Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1838/Admiral Benbow
102
JOHN BENBOW ESQRE., ADMIRAL OF THE FLEET.
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ADMIRAL BENBOW.
The Admiral stood upon the deck,
Before a shot was thrown;
Before him rode a Frenchman’s fleet,
Behind him lay his own.
Six gallant ships upon the sea
Their stately shadows cast:
In all of them St. George’s flag
Was waving at the mast
Dark was the shadow on the sea,
And dark upon the sky;
In stillness like the coming storm,
The English fleet sailed by.
Our Admiral he gave the word—
Up rose the gallant crew;
And far across the sounding seas
Their iron welcome threw.
The earthly thunder of the deep
Poured from the Breda’s side;
With welcome fiery as their own,
The Fleur-de-lis replied.
"Signal to form our battle-line!"
The English Admiral said;
At once above the rising smoke
The signal-flags are spread.
The wind sprung up—a hotter fire
Is carried o’er the flood;
The deck whereon the seamen stand
Is slippery with blood.
The smoke that rises from the guns
Rolls on the heavy air,
So thick above ’twere vain to ask
If heaven itself be there.
The thunder growls along the deep,
The echoing waves reply;
Yet, over all is heard the groan,
Deep, faint, of those who die.
The wind goes down—down drop the sails—
A while the conflict stops;
A last chain-shot sweeps o’er the deck—
Our Admiral, he drops!
What careth he for life or wound?—
The flowing blood they check:
Again, though helpless as a child,
They bear him to the deck.
With heavy eyes he looks around—
An angry man was he;
He sees three English frigates lie
All idle on the sea.
"Out on the cowards!" muttered he,
Then turned to where beside,
The Ruby, his true consort, lay
A wreck upon the tide.
There is no time for thought or word,
The French are coming fast;
Again the signal flag is hung
Unnoticed at his mast
A raking fire sweeps through her deck,
The Breda has resigned;
For the first time her sails are spread,
And with the foe behind.
They take the dying Admiral,
They carry him ashore;
They lay him on the bed of death
From whence he rose no more.
But not unhonoured is his name—
Recalled and honoured long;
His name on many a song that speeds
The midnight watch along.
But for the cowards who could leave
The brave man to his doom,
Their’s was the scorned memory,
And their’s the nameless tomb.
They died—their long dishonour flung
Forever on the wave;
Time brings no silence to the shame
Cast on the coward’s grave.
John Benbow was born at Shrewsbury in the year 1650, and brought up to the nautical profession on board a merchantman. In this service he so signalised himself in a desperate fight with a Sallee pirate in the Mediterranean, that King James II. promoted him at once to the command of a ship of war. William III. employed him in protecting our trade in the Channel, which he did with great effect. His valour and activity acquired for him the confidence of the nation; and being raised to the rank of Rear-Admiral, he sailed to the West Indies in search of the French fleet. In August, 1702, he fell in with Du Casse, the French admiral, and was so unfortunate as to have his leg carried away by a chain-shot, in a running-fight with the enemy's fleet. Being carried below, and proper dressings being applied, he caused himself to be again brought on deck, and continued the action. At this critical moment, he was basely deserted by several of the captains under his command, two of whom were afterwards tried by court-martial and condemned to be shot. Benbow, however, sunk gradually under the mental distress occasioned by this transaction and the bodily suffering from his wound, and expired at Jamaica on the 4th of November, 1702. The letter of his opponent, Du Casse, after the battle, is in the highest spirit of chivalry: "Sir, I had little hope on Monday last but to have supped in your cabin. It has pleased God to order it otherwise: I am thankful for it. As to those cowardly captains who deserted you, hang them up, for they richly deserve it.—Your's, Du Casse."