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On his arrival in England Rodney’s post-rank was confirmed, and he was appointed to the Sheerness. She was a much smaller ship than the Plymouth, but a post-ship none the less—that is, a vessel large enough to be commanded by a post-captain and not by a commander. Over this intermediate rank, which every officer must now pass through on his way from lieutenant to captain, Rodney appears to have skipped in the free and easy way the time allowed to those who had luck or interest. Interest Rodney certainly did not want. If his own words, written many years later, are to be understood in their literal sense, it was the best a man could then have—the interest of the Pelhams. In 1756 Rodney declared in a letter to the famous electioneering Duke of Newcastle, the “noodle” who would allow nobody to govern England without him, that he owed all his preferment in the navy to His Grace. This statement was, however, made in a private note, at a time when the writer was in lively expectation of future electoral favours, and need not be taken as rigidly accurate. It is at all events certain that Rodney did not want for friends at Court, for he was in command of sea-going ships, mostly on home stations, for the next ten years without a break. A man may use interest in two ways. He can either get comfortable billets on shore, or can avail himself of it to be put in the way of seeing service, and must be judged by the use he makes of a good thing.

On the whole the use Rodney made of it was honourable. It is true that he did not go to the East Indies, or to the Mediterranean, then the scene of mere dull cruising, and not the model station as it became in the Napoleonic wars. Neither did he go to the West Indies, which he was to make the “station for honour” in future years. He stayed steadily at home in the Channel doing such service as the nature of the war he was engaged in permitted. This, it must be acknowledged, was for the most part not brilliant. The war of Jenkins’ Ear, or of the Austrian Succession, was the dullest we ever fought. At sea it was first and foremost a privateer war. The navy was poorer in spirit than it ever had or has been. Failures and courts-martial were numerous, and the decisions of some of these last were so scandalous that Parliament was driven into passing the drastic act which left the officers who tried Byng no alternative but to condemn him to death for want of spirit. Part of our sins was the fault of our enemies. They were never strong or spirited enough to make us stretch ourselves. The Spaniard would never fight unless his back was against a wall, and then to be sure, as we found at Carthagena, he could make a desperate stand. Now and then a Spanish liner would bear a tremendous amount of hammering before she struck—witness the Glorioso, which kept a whole swarm of our warships and privateers at work for days before they got her. But their fleets were contemptible. Their courage and efficiency were of the passive kind. The French fleet was at its lowest in strength if not in courage. Cardinal Fleury had persistently neglected it, and France herself had hardly begun to recover from the terrible exhaustion caused by the wars of Louis the Fourteenth. Neither Spaniards nor Frenchmen could put our fleets on their mettle, and so the natural tendency of a dull time was unchecked.

From 1743 to 1747 Rodney was engaged on mainly routine duties in the successive ships which he commanded—the Sheerness of twenty guns, the Ludlow Castle of forty, the Centurion of fifty, and the Eagle of sixty. He patrolled the North Sea in search of privateers, he protected convoys, he took soldiers to and from the Low Countries. In the Ludlow Castle he took a large privateer from St. Malo. In the Centurion he helped to patrol the coast of Scotland during the Forty-Five on the look-out for adventurers who might bring help to the Jacobites. When bringing the Centurion back from this service he had the ill-luck to run on the Whiting Sand off Orfordness, and lose thirty feet of his false keel and his rudder. The pilot was held very properly, no doubt, to be responsible, and Rodney passed without loss of credit to the command of the Eagle. The four years were useful to Rodney, no doubt; they gave him experience in the handling of a ship, and they showed his patrons that he was worth patronising. More need not, and indeed cannot, be said about them.

In 1747 the lazy naval war flamed up for a moment—just before it was ended by the uneasy truce called the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle in 1748. France made a resolute effort both to help its forces in the East Indies, and to protect the return of its convoys from the West. England pulled herself together, and decided to defeat this intention. Early in spring two squadrons were despatched—a strong one under Anson, to look for the French on their way to the East Indies, and a small one under Commodore Fox, to look for the home-coming French West India convoy. Both were successful. Fortune, which was never tired of rewarding Anson for so magnificently supporting the honour of the English flag in the bad times when Vernon was failing at Carthagena and Mathews was wrangling with Lestock in the Mediterranean, threw the East India convoy in his way. He captured ten of them—thereby earning his peerage and a second sackful of prize-money. Rodney served in the subordinate squadron under Fox. His ship the Eagle was one of the six which this commodore had under him. To them also fortune was kind. In June, about a month after Anson’s victory, the English squadron fell in, off Cape Ortugal, with the West India convoy of one hundred and seventy sail of merchant ships, under the guard of four war-ships. Men-of-war and merchant ships scattered at the sight of them. The King’s ships got off, but Fox’s squadron had a day of easy and lucrative work in snapping up the merchant runaways, whereof they took forty-eight of 16,051 tons in all. As they were laden with West Indian produce, the day’s work must have been better than a year’s pay to at least every captain in the squadron.

Here Rodney had seen how a convoy ought not to be protected. It was the clear duty of the four French captains to fight so long as fighting was possible, to cover the escape of the unarmed ships. Before the year was out he had an opportunity of seeing how that duty could be fulfilled in the most noble manner. During the summer the French were collecting in the Basque Roads a great convoy of outward-bound merchant ships. The English Government resolved to intercept this also, and in the autumn Lord Anson, who was at the head of the Admiralty, selected the best officer he could have found in the navy to replace himself. A squadron of fourteen sail, with the Eagle among them, was collected at Plymouth, and placed under the command of Rear-Admiral Edward Hawke. In August Admiral Hawke sailed with orders to attack the convoy in the roadstead; but when he was on Lord Anson’s cruising ground, off Finisterre, he came at daybreak on August 14th upon the French at sea under the protection of nine ships of war. There was on the English side a superiority of five ships and more than two hundred guns, but the French commander, Desherbiers de l’Etenduère, decided to make a fight. He had approached the English under the impression that they were a portion of his own convoy, which had parted in the night. So soon as he saw his mistake he did his best to correct it. The convoy was sent off under the care of the Content, sixty-four. Then, having weakened himself for the sake of his charge, M. de l’Etenduère made ready to sacrifice himself for it also. He formed his remaining eight ships into a line of battle across the road of the English squadron, and, keeping vigilantly on his guard, edged away after his flying convoy.

At the sight of the French, Hawke had at first formed his line of battle; but as the day wore on he saw the extent of his own superiority, and saw also that the French, being to windward of him, would be able to keep their distance till dark if he continued to approach them in the regular formation, which would necessarily mean at something a little below the speed of the slowest of his fourteen ships. He therefore hauled down the signal for the line of battle, and ordered a general chase, which is the technical name of the simplest of all possible manœuvres—going, namely, at the enemy as fast as wind, tide, and the sailing powers of your ship would allow you. Hawke was fond of attacking in this fashion, and about eleven years after this day did so, under heroic circumstances, at the magnificent sea-fight off Quiberon. In the battle with L’Etenduère there was less to do, but such as it was, it was gallantly done. The first to come up with the enemy was Captain Arthur Scott of the Lion, who, at about midday, as it were, seized hold of them, and clung to their skirts till help came. It was not delayed. Other English ships swarmed up fast—the Eagle among them—each getting into action as she could, and all pressing on the Frenchmen. Six of the eight struck, but not till after hard fighting, prolonged in the case of two of them till seven in the evening. There was no manœuvring; it was all plain hammer-and-tongs work, in which the Eagle had her full share. Early in the fight she came under the guns of the Tonnant, the French flag-ship, an eighty-gunner, and was badly mauled. Her steering-gear being disabled, she fell on board of Hawke’s own ship the Devonshire, and the two drifted out of the fight before they could get clear of one another. This stop was only temporary. Hawke soon got back into action, and Rodney made good his damage. When at last L’Etenduère, having done enough for honour, prepared to escape with his own ship the Tonnant, and the only other survivor of his squadron the Intrepide, Rodney joined Saunders of the Yarmouth (he who afterwards helped Wolfe to conquer Quebec) and Philip Saumarez of the Nottingham in pursuing the only remains of the enemy. The Eagle and the Yarmouth were soon left behind. The Nottingham alone came up with the retreating Frenchmen. In this stage of the fight the odds had shifted to the other side. The Tonnant was an eighty-gun ship; the Intrepide a seventy-four. Against two such enemies the sixty guns of the Nottingham were too few. Captain Saumarez indeed fought till he fell mortally wounded; but the officer who succeeded him gave up the unequal conflict, and at dark Hawke hoisted the signal of recall. The Tonnant and the Intrepide made their way back to port.

It was a very pretty fight altogether, and on L’Etenduère’s part a most gallant and able one. His bravery and his judgment were equally conspicuous. Not only did he save his honour, but he saved his convoy. During those seven hours of fighting the merchant ships had escaped to windward. When dark came down Hawke, with six shattered French prizes on his hands, and several of his own ships greatly damaged in hull and rigging, had nothing for it but to make his way back to England. On our side again, though it was not one of the fights we should rank with Quiberon or the Nile, it was a creditable piece of service. Good use was made of our superior numbers, and as the French ships were larger than our own, and the calibre of the guns somewhat heavier, the odds in our favour were not so great as they look on a mere statement of numbers and broadsides. One unhappy feature of the naval war of the time was not wanting. There was a court-martial on Captain Fox of the Kent—Rodney’s commodore in the cruise of the previous June—who was accused of hanging back in the action. The charge was largely supported by Rodney’s own evidence, and was held to be proved. Fox was dismissed the service, and though afterwards restored by the King, was not again employed. Rodney was thought to have borne somewhat hardly on the poor man, being aggrieved by want of support when he felt he needed it in the action. As we get more means of seeing Rodney’s character it will, I think, become very credible that he would be especially harsh in his condemnation of want of zeal when he had himself suffered from it. That Fox had not behaved so well in the action as Rodney, Saunders, Saumarez, or Scott is beyond question. It is also certain that the naval courts-martial of that time were not, as a rule, remarkable for the severity of their sentences, and we may rest content that substantial justice was done.

The Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle did not turn Rodney on shore. His interest was good enough to save him from the too common fate of naval officers in the days when the reduction of the establishment from a war to a peace footing was carried out with but little regard to the claims of those who could not make their voice heard loudly at Whitehall. Moreover, he was now known as one who was well able to fulfil his side of the bargain which is generally made, at least tacitly, between patron and client. He was an officer whom it was a credit to push. When he happened to be in London, just after the action with L’Etenduère, Anson took him to the King. George the Second expressed his surprise at Captain Rodney’s youth, which, by the way, would imply that His Majesty’s acquaintance with his own post list was not exhaustive, for it certainly contained several younger officers than the commander of the Eagle. Then Anson, so says the story, replied by expressing a wish that His Majesty’s Navy contained more young captains of the stamp of Captain Rodney. This was high praise indeed from Anson, who was never lavish of praise, and was indeed so cold that Smollett accused him of raying out frost on all who came near him. The words of a First Lord, and one who had a particular care in pushing on men whom he thought worthy of promotion, were not likely to fall to the ground. In March, 1749, Rodney was appointed Governor of Newfoundland, and at the same time Captain of H.M.S. Rainbow.

This was not a cumulation of offices. The governorship of Newfoundland was then a naval post. We considered the place as a fishing-station, and indeed it was little else. The fishermen and the fisheries were directly under “Admirals of the Fisheries,” resident officers from whom there lay an appeal to the officers of H.M. ships on the coast. Other settlers were under justices, who however had no jurisdiction over the fisher-folk. At the head of all was the chief naval officer on the station. So completely were the Fisheries considered as the colony that the Governor only stayed there during the season to protect them. For the rest of the year he was doing convoy work, out and home, or was lying in the Longreach. He had a regular round specified to him with much precision by My Lords. In spring he was to drop down to the Downs with his own ship and any others put under his command. From thence he was to proceed down Channel looking in at Pool, Weymouth, Topsham, Plymouth, and Falmouth. Sailing from this port he was to make the best of his way to the Banks of Newfoundland with the Fishing Fleet, “And in regard it has been represented to us that pirate ships did formerly lurk about the Banks of Newfoundland and infest the ships fishing on that coast, you are never to make any unnecessary stay in port, nor suffer the Boston (she was another vessel under his command) to do so, but keep diligently cruising at sea, and so employ both ships as may most effectually keep the pirates from those parts and protect the trade and His Majesty’s subjects.” Here follow many instructions as to his duties in those parts touching the assistance to be given to the Fishery Admirals in keeping order, the care to be shown in excluding foreign interlopers, and the vigilance to be exercised in preventing the desertion of English sailors. It was not intended that the Fishery Fleet should limit the supply of men for His Majesty’s Navy by carrying emigrants to New England. Therefore Captain Rodney was to see that all ships brought back the complement they took out “except in case of death,” when some reasonable latitude would be allowed. On October 1st Rodney was to collect his charge, now fully laden with stock-fish for the Peninsula and the Mediterranean, and was to convoy them to Cadiz, whence after a stay of not more than ten or twelve days he was to see them and such other merchant ships as put themselves under his protection to their respective parts “as high as Livorno.” After a stay of not more than twenty days he was to return by Barcelona, Majorca, Minorca, Alicante, and Cadiz. From thence, after another delay limited to twelve days, he was to make his way, providing for the Lisbon and Oporto trade in person or by deputy, to the Downs, “giving us an account by all opportunities of your proceedings.” From the Downs he would come up to the Thames, and there remain, unless ordered to convoy His Majesty from Harwich, till such time as he had to sail for the Banks again.

This routine is worth recording for the illustration it affords of the conditions under which trade was formerly carried on, and the contrast it presents to the freedom and safety of the seas in our times. It was also distinctly service, and Rodney, who served his apprenticeship in it under Medley, must have known what work there was in it before taking the billet. He did not therefore use his influence to shirk work. For the rest the post was a good one—an all-round cruise and a winter in England being much to be preferred to three consecutive years of a foreign station. At a later period the experience must have been invaluable to Rodney. When nearly twenty years later he sailed to relieve Gibraltar, he must have found the value of the practice he had had in taking convoys in and out of the Mediterranean.

In 1751 the regular round was relieved for him by a little piece of surveying service. The Trinity House had in that year before them Mr. William Otton and one Peter Ham his mate, sent by the Admiralty with a circumstantial story of discovery. It was to the effect that on March 4th, 1749, these two mariners in their bark the St. Paul did discover an island in Latitude 49° 40´ N. and Longitude 24° 30´ west of the Lizard. They saw it clearly, and were prepared to swear that it was six or seven leagues long, lying S.S.E. and N.N.W., with a little flat island at the east point of it. Also they swore that there was a great surf, and that one point of the island was as high as Dunnose. On cross-examination it appeared that Mr. Otton and Peter Ham did not cast the lead. The Trinity House did not much believe these mariners who came from a far country, but it thought the matter might be looked into, and so the Admiralty instructed the commander of the Newfoundland convoy, on whose route the supposed island lay, to look into it. Rodney did, and had to report that the alleged island was not there—being either an invention of Mr. Otton and Peter Ham of the St. Paul, or some Cape Flyaway seen in a haze, which had solidified in their imaginations between 1749 and 1751. Marryat was sent into the Atlantic on a similar wild goose chase long afterwards, which facts show how long it was before the ocean was so thoroughly surveyed as to make it appear impossible that an undiscovered island should lie between Cape Finisterre and Cape Race on the very track of the American trade.

At all times during this commission there was a possibility that Rodney might have more serious work to do than the protecting fishermen from lurking pirates, or assisting Fishery Admirals. The peace with France never really extended either to America or India. In both there was incessant underhand hostility, flaming now and then into actual fighting. On the North American continent, all along the frontier of New England and Nova Scotia, there was almost avowed war from the first. Newfoundland was then to us a kind of outpost against the French in Canada, and it was part of Rodney’s duty to keep an eye on their agents, who were everywhere pushing, intriguing, insulting, in the style which provoked the great storm of the Seven Years’ War. When Rodney first took command of the Newfoundland station he was warned by Sandwich to be on the outlook for the French aggression, which His Majesty’s Ministers already expected on the very day after signing the Peace. The letter is worded honourably for Rodney. Sandwich speaks of him as one who can be trusted to act with judgment, and does not need precise instructions. His reputation must therefore have been well established at headquarters as a capable officer. The warning was not unnecessary, for in 1751 Rodney had to despatch Captain Francis William Drake (the brother of the Samuel Francis Drake who was to lead his van on the yet distant April 12th, 1782—Drakes both of them of the blood of the Elizabethan) to look into the proceedings of a French schooner reported to have turned up at Trepassey Bay just below Cape Race. She “was mounted with 14 carriage-guns besides a number of swivels. Man’d with upwards of fifty men ‘she’ had put into that port, and erected tents on shore, carrying with them a number of muskets, cuttlasses, and ammunition, giving no other account of themselves than that they were come to survey that part of the island, as likewise the harbour of Trepassey, to know whether their draughts in that respect were correct; the said schooner carrying a light in the night as if she expected other vessels.”

The storm did not break in Rodney’s time, however. Mysterious French schooners turned up with carriaged-guns and swivels, showing menacing lights, but they vanished away again. French agents came and went on the border, intriguing, vapouring, now and then murdering, maintaining French influence in the usual way, till the measure was full, and they were swept for ever from the country they could neither use themselves nor would let others till in peace. Strange it is, and a poor proof of our wisdom, that they still retain those fishing rights on the coast of Newfoundland which it was part of Rodney’s duty to see that they did not exceed.

The remnants—stained and tattered—of a letter-book kept by Rodney during his command of the Rainbow, and still preserved by his descendants, show him at work doing his duty as naval officer in peace very much as his successors do to-day. He has to report on Dr. Knight’s “Magnetic bars,” and to test a quick-firing brass gun, as we test and experiment now. Touches here and there show that the Admiralty administration was not of the best—complaints, for instance, that the men’s clothes are worn out, so much so as to leave them in absolute need of cover from the weather. Again, the food was but poor, to judge by the frequent orders for survey, and by the condemnation of beef, bread, and beer (for it was not till long after that rum became the standard drink of the navy) which followed the surveys. Sailors of both services, naval and merchant, will grumble at their food on small provocation, and condemn it on trifling evidence; but one does not gather that Rodney was too easily disposed to allow this weakness its way. The Rainbow’s stores, when condemned as bad, were bad, we may be sure. He appears at all times to have been careful of the health of his men, knowing that their efficiency depended on it, being moreover naturally a gentleman, and therefore anxious that the humbler folk dependent on him should be comfortable according to the modest standard of their place.

It is a little detail not without interest that Rodney must have worn his first uniform on this commission. Though we had had a regular corps of naval officers since the beginning of the reign of Charles the Second, when the first list was formed by James, then Duke of York (whose merits as an administrator have never had full justice done them), no uniform was ordered till 1749. Officers dressed as they pleased, with a preference for red for show, and for gray, the colour of the slops served to the men, for work. Gradually this omission became a grievance to the naval mind. The officers considered it as in some sort putting them below the soldiers, though they were, as their successors are, very conscious that the navy is the senior service. At last some of them petitioned for a uniform, and were told to choose. They asked for a blue uniform with red facings, or a red uniform with blue facings. It was for one fateful moment doubtful whether the “blue jacket” was to come into existence or not. Happily while it was yet time George the Second met the Duchess of Bedford in the Park wearing a riding habit of blue with white facings. It charmed him, and he gave the colour and the facings to the navy, which was not the least wise thing George the Second did in his time—the old navy uniform, the blue coat relieved with white and gold, the white knee-breeches and stockings, was one of the most becoming ever worn. At first apparently, though there is a doubt, only captains and flag-officers were required to wear it. There is a legend to the effect that when lieutenants were similarly honoured, one uniform was kept in the ward-room, and worn by the officers in turn when they were summoned on board the flag-ship, or sent ashore on duty. Masters had no uniform, and on the Mediterranean station they bought the cast-off red coats of the soldier officers at Gibraltar—trimming them with black. Rum and the blue jacket, which have become inseparable from our notions of the old navy, are both, it will be seen, very modern.

The Rainbow was paid off at Woolwich in 1752. Rodney himself landed at Portsmouth, leaving the vessel to be brought round to the river by his First Lieutenant Du Bois. He had to hand her over to his subordinate on the ground of ill health, being, as he pleaded to the Admiralty, very ill and in charge of a physician. Ill health was destined to be only too common with him for the rest of a long life, and he was probably already suffering from the disease of the century—the gout, which in later years first crippled and then killed him.