Clarendon gave Monck a withering glare then looked at the King, who nodded. The Earl rose with a sigh and went to the chamber door while Monck turned to the King, giving him little time to reflect. ‘Your Majesty no doubt realises the implications of any success the Dutch may have.’
‘George, I am informed that vast numbers of the gentry have already armed and taken to horse. Hundreds are said to be riding into Kent and Essex in defence of my Crown and Realm.’
‘And clogging the roads no doubt,’ Monck responded, his soldier’s imagination conjuring the scene of confusion. ‘And there will be those fleeing in the contrary direction, inflamed by cries of invasion… God in Heaven, Sire, do you not see what the wasting of the Treasury has accomplished by its neglect of the Navy?’ The King looked mortified, ‘I can do little,’ Monck went on relentlessly, pressing Charles to recognise the danger of the situation they were now all in. ‘Perhaps I might save the ships at Chatham whither I shall go forthwith, Your Majesty?’
The King’s head was in his hands and his shoulders heaved. The incredulous and half-deaf Monck had to bend towards him to hear his words. ‘The plague, fire, and now this visitation…’
‘Whatever the outcome, it will certainly rouse our enemies,’ Monck said, looking up as Clarendon resumed his seat. ‘Well, My Lord?’
‘The Earl of Craven had already called out the Coldstreamers and paraded them in order of march. They are now a-foot for Chatham.’
‘God bless Craven,’ Monck said, rising unsteadily and reaching for his hat and cane. ‘Who commands at Sheerness?’ he asked.
‘Sir Edward Spragge.’
‘I shall do what I can, Your Majesty.’
‘God speed you,’ said Charles, recovering himself in front of Clarendon. ‘There is not the money to do as you wished, George, and commission the fleet,’ the King said, his eyes as soft as those of one of his father’s spaniels.
‘Aye, Your Grace,’ Clarendon added, ‘there is no money.’
Monck, who was retiring, stopped to plant his cane upon the carpet, place both hands upon its head and lean awkwardly upon it. ‘Your Majesty once asked me to speak plain and perhaps I have not done so enough, but if you spent less upon your whores there would not be so many who said thy court was a court of cuckolds, nor would your Treasury be empty.’
Monck made his bow, retired, and turned again at the door. ‘I crave your pardon, Your Majesty, for my importunities. And yours, Ned,’ he said addressing Clarendon, ‘for my rough tongue.’ Then he was gone, leaving King and his chief Minister in silence.
‘He is right about his rough tongue,’ remarked the King, visibly brightening at the old man’s departure.
‘He is right about a good deal more, Your Majesty,’ Clarendon observed pointedly, ‘howsoever I, among others, wish he was not.’
But the King was no longer listening, for his thoughts turned to a divertissement he had been mooting with Milady Castlemaine, Monck having unwittingly reminded of it.
*
Reluctantly Monck took to his bay charger, arguing his progress would be quicker than by coach if the roads were congested. Having summoned those of his staff officers that Matthew Lock had assembled immediately upon notice of the alarm, he rode first to The Tower, ordering all available guns put to their limbers and despatched overnight south of the river towards Rochester. As he remounted his horse the irony struck him: Was not John Middleton Governor of Rochester? The very same Earl Middleton whom he and Tom Morgan had pursued through the glens and Morgan had finally ambushed at Dalnaspidal? God, what a topsy-turvy world it was!
Throwing off the irrelevant thought Monck rode hard for Gravesend where he arrived to find the place in chaos and not a dozen men to defend it. There was no sign of the Duke of York and the Governor of its meagre fort was in despair. Monck sent a galloper back to divert some of The Tower guns to Gravesend, for the Dutch had already been reported in Sea Reach off Canvey Island. His presence in the little town soon became known and he was rapidly beset by a party of two score unemployed seamen offering to help. These proved to be men who had served under Admiral Myngs and had been expressing their desire to avenge their dead commander killed in the St James’s Day battle. Monck greeted them warmly, enjoyed a bumper of ale with them and, placing them in the garrison of the Gravesend fort, set them to improving the embrasures in anticipation of working the guns he had diverted from Rochester.
Retiring for a few hours sleep at an inn, he was informed as his boots were drawn off his swollen feet, that an officer had arrived at the tavern in search of him.
‘Pray, admit him at once.’ The young cavalier was well-dressed but mud-bespattered and exhausted. He announced himself as attached to Lord Middleton’s staff, his Lordship being besides the Governor of Rochester and acting Lord Lieutenant of Kent, commanded the county’s militia. ‘Well?’
Apparently over-awed at being in the presence of the great Duke of Albemarle the young man apologised. ‘I crave thy pardon, Your Grace, for taking so long to find you. I was told to ride directly to London and only lately heard of your being here, at Gravesend, and besides the roads are full of people escaping one way and of troops marching the other.’ He drew a letter from his gauntlet.
‘Such things are to be expected,’ Monck said, taking the proffered missive and breaking the seal. ‘Now, sir, do you confide in me the nub of your intelligence.’
‘His Lordship desires that I acquaint you with the fact that this very day the Dutch have taken the fort at Sheerness.’
‘Will you have bread, cheese and ale, sir, I fear this place has little else,’ he asked as he motioned the young man to a chair and scanned his old enemy’s words.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Monck summoned a boy and saw that the young officer had some food and drink. Then he addressed him, asking for more details.
‘What state of preparedness had the fort at Sheerness been raised to?’
‘I am uncertain, Your Grace, but I know that I heard Lord Middleton opine that it would not stand an attack, its works being incomplete and its defences poorly manned and supplied.’
‘D’you have any intelligence of Sir Edward Spragge?’
‘To the best of my knowledge, Your Grace, he is presently constructing a new battery at Gillingham.’
‘Having fallen back upstream?’
The young man shrugged. ‘Presumably.’
‘His Lordship tells me,’ Monck said, tapping Middleton’s letter, ‘that he fears the Dutch will force the boom and that he suspects there are English seamen who know the King’s Streams sufficiently to pilot the enemy within the Medway.’
‘That is,’ the officer began, still munching at his bread and cheese, ‘common knowledge. As Your Grace is aware, the losses of seamen and under-officers in the late battles with the Dutch resulted in unknown numbers of captives –’
‘Yes, yes, I understand that. But what of the ships?’
The young man shook his head. ‘I know nothing of ships, Your Grace.’
‘Have you had a sight of the river? Are they all within the dock or do some lie in the river at moorings? Do you know that?’
‘A great number lie in the river, Your Grace. I am no master of such matters but I should say the whole fleet…’
Monck grunted. While the great Duke of Albemarle’s legendary imperturbability impressed the young cavalier sent to find him with the news, Monck showed no signs of surprise: he had already anticipated the worst. His mind instead revolved the possibilities remaining to him. The fall of Sheerness would be but the first evidence of such gross neglect that further failures of common prudence could only follow. At least he now had only one thing to concern him: the safety of the men-of-war laid-up in the River Medway without which the war was won by the Dutch. It was as clear as daylight that invasion played no part in the enemy’s plans and that it was the fleet that was the Mynheers’ objective.
Monck rubbed his stubbly jaw. Their enterprise, which bore all the hallmarks of De Ruyter, was a r
evenge for Holmes’s Bonfire and paid with compound interest.
Asking the young officer to wait, Monck called for pen, ink, paper and sealing wax. These were brought by an attentive Matthew Lock who volunteered to write to Monck’s dictation but was waved aside.
‘Do you get some sleep, Matthew. I shall have need of all your skills tomorrow.’
Bending over the rough table and in the light of the single candle he wrote to the Admiral at Chatham.
Sir Edd Spragge,
Commander of the Naval Forces at Chatham and on the Medway,
Sir,
I am Commanded by His Majesty the King to take Command of the Whole of His Majesty’s Forces at Chatham, Sheerness and the Medway, besides those in and on the River of Thames.
You are Directed and Enjoined to take all such Measures as you deem Fit and Appropriate to Secure from the Enemy all Ships-of-War that Lie at Buoys and Moorings in the Stream of the Medway and to Withdraw them into the Enclosed Dock. Take particular care of the Great Ships, viz: the “Royal Charles,” the “Royal James” and the “Royal Oak”. You and Commissioner Pett shall do this at your Peradventure.
Albemarle
Lord-General of All the King’s Forces on Land and Sea
Holding the wax stick first over the candle and then the folded letter, Monck impressed his ring into the hot red wax.
‘I regret that duty obliges me to deny you a night’s sleep, sir, but this,’ he said solemnly, handing his letter over, ‘may be the single most important service you shall ever render your King and Country. God speed you.’
Monck watched the weariness fall away from the young man, saw him instinctively stiffen with resolve and responsibility. As the fellow withdrew Monck smiled and shook his head. ‘The advantages of youth,’ he muttered to himself before he turned to the flea-ridden bed-place and a night of fitful anxiety over the King’s ships.
*
On Tuesday 11th June 1667, Monck rode into Chatham at the head of his small entourage and commandeered the house of the Commissioner of the Royal Dockyard, Peter Pett. He sent an orderly to ascertain the arrival time of the Coldstream Guards whom they had by-passed on the main-road, despatched another at the head of a half-troop of horse to reconnoitre the ground between Chatham and Sheerness, in particular to ascertain what force of the enemy held the King’s ferry across the Swale, and paraded the garrison. Again he found only a handful of the regular troops in the King’s pay who mustered to the beat of the drum and they were chiefly commissioned and under-officers.
Having established himself in Master Peter Pett’s dining-room, to the horror of the Commissioner’s wife who had filled the entrance-hall with her private belongings over which she fossicked immoderately, Monck sent out his summons to Pett, the Earl of Middleton, Admiral Sir Edward Spragge and Henry Brouncker, Commissioner of the Navy Board. He greeted each as they entered the room with a grim face, saying nothing until they were all assembled, only seating himself purposefully in the chair at the head of the table usually occupied by the master of the house. All but Middleton, who had yet to arrive, sat in apprehensive silence, unwilling to venture any comment before that of the Lord-General.
After perhaps twenty minutes of this awkward hiatus, Middleton was announced. Monck rose and, leaning on his cane, came round the corner of the table and held out his hand as Middleton straightened up from his bow.
‘My Lord, we have been enemies, have we not, but now I enjoin friendship for we are together in desperate straits.’
‘Indeed, Your Grace.’ The Scots burr brought a sudden wave of nostalgia to Monck as the two men sat.
Monck stared round the table, holding the gaze of each attendee in succession, excepting Middleton. Commissioner Pett wormed uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I have seen something from the river’s bank of the neglect that has fallen over this place,’ Monck began. ‘Most of the fleet still lies in the stream to the dishonour of those responsible, so it behoves us not to waste time sitting here crying over spilt milk. Can anyone tell me exactly where the most advanced of the Dutch ships now lie, eh?’
‘I have reason to know they were seen from Hoo and Kingsnorth, Your Grace,’ offered Brouncker.
‘They have been seen from St Mary’s Island, Your Grace,’ Pett said ingratiatingly. ‘’Twas but a small, single-masted pinnace.’
‘A yacht, you mean, Master Pett,’ said Monck, employing the Dutch noun as a means of reducing Pett to his place as an incompetent whose best achievement in the affair had been the spilling of the milk itself.
‘Sir Edward?’ Monck looked expectantly at Admiral Spragge who ought to have best known the situation, having been driven out of Sheerness fort.
‘Master Pett is correct, Your Grace,’ the sea-officer said flatly.
‘Very well then,’ Monck nodded. ‘A boat if you please, Master Pett, to be available at once, and some others to follow to take our orders.’ Monck addressed the others in turn. ‘Sir Edward, some officers disposed to exert themselves as they were wont to do at sea; do you bring them out of the ships if necessary. We must make best use of what is to hand. Master Brouncker a requisition for cables, ropes and any other tackle that shall be thought necessary by Sir Edward, or any of the sea-officers, and all of you to accompany me in the first place that we may direct matters conjointly. I give you fifteen minutes to concert matters then we are to muster by the King’s stairs… Oh, and a chart of the upper reaches, if someone can lay hands upon one.’
With that, Monck rose, drawing Middleton aside and addressing him quietly as the others scuttled out to do Monck’s peremptory bidding.
‘My Lord Middleton you, thank God, know your business too well,’ he began with a hint of irony, ‘do you bring all such troops, but chiefly those guns available, and position them on the banks of the river where best they may enfilade the reach contiguous to the Dockyard. If you are able, reinforce Upnor Castle. I saw only a handful of the King’s troops at the muster and they were so mightily distracted by fear that we may expect little service from them without a stiffening. Your militia will, I hope, bear up if only in appearance to deter the Dutch from attempting the landing and burning of the Dockyard itself. God help the ships in the stream, but if I leave the river’s bank to you, I shall do my best to wring some action out of these others.’
‘Aye, Your Grace, ye may leave the matter in my hands.’
‘One thing more. Do you order my Coldstreamers to this place. I shall join them later.’
Middleton grinned. ‘Ah shall tak’ a wee pleasure in giving any order to the Coldstreamers, Y’r Grace.’
And, despite their predicament, the two old enemies made their mutual bows smiling, to go their separate ways.
Pett had a grand admiral’s barge at their disposal with three lesser craft trailing in her wake as they pulled out into the stream. He seemed distracted and before the barge pulled away from the steps, Monck thought he heard him pass word to an attendant to ‘ensure Mistress Pett carries off all the plate’.
The day was bright, sunny, and with a light breeze from the south-east such that would waft the Dutch upstream. On the distant horizon, above the green and wooded hills that rose in low undulations on either side of the Medway, lay a pall of smoke: the Dutch.
‘They will be upon us within hours,’ Monck growled, regarding the long lines of men-of-war lying in the tiers, their upper spars sent down, their stems and sterns moored to the heavy iron-ringed mooring buoys with every appearance of permanence. It was not lost at him that the tide was at a young flooding. ‘We must do what we may to remove some at least of these within the confines of the dock.’
‘The tide will not yet serve… There is no time…’ Pett murmured, as if the admission emphasised his own neglect. Then the reason burst from him, for the imputation of incompetence was more than he could bear. ‘Your Grace, we have not had the money to pay the labourers for months, I cannot get a man to work for nothing when his wife and children want food and he is so hungry that he has not the
energy to assist. Doth the King know this?’
‘Speak not to me of such matters, Master Pett,’ Monck replied discouragingly. ‘It is for us to mitigate what I fear is about to fall upon the Kingdom. Is that the Royal James?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘And that is the Royal Charles, is it not?
‘Yes, Your Grace, it is.’
There they lay, two of the King’s best ships, the latter Monck’s late flag-ship. Both were supine, laid up ‘in ordinary’ as the phrase had it, their gun-ports closed, their guns removed ashore, barely two score of ship-keepers to maintain them as they tugged gently at their moorings, just two of fifty or so men-of-war that lay idle.
‘I gave specific orders for their removal,’ Monck said, turning to the admiral. ‘Sir Edward?’
‘I passed the word to Master Pett, Your Grace.’ Spragge was clearly exhausted and Monck did not press him but turned to the Commissioner.
‘Master Pett?’
‘There are not the men –’ Pett began, but Monck cut him short. There was no time for recriminations, only for the adoption of some measures of preservation.
‘Is there time yet to effect their withdrawal?’
‘I doubt it, Your Grace,’ Spragge suggested wearily. ‘The best we might achieve is to scuttle them where they lie.’
‘That is a desperate and severe expedient,’ Monck said reflectively, ‘but they invite the Dutch like loose tinder…’ Monck shook his head. ‘Let us first look to the outer works,’ he began decisively. ‘Now, Sir Edward, I perceive the river opens here. Do you think it profitable to move five or six of the smaller vessels and sink them as obstacles a little downstream?’
‘There are two possible approaches, Your Grace, either side of the Mussel Bank, though one will only serve towards the top of the tide. I have covered this with the battery at Gillingham. We might block one, but the other…’
‘Let us leave this matter to Master Pett.’ Monck turned to the Commissioner. ‘Do you get the nearest four small vessels and have them towed and sunk to block the channels. That will give you something to do rather than occupy your thoughts with the salvation of your plate and effects. Do you lend your endeavours too, Master Brouncker.’
Sword of State: The Remarkable Story of George Monck Page 61
