THE STORY OF CAPTAIN (later Rear Admiral)
RICHARD
TYRRELL
A Naval Action against those "rascally picaroons"
By Richard Taylor
 INTERNET auction sites such as eBay can be either a treasure trove or a
minefield. Both have to be picked through carefully but I was delighted
when I won a 250-year-old item of naval ephemera at what seemed to me to
be a knock-down price. The lack of interest from other bidders surprised
me because here was an engraved portrait of a distinguished British
captain from the 18th century - a man who was a hero in his own time and
whose memorial stands in the south aisle of Westminster Abbey.
Brief details are inscribed on the reverse of the oval mezzotint
engraving, in ink now turned brown with age. The note reads: "Capt Tyrrell
of the Buckingham man of war." The reference to the BUCKINGHAM is
significant because it helps to date the portrait to a specific period
when Tyrell was earning glory during the Seven Years War (1756-63) in the
ship that became so closely linked to his name. The captain, after various
adventures, went on to become Rear Admiral Richard Tyrrell. Born in
Ireland in about 1716, he died of fever on 26 June 1766 aboard the
PRINCESS LOUISA when he was on his way back to England from the Antigua
station.
On 3 November1758, while in command of the 64-gun BUCKINGHAM, he
intercepted a French convoy protected by the 74-gun Florissant and two
frigates. When the BUCKINGHAM frightened off the two frigates, a spirited
single-ship action developed between the French and British warships. The
BUCKINGHAM lost her steering at the moment of victory, which enabled the
French ship to escape. Tyrrell was wounded several times and lost three
fingers of his right hand, a mutilation clearly visible in a portrait held
in the National Maritime Museum.
The action is described in some detail in Edward Giffard's Deeds of Naval
Daring, a volume that appeared in various forms over several decades. My
home library includes a couple of copies, one dated 1852, the other an
enlarged edition of 1910. The story of the BUCKINGHAM is identical in each
case.
With Tyrrell in command, she had been detached from the Leeward Islands
Squadron with the sloop WEAZLE, commanded by Captain Boles. Patrolling
between the island of Montserrat and Guadaloupe, they intercepted a convoy
of 19 ships, escorted by the Florissant and two large frigates. Ignoring
the odds, Tyrrell gave chase with all the sail he could carry while the
little WEAZLE, which was ahead of him and running close to the Florissant,
received a whole broadside. Fortunately it did little damage but Tyrrell
ordered her away because he knew she was unlikely to survive a
better-directed broadside.
Tyrell takes up in the story in what Giffard justifiably described as a
despatch 'full of spirit':
'While I made all the sail I could, they (the enemy) were jogging under
their foresails and topsails, and when we came up within half a gun-shot,
they made a running fight, firing their stern chase. The frigates
sometimes raking fore and aft, annoyed me very much, but also so retarded
their own way that I got up with my bowsprit almost over the Florissant's
stern. Finding I could not bring the enemy to a general action, I gave the
Buckingham a yaw under her lee, and threw into her a noble dose of great
guns and small arms, at about the distance of half a musket shot, which
she soon returned, and damaged my rigging, masts and sails considerably.
The largest frigate being very troublesome, I gave him a few of my
lower-deck pills and sent him scouting like a lusty fellow, so that he
never returned into action again.'
The Florissant also bore away and exchanged three or four broadsides which
killed and wounded some of the BUCKINGHAM's crew. Then came another
broadside which wreaked havoc on the quarterdeck, killing or wounding
several and taking off three of the fingers of Tyrrell's right hand. He
was also blinded by blood from a wound above his right eye. His despatch
continues:
'I also had several contusions from splinters, but recovering immediately,
I would not go off the deck till the loss of blood began to weaken me. The
master and lieutenant of Marines were dangerously wounded at the same
time... I just ran down and got the blood stopped, but returned upon deck
again, till, finding the straining made my wounds bleed afresh, I sent for
the first lieutenant and told him to take the command of the deck for a
time. He answered me that he would, and run alongside the Florissant
yard-arm, and fight to the last gasp; upon which I made a speech to the
men, importuning them to do their utmost, which they cheerfully promised
and gave three cheers. I went down for the second time much more easily
than before."
The first lieutenant, Marshall, was as good as his word - and paid the
price. He was killed by a French broadside and his place was taken by the
second lieutenant who fought the ships yardarm to yardarm. Eventually the
Florissant struck her colours but even after she had done so about eleven
of her lower tier of guns were fired and there was a volley of small arms
fire. The infuriated British crew let loose three broadsides, silencing
the Florissant's guns.
Tyrrell later wrote: 'Captain Troy, at the same time, at the head of his
Marines, performed the service of a brave and gallant officer, clearing
the Florissant's poop and quarter-deck, and driving her men like sheep
down their main-deck. Our top-men were not idle; they plied their
hand-grenades and swivels to excellent purpose. It is impossible to
describe the uproar and confusion the French were in. It now being dark,
and we having all the rigging in the ship shot away, the enemy, aware of
our condition, took the opportunity, set her foresail and topgallant
sails, and ran away; we endeavoured to pursue her with what rags of sails
we had left, but to no purpose. Thus we lost one of the finest two-decked
ships my eyes ever beheld.'
After such actions there was often a tribute to the gallantry of the
enemy. Not so in this case. Tyrrell complained in his despatch to his
commander-in-chief: 'I cannot help representing to you the inhuman,
ungenerous and barbarous behaviour of the French during the action; no
rascally picaroon or pirate could have fired worse stuff into us than they
did, such as square bits of iron, old rusty nails, and in short everything
that could tend to the destruction of men, a specimen of which, please
God, I shall produce to you on my arrival.'
Despite the savagery of the exchange only seven of the BUCKINGHAM's
crew of 472 were killed and thirty-one wounded. It was reported that the
number of dead on board the Florissant was about 180 with more than 300
wounded. The French ship struggled to keep afloat
until she reached Martinique, where she was repaired.
Tyrrell's despatch was no doubt worded very carefully. Only the year
before Rear Adm John Byng had been executed not for cowardice but for not
doing 'his utmost to take, seize and destroy the ships of the French
king'. After that no captain would want to run the risk of a similar court
martial so it is not surprising that Tyrrell went to such pains to explain
how he pressed home his attack and how the Florissant escaped.
A nephew of Admiral Sir Peter Warren (1703-52), he spent most of his naval
career in the West Indies, even marrying in Antigua in 1747. Sadly, his
wife was dead by February 1752 but the couple had one daughter who went on
to marry a Dublin banker.
In 1748 he frustrated a French attempt by the Marquis de Caylus, governor
of Martinique, to take over Tobago. Tyrrell, it is said used 'only his
frigate and forceful personality'.
In 1879 he helped Commodore Moore to reduce Guadaloupe and brought home
the dispatches. After the peace he went out again as Commander-in-Chief at
Antigua, spending three years there. Before he died he insisted that he
should be buried at sea.
His monument in Westminster Abbey is by Nicholas Read. The sculpture was
shortened in the late 19th century when the figure of the admiral rising
to heaven, together with clouds and cherubs, was removed. Today it is
still held in store at the abbey's lapidarium, with other sculptures. The
memorial, because of its many flat clouds, was known as the 'Pancake
Monument'. It now consists of a representation of the sea floor in which
the BUCKINGHAM is jammed into a bed of coral. In the foreground are
figures representing Hope, resting on an anchor, Hibernia and the Angel of
Remuneration. Behind is a pile of inscribed rocks with an armorial shield,
together with emblems of Valour, Prudence and Equity. Hibernia mourns on a
globe, pointing to the spot where the admiral's body was deposited in the
sea. There is a lengthy inscription which includes details of the
BUCKINGHAM's action with the Florissant.
Sources not quoted in the text included the following websites: National
Maritime Museum (www.nmm.ack.uk), the National Portrait Gallery (www.npg.org.uk).
Westminister Abbey (www.westminster-abbey.org), Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Tyrell)
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