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TYPES OF NAVAL OFFICERS

Drawn from the History of the British Navy

With Some Account of the Conditions of Naval Warfare at the beginning of the Eighteenth Century, and of its subsequent development during the Sail Period

A. T. Mahan, D.C.L., LL.D. Captain, United States Navy

PREFACE Although the distinguished seamen, whose lives and professional characteristics it is the object of this work to present in brief summary, belonged to a service now foreign to that of the United States, they have numerous and varied points of contact with America; most of them very close, and in some instances of marked historical interest. The older men, indeed, were during much of their careers our fellow countrymen in the colonial period, and fought, some side by side with our own people in this new world, others in distant scenes of the widespread strife that characterized the middle of the eighteenth century, the beginnings of "world politics;" when, in a quarrel purely European in its origin, "black men," to use Macaulay's words, "fought on the coast of Coromandel, and red men scalped each other by the great lakes of North America." All, without exception, were actors in the prolonged conflict that began in 1739 concerning the right of the ships of Great Britain and her colonies to frequent the seas bordering the American dominions of Spain; a conflict which, by gradual expansion, drew in the continent of Europe, from Russia to France, spread thence to the French possessions in India and North America, involved Spanish Havana in the western hemisphere and Manila in the eastern, and finally entailed the expulsion of France from our continent. Thence, by inevitable sequence, issued the independence of the United States. The contest, thus completed, covered forty-three years.

The four seniors of our series, Hawke, Rodney, Howe, and Jervis, witnessed the whole of this momentous period, and served conspicuously, some more, some less, according to their age and rank, during its various stages. Hawke, indeed, was at the time of the American Revolution too old to go to sea, but he did not die until October 16, 1781, three days before the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown, which is commonly accepted as the closing incident of our struggle for independence. On the other hand, the two younger men, Saumarez and Pellew, though they had entered the navy before the American Revolution, saw in it the beginnings of an active service which lasted to the end of the Napoleonic wars, the most continuous and gigantic strife of modern times. It was as the enemies of our cause that they first saw gunpowder burned in anger.

Nor was it only amid the commonplaces of naval warfare that they then gained their early experiences in America. Pellew in 1776, on Lake Champlain, bore a brilliant part in one of the most decisive--though among the least noted--campaigns of the Revolutionary contest; and a year later, as leader of a small contingent of seamen, he shared the fate of Burgoyne's army at Saratoga. In 1776 also, Saumarez had his part in an engagement which ranks among the bloodiest recorded between ships and forts, being on board the British flag-ship Bristol at the attack upon Fort Moultrie, the naval analogue of Bunker Hill; for, in the one of these actions as in the other, the great military lesson was the resistant power against frontal attack of resolute marksmen, though untrained to war, when fighting behind entrenchments,--a teaching renewed at New Orleans, and emphasized in the recent South African War. The well-earned honors of the comparatively raw colonials received generous recognition at the time from their opponents, even in the midst of the bitterness proverbially attendant upon family quarrels; but it is only just to allow that their endurance found its counterpart in the resolute and persistent valor of the assailants. In these two battles, with which the War of Independence may be said fairly to have begun, by land and by water, in the far North and in the far South, the men of the same stock, whose ancestors there met face to face as foes, have now in peace a common heritage of glory. If little of bitterness remains in the recollections which those who are now fellow-citizens retain of the struggle between the North and the South, within the American Republic, we of two different nations, who yet share a common tongue and a common tradition of liberty and law, may well forget the wrongs of the earlier strife, and look only to the common steadfast courage with which each side then bore its share in a civil conflict.

The professional lives of these men, therefore, touch history in many points; not merely history generally, but American history specifically. Nor is this contact professional only, devoid of personal tinge. Hawke was closely connected by blood with the Maryland family of Bladen; that having been his mother's maiden name, and Governor Bladen of the then colony being his first cousin. Very much of his early life was spent upon the American Station, largely in Boston. But those were the days of Walpole's peace policy; and when the maritime war, which the national outcry at last compelled, attained large dimensions, Hawke's already demonstrated eminence as a naval leader naturally led to his employment in European waters, where the more immediate dangers, if not the greatest interests, of Great Britain were then felt to be. The universal character, as well as the decisive issues of the opening struggle were as yet but dimly foreseen. Rodney also had family ties with America, though somewhat more remote. Caesar Rodney, a signer of the Declaration of Independence from Delaware, was of the same stock; their great-grandfathers were brothers. It was from the marriage of his ancestor with the daughter of a Sir Thomas Caesar that the American Rodney derived his otherwise singular name.

Howe, as far as known, had no relations on this side of the water; but his elder brother, whom he succeeded in the title, was of all British officers the one who most won from the colonial troops with whom he was associated a personal affection, the memory of which has been transmitted to us; while the admiral's own kindly attitude towards the colonists, and his intimacy with Franklin, no less than his professional ability, led to his being selected for the North American command at the time when the home country had not yet lost all hope of a peaceable solution of difficulties. To this the Howe tradition was doubtless expected to contribute. Jervis, a man considerably younger than the other three, by the accidents of his career came little into touch with either the colonies or the colonists, whether before or during the Revolutionary epoch; yet even he, by his intimate friendship with Wolfe, and intercourse with his last days, is brought into close relation with an event and a name indelibly associated with one of the great landmarks--crises--in the history of the American Continent. Although the issue of the strife depended, doubtless, upon deeper and more far-reaching considerations, it is not too much to say that in the heights of Quebec, and in the name of Wolfe, is signalized the downfall of the French power in America. There was prefigured the ultimate predominance of the traditions of the English-speaking races throughout this continent, which in our own momentous period stands mediator between the two ancient and contrasted civilizations of Europe and Asia, that so long moved apart, but are now brought into close, if not threatening, contact.

Interesting, however, as are the historical and social environments in which their personalities played their part, it is as individual men, and as conspicuous exemplars--types--of the varied characteristics which go to the completeness of an adequate naval organization, that they are here brought forward. Like other professions,--and especially like its sister service, the Army,--the Navy tends to, and for efficiency requires, specialization. Specialization, in turn, results most satisfactorily from the free play of natural aptitudes; for aptitudes, when strongly developed, find expression in inclination, and readily seek their proper function in the body organic to which they belong. Each of these distinguished officers, from this point of view, does not stand for himself alone, but is an eminent exponent of a class; while the class itself forms a member of a body which has many organs, no one of which is independent of the other, but all contributive to the body's welfare. Hence, while the effort has been made to present each in his full individuality, with copious recourse to anecdote and illustrative incident as far as available, both as a matter of general interest and for accurate portrayal, special care has been added to bring out occurrences and actions which convey the impression of that natural character which led the man to take the place he did in the naval body, to develop the professional function with which he is more particularly identified; for personality underlies official character.

In this sense of the word, types are permanent; for such are not the exclusive possession of any age or of any service, but are found and are essential in every period and to every nation. Their functions are part of the bed-rock of naval organization and of naval strategy, throughout all time; and the particular instances here selected owe their special cogency mainly to the fact that they are drawn from a naval era, 1739-1815, of exceptional activity and brilliancy.

There is, however, another sense in which an officer, or a man, may be accurately called a type; a sense no less significant, but of more limited and transient application. The tendency of a period,--especially when one of marked transition,--its activities and its results, not infrequently find expression in one or more historical characters. Such types may perhaps more accurately be called personifications; the man or men embodying, and in action realizing, ideas and processes of thought, the progress of which is at the time united, but is afterwards recognized as a general characteristic of the period. Between the beginning and the end a great change is found to have been effected, which naturally and conveniently is associated with the names of the most conspicuous actors; although they are not the sole agents, but simply the most eminent.

It is in this sense more particularly that Hawke and Rodney are presented as types. It might even be said that they complement each other and constitute together a single type; for, while both were men of unusually strong personality, private as well as professional, and with very marked traits of character, their great relation to naval advance is that of men who by natural faculty detect and seize upon incipient ideas, for which the time is ripe, and upon the practical realization of which the healthful development of the profession depends. With these two, and with them not so much contemporaneously as in close historical sequence, is associated the distinctive evolution of naval warfare in the eighteenth century; in their combined names is summed up the improvement of system to which Nelson and his contemporaries fell heirs, and to which Nelson, under the peculiar and exceptional circumstances which made his opportunity, gave an extension that immortalized him. Of Hawke and Rodney, therefore, it may be said that they are in their profession types of that element of change, in virtue of which the profession grows; whereas the other four, eminent as they were, exemplify rather the conservative forces, the permanent features, in the strength of which it exists, and in the absence of any one of which it droops or succumbs. It does not, however, follow that the one of these great men is the simple continuator of the other's work; rather it is true that each contributed, in due succession of orderly development, the factor of progress which his day demanded, and his personality embodied.

It was not in the forecast of the writer, but in the process of treatment he came to recognize that, like Hawke and Rodney, the four others also by natural characteristics range themselves in pairs,--presenting points of contrast, in deficiencies and in excellencies, which groviews, though he did not dispute them. He liked horses without understanding them, and he had a good seat in the saddle, though his opportunities for riding were few and far between. It was natural that he should have a more open mind than either of his two elder brothers, James and Charles, for they had been brought up at home under their father's influence, while Mostyn had enjoyed an Eton and Oxford education, this being due to the intervention of his mother, now dead, who had probably vaguely realised that her elder sons were developing into prigs.

Mostyn, however, so far had respected his father's prejudices. He had never risked a penny in gambling of any sort; he had refused all invitations to attend race meetings; he had even avoided the theatre, this because he felt it his duty as his father's son. It was not an easy task for him, for his instincts were all towards the natural enjoyment of life: he was just a healthy-minded, well-intentioned young Englishman with nothing of the prig about him. Luckily for himself he developed a taste for athletics, and so by his prowess on the river and in the football field he gained respect both at school and University, and his prejudices were overlooked or readily forgiven. Mostyn never confided to anyone, till Pierce came upon the scene, how irksome these restraints were to him, how his inmost soul militated against them.

It was after he came down from Oxford and set to work to study for the Bar that he met Pierce Trelawny. Pierce was already engaged to Cicely, Mostyn's sister, though the match had not met with the unqualified approval of John Clithero, who considered the young man worldly-minded and fast because he went to theatres and attended race-meetings; and besides, the whole Trelawny family were conspicuously sporting. On the other hand, there was no question as to the desirability of the engagement from the social and monetary point of view, and it was to these considerations that Cicely's father had yielded, seeing nothing unreasonable in this shelving of his principles in favour of Mammon. As for Pierce, he was in love with Cicely, whose nature was akin to that of her brother Mostyn; and he did not worry his head about the rest of her family, whom he placidly despised, until he discovered that Mostyn was fashioned in a different mould. After that the two young men became firm friends, and went about a good deal together, though John Clithero looked on askance, believing that his son was being led astray; indeed, there had been one or two rather stormy scenes, for a new spirit had been aroused in Mostyn's breast, a desire to unfurl the standard of revolt.

Then came the great temptation. Pierce Trelawny had received an invitation to drive down to the Derby on his uncle's coach, and had been told that he might take a friend with him. "Why not bring your future brother-in-law?" Sir Roderick suggested. "I mean the lad you introduced to me in the Park the other day. Rowed for his college, didn't he? Was in the Eton eight, and did well at racquets? That's the sort of boy I like--a young sportsman."

"God bless my soul!" the old gentleman cried, when Pierce explained that Mostyn had never seen a race, and the reason for this neglect. "I did not know that any sensible people held such views nowadays. They even wanted to keep us at work at Westminster on Derby day," he added, with apparent inconsistency, "but I don't look for sense in the House of Commons! That's why I went into Parliament." He meant, of course, that it was his object to convince his fellow-members of their folly.

Sir Roderick was returned for one of the divisions of Ulster, and had held his seat, undisputed, for many years. He was a Tory of the old school, staunchly loyal, and to his mind no other views were admissible. Politics, therefore, in the sense of party division, did not exist. He loathed the very word. He would say irritably, "Don't talk to me of politics, I hate 'em--and, besides, there's no such thing." His Irishisms and unconscious word contortions contributed to the amusement of the House as well as to his personal popularity.

"Bring young Clithero, Pierce," he said decidedly. "It'll do him good, open his eyes a bit. He's too fine a lad to have his head stuffed with such nonsensical ideas. How old is he, did you say? Twenty-five? Well, he's quite old enough to have a will of his own." All of which was perfectly true, but Sir Roderick, as well as Pierce, overlooked the fact that Mostyn was utterly dependent upon his father.

As it happened, John Clithero was absent from London when Pierce conveyed Sir Roderick's invitation to Mostyn, and so he could not be consulted: the hopeless task of asking his approval could not be undertaken. It was open to Mostyn to keep his own counsel: to go to the Derby on the sly--a course that did not commend itself to his straightforward nature--or to make confession when his father returned, which would be two or three days after the Derby had been run. Letter-writing was out of the question, too, for John Clithero was actually on his way home from America, where he had been upon business. He was a banker, head of the old established house of Graves and Clithero, a firm of the highest repute and universally considered as stable as the Bank of England, all the more so because of the high standard of morality demanded of all connected with it, from the partners to the humblest employee.

Mostyn did not hesitate long. He wanted to see the Derby, and he was asked to go as the guest of a man who was universally respected. Only rank prejudice could assert harm in this. It was time to make his protest. And so, the evening before the race, he quietly announced his intention to his horrified brothers.

"A beastly race-course," sniffed James. "All the riff-raff of London. An encouragement to gambling, drunkenness, and vice." James was a perfect type of the "good young man"; than that no more need be said.

"Just because father happens to be away," remarked Charles; "I suppose that's your idea of honour, Mostyn." Charles was always talking about honour. He was unhealthily stout, had pasty cheeks and long yellow hair that lacked vitality.

"I think Mostyn's quite right, and I wish I was going too," proclaimed Cicely the rebellious.

And so the wrangle proceeded. It was distinctly uncomfortable, but Mostyn was quite determined to abide by his decision. Nor had he changed his mind when the next day came.

Owing to the behaviour of Captain Armitage it had not at first been particularly pleasant for Mostyn upon the coach, but Pierce and Mr. Royce had come to the rescue, the former engaging the attention of the captain, while the latter took the boy in hand and explained certain things that he ought to know about racing. It was all done with such infinite tact that Mostyn was soon at his ease, able to enjoy the fund of anecdote with which Anthony Royce enlivened the journey, as well as the scenes by the way, the ever-changing panorama, of which he had read, but which he had never expected to see.

He spoke little, but his eyes glittered with excitement. To him it was as though he was being carried into a new world, a world with which his soul was in sympathy, but the gates of which had always been closed. And yet it was not so strange to him as he had expected: perhaps in his dreams he had gazed through the gates, or even travelled down that very road upon a visionary coach that threaded its way proudly amid the heterogeneous traffic. So, despite his ignorance and inexperience, he felt in his element; he was a sportsman by instinct, so he told himself, and all these years he had been crushing down his true nature. Well, it was not too late to repair the mischief: for now he knew--he knew.

Anthony Royce watched him with kindly appreciative eyes. There were moments, though Mostyn was far too absorbed to notice this, when his broad forehead wrinkled into a frown as he gazed into the young man's face; it was a peculiar enigmatical frown, suggestive of an effort to think back into the past, to pierce the veil of years.

Mostyn could hold himself in no longer when the coach had taken up its place under the hill, and when Sir Roderick, by his little speech, had discharged his obligation towards his guests. A few moments of bustle followed. Captain Armitage, champagne bottle in hand, was filling a glass for Lord Caldershot, who was stooping down from his place upon the coach to take it; Rada was intently studying a race-card and comparing it with a little pink paper--a paper issued by some tipster or other; most of the other guests had already descended and mingled with the crowd. Among these was Pierce, who had hurried off after his uncle in the direction of the Paddock.

Mostyn stood up in his place; he was quivering with excitement, all his nerves seemed on edge. He stared about him and took in at a glance the whole wonderful sight--the restless mass of humanity seething over hill and dale, humanity in all its gradations, from the coster and his lass to the top-hatted men and smartly-dressed women who mingled with the throng till they found their centre in the enclosure and Grand Stand. The highest in all the land and the lowest--silk, satin, muslin, rags--Mayfair and Whitechapel--Tom, Dick, Harry, as alive and playful to-day as in the forties--they were all there just as Mostyn had read of them many a time. The white tents, the extravagantly dressed bookmakers, the itinerant musicians and jugglers, the gipsies. He drew a deep breath; he was looking upon the world!

"I'm glad I came," he cried, forgetting for the moment that he was not alone. "For now I know what it is to be alive."

His voice shook. Anthony Royce laid his hand gently upon the boy's shoulder. "I like your enthusiasm," he said, "I understand it. You are just making your deb?t upon a larger stage, and it is a little overwhelming. Well, I'll put you through your paces, my boy. Leave yourself in my hands and you won't regret it. I'll guarantee that your first Derby Day shall not be your last."

Mostyn accepted joyfully. "You're awfully kind, sir," he said. "I'm afraid I should have a poor time by myself, and I don't like to bother Pierce--besides, he wants to be with Sir Roderick. It's good of you to pity my ignorance. I wonder why you do it?"

Royce made no reply--probably none was expected. Only that strange enigmatical smile came once more to his face, and for a moment his eyes were vacant--again it was as though he were looking back into the past.

To himself Mostyn muttered: "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

MOSTYN SEES THE DERBY.

An hour before the big race Mostyn stood in the Paddock, by the side of his mentor, and pretended to pass a critical eye upon the horses generally, and upon Hipponous in particular.

The second favourite was a chestnut with three white stockings. His mane had been hogged, and he had--for a racehorse--an unusually large tail. Tyro as he was, Mostyn could understand the value of the large roomy flanks and magnificent barrel, and as the colt picked its way delicately round the circle, sweating slightly from excitement and glancing intelligently from side to side, it seemed as if he appreciated the fact that it was Derby Day, and realised the magnitude of the task before him.

A kaleidoscopic crowd surged round the horse, a crowd that Mostyn failed to understand till Royce explained that the "open sesame" to the Paddock could be obtained by the payment of a sovereign, which accounted for the general rubbing of shoulders and absence of class distinction.

Scraps of conversation, indistinctly overheard, amused, astonished, and perhaps instructed, him. There was a portly woman with a red face and a large feather hat, who pushed her way to the front, and said wheezingly to a thin little man at her side: "'Ullo, 'ere's Black Diamond."

"No, it ain't," responded her companion. "Look at the number. That's 'Ippernouse. He won the Middle Park Plate when I 'ad a dollar on 'im, and I'm going to put a couple o' quid on 'im to-day."

"I'll back Black Diamond," returned the fat woman, "because my first husband kept a small public called the 'Lord Napier' up past the 'Nag's Head' before we were married, and Black Diamond belongs to Lord Napier, so that's good enough for my money."

They drifted away and their place was taken by a couple of shrewd-looking club-men in long covert cloaks and bowler hats, with glasses slung over their shoulders. Mostyn heard one of them say to the other in an undertone: "Here's Hipponous. Look at his magnificent quarters. Don't forget to wire off immediately to Cork if he wins, and tell Dickson that I'll take the colt he has in his stables, brother to Hipponous, and if he throws the mare in I'll pay two thousand guineas for the pair."

This was business, and presently Mostyn heard business of another kind. "I like the looks of 'Ippernous," said a loudly dressed individual with white hat and check waistcoat--obviously a book-maker--to his clerk. "We can't afford to let him run loose, and I'll put fifty on for the book."

The remarks, however, were not all appreciative. There was a tall man with a vacant stare and a monocle, who was drawling out his comments to a well-dressed woman at his side. "Not an earthly, my dear. Don't waste your money on Hipponous. The favourite can't possibly lose. Algy told me at the club last night that he had laid six monkeys to four on it, and if it doesn't come off he'll have to tap the old man again or send in his papers."

Then again: "What on earth do they call this horse Hipponous for?" queried a pretty little soubrette, hanging on the arm of a young gentleman in a very long frock coat, suggestive of the counter. "Don't know, Ellice," was the reply, "but give me Lochiel, the fav'rit." "Oh, no," she urged, "do back Hipponous! He's got such pretty colours--scarlet and silver--just like that dress I had last Christmas for the Licensed Victuallers' Ball."

Finally, there was the comment facetious: "'Ippernous," said a seedy-looking man with pasty face to the lad who was leading the colt round, "W'y didn't they call 'im 'Ipperpotamus, an' a' done with it? A fine lookin' colt, mind yer, but not quite good enough to beat the fav'rit, 'oo will 'ave the satisfaction of carryin' a couple of Oxfords for Jim Simson of Kemberwell."

Mostyn had but a dim understanding of all this, but his heart leapt within him when Pierce came up, and smiting him cordially on the back, carried him off to wish good luck to Sir Roderick, who was standing by the side of his horse in the company of Joseph Dean, the famous trainer, and of Fred Martin, the jockey, who held the record of winning mounts for the year before. Martin wore Sir Roderick's colours--silver and scarlet--and his little twinkling eyes glittered as he confided to Mostyn that he was proud to wear them, and that he had every confidence in his horse--that he hoped to score his fifth Derby success.

Mostyn felt in the seventh heaven, a privileged being, all the more so since envious eyes were upon him. It was all he could do to hold himself with becoming gravity. His great desire was to pose as a man of experience, but, at the same time, there were so many questions he wished to ask. And at last his evil genius impelled him to an ineptitude, one of those blunders that seemed to come so easily to his tongue: he wanted to know Hipponous's age! Something in the jockey's stare as he made answer warned Mostyn of danger, and he moved away as soon as he dared.

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