Napier and the North, the Baltic, 1854

Part I

Whatever may be the judgment of posterity on Admiral Sir Charles Napier (1786-1860), who commanded the British Squadron in the Baltic in 1854, it cannot be disputed that his self-confidence was abounding and that he had a very fair opinion of his own merit which he did not hesitate to proclaim as and when he considered it necessary.

Unlike many, however, of whom the same can be said, he had considerable justification for this belief, and it must indeed have been a constant source of surprise and annoyance to those with whom he came into conflict (and they were many) that his views so often turned out to be the right ones. A man of great personal courage, the sound of the guns called him irresistibly wherever they might be speaking, the Service was his religion, and the furtherance of his country’s glory his principal preoccupation. For this purpose the continual efficiency of the Royal Navy was a predominant factor, and he laboured constantly to achieve it, making many enemies in the process. The lot of the reformer is very frequently a hard one, but the fates which sent him on his last campaign with what was perhaps the most unsuitably-composed and undermanned fleet which ever left this country were playing him a particularly scurvy trick. Before passing to the consideration of this ill-conceived and ill-directed campaign which is perhaps the most outstanding example of all time of the perils of ‘back-seat driving’ by Whitehall, a brief survey of this Admiral’s previous career and the conditions in the Navy during the period which it covered is desirable, for it is with the background of the Service as it was then that it must be considered.

In 1808, at the age of 22, we find ‘Charlie’ Napier in command of the Recruit, an 18-gun brig-sloop and engaging in a desperate action with a French corvette – the Diligence of 22 guns.

“The second shot fired broke my right thigh,” he records, “and the bone perforated the flesh. The only Lieutenant was mortally wounded soon afterwards; the action was continued by the Master till our mainstay was shot away; the mainmast (which was before sprung) unfortunately fell at the moment we expected victory. Our loss was six killed and twenty-three wounded-half of them mortally. The action lasted nearly three hours.”

Such affairs were almost daily events on the high seas round about the turn of that century, when British men-of-war were ubiquitous and formed the only stable bulwark against the ambitions of the would-be world-dictator of the age. Captains were made in their early 20s and even younger, and Napier was posted into the Jason – a line of battle ship – a year later. In passing it should be noted, as a commentary on the naval stagnation which followed the Napoleonic wars and the curious arrangements then prevalent as regards promotion, that he did not reach flag rank until nearly 40 years later at the age of 60; during this period he was once 14 consecutive years unemployed and on half pay-and once struck off the Navy List for several years whilst he fought as a Portuguese admiral in the civil wars of that country, winning a fleet action off Cape St Vincent and being created a Portuguese peer as Viscount Napier St Vincent.

The careers and characters of Dundonald and Napier ran on curiously similar lines. Both were stormy peterels constantly engaged in arguments with their superiors and the Government of the day. Both gained fame in service under foreign flags. Each started off with a rush and found the subsequent course hard going; each waged unending warfare against the administration of the Service and undoubted Service injustices. Each was before his time in his advocacy for new methods and the adoption of new inventions – each was at heart the small-ship man and master of the fleeting moment, however uncertain it might appear. Time and time again Napier’s career in particular demonstrates this faculty.

The parallel ceases at the end however; Dundonald finding tardy recognition very late in life and concluding his career as a septuagenarian Commander-in-Chief on the North America Station, and Napier fighting vigorously to reestablish a reputation tarnished by the political manoeuvring of an administration determined to cover up its own deficiencies at the expense of the naval commander of its choice.

This choice, not easily made, had been principally governed by the fact that a very senior officer was required, and that the field of selection was restricted. Despite, or perhaps because of, the reforms of Sir James Graham – the then First Lord – some years before which aimed at cleaning the list of the dead weight of elderly officers, the only admirals considered, by their experience and services, to be suitable were Dundonald, then aged 79 and Sir William Parker rising 72. Both were still on the Active List since there was no rule for retirement of flag officers.

No Vice Admiral except Sir George Seymour, then Commander-in-Chief, North America, was put forward as a likely starter, and it was not considered advisable to hold up the appointment pending his return. Remained young ‘Charlie’ Napier – a mere 68. “…though the appointment may be open to some objections” writes a worried Sir James to the Queen, “it is strongly recommended by many considerations.” He goes on to recall that “as a second, Sir Charles may not have been submissive but as a chief he has been successful… his name is not unknown to enemies and allies. If he has the faults of his family he is not without their virtues… the responsibility of a high command would give steadiness to his demeanour.”

In short, Sir James was a bit anxious – and with cause. For Napier had shown few signs of any steadiness in his 50 odd years of service, but rather the reverse. Perhaps the First Lord consoled himself with the recollection that the Admiral’s most surprising displays of individualism had been surprisingly successful. Records presumably existed of instances dating back over the years when Napier had “come off” – generally against orders, and frequently to the embarrassment of his superiors. Soon after the episode in which his thigh-bone was broken-surprisingly soon for so serious a wound, even though it left him lame for life – he was back in service before Martinique and advising his superior officer -Lord William Fitzroy – that a certain fort named Fort Edward could be easily carried. On Fitzroy’s disagreeing, he had landed in his gig to reconnoitre and, finding the fort to be empty, had taken possession and hoisted the British flag over it. Eight hundred soldiers were hurriedly sent after him and his capture set the seal on the success of the expedition.

Further very active service in the Mediterranean and North America took him to the peace of 1815 and his subsequent long unemployment. He married and lived mostly abroad, lost what fortune he had in backing a venture for the introduction of iron steamboats on the Seine, and pressed an invention for motive power in men-of-war by hand-worked paddles upon a doubting Admiralty. Here again he confounded his critics for, when eventually given a rather inferior frigate, the Galatea, he had these paddles fitted, and worked the ship in and out of harbour with them whenever the wind failed him, and even towed his less enterprising consorts.

His Portuguese adventures followed in 1833, almost as remarkable and fantastical as the South American campaigns of Dundonald and including a land campaign in which he commanded himself. By 1840 he was afloat again as a British naval officer and second in command of the naval forces which were engaged in the Syrian campaign of that year. He took a leading part at St Jean D’Acre and Sidon – not without the usual disagreements with his Admiral. After another rather irregular bout of successful soldiering (for soldiering had always appealed to him since he had spent his first period of half-pay as a captain taking hard knocks with his soldier Napier cousins in the Peninsular War) he was sent to Egypt to “observe” whilst peace negotiations were being set on foot by the allied Governments.

Observing without action not being much in Napier’s line, he went ashore and concluded a peace convention off his own bat which he despatched direct to England to the indignation of his Commander-in-Chief, the British Ambassador at the Porte, and the several allied ministers at Constantinople, all of whom promptly disowned it. The fat seemed to be properly in the fire this time but, once again, his intuition held good, the Government upheld him, and Napier’s convention became, to all intents and purposes, the final peace.

It was certainly a pretty high-handed action on his part (the Commander-in-Chief was only 48 hour’s steaming away from him at the steam speeds of the day) but his excuse that delay might have prejudiced the matter served to lull the storm temporarily, and Palmerston’s approval put this unorthodox diplomat beyond retaliation!

Nevertheless we hear that the general opinion of the officers of the Fleet was that he had quite unnecessarily made a fool of his Commander-in-Chief, or at any rate committed a grave breach of etiquette and of the customs of the Service. “The Admiral,” writes one “has now got the Commodore (for so Napier had become in this campaign) safe in Marmorice and I conclude will keep him fast now that he has him.” On the whole, then, Sir James Graham may well have had his anxieties.

A contemporary portrait of Napier at the time that he became Commander-in-Chief of the Baltic Squadron describes him as a very swarthy man, one leg shorter than the other from one wound, and with a permanent stoop from another in the neck. Careless almost to eccentricity in his dress (had he not been known as a young officer to go out hunting in the morning after a ball in the same clothes that he had danced in? and one almost suspects him of having made a deliberate pose of this peculiarity) he,

“has a slouching slovenly gait, turns out his lame foot, has a large round face, with black bushy eyebrows, a double chin, scraggy grey uncurled whiskers and thin hair; wears a superfluity of shirt collar and a small neck-handkerchief always bedaubed with snuff which he takes in immense quantities, usually has his trousers too short and wears the ugliest old pair of shoes he can find, and altogether takes so little pride in his dress that I believe that you might substitute a green or black coat for his uniform one without his being a bit the wiser.”

“This is a correct portrait of him, but mind, you are not to laugh at him – for I do think that he is one of the greatest characters of the day… by no means a pleasant officer to serve under, one must forgive him for the honour of being commanded by such a character. His high honourable principles and gentlemanly feelings are beyond dispute –  yet he is snappish and irritable at times… shines particularly at the head of his own table.”

This was the portrait drawn by a junior officer.

A senior captain, Paget, in whose ship – The Princess Royal – he hoisted his flag temporarily in March, 1854, before the Baltic campaign records:

“He began by lighting his cigar and saying that he had the deuce of a job on hand… with a raw fleet to attack an efficient fleet in its own waters. But, he added, we must on no account turn our backs, however inferior to the Russian Fleet. By the time that he had finished half a dozen cigars he had informed me of such blood-thirsty resolves that, what with them and the cigar smoke, I slept little that night.”

Such was this eccentric sailor upon whom the responsibility for carrying the war to the door-step of the enemy was to lie. For once, as will be seen from Paget’s description, he had no illusions as to the strain which was to be put upon him. Amidst the exaggerated plaudits of an ignorant public and the almost nauseating eulogy heaped upon him by Ministers, possibly as much from an anxiety to reassure the country as to their choice as from any real belief in what they said, he kept his head.

In reply to an address from the Mayor and Corporation of Portsmouth just before his embarkation he warned: “I know that a great deal is expected from the Fleet but, Gentlemen, you must not expect too much… we are going to meet an enemy well-prepared… the fleet is a new one, the system of warfare is new… great consideration is required to ascertain how it is best to manage a fleet urged by steam… but we will do our best.”

Napier was very popular at Portsmouth, for which place he had twice stood for Parliament only to be beaten by the Bonham-Carter vested interests (he eventually entered the House after his return from Syria as member for Marylebone). He had many friends there and he was undoubtedly speaking to them on this occasion as such, and with all of his innate honesty, and none of the boasting of which his enemies (and in particular his ex-confidant Delane of The Times) were later to accuse him.

It is also possible; however, that since the cigar-smoking episode, he had made a closer acquaintance of the weapon provided for his use and that he had discovered that it was likely to prove even blunter than he had feared. If this be so, subsequent events were to confirm this impression.

Part II

Some of us are old enough to remember the ancient ‘Illustrated London News’ volumes which seemed such a common feature in the furnishings of the houses of our youth and, more especially, those relating to the Crimean War which appeared to have been specially preserved.

Among them – and foremost in my recollection – was a drawing of the departure of the Fleet to the Baltic where a number of enormous three-deckers, in very close proximity to one another (particularly in view of the full gale apparently blowing), with yards perilously manned under the circumstances, were being reviewed, and finally led to sea by a very small paddle steamer flying a lot of flags, and which turned out upon investigation to be HMY Fairy. The figures grouped upon one of the paddle-boxes of this little craft with a fine disregard for the weather proved to include Her Majesty Queen Victoria, the Prince Consort, and samples of their growing family clad, somewhat inappropriately, in kilts. We also probably connected the scene with the inspiring signal “Sharpen your cutlasses, lads, and the day is ours” erroneously accepted as having been made on this occasion by the fire-eating Commander-in-Chief, Charlie Napier. Later, he was indeed to perpetrate this slogan, but the Royal Review at Spithead was not the occasion.

The ships which then followed their Sovereign to sea were perhaps the acme of the art of naval ‘steam-sail’ design, their construction governed by all the experience gained during the transition stage of the first half of the 19th century, and their designers could well be proud of them. Their utility depended, of course, upon the existence of opponents of a similar character prepared to dispute the issue, and the Admiralty at this date scarcely ceased their admonitions to their Commander-in-Chief not to be led into wasting their substance in conflict with ‘stone walls’ or shore batteries.

That they neglected to supply him with the means by which such operations could be undertaken was subsequently to cause much trouble and tribulation for all concerned and particularly for Admiral Napier who, from the first and with growing importunity, put forward his requests for small vessels and mortars for plunging fire.

At this stage, however, patriotism swept the country and found great comfort in what it saw at Spithead. The Admiral’s first duty, declared Foreign Office Instructions, was to ensure that no Russian Fleet entered the North Sea – and nothing but the famous wooden walls could achieve that.

Such intelligence as was available considered that some 30 ships of the line and heavy frigates were capable of inclusion in a Russian sally-and ships, too, whose design and power were by no means to be despised, even if they were possibly somewhat behind us in the practical application of steam to large vessels.

The principal defect of our armadas was, however, shortage of men. Although Sir James Graham, First Lord of the Admiralty, had passed a bill through Parliament not long before which authorized a bounty for all volunteers in time of war, the First Lord declined to recommend the issue of the Proclamation which would put this method into execution on the grounds that it would be looked upon as ‘signs of distress’ which he considered impolitic and unnecessary. The true reason, however, was probably the existence of a loophole in the bill by which all the men already serving could have claimed the bounty, to the tune of half a million pounds. For this sum, accordingly, the efficiency, of the fleet in the early days of the Crimean War was sacrificed. Truly this would seem to be the opposite extreme to the limitless expenditure sponsored by the administrations of the two world wars!

The result was devastating at the time. Napier protested with his usual force: “I urged Graham to give a bounty,” he wrote to his wife in February, 1854, “which he refused, and then wrote me an improper letter. My first impulse was to throw the thing up but, on reflection, I wrote him a sharp letter which ended the affair and things are going on.” The references are to Graham’s epistle which said, to all intents and purposes, that, if he didn’t like the situation, he had better say so and get out whilst the going was good, and to Napier’s reply to the effect that Nelson had never refused any service nor did he propose thus to tarnish his honour now and that, having had his say, he knew his duty.

Such were the not too solid foundations of the relations between the First Lord and the Commander-in-Chief afloat in the Baltic, an edifice which was eventually to collapse altogether amidst the undignified clamour of mutual recrimination. The failure of the manning system remained, then, and, at the Tower of London, where Rear Admiral Berkeley (surprisingly – as demonstrating the few ‘practising’ flag officers – the senior Sea Lord) set up his recruiting machine, only the riff-raff, those in uneasy circumstances with a sprinkling of landsmen of adventurous mind, and near-or-wholly-criminals came forward.

The public would have been rather more than concerned had it realized the true state of affairs in the ships which, by the “good conduct of the coastguards” and the efforts of the small nucleus of trained men, were got to sea from Spithead in fair order under sail in bad weather conditions. But fighting them was another matter, as was the ordinary business of sailing in company. On the 18th of March we find Napier writing in a private letter to the First Lord from Wingo Sound to report his arrival “after a very favourable passage” during which several of the ships parted company in a thick fog, adding that all had now arrived with the exception of the Royal George which ship he hoped, using the language of the hunting field, would “cast up” the next day.

Perhaps the most remarkable suggestion for filling up his complements came from Sir James himself. “I hope to hear that you have been able to enter men in the Baltic,” he wrote, adding the advice that Swedes and Norwegians did not get on together, and should therefore be entered in different ships! A further communication on the First Lord’s part indicated that the only hope, if the inhabitants of the Baltic were so choosey as to decline to come to our aid (nor is there any record that such enlistment was ever seriously attempted), was the arrival of the Cumberland from a three-year commission on the North American Station: “probably many of her men would be found to be qualified for higher ratings, in which case they might be distributed as petty officers amongst ships in want of them.” The reactions of the captain of the Cumberland are not recorded!

On the 27th of March the harassed Commander-in-Chief is writing: “The Monarch is in a most deplorable state. There is hardly a man in her who knows a rope.” After mentioning the probable strength of the Russians in big ships and small craft, he adds: “I warn you to beware that, if accidents happen to us from want of men, it will be no joke.” As an afterthought, apparently, he adds: “Be sure you send us powder and shot.” But I have said enough on the manning situation to demonstrate this particular cross which Napier had to bear.

The squadron which he took to Wingo Sound (on the south-west coast of Sweden opposite the entrance to the Great Belt) consisted of eight line-of-battle ships, four frigates, and three paddle steamers. All had steam engines in them, whilst the flagship Duke of Wellington (well known until the beginning of the last century as a depot ship at Portsmouth before the days of barracks), and the battleship Princess Royal, with the frigates Imperieuse and Tribune were the most recent products of new construction. The other two frigates, the Amphion and Arrogant, had been among the first, if not the first, men-of-war to be fitted with the screw. The battleships Blenheim, Ajax and Edinburgh had all seen active service of some kind – the last having been at Acre with him. Only the Royal George was old, having been built in 1827.

The screw was a great asset, since ships so fitted could sail on a wind whilst the paddlers could only shovel along under sail with a wind abaft the beam. Of such was the steamer Valorous, which was still as active as in her lay during the ‘80s of the 19^th century as fishery ship on the west and south coast of Ireland. All the battleships were ‘screws’. I have said that the Government’s orders (only to be opened after the fleet had sailed) laid down that the fleet should be so disposed as to “preclude the possibility of any ships of war passing out of the Baltic to the North Sea.” This instruction Napier held to supersede the Admiralty sailing order that he was “to remain at Wingo Sound until further orders.”

His information from Copenhagen (whither he had gone in the Valorous to pay his respects to the King and to obtain information from the British Minister) was that the Russian Fleet was still held fast in the ice at Sweaborg but was only awaiting the thaw to effect a junction between the squadron there and another at Kronstadt. Accordingly Napier decided to enter the Baltic without delay and did so; an action which caused immediate friction with Sir James and the Admiralty. Not long before, the Mediterranean Command appearing to be about to fall vacant, Napier, with his usual confidence in his own powers, had thought fit to recommend himself to the Prime Minister for the post. The holder of the office at the time was Lord John Russell, who replied non-committally and, soon afterwards, appointed Admiral Dundas “who hardly ever saw a shot fired, and, except for a few months twenty years ago, had not actually been at sea for thirty years.”

The immediate result of this undoubtedly curious appointment had been an exchange of pleasantries by letter between Sir Charles and the Prime Minister in which the latter naturally had had the last word. Lord John, a man with whom it was easy to quarrel at any time, informed him that he regretted that the Government could not have relied upon his discretion nor placed implicit confidence in him, and that in effect the correspondence was now closed. So it remained, despite many further unanswered broadsides, their publication in The Times, and an adjudication by that oracle which supported Napier. Lord John’s official position in the matter was of course as impregnable as that of the angry sailor was untenable.

We know that Sir James Graham had been dubious, but the Admiral was of course unaware of this; and he was flabbergasted by an immediate request for his “reasons in writing” for quitting Wingo. His passage of the Belt had, in effect, been a masterly piece of strategy, and its accomplishment a great feat of seamanship. Although promised pilots, he had received none, and had taken his cumbrous fleet through these dangerous waters -in wretched weather – with only the resources it contained. Surveying as he went, he had anchored steamers to mark the shoals as he reached them, and come to eventually in Kiel Bay in the best position possible for upsetting the Russian designs of the moment, without any untoward events. “You are a queer set of fellows at the Admiralty,” he writes almost plaintively to Admiral Berkeley. “You sent me an order from the Secretary of State to place myself at the entrance to the Baltic to prevent the possibility of a Russian ship getting out and, when I use all my exertions to obey the order, you find fault with me for doing it!”

Graham, however, proved easier meat than Lord John, and by the 1st of April approval of what he had done was conveyed to Napier. “I am entirely satisfied with your proceedings,” wrote a penitent First Lord, adding praise for the way in which he had made the passage of the Belt in the face of so many difficulties. He also added, somewhat naively, that neither he nor the Foreign Secretary, Lord Clarendon, had visualized the possibility that he would go elsewhere than his original instructions had laid down until he was told to, but congratulating him on his judgment on having done so. Nevertheless the First Lord still had horrid doubts of his unpredictable Admiral, and repeated, once again, “You must not go knocking your head against stone walls prematurely.”

The future relationship between the two was to be governed by their respective opinions as to the meaning of this admonition, with the role of agent provocateur gradually and surprisingly being assumed by the politician – anxious to have something to show the public – and with the fire-eating old Admiral determinedly refusing for once to take his cue, and risk his reputation for such an end. Whether or not as a younger man he would have let himself be persuaded and whether he could have ‘brought it off’ once again had he done so, will remain a most intriguing question which can never be answered. Subsequent events, however, would seem to indicate that nothing would have been achieved with the composition of his force as it was, and with an enemy who rightly declined to leave the shelter of his fortresses for the doubtful privilege of trying a fall with ‘Charlie’ Napier. Plenty of supplies – at any rate of such things as he needed – reached the enemy through neutral ports and overland despite the hardly-maintained British blockade, so there was no real necessity for him to take unnecessary chances.

It was now 16 days since Napier had left England, and any criticism on the grounds of wasted time would certainly not lie. Reinforcements had been dribbling in and he had by this date 11 sail of the line with the hope in a few days of four more and some smaller craft. The steamer Odin had also come to augment the all too meagre complement of this latter type, and the surveying vessel Lightning with her skilled crew had been hurried out by Berkeley. She arrived on the 27th of March and brought news of the declaration of war to Napier who had by this time moved the fleet from Kiel to Kioge Bay despite the prevalent fog. Here also came another steamer, the Gorgon, bearing with her further expert navigational assistance in the person of Mr Biddlecombe appointed Master of the Fleet. He also brought an enlivening account of what the Admiralty had been able to glean with regard to Russian preparations. This was a somewhat blood-curdling tale of floating batteries studded with big guns and mortars, massive forts massively armed, mines, red-hot shot, and innumerable gunboats armed with mortars.

Advance information of the Russian plan of action was added, which seemed to assume that Sir Charles would proceed at once to the assault of Kronstadt. The Russian Fleet would remain in harbour until the fire of the forts had ‘softened up’ the British wooden walls sufficiently, when it would issue forth and deliver the coup de grace with the aid of the Sweaborg division which would cut off their retreat. Such would, in the circumstances, have been the plan of Napier himself, and he had no intention of falling in with it, the more particularly as he did not possess a single gunboat or mortar, and his big ships could not get within even approximate range for their guns to do any damage. The alternative was not so easy to discover. Although reinforcements were gradually arriving, their composition was quite unsuitable and their crews rather more than raw. “Notwithstanding, the number of landsmen entered,” writes Berkeley at the end of March, frankly and unhelpfully, “we are come nearly to a dead stand as to seamen.” For years Napier had been drawing attention, both in and out of Parliament, to the probability of such a situation and entreating Their Lordships to institute some regular system of manning, and it was cold comfort to him now to see his warnings so thoroughly borne out.

Nor was the officer situation much better. Like St Vincent some 50 years earlier, he complained of the quality of some of his captains whose professional knowledge did not come up to his standards. That great disciplinarian had better cause, for his officers were used to constant service which many of Napier’s were not. During the passage from Kiel to Kioge, his erstwhile host in the Princess Royal, Lord Charles Paget – whose sleep he had disturbed by a recitation of his warlike determination and a superfluity of cigar smoke – fell foul of the Cressy. It is not clear which ship was to blame; but the exasperated Napier writes to Berkeley: “I wonder this was the only accident, for I never in my life saw such ignorance – keeping station either day or night is not thought of.” Adding, a few days later, “I am doing all that I can to keep the captains up to the mark but with little success -they attend neither to signals or guns… The fact is, they know nothing about it, and say so.” He goes on to say that, if he felt it advisable to send some of them home – which, in the circumstances, he did not since he had no confidence that reliefs would be any better – it “would have more effect than all the signals in the world, and strengthen me more than half a dozen ships.”

This testy generalization, however, was unfair. There was, fortunately, a backbone of capable and energetic officers to leaven the lump, as the circumstances of the next few weeks were to demonstrate, and this particular teething trouble gradually subsided. The fact was that very few of the captains had ever commanded big ships before or taken part in fleet work, and experience had to be bought. Napier’s difficulties were now increased by the Prussians who, observing that the composition of the British Fleet rendered it unlikely to anyone with a knowledge of Baltic conditions that it could reach or harm the Russians and regarded its presence as an idle demonstration accordingly, placed the port of Memel at the disposal of the Czar, thus re-opening the Russian lines of supply which Napier’s presence inside the narrow straits had closed. His task was now to: (a) blockade all Russian ports; (b) ensure that no ship from a hostile fleet double his strength got out into the North Sea; and c) act actively against the enemy in any way possible. To this was added the invidious task of “investigating the characters of Prussian consignees lest their goods were destined for Russia and conducting a hunt for unpatriotic Newcastle colliers.” Surely never was any admiral’s plate filled so full with indigestible matter!

Now came the question of pilots with whose aid to help on matters, particularly with regard to the Gulf of Finland of which no one in the fleet knew anything. The Danes were forbidden by their Government to serve, and the remaining Baltic States produced none. Napier discovered, however, that, with the persuasion of cash bounties on a very generous scale, this difficulty might be overcome. The Admiralty refused to authorize the expenditure, and Mr Biddlecombe and the captains and masters of the several small and lightly-armed steamers continued to be their own surveyors and chart-makers, generally, as the campaign passed further and further to the eastward, under the guns of the enemy.

On the 8th of April, Admiral Plumridge, Flag Officer of the Steamer Squadron, reconnoitred the fortress of Sweaborg – opposite the Aaland Islands – and reported the presence of seven sail of the line and a frigate; he also observed that the Gulf of Finland was free of ice as far as this port – thus amply justifying the Admiral’s passage of the Belt. This news decided Napier. Efficient or otherwise, the fleet must go to sea in case the Russians came out, whilst the blockade (of which he had given notice to Berlin, Stockholm, Copenhagen and Hamburg) must be put in being at once. It was on this occasion that he made the “sharpen your cutlasses” signal which his detractors were later to criticize. Such criticism was uncalled for; the signal was probably meant quite literally – for the Commander-in-Chief was a great ‘boarder’ and the possibilities of this form of assault were still considered in the Navy of that day. This consideration lingered until a much later date. As late as 1902, divisions of boarders, armed with cutlasses, boarding pikes and small arms still appeared in the quarter bill of the flagship of the Channel Fleet (and presumably elsewhere), boarding parties were exercised at general quarters, and were expected to demonstrate their abilities at inspections.

By the middle of April, Napier had sufficient ships under his command to form them into two squadrons, one of which, composed of nine battleships and frigates under Admiral Corry he left between Dager Ort and Hufvudskor to watch for traffic from the direction of the Aaland Isles, whilst he himself with six of the line and seven frigates and steamers made for the Gulf of Finland. Other vessels were detached to see to the coast to the southward from Libau to the Gulf of Riga and off Felsand. At least his blockade dispositions were to be as effective as possible. And now began the first taste of Baltic navigational difficulties under war conditions, for the Russians had seen to it that all lights, buoys and marks which came under their control were removed, wherever this could be done without danger to themselves.

“In the night,” Napier writes to Graham, “we tacked every two hours between the shoals off Hango Head and Dager Ort [i.e. the entrance to the Gulf] – by no means pleasant cruising ground with a squadron, not one of whom with the exception of Chads and Keppel, knew how to keep their station… I have given up for the moment going into the Gulf of Finland or to Sweaborg [the fortress inside it on the south coast of Finland] – indeed, on reference to the proceedings of the squadron in 1808-9, it seems that it was never thought of till July.” In any case, the wind had come contrary, and was blowing into the Gulf. Nearly 70 years later, full-powered British warships were to experience the rigours and dangers of such blind cruising in these waters. The seamanship which preserved the un-weatherly monsters of Napier’s day from disaster as they stood off and on these dangerous shores must go on record. The ice still held in the upper reaches of the Gulf, but was commencing to break, and Napier was anxious at not being able at present to get nearer to Kronstadt. “When the Kronstadt Fleet are free, it is quite possible they might push out a squadron if they were bold and get into the North Sea and we, I think, ought to have a reserve on the coast of England.”

The Admiralty, too, were none too happy. Napier would have enough fleet, they told him, when all of it was assembled to close into the Gulf and prevent the junction of the two Russian divisions from Kronstadt and Sweaborg, but the close blockade must be his primary objective. They approved of his decision not to risk the danger of being embayed in the Gulf and left it to him to decide whether or not he could maintain his guard whilst he made an attack on the Aaland Islands and Bomarsund, the fortress in his rear which was the central core of this archipelago. It must be noted that at this date Sir James Graham is writing, “I believe that both Kronstadt and Sweaborg are impregnable from the sea.” But uninformed opinion in England was becoming restive at the lack of immediate results and certain ignorami in the fleet itself were sending criticism home. War correspondents had been frowned upon officially, with the inevitable result that inaccurate and amateur critics among the officers were giving themselves unofficial standing. Delane, himself a personal friend of Napier’s, had applied to be permitted to send an official correspondent for The Times in the flagship. The Admiral’s refusal perhaps explains the Editor’s subsequent change of heart.

Rendered confident, however, by the Admiralty approval of his plans, Napier concentrated his main fleet in Elsgnabben Roads below Stockholm. There it had to ride out westerly weather which would have been no joke on a lee shore inside the Gulf. He paid a visit to the King of Sweden, whose cooperation the Government earnestly desired and upon whose flotilla of 328 gunboats the Admiralty were casting longing eyes. The Bernadotte blood proved, however, to be as opportunistically regulated as usual, and an invitation to breakfast was all that came out of the visit. The Admiral now anxiously awaited the arrival of the French, with whose support something more could be done. It was all very well for the First Lord constantly to warn him – as he did – “not to yield to some rash impulse to satisfy the wild wishes of an impatient multitude at home” and the Foreign Secretary to congratulate him upon his attempt to draw on the King of Sweden.

Even the support of his more senior officers (including Codrington of the Royal George who was far from being a friend of his in letters home) failed to reassure him as to what his countrymen were thinking of his apparent inaction – and this last meant a lot to Napier who had so far always been able to give them what they wanted and had hoped to do so now. But he remained firm. “I am wondering what our Chief will decide on doing,” wrote Codrington, adding slyly – for he had been one of Napier’s critics at the time – “no doubt he is now feeling the difficulty of his position. I wonder, too, if he ever thinks in his conscience of the difficulties and responsibilities which weighed on a Commander-in-Chief on the Syrian Coast in 1840?” This was not too fair a comment, for no one could ever have accused Napier himself of avoiding responsibility.

Codrington goes on, however, to put the situation for Napier so admirably that I cannot avoid quoting it in shortened form. “You see, he is urged on on the one hand by the expectations held by England about this Baltic squadron and what great things it is to do; and especially about him, Sir Charles Napier, and, by the bye, no opportunity has been lost of heightening the public estimation as regards him personally. On the other hand, he finds himself here brought face to face with difficulties which no one in England has any idea of. He now sees his own character and the honour of the flag at stake, not to say the safety of the squadron and the protection of the British coasts.” He goes on to say that, despite their shortcomings in refusing to listen to those who, in the past, emphasized the efficiency of Russian preparations and pressed for Service reforms, from which failure the Baltic Fleet was now suffering, the Government would be certain to find a scapegoat, and to add that it would probably be the Commander-in-Chief. He concluded by saying that, whatever could have been said against him in the past, he should be the last man to fill such a part on this occasion.

Part III

The first week in May, 1854, saw an improvement in the weather, and Napier left Elsgnabben. But when in the most dangerous part of the passage a thick fog came on. “Cressy discovered a rock under her bows and just cleared it; Caesar found herself on the wrong side of another and escaped by a miracle. Monarch – who was in tow – parted her tow and let go an anchor, the James Watt went back and got her in tow again. The Duke of Wellington hauled out through another channel which Mr Biddlecombe had surveyed, the Austerlitz persevered and went on, but I have not seen him to know his story. The Boscawen and Prince Regent did not start. When I see the rest of the captains I will give you an account of them. I have been fifty-four years in the Service and I never saw a fleet in such a position, and no human foresight could have provided against it.” They all got away safely in the end, and it may be that, today, we may consider this a lot of fuss about a fog. Napier’s previous criticisms of his captains must be remembered, however, and there had not been much time to better matters.

Despite all these symptoms of difficulty there now began that nagging prodding from behind on the part of the Admiralty – anxious, it seems, to have it both ways. “In Their Lordship’s letter of the 2nd of May, they appear to think that I am going too slow; when I passed the Belt, Their Lordships thought that I was going too fast,” he writes somewhat peevishly, adding, “Their Lordships may depend I shall go to the upper part of the Gulf when I can, but I must have a sufficient force off Sweaborg where there are eight or nine sail of the line; and I must also have force enough to take care of twenty more sail of the line besides frigates and steamers in Kronstadt. How this is to be done with twenty sail of the line, some of which are perfectly unfit to go into action, I really don’t know – but all that can be done I will do.” A note of defeatism is creeping in, to become louder as time went on, and the admonitions of the Admiralty increased. At the moment, having detached Admiral Corry and his squadron upon his blockade duties once more, he was approaching Hango Head at the mouth of the Gulf with six of the line, two blockships, two frigates, and two paddle-steamers as a striking force. Here he anchored in a good anchorage but fully exposed to southerly winds. “I am lying nearly in range of their batteries,” he tells Berkeley. “I long to knock them down, but I should lose a lot of men and, unless I could hold them, it would do no good.”

A reconnaissance force was sent from here in the direction of Helsingfors, but the hazy weather prevented much information being obtained. News that there were 10,000 troops in Kronstadt apart from the crews of the ships did little to brighten the outlook. Captains Yelverton and Hall in the steam frigates Arrogant and Hecla, however, enlivened the proceedings by running up the narrow channel at Eckness in pursuit of three Russian merchant ships and taking one away under the noses of the enemy’s batteries – the other two having run themselves ashore. It was an affair after the Admiral’s own heart, even if it did not affect the main issue. It also demonstrated, however, the fighting quality of the enemy who stood to their guns until they were destroyed by the ship’s fire and undoubtedly endured heavy casualties. Those in the British ships were light – three men killed and an officer and eight men wounded. Towards the end of May a letter from Admiral Parseval-Deschenes presaged the approach of the French, but they were not to arrive until mid-June.

Early in this month Napier had found an anchorage in Baro Sound where there was a lighthouse commanding a fine view of Helsingfors. The news of the state of Kronstadt continued to be depressing; whatever condition the fortress had been in before, it was obvious that its defences were being increased day by day. As Nelson cried for frigates so was Napier’s voice raised for small craft. A change of heart on the part of Their Lordships as regards these craft, had probably been caused by a Colonel Jones, RE, of whom we are to hear a good deal more, and who seems to have been accepted about this date as a great authority by the Admiralty. “As the coasts of Finland are generally protected by gunboats,” counselled the Colonel, “any operation carried out against any Baltic ports by a naval force should be accompanied by a large flotilla of that description.” The italics are mine.

This military support of their Commander-in-Chief’s own views must have caused somewhat of a flutter in the Board Room – and possibly some remorse at the small attention they had paid to them up till now. Their military adviser went on to suggest a large supply of rockets which, although inaccurate, could be operated from places where ships of any size could not be taken. This advice had the merit at least of suggesting something which could be produced in a fairly short time, whereas gunboats were not so easily come by. On the 9th of June, the Admiral moved a little further into the Gulf, coming to as near the fortress of Sweaborg as he dared without reliable charts, but within sight of the harbour and Russian squadron therein. A reconnaissance was made of the Aaland Isles fortress of Bomarsund by Captain Sulivan in the Lightning at the same time. Neither the reconnaissance nor the view of the enemy were very encouraging.

Captain Sulivan reported that Bomarsund seemed very strong, with three tiers of guns mounted in granite forts, supported by three round towers. Even, he said, if there was enough water in the channel which led to it, there would not be room for more than two or three ships at a time sufficiently near to damage the defences, and this would not be enough. On the credit side, however, he was of the opinion that the thing could be done with the aid of a land force. So far, neither the British nor French Governments seem to have envisaged the, to us, obvious probability of amphibious war. Concerning Sweaborg, the Admiral was able to write from personal observation. After relating that he had sent in the Master of the Fleet with a force of three steamers and had obtained from him a very good survey of the passage leading to the harbour entrance where a three-decker was moored across the actual harbour mouth to block it by being sunk there if necessary, he goes on to say that seven sail-of-the-line, a frigate and several steamers were inside; but he concludes: “The Emperor might have saved himself much trouble, as it is so well fortified by rocks and shoals as to be unassailable by ships. I doubt whether it could be got hold of, even by a large army.” Here we have the first rumbles of the subsequent Sweaborg controversy on which the Admiral’s reputation was so nearly wrecked.

In the early morning of the 13th of June, the Lightning came in to Baro Sound flying the signal for the arrival of the French; upon receipt of which news, Napier took his fleet to sea to meet them. Commodore Seymour, Captain of the Fleet, and Mr Biddlecombe boarded the French flagship and offered the Admiral the services of the British ships to tow the Frenchmen to their anchorage. By noon the combined fleets were at anchor, the French contingent consisting of one screw ship of the line, the Austerlitz which, it will be recollected, had joined Napier’s flag some time before; seven sailing line-of-battleships, six sailing frigates, one steam frigate, and four steamers. It will be observed that the French were as innocent of gunboats or small craft as were the British. There was also, of course, a rift in the lute; such rifts seemed to be Napier’s fate in this campaign.

International jealousies forbade any arrangement for a single command so that, although he was strengthened in numbers, it was by an augmentation which was not actually under his orders. Eventually a French general was to be added, equally independent of either. Such arrangements made things no easier. Fortunately, the two Admirals got on well together in general, beginning by communally deciding that, for the various reasons which we have discussed, an attack on Sweaborg without troops was impossible and of very dubious possibility with them. Bomarsund, they considered, could be tackled by a sufficiently strong amphibious operation, and, whilst further instructions in the sense of these decisions were awaited, they proposed to take a look at Kronstadt themselves. It was a small satisfaction to Napier to receive Admiral Plumridge’s report that, whilst detached to the Gulf of Bothnia, he had succeeded in destroying a large quantity of enemy shipping and naval stores. After revictualling at Baro, he was sent back to his station with particular orders to deny the despatch of reinforcements to Bomarsund.

On the 22nd of June an Anglo-French squadron set out for Kronstadt. Twelve British ships-of-the-line under steam and six French in tow of the steamers of both nations made the operation more of a demonstration than a reconnaissance. Admiral Corry, with the remainder of the British fleet, augmented at Napier’s request by two French frigates, remaining to blockade Sweaborg. On the 26th they were off the port. Fortunately the weather was fine for, as usual, they “steered,” in the words of Napier, “from rock to rock.” The Arrogant and Imperieuse were sent ahead to search for the “infernal machines” with which the approaches to the harbour were reported to be studded. None appear to have been found, nor have I been able to discover what method of search was adopted – information which would be of much interest today. Soon the two forces were in sight of one another. The Russians – some 30 sail in all – lay at anchor in three columns under the guns of the huge forts. Their steamers could be seen raising steam and much activity was observed on board all ships. It was obvious, however, that defence and not offence governed their design, and without small craft in force no offensive could be undertaken by the Allies, since the big ships could not get within range on account of their draught and the lack of all navigational aids. The ubiquitous Lightning, however, was soon boldly standing in to find out what she could and, after anchoring within 3,000 yards of the south side of the nearest fort, notwithstanding that it was blowing hard, got under weigh again and repeated the operation on the north side. The results of what she saw confirmed previous intelligence reports and also, unhappily, the impossibility of assault from the sea ; at any rate with the forces available.

Now occurred a disconcerting episode. On the 28th of June, the Hecla (Captain Hall), from Admiral Plumridge’s squadron, appeared off the fleet’s anchorage flying a signal to say, “Bomarsund successfully bombarded.” This naturally caused much speculation, but, after she had come to an anchor, this sweeping assertion proved to be somewhat of a damp squib. The Hecla, accompanied by the Valorous and Odin had, it seemed, pounded the fortress for eight hours without orders, expending nearly all their ammunition and, as was subsequently ascertained, doing a minimum of damage. Sir Charles was furious and Sir James Graham equally so, for ammunition was in all too short supply. In Parliament, however, the First Lord praised the adventure, since the public at last had something to chew on, and he did not propose to be overparticular as to whether the exploit had any weaknesses. He took it out of the Admiral by letter as usual, and the only feature of the whole affair which could be claimed as a credit was the award of the first of the newly-installed Victoria Crosses to be earned by the Navy: Midshipman Lucas gaining the honour for throwing overboard a live shell which had landed on the Hecla’s quarter-deck.

The two Admirals now decided upon a close personal reconnaissance of Sweaborg to convince themselves of what they feared, Napier going in in the Driver and Parseval in one of his own steamers. The result of their observations confirmed that an attack by ships was impracticable. Of the batteries and their location Napier wrote: “They are three and four-deckers of stone instead of wood and ships going in would be raked and sunk by them before they ever reached the Russian ships.” Also, four miles out they sounded a quarter less five – hardly enough to float the Duke of Wellington. With 50 gunboats armed with heavy rockets and an abundance of mortars and ammunition, he thought that the forts might be neutralized. This would leave the Russian battleships to be tackled which were moored broadside on to the channel down which the Allied ships would be advancing in single line. He took Admiral Chads with him as a second opinion and he entirely concurred with his Commander-in-Chief. So, at this time, did Sir James Graham and his Board. The Allies had offered the enemy battle at the mouth of his “impregnable fortifications” and he had not accepted. The main object – wrote Sir James – would now be to see that the Russian fleet continued its self-imposed incarceration, whilst the Allies looked round for other worlds to conquer. He suggested Bomarsund for a start.

Cholera had by now broken out in the Allied fleet, and the Admirals decided to get out of the Gulf as soon as possible for change of air and climate. Over a hundred deaths had already occurred, but the health of the men improved immediately as the squadrons began to make an offing. An attack on Helsingfors was considered, but it was learned that the town and surrounding country were crammed with troops and the harbour had been blocked by mines and chains, and, passing on, the Allies came to once more in Baro Sound. Here, whilst the Government of the two countries made up their minds as to the methods to be adopted at Bomarsund which they had finally decided should provide their much-needed scalp, Napier and his colleague exercised their marines and seamen in land fighting for which they anticipated they would be required in addition to the 6,000 troops which Napoleon was to be asked to provide. On the 4th of July Napier was instructed to send two of his surveying vessels to help the French line-of-battleships carrying their troops through the Belt with, in particular, “an officer who knows your own way of threading dangers.” Captain Hall and his Bulldog performed this service.

With these instructions came the information that he was to have the services of Colonel Jones as liaison officer with the Army, and this officer (who claimed a certain personal acquaintance with the Baltic ports) was made a brigadier general for the purpose. He would bring with him a detachment of British sappers and miners and should arrive by the 1st of August. The interest of the Government in the Bomarsund venture was not fortuitous. They saw in it another means of influencing the King of Sweden by making him the offer of the Islands; for with the fall of the fortress the whole archipelago which was Aaland would be theirs. This would lead to the acquisition of his gunboats, lack of which was by now badly on their conscience. In the sequel, however, the King declined to compromise himself with Russia by the acceptance of such a gift, and his gunboats remained where they were.

On the 18th of July the combined fleets left Baro Sound for the Islands, sailing in three columns, with a rendezvous at Ledsund. From there the expedition against Bomarsund was launched. Space forbids a detailed description of this operation which was completely successful. General Baraguay d’Hilliers commanded some 10,000 French troops and, co-operating with him, was our sapper brigadier general having under him 2,000 French marines and a battalion of British marines in addition to his sappers. It was in fact an almost model amphibious operation for the times. On the 7th of August Baraguay’s red-trousered infantry of the line, blue-clad chasseurs, and Zouaves, their morale not yet undermined by the tawdry inefficiency and corruption of the Second Empire, were ashore dry-shod and, with them, Jones and his mixed force. The only battery within range of the landing was silenced by the fire of the lighter-draught steamers, enabled, by the efforts of the invaluable Mr Biddlecomb (who had surveyed under fire to within 600 yards of the largest enemy battery), to anchor within effective range.

After them, since there was no British artillery available, went the barefooted crews of the heavier British men of war (for boots were in short supply), dragging their guns on special sledges constructed on board, and manned by 150 men at a time – encouraged by the music of the ships’ bands. Under the expert supervision of Jones, batteries were constructed, whilst the French skirmishers and advance troops contained the opposing Russian forces which, apart from garrison troops, were rather thin on the ground, Napier’s foresight in obstructing any reinforcement of the islands thus bearing fruit. Once landed and erected, the heavy naval guns were much more effective than the lighter artillery of the French Army and, between them, and with the backing of the guns of the ships of both nations, the fortress was battered into subjection by the 16th, and some 2,500 Russian prisoners were on their way to England. The Russians had fought well and had had heavy casualties – the loss of the Allies was trifling.

Here at last was a dish to set before the British people, even though it had to be admitted that the French had had no little part in its concoction and that, since Sweden would not have it, no one quite knew what to do with the prize. Also it is to be feared that the operation confirmed the critics in their opinion that the capture of fortresses was an easy matter, and strengthened their clamour for more.

The true facts were, of course, that the season was drawing in rapidly (there had, indeed, not been much time to lose before Bomarsund), the weather was beginning to deteriorate already and General Baraguay had no intention of spending the winter in the Baltic, the more particularly since his force was not strong enough to encounter the main Russian armies which he could expect to find arrayed in support of their Gulf fortresses. Nor was the French Admiral very anxious to prolong his Baltic visit. Everyone (including at this stage the Admiralty) was, in fact, “looking over his shoulder.” The fortifications of Bomarsund were blown up on orders from home, and a preliminary order to be ready to withdraw some of the ships from the Baltic at once was given. Now, however, to use a common metaphor, the fun began!

Napier himself was unconsciously to blame in that he had expressed himself lately in general terms as being of opinion that Sweaborg could be taken with the aid of sufficient troops, ‘Lancaster’ guns (then in their experimental stage), and the usual gunboats. At present, however, there were only eight of these guns in the whole of England, and only one with the fleet as a “try-out” whilst the only troops available as a nucleus were already looking homewards. The Admiral’s character as we know it drove him onwards in search of the real triumphs with which it had been gratified in the past, and he was now to experience the disadvantages of being so constituted. Although his correspondence shows that he had no intention of yielding to clamour even now, and setting on foot operations which he knew were not practicable, he could not resist the gesture of having it put on record as his opinion that Sweaborg could be taken, lest his enemies should be given a chance to claim that Charlie Napier was not the man he was.

That at least is the only construction that can be put upon his nibble at realities. It could not have been made at a worse moment. Brigadier General Jones – to whom seasons and the capabilities of ships meant little, capable engineer officer as he was – from now on became the principal wrench in a proverbial machine. His appetite whetted by his success at Bomarsund, he sought for fresh fields of endeavour and, seizing the opportunity of a visit of observation by General Baraguay to Sweaborg (which he had not seen), obtained permission to accompany him. With them went also the French Admiral and the French C R E General Niel. The Frenchmen’s views as to the impracticability of an assault remained unchanged, but Napier was embarrassed to find that his military liaison officer did not share this opinion and was in a minority of one. His report was to the effect that “a very erroneous opinion had been formed of the difficulties of the task.” He would require a force of 5,000 soldiers ashore and a supply of heavy guns, mortars, and his favourite heavy rockets.

Supported by the fleet, seven or eight days would see the matter through and the autumn would actually be the best time for the operation, since winter weather would then forbid the reconstruction of what had been destroyed. Despite the fact that it had already ordered Napier to be prepared to withdraw from the Baltic, this military opinion, derived as it was from a short reconnaissance and in opposition of that of his French opposite number and of the views of both naval Commanders-in-Chief, provided the Government with the ammunition which they were beginning to require to deal with a growing public opinion that more could be done. This public resentment was fanned by The Times whose Editor, Delane, had by now openly come out in opposition to Napier. “Had he not said himself that Sweaborg could be taken” was the tenor of his criticism. “And now this opinion was supported by an eminent soldier. Why was not the Admiral ordered to go and do it?”

The Board of Admiralty began to weaken. “John Bull is getting uproarious,” wrote Admiral Berkeley on the 12th of September. “I know not what to do about recalling some of your fleet… I perceive that General Jones thinks that Sweaborg might be destroyed.” This was followed by a request that Napier would consult with his French colleagues and his own senior officers. Corry had, by this time, gone home on sick leave, but Chads and Michael Seymour were available and attended their Commander-in-Chief in his flagship accordingly. The French General, being already on his way to France, could not be called upon, but the French Admirals Parseval and Penaud were there. The result of the conference was a confirmation of the previous opinion that nothing more could be done that year. Before this result could reach the Admiralty, yet another order arrived from them that Jones’ plan was to be considered at another Council of War in case it might alter matters.

As they knew by now that the troops which the plan required had already left and that the French Ministry of Marine had applied to them for steamers to tow their sailing-ships of war home, it would seem indeed that something more than strategical considerations was urging the Government on. About this time his old co-adventurer Lord Dundonald wrote offering him the use of his famous secret as the only practical means of defeating the elements and concrete. “You are the only senior officer to whom I would entrust its operation,” he wrote, adding words to the effect that, now that the Crimean campaign had been muddled into stalemate, the Government would, he was certain, call on him to produce the rabbit from the hat – a surmise which was being proved entirely correct. Yet another Council of War must be held, clamoured Their Lordships, for had not General Niel hinted that he thought the assault on Sweaborg feasible with only naval forces, and it must be held at once and before the French fleet started to evaporate – the army having already gone home.

True, Niel had been badgered into giving a soldier’s opinion that the weight of fire of a number of heavy ships would probably batter in the forts, but had added that the ships themselves might be battered in first. He also made the error of considering, from his cursory reconnaissance, that the forts facing the sea were the weakest. This was incorrect; they were, in fact, the strongest. But Admiral Parseval had had enough of Councils of War; he had given his opinion and did not propose to change it. He begged, therefore, to be excused. Napier thereupon called a meeting of his own admirals and their conclusion that they, too, saw no reason to change their minds, even after reading General Niel’s report, was embodied in a document signed by all of them which Napier sent home at once. Accompanying it was his own letter which was to prove his Waterloo. After asking Their Lordships what reliance could be placed on the opinion of two military engineers on naval subjects, he added that he had considered that his report on Sweaborg, setting out the means by which alone the fortress could probably be taken – all of which were wanting at present – would have clinched the matter. All the senior naval officers of both nations had concurred in his appreciation of the situation and he ended by stating baldly, “It is too late this year, but be prepared next, and begin early.”

This was too strong meat for Sir James Graham. “Henceforward,” writes Earp in his history of the campaign, “it became evident that the only relation in which the Board and Sir Charles could stand with each other was who should bear the blame with the public.” Berkeley was quite frank: “The attack failing against the Board will be levelled at you,” whilst Sir James let slip no opportunity to ensure that this was so. It is indeed open to question whether or no his last moment insistence on a reconsideration of the Sweaborg venture was not a means of ensuring that he would have the material to use against the Commander-in-Chief, aware as he was that Napier would not agree to attack. By the 19th of September the French ships had all sailed, their Admiral leaving behind four steamers to assist with the blockade. In consideration for Sir Charles he had intended (contrary to instructions from home) to keep his fleet in the Baltic as long as the British remained, and it is probable that he only changed his mind when the importunity of the British Admiralty exposed him to the danger of being made a catspaw in company with his British comrade, of whose position he was by now well aware.

And a hopeless one it was for the old Admiral. If he gave way and endeavoured to essay some feat of arms, such as the Government required, he was bound to fail and, if he did not, he would be thrown to the lions by the Government as the penalty for its own shortcomings. Little remains to record of this rather sordid affair, which became even more discreditable to the Admiralty as it reached its finale. On the 2nd of October occurred the great hoax, the origin of which has never been discovered. News reached England that Sevastopal (which was actually to resist for many more and weary months) had been carried by a coup-de-main.

The Times itself was taken in and published a leader calling for a similar triumph in the Baltic, Delane even going so far as to write a pseudo-friendly letter to Napier telling him that this should prove to him that he had so far failed to do his duty! The Admiralty returned to the attack with renewed vigour, more anxious than ever for its own neck. Casting off all hesitation, they ordered the Commander-in-Chief to attack Sweaborg with what he had got, telling him that they “believed” that the French would be ordered back, that he “could choose his own day” – since he feared the weather – and that they could not believe that the presence or absence of a few new guns or even of mortars would make the difference of success or otherwise! They concluded by referring to his unfortunate report after Bomarsund and, whilst distorting it to their own convenience, informed him that it was upon this report that their decision had been taken.

The possibility of some connection between Delane’s broadside and Sir James’ order cannot be neglected, for it is not easy today to appreciate the extent to which this brilliant journalist swayed public opinion and influenced ministers during the Crimean War. I think that we can acquit the naval members of the Board of anything more than pusillanimity. “We have been forced to write to you officially,” wrote Berkeley, but it was obvious that, as a fellow seaman, he knew that the Admiral was being ordered to perform the impossible.

It is to Napier’s credit that, whilst to all intents and purposes declining to take the order, he did so with dignity – even treating Delane’s impertinence with studied moderation. Five days later the hoax was exposed and the Admiralty immediately cancelled their latest instruction. This was the end. An offer from the Admiral to resign his command was ignored. He lingered in the Baltic, maintaining the blockade until, by the 27th of November, the weather made its continuance impossible whilst the spreading ice negatived its necessity. Despite his own troubles, he did not fair to draw Their Lordships’ attention to the services of Captain Watson and his squadron, who had persevered in it for so long. On the 4th of December, he was ordered home, his fleet being in danger of being frozen in, and arrived at Spithead on the 16th.

On the 18th he received a curt order to strike his flag. The subsequent recriminations make sorry reading. As Member for Southwark he was able to refute his calumniators on the floor of the House and did so – the opinion of all being that right was on his side; but it was a sad ending to his life of service. In the summer of 1855, Sir Charles Wood, who had succeeded the undoubtedly shifty and eventually discredited Graham as First Lord recommended him to the Queen for the GCB. The old man asked permission to decline it. Five years later he was dead. British sailors bore him to his grave and erected his monument at Portsmouth at their own expense. That his reputation remained unimpaired at the end and his professional honour thoroughly vindicated was but partial recompense for the dark days. Perhaps the events which I have narrated form a plea for youth. Perhaps age was his greatest fault and his youth would have found a means. Certainly youth had served in the days when he was young; but there had been old admirals, too, who had not failed to gain glory. I will not further stress the question, but cannot forbear from adding that Dundas, his successor before Sweaborg, had little fortune there, despite a supply of gunboats and mortars in moderation. The fortress remained in Russian hands until the end of the war nor was Kronstadt ever in any danger from Allied forces.