by Chris Durbin
So, the city was defended, and at one time those defences must have been deemed adequate. However, modern artillery and a scientific approach to sieges – led by the French military engineering genius, Vauban – had changed the equation. Emden, like all the medieval cities whose fortifications hadn’t been upgraded, was practically indefensible. The gun emplacements left dead space where sappers could approach the walls and the seaward side was virtually undefended. Emden’s security was an illusion, nothing more.
Holbrooke was disturbed by a knock on the door, followed by the friendly form of Chalmers asking whether he may have a moment.
‘It’s very good to see you, Mister Chalmers,’ said Holbrooke, offering his chair. ‘I’ve been studying Emden. You know, it’s just waiting to be taken by an assault from the land or the sea, it has no real protection. I wonder whether Commodore Holmes is thinking of making an attempt against it?’
‘Well, I can’t say what’s on the commodore’s mind as I haven’t had the honour of meeting him, however, it’s Emden that I’ve come to speak about, or at least our major’s purpose in Emden. You know he’s been there for nearly a year?’
‘No, I wasn’t aware. I had assumed that it was his first visit.’
‘Not at all. In fact, he’s the deputy commander of the Austrian detachment. His superior is a colonel, but it appears that he’s old and rather infirm; not a very active officer. Major Albach is the de-facto commander of the Austrians in Emden.’
Holbrooke leaned forward, this was interesting. ‘How many men does he have? Did he tell you?’
‘Yes, he did. He has a force of around twelve hundred men, but they’re a mixed bag, men from every nation in the Austrian empire and with little combat experience. The major is quite open about his affairs in Emden. He doesn’t see Britain as an enemy, even though we’re supporting the Prussians and Hanoverians whom he believes will soon threaten the town. He doesn’t appear to have a good relationship with the French commander.’
‘You know, Chalmers, the garrison at Emden is no concern of mine. I must prevent the city from being resupplied by sea, and I must chart the estuary before the commodore arrives, nothing more. Anything else smells of interference in matters above my station,’ Holbrooke smiled. ‘But one never knows where the winds of war will take us. I’d be interested in understanding more about this Austrian garrison. Do you believe the major would be open to a discussion on the subject?’
‘I believe he would,’ replied Chalmers. ‘In fact, if I’m any judge, I’d say that the major is deliberately feeding me with morsels of information which he hopes I’ll bring to you. He’s trying to arrange a meeting without being seen as the one who initiates it.’
‘Then let’s be the agents of that meeting,’ Holbrooke said with some enthusiasm. ‘There’s a mystery around that Austrian detachment. I don’t yet know where the meeting will take us, but I sense an opening that we should exploit. How do you think we should proceed?’
‘People are much more willing to talk over food and wine. Can I suggest that you invite the major for dinner, today if possible?’
‘Would you join us? You seem to have gained his trust. I think it should be no more than we three; otherwise it could all look a bit official,’ Holbrooke replied.
‘I agree,’ said Chalmers. ‘He sees me as a friend, and I must say that I’ve cultivated our association. It hasn’t been difficult; he’s a very personable character, and I’d have taken to him in any circumstances.’
‘And of course, your mastery of French will be useful, as none of us speaks German and he appears to have no English.’
◆◆◆
Major Albach was nervous; it showed in his every gesture and in his stilted conversation. Holbrooke’s French was good enough to speak directly to Albach without Chalmers having to translate, except for the occasional difficult phrase, but it was clear that the Austrian was economising on his words, leaving at least part of his mind free to work over the subject that he really wanted to raise. Holbrooke and Chalmers probed gently, opening topics that might offer a way forward. Holbrooke was also playing a tactical game; he was saving his best opener until the major’s nerves had settled, after the second remove and a third glass of wine.
‘It’s odd, isn’t it Major, that when you return to Emden, we’ll be on opposite sides in this conflict although our two countries enjoy the best of relations.’ Holbrooke watched Albach carefully.
‘The King’s ships will support Prince Ferdinand in his efforts to win back Hanover and Kestrel will be a part of that effort, specifically in preventing the French garrison being supplied from the sea.’
Holbrooke was deliberately revealing his mission to this foreigner in an effort to break the deadlock. He wasn’t concerned about giving away operational secrets; the major must already know Kestrel’s intentions, having been on board the sloop for nearly a week and been hosted in the gunroom, where few secrets lasted from breakfast to dinner.
‘Opposite sides? I do hope not, sir!’ he exclaimed.
‘I can’t see how we can avoid it,’ replied Holbrooke. ‘But I trust it won’t affect our personal friendship. A glass of wine with you, sir!’
Albach took a distracted sip and stared reflectively at the remains as it swirled around his glass.
‘If I may be frank, for a moment?’ he asked, still gazing at his glass, unwilling to meet Holbrooke’s eyes. ‘The position of myself and my men in Emden is an embarrassment to the empire. Somehow, the Empress’ advisors were persuaded to send us to Emden when it appeared that the town would be bypassed in this war. Ours was not intended to be a combat role; it was a matter of helping an ally with manpower, that was all. But the French were clever, and it appears that all along they’ve been trying to embroil the empire in this war in the west. My orders – or my commander’s orders, it’s much the same thing – are merely to contribute to the task of garrisoning the city and to avoid getting involved in combat. However, I have the distinct impression that we’ve been disowned by the High Command in Vienna and so I must make my own decisions. I find that the only way to obey the spirit of my orders is to find an honourable way out.’
The major looked guiltily at Holbrooke. It appeared likely that he’d been recalled to the Netherlands specifically so that he could be ordered to extricate the Austrian garrison at Emden. Naturally, he was reluctant to disclose this to a foreigner, which was why he phrased it as a personal mission.
‘It’s not that we don’t want to take part in this war, but if we’re to fight, we should do so for the Empress and not for King Louis. The battalions in Emden come from the Austrian Netherlands; they’re a mix of nationalities, but the one thing they are not is French!’
Holbrooke and Chalmers exchanged glances while Albach was staring at the table. Chalmers nodded discretely.
‘I feel for you, Major Albach; it’s difficult to imagine an honourable way out of this situation. And meanwhile, Prince Ferdinand grows in power while the French dissipate their strength in extended supply lines and in keeping down a hostile population. Emden will be bypassed, I imagine, and left to starve when it can no longer be supported by sea until Ferdinand has the leisure to deal with it.’
Albach looked up from the table. He had a strange, almost shy manner, Holbrooke noticed, and now he was unsure of how his next question would be received. It made him hesitant.
‘If I'm not indiscreet, sir, how soon do you expect that the blockade of Emden will be established? I ask out of concern for my men and for the citizens of the town.’
‘Well, I trust this will be kept from the French commander at Emden,’ Holbrooke fixed Albach with a stern gaze. ‘The blockade will start as soon as I have landed you. I don’t intend to leave the estuary again; my prizes will make their own way back to Harwich.’ Albach was listening carefully. ‘And I expect to be reinforced.’
‘Then my men will go hungry, for there is no getting food from the countryside, it’s already been stripped bare by the French, and the
little that reaches us overland is insufficient for our daily needs.’
‘I fear that’s true, it’ll be a bleak winter for you and your men. Even the Dutch merchants won’t see enough profit to risk their ships and cargoes once they realise that the port is blockaded. You may get a small boat from Delfzijl or one of the villages on the Dollart daring to cross the estuary at night, a matter of a ton or two of supplies, but that won’t last long with a garrison of nearly four thousand Austrians and French.’
‘And the French will take the lion’s share,’ said Albach, looking wretched.
‘Tell me, Major, when the time comes for you to leave, do you have transport, carts and horses, to make your way out overland?’
‘I do, and I intend to keep them away from the French; they would like to control everything. Yes, we can leave overland, there’s certainly no escape for us by sea, we would need ten coasting ships to remove all my men and our equipment, that’s the number of ships that brought us here last year. When the French leave – and I am sure they will do so before the city is cut off – I don’t intend to be left to face the Prussians alone. And remember, Captain, although Austria is not at war with Britain, it is at war with Prussia. The fighting in the east is very bitter indeed, and there is little quarter asked or given. We’ll be fortunate if we become prisoners-of-war if we stay in Emden. However, timing is everything, and I cannot leave until it’s clear that the French are leaving.’ Albach shook his head in despair.
Holbrooke let the silence linger as the major stared at the table.
‘Can nothing be done for Major Albach’s men?’ asked Chalmers.
Holbrooke looked at him sharply but realised just in time that this was the chaplain’s way of acting out his role as the friend of the major while opening a line of conversation that could be exploited.
‘It’s hard to see how His Majesty’s navy can help,’ Holbrooke replied after a short interval for consideration. ‘Even if we could muster a fleet of transports to carry the Austrian garrison back to Ostend, it appears that such an act would be seen as desertion by the French commander at Emden; he’d oppose it with force, and there’d be consequences for the alliance between Austria and France. As a King’s officer it’s no business of mine to assist the diplomacy of either Austria or France, and as a friend to Major Albach, I’m struggling to imagine how I can help.’
Chalmers bowed. Major Albach had been merely a spectator in this short exchange between Holbrooke and Chalmers, but he appeared content with that arrangement; he could honestly state that he had not asked for assistance from the British navy. Nevertheless, he hadn’t contradicted anything that had been proposed, and Holbrooke had a good understanding of just how the Austrians stood in relation to their French allies in this far western part of the European war.
‘I find that I must again be frank with you, Captain, indiscreet even.’ The major was looking squarely at Holbrooke now. ‘I don’t know how the situation will develop over the next few weeks: how quickly the Prussians and Hanoverians will advance, how strongly the French will defend their gains in Hanover, and how quickly my men will run out of food. Perhaps we are both wrong, and Prince Ferdinand won’t leave the Elbe in the spring. Possibly your blockade will be broken, and the Dutch merchantmen will bring through the food that we need. But I fear the worst. Today, I have no plan that will allow me to leave Emden with honour, but who knows what tomorrow will bring? Setting aside my own desire to be rid of this dreadful situation, it must be in the interests of both of our nations that we should remain friends even though we have chosen allies who would make war with each other. I hope that if the circumstances allow, I will be able to communicate with you.’
◆◆◆
‘Well, what do you think, David,’ asked Holbrooke when the chaplain returned to the cabin. ‘Was he asking for our assistance?’
‘I believe he was, in a non-committal way,’ he replied. ‘He’s certainly in an unenviable position. It appears that his government would like him to find a way to abandon Emden without giving offence to their allies, the French.’
‘Yes, and if he gets it wrong, he’ll be disowned,’ continued Holbrooke. ‘It sounds as though his men are not particularly valued either. How hard would Austria push a protest if the French – for example only – put the major before a court martial for consorting with the enemy?’
‘There’s so much at stake for Austria in this new alliance with France that I can only imagine that the Austrian government would make no comment at all. They’ve much more to lose than the French if the alliance falls apart.’ Chalmers stared into his wine. ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, we haven’t heard the last of Major Albach and his men. Tell me, George, do you feel inclined to help him; as a man, I mean, rather than as a King’s officer?’
‘I find that I can’t separate my two persons, but certainly, my inclination is to help him,’ Holbrooke replied. ‘I feel strangely sympathetic to him and his men. However, although it sounds trite, my duty comes first. At least while I tread these decks, I’m a King’s officer first and a private person a long way second.'
◆◆◆
18: The Gunboat
Wednesday, Twenty-Fifth of January 1758.
Kestrel, at Sea. The Ems Estuary.
They put Albach ashore at Knock as the first light of dawn peeped briefly between the flat land that stretched towards the horizon beyond the Dollart and the low cloud that covered the south-eastern sky. There was no sign of the French horse artillery; in fact, there was no evidence of life at all in the small tidal village as Varley guided the yawl alongside the slime-covered jetty. The tiny French outpost, a corporal and four men according to the major, weren’t even awake to see the flag of truce that was flown from the transom. Major Albach cut a lonely figure as he waved goodbye, a brown-clad shape against the clapboard shacks and the dun-and-grey landscape. There was no doubt that he’d rather be back in Kestrel than in the claustrophobic atmosphere of an ill-defended town waiting for its fate to be decided when the campaigning season got underway. He was leaving behind his new friends and returning to a place where allies intrigued against each other, where he and his men were treated as second-class soldiers at best, as expendable pawns in a power-play at worst.
Holbrooke had entertained Albach to an early breakfast before he left. He liked the man, whether they were on opposing sides in this strange backwater of the war or not, but he also wanted to sow the seeds for future cooperation. Albach hadn’t followed up on their conversation at dinner two days before. Perhaps he was embarrassed, or was he ashamed that he’d discussed military dispositions with an officer who was able to exploit such information? Either way, it was only at breakfast that they had anything like such an open exchange of views again. Nothing firm was arranged; but as a contingency, it was agreed that if Albach should want to talk, then he’d display an Austrian flag where it could be seen by Kestrel but not by the French. The northern outskirts of Knock, where some high dykes fronted the sea, seemed an ideal place. Holbrooke intended to sail at least that far up the Ems every day that he was on station.
However, Kestrel’s officers quickly forgot about the Austrian Major as they wrestled with the problems of tides and soundings, of wind and snow, sleet and ice as the sloop settled into the twin tasks of blockade and survey in this forgotten corner of the great war.
◆◆◆
Holbrooke was determined that by the time Commodore Holmes arrived off the Ems, he and his officers would be masters of the navigation of the estuary, from its twin mouths either side of Borkum to the Dollart. He knew that the Dutch authorities would resent his presence in the estuary, particularly as it would be well-known by now that he’d taken three Dutch vessels and carried them away as prizes. It wasn’t just the three that had been taken that hurt the Dutch; the shipowners and merchants had not unreasonably declined to risk any more of their ships, men and cargoes on such a hazardous trade.
It was a surprise, therefore, when Kestrel was gifted one more
prize to add to the growing fleet under the care of the commissioner at Harwich. A substantial galliot of the sea-going kind that traded from the Zuiderzee right up the Jutland peninsula and into the southern Baltic had chanced its luck. It must have spent at least two days laboriously tiding up the channel behind the islands, anchoring or taking the ground over each low tide and following the complicated patterns of floods and ebbs as the water rushed into and out of each gap in the island chain twice a day, covering and uncovering the amphibious land behind. But at some point, if it was to reach Emden where its cargo was worth twice its normal value, it had to break through into the Ems estuary between Rottum and the mainland, and in that passage lay Kestrel.
The galliot’s unfortunate master had chosen a flood tide, where the twin effect of the stream coming up the Western Ems and the rush of water joining it from behind Rottum, created an irresistible force that no vessel could fight. Once across the invisible line where the shallows of the inside passage gave way to the deeper channel of the estuary, there was no way back. No gun was needed, and no watchers on the shore saw the neat little operation, carried out without fuss and with no bloodshed. By the time the tide turned, the galliot had a prize crew and was ready to take the easterly wind back to Harwich; a fair, gentle wind that even such a flat-bottomed vessel would be able to endure in the open sea. The master, his mate and the single boy would give no trouble.
