III Captain Riou, R.N.
“Brave hearts! to Britain’s pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died,
With the gallant good Riou:
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o’er their grave!”
Campbell’s Battle of the Baltic.
The words in which Campbell describes Captain Riou in his noble ode are nearly identical with those used by Lord Nelson himself when alluding to his death in the famous despatch relative to the battle of Copenhagen. These few but pregnant words, “the gallant and the good,” constitute nearly all the record that exists of the character of this distinguished officer, though it is no slight glory to have them embalmed in the poetry of Campbell and the despatches of Nelson.
Having had the good fortune, in the course of recent inquiries as to the descendants of illustrious Huguenots in England, to become acquainted with the principal events in Captain Riou’s life, drawn from family papers, I now propose to supplement Lord Nelson’s brief epitome of his character by the following memoir of this distinguished seaman.
Captain Riou was descended from the ancient Riou family of Vernoux, in Languedoc, of whom early mention is made in French history, several members of it having specially distinguished themselves as generals in the wars in Spain. Like many other noble families of Languedoc in the seventeenth century, the Rious were staunch Huguenots; and when, in 1685, Louis XIV. determined to stamp out Protestantism in France, and revoked the Edict of Nantes, the principal members of the family, refusing to conform, left the country, and their estates were confiscated by the Crown.
Estienne Riou, heir to the estate at Vernoux, was born after the death of his father, who was a man of eminent repute in his neighbourhood; and he did not leave France until his eleventh year, when he fled with his paternal uncle, Matthew Labrune, across the frontier, and took refuge with him at Berne, in Switzerland. There the uncle engaged in business as a merchant, while the nephew, when of sufficient age, desirous of following the usual career of his family, went into Piedmont to join the little Huguenot army from England, then engaged in assisting the Duke of Savoy against the armies of the French king. Estienne was admitted a cadet in Lord Galway’s regiment, then engaged in the siege of Casale; and he remained with it for two years, when, on the army returning to England, he received an honourable discharge, and went back to reside for a time with his bachelor uncle at Berne.
In 1698 both uncle and nephew left Switzerland to settle in London as merchants, bringing with them a considerable capital. They exported English manufactured goods to the East Indies, Holland, Germany, and Italy; and imported large quantities of raw silk, principally from Spain and Italy, carrying on their business with uniform probity and credit. In course of time Estienne married Magdalen Baudoin, the daughter of a refugee gentleman from Touraine,—the members of refugee families usually intermarrying for several generations after their settlement in England. The issue of this marriage was an only son, Stephen Riou, who, like his ancestors, embraced the profession of arms, rising to be captain in the Horse Grenadier Guards. He afterwards attended the Confederate forces in Flanders as an engineer, and on the conclusion of peace, he travelled for nearly four years through the principal countries of Europe, accompanying Sir P. Ker Porter on his embassy to Constantinople. He afterwards settled, married, and had two sons,—Philip, the elder, who entered the Royal Artillery, and died senior colonel at Woolwich in 1817; and Edward, the second son, who entered the navy—the subject of the present memoir.
Edward Riou was born at Mount Ephraim, near Faversham, on the 20th November, 1762. The family afterwards removed to London, where Edward received his education, partly at the Marylebone Grammar School and partly at home, where his father superintended his instruction in fortification, and navigation. Though of peculiarly sweet and amiable disposition, young Riou displayed remarkable firmness and even fearlessness as a boy. He rejoiced at all deeds of noble daring, and it was perhaps his love of adventure that early determined his choice of a profession; for, even when a very little fellow, he was usually styled by the servants and by his playmates, “the noble captain.”
Accordingly, when only twelve years old, he went to sea as midshipman on board Admiral Pye’s ship, the Harfleur; from whence, in the following year, he was removed to the Romney, Captain Keith Elphinstone, on the Newfoundland station; and on the return of the ship to England in 1776, he had the good fortune to be appointed midshipman on board the Discovery, Captain Charles Clarke, which accompanied Captain Cook in the Resolution in his last voyage round the world. Nothing could have been more to the mind of our sailor-boy than this voyage of adventure and discovery, in company with the greatest navigator of the age.
The Discovery sailed from the Downs on the 18th of June, but had no sooner entered the Channel than a storm arose which did considerable damage to the ship, which was driven into Portland Roads. At Plymouth, the Discovery was joined by the Resolution; but as the former had to go into harbour for repairs, Captain Cook set sail for the Cape alone, leaving orders for Captain Clarke to follow him there. The Discovery at length put to sea, and after a stormy voyage joined Captain Cook in Table Bay on the 11th of August. Before setting sail on the longer voyage, Riou had the felicity of being transferred to the Resolution, under the command of Captain Cook himself.
It is not necessary that we should describe this celebrated voyage, with which every boy is familiar—its storms and hurricanes; the landings on islands where the white man’s face had never been seen before; the visits to the simple natives of Huahine and Otaheite, then a little Eden; the perilous coasting along the North American seaboard to Behring’s Straits, in search of the North-Western passage; and finally, the wintering of the ships at Owyhee, where Captain Cook met his cruel death, of which young Riou was a horror-struck spectator from the deck of the Resolution, on the morning of the 14th of February, 1779.
After about four years’ absence on this voyage, so full of adventure and peril, Riou returned to England with the Resolution, and was shortly after appointed lieutenant of the sloop Scourge, Captain Knatchbull, Commander, which took part, under Lord Rodney, in the bombardment and capture of St. Eustatia. Here Riou was so severely wounded in the eye by a splinter that he lost his sight for many months. In March, 1782, he was removed to the Mediator, forty-four guns, commanded by Captain Luttrell, and shared in the glory which attached to the officers and crew of that ship through its almost unparalleled achievement of the 12th of December of that year.
It was at daybreak that the Mediator sighted five sail of the enemy, consisting of the Ménagère, thirty-six guns en flûte; the Eugène, thirty-six; and the Dauphin Royal, twenty-eight (French); in company with the Alexander, twenty-eight guns, and another brig, fourteen (American), formed in line of battle to receive the Mediator, which singly bore down upon them. The skilful seamanship and dashing gallantry of the English disconcerted the combinations of the enemy, and after several hours’ fighting two of their vessels fell out of the line, and went away, badly crippled, to leeward. About an hour later the Alexander was cut off, the Mediator wearing between her and her consorts, and in ten minutes she struck. A chase then ensued after the larger vessels, and late in the evening the Ménagère, being raked within pistol shot, hailed for quarter. The rest of the squadron escaped, and the gallant Mediator, having taken possession of her two prizes, set sail with them for England, arriving in Cawsand Bay on the 17th of December.
In the year following, Captain Luttrell, having been appointed to the Ganges, took with him Mr. Riou as second lieutenant. He served in this ship until the following summer, when he retired for a time on half-pay, devoting himself to study and continental travel until March, 1786, when we find him serving under Admiral Elliot as second lieutenant of the Salisbury. It was about this time that he submitted to the Admiralty a plan, doubtless suggested by his voyage with Captain Cook, “for the discovery and preservation of a passage through the continent of North America, and for the increase of commerce to this kingdom.” The plan was very favourably received, but as war seemed imminent, no steps were then taken to carry it into effect.
The young officer had, however, by this time recommended himself for promotion by his admirable conduct and his good service; and in the spring of 1789 he was appointed to the command of the Guardian, forty-four guns, armed en flûte, which was under orders to take out stores and convicts to New South Wales. In a chatty, affectionate letter written to his widowed mother, from on shipboard at the Cape while on the voyage out, he says,—“I have no expectation, after the promotion that took place before I left England, of finding myself master and commander on my return.” After speculating as to what might happen in the meantime while he was so far from home, and expressing an anxiety which was but natural on the part of an enterprising young officer eager for advancement in his profession, he proceeded,—“Politics must take a great turn, I think, by the time of my return. War will likely be begun; in that case we may bring a prize in with us. But our foresight is short—and mine particularly so. I hardly ever look forward to beyond three months. ’Tis in vain to be otherwise, for Providence, which directs all things, is inscrutable.” And he concluded his letter thus,—“Now for Port Jackson. I shall sail to-night if the wind is fair. God for ever bless you.”
But neither Riou nor the ill-fated Guardian ever reached Port Jackson! A fortnight after setting sail from the Cape, while the ship was driving through a thick fog (in lat. 44·5, long. 41) a severe shock suddenly called Riou to the deck, where an appalling spectacle presented itself. The ship had struck upon an iceberg. A body of floating ice twice as high as the masthead was on the lee beam, and the ship appeared to be entering a sort of cavern in its side. In a few minutes the rudder was torn away, a severe leak was sprung, and all hands worked for bare life at the pumps. The ship became comparatively unmanageable, and masses of overhanging ice threatened every moment to overwhelm her. At length, by dint of incessant efforts, the ship was extricated from the ice, but the leak gained fearfully, and stores, cattle, guns, booms, everything that could be cut away, was thrown overboard.
It was all in vain. The ship seemed to be sinking; and despair sat on every countenance save that of the young commander. He continued to hope even against hope. At length, after forty-eight hours of incessant pumping, a cry arose for “the boats,” as presenting the only chance of safety. Riou pleaded with the men to persevere, and they went on bravely again at the pumps. But the dawn of another day revealed so fearful a position of affairs that the inevitable foundering of the ship seemed to be a matter of minutes rather than of hours. The boats were hoisted out, discipline being preserved to the last. Riou’s servant hastened to him to ask what boat he would select to go in, that he himself might take a place beside him. His answer was that “he would stay by the ship, save her if he could, and if needs be sink with her, but that the people were at liberty to consult their own safety.” He then sat down and wrote the following letter to the Admiralty, giving it in charge to Mr. Clements, the master, whose boat was the only one that ever reached land:—
“Her Majesty’s Ship Guardian,
“December, 1789.
“If any part of the officers or crew of the Guardian should ever survive to reach home, I have only to say that their conduct, after the fatal stroke against an island of ice, was admirable and wonderful in everything that relates to their duties, considered either as private men or in his Majesty’s service. As there seems no possibility of my remaining many hours in this world, I beg leave to recommend to the consideration of the Admiralty a sister, to whom, if my conduct or services should be found deserving any memory, favour might be shown, together with a widowed mother.
“I am, sir, with great respect,
“Your ever obedient servant,
“Edward Riou.
“Philip Stephens, Esq.,
“Admiralty.”
About half the crew remained with Riou, some because they determined to stand by their commander, and others because they could not get away in the boats, which, to avoid being overcrowded, had put off in haste, for the most part insufficiently stored and provided. The sea, still high, continued to make breaches over the ship, and many were drowned in their attempts to reach the boats. Those who remained were exhausted by fatigue; and, without the most distant hope of life, some were mad with despair. A party of these last contrived to break open the spirit-room, and found a temporary oblivion in intoxication. “It is hardly a time to be a disciplinarian,” wrote Riou in his log, which continues a valued treasury in his family, “when only a few more hours of life seem to present themselves; but this behaviour greatly hurts me.” This log gives a detailed account, day by day, of the eight weeks’ heroic fortitude and scientific seamanship which preserved the Guardian afloat until she got into the track of ships, and was finally towed by Dutch whalers into Table Bay, Cape of Good Hope.
The master’s boat, in which were also the purser and chaplain, had by a miracle been picked up, and those officers, on their return to England, reported to the Admiralty “the total loss of the Guardian”. They also at the same time spoke of Riou’s noble conduct in terms of such enthusiasm as to awaken general admiration, and occasion the greatest regret at his loss. Accordingly, when the Admiralty received from his own hand the unexpected intelligence of his safety, his widowed mother and only sister had the affectionate sympathy of all England. Lord Hood himself, before unknown to the family, hastened to their house with the news, calling to the servants as he ran up the stairs to “throw off their mourning!” The following was Riou’s brief letter to his mother, which he found time to scrawl and send off by a ship just leaving Table Bay for England as the poor helpless Guardian was being towed in:—
“Cape of Good Hope,
“February, 22, 1790.
“Dearest,—God has been merciful. I hope you have no fatal accounts of the Guardian. I am safe; I am well, notwithstanding you may hear otherwise. Join with me in prayer to that blessed Saviour who hath hung over my ship for two months, and kept thy dear son safe, to be, I hope, thankful for almost a miracle. I can say no more because I am hurried, and the ship sails for England this afternoon.
“Yours ever and ever,
“Edward Riou.”
Riou remained many months at the Cape trying to patch up the Guardian, and repair it so as to bring it back to port; but all his exertions were fruitless, and in October the Admiralty despatched the Sphinx ship-of-war to bring him and the survivors of his crew to England, where they landed shortly after. There was, of course, the usual court-martial held upon him for the loss of his ship, but it was merely a matter of form. At its conclusion he was complimented by the Court in the warmest terms; and “as a mark of the high consideration in which the magnanimity of his conduct was held, in remaining by his ship from an exalted sense of duty when all reasonable prospects of saving her were at an end,” he received the special thanks of the Admiralty, was made commander, and at the same time promoted to the rank of post captain.
No record exists of the services of Captain Riou from the date of his promotion until 1794, when we find him in command of his Majesty’s ship Rose, assisting in the reduction of Martinique. He was then transferred to the Beaulieu, and remained cruising in the West Indian seas till his health became so injured by the climate that he found himself compelled to solicit his recall, and he consequently returned to England in the Theseus in the following year. Shortly after, in recognition of his distinguished services, he was appointed to the command of the royal yacht, the Princess Augusta, in which he remained until the spring of 1790. So soon as his health was sufficiently re-established, he earnestly solicited active employment, and he was accordingly appointed to the command of the fine frigate, the Amazon, thirty-eight guns, whose name afterwards figured so prominently in Nelson’s famous battle before Copenhagen.
After cruising about in her on various stations, and picking up a few prizes, the Amazon, early in 1801, was attached to Sir Hyde Parker’s fleet, destined for the Baltic. The last letter which Riou wrote home to his mother was dated Sunday, the 29th March, “at the entrance to the Sound;” and in it he said:—“It yet remains in doubt whether we are to fight the Danes, or whether they will be our friends.” Already, however, Nelson was arranging his plan of attack, and on the following day, the 30th, the Admiral and all the artillery officers were on board the Amazon, which proceeded to examine the northern channel outside Copenhagen Harbour. It was on this occasion that Riou first became known to Nelson, who was struck with admiration at the superior discipline and seamanship which were observable on board the frigate during the proceedings of that day.
Early in the evening of the 1st of April the signal to prepare for action was made; and Lord Nelson, with Riou and Foley, on board the Elephant—all the other officers having returned to their respective ships—arranged the order of battle on the following day. What remains to be told of Riou is matter of history. The science and skill in navigation which made Nelson intrust to him the last soundings, and place under his command the fire-ships which were to lead the way on the following morning,—the gallantry with which the captain of the Amazon throw himself, impar congressus, under the fearful fire of the Trekroner battery, to redeem the failure threatened by the grounding of the ships of the line,—have all been told with a skilful pen, and forms a picture of a great sailor’s last hours, which is cherished with equal pride in the affections of his family and the annals of his country.
Sir Hyde Parker’s signal to “leave off action,” which Nelson, putting his telescope to his blind eye, refused to see, was seen, by Riou and reluctantly obeyed. Indeed, nothing but that signal for retreat saved the Amazon from destruction, though it did not save its heroic commander. As he unwillingly drew off from the destructive fire of the battery he mournfully exclaimed, “What will Nelson think of us!” His clerk had been killed by his side. He himself had been wounded in the head by a splinter, but continued to sit on a gun encouraging his men, who were falling in numbers around him. “Come then, my boys,” he cried, “let us all die together.” Scarcely had he uttered the words, when a raking shot cut him in two. And thus, in an instant, perished the “gallant good Riou,” at the early age of thirty-nine.
Riou was a man of the truest and tenderest feelings, yet the bravest of the brave. His private correspondence revealed the most endearing qualities of mind and heart, while the nobility of his actions was heightened by lofty Christian sentiment, and a firm reliance on the power and mercy of God. His chivalrous devotion to duty in the face of difficulty and danger heightened the affectionate admiration with which he was regarded, and his death before Copenhagen was mourned almost as a national bereavement. The monument erected to his memory in St. Paul’s Cathedral represented, however inadequately, the widely felt sorrow which pervaded all classes at the early death of this heroic officer. “Except it had been Nelson himself,” says Southey, “the British navy could not have suffered a severer loss.”
Captain Riou’s only sister married Colonel Lyde Browne, who closed his honourable career of twenty-three years’ active service in Dublin, on July 23rd, 1803. Within two years of her bitter mourning for the death of her brother, she had also to mourn for the loss of her husband. He was colonel of the 21st Fusiliers. He was hastening to the assistance of Lord Kilwarden on the fatal night of Emmett’s rebellion, when he was basely assassinated. He was buried in the churchyard of St. Paul’s, Dublin, where his brother officers erected a marble tablet to his memory. He left an only daughter, who was married, in 1826, to M. G. Benson, Esq., of Lulwyche Hall, Salop. It is through this lady that we have been permitted to inspect the family papers relating to the life and death of Captain Riou.