The Loss Of The Royal George



On the 29th of August, 1782, it was found necessary that the Royal

George, a line-of-battle ship of 108 guns, which had lately arrived at

Spithead from a cruise, should, previously to her going again to sea,

undergo the operation which seamen technically call a Parliament heel.

In such cases the ship is inclined in a certain degree on one side,

while the defects below the water-mark on the other side are examined

and repaired. This mode of proceeding is, we believe at the present

day, very commonly adopted where the defects to be repaired are not

extensive, or where (as was the case with the Royal George) it is

desirable to avoid the delay of going into dock. The operation is

usually performed in still weather and smooth water, and is attended

with so little difficulty and danger, that the officers and crew

usually remain on board, and neither the guns nor stores are removed.



The business was commenced on the Royal George early in the morning, a

gang of men from the Portsmouth Dock-yard coming on board to assist

the ship's carpenters. It is said that, finding it necessary to strip

off more of the sheathing than had been intended, the men in their

eagerness to reach the defect in the ship's bottom, were induced to

heel her too much, when a sudden squall of wind threw her wholly on

her side; and the gun-ports being open, and the cannon rolling over to

the depressed side, the ship was unable to right herself,

instantaneously filled with water, and went to the bottom.



The fatal accident happened about ten o'clock in the morning. Admiral

Kempenfeldt was writing in his cabin, and the greater part of the

people were between decks. The ship, as is usually the case upon

coming into port, was crowded with people from the shore, particularly

women, of whom it is supposed there were not less than three hundred

on board. Amongst the sufferers were many of the wives and children of

the petty officers and seamen, who, knowing the ship was shortly to

sail on a distant and perilous service, eagerly embraced the

opportunity of visiting their husbands and fathers.



The Admiral, with many brave officers and most of those who were

between decks, perished; the greater number of the guard, and those

who happened to be on the upper deck, were saved by the boats of the

fleet. About seventy others were likewise saved. The exact number of

persons on board at the time could not be ascertained; but it was

calculated that from 800 to 1000 were lost. Captain Waghorn whose

gallantry in the North Sea Battle, under Admiral Parker, had procured

him the command of this ship, was saved, though he was severely

bruised and battered; but his son, a lieutenant in the Royal George,

perished. Such was the force of the whirlpool, occasioned by the

sudden plunge of so vast a body in the water, that a victualler which

lay alongside the Royal George was swamped; and several small craft,

at a considerable distance, were in imminent danger.



Admiral Kempenfeldt, who was nearly 70 years of age, was peculiarly

and universally lamented. In point of general science and judgment, he

was one of the first naval officers of his time; and, particularly in

the art of manoeuvring a fleet, he was considered by the commanders of

that day as unrivalled. His excellent qualities, as a man, are said to

have equalled his professional merits.



This melancholy occurrence has been recorded by the poet Cowper, in

the following beautiful lines:--



Toll for the brave!

The brave, that are no more:

All sunk beneath the wave,

Fast by their native shore.



Eight hundred of the brave,

Whose courage well was tried,

Had made the vessel heel,

And laid her on her side.



A land-breeze shook the shrouds,

And she was overset;

Down went the Royal George,

With all her crew complete.



Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfeldt is gone;

His last sea-fight is fought;

His work of glory done.



It was not in the battle;

No tempest gave the shock,

She sprang no fatal leak;

She ran upon no rock.



His sword was in its sheath;

His fingers held the pen,

When Kempenfeldt went down,

With twice four hundred men.



Weigh the vessel up,

Once dreaded by our foes!

And mingle with our cup

The tear that England owes.



Her timbers yet are sound,

And she may float again,

Full charg'd with England's thunder

And plough the distant main.



But Kempenfeldt is gone,

His victories are o'er;

And he, and his eight hundred,

Shall plough the wave no more.





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