by Chris Durbin
There was a knock at the cabin door and Pritchard came in. It was apparent that he’d taken a drink. Not enough for Holbrooke to object, but enough to put a broad smile on the clerk’s face.
‘Dispatches from the flagship, sir. We were hailed alongside as we were returning, it saved them sending a boat.’
‘Thank you, Mister Pritchard.’
The clerk showed no sign of leaving. He wanted to know what was in the orders before anyone else.
‘Thank you, Mister Pritchard,’ Holbrooke repeated emphatically, looking hard at his clerk.
When he was alone, he broke the seal. He found that he was strangely nervous. The meeting with the commodore today, he felt, had gone some way to repairing his relationship with his superior. Perhaps this was the fruit of that reconciliation.
You are hereby requested and required to take His Majesty’s Sloop Kestrel to the vicinity of Cherbourg, there to watch the port and await the arrival of the squadron under my command in the first week of August…
◆◆◆
19: An Opportunity
Sunday, Sixth of August 1758.
Kestrel, at Sea. Off Cherbourg.
The cutter Grace had brought news of Howe’s squadron the evening before, so the arrival of over a hundred vessels was no surprise to Holbrooke. Nevertheless, the sight of such an armada of ships silhouetted by the dawn stirred the blood. One by one, the rays of the hidden sun illuminated the t’gallants and royals, picking them out in gold against the still-dusky sky. It was hard to imagine how such an armament could fail in its purpose.
The squadron was welcome. For three weeks Kestrel had patrolled between Cape La Hague and Cape Levi, never sighting an enemy man-o’-war or privateer and rarely a merchantman. For the first few days the fishing boats of the coast had sulked in their ports and sheltered beaches, but gradually the urgent need to make a living had tempted the bolder souls to take the risk. Soon, when the word got around that Kestrel wasn’t interested in them, the bay was again dotted with fishermen in their distinctive lug-rigged flambards and bisquines, the local craft of Normandy. But never anything large enough to tempt the English cruiser. Holbrooke had noted the development of the batteries and earthworks along the coast and Fairview had run lines of soundings and laid down the positions of any rock that showed itself above the waves.
The squadron made its leisurely way into the bay, the flagship Essex in the lead with frigates and fourth-rates on the flanks.
‘Flagship signals for captain of Kestrel, sir,’ announced Midshipman Edney removing his hat for this formal report.
He was growing into the job. He’d learned to keep a constant watch on the flagship and to anticipate the most likely signals that would be directed at Kestrel. An hour before, Holbrooke had spotted him refreshing his memory of the signal for captain report aboard the flagship, and it would have been surprising if he didn’t already know his own ship’s pennant.
Edney wasn’t the only one who could anticipate the squadron commander’s needs. Jackson had already warned off the captain’s coxswain, and the longboat was on a short painter with Dawson and the crew waiting in the waist, dressed in matching blue jackets from the slop store. Holbrooke saw that Dawson sported a tall, black, glazed hat with the ship’s name picked out in yellow, a new addition to his wardrobe that the sailmaker had run up, deeming that the sloop’s dignity was being compromised by a captain’s coxswain without appropriate headgear.
Here was Treganoc, his regimentals adding a patch of colour to the blues and whites on the quarterdeck. Holbrooke had warned him to be ready, so that he could add his professional military analysis to the plans and drawings of the French defences.
Holbrooke cast a sweeping glance around this little patch of sea that he’d come to think of as his own. There were no fishermen this morning. It was Sunday and in this part of France that still meant mass in the morning and the afternoon spent with wine and boules and calvados. Those few free-thinkers or those whom poverty drove to sea on a Sunday evidently didn’t like the look of these newcomers.
‘Keep two miles clear of the island, Mister Lynton, and look out for the flagship’s signals. I expect you’ll be given a station soon; you’re to take it up with all possible speed.’
◆◆◆
It was always a shock to see the tall sides of a third-rate after Kestrel’s low freeboard. From the sloop’s waist, Holbrooke could step down into the longboat with ease, but to even reach the entry port of Essex he needed to climb the sea-slippery cleats keeping a grip on the side ropes. It was a difficult feat at sea and Campbell had thoughtfully positioned strong and agile seamen either side of the cleats to prevent a fall. The seamen themselves were clinging onto the coaming of the gun-ports with practised ease and grinning at the careful progress of the officer. Holbrooke’s precious rolls of charts had been given into Dawson’s custody, and it was in his competent arms that they were carried into the flagship.
Campbell met Holbrooke at the entry-port. It was a handsome yet surprising gesture; it would be more usual for the first lieutenant of a flagship to meet a commander.
‘Good morning, Holbrooke. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I trust your watch hasn’t been too dreary,’ Campbell said smiling pleasantly.
He was clearly in good spirits even though the prospect of commanding a division of flatboats must have been weighing on his soul. Campbell’s welcome had all the appearance of sincerity and it seemed to warrant a response from Holbrooke, who was still unsure of how he was perceived by Howe, and by extension his flag captain.
‘Very quiet, sir,’ he replied as they walked towards the cabin. ‘I’ve seen nothing other than fishermen for the whole three weeks. The coast seems to be holding its breath.’
‘As well it might,’ Campbell laughed. ‘The commodore is looking forward to meeting you again. He’s in an easier frame of mind now.’
That short conversation carried them to the door of the great cabin. Holbrooke would have liked to have had the time to probe Campbell about this easier frame of mind, and how it related to his own standing with the commodore, but it was a difficult subject to raise, and he wasn’t at all sure how much Campbell would be prepared to reveal.
‘Would you wait outside for a moment, Mister Treganoc?’ asked Campbell.
Inside the cabin, a very senior looking soldier was deep in conversation with Howe at one end of the dining table, while at the other end their principal aides were talking quietly.
‘Good morning, Captain Holbrooke,’ Howe said looking up.
Captain Holbrooke. That was a good start.
‘General, I don’t believe you’ve met Captain Holbrooke. He’s been keeping a watch on Cherbourg for me. Captain Holbrooke, this is General Bligh.’
This was a surprise. When Holbrooke left Spithead three weeks before, the Duke of Marlborough still had command of the field army, although he was openly manoeuvering for an appointment in Germany. Bligh was an old man, he looked to be in his seventies, but he smiled and extended his hand. He appeared an easier man to work with than his predecessor.
‘You have charts, I see,’ said Howe, gesturing at the thick paper rolls under Holbrooke's arm. ‘That sailing master of yours must be a prolific surveyor.’
‘He is, sir,’ replied Holbrooke. ‘He’s laid down every rock and foul ground along the coast and he’s run lines of soundings for all the approaches. If you intend to land between Cape La Hague and Cape Levi, these will be useful.’
‘And the French defences?’ asked Howe.
‘They’re separately laid down here,’ he replied indicating the second bundle. ‘My marine lieutenant is waiting outside to add his knowledge, if you please, sir,’
‘Yes, please call him in.’
Introductions were made and Treganoc was soon in a deep and detailed conversation with Bligh’s staff officers. Holbrooke could add little to the discussion and Howe had soon seen as much as he needed.
When everyone else was too deeply engrossed in the maps
and charts to notice, Howe moved closer to Holbrooke so as not to be heard. ‘Mister Holbrooke, join me on the gallery for a moment, if you please,’ he said quietly, ‘and Campbell, you too.’
◆◆◆
The squadron still had a few miles to run to its anchorage in the bay, and from the flagship’s stern gallery the three men had a glorious view of the squadron with the sun now a few hand-breadths above the horizon. They all paused a moment to take in the grandeur and the beauty of the scene.
The gallery was a narrow platform running the width of Essex’s stern outboard of the cabin windows. It had a guardrail at chest height that prevented two people passing without an undignified shuffle. Having politely ushered Holbrooke out first, Howe found himself placed irrevocably between his flag captain and his youngest commander, with no easy way of exchanging places. Probably he would have like to face both Campbell and Holbrooke, but that was no longer possible.
Howe gave Campbell a meaningful glance. The flag captain replied with a nod.
‘I wanted to get away from the soldiers, Holbrooke, but particularly from the general who doesn’t need to hear this.’
An unpromising beginning, Holbrooke thought. What was coming next? Was he going to be replaced in command of Kestrel? Had Howe promised the sloop to one of his own staff? His legs felt suddenly weak and he touched the guardrail to steady himself.
Howe appeared not to notice, but Campbell did, and he winked encouragingly at Holbrooke over the commodore’s shoulder. Howe plunged on obliviously.
‘You’re aware that each division of flatboats is commanded by one of my post-captains?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Holbrooke, weakly.
‘Well, I’ve decided to give you Captain Campbell’s division. Temporarily, on approval as it were.’
A wave of relief flooded over Holbrooke. This was good news.
‘Captain Campbell and I have discussed this at length. It will come as no surprise that I really would prefer my flag captain by my side during these landings. I need the freedom to shift my flag yet leave the elements of the squadron command intact in the flagship.’
Campbell nodded approvingly.
‘However, there’s another reason. I was a commander once, Holbrooke, and so was Campbell, and we both know how important it is for you young fellows to have a chance to distinguish yourselves. Through no fault of your own, your service in command has been overlooked so far. I know the role you played at Emden, yet your name has less prominence than your marine lieutenant,’ he gestured towards Treganoc through the cabin windows. ‘I’m giving you that chance.’
Campbell winked again from behind Howe. It occurred to Holbrooke that it would suit Campbell to be relieved of this duty. There was little honour and less recognition to be gained by a post-captain in command of four boats, even on such a vital service. For a master-and-commander, however…
‘Thank you, sir, for this great honour,’ Holbrooke said, trying to master his emotions.
‘Of course, you know all about the flatboats after the landing trials up Fareham Creek. I suggest you take Mister Treganoc with you as your coxswain, you may find him useful. He can steer a boat, I presume. There’s no opportunity to practise.’
‘Oh yes, sir. In fact, he’s already steered a flatboat, the day after the trials.’
‘It will be a little cramped in the stern sheets,’ said Campbell, ‘but you’re both slim fellows and the soldiers will just have to move up the bench.’
‘We found that the divisional commanders can’t effectively steer their boat, attend to the direction of their division and look out for the flagship’s signals all at the same time. They need a coxswain to second them. I’m reluctant to tell the army that they must embark one less soldier, so as Campbell says, it will be a tight squeeze.’
‘Is your sloop in good hands for an hour or so, Holbrooke?’ Campbell asked, ‘I’ll need to go through the signals with you.’
‘Yes sir, my first lieutenant is quite competent.’
‘And you have that sailing master of course,’ Howe laughed. ‘You’d better put him under lock and key or I’ll be looking for him on my own quarterdeck! Now, move along there Campbell and let me get back to the cabin. God only knows what those soldiers are planning in my absence. They’ve probably already decided that the whole thing’s too difficult and they’d be better employed at Horse Guards or disporting themselves on Rotten Row!’
◆◆◆
The peace of the flag captain’s day cabin was welcome after the business of the commodore’s quarters. Campbell’s secretary was there, and he’d made a bundle of all the letters and instructions that Holbrooke would need. There were signals for advancing and withdrawing, signals for the bomb vessels to engage the targets ashore and flags to direct the sloops – Kestrel would be one of them, without Holbrooke in command – to fire over the advancing boats into the shore defences.
Campbell guided Holbrooke through the mass of paperwork. He was a meticulous man and unlike many of his contemporaries, he recognised the need for exactness in an enterprise of this sort.
‘Now, you’ll have a division of four boats from Ruby, Amity’s Assistance, True Briton and Eagle.’
He named the transports that had brought the boats from Spithead, resting on booms in their waists.
‘The boats’ crews will come from Essex. You’ll have Fitzalan and Johnstone, the two master’s mates that were with you in Fareham Creek and another, Tomlyn, who you probably don’t know. They’re all good officers as I hope Fitzalan and Johnstone showed themselves on that previous occasion. They’ve been steering these flatboats for three or four months now and know their business. Mister Treganoc of course will steer your boat.’
That’s good, Holbrooke thought. He was happy with those coxswains and it was reassuring to know that Treganoc would be close at hand.
‘You’ll be taking the grenadiers of Effingham’s in the first landing and Lambton’s regiment – the Sixty-Eighth – in the second. They’re well drilled, they’ve been in and out of those boats a dozen times now. Of course, you know Captain Overton, he’ll be in your boat commanding the two companies.’
There was little more to be said of a formal nature, and they drank their coffee while Campbell gave Holbrooke the benefit of his experience at Saint-Malo and the first abandoned attempt at Cherbourg.
‘You know, Holbrooke,’ said Campbell, watching the younger man’s face, ‘I wouldn’t blame you if suspected me of palming this duty off on you because it didn’t suit me.’
Holbrooke was unsure how to respond to that statement. He’d begun to believe that Campbell had a liking for him and had worked quietly in the background to secure this opportunity, this chance for Holbrooke to prove himself. Campbell saved him by plunging on.
‘The truth is that there is an element of self-interest. Oh, I’m not shy,’ he added, ‘it’s not the danger to my person that concerns me, but the danger to my ship.’
He looked around to confirm that his secretary and steward had left.
‘The fact is that my first lieutenant’s sick on shore and my second’s not the best of officers, he’s hesitant and he doesn’t have any command of the men. My sailing master’s a drunkard. The commodore was only partly jesting when he said that he coveted your Josiah Fairview!’
Holbrooke nodded. He was being included in sensitive matters by a post-captain of considerable seniority, ten years at least, Holbrooke had heard. Campbell made the comments on his sailing master from first-hand experience of the rank, being one of the few officers to be commissioned after holding a master’s warrant himself. He’d been with Anson on his famous voyage around the world and the shocking loss of life had propelled him from midshipman to master’s mate to sailing master in a short space of time. He’d navigated Centurion home from the Far East, loaded with the spoils from the capture of the Spanish treasure ship. Best to make no comment, Holbrooke thought.
‘There’s another reason, and the commodore mentioned it. You�
��ve no more than a year – probably less – to prove yourself, and time is passing. You need to make it easy for Commodore Howe to mention you in his report, you need your name in the Gazette. In this expedition, the command of a division of flatboats is certainly the best way to achieve that. I’ve done my best to get you that opportunity. It’s up to you now!’
◆◆◆
20: Assault Commander
Monday, Seventh of August 1758.
Number Five Flatboat, at Sea. The Bay of Saint-Marais.
Little wind and fair weather, the master’s mate had written in Kestrel’s log yesterday. Ditto weather today. That about summed it up. There was just enough wind to give a sloop steerage way, but the frigates and ships-of-the-line weren’t stirring from their anchor berths without a favourable tide and a pair of longboats to tow them.
The signal for the flatboats to be manned had been hung out in the flagship as the first hint of morning twilight started to show. Holbrooke and Treganoc had been rowed over to Ruby where they were met by twenty of the oarsmen that Essex had provided. Campbell had to strip his ship of eighty of his best seamen to man the four flatboats. With a weak set of officers under him, it was no wonder that he was reluctant to leave the ship himself.
The flatboat had already been hoisted out and it was a matter of seconds for the oarsmen to take their places. Essex must be a good ship, Holbrooke thought, because every man carried a canvas cushion stuffed with oakum. The sailmaker and his mates had been busy. The cushions looked like they’d had hard use already, perhaps they were always issued to the boat crews when they expected to be rowing for long periods. But of course, he’d met Campbell, and that was just the sort of spirit of co-operation that he would foster among his people. He was beginning to regret that he hadn’t thought of such a convenience for himself, the oak thwart was no more yielding than any other he’d sat on. Never mind, he thought, once they were clear of the flagship he could sit on his coat.
