A FIGHTING ADMIRAL.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 23, Issue 7, 26 January 1912, Page 2

A FIGHTING ADMIRAL .

It was in October, 1707, that the Admiral made the Channel with a fleet of fifteen warships, four fireships, a sloop, and a yacht. His flag was aboard the Association, and on the morning of the 22nd they came into soundings, making ninety fathoms. The weather was very thick and hazy, despite the strong south-westerly gale, and the fleet was in the grip of the perilous northerly current, of which little was then known. In the afternoon Shovel brought the fleet to, and lay by in very - heavy weather, hut at six that evening he made sail again, and stood away under courses east by north. It is to he supposed that he thought he had the Channel open before him and saw the light of St. Agnes, one 0 £ the Scilly Islands. But this is only assumption, for the dead are not to he questioned. We know jjiat a very little while later he awoke to his peril, for Sir George Byng, half a mile to windward of the flagship, saw him maka the signal, of danger. His outlook men had! seed all too late the white cruel surf above the hellish tangle of rocks that are called the Bishop and his Clerks. A few minutes later, with a crash that was heard above the gale, the Association was tossed upon these rocks.

And then—eight Jmriflred men looked death full in the face with perhaps half a minute of life before them. We may he proud to know well that there is no need for us to question how that half-minute was employed. Those eight hundred men were disciplined and British. There would he no mad, cruel jostle to the boats, no useless, imploring, shrieking rush upon the o ff> cers - The crew would be at quarters, clinging to what they could, their eyes upon the veteran stately Admiral and his officers, very calm to see by the flicker of such few : unbroken lanterns as lit the streaming decks.’ In thirty seconds the Association would crumble beneath their feet ; : already the masts had reeled down, and the ravening waves were tearing mouthfuls from the bulwarks ; there waited for those men the pitiless rocks, and the livid, leaping foam. Boats were useless ; there was not one little chance in a hundred for the most powerful swimmer. But British- naval discipline has ended with triumph, as the world well knows, sharper, longer trials ; it would prove stronger, that night than, the giant timbers of the Association

that the waves were snapping as a child snaps matches. Let it he repeated, there is no need to question whether or not those eight hundred men passed with honour to Nalhalla. Sir George Byng reported that in less than two minutes there was not anything at all of the flagship to be seen. The white-fanged rocks were almost under his own main chains, but his craft was saved by his cool seamanship from certain and imminent destruction. Other vessels of the fleet were not so fortunate. The Eagle perished, like the Association, with all her crew, and the Phoenix also was lost, although her men were rescued. The Romney and the Firebrand fire-ship struck on the same rock, and only the two captains, oddly enough, and five and twenty men were saved. One story says that the St. George struck on the same ridge of rocks as the Association, and the same wave which beat out the flagship’s lights and brought her masts by the board set the St. George afloat and safe once more. Sir Oloudesley Shovel was flung ashore in Porthellick Cove, with the breath, by some mira' le, still in his body. He was only fifty-seven, hale and hearty, still, fapahle of more good work for Britain if he had but fallen into merciful hands. But a woman wrecker, prowling along the shore, came upon his half-unconscious body. Perhaps;, as she bent covetously a! ove him, the moon gleamed out for a moment behind the scurrying clouds, waking to flashing, tempting life a certain emerald ring of price upon the admiral’s finger. At the least she saw it ; and one fancies the cruel, wolfish gleam that leapt to her eyes at the sight. But the gentleman lived, as she saw well. Perhaps she hesitated for a moment. . . The moon shone out once more, but now the admiral lay very still, and from his finger the rin; had vanished, ■ Thirty years later that woman confessed her crime upon her death-bed, protesting that she could not die. in peace with the tale untold. She h-d never parted with the ring. Bay by day through those thirty years she had gloated over it in secret, Tt was restored to Shovel’s old friend, the Farl n f Berkeley.—From “Fighting Admirals.”