by Tom Anderson
The King needed an Admiral, of course. He is reported to have inquired into the disgraced and retired Vernon returning to duty, but Vernon refused and is thought to have issued a warning that the Americans might be tougher than was believed. (This is often considered by historians to be a direct reference to Lawrence Washington). If Vernon did give a warning, it was unheeded. The fleet was placed under the command of Vice-Admiral John Byng,[25] who had previously served as Governor of Newfoundland and thus knew the waters William’s forces would be travelling through. Perhaps William also thought Byng might be able to rally the relatively few permanent residents of Newfoundland to the Williamite cause. If so, it was an unfounded hope; Byng had only served as Governor for less than a year in 1742.
The fleet sailed in April 1749. Frederick, meanwhile, had divined his brother’s purpose and had repaired and reinforced the fortifications of Louisbourg. He issued orders (conveyed by the Governors or Lieutenant Governors-in-residence) that if colonial forces met William’s, they were first to appeal to their reason and not to fire first. This was looked on by contemporary commentators as a benevolent gesture, but may have been more calculating: Frederick was willing to do anything that might blacken William’s image by forcing him to resort to violence first. By standing on the defensive, he had already made William paint himself as the aggressor.
It is at this point that the speculative romantics become most excited, pointing out that if the war had dragged on, Frederick might have been reduced to merely leader of some rebel confederation of the Colonies, or William’s forces might have come into direct conflict with the Yankees and driven a wedge between the Colonies and the homeland. In practice, fortune smiled upon the fate of England. Helped along a little by Frederick’s lack of scruples.
On his grand tour a few years earlier, Frederick had been most impressed by the use of rifles in America, a weapon still scorned by most British and all European troops as being ungentlemanly. Longarms were almost always used by common soldiers, they argued. It was fine for them to blast away in musket line, where no-one could tell whose ball hit what, but to use an accurate weapon like a rifle, where a target—which might be an officer on horseback—was deliberately lined up and shot? Unthinkably vulgar!
If Frederick had ever had any appreciation for this kind of view—and this is debatable—it was ground out of him by his exile. Both his relentless mission to return, and perhaps also the frontier pragmatism of the Americans around him, convinced him to resort to almost any means to get his throne back. This did not extend to actual assassination by any means that might paint him as a blackguard, though. It had to look like an accident.
So, the would-be King decided on a grand gamble. He knew, or at least had was fairly certain, that Frederick would make an attack on Louisbourg, perhaps after watering in Newfoundland. He set things into motion.
Frederick assembled a fleet of his own. It was made up largely of converted fishing boats, with one or two sympathetic Royal Navy ships with largely American crews. It would be no match for Admiral Byng’s force, but it didn’t have to be. Frederick also chose one particular ship, a Nantucket whaler commanded by Captain Samuel Starbuck, for his task.[26] Fortunately for him, Captain Starbuck and his crew volunteered for what could easily have been a suicide mission, and he promised to reward them if they succeeded. As whalers, they were used to high risks for rich rewards. They took with them ten men, mostly New England huntsmen, whom had been the winners of a grand tournament organised by Frederick a few months before. The competition had been to find the best and most accurate riflemen in the Colonies.
It is thought that Frederick vetoed Major (promoted unofficially to Colonel by Frederick) Washington’s volunteering to join the mission. Augustine Washington had died five years earlier, leaving Lawrence as his heir, and Frederick did not want Lawrence’s death to provoke the remaining Washingtons to release their blackmail information. Not at the moment of his triumph.
Frederick sent out many other whalers and fishermen, their presence not unusual at all at a time when the fine fishing waters off Newfoundland were actually contested in war between Britain and France no less viciously than the land itself. These boats were assigned to search for the Williamite fleet. Byng’s force was first sighted on August 14th, 1749 by Captain William Folger, a fellow Nantucket whaler, who was later knighted by Frederick. Under orders, Frederick’s fishermen in turn allowed themselves to be boarded by Byng’s ships, and Folger even had an audience with Byng himself. The admiral wanted intelligence on Frederick’s movements, and the men fed him mostly accurate reports about Frederick’s reinforcement of Louisbourg. However, this only redoubled William’s determination to take the fortress.
Byng’s fleet arrived at Louisbourg on August 28th and his bomb-ships[27] immediately began shelling the fort from a safe distance. Louisbourg’s guns, which had been brought back into action by American smiths, kept up a halfhearted return fire, and it seemed that the stories of American cowardice were true.
But the fort nonetheless raised two great flags, flags which had been sewn for Frederick by Boston weavers just weeks before. One was a great Union Jack, while the second was a new flag, a flag that had been designed by a committee of Frederick, the Washingtons and some of his others allies. It was based on the Blue Ensign, but had a great red cross like the White En sign—the red cross on blue being derived from the Royal Colonial Arms of Virginia—and in its lower right quadrant bore the symbol of the Dukes of Cornwall, fifteen golden bezants in an inverted triangle. Frederick had calculated that carefully and, just as he expected, William was roused to see this vulgar spectacle. His brother came out on deck, visible at a distance by other ‘innocent fishing boats’, which signalled with flags. Now Frederick’s plan went into gear.
Another fishing boat appeared, a swift sailor, from out of the open ocean. In fact it had taken a looping course. The ship flew a flag with a white cross on blue, the French merchant colours. Once more, this was no surprise, for the French fishermen contested these waters often, and France and Britain were now at a (provisional) peace. The ship sailed very close to Byng’s fleet, not altering its course, and Byng questioned William whether he wanted it stopped and searched. William’s thoughts were entirely on retaking Louisbourg and, hence, forcing the French to cleave to the Treaty. Anything they could use as an excuse to continue to dither had to be avoided. He told Byng to ignore it. The admiral complied, for after all, it was obvious that the ship carried no cannon.
So it was, at a distance of perhaps a hundred and fifty yards from Byng’s 80-gun flagship HMS Devonshire, that Frederick’s crack Riflemen emerged from under cover, took careful aim on William in his prominent marshal’s uniform, and fired.
Of the twelve shots fired, Byng’s steward records in the log book that four hit the King—three in the torso and one to the head—and this fourth one meant he died instantly. The other eight embedded themselves in masts, wounded two midshipmen, and pierced a hole through Byng’s hat without him even noticing until much later.
All attention aboard the Devonshire was on the prone figure of the king, blood and brain splashed everywhere “in a most vulgar spectacle”, as Byng recorded in his diary. Other ships in the fleet attempted to give chase to the fisherman, but Frederick had chosen a fast ship and the Williamites were unprepared. Given enough time, of course, they would have caught up, but to the bemusement of Byng and his captains, two frigates also flying Royal Navy ensigns appeared seemingly out of nowhere and raked the fishermen with cannon fire, then boarded her and set her alight.
The field of battle was in total confusion, with Byng, not the most commanding of Britain’s admirals, uncertain of what to do. As Frederick had planned, this gave him an opening. One of the frigates—the other quietly evacuating the “prisoners” to shore where they would blend in with Frederick’s army—approached the Devonshire and flew the flag of truce. Not having any other options, Byng took it, and he met with Frederick, Colonel Washington and Governors Gooc
h and Van Dam of Virginia and New York, the latter promoted to full Governorship by Frederick after he had unilaterally sacked George Clinton.
Between them, they hammered out a deal. Having witnessed a dastardly French attack on the person of the King, it fell to Frederick to take the crown and avenge his brother. Such was only proper, just as William himself had for King George on the fields of Dettingen. Of course William had been the true King, ‘had been’ being the operative word. Frederick had never truly been in rebellion, his position had been...misrepresented. But now William had unaccountably died without leaving an heir...
History was carefully rewritten in the admiral’s cabin of HMS Devonshire, and Byng acknowledged King Frederick I of Great Britain and Ireland. After watering at less forbidding American ports, the fleet would return to England with Frederick and his senior allies at their head, and the King would be coronated. This was only proper. And of course there would be no question of returning Louisbourg to the enemy, not after an act of treachery against the laws of war like this, no? No.
Some commentators record that Frederick was a changed man after the meeting, for he came upon the body of his dead brother, mutilated by the accurate rifle fire of the Americans. The last time he had seen William had been in 1728, when his brother was merely seven. Ever since then, Frederick had always painted him as a small-scale copy of his father, and due as much hatred. But it is said that when he saw him like this, he saw the little boy he vaguely remembered, and broke down. Many say that his coldblooded acts of deception in gaining the throne haunted him for the rest of his life, a latter day Richard III, or perhaps Henry VII is a less damning comparison.
The fleet wintered in America, the tensions between the British and colonials evaporating as William’s former sailors and soldiers revelled with their colonial cousins, celebrating the warmest Christmas that most of them had ever known. Something else spread throughout the Colonies, as well: the flag that Frederick had commissioned. Known then as the Patriotic Banner of the Colonies, it would eventually become known as the Jack and George (Union Jack and St. George’s Cross), symbol of the sons of Britannia in America forevermore.
When the fleet finally sailed in March 1750, though, together with Frederick, his important allies and his family, his trials were not over. He had won the throne back from William, but there was still another contender in the ring. In Ireland, and the Highlands of Scotland, choosing between William and Frederick had never been a question worth asking. For there was a third option.
The Jacobites were rising once again...
Chapter #6: The Second Glorious Revolution
O’er the seas our merry band,
To Ireland, Cornwall and England,
King Fred commands, and we obey,
Over the seas and far away...
- Colonial marching song from the War of the British Succession[28]
From “The Prodigal Son: King Frederick I” by Arthur Yeo (1959):
When William left Britain in 1748, the Jacobites had only recently suffered a catastrophic defeat in Scotland at his own hands. Bonnie Prince Charlie’s Highland rebellion, which had at first seemed so close to success, had been crushed by William’s forces. Nonetheless, Charles Edward Stuart remained undaunted by the humiliating manner of his escape (disguised as a lady’s maid) and plotted a new rebellion whenever the time was ripe. Not even he, though, had expected that that time would come so soon.
Charles was the charismatic son of James Francis Edward Stuart, son of James II and claimant King James VII and III of England, Scotland and Ireland.[29] James had remained in France after the failure of his own attempted rebellion in 1709—at the hands, incidentally, of Admiral Sir George Byng, father of the man who led William’s fleet. The ’45 had also failed, but its initial successes convinced Charles that victory would eventually be his. The Stuarts all continued to ignore the fact that they had almost zero support in England, even from Catholics, and what little sympathy they had from the Episcopalian movement in ’45 would have been quenched by the failure of that rebellion. There remained a Jacobite circle in London which had contact with Charles at this time, but they were adamant that Charles would only be accepted by them if he converted to Anglicanism.
The Kingdom of France continued to give the Stuarts asylum, but treated their ambitions as, at best, a minor distraction to their English enemy which might benefit France a little, and at worse merely a quixotic fancy to add colour to the French court. Notably Louis XIV had even permitted James to be crowned King of England at his court in the traditional way, including the defunct claim to be King of France. The fact that the real King of France permitted a pretender to be crowned King of France in his presence demonstrates how seriously (or otherwise) the French took the Stuarts.
However, the French had also discovered that Charles had a strong will as well as the charismatic presence that had let him rally so many Highlanders to his doomed cause. Notably, he maintained to the French that he would have the crowns of all three kingdoms (England, Scotland and Ireland) or none. He would not merely be a French puppet in Scotland or Ireland.[30]
When William left, Charles immediately began making more plans for another rising, despite some misgivings among his supporters. The French Foreign Minister, the Vicomte de Puisieulx, warned Charles that no French troops would be guaranteed, as Louis XV was concentrating on his domestic affairs and reworking his army for the next round of battle in Europe. Charles famously remarked with some venom: “Odds fish! Three times I have been promised armies of France and three times none have come! Now that the Viscount has told me in no uncertain terms that no men can come, it will not surprise me if a vast legion appears to support our cause!” (Some French troops did support the ‘45, but they turned up late and in much smaller numbers than had been promised).
Although Charles was not willing merely for his father to become King of Ireland, he was persuaded by his supporters that an Irish rebellion might be a more successful way of starting, as Scotland was still locked down quite tightly by what remained of William’s army. Accordingly, the Stuarts chartered a fleet that sailed from Nantes in April 1749 (just as they had five years earlier) and landed troops at Limerick. Charles’ ragbag army numbered about 20,000, including a number of exilic Scottish and Irish troops in service with the French Army whom Louis XV had reluctantly, unofficially, released. These included portions of the French Royal Scots and Irish Brigades, some of whom had fought in the ‘45.
Limerick was chosen for a variety of reasons. It was an important city, it was isolated from the major British garrisons in Ireland, it remained poorly fortified, and most importantly, it had a special place in the hearts of Jacobites and especially their Irish supporters. It was at the Siege of Limerick in 1691 that James II had finally fled, beginning the Jacobite exile, and the ensuing Treaty of Limerick had guaranteed civil rights for Irish Catholics—which had then been ignored by successive hostile British Parliaments. Not for nothing was the Irish Brigades’ battle cry “Remember Limerick and Saxon Perfidy!” Now, almost sixty years later, the Jacobites sought their revenge.
Despite Charles’ somewhat disorganised army, Limerick was taken in a week-long siege from its complacent British defenders. The city retained a large Protestant Irish minority, many of whom suffered revenge attacks either by the Jacobites or by their Catholic neighbours.
News of Limerick’s capture spread like wildfire through Ireland and, in a somewhat slower and more confused manner, to Britain. By the time that Prime Minister Henry Pelham was certain that the reports were more than rumours, the Jacobites had already sailed a part of their force to take Cork as well, and the Catholic interior of the isle was beginning to rise in support.
Pelham had been chosen as Prime Minister specifically because he was almost a nonentity, able to smooth things over in the fiercely divided Parliament of the late 1740s by being all things to all people. Admirable a peacetime leader as he might be, he was sorely unsuited to this crisis. By January 1750,
the Patriot opposition (those who had not been locked up by William) were trying hard to topple the government with speeches in the House. They failed, primarily because the Whigs remained fiercely divided and no-one could agree on a non-Patriot replacement. The Whigs therefore continued to support Pelham and his brother, the Duke of Newcastle, who unofficially shared his power.
The news out of Ireland continued to be discouraging. Though the British troops marching to meet Charles’ forces were generally superior in training and equipment, most of the Irish countryside was against them and they found they had to live off the (poor) land—which only provoked more resentment when they confiscated food and shelter from the locals.
A Jacobite army under the ageing Lord George Murray comprehensively defeated a Government army under Sir Robert Rich when some of Rich’s own Royal Irish defected, or at least refused to fight. The scandal almost brought down the Government, but Pelham continued to cling onto power, while somewhat exaggerated rumours of the Jacobites storming Dublin circulated. Ulster dissolved into vicious partisan warfare between Irish Catholics and Protestants (both Anglicans and Dissenters), and the remaining Government forces were pulled back to Dublin. It seemed, just as it had in ages past, that English power in Ireland was about to be reduced to the ‘Pale’ around Dublin once more.
More seriously, scattered but nonetheless existent Jacobite risings began to occur in the Highlands, though most were immediately crushed by the large number of British troops still stationed there. The only persistent and organised rising was that of Lord Cosmo Gordon. London was in a panic, just as it had been in 1745, and there were demands that troops be pulled back to defend the capital in case the Jacobites appeared from nowhere.
