Note IX.
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Like hunted castors, conscious of their store,Their way-laid wealth to Norway's coasts they bring._St. 25. p. 109. This alludes to an action variously judged of, and very much noted atthe period. The Turkey and East India fleets of Holland, very richlyladen, and consisting, according to D'Estrades, of ten Indiamen,seventeen ships from Smyrna, and twenty-eight from other ports, valuedat 25 millions of livres, having gone north about to avoid encounteringthe English, and finding, that they could not with safety attempt toget into their own harbours even by that circuitous route, had takenshelter in the bay of Bergen. The earl of Sandwich, who now commandedthe fleet, the duke of York having gone ashore, dispatched sir ThomasTydiman with a squadron to attack them. It is said, that the king ofDenmark privately encouraged this attempt, on condition of sharing thewealthy spoils of the Hollanders, and that messengers were actuallydispatched by him, bearing orders to the governor of Bergen to affordthem no protection. If this was so, the English admiral, after lyingthree days inactive before the bay, ruined the design by a prematureattack upon the fleet ere the royal mandate had arrived, when theDanish governor took the natural and generous course of vindicating theneutrality of his harbour, permitted the Dutch to fortify themselves byerecting batteries on shore, and supported them by the fire from thecastle, which covered the bay. Notwithstanding this interference of theDanes, which seems to have been unexpected, the English admiral boreinto the bay, commenced the assault with great fury, and continued ituntil a contrary wind, joined to the brave opposition of the Dutch andDanes, obliged him to desist from the attempt. On this subject, we may,I think, conclude, that the attack was premature, if the admiral hadgood reason to expect the assistance of Denmark, but too long delayedif he was to depend on his own strength. The scheme is thus satirizedby Rochester: The Bergen business was well laid,Though we paid dear for that design,Had we not three days parleying staid,The Dutch fleet there, Charles, had been thine.Though the false Dane agreed to sell 'um,He cheated us, and saved Skellum._The Insipids._ Another wit of the time says, To Bergen we with confidence made haste,And the secret spoils by hope already taste.Though Clifford in the character appearOf supra cargo to our fleet, and thereWearing a signet ready to clap on,And seize all for his master Arlington.[205] * * * * * Now can our navy see the wished for port,But there (to see the fortune) was a fort;Sandwich would not be beaten, nor yet beat;Fools only fight, the prudent use to treat.His cousin Mountague, by court disaster,Dwindled into the wooden horse's master;To speak of peace seemed amongst all most proper,Had Talbot treated then of nought but copper;For what are forts, when void of ammunition,With friends, or foes, what would we more condition?Yet we, three days, till the Dutch furnished all,Men, powder, money, cannon--treat with wall:Then Tydeman, finding the Danes would not,Sent in six captains bravely to be shot,And Mountague, though drest like any bride,And aboard him too, yet was reached and died. The following more serious account of the Bergen attempt is taken froma poet, who started with our author in the race of panegyric, on theexploits of the naval war. His work is entitled _a Poem, being an Essayupon the Present War with the Dutch 1666, by John James_. Trusting the north as the securer way,They court the night for treasures of the day;Sweet spices, gums, and all the sun can boast,Or the indulgence of the Indian coast,Pay tribute to their hopes, which, lest they mayPerish near home, in withered Norway stay;Where that rough Satyr, Bergen, is possessedOf the rich spoils of the luxurious east.The port was the dark burden of that womb,Whose liquid bowels are the greedy tombOf trade and hope, by art improved to beFrom foes a refuge, boisterous winds, and sea.The worth and safety, though not equal fateOf this fair prize, might Jason's emulate;That yellow fleece, bulls hoofed with thunder kept,And a near watchful guard, that never slept.This cloistered, in the hostile harbour lay,Maintained by castles and a treacherous way.The English, that this proud return did wait,More conscious of revenge than guilty fate,Attempt, with one bold squadron of their fleet,To render vows, though not their hopes, complete.Obsequious to their courage, they dispenseThrough the sad lake a bloody influence;Which bears in sight of the unfaithful shore,And spoils the freight we would have saved before.Art, fury, all to ruin had designedThese joys of peace, but the enamoured wind,Which, like a Phœnix, in that nest would lie,And with a surfeit of these odours die,Thus jealous grown, does with full cheeks opposeThese flames, which ships dissembled to our foes.Retreating thence as lions, which some wile,Or stratagem, did of their prey beguile,We cleave the briny element, to meetDodona, sacred to our Jove, the fleet.
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