitled to the name “battle,” characterized by an extreme of daring upon the part of the British admiral engaged, and accompanied by every element of terror and sublimity that the phases of the sea can present, in which Howe was privileged to bear a conspicuous part. In 1759, after four years of disaster upon the continent, of naval humiliation, and of loss of maritime and colonial power, the French government realized that its worst evils and greatest danger sprang from the sea power of England, and, like Napoleon half a century later, it determined upon an invasion. The bulk of the troops were collected in ports just south of Brest, on the Atlantic, and the Brest fleet was ordered to go thither and protect the transports. The great Admiral Hawke was charged to intercept this effort; but having been driven off his Station by a violent gale in mid-November, the French ran out. Hawke, a commander of the most active and fearless type, returned so speedily that he got upon their track before they could fulfill their mission, and with twentythree ships caught sight of their twentyone drawing in with their own coast, towards nightfall of a wild autumn day, with an increasing gale. Howe’s ship, the Magnanime, had been sent forward by Hawke to make the land, and thus was in the lead in the headlong chase which at once ensued, as the British fleet rushed upon a combination of perils that embraced all most justly dreaded by the seaman,— darkness, an intricate navigation, a lee shore fringed with outlying and imperfectly known reefs and shoals, towards which they were hurried by a fast-rising wind and sea that forbade all hope of retracing their course during the long hours of the night then closing round them. The master of the flagship, upon whom, in the absence of a pilot, devolved the navigation of the fleet, called Hawke’s attention to some evident dangers. The single-minded admiral, intent upon his high charge, saw before him only the flying foe, whom it was his task to insure should not, unsmitten, reach a friendly port. “You have done your duty in warning me,” he answered; “now lay us alongside the French commander in chief.”

With canvas reefed close down, forty odd tall ships, pursuers and pursued, in fierce career drove furiously on; now rushing headlong down the forward slope of a great sea, now rising on its foaming crest as it swept beyond them; now seen, now hidden; the helmsmen straining at the wheels, upon which, at such moments, the big hulls, tossing their prows from side to side, tugged like a maddened horse, as though themselves feeling the wild “rapture of the strife ” that animated their masters, rejoicing in their strength, and defying the accustomed rein. The French admiral, trusting in his greater local knowledge, sought to round a rocky point, beyond which, he flattered himself, the enemy would not dare to follow. He was soon undeceived. In no ranged order save that of speed, the leading British vessels mingled with the French rear ; the roar and flashes of the guns, the falling spars and drifting clouds of smoke, now adding their part to the wild magnificence of the scene, upon which the sun went down just as Hawke and Howe, sailing fearlessly on over ground where their foe had led the way, were drawing up with the hostile van. As the ships, rolling heavily, buried their flanks deep in the following seas, no captain dared open his lower tier of ports, where the most powerful artillery was arrayed, — none save one, the French Thésée, whose rashness was rebuked by the inpouring waters that quickly engulfed both ship and crew. Balked of their expected respite, harried and worried by the foe, harnessed to no fixed plan of action, the French now, under cover of night, broke and fled. Seven went north, seven south, to be thenceforth hopelessly disunited fragments. Seven were lost, — some sunk, some captured, some hurled upon the beach. Two British ships were also wrecked; but during the awful night that succeeded, the minute guns pealing from stricken ships upon the stormy air proclaimed to Hawke and his followers, as their own vessels strained at the stout anchors which alone saved them from a like distress, that the invasion of England was become an empty threat.

In this achievement Howe had borne a brilliant part, one third of the British loss falling upon his single ship. He continued to serve, but without further noteworthy incident, up to the peace made in the winter of 1762—63. From that time until the difficulties with the American colonies came to a head in 1775, he was not actively employed afloat, although continuously engaged upon professional matters, especially as a close student of naval tactics and its kindred subjects, to which he always gave systematic attention. During this period, also, he became a member of the House of Commons, and so continued until transferred from the Irish peerage to that of Great Britain, in 1782. In 1770, at the age of forty-five, he became a rear-admiral, in 1775 a vice-admiral, and in February of the following year was appointed commander in chief of the North American station. Together with his military duties, he was, as has before been said, given powers, conjointly with his brother, to treat for the settlement of existing troubles.

Although his habitual reticence restrained his sentiments from finding expression in positive words, there can be little doubt that the necessity of raising his hand against the Americans caused Howe keener regret than it did many of his brother officers. He took instant occasion to address to Franklin a personal note, recalling their former association, and expressing an earnest hope that their friendship might contribute something to insure the success of his official mission. In the five years that had elapsed, however, Franklin had been in the heat of the political struggle, and, philosopher though he was, he had not Howe’s natural phlegm. Hence, his reply, while marked by respect and even formal cordiality toward the admiral himself, displayed a vivacity of resentment and a bitterness for which the latter had scarcely looked. Still, his habitual equanimity was not ruffled, and he read the letter with the simple comment, “My old friend expresses himself very warmly. ”

Howe’s arrival antedated the signature of the Declaration of Independence by less than a week. During the period of attempted negotiation, while scrupulously faithful to his instructions, he showed to his late fellow-countrymen all the courtesy and consideration that the most cordial esteem could extend. The incident of the official communication addressed by the Howes to Washington, in which they sought to evade giving him the title of “General,” is sufficiently familiar; but it is more rarely recalled that, in verbal intercourse with American officers, the admiral habitually styled him “General Washington, ” and sent complimentary messages to him as such. He even spoke of the colonies as “states,” and at the same time dwelt with evident emotion upon the testimonials of respect and affection which had been shown to his brother’s memory by the colonists.

To narrate Howe’s share in the operations by which New York in 1776, and Philadelphia in 1777, fell into the hands of the British, would be only to repeat well-known historical episodes, enlivened by few or no incidents personal to himself. In them the navy played a part at once subordinate and indispensable, as is the office of a foundation to its superstructure. The cause of the Americans was hopeless as long as their waters remained in the undisputed control of the enemy’s ships; and it was the attempt of Great Britain to cast aside this essential support, and to rely upon the army alone in a wild and intricate country, that led to her first great disaster, —Burgoyne’s surrender at Saratoga. Upon this, France at once recognized the independence of the colonies, and their alliance with that kingdom followed. A French fleet of twelve ships of the line left Toulon in the spring of 1778 for the American coast. This force far exceeded Howe’s; and it was no thanks to the British government, but only to the admiral’s sleepless vigilance and activity, seconded, as such qualities are apt to be, by at least an average degree of supineness on the part of his antagonist, that his scanty squadron was not surprised and overpowered in Delaware Bay, when Sir Henry Clinton evacuated Philadelphia to retreat upon New York. Howe— who had the defects of his qualities, whose deliberate and almost stolid exterior betrayed a phlegmatic composure of spirit which required the spur of imminent emergency to rouse it into vehement action — never in his long career appeared to greater advantage, nor achieved military results more truly brilliant, than at this time, and up to the abandonment of the attack on Rhode Island by the Americans under Sullivan, three months later. Then only, if ever, did he rise above the level of an accomplished and resolute general officer, and establish a claim to genius, the latent fire of which, however, had to be elicited by circumstances too extreme, by pressure too obvious, to assure him a place in the front rank of great commanders, whose actions originate in the living impulse of their own creative energy. Steady as a rock, like a rock, also, Howe gave forth sparks only under blows that would have broken weaker men.

D’Estaing was twelve weeks in coming from Toulon to Cape May, but Howe knew nothing of his sailing until three weeks after he had started. Then orders were received to abandon Philadelphia and concentrate upon New York. The naval forces were scattered, and had to be collected; the supplies of the army, except those needed for the march across Jersey, were to be embarked, and the great train of transports and ships of war moved over a hundred miles down a difficult river, and thence to New York. Despite every effort, a loss of ten days was incurred, through calms, in the mere transit from Philadelphia to the sea ; but during this momentous crisis D’Estaing did not appear. Two days more sufficed to bring the fleet into New York Bay; but yet the grave admiral, roused to the full tension of his great abilities, rested not. With a force little more than half that coming against him, he knew that all depended upon the rapidity with which his squadron took the imposing position he had in mind. Still D’Estaing tarried, giving twelve more precious days to his untiring enemy. The army of Sir Henry Clinton, reaching Navesink the day after the fleet, was snatched by it from the hot pursuit of the disappointed Washington, and carried safely to New York. Then the ships of war were ranged inside Sandy Hook, carefully anchored and disposed to command the entrance with the fullest exertion of their own force, and to offer the least exposure to the enemy’s efforts. When D’Estaing at last came, all was ready ; the energy that had improved every fleeting moment then gave place to the steadfast resolve which was Howe’s greatest attribute, and against which, seconded by his careful preparation, success could be won only by a desperate and sanguinary struggle. The attempt was not made. Ten days after arriving, the French admiral again put to sea, heading to the southward.

“The arrival of the French fleet,” wrote Washington a little later, 舠is a great and striking event; but the operations of it have been injured by a number of unforeseen and unfavorable circumstances, which have lessened the importance of its services to a great degree. The length of the passage, in the first instance, was a capital misfortune; for, had even one of common length taken place, Lord Howe, with the British ships of war and all the transports in the river Delaware, must inevitably have fallen; and Sir Henry Clinton must have had better luck than is commonly dispensed to men of his profession under such circumstances, if he and his troops had not shared at least the fate of Burgoyne.” if this narration of events is so carefully worded as not to imply a censure upon D’Estaing. it none the less, however unintentionally, measures the great military merit of Lord Howe.

Nor did this end his achievements. Two or three days after the French departed, a small reinforcement reached him, and in the course of a week Howe heard that the enemy’s fleet had been seen heading for Narragansett Bay, then controlled by a British garrison on Rhode Island. This was in pursuance of a prearranged plan to support Sullivan, who had already begun his advance. Though still much inferior, Howe hurried to the spot, arriving the day after D’Estaing had run the fire of the British works and entered the harbor. With correct strategic judgment, with a flash of insight which did not usually distinguish him when an enemy was not in view, he saw that the true position for his squadron was in face of the hostile fleet, ready to act as circumstances might dictate. His mere presence blocked this operation, also. D’Estaing, either fearing that the British admiral might take the offensive and gain some unexpected advantage, or tempted by the apparent opportunity of crushing a small hostile division, put to sea the next day. Howe, far superior as a seaman to his antagonist, manœuvred so skillfully as to avoid action. A tremendous gale came up, scattered both fleets, and dismasted several of the French. D’Estaing appeared again off Rhode Island only to notify Sullivan that he could no longer aid him; and the latter, deprived of an indispensable support, withdrew in confusion. The disappointment of the Americans showed itself by mobbing some French seamen in Boston, whither their fleet retired. “After the enterprise upon Rhode Island had been planned,” continues Washington, in the letter above quoted, “and was in the moment of execution, that Lord Howe with the British ships should interpose merely to create a diversion, and draw the French fleet from the island, was again unlucky, as the count had not returned on the 17th to the island, though drawn from it on the 10th; by which the whole was subjected to a miscarriage. ” What Washington politicly calls bad luck was French bad management, provoked and baffled by Howe’s accurate strategy, untiring energy, and consummate seamanship. Clinton’s army delivered, the forcing of New York frustrated, Rhode Island and its garrison saved, by a squadron never more than two thirds of that opposed to it, were achievements to illustrate any career; and the more so that they were effected by sheer scientific fencing, like some of Bonaparte’s greatest feats, with little loss of blood. They form Howe’s highest title to fame, and his only claim as a strategist.

It is indicative of Howe’s personal feelings about the colonial quarrel, during the two years in which he thus ably discharged his official duties, that both he and his brother had determined to ask relief from their commands as soon as it appeared that all hopes of conciliation were over. The appointment of other commissioners hastened their decision, and the permission to return was already in the admiral’s hands when the news of D’Estaing’s coming was received. Fighting a traditional foreign foe was a different thing from shedding the blood of men between whom and himself there was so much in common; nor was Howe the man to dodge responsibility by turning over an inferior force, threatened by such heavy odds, to a junior officer before the new commander in chief came. His resolution to remain was as happy for his renown as it was creditable to his character; but when, after the brief campaign just sketched, he found that the French fleet had taken refuge in Boston and was in need of extensive repairs, he resigned the command in New York to a rear-admiral, and departed to Newport to meet his successor. Upon the latter’s arrival he sailed for England, towards the end of September, 1778. General Howe had preceded him by four months.

The two brothers went home with feelings of great resentment against the ministry. The course of the war had so far been unfortunate. The loss of Boston, the surrender of Burgoyne, the evacuation of Philadelphia, and finally the entrance of France into the contest constituted a combination of mishaps which certainly implied fault somewhere. As usual, no one was willing to accept blame, and hot disputes, with injurious imputations, raged in Parliament. There is, happily, here no necessity for apportioning the responsibility, except in the case of Lord Howe; and as to him, it is reasonably clear that all was done that could be up to the coming of the French, while it is incontestable that afterwards, with a force utterly inadequate, for which the government was answerable, he had, by most masterly management, averted imminent disaster. His words in the House of Commons were bitter. “He had been deceived into his command, and he was deceived while he retained it. Tired and disgusted, he desired permission to resign it; and he would have returned as soon as he obtained leave, but he could not think of doing so while a superior enemy remained in American seas ; that, as soon as that impediment was removed, he gladly embraced the first opportunity of returning to Europe. Such, and the recollection of what he had suffered,were his motives for resigning the command, and such for declining any future service so long as the present ministry remained in office.”

In terms like these could officers holding seats in Parliament speak concerning the government of the day. It was a period in which not only did party feeling run high, but corruption was an almost avowed method of political management. The navy itself was split into factions by political bias and personal jealousies, and there was a saying that “if a naval officer were to be roasted, another officer could always be found to turn the spit.” The head of the Admiralty, Lord Sandwich, was a mail of much ability, but also of profligate character, as well public as private. He doubtless wished the success of his department, — under the terrible chances of war no chief can do otherwise, for the responsibility of failure must fall upon his own head ; but through corrupt administration the strength of the navy, upon the outbreak of war, was unequal to the work it had to do. Some one must suffer for this remissness, and who more naturally than the commander of a distant station, who confessed himself “no politician ” ? Hence, Howe certainly thought, the neglect with which he had been treated. “It would not be prudent to trust the little reputation he had earned by forty years’ service, his personal honor and everything else he held dear, in the hands of men who have neither the ability to act on their own judgment, nor the integrity and good sense to follow the advice of others who might know more of the matter.” A year later, it was roundly charged that the Channel fleet had been brought home at a most critical moment, losing an exceptional opportunity for striking the enemy, in order to affect the elections in a dockyard town. Admiral Keppel considered that he had been sacrificed to party feeling ; and a very distinguished officer, Barrington, refused to take a fleet, although willing to serve as second, even under a junior. “ Who, ” he wrote, “would trust himself in chief command with such a set of scoundrels as are now in office ? ” Even a quarter of a century later, Earl St. Vincent gave to George III. himself the same reason for declining employment. After eliciting from him an unfavorable opinion as to the discipline and efficiency of the Channel fleet, the king asked, “Where such evils exist, does Lord St. Vincent feel justified in refusing his conspicuous ability to remedy them?” “My life,” replied the old seaman, “is at your Majesty’s disposal, and at that of my country; but my honor is in my own keeping, and I will not expose myself to the risk of losing it by the machinations of this ministry, under which I should hold command.” To such feelings it was due that Howe, Keppel, and Barrington did not go to sea during the anxious three years that followed. The illustrious Rodney, their only rival, but in himself a host, was the one distinguished naval chief who belonged heart and soul to Sandwich’s party. It was an odd coincidence, and a curious comment upon this partisan spirit, that, when the administration changed, Rodney was recalled as a pure party step, by orders issued after his great victory, but before the news reached England; his successor being a man of no distinction.

The same change of administration, in the spring of 1782, called Howe again into service, to replace the mediocrities who for three campaigns had commanded the Channel fleet, the mainstay of Great Britain’s safety. Upon it depended not only the protection of the British Islands and of the trade routes converging upon them, but also the occasional revictualing of Gibraltar, now undergoing the third year of its famous siege. To relieve the rock fortress was the only great task that devolved upon Howe during this short term of duty. It had, in September, 1782, successfully repelled a long-prepared and gigantic attack by both the land and sea forces of the French and Spaniards; but, although thus impregnable to assault, it was now in the last extremity for provisions, and forty-nine ships of the line held it closely blockaded. To oppose these, and to introduce the needed succors, for carrying which a hundred and forty store-ships were employed, Great Britain could muster only thirtyfour ships of the line; but to them was adjoined the superb professional ability of Lord Howe, never fully evoked except when in sight of the enemy, as he here must act, with Barrington for his second. The deliberate care with which the work was conducted may be inferred from the circumstance that thirty days were spent in the passage from England to Gibraltar; its methodical skill, from the fact that no transport appears to have been dropped.

On the 11th of October, the greatbody of one hundred and eighty sail entered the straits, the ships of war disposed to cover the movements of the supply vessels. The enemy went to sea in pursuit; but, by the combined effects of its own awkwardness and Howe’s address, this far superior fleet did not succeed in capturing a single one of the convoy, during the six days occupied in passing it into the anchorage. On the 18th, taking advantage of the easterly wind then blowing, the British sailed out of the straits in full sight of the baffled allies, who, being thus drawn down to attack them, left the supply ships undisturbed to land their cargoes. A distant cannonade between the hostile fleets terminated the incident,and Howe returned to England, leaving Gibraltar safe.

Another long period of shore life now intervened, carrying the gallant admiral over the change-fraught years of declining life from fifty-seven to sixty-eight, at which age he was again called into service to perform the most celebrated, but, it may confidently be affirmed, not the most brilliant action of his career. At the outbreak of the French Revolution, he stood conspicuously at the head of the navy, distinguished at once for well-known professional accomplishments and for tried capacity in chief command. His rivals in renown among his contemporaries — Keppel, Barrington, and Rodney — had gone to their rest. Jervis, Nelson, Collingwood, and their compeers had yet to show what was in them as general officers. Lord Hood alone remained; and he, although he had done deeds of great promise, had come to the front too late in the previous war for his reputation to rest upon sustained achievement as well as upon hopeful indication. The great commands were given to these two ; Hood going to the Mediterranean with twenty ships of the line, Howe taking the Channel fleet of somewhat superior numbers.

The solid, deliberate, methodical qualities of the veteran admiral were better adapted to the more purely defensive rôle forced upon Great Britain by the allied superiority in 1782 than to the continuous, vigilant, aggressive action demanded by the new conditions with which he now had to deal, when the great conflagration of the Revolution was to be hemmed in and stamped out by the unyielding pressure and massive blows of the British sea power. The days of regulated, routine hostilities between rulers had passed away with the uprising of a people ; the time foretold, when nation should rise against nation, was suddenly come with the crash of an ancient kingdom and its social order. An admirable organizer and indefatigable driller of ships, though apparently a poor disciplinarian, Howe lacked the breadth of view, the clear intuitions, the alacrity of mind, brought to bear upon the problem by Jervis and Nelson, who, thus inspired, framed the sagacious plan to which, more than to any other one cause, was due the exhaustion alike of the Revolutionary fury and of Napoleon’s imperial power. Keenly interested in the material efficiency of his ships, as well as in the precision with which they could perform necessary evolutions and maintain prescribed formations, he sought to attain these ends by long stays in port, varied by formal cruises devoted to secondary objects and to fleet tactics. Thus, he flattered himself, he should insure the perfection of the instrument which should be his weapon in the hour of battle. It may justly be urged on his behalf that this preparation should have been made, but was not, by the government in the long years of peace. This is true; but yet the fact remains that Howe pursued his system by choice and conviction repeatedly affirmed; that continuous instead of occasional cruising in the proper positions would better have reached the ends of drill; and that to the material well being of his ships he sacrificed those correct military dispositions before the enemy’s ports afterwards instituted by Jervis, who at the same time preserved the efficiency of the vessels by increased energy and careful prevision of their wants. The brilliant victory of the 1st of June has obscured the accompanying fact. that lamentable failure characterized the use of the Channel fleet under Howe and his immediate successor.

Once in sight of the enemy, however, the old man regained the fire of youth, and showed the attainments which long study and careful thought had added to his natural talent for war. The battle of June 1, 1794, was brought about in the following manner. Political anarchy and a bad season had combined to ruin the French harvests in 1793, and actual famine threatened the land. To obviate this, at least partially, the government had bought in the United States a large quantity of breadstuffs, which were expected to arrive in May or June, borne by one hundred and eighty merchant vessels. To insure the safety of this valuable convoy, the Brest fleet was sent to meet it at a designated point; five ships going first, and twenty-five following a few days later. The admiral’s orders from Robespierre were to avoid battle, if possible, but at all hazards to secure the merchant fleet, or his head would answer for it.

About the same time, Howe, who had kept his vessels in port during the winter, sailed from the Channel with thirty-two ships of the line. These he soon divided into two squadrons; one of which, numbering six, after performing a specific service, was not ordered to rejoin the main body, but to cruise in a different spot. These ships were sadly missed on the day of battle, when they could have changed a brilliant into a crushing victory. Howe himself went to seek the French, instead of taking a position where they must pass; and after some running to and fro, in which the British actually got to the westward of their foes, and might well have missed them altogether, he was lucky enough, on the 28th of May, to find the larger of their two detachments. This having been meanwhile joined by one ship from the smaller, both opponents now numbered twenty-six heavy vessels.

The French were to windward, a position which gives the power of refusing or delaying decisive action. The average speed of any fleet, however, must fall below the best of some of the force opposed to it; and Howe, wishing to compel battle, sent out six of his fastest and handiest ships. These were directed to concentrate their fire upon the rear of the French column, the weakest part, because, to be helped, vessels ahead must turn round and change their formation, performing a regular evolution, whereas, if the van be assailed, the rear continually advances to its aid. If this partial attack crippled one or more of the French, the disabled ships would drift towards the British, where either they would be captured, or their comrades would be obliged to come to their rescue, hazarding the general engagement that Howe wanted. As it happened, the French had in the rear an immense ship of one hundred and ten guns, which beat off in detail the successive attacks of her smaller antagonists; but in so doing she received so much injury that, after nightfall, she left the fleet, passing the British unmolested, and went back to Brest. One of her assailants, also, had to return to England. It may be scored to Howe’s credit that he let this single enemy go, rather than scatter his fleet and lose ground in trying to take her. He had a more important object.

The next morning, May 29, the French, by poor seamanship, had got somewhat nearer, and Howe saw that his column could be directed in such wise as to threaten a cannonade by a great part of it upon the hostile rear; that he possibly might even cut off three or four ships. The necessary movement was ordered ; and the French admiral, seeing things in the same light, was so alarmed, justly, for the result that he turned his head ships, and after them his whole column in succession, to run down to help the rear. Judicious, and indeed necessary, as this was, it played right into Howe’s hands, and was a tribute to his tactical skill; for in doing it the French gave up much of their distance to windward, and so hastened the collision they wished to avoid. Though the attack upon the French rear was limited to a few desultory broadsides, the two fleets were now nearly within cannon shot, whereas the day before they had been eight or ten miles apart. They were running in parallel lines, west.

Towards noon, Howe saw that the morning’s opportunity of directing his whole column upon the enemy’s rear again offered, but with a far better chance; that if his ships manœuvred well half a dozen of the French must be cut off, unless their admiral, to save them, underwent a general action. The necessary signals were made, but most of the fleet were poorly handled; and seeing that failure would follow, Howe took the lead, tacked his own ship, though her turn was not come, and, with two others, stood straight for the hostile order. The three broke through and cut off two of the enemy, which were speedily surrounded by others of the British. The French admiral then repeated his former evolution, and nothing could have saved a general engagement except the disorder into which the British had fallen, and Howe’s methodical abhorrence of attacks made in such confusion as prevailed. Moreover, the total result of this last brush was that the French entirely lost the windward position, and the British admiral knew that he now had them where they could not escape; he could afford to postpone the issue. Accordingly,fighting ceased for the day; but the French had been so mauled that three more ships had to go into port, leaving them but twenty-two to the enemy’s twenty-five.

The French admiral now saw that he must fight, and at a disadvantage; consequently, he could not hope to protect the convoy. As to save this was his prime object, the next best thing was to entice the British out of its path. With this view he stood away to the northwest, Howe following; while a dense fog coming on both favored his design and prevented further encounter during the two ensuing days. In the evening of May 31 the weather cleared, and at daybreak the next morning the enemies were in position, ready for battle, two long columns of ships, heading west, the British twenty-five, the French again twenty-six; for during the two days’ chase their small detachment of four had joined. Howe now had cause to regret his six absent vessels, and to ponder Nelson’s wise saying, “Numbers only can annihilate.”

The time for manœuvring was past. Able tactician as he personally was, and admirable as had been the direction of his efforts in the two days’ fighting, Howe had been forced in them to realize two things, namely, that his captains were, singly, superior in seamanship, and their crews in gunnery, to the French ; and again, that in the ability to work together as a fleet the British were so deficient as to promise very imperfect results, if he attempted any but the simplest formation. To such, therefore, he resorted, falling back upon the old, unskillful, sledge-hammer fashion of the English navy. Arranging his ships in one long line, three miles from the enemy, he made them all go down together, each to attack a specified opponent, coming into action as nearly as might be at the same instant. Thus, the French, from the individual inferiority of the units of their fleet, would be at all points overpowered. The issue justified the forecast; but the manner of performance was curiously and happily marked by Howe’s own peculiar phlegm. There was a long summer day ahead for fighting, and no need for hurry. The order was first accurately formed, and canvas reduced to proper proportions. Then the crews went to breakfast. After breakfast, the ships all headed for the hostile line, under short sail, the admiral keeping them in hand during the approach, as an infantry officer dresses his company. Thus, if not absolutely simultaneous, the shock from end to end was so nearly so as to induce results unequaled in any engagement conducted on the same primitive plan.

Picturesque as well as sublime, animating as well as solemn, on that bright Sunday morning, was this prelude to the stern game of war about to be played : the quiet summer sea stirred only by a breeze sufficient to cap with white the little waves that ruffled its surface; the dark hulls gently rippling the water aside in their slow advance, a ridge of foam curling on either side of the furrow ploughed by them in their onward way; their massive sides broken by two, or at times three, rows of ports, whence, the tompions drawn, yawned the sullen lines of guns, behind which, unseen, but easily realized by the instructed eye, clustered the groups of ready seamen who served each piece. Aloft swung leisurely to and fro the tall spars, which ordinarily, in so light a wind, would be clad in canvas from deck to truck, but whose naked trimness now proclaimed the deadly purpose of that still approach. Upon the high poops, where floated the standard of either nation, gathered round each chief the little knot of officers through whom he issued or received commands, the nerves along which thrilled the impulses of the great organism, from its head, the admiral, through every member to the dark lowest decks, nearly awash, where, as farthest from the captain’s own oversight, the senior lieutenants controlled the action of the ships’ heaviest batteries.

On board the Queen Charlotte, Lord Howe, whose burden of sixty-eight years had for four days found no rest save what he could snatch in an armchair, now, at the prospect of battle, “displayed an animation.舡 writes an eye-witness, “of which, at his age, and after such fatigue of body and mind. I had not thought him capable. He seemed to contemplate the result as one of unbounded satisfaction.” By his side stood his fleet-captain, Curtis, of whose service among the floating batteries at the siege of Gibraltar the governor of the fortress had said, “He is the man to whom the king is chiefly indebted for its security; ” and Codrington, then a lieutenant, who afterwards commanded the allied fleets at Navarino. Five ships to the left, Collingwood, in the Barfleur, was making to the admiral whose flag she bore the remark that so stirred Thackeray: “Our wives are now about going to church, but we will ring about these Frenchmen’s ears a peal which will drown theirs.” The French officers, both admirals and captains, were mainly unknown men, alike then and thereafter. The fierce flames of the Revolution had swept away the men of the old school, mostly aristocrats, and time had not yet brought forward the very few who during the Napoleonic period showed marked capacity. The commander in chief, Villaret-Joyeuse, had three years before been a lieutenant. He had a high record for gallantry, but was without antecedents as a general officer. With him, on the poop of the Montagne, which took her name from Robespierre’s political supporters, stood that anomalous companion of the generals and admirals of the day, the Revolutionary commissioner, about to learn by experience the practical working of the system he had advocated, to disregard all tests of ability save patriotism and courage, depreciating practice and skill as unnecessary to the valor of the true Frenchman.

As the British line drew near the French, Howe said to Curtis, “Prepare the signal for close action.” “There is no such signal,” replied Curtis. “No,舡 said the admiral, “but there is one for closer action, and I only want that to be made in case of captains not doing their duty.” Then closing a little signal book he always carried, he continued to those around him, “Now, gentlemen, no more book, no more signals. I look to you to do the duty of the Queen Charlotte in engaging the French flagship. I don’t want the ships to be bilge to bilge, but if you can lock the yardarms, so much the better ; the battle will be the quicker decided.” His purpose was to go through the French line, and fight the Montagne on the far side. Some doubted their succeeding, but Howe overbore them. “That ’s right, my lord ! ” cried Bowen, the sailing-master, who looked to the ship’s steering. “The Charlotte will make room for herself. ” She pushed close under the French ship’s stern, grazing her ensign, and raking her from stern to stem with a withering fire, beneath which fell three hundred men. A length or two beyond lay the French Jacobin. Howe ordered the Charlotte to luff, and place herself between the two. “ If we do, ” said Bowen, “we shall be on board one of them.” “ What is that to you, sir ? ” asked Howe quickly. “Oh! ” muttered the master, not inaudibly. “D—n my eyes if I care, if you don’t. I ’ll go near enough to singe some of our whiskers. ” And then, seeing by the Jacobin’s rudder that she was going off. he brought the Charlotte sharp round, her jib boom grazing the second Frenchman as her side had grazed the flag of the first.

From this moment the battle raged furiously from end to end of the field for nearly an hour, — a wild scene of smoke and confusion, under cover of which many a fierce ship duel was fought, while here and there men wandered, lost, in a maze of bewilderment that paralyzed their better judgment. An English naval captain tells a service tradition of one who was so busy watching the compass, to keep his position in the ranks, that he lost sight of his antagonist, and never again found him. Many a quaint incident passed, recorded or unrecorded, under that sulphurous canopy. A British ship, wholly dismasted, lay between two enemies, her captain desperately wounded. A murmur of surrender was somewhere heard; but as the first lieutenant checked it with firm authority, a cock flew upon the stump of a mast and crowed lustily. The exultant note found quick response in hearts not given to despair, and a burst of merriment, accompanied with three cheers, replied to the bird’s triumphant scream. On board the Brunswick, in her struggle with the Vengeur, one of the longest and fiercest fights the sea has ever seen, the cocked hat was shot off the effigy of the Duke of Brunswick, which she bore as a figure-head. A deputation from the crew gravely requested the captain to allow the use of his spare chapeau, which was securely nailed on, and protected his grace’s wig during the rest of the action. After this battle with the ships of the new republic, the partisans of monarchy noted with satisfaction that, among the many royal figures that surmounted the stems of the British fleet, not one lost his crown. Of a harum-scarum Irish captain are told two droll stories. After being hotly engaged for some time with a French ship, the fire of the latter slackened, and then ceased. He called to know if she had surrendered. The reply was, “ No.” “ Then, ” shouted he, “ d—n you, why don’t you fire ? ” Having disposed of his special antagonist without losing his own spars, the same man kept along in search of new adventures, until he came to a British ship totally dismasted and otherwise badly damaged. She was commanded by a captain of rigidly devout piety. “ Well, Jemmy, ” hailed the Irishman, “you are pretty well mauled ; but never mind, Jemmy, whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.”

The French have transmitted to us less of anecdote, nor is it easy to connect the thought of humor with those grimly earnest republicans and the days of the Terror. There is, indeed, something unintentionally funny in the remark of the commander of one of the captured ships to his captors. They had, it was true, dismasted half the French fleet, and had taken over a fourth; yet he assured them it could not be considered a victory, “but merely a butchery, in which the British had shown neither science nor tactics. ” The one story, noble and enduring, that will ever be associated with the French on the 1st of June is in full keeping with the temper of the times and the enthusiasm of the nation. The seventy - four - gun ship Vengeur, after a three hours’ fight, yardarm to yardarm, with the British Brunswick, was left in a sinking state by her antagonist, who was herself in no condition to help. In the confusion, the Vengeur’s peril was for some time not observed; and when it was, the British ships that came to her aid had time only to remove part of her survivors. In their report of the event, the latter said: “Scarcely had the boats pulled clear of the sides, when the most frightful spectacle was offered to our gaze. Those of our comrades who remained on board the Vengeur du People, with hands raised to heaven, implored, with lamentable cries, the help for which they could no longer hope. Soon disappeared the ship and the unhappy victims it contained. In the midst of the horror with which this scene inspired us all, we could not avoid a feeling of admiration mingled with our grief. As we drew away, we heard some of our comrades still offering prayers for the welfare of their country. The last cries of these unfortunates were, ‘Vive la République!’ They died uttering them.” Over a hundred Frenchmen thus went down.

Seven French ships were captured, including the sunk Vengeur. Five more were wholly dismasted, but escaped, — a good fortune mainly to be attributed to Howe’s utter physical prostration, due to his advanced years and the continuous strain of the past five days. He now went to bed, completely worn out. Had he been younger, there can be little doubt that the fruits of victory would have been gathered with a vigor which his assistant, Curtis, failed to show.

Lord Howe’s career practically ended with this battle, and the honors that followed it. Infirmities then gained rapidly upon him, and it would have been well had his own wish to retire been granted by the government. He remained in nominal command of the Channel fleet, though not going to sea, until the outbreak of the famous mutinies of 1797. The suppression— or, more properly, the composing — of this ominous outbreak was devolved upon him by the ministry. He very wisely observed that “preventive measures rather than corrective are to be preferred for preserving discipline in fleets and armies; ” but it was in truth his own failure to use such timely remedies, owing to the lethargy of increasing years, acting upon a temperament naturally indulgent and apathetic, that was largely responsible for disorders of whose imminence he had warning. From the military standpoint, the process of settlement had much the air of opéra bouffe, — a consummation probably inevitable when just grievances and undeniable hardships get no attention until the sufferers break through all rules, and seek redress by force. The mutinous seamen protested to Howe the bitterness of their sorrow at the sense of wrong doing, but in the same breath insisted that their demands must be conceded, and that certain obnoxious officers must be removed from their ships. The demands were yielded, Howe gently explaining to the men how naughty they bad been; and that, as to the unpopular officers, they themselves asked relief from so unpleasant a situation. In his curiously involved style, he wrote: 舠This request has been complied with, under the pretext of an equal desire on the part of the officers not to be employed in ships where exception, without specification of facts, has been taken to their conduct. However ineligible the concession, it was become indispensably necessary.” Under this thin veil,men persuaded themselves that appearances were saved, as a woman hides a smile behind her fan. Admiral Codrington, a firm admirer of Howe, justly said : “It was want of discipline which led to the discontent and mutiny in the Channel fleet. Lord Howe got rid of the mutiny by granting the men all they asked; but discipline was not restored until the ships most remarkable for misconduct had been, one after the other, placed under the command of Lord St. Vincent.”

With the settlement of this mutiny Lord Howe’s long career of active service closed. Immediately afterwards he retired formally, as he some time before had actually, from the command of the Channel fleet, and on the 5th of August, 1799, he died full of years and honors; having lived just long enough to welcome the rising star of Nelson’s glory as it burst upon men’s sight at Cape St. Vincent and the Nile.

Of the four British admirals whose careers have been sketched in The Atlantic, Howe alone inherited fortune and social rank; but he also fought his way far beyond the modest position bequeathed to him by his brother. Eminent all, though in varying manner and degree, each illustrated a distinct type in the same noble profession. All were admirable officers, but they differed greatly in original endowments and consequent development. It was intuitive with St. Vincent to take wide and far-sighted views, and to embody them in sustained, relentless action. Endued by nature with invincible energy and determination, he moved spontaneously and easily along his difficult path. He approached, although he did not attain genius. In Howe is seen rather the result of conscientious painstaking acting upon excellent abilities, but struggling always against a native heaviness and a temper both indolent and indulgent. A man of talent, he educates himself to acquirements which in his rival have the character of perception; and only under the spur of emergency does he rise to the height of greatness, to sink afterwards by his own weight. Both were great general officers, a claim which can scarcely be advanced for Saumarez and Exmouth, able, brilliant, and devoted as they were. Saumarez was the steadfast, skillful, accomplished master of his profession, but one whose aptitudes and tastes placed him in the great organization of the fleet as a principal subordinate rather than as head. Exmouth was the typical, innate seaman, intensely active, whose instincts are those of the partisan warrior, and who shines most in the freedom of detached Service. All bore a conspicuous part in the greatest war of modern times, with honor such that their names will be remembered as long as naval history endures.

A. T. Mahan.