by Chris Durbin
‘Stuns’ls,’ shouted the master. ‘Rig the fore and main stuns’ls.’
The privateer was three miles dead astern now and Biscay lay ahead. If Lord Halifax really was a fast ship sailing large, then they still had a chance; there was a British blockading squadron off Rochefort. Again, the important thing was to stay out of reach during daylight, about nine hours Holbrooke reckoned.
The master looked around him, at the stuns’ls being laboriously rigged, at the privateer astern of them.
‘Would you gentlemen lend a hand to clear away the guns?’
‘You’ll fight?’ asked Holbrooke in surprise.
‘No, sir. I don’t want to antagonise him, chances are we’ll be in his power before noon. Oh, I’ll hurl a few balls from our four-pounders, just for form’s sake, but I won’t hit him, that would be unwise.’
Holbrooke nodded; it was only good sense. After all, this was essentially a commercial transaction. The privateer had no desire to hurt anyone on the packet and if he were afforded the same courtesy, then there need be no unpleasantness when they were boarded. Still, there was a decent chance of escape. If they could stay clear through this day and the next, they’d be quite likely to meet the blockading squadron, or some patrolling frigate. There could even be a convoy crossing the bay. Any one of those would frustrate the privateer. His best chance now was to close as fast as he could, then hope to get his prize home without meeting any British men-o’-war.
The stuns’ls started to draw and the packet’s speed increased noticeably. Holbrooke watched the privateer carefully.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
Lynton pulled a face. ‘We’re evenly matched, I would say, sir.’
‘Then the race favours the pursuer,’ said Holbrooke. ‘It will only take one mistake, one piece of gear carried away and he’ll be on us. Look at those stuns’l yards.’
They all gazed upwards. The wind was increasing, and the yards were flexing dangerously.
‘He’ll have to strike them, or they’ll carry away in the next squall,’ said Jackson.
‘I suggest we make our preparations,’ said Holbrooke, trying not to let his despair show.
It appeared very likely that he’d be a prisoner of the French again before the day was out. Nevertheless, it was entirely possible that the captured packet would never make it to a French port, she could easily be retaken by a British man-o’-war. That, however, wouldn’t help him and his colleagues. Theirs were valuable bodies and they’d certainly be taken into the privateer.
Holbrooke was in the cramped cabin with Serviteur. He was loading pistol balls into the envelope containing his orders and distributing his purse throughout his clothing in the faint hope that his captors would overlook it.
It was hard not to let his misery show. This was quite possibly the end of his career. There’d be no rapid exchange once he was in the hands of a privateer. He’d have to wait while the owners negotiated with the French navy over his head money, and only then would he be eligible for exchange. It would certainly take months and quite possibly years. He’d be forgotten, and the war could well be over before he was repatriated.
He was stowing the last of his gold guineas into a waistcoat pocket when he heard a hail faintly through the skylight.
‘Sail ho! there’s a brig or a snow four points off our larboard bow.’
Holbrooke rushed to the deck. If this was a British cruiser, then they could be saved. A brig would have a hard fight against a ship-rigged privateer, but it would be easy for the packet to escape while the two were locked in battle. The privateer may even decide it wasn’t worth it; after all it was none of his business to be fighting men-o’-war. Even if he won, the monetary balance would be against him. A little armed brig wasn’t worth much and both vessels would certainly be extensively damaged.
Holbrooke studied the newcomer intently. A snow, not a brig, he decided, but she didn’t look very British. Those topsails had never been approved by a navy board official in a King’s yard. She looked very much like the smaller kind of ocean-going privateer that the French fitted out at Dunkirk.
Jackson shook his head.
‘French for sure,’ he said. ‘One of those four-pounder snows, eight guns probably.’
Holbrooke kept his face immobile. His hopes had been dashed, and now he must continue preparing for a lengthy period of captivity.
‘I can see the white of his colours now,’ said Jackson. ‘French without a doubt.’ The snow was bows-on to the packet and the ensign could be partially seen through the tangle of masts and sails.
Holbrooke looked astern at the privateer. The distance had appreciably shortened; she was certainly the faster ship off the wind, whatever the packet’s master thought. But something was happening. The privateer had put the wind on his starboard quarter and he was steering to the south of the packet’s course. Holbrooke swung back to look at the snow. He had to wave Sutton aside, the carpenter had just reappeared on deck and was looking with interest at the newcomer, blocking Holbrooke’s view. It had altered course a point or so to starboard and now the ensign was showing clear of the mains’l.
‘Look again, Mister Jackson,’ Holbrooke said with some complacency.
‘Well, I’ll be damned! That’s a white ensign! She’s part of the Channel Fleet!’
‘Oh, didn’t you know?’ said Sutton in a matter-of-fact way. ‘That’s Hazard’s Prize, taken in fifty-six. We didn’t see fit to change her rig at Dock. I expect she’ll be sold soon, but here she is and just in time too!’
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‘I feel the tide turning against me, Chalmers,’ said Holbrooke when they were alone in the cabin that they shared with Lynton. He’d been turning over in his mind the linked objectives of promotion and marriage.
Chalmers considered for a moment before speaking.
‘When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand;
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?’
He gave Holbrooke one of his significant looks, the sort that said, there, you see!
‘I know the quotation,’ said Holbrooke peevishly, ‘Julius Caesar.’ He turned back to his gloomy study of the passing ocean. Hazard’s Prize was in sight to windward. Her captain had agreed to accompany the packet until it was south of Finisterre and had offered to take mail back to Plymouth for them.
Chalmers made no reply. It wouldn’t help his case to point out that the lines were penned for a different play entirely: Richard III. A little education is a dangerous thing, he reflected. He sat in silence with the patience of a hunter who knows the habits of his quarry.
At length Holbrooke raised his eyes.
‘Then what should I gather from your morsel of Shakespeare, Chalmers? Other than a vindication of my mood.’
‘Signs and portents, my dear fellow,’ Chalmers replied, and again lapsed into silence.
Holbrooke looked puzzled. He knew that to say anything more on the subject was to walk straight into the trap that the chaplain had set. Yet, he couldn’t help himself, as Chalmers knew full well.
‘Surely that quotation leads us to expect the worst from signs and portents.’
‘Just so, and yet here we are, happily on our way to the colonies and not in the hold of a French privateer.’
More silence.
‘At sunrise the signs suggested that we should prepare for being captured,’ Chalmers continued, ‘but an hour later the situation had changed. My point is, don’t put your faith in signs and portents, they’re treacherous things.’
‘You think I’m too pessimistic?’
‘I do. Yes, I do. And I believe you should write to Mister Featherstone this very day so that the snow may carry it back to England.’
Holbrooke sat up with a start. It was as though Chalmers had been reading his mind. They’d determined weeks ago that he shouldn’t write to Ann under the present circumstances, and it would surely be wrong to write to h
er stepmother, a married woman. But Martin Featherstone? He was the fly in the ointment, the impediment to his attachment to Ann. It would be a bold move to write to him. And yet, a frank letter stating his case could do no harm and possibly a lot of good.
‘And furthermore, the time has come to let Mister Featherstone know that you have a fortune of your own, that you could live as a married gentleman without the need of a day’s further employment. I sat with you in Mister Hammond’s office last month. I have a shrewd idea of your wealth, and it’s more than enough to recommend your suit to a provincial corn merchant.’
Holbrooke was aware of the scale of his wealth, but he hadn’t yet connected it with the approval of Ann’s father. His pulse started to race as though he was going into action.
‘What would I do without you, Chalmers?’ he exclaimed. ‘Serviteur, my writing case, if you please.’
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Historical Epilogue
The Legacy of Pitt’s Strategy of Descents
The effectiveness of Pitt’s strategy of descents has been argued for a quarter of a millennium. Certainly, there was considerable destruction of shipping and port facilities, and the privateers of Saint-Malo slept less comfortably, but whether it resulted in a significant reduction in French forces in Germany is not at all clear.
What is not in question are the considerable advances in command arrangements for combined operations, the leap forward in naval signalling and the development of the first mass-produced, purpose-built landing craft. These flatboats were used again at Quebec in 1759, at Belle Isle in 1761 and at Havana and Saint Lucia in 1762. During the American Revolution they provided vital littoral mobility to the British commanders and the design lineage can be traced through to the twentieth century. The descendants of the flatboats landed allied marines and soldiers at Okinawa and Salerno and nearly two hundred years after Saint-Malo they came full circle by landing the greatest seaborne invasion force of all time on the Normandy beaches.
Yet there are unanswered questions: why did Pitt persevere with the campaign after the failure at Rochefort; why was Saint-Malo chosen for a second attempt; and why was General Bligh’s army landed to the west of Saint-Malo with no means of crossing the Rance? We will probably never have clear answers. Perhaps Pitt was merely going through the motions; appeasing King Frederick and Prince Ferdinand while carefully avoiding continental commitments.
However, with the disaster at Saint-Cast in 1758, the campaign of descents on the French coast came to an end. A British army was sent to the continent, through Emden, and the French homeland was molested no more until 1761.
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Where Fact Meets Fiction
The descents on Brittany and Normandy in 1758 happened much as I have described them. The ships and people are real except for Kestrel and her crew, Major Albach, Captain Overton and some of the minor characters we met along the way.
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The third Duke of Marlborough should not be confused with his illustrious grandfather, the first duke, who was the victor of Blenheim and Ramillies in the War of Spanish Succession. After the first raid on Saint-Malo in 1758, he successfully lobbied to be given command of the expeditionary force being prepared for Germany. However, the duke didn’t live to distinguish himself on the continent, as his grandfather had done. He died of dysentery in October 1758, just months into the campaign.
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Richard Howe was a remarkable man who served his country well through the Seven Years War, the American War of Independence and into the French Revolutionary War. He is best remembered for his great victory at the Glorious First of June which is still celebrated in the Royal Navy. He went on to become the First Lord of the Admiralty.
In 1758 While still a junior post-captain, he was plucked out of obscurity to command the naval element of Pitt’s strategy of descents. The effect this had on his superior, Edward Hawke, is well documented. He was principally responsible for the early development of coherent amphibious warfare principles that can be traced forward to the doctrines in use throughout the world in the twenty-first century
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There were three post-captains and a commander on the beach at Saint-Cast in September 1758; Joshua Rowley, Jervis Maplesden, William Paston and John Elphinstone. They were all captured and quickly exchanged only to find that their ships had been given to others in their absence. Each of them was given a new and larger command within six months. I added the fictional George Holbrooke to this brave quartet. I hope that their shades will forgive me. At least I’ve brought their heroism to a new audience.
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It’s an interesting social commentary of the time that there was a Mrs Winter who owned, in her own name, a boatyard at Deptford Wharf in 1758. As far as I can tell she was the widowed daughter-in-law of the founder of the yard, but in any case, she managed the yard as a going concern. She appears to have lost money on building the prototype flatboat and, in recognition, the Admiralty allowed her another shilling per foot for the production models. A shilling is equivalent to five pence in late-2019 British currency, or about six-and-a-half cents in American. That’s inflation for you!
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Other Carlisle & Holbrooke Naval Adventures
Book 1: The Colonial Post-Captain
Captain Carlisle of His Britannic Majesty’s frigate Fury hails from Virginia, a loyal colony of the British Crown. In 1756, as the clouds of war gather in Europe, Fury is ordered to Toulon to investigate a French naval and military build-up.
While battling the winter weather, Carlisle must also juggle with delicate diplomatic issues in this period of phoney war and contend with an increasingly belligerent French frigate.
And then there is the beautiful Chiara Angelini, pursued across the Mediterranean by a Tunisian corsair who appears determined to abduct her, yet strangely reluctant to shed blood.
Carlisle and his young master’s mate, George Holbrooke, are witnesses to the inconclusive sea-battle that leads to the loss of Minorca. They engage in a thrilling and bloody encounter with the French frigate and a final confrontation with the enigmatic corsair.
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Book 2: The Leeward Islands Squadron
In late 1756, as the British government collapses in the aftermath of the loss of Minorca and the country and navy are thrown into political chaos, a small force of ships is sent to the West Indies to reinforce the Leeward Islands Squadron.
Captain Edward Carlisle, a native of Virginia, and his first lieutenant George Holbrooke are fresh from the Mediterranean and their capture of a powerful French man-of-war. Their new frigate Medina has orders to join a squadron commanded by a terminally ill commodore. Their mission: a near-suicidal assault on a strong Caribbean island fortress. Carlisle must confront the challenges of higher command as he leads the squadron back into battle to accomplish the Admiralty’s orders.
Join Carlisle and Holbrooke as they attack shore fortifications, engage in ship-on-ship duels and deal with mutiny in the West Indies.
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Book 3: The Jamaica Station
It is 1757, and the British navy is regrouping from a slow start to the seven years war.
A Spanish colonial governor and his family are pursued through the Caribbean by a pair of mysterious ships from the Dutch island of St. Eustatius. The British frigate Medina rescues the governor from his hurricane-wrecked ship, leading Captain Edward Carlisle and his first lieutenant George Holbrooke into a web of intrigue and half-truths. Are the Dutchmen operating under a letter of marque or are they pirates, and why are they hunting the Spaniard? Only the diplomatic skills of Carlisle’s aristocratic wife, Lady Chiara, can solve the puzzle.
When Carlisle is injured, the young Holbrooke must grow up quickly. Under his leadership, Medina takes part in a one-sided battle with the French that will influence a young Horatio Nelson to choose the navy as a career.
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Book 4: Holbrooke’s Tide
&nbs
p; It is 1758 and the Seven Years War is at its height. The Duke of Cumberland’s Hanoverian army has been pushed back to the river Elbe while the French are using the medieval fortified city of Emden to resupply their army and to anchor its left flank.
George Holbrooke has recently returned from the Jamaica Station in command of a sloop-of-war. He is under orders to survey and blockade the approaches to Emden in advance of the arrival of a British squadron. The French garrison and their Austrian allies are nervous. With their supply line cut, they are in danger of being isolated when the French army is forced to retreat in the face of the new Prussian-led army that is gathering on the Elbe. Can the French be bluffed out of Emden? Is this Holbrooke’s flood tide that will lead to his next promotion?
Holbrooke’s Tide is the fourth of the Carlisle & Holbrooke naval adventures. The series follows the exploits of the two men through the Seven Years War and into the period of turbulent relations between Britain and her American colonies in the 1760s.
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Book 5: The Cursed Fortress
The French called it La Forteresse Maudite; the Cursed Fortress.
Louisbourg stood at the mouth of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, massive and impregnable, a permanent provocation to the British colonies. It was Canada’s first line of defence, guarding the approaches to Quebec, from where all New France lay open to invasion. It had to fall before a British fleet could be sent up the St. Lawrence. Otherwise, there would be no resupply and no line of retreat; Canada would become the graveyard of George II’s navy.
A failed attempt on Louisbourg in 1757 had only stiffened the government’s resolve; the Cursed Fortress must fall in 1758.
