Now this portion of our naval history is as near as possible all plain sailing, and its course as well known as that from the Mersey Bar to Sandy Hook to transatlantic travellers. I do not therefore propose to conduct my readers through the glorious, though, if I may be allowed to say it, somewhat hackneyed stories of the defeat of the Spanish Armada, Drake's exploits on the Spanish Main, and the series of wars with the Dutch, in which we met the toughest opponents we have ever fought with for the supremacy of the seas. Neither do I intend recounting for the hundredth time the magnificent record of the Royal Navy in its almost continuous campaign against those of the French kings, the French Republic, and the Emperor Napoleon, which, beginning early in the eighteenth century, was only finally terminated by the downfall of the great Corsican general at Waterloo. As far as all these are concerned I have only to say: "Now the rest of the acts of the Royal Navy, and all that it did, are they not written in the book of the chronicles of James the Naval Historian", and of many other historians for that matter, good, bad, and indifferent. No, so far I have endeavoured to keep a little off the beaten track of naval history as generally presented in books of this class, and until we arrive at our navy of to-day I propose to keep this principle in view; and it is in accordance with this that, before finally quitting the Tudor period, I propose to make a brief reference to our experiences with the Hanseatic League.

The adverse influence of this great confederation of German cities upon our country for two or three centuries has never been sufficiently emphasized in our histories. Possibly the earlier historians who were contemporary with the Hanseatics were "got at" by their representatives, who swarmed in this country and had an organized system of bribery, with a regulated scale of bribes for all sorts of people, from the Lord Mayor of London downwards. They seem to have been about the only people in the later Middle Ages with ready cash in the north of Europe, and they were glad to lend the Kings of England money to carry on their interminable wars with France in return for various concessions, which generally hit British trade pretty hard. They knew how to get good security for their loans, and in Edward III's time they actually had the British crown in pawn at Cologne! One proof of their tremendous financial influence in this country remains to this day in the word "sterling". We still say "one pound sterling", "sterling gold", &c. Now "sterling" is nothing but a corrupted form of "easterling"—a man from the eastward, as these Hanse traders used to be called—when they were not referred to as "Prussians".

At the Conquest, and for long afterwards, we were a nation of agriculturists, soldiers, fishermen, and sailors. Our only regular trade was in wool, therefore known as the "staple" industry—generally "the staple" for short. It was the desire to get their greedy fingers into this our only "pie" that first brought the Hanse traders into this country in force some time in the thirteenth century, though we had not been free from them since the days of Ethelred. They were allowed to make their head-quarters in the Steelyard in London (where Cannon Street Station now stands), to import merchandise on paying a nominal duty of 1 per cent, to be licensed victuallers, keeping inns, hotels, and wine shops, to have special courts of jurisdiction of their own, which put them above English law, and actually to hold one of the gates of the city. Have we not seen this financial, business, trading, and inn-keeping undermining of British interests in our own day by the modern easterlings?

Later historians preferred rather to dilate on our victories than to refer to our encounters at sea with the Hanseatics, in which we did not always show to advantage. For these traders, like their modern representatives, were good pirates on occasion, had a considerable number of fighting-ships at their command, and, according to some authorities, had complete control of the northern seas. Nor was there any reciprocity about their trading arrangements. They made a rule that only their own ships were to carry the goods they dealt in, and sank any English ship that attempted to break it. At the same time they would not allow our ships into the Baltic to interfere with their trade with Russia and Scandinavia, and now and again in return for some real or pretended grievance attacked our seaboard and hung the crews of our coasters to their own masts. All the time they were endeavouring to strangle our trade from their London head-quarters. Like an American "Trust", they were generally able to ruin individuals or smaller companies which endeavoured to compete with them.

Naturally the "Prussians" were not loved in this country, and it is said that Wat Tyler's insurrection was to a great extent directed against these interlopers, the insurgents killing as many of them as they could get hold of. But their influence with the Government always saved them till the days of the Tudors, when, in spite of all obstacles, our merchants began to make headway. Edward VI imposed heavy duties and restrictions on them, and established an alliance and a trading connection with Russia by sending a mission to Moscow by way of Archangel. The marriage of Queen Mary with Philip of Spain gave the Hanse merchants their chance, since the Prince Consort's father—Charles V—was Emperor of Germany. The privileges which had been taken away from the "Prussians" by her brother were restored; but they were not to hold them long. Queen Elizabeth had an eye to business; she saw how the Germans were hampering the development of our trade, and reimposed Edward VI's duty of 20 per cent on the Hanse merchants of the Steelyard. But she found that she still had to buy gunpowder and other munitions of war from them, because she could not get them elsewhere, and she did not like them the better for that. Neither did they like the reimposed duties, and they were only too glad to assist the Spanish Armada by sending a fleet laden with provisions and munitions to the Tagus. Drake and the navy countered by seizing the whole of these ships.

The Hanseatics, who had already before this laboured "to render the English merchants obnoxious to the other trading nations by various calumnies", retaliated by turning every Englishman out of Germany. This did not affect us very much, as, though there were a comparatively small number of the "merchants of the staple" and the "merchant adventurers" settled in that country, their trade and interests were not comparable with that of the merchants of the Steelyard in England. But the Hanseatics got a "knock out" blow in return from "good Queen Bess", who turned the whole collection of German merchants out of England, "lock, stock, and barrel", and so freed the country of a menace which, while not so obvious, was probably more insidiously dangerous than the Spanish Armada. Then followed the break-up of Germany in the Thirty Years' War, and British trade came by its own. It does seem a pity that "once bit" we were not "twice shy". Our historians are considerably to blame; but, in any case, we ought not to have so entirely forgotten what a menace German trade and German immigration might be to this country.

"What has all this to do with the navy?" may perhaps be asked. Possibly not much at first sight, but in reality a great deal. If, during the centuries the Hanse merchants were throttling our trade, we had maintained a formidable and national navy instead of pursuing a hand-to-mouth policy and utilizing our ships principally as ferry-boats to take our armies over to France, we might have been in a better position to deal with the Hanse League. We could have prevented interference with our ships, forced our way into the Baltic, and extended our trade. On the other hand, the navy was not a national navy, but, generally speaking, a personal appanage of the reigning monarch, who as often as not was very heavily in debt to the "Prussians". Gold is a very powerful factor, even in naval warfare, if judiciously applied, and not misapplied, as when some of our feebler Saxon kings bought off the viking invaders with "Danegelt".

I am tempted, before leaving the Hansa, to relate a story of one of their smaller naval operations, which, I must premise, is taken from a German source, so you can believe as much or as little of it as you please. But it is not a bad story in its way. Our King Edward IV had fallen out with the King of Denmark, who, in retaliation for a real or alleged piratical attack made by the traders of Lynn upon his dominions in Iceland, set to work to capture our merchantmen, using apparently the ships of his allies, the Hanse League, for the purpose. King Edward, in his turn, at once closed the Steelyard, and, according to this account, strangled many of its merchants, and demanded £20,000 compensation for his captured ships. At this time there were a couple of rather big Hanse ships lying in a Dutch harbour, the Mariendrache and the Anholt. Hearing of the English preparations for war, Paul Beneke, who was in command, stood over to Deal under French colours to intercept the Lord Mayor of London, who was expected to land there on his way back from Paris in La Cygne of Dieppe. How he discovered this we are not told.

By the use of French colours Paul Beneke succeeded in kidnapping the Mayor of Deal and various other notabilities, who thought they were going on board La Cygne to welcome the Lord Mayor. The two Hanseatic ships then put to sea, intercepted the real French ship and her consort La Madeline of Cannes, took out their distinguished passenger and whatever goods they had on board, and made for the Dutch harbour they had started from. The omniscient Beneke knew that it was being blockaded by thirteen small English ships and one much more powerful than either of his, the St. John, possibly the John Evangelist of Dartmouth. However, thanks to a fog, he got through the blockade undiscovered. Late at night he, with one other companion, pulled out to sea in a fishing-boat, and, under the pretence of being Dutch fishermen, went alongside the big St. John and asked leave to make fast astern while they boiled their "beer soup" for supper. Permission was granted, and, as the "beer soup" in question was in reality molten lead, they had not much difficulty, under cover of the lofty and overhanging stern, in pouring it into the iron joints of the rudder, so that it became immovable. Then, "after supper", having thanked the obliging officer of the watch, Beneke and his confederate made their way back to their own ship. The following morning the two Germans stood out of harbour and attacked the English fleet, and, as none of its ships were big enough to put up any fight against them, with the exception of the St. John, and she was not under control, thanks to Beneke's strategem, they are said to have won a "glorious victory". Veracious or not, this tale has one realistic touch about it in the evident desire to win by underhand means rather than by fair fighting. But we seem to have been blown a bit out of our course, and must get back to our point of departure.

Although Henry VIII is inseparably connected with the Henri Grace À Dieu, this famous ship was by no means the only improved type of fighting-ship which dates from his reign. There were, besides the great ships, such as the Henri, the Jesus of Lubeck,[19] and others, a class known as galleasses, without a raised poop and forecastle, with a single tier of heavy guns, and a protruding spur or "beak" forward. They had fully-rigged main- and foremasts, a mizen and a bonaventure mizen—these last two masts very small and carrying a single lateen sail apiece—and a long bowsprit. There is little doubt that these were an adaptation of the Mediterranean galleys modified to suit Northern seas. Ships were longer-lived in those days than at present, and though many of those in Elizabeth's navy had originally belonged to that of her father, in the newer vessels their constructors endeavoured to combine the best qualities of both the great ships and the galleasses. The ships of this improved type were known as "galleons", a word that is generally, but erroneously, taken to refer only to Spanish ships. The battleships of both nations were galleons at this period, but they differed considerably in their general lines and in their armament.

Generally speaking, the Spanish ships were higher out of the water and carried lighter cannon than our own. An Elizabethan battleship, then, was rather longer than earlier great ships, and, though she still had a comparatively high stern, it was not to be compared in this respect with that of the Henri. The "fore castle" had come down to a very low affair, the bows finishing with a "beak-head" adopted from the galleasse, but with the spur at its extremity replaced by a figurehead—generally a lion, dragon, or unicorn. The general uniformity in colouring which marked the earlier Tudor men-of-war had been replaced by a "go as you please" system, under which one ship had her upper works painted red, another white and green, a third black and white, while a fourth might retain the old regulation timber colour. Considerable sums were expended in carving, gilding, and decoration in colour, not only at the bow and stern, but along the exterior of the bulwarks. As regards the armament carried afloat, at this and later times, particulars will be given in a future chapter.

An old writer of the period takes satisfaction in pointing out the superiority of the English over foreign ships. "As for those of the Portuguese," he says, "they are the veriest drones on the sea, the rather because their seeling[20] was dammed up with a certain kind of mortar to dead the shot." "The French," he goes on to say, "however dextrous in land battles, are left-handed in sea-fights, whose best ships are of Dutch building. The Dutch build their ships so floaty and buoyant, they have little hold in the water in comparison to ours, which keep the better wind and so out-sail them. The Spanish pride hath infected their ships with loftiness, which makes them but the fairer marks to our shot. Besides the wind hath so much power of them in bad weather, that it drives them two leagues for one of ours to leeward—which is very dangerous upon a lee-shore." He states further that the "Turkish frigots", especially those built at Algiers, are much the best foreign ships; being "built much nearer the English mode", and they "may hereafter prove mischievous to us, if not seasonably prevented". The writer was perfectly correct in his last remark, as will be seen in the next chapter.

Here are a few extracts from Sir Walter Raleigh's directions for "clearing for action". The captain is to appoint "sufficient company to assist the gunners", by which it would appear that the number of guns carried had increased faster than the complement of "gonnars" allotted to a man-of-war. If necessary, "the cabins between the decks shall be taken down, all beds and sacks employed for bulwarks". The "musketiers"[21] were to be distributed between the "fore-castell", the "mast", and the "poope". The gunners were ordered not to fire except at point-blank range, that is to say, until pretty close alongside the enemy. An officer was to be specially detailed to see that there was no loose powder carried between decks nor near any lighted gun-matches. About the decks were to be distributed "divers hogsheads" sawn in half and filled with water. No one was to board the enemy's ship without orders; special men were told off to each sail; while the carpenter and his crew were to attend with plugs and sheets of lead, some in the hold, others on the lower deck, in readiness to plug up shot holes between wind and water.

In the early Stuart period there were no very great changes in the construction and appearance of our men-of-war, but they gradually—if we may judge from their pictures—seem to have acquired a more "ship-shape" look, and give one the idea of greater roominess. The bonaventure mizen-mast disappears, so that there are only three masts instead of four, and the mizen is provided with a topsail in addition to its lateen. At the end of the bowsprit, too, appears a little top and top-mast, while a square sail is spread on a yard slung below it. This sail has a large round hole in each lower corner, to let the water run out when it is plunged under water as the ship pitches. The Prince Royal was the show ship of those days, and no less than £441 was spent on her carved decorations, and £868 on gilding them. She was our first three-decker, if we include the upper deck, and had a displacement of 1200 tons.

In 1637 was launched the much more famous Sovereign of the Seas. She was a very handsome vessel, longer and lower in the water than the Prince Royal, and 483 tons bigger. In the Travels of Cosmo III, Duke of Tuscany, through England, about thirty years after she was launched, the following account is given of her: "This monstrous vessel was built in the year 1637 by King Charles I at incredible expense; for, besides the vast size of the ship, which is an hundred and twenty paces in length, it has cabins roofed with carved work, richly ornamented with gold, and the outside of the stern is decorated in a similar manner. The height of the stern is quite extraordinary, and it is hung with seven magnificent lanthorns, the principal one, which is more elevated than the rest, being capable of containing six people. The ship carries 106 pieces of brass cannon, and requires a thousand men for its equipment. His Highness went to the highest part of the stern, and having walked over the whole length from stern to prow as well above as below, stepped into the handsomest cabin in the stern, where there were still evident marks of the sides having been repaired from the effect of cannon-balls, which sufficiently indicated that it had been more than once in action." The Sovereign was coloured outside black and gold, and had an elaborate figure-head representing King Edgar on horseback trampling on seven kings. During the Commonwealth and Restoration there were continuous improvements in ship design, due, no doubt, in some measure, to the constant fighting with the Dutch. Our naval constructors naturally wanted to build better ships; they had the Dutch prizes to study, and our sea officers saw a good deal of the French men-of-war, which during the latter part of the war assisted them against the Dutch. The Royal Charles of 1673 may be taken as the link between the Sovereign and the eighteenth-century ships of our navy. She was a handsome ship, rather smaller than the Sovereign, with a rounded stern at the water-line, instead of its being put in flat like that of an ordinary boat. This not only made ships built in this way, as they always were after this time, stronger, but gave them more graceful lines, as well as better ones for sailing.

The French about this time began to turn out ships on much better lines than our own, and throughout the eighteenth century and part of the nineteenth our French prizes were our best-looking and best-sailing ships. However, a writer at the very end of the seventeenth century makes the following comparison between the fighting capacity of the French and British ships of the period: "Our guns, being for the most part shorter," he says, "are made to carry more shot than a French gun of like weight, therefore the French guns reach further, and ours make a bigger hole. By this the French has the advantage to fight at a distance, and we yard-arm to yard-arm. The like advantage have we over them in shipping; although they are broader and carry a better sail, our sides are thicker and better able to receive their shot; by this they are more subject to be sunk by our gun-shot than we." At the beginning of the eighteenth century the exterior of the bulwarks of the upper deck, poop, and forecastle was generally painted blue, though occasionally red. On this broad band, carved devices, generally representing trophies of colours, arms, and guns, were placed between the ports, which on the upper deck were round. Outboard a carved wreath encircled them, which, with the numerous other ornamental carvings at bow and stern, was profusely gilded. Below this broad blue band the sides of the ship were of a yellow tinge, and were finished off, just above the water-line, with a single or double black wale.

The hull below this was painted white. The ship's sides inboard were usually coloured red, in order, the story goes, that the crew should not be affected by the sight of blood splashes in action. The gun-carriages were often the same colour. The beak-head had disappeared, and the stem curved up at a somewhat abrupt angle, finishing off with a big figure-head, as often as not a lion. As the century went on it was found that not only were the French building better ships than our own, but the Spaniards also. Our ships might possibly have had thicker sides, as claimed by the old writer already quoted, but towards the middle of the century there were great complaints of their structural weakness, and in 1746 the first of an improved and stronger type was taken in hand. This was the Royal George, memorable especially from her tragic end at Spithead, where she capsized and went down, taking 900 men, women, and children with her. In 1765 Nelson's Victory—perhaps the most famous ship in history—was built. Thenceforward our battleships were classified by the number of guns they carried. Thus the Victory and sister ships carried 100 guns. Then came 90-gun ships, 80-gun ships, "74's", "64's", and 50-gun ships.

As time went on there was naturally a slight increase in size in the newer ships, but they were not altered in type. Thus the Hibernia of 1795 was of 2508 tons displacement, as against the 1921 tons of the Victory, and mounted ten more guns. Perhaps the finest sailing three-decker ever built was the Queen, begun in 1833 and launched in 1839. This ship had a displacement of 4476 tons, yet a picture of her would almost pass muster for the Victory. The Duke of Wellington was built as a sailing-ship, but fitted with engines before her launch in 1852, and was very much the same to look at, except that her stern was more rounded and had two or three projecting balconies or "stern-walks". The Duke brings us to the end of the epoch of wooden line-of-battle ships. Iron ships protected with armour took their place, but these will be dealt with in another chapter.

The external colouring of our men-of-war remained much the same up to the battle of Trafalgar, though the carving and gilding grew gradually less. At the Nile in 1797 there were ships of all sorts of colouring. Thus the Audacious had plain yellow sides, the Zealous red sides with yellow stripes. Most, however, were yellow, with different numbers of narrow black stripes. This yellow and black developed into what was known as "Nelson Mode"—yellow bands on the lines of the gun-ports, with black bands between. It is this style with which we are most familiar, on account of the many paintings and engravings of men-of-war in action at that and more recent periods; for, except that later on the yellow was changed to white, the fashion lasted till the advent of the ironclads.

Having glanced in this cursory manner at the ships which flew the "meteor flag" between the times of our two greatest queens, Elizabeth and Victoria, it will be well to give some account, however brief, of the costume of the men who manned them.

We have little or no personal information about the seamen of the Elizabethan navy, but we know from their doughty deeds that they were good men and true, and we also know that they, like their predecessors, were pretty well paid and provisioned. Uniform clothing they probably had not,[22] but in the reign of James I there is a description of a masque in which appeared men dressed as "skippers", in red caps, short cassocks, wide canvas breeches striped with red, and red stockings. The six "principal masters of the navy" were provided annually with coats of red cloth, "guarded", or faced, with velvet of the same colour, and "embroidered with ships, roses, crowns, and other devices". But, though this fine apparel was provided for the favoured few, the seamen began at this time to be neglected, poorly paid, badly fed, and ill-treated—thanks probably to having such greedy officials and incapable officers as the Duke of Buckingham and other courtiers at the head of the navy. The Venetian ambassador to James I reports the great falling off of the British navy as compared to that of Henry VII and VIII.

"Now", he writes, "it only numbers thirty-seven ships, many of them old and rotten and barely fit for service." Never was it in a worse state, and good men were naturally harder and harder to get. Charles I was anxious to restore the navy to its former glory and efficiency, but his persistency in demanding "ship-money" from his subjects led eventually to the Civil War, which resulted in his downfall. The Commonwealth, however, did what he had been ambitious of doing himself: it spent large sums on the navy, and ships and men were once more in good case. With the Restoration set in rottenness and corruption. Even Charles II, though he was too careless or too incapable to remedy matters, recognized the state of affairs. "If ever", said he, at a meeting of the Council, "you intend to man the fleet without being cheated by the captains and pursers, you may go to bed and resolve never to have it manned." His brother James was more keenly interested in the navy, in which he had himself served against the Dutch, and no doubt improved matters in various respects, but the lot of a seaman was still a hard one. It may have been at his suggestion, when Duke of York, that the maritime regiment, of which he was the first commander, was raised, possibly with some idea of its being the nucleus of a permanent establishment.

These early marines, who were not infrequently referred to as "mariners", wore coats of the duke's favourite yellow with red breeches and stockings, and carried the flag of St. George, with the addition of the golden rays of the sun issuing from each corner of the cross—possibly "the glorious sun of York", as Shakespeare has it. It is interesting to note that they were the first fusiliers, though not in name. For probably to prevent danger from lighted matches on board a ship in action, they were armed with "snaphaunce muskets" or fusils—that is to say, flintlocks instead of the matchlocks usually carried by the infantry of the period. The 7th Fusiliers, who were raised as an artillery escort a few years later, were armed in the same way for a similar reason; and it is curious that, though never called fusiliers, the marines have almost always followed fusilier customs, as to uniform, in never having any officers of the rank of ensign, and in their officers carrying fusils at the time when other infantry officers carried half-pikes. We begin to find references to the familiar navy blue about this period as being worn by seamen. In a quaint old work published in 1682[23] the devil is referred to as having appeared to someone in Newcastle "in seaman's clothing with a blew cape". And again, in the description of the supporters of the coat-of-arms granted to the Earl of Torrington, who died 1689, we read that they are "Two sailors proper, habited with jackets and caps on their heads azure, with white trowsers striped gules," i.e. red. The following is a list of seamen's clothing or "slops" and prices, as authorized by James, Duke of York, when Lord High Admiral in 1663:—

A "Monmouth cap" is said to have been worn by both seamen and soldiers, and to have resembled a "tam-o'-shanter", but there appears to be some doubt about it. It seems possible that it may equally well have been what we now call a "fisherman's cap", or a cap like that worn by the bands of the Household Cavalry, but with the peak turned perpendicularly upwards. We sometimes see pictures of boats' crews in such caps at about this period.

In 1706 blue seems to have been superseded by grey, seamen being directed to wear "grey jackets and red trousers, brass and tin buttons, blue and white check shirts and drawers, grey woollen stockings, gloves(!), leather caps faced with red cotton;" also "striped ticken waistcoats and breeches". Naval officers apparently wore what they pleased, though there are indications that red was the favourite colour right up to 1748, when a blue uniform with white facings and gold lace was ordered by the King. But it is said that naval officers did not take kindly to it at first, and in some ships tried to evade the order by having but one or two uniform coats on board, which were only worn by officers when sent away on duty where questions might be asked.

Red was now the recognized military colour, and, as mentioned elsewhere,[24] naval officers took a long time to forget the old military status of the commanders of the royal ships. Blue with white linings or facings is said to have been the uniform of two regiments of marines—who were "to be all fuzileers without pikes"—raised in 1690; but this had no connection with King George's selection, which is stated to have been due to his having seen the Duchess of Bedford, wife of the First Lord of the Admiralty, riding in the park in a habit of blue faced with white, which prodigiously took His Majesty's fancy. The seamen seem to have worn grey and red up to about this time, when green and blue baize frocks and trousers were provided for them. The sailor of this period is described as wearing "a little low cocked hat, a pea-jacket (a sort of cumbrous Dutch-cut coat), a pair of petticoat trousers, not unlike a Scotch kilt, tight stockings, with pinchbeck buckles on his shoes". The "little cocked hat" is elsewhere described as having its flaps tacked close down to the crown, which made it look like "a triangular apple pasty". This hat was gradually replaced by a tarpaulin or straw hat, not a bit like that worn at the present day, but more nearly resembling a low inverted flowerpot with a narrow curly brim. Short, open, blue jackets began to be worn—"round jackets" they were called—showing the check shirt or a red or buff waistcoat. The trousers were longer than previously, and round the hat was often worn a bright blue ribband bearing the ship's name. Black, or occasionally coloured, bandana handkerchiefs were loosely knotted round the neck. In Nelson's days it was a favourite practice of the seamen to sew strips of white canvas over the seams of their jackets by way of ornamentation, and to adorn them with as many buttons as possible. Pigtails were in full fashion and of a portentous length and stiffness, leading to the adoption of the square "sailor collar" to protect the cloth jackets from grease. But though a regulation uniform had been prescribed for officers there was no strict regulation as to the seaman's dress before 1857, an exact reversal of the previous state of things.

In the early part of the nineteenth century captains very often dressed their crews in "fancy rigs", but the short jacket, trousers taut on the hips and long and loose in the legs, with a straw or tarpaulin hat—now with a flat brim and lower crown—remained the general costume of the British sailor until, after the introduction of continuous service, a regulation uniform was laid down, as mentioned above. The marines, who had originally been under the War Office, and had worn different facings in their different regiments, were, in 1755, formed into the present corps under the Admiralty and dressed in red with white facings, which were changed to blue in 1802 on the occasion of the distinction "Royal" being granted them, on the representations of Lord St. Vincent, as a recognition of their services both in action and in the suppression of various disorders in the fleet. One more change was made in the uniform of naval officers, by William IV, who instituted red facings. It was a temporary one only, for in about ten years the navy was glad to be allowed to resume the time-honoured blue and white.