# The History of Yachting/Chapter 5

CHAPTER V
CHARLES THE SECOND
IN 1663 only one yacht appears to have been added to the fleet—the Henrietta, built at Woolwich, by Christopher Pett, and named after King Charles's mother. She was one of the first vessels that milled lead sheathing was applied to as a protection against worms, it being done under the personal inspection of King Charles himself at Sheerness, in March, 1671. At about the same period, milled lead-sheathing was used also upon the ships Dreadnought, Harwich, Phoenix, and other vessels, but the lead was soon found to corrode rapidly the iron fastenings and bolts. It was therefore abandoned in 1682. The dimensions of the Henrietta were: Length of keel, 52 feet; breadth 19 feet 5 inches; depth, 7 feet; draught, 7 feet; 104 tons; a crew of 30 men, and carrying 8 guns.
On July 7, 1663, Christopher Pett asks for "a ​gratuity for building the pleasure-boats, as he has to entertain so many people." This indicated an increasing interest in yacht-building, as many people, probably courtiers from London, made the journey to the royal dockyards when the King's yachts were building, in order to note their progress; and it is probable that the master-shipwright desired to be provided with means to entertain these visitors with becoming hospitality.
The records show that on August 18, 1663, Pett ordered some lead ballast for the Henrietta, and that on September 9th he repeated the order for sixteen tons. Truly the spirit of economy possessed the minds of the Naval Commissioners! And some one—probably Christopher's jealous brother Peter, whose career as a yacht-builder had now closed; for he built no more yachts for the King—suggested the use of stone ballast. Against this Christopher Pett indignantly protests, under date September 19, 1663: "If stones are used instead of shot for ballast of the King's new yacht she will be damaged, for the quantity of stones required would make it needful to half fill the cabin, and would make her run to leeward." From this it appears that Christopher Pett had a pretty clear idea of the effect of ballast stowed low; the positive knowledge of the fact having taken more than two centuries to develop to its full extent and power.
Hume the historian states that at this period (1663-64) King Charles spent £800,000 in one year upon his navy alone. It must have been ​some other reason, however, than proper economy that influenced the commissioners to express surprise when the account for the Henrietta's gilding and carving was presented; for the official record states that "t'was ordered to be foreborne till trial had been made of the yacht." And while we are not informed as to how this and the ballast-controversy were finally adjusted, it may be assumed that King Charles did not sail about on board a yacht with her cabin half-full of stone ballast, and her hull destitute of ornament. Besides, it is not improbable, too, that these overzealous commissioners found themselves in receipt of one of those witty, singeing reproofs, that Charles was so justly famous for.
August 10, 1663, Christopher Pett writes to the Navy Commissioners, and "begs that the launch of the king's pleasure-boat may be deferred till next spring tides, when her rigging and sails will be more forward"; and on August 31st, that he has "chosen a mast for the King's new yacht, but wants the three (poop) lanterns, which his Majesty will expect to see up at her launching, and they are most difficult to make."
When the Henrietta was about ready to go into commission, Pepys, as Secretary to the Admiralty, received applications from various persons and their friends for snug berths on board; among others, a letter from a Captain William Hickes, who "Recommends Thomas Fortescue, cook of the Colchester, for the King's pleasure-boat, he being a truly honest and loyal person, who was to be ​hanged for his love for the King, and so forced to be hangman himself." And Captain Hickes, who appears to have been ready for sea himself, mentions that he "will plunder abroad for rarities and share them with Pepys's wife."
It would be interesting to know whether the ex-hangman, Fortescue, secured his cook's berth, or Hickes his rarities; but we are left in ignorance concerning these matters. Indeed, yachting-history at this period, as recorded, is rather vague, and we are obliged to content ourselves with such glimpses as can be obtained by research through historical records relating to almost every subject except yachting.
Admiral Ruyter Destroying the English Fleet at Chatham. 1667.
THE "ROYAL CHARLES"
won upon the sea; when Admiral Ruyter did what no other hostile fleet has successfully attempted since the days of William the Conqueror—entered the Thames and captured or destroyed the King's ships at Chatham. The arms of England and the poop-lanterns that ornamented the stern of the Royal Charles, which was captured on this occasion, are still preserved in the naval section of the Rijks Museum at Amsterdam.
Prince Rupert owned a yacht named the Fanfan built at Harwich by Sir Anthony Deane, which he ​took to sea with him in tow of his flagship, the Royal Charles, of the Red Squadron. On July 26, 1665, as the English and Dutch ships lay becalmed off Flushing, Rupert sent the Fanfan, which could manœuvre in light airs while the fleets lay motionless—to attack Ruyter's flagship, the Seven Provinces. He directed the captain to fire into her stern, keeping out of range of her broadside-guns. This the Fanfan did, much to the annoyance of the brave Dutch admiral who had no taste for such child's play, until the breeze sprang up, when she stood back to the English fleet.
On July 17, 1667, Pepys's records show: "Home, where I was saluted with the news of Hogg's bringing a rich Canary prize to Hull; and Sir W. Batten do offer me £1000. down for my particular share, beside Sir Richard Ford's part; which do tempt me; but yet I would not take it, but will stand or fall with the company. He had two more. The Panther and Fanfan did enter into consortship, and so they have all brought in each a prize, though ours is worth as much as both theirs and more. However, it will be well worth having, God be thanked for it. This news makes us all very glad. I, at Sir W. Batten's did hear the particulars of it; and there for joy he did give the company that were there a bottle or two of his own last year's wine growing at Walthamstow, than which the whole company said they never drank better foreign wine in their lives."
The Fanfan was sold in 1682 by Prince Rupert's ​executor, and brought only a breaking-up price—£46.
In Prince Rupert's memoirs the biographer speaks of "yachting having been the fashion," and states that King Charles, "with his characteristic frivolity, had a yacht moored opposite Whitehall in which he might fancy himself at sea. This childish hobby was appropriately called the Folly, and aboard this yacht was one of the many lounging-places of the Court." The author seems to be rather severe on Charles: it was only natural that the King should desire, and provide himself with, some retreat where he could escape from the greedy and importunate hangers-on that infested the palace.
August 17, 1665, Pepys writes: "By boat to Greenwich to the Bezan yacht, where Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, and my Lord Brouncker and myself embarked in the yacht, and down we went most pleasantly. Short of Gravesend it grew calme, and we came to anchor and to supper, mighty merry, and then as we grew sleepy, and upon velvet cushions of the King's that belong to the yacht, fell asleep." And on September 17, 1665: "So I walked to Woolwich, to trim and shift myself, and by the time I was ready they came down in the Bezan yacht, and so I aboard and my boy Tom, and there very merrily we sailed below Gravesend, and then anchored for all night, and supped and talked, and with much pleasure at last settled ourselves to sleep, having very good lodging upon cushions in the cabbin." ​On November 16, 1665, Pepys records that, at Erith he was "in despair to get the pleasure-boat of the gentlemen," who finally agreed that he might have it, he "pleading the King's business." These gentlemen—Col. Francis Wyndham and Mr. John Ashburnham—were both distinguished Loyalists, and were among the earliest private yacht owners in England.
February 2, 1666, Pepys records: "Lord Brouncker with the King and Duke upon the water to-day, to see Greenwich house, and the yacht Castle is building."
Greenwich House was the first part of the stately palace begun in the reign of King Charles, and completed during the reign of William and Mary. For many years it was a home for aged and disabled seamen. To-day it stands a noble monument to the memory of King Charles and its renowned architects, Inigo Jones and Sir Christopher Wren.
Among the scientific projects in which King Charles also interested himself was the establishment of the Greenwich Observatory, from which longitude is reckoned. The hill on which the observatory stands was named in honor of John Flamsteed, the first astronomer-royal, who received his appointment in 1675.
An English Man-of-War. 1670.
Not much appears to be known concerning William Castle, the builder of the Monmouth; but Jonas Shish, or, as he was more familiarly called, "Old Shish," was a famous shipbuilder. Among other men-of-war, he built the Royal Charles, 1229 tons; the London, 1328 tons; and the Oak Royal, 1107 tons, which were excellent vessels in their day. Grateful as we must all feel to Pepys,—the minute recorder, as he certainly was,—no charity can blind us to the fact that he was a man of strong prejudices, which frequently warped his judgment. He appears also to have disapproved of pretty much everything relating to maritime affairs outside of his own set in the Admiralty, to whom he was attached body and soul. "Old Shish" found no favor in his eyes, and, according to Pepys, "was illiterate, low-spirited, of little appearance or authority, little frugality, a great drinker, and since killed with it." All this may be, and probably is, true, but there are some other things concerning "Old Shish" that are probably true also; for Evelyn ​records in his diary that Jonas Shish was "a plain, honest carpenter, hardly capable of reading, yet of great ability; the family have been ship carpenters in this yard (Deptford) above a hundred years."
Shish died in 1680, and three knights, assisted by John Evelyn himself, "held up the pall at his funeral." This ancient master-shipwright was no doubt something of a character; for Evelyn relates that he "used to rise in the night to pray, kneeling in his own coffin, which he had lying by him for many years." Nevertheless, none of these things appear to have prevented Shish from building some of the best ships of that day.
About this period Christopher Pett, like his brother Peter, seems to have been unable to find further favor with the King; he built no more yachts for him; for Pepys relates, under date of April 26, 1666, that the King, in his presence, contrasts the vacillating disposition of Commissioner Taylor with the firmness of master-shipwright Christopher Pett: "For Pett finds that God hath put him in the right, and so will keep him in it while he is in"; and adds, "I am sure it must be God put him in, for no art of his own could have done it." And, continues innocent Pepys, "he can not give a good account of what he do as an artist." Pepys considers this remark of Charles as commendation of the master-shipwright, though it appears to be susceptible of a slightly ironical interpretation.
At this time London had for its eastern limit the present site of the St. Katherine Docks, although these were not constructed till more than a century ​and a half later. The Commercial Dock, however, was built during this reign, and was the first wet-dock opened in England. Tower Hill lay in open country, and the Minories were only built on one side fronting the wall. Goodman's Fields were a pasture, divided by hedge rows from Spital Fields, while Houndsditch was but one row of houses; and Bishopsgate, St. Nortonfalgate, and Shoreditch were unconnected; Finsbury Field was dotted with wind mills, and away across beautiful meadows were a few houses, known as Holborn, by the banks of a small stream, called Old Borne, which connected the ponds of Clerkenwell with the Thames. The space between Holborn and the Strand was open fields and gardens extending to the river-side. Convent Garden was a garden belonging to the Convent of Westminster, and extended to St. Martin's Lane; while what we now know as the Haymarket, Pall Mall, St. James Street, Piccadilly, and the almost numberless streets and squares of London, had no existence. Westminster was a tiny town by itself, far away across open country, and Temple Bar, which in later years marked the western limit of the city, was not at this time erected. Fleet Street was the course of the River Fleet. Walbrook was a winding stream, passing through the city into the Thames. And London Bridge was a structure covered with wooden houses on each side.
The houses of London, at that period, were built of wood thatched with straw, each story projecting forward, one above the other, until the houses nearly met over the middle of the streets. ​And many of these were narrow, without pavements, badly drained; constantly strewn with every kind of refuse and filth, engendering pestilential vapors. Naturally, all these noxious influences resulted in plague, by which London had been ravaged on many occasions. But the plague known in history as "The Plague of London," occurred in 1665, and was the last and most terrible one. During its death-dealing term more than 100,000 men, women, and children perished.
June 7, 1665, Pepys records that he saw houses marked with a red cross and the words "Lord have mercy upon us" over the doors. Deaths daily increased, and all business was stopped. Grass grew in the streets, and the silence of death was broken only by the stern command given from house to house, "Bring out your dead!" and the solemn tolling of the funeral knell.
September 2, 1666, a fire broke out early in the morning at a house in Pudding Lane, and a strong east wind spread the flames which raged with fury during four days and nights, sweeping away the London of ancient times. Yet in its ashes was laid the foundation of the grandest city the world has ever known.
King Charles did every thing in his power to relieve the distress of his people even before the fire had burnt itself out. He caused the taxes of London citizens to be immediately remitted by special act of Parliament, and took great personal interest in rebuilding the city upon a rational and sanitary basis. Many splendid buildings were ​erected. Among them may be severally mentioned the Royal Exchange, which stood until 1838, when it was destroyed by fire, and was replaced by the present Royal Exchange;—which within its walls still preserves the priceless archives of the corporation of Lloyd's, the oldest and greatest marine-insurance institution of the world, and has a representative in every seaport of importance on the globe;—St. Paul's Cathedral, whose superb dome rises amid the stately towers and spires of London like a mother-hen among her chicks; the monument on Fish Street Hill, commemorating the great fire; Temple Bar, which, until the closing quarter of the last century, was the only surviving gateway marking the city limit; besides many beautiful churches, which still stand as monuments to the memory of the monarch under whose reign they were erected, and to the genius of the great architect that conceived them.
No more royal yachts were built until 1670. But in 1667, John Griffiere, a noted artist, built or purchased a yacht, and with his family, pencils, and colors aboard, made her his floating home for many years, cruising upon the Thames and along the coast, sketching and painting the shipping and scenery.
In 1668 the Duke of Richmond owned a yacht named the Lennox. Little appears to be known about this vessel, however, except that Pepys mentions her in a manner that indicates her sailing did not please him.
In 1670 Sir Anthony Deane built a yacht for ​Queen Katherine at Portsmouth, named the Solalis, a Portugese name meaning the flower columbine, which was length of keel, 74 feet; breadth, 21 feet 6 inches; depth, 10 feet; draught, 9 feet 6 inches; 180 tons burden. She carried a crew of 75 men and 16 guns; and Pepys relates that the Queen had seriously purposed entering a nunnery, but afterward "gave life to all frequent divertisements on the river Thames in her vessel." In August, 1670, the Queen, in the Solalis, visited her early home at Lisbon, being convoyed by one of the King's ships of war.
Sir Anthony Deane, the ablest and most scientific shipbuilder of his day, built a number of successful and famous vessels, his masterpiece being the Harwich, named for the port where she was launched in 1674. This vessel was 993 tons. Her dimensions had been copied from the French warship Superbe, which lay off Spithead with the French fleet during the war with the Dutch. In 1675 the King went to sea in the Harwich escorted by a squadron; and Pepys reported officially that "the Harwich carries the bell from the whole fleet, great and small."
In early life Deane was a mariner, but, soon after the restoration of King Charles, he, having served an apprenticeship in the dockyards, was appointed assistant master-shipwright at Woolwich. Here, fortunately for him, he attracted the favorable notice of Pepys, who became his patron, and lost no opportunity to further his interests. As a naval architect Deane justly achieved ​eminence, and advanced rapidly in the social and political world; first, being made a Knight, then a Naval Commissioner, and, finally, M. P., where he sat at one time with Pepys.
In 1675 the King allowed Deane to visit France for the purpose of building two yachts for King Louis XIV. Here he attracted the favorable notice of Colbert, the King's minister, who made him valuable presents.
In 1670 William Castle built the yacht Kitchin, of 103 tons, at Rotherhithe. In 1671 were built two yachts, the Queensborough, 29 tons, by Phineas Pett the younger, at Chatham, and the Cleveland, 107 tons, by Sir Anthony Deane, at Portsmouth. In 1672 the yacht Richmond, 64 tons, was bought. In 1673 the yacht Deal, 28 tons, was built by Phineas Pett, at Woolwich; Isle of Wight, 25 tons, by Daniel Furzer, at Portsmouth; and the Navy, 74 tons, by Sir Anthony Deane, at Portsmouth.
These were all royal yachts, and their dimensions show no material departure from those already given of yachts of similar tonnage. Their measurements are therefore omitted.
Of the yachts built during the reign of King Charles, so far as can be traced, the Mary, presented to Charles by the Dutch, was lost off Holyhead in 1675; the Anne, sold in 1686; and the Katherine, captured by the Dutch in 1673. The Charles was exchanged with the Ordnance office for the Tower smack in 1668; the Henrietta was sunk in battle by the Dutch in 1673; the ​Richmond was sold in 1685; and the Deal was sold in 1686.
Nine other royal yachts were built during this reign; the Katherme, 135 tons, built by Phineas Pett, at Chatham; the Portsmouth, 133 tons, built by Phineas Pett, at Woolwich, both in 1674; the Charles, 120 tons, built by Sir Anthony Deane, at Rotherhithe, in 1675; the Chariot, 142 tons, built by Phineas Pett, at Woolwich; the Mary, 166 tons, built by Phineas Pett, at Chatham, both in 1677; the Henrietta, 162 tons, built by Thomas Shish, at Woolwich, in 1679; the Isabella Bezan, 52 tons, built by Phineas Pett, at Chatham, in 1680; the Fubbs, 148 tons, built by Phineas Pett, at Greenwich, in 1682; and the Isabella, 114 tons, built by Phineas Pett, at Greenwich, in 1683.
This completes the list of royal yachts built during the reign of Charles II. It will be seen that four of these yachts were named after the older craft, which had disappeared. And so we find that at this early period the custom was established, which had long existed in the navy, and continues to the present day, to repeat the names of yachts. As a matter of sentiment, the idea is a beautiful one; but it does not commend itself to the historian. It has, indeed, led to a great deal of uncertainty and confusion, and will, in all probability lead to more.
Some interesting particulars are to be found in old State papers as to the monthly rate of wages paid to the officers and crews of royal yachts at this ​period. Captains received £7. 0. 0 per month; mates and pilots, £2. 2. 0; surgeons, £2. 10. 0; midshipmen, £1. 1. 0; captain's clerks, £1. 10. 0; stewards, £.1 0. 0; cooks,£1. 4. 0; gunners, £2. 0. 0; boatswains, £2. 2. 0; carpenters, £2. 0. 0; quartermasters, £1. 6. 0; able seamen, £.1. 4. 0; ordinary seamen, 19s; and boys, 9s. 6d. These wages were based upon the navy scale, and were the same as paid on board the sixth rates. They were the same on board the smaller yachts, but these did not usually carry a surgeon, nor any midshipmen nor quartermasters.
This scale of remuneration will probably not be regarded as excessive by yachtsmen of the present day, yet, nevertheless. King Charles had difficulty in inducing his frugal Naval Board of Commissioners to pay even these amounts; for Pepys informs us, under date of February, 1677, that the wages then due to the Queenborough yacht, were thirty-five or thirty-six months overdue; whereas, on the other hand, we are unable to discover any record that the comfortable salaries and emoluments collected by these commissioners were ever in arrear.
The English appear to have followed the custom of the Dutch regarding the various employments to which yachts were put; and, as we have seen, the Henrietta was sunk, and the Katherine was captured in action. This naval war was caused partly by a yacht. In 1671, it appears, the yacht Merlin was sent to bring Lady Temple to England, and her commander instructed "on his return to sail ​through the Dutch fleet, then lying off their own coast, and to make them strike their topsails or to fire on them, and to persevere until they should return his fire. The Dutch Admiral, astonished at such bravado, went on board the yacht, and expressed his willingness to pay all due respect to the British flag, according to former practice; but that a fleet on their own coasts should strike to a single vessel, and that not a ship of war, he said, was such an innovation, that he durst not, without express orders, agree to it. The admiral, after this apology, paid the compliment of saluting the yacht with his guns, without lowering his sails; and the captain, thinking it equally absurd and inhuman to sacrifice the lives of his crew, and the life of a lady whose safety he had in charge, yielded to the unequal contest, and continued his course to England; for which neglect of orders he was committed to the Tower, and Downing in a very imperious manner demanded satisfaction for the affront."
In the declaration of war that followed is cited, among other grievances, "the refusal of the Dutch fleet to strike to the English yacht."
August 12, 1671, the yacht Industry sailed from the Thames, having on board the distinguished Quaker, George Fox, and a party of Friends. After calling in at Barbadoes and Jamaica, the Industry arrived in Maryland, where she remained several months, then returned to England, arriving at Bristol, June 28, 1673. "The Industry was counted a very swift sailer, but was leaky, and kept both sailors and passengers at the pumps day and night." ​This must have been the first English yacht that crossed the Atlantic, and we find no record of a second yacht visiting America until more than a century later.
In May, 1669, the yacht Mary was ordered by the King to take down "one hundred able water-men for the rigging and fetching-about of the Sandwich to Chatham." Yachts at this period, we see, were by no means mere toys and playthings, but were expected to do their share of work.
It is rather strange that there should be only one portrait of English yachts at this period, as King Charles engaged William Vandervelde—born at Leyden in 1610, who "Learned to paint ships by a previous turn to navigation"—to come to England; also his son, known as Vandervelde the younger, born at Amsterdam, 1633; and received them with marks of royal favor.
The elder Vandervelde once piloted the English fleet in Dutch waters, and was a good seaman, as well as a great artist, his works being well known and justly celebrated.
So far as can be traced, William Vandervelde painted only one picture of yachts in England; this picture, which is here reproduced, is owned by Mr. C. Newton Robinson, of London, and represents King Charles seated on the quarter-deck of the nearest yacht. It will be seen that these yachts closely resemble—in construction and rig—the Dutch yachts of that period.
Doubtless also there were other private yachts of which all trace has been lost, as one of the great ​naval scandals, even in an age pregnant with every variety of scandal, was the giving away to Court favorites of many Dutch vessels, fly-boats, and doggers, captured by the navy. Some of these vessels may probably have been transformed into yachts, courtiers in those days not being concerned in trade or commerce. On the other hand, Pepys, under date of August 16, 1683, refers again to Colonel Wyndham in his "own yacht," and remarks that "he is the only gentleman of state who was ever known to addict himself to the sea for pleasure"; so that it is difficult to form any accurate opinion on this point.
The London Mercury of October 28, 1682, in a notice of the Duke of Grafton and two other noblemen being capsized in a wherry on the Thames, mentions Lord Dunblane's "pleasure-boat," off Greenwich, where the whole party dined.
The sailing-match recorded as having taken place on the Thames, is the only one in which King Charles participated, and he does not appear to have cared much for racing. Cruising was his greatest pleasure, and Lord Arlington records that he would steal away from Windsor upon any pretence and board his fleet at Sheerness for a cruise to Plymouth or other ports on the south coast.
Two Royal Yachts in the Reign of King Charles II.
There can be no doubt that King Charles was an able man, and, as Bishop Burnett said of him, "he knew the architecture of ships so perfectly, that in that respect, he was more exact than became a Prince." He supervised the smallest details relating to his dockyards, selecting all the ships chartered for special purposes. Pepys, early in his diary, reflects upon the King's "sauntering," but later discovered reason to commend Charles for his industry and interest in naval affairs. When he came to understand him better, he writes in the Naval Minutes concerning Charles, as one "which best understood the Business of the Sea of any Prince the world ever had."
When King Charles came to the throne, England had lately passed through a hurricane of political and religious strife. She was like a dismasted ship in mid-ocean after a storm; for, although the fierce whirlwind of passion had died out, the cross-seas of political and social factions still ran high, and often broke with sullen fury. With philosophical, good-humored contempt for human nature, Charles saw that he could do nothing to quiet these discordant elements; that time ​alone could calm the angry sea; he resolved, therefore, to leave Roman Catholic and Puritan alike to their own devices.
The Count de Commings relates, in a letter to King Louis XIV., of being at one time on board one of the King's yachts with a large company to witness the launch of the Royal Catherine, a splendid eighty-gun ship, built at Woolwich by Christopher Pett. The King provided a magnificent repast, at which the French monarch's health was drunk again and again, and Charles commanded the company to respond. The Count writes: "they were not remiss in performing their duty; as the healths were toasted guns were fired, the noise of which brought on a change of weather," and as the festivity progressed, the ship was launched and rolled up the waters of the Thames, which became rather rough, and caused little less unpleasantness among the health-drinkers than the wine, affording Charles much amusement. And the Count continues, describing the difficulties of getting ashore and back to London again, "the King was amused to see all the others sick in the storm, and cared little about exposing us to it."
An interesting account of one of the King's many yachting cruises comes to us through a strange medium,—a History of Music published in 1776. It appears that Charles once made up a party for a sail down the Thames and round the Kentish coast in one of his yachts, the Fubbs, then lately built. This curious appellation, by the way, was a pet name of his for the Duchess of ​Portsmouth, one of his favorites, and well-known in history. It was a contraction of the old English word Fubby, signifying plump, fair, chubby. In those days it had become a slang word among artists. John Gostling, a subdean of the Royal Chapel, St. Paul's, was requested to make one of the sailing party. Possessing an exceptionally fine voice, it was to him that the King, who loved music, once presented a silver egg filled with golden guineas, remarking that "eggs were good for the voice." The King himself had a fair tenor voice, and was fond of joining his clerical friend in an easy song; while, at times, the Duke of York would accompany them on the guitar.
The Fubbs had proceeded on her cruise as far as the North Foreland, and everyone appeared to be happy, when suddenly the sea-breeze began to pipe, and, in the words of the narrative, "the King and the Duke of York was necessitated, in order to preserve the vessel, to hand the sails like common seamen; but by good providence, however, they escaped to land; and the distress they were in made such an impression on the mind of Mr. Gostling that it was never effaced. Struck with a just sense of the deliverance, and—the horror of the scene he had lately viewed, he selected, upon his return to London, some passages from the Psalms, which declare the terrors of the deep, and gave them to the famous organist, Mr. Henry Purcell, with which to compose an anthem. This he did, and adapted it to the compass of Mr. Gostling's voice, which was a deep bass." ​No doubt Charles's clerical-musical friend, badly shaken up and unnecessarily alarmed, probably received little consolation from the Merry Monarch and his rollicking companions. The anthem, it appears, was "set to music so deep that hardly any person but himself (Gostling), then or since, has been able to sing it." It was never printed, although well known. The King died before it was completed. Accordingly, this was one of the last—if not the very last—yachting cruises of King Charles. The Fubbs was then, as we have seen, one of the last Royal yachts built during his reign; and she survived for some ninety years, having been rebuilt in 1724. Not till 1770 did she disappear from the Navy List. She was then broken up.
According to Gramont, the King usually slept during sermons, but was fond of hearing anthems sung in his chapel, and of keeping time to the music with his head and hands. In his last illness King Charles suffered great pain, but his cheerfulness and kindly thought for the feelings of others remained with him to the end. Even in his last moments he apologized to those that had stood near him through the night, for the trouble he had caused. He had been, he said, "a most unconsionable time dying, but he hoped they would excuse him." His last words were his best: "Let not poor Nellie starve!"
And so died the first of England's yachtsmen, on February 6, 1685, in his fifty-fifth year, and in the twenty-fifth of his reign.