Autobiography of Sir John Rennie, F.R.S. 23

Autobiography of Sir John Rennie, F.R.S. 23

exposed to the full effect of the severe gales which blow up the Gulf of

Lyons during the winter and autumn months; the consequence is that during

severe gales from this quarter a heavy swell sets into the entrance and

produces such a strong current throughout the interior of the harbour

that vessels in front of the town and under the southern mole can

scarcely ride with safety at their moorings. This is a serious defect,

and it might be easily remedied, although up to the present I have not

heard that anything has been done. In the construction of the works

there was nothing particular to find fault with, but there was a serious

error committed in the disposal of the sewage; the whole of this was

discharged into the harbour, so that in hot weather a most disagreeable

effluvia arose in front of the lower part of the town; moreover, it

caused the accumulation of a considerable quantity of alluvial matter.

This had to be removed by constant dredging, in which convict labour was

employed. The alluvium was emptied into lighters and sent out to sea to

be discharged. The old arsenal was situated at the south-east corner of

the inner harbour; it was quite unequal to the requirements of modern

times.

 

While I was at Genoa an accident occurred by which my old acquaintance

the sloop ‘Spry’ was nearly lost. Captain Boswell, having served his

time, had been succeeded by another captain, who, contrary to strict

rule, had his wife on board. The evening on which the captain had given

orders to prepare for sailing there happened to be a grand ball in the

town, and the lady persuaded her husband to take her, and defer sailing

to the morrow. By this time the ‘Spry’ had left the harbour, and lay at

single anchor outside the north mole. During the night a strong gale

sprung up from the south. As the ship could not regain her old position

the officer in command let go two more anchors, but two cables having

parted she dragged her third anchor, and was driven close to the rocks.

No assistance could be given from the shore, and, as her position seemed

hopeless, the officers and crew took to their boats, and managed to

get off in safety. To the astonishment of everybody, however, the last

cable held, and the recoil of the waves, so close was she to the rocks,

actually prevented her from striking, and so she remained until the gale

abated, and the ship was saved. The odd part of it was, that when the

crew were about leaving the ship my old friend Dr. Biggar was asleep

in the cabin, and when aroused flew into a violent rage, and threw a

bootjack at the head of the midshipman who woke him. After several

ineffectual attempts, the midshipman was obliged to leave him, and he

turned round and slept soundly till the morning. Judge of his surprise

when he awoke and found what had happened during the night!

 

After passing rapidly through France, I embarked from Boulogne, September

23, 1821, in a small packet, during a very strong gale, with about fifty

other passengers.

 

The following day we started with the morning’s tide with about seventy

passengers, of whom Colonel Hylton Jolliffe, a friend of my father’s,

was one. We left Boulogne about eleven, and reached Dover at 2 P.M.;

I directly started by coach for London, and reached my father’s, 27,

Stamford Street, the same night. I found him in very bad health, lying

upon the sofa in the principal front bedroom; he was glad to see me.

 

He continued in the same weak state, although in perfect possession of

all his great faculties, dictated to me several letters on business, and

talked of sundry new works that he was about to undertake, particularly

the new London Bridge, and the removal of the old one, which had been

for some time under discussion in Parliament; a Bill for this purpose

had actually been introduced during the past session, and my father

had been requested to prepare a design for it, which he did, and it

was very similar to that since executed by myself. My father’s bodily

health appeared to decline gradually; he was confined almost to the sofa,

and could do little more than walk across the room; in this manner he

continued until the 3rd of October. He went to bed as usual, perfectly

sensible and composed, and hoped that he would soon be better, as he

was most anxious to return to business and make up for lost time. I

went to his room on the morning of the 4th of October, and found that

a considerable change for the worse had taken place; he seemed to

be in much pain, and was walking about the room, evidently scarcely

knowing what he was about. I got him into bed, and immediately sent for

his physician, Dr. Ainslie, who had known him all his life, but he was

unfortunately out of town. The apothecary, Mr. Welbank, came, and we

consulted together as to whom we should send for, and ultimately summoned

Dr. Roberts, who, although in good practice, had never seen my father,

and consequently knew nothing of his constitution or complaints. He did

the best he could, but evidently thought the case was very serious. My

father lay in bed all day, almost unconscious, although I thought he knew

me. I remained with him nearly the whole day, and about five o’clock in

the afternoon he appeared to be sinking fast, and breathed very heavily,

which alarmed us all excessively. In a short time this ceased, his

features began gradually to relax, and he breathed his last at half-past

five on the afternoon of the 4th of October, 1821, in the sixty-first

year of his age.

 

The disease which killed my poor father was that of the kidneys and

liver, as far as we could ascertain. All my brothers and sisters were

assembled round his deathbed. It was a sad, sad sight, and afflicted us

most severely; we had, however, the melancholy satisfaction of having

done all in our power, though of no avail, to arrest the fatal event.

He was universally known and respected; the news of his death spread

immediately throughout the town, the public papers were filled with

leading articles giving accounts of his public and private life, and

everybody deplored his loss. One of the most powerful and touching

articles was written by his talented friend Perry, the proprietor of the

‘Morning Chronicle,’ who was then at Brighton in bad health, and died

there three months afterwards.

 

It seemed to be the universal wish that he who had rendered so many

services to his country and was so generally beloved, should be buried

in St. Paul’s, and arrangements were made accordingly. The funeral took

place a few days afterwards, at eleven o’clock, and he was attended to

his last resting-place by a vast concourse of literary, scientific, and

private friends. The late talented John Wilson Croker, Esq., then First

Secretary of the Admiralty, wrote the epitaph, which was composed in the

most feeling and scholar-like manner for which that able gentleman was so

particularly well qualified.

 

[1] Let me here relate an anecdote of the almost incredible

instinct of the dog. Passing by the palace of the Austrian

viceroy, I observed a dog sitting with an air of profound

melancholy before one of the sentry-boxes. Colonel Brown,

our representative, who was then with me, said that this dog

formerly belonged to a soldier of the body-guard of Eugène

Beauharnois, the viceroy, and accompanied his master to Moscow.

The man never returned, but upwards of two years afterwards the

dog did, and resumed his station before his former master’s

sentry-box. After a time the dog came to be talked about,

and at length the viceroy, an Austrian archduke, had him

brought into the palace and tried to domesticate him, but he

always returned to the sentry-box, where he lay motionless,

and at times moaning. Seeing this, the archduke ordered him

daily rations, and he was placed in the sentry’s orders for

protection, and in this state I saw him; but a short time after

the dog died, apparently inconsolable.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER III.

 

Eau Brink Cut--Ramsgate Harbour--Sheerness Dockyard--Plymouth

Breakwater--Anecdote of the late Mr. J. Fox--London Bridge and

Approaches--Sir F. Trench’s Plan for Quaying the Thames--Nene

Outfall--Cross Keys Bridge--Norfolk Estuary--Improvement of the

Witham--Ancholme Drainage.

 

 

It was some time before I could recover from the shock. I had been

absent abroad nearly two years and four months, and had passed through

so many different scenes, that when I returned to England everything

seemed perfectly new to me; being deprived of my father so unexpectedly

threw me almost into a state of despair, so that I scarcely felt myself

equal to undertake the responsibility of following his noble career,

which I could never expect to equal. After giving way to my melancholy

reflections for about a month, I determined to rouse myself to the

utmost and to do my best, and with his brilliant example before me, and

cheered on by his numerous attached friends, I felt that if I had no

chance of attaining the same degree of celebrity as my dear father, I

might still do something, and although _lungo intervállo_, I might still

keep up the name. I determined therefore to set to work in right earnest

and endeavour to obtain some of my father’s numerous appointments. My

first ambition was to succeed him in his numerous great works then being

carried on by the Admiralty, such as the Plymouth Breakwater, and the new

Chatham and Woolwich dockyards.

 

That most excellent and able man, the late Lord Melville, was at the head

of the Admiralty; the distinguished and gallant Sir George Cockburn, one

of Nelson’s officers at the Nile and elsewhere, was the First Naval Lord;

John Wilson Croker and Sir John Barrow were the Secretaries; and there

never has been such a galaxy of talent at the Admiralty since. All these

great and good men have since passed away from us, not without, however,

leaving behind them indisputable monuments of their skill and the great

benefits they conferred upon their country. As for myself, I owe them

my deepest gratitude, and shall never forget their kindness. I was

appointed by the Admiralty to succeed my father as their engineer. This

high honour at my early age (for I was only seven-and-twenty) filled me

with the greatest thankfulness, although I felt it was due to no merit of

my own, but rather to the regard and respect which they entertained for

my father; I therefore resolved to do everything in my power to render

myself worthy of it, and set to work with right good will.

 

The next appointment I obtained was as drainage engineer to the Eau Brink

Commissioners. This was at that time the greatest work of the kind, at

the head of which were the late General Lord William Bentinck, afterwards

Governor-General of India; the late Sir Andrew Hammond, Bart.; the late

Sir Charles Browne, physician to the King of Prussia; and the late

Thomas Hoseason, Esq., of Banklands, in the district of Marshland, near

Lynn. These able and distinguished men formed the Committee for carrying

into effect the Eau Brink Cut, for the improvement of the drainage of

the great level of the fens, called the Bedford Level, amounting to