The Cursed Fortress

by Chris Durbin

  ‘Aye-aye sir,’ he replied, ‘that I will.’

  ‘The guns are loaded with chain shot,’ reported Moxon, touching his hat.

  ‘Very well,’ replied Carlisle. ‘We have a few minutes. Call the crews to the quarterdeck rail, if you please, Mister Moxon.’

  It would be hard to say what had motivated Carlisle to address the crew. He had rarely done so, not even before a battle, but this one would be different to any he’d led them into before and he wanted to be sure that they knew his plan.

  The crews came jostling aft, securing the tackles and giving a last blow on the slow match to keep it alight before they left their guns. He’d known most of these men through a commission in the Leeward Islands and Jamaica Squadron where he’d taken them into battle naked from the waist up, now they were in layer after layer of clothing against the killing cold. They didn’t at first look like the same men at all. He knew that they’d be shedding guernsey sweaters and gregos after the first rounds were fired – it was hot work serving a nine-pounder gun in action – but for now they looked almost comical. But there was nothing amusing about their faces; they looked like the very model of fighting men, grim and determined.

  ‘You all know our friend over there,’ shouted Carlisle so that they could all hear him, ‘he’s run away from us once, but he won’t run this time. He needs to get those transports into port over there,’ he said, pointing across the larboard bow, ‘and we need to stop them.’

  Carlisle was pleased with his phrasing. Keep it straightforward and simple, he thought, that’s the way to lead these men.

  ‘Now normally we’d be hammering him with roundshot then boarding him when he’s been softened up, but today we don’t have time for that. In half an hour those transports will be beyond our reach, and in a day or two the soldiers that they’re carrying will be manning those defences on the Louisbourg shore that we found yesterday.’

  Was it only a day ago that they were running lines of soundings in Gabarus Bay? It felt like a month at least.

  ‘We have to disable the frigate quickly. I need her yards and topmasts brought down and her sails shredded. I saw you firing at those batteries in Gabarus Bay. That’s the shooting that I need. Can you do that for me again?’

  The answering roar said all that Carlisle needed to know. The very planking of the deck reverberated as two hundred throats yelled in unison.

  ‘And when we’ve done that we’ll be at those transports. Now, back to your stations and stand by.’

  ***

  ‘Mister Hosking full and by, if you please. You should be able to weather those islands at the entrance to the harbour, what are they called?’

  ‘The Siboux Islands, sir,’ replied Hosking. ‘They’re laid down on the chart.’

  A sudden thought came to Carlisle.

  ‘Can those transports pass inside them? Is there enough water?’

  ‘Now that I don’t know, sir. I wouldn’t like to try it without knowing the soundings, but in all probability those Frenchmen have better charts than us, perhaps they even have a pilot for these waters.’

  Carlisle looked carefully at the islands. He hadn’t considered them before; they lay about a mile and a half off the cape at the eastern side of the harbour entrance. Long, low and rocky, they stretched over two miles to the northeast. At first sight it looked like anything bound for Port Dauphin must go around their northern extremity; at second sight too. Surely there wasn’t enough water between them and the mainland, was there?

  The French ships were just two miles away. The frigate had shaken out her courses and was pulling away from the transports, crossing their track to put herself ahead of them, squarely into Medina’s path. The boat that had carried the battalion staff was under sail now, her gunwale lapping the waves as she sped to return to the frigate. It was the size of a British longboat and would have to be watched if it didn’t return to the frigate, thought Carlisle. He remembered that a tender to his first command Fury, in the Mediterranean, had turned the battle against another French frigate by boarding her unexpectedly from her blind side. He didn’t want the same trick played on Medina.

  With the wind in the northeast now, yet still nothing more than a light breeze, it was a simple navigation problem for the French transports to slip around the north of the islands and have a dead run into the harbour.

  The frigate was in position and furling her courses; she was down to her fighting canvas, just like Medina. Perversely, Carlisle was pleased to see the French dispositions; they were doing just what he’d have done in the same situation. The transports hadn’t reduced sail. They were staking everything on a fast break for Port Dauphin while the British frigate was engaged. The enemy frigate, meanwhile, was ensuring that Medina couldn’t ignore her and go for the transports. It was shaping up to be a bloody business.

  ‘Mister Hosking. We’ll squeeze them onto those islands. Stand on as you are, and we’ll go about when the northern tip is five cables on our bow. That’ll force the transports to go to seaward of us and give more time for us to deal with the frigate.’

  The Siboux Islands looked menacing, a trap for the unwary mariner and a constant hazard at the entrance to the harbour. Carlisle watched the two transports. Were they shaving the northern tip of the islands too close? It certainly looked as though they were. Or were they trying to fool him? While he was engaged with the frigate off the tip of the islands, could they veer and run down to the southern passage? With a gulp, he suddenly knew that it must be their plan. They were relying on him not knowing that with a squeeze, a ship could pass to the south of the islands. He looked appraisingly at the French frigate.

  ‘Will your chain shot reach her yet, Mister Moxon?’ he called.

  The first lieutenant jumped onto the hammock crane and squinted into the weak sun.

  ‘Yes, sir, she’s just in range,’ he replied.

  ‘Then commence firing, Mister Moxon.’

  It was long range, Carlisle knew, approaching a mile. Normally he’d have waited until the enemy was at half a mile or less so that the first carefully loaded and pointed broadside wouldn’t be wasted, but this was an unusual situation.

  ‘Fire!’ shouted Moxon, and the larboard broadside responded in a thunderous broadside.

  ‘Bring her about, Mister Hosking, and be ready to continue all the way around and veer ship if I say so.’

  Hosking looked askance at his captain. Why tack now if he was planning to veer immediately afterwards? But Hosking had learned that Carlisle saw opportunities that he often didn’t and turned to carry out his orders

  Carlisle watched the transports with a cunning look in his eye. If his theory were correct, they’d veer any moment now.

  Medina swung through the wind and showed her starboard broadside to the enemy. There was no answering fire; they were squarely on the French frigate’s bow, where none of his guns would bear.

  ‘You may fire with the starboard broadside when ready, Mister Moxon.’

  He had time for a quick look at the frigate. There was no severe damage yet; he could see some holes in the sails and one or two stray halyards, but nothing to significantly slow her.

  ‘Fire!’ shouted Moxon again, and the starboard battery delivered its load of chain shot. The range had reduced considerably, and there were a few yells of triumph as the Frenchman’s sails suffered again. He just had time to see the frigate’s fore stays’l fall abruptly onto the fo’c’sle, its halyard and the forestay to which it was hanked shot away. That would hinder her manoeuvrability – she’d be slow in tacking and would have to be careful not to put too much strain on the fore topmast stay – but it wouldn’t reduce her speed off the wind.

  Moxon was resisting the urge to dance with delight, but he did make an uncharacteristic shout, looking down at the guns with pride.

  ‘That’s glorious, two broadsides and not a gun in reply. Huzzah, my boys!’

  Carlisle looked again at the transports. They were cutting it very fine if they did intend to
go south-about around the islands. He wafted away a trail of smoke that had drifted across his eyes and when it was clear, he saw what he’d expected. The two transports were turning to larboard, putting their sterns through the wind and heading south. It was a good move, and by rights it should have caught Medina unawares, but now it opened a gap between the transports and their escort, and Carlisle could exploit that.

  ‘Do we have enough way on to veer,’ he shouted urgently to the master.

  ‘Aye sir, just about.’

  ‘Then keep your helm to starboard and bring us all the way around. Shape our course for the harbour entrance.’

  Hosking looked sharply at Carlisle. Had he correctly understood his captain? The quartermaster, however, had no qualms and with a hand on the steersman’s arm, he kept the wheel hard over.

  Then Hosking saw the transports and understood.

  ‘Brail the mizzen,’ he shouted at the waisters.

  That would reduce the wind pressure on the stern.

  ‘Hard a-larboard. Does she answer quartermaster?’

  ‘Aye sir, she answers, she’ll come off the wind nicely.’

  Carlisle looked again at the French frigate. Her captain had seen Medina come about and had brought his own ship hard onto the wind to parallel Medina’s new course. The Frenchman had been staking it all on a slugging match. It would have given the transports time to get through the narrows. And he knew that if either of the two frigates had been disabled, they’d naturally have drifted to leeward, and only Port Dauphin and its fort awaited them. The fortunes of war had appeared to be on his side until the British frigate fired its starboard broadside and instead of sailing hard on the wind to engage, continued its turn to larboard.

  ‘Make all sail, Mister Hosking. I want to be at the southwestern end of those islands before the transports get there.’

  The confusion on the French frigate was evident. She now had to pay off the wind fast without the help of the fore stays’l. The manoeuvre was still possible, but it was slow, and by the time they were heading south, they were in a chase with the British frigate a mile ahead and ready to pounce on the transports as they came through the narrow pass. There was no question of the two transports turning back; from the moment that they veered near the northern tip of the islands they were committed. The transports were now effectively embayed, and the only way out was through the narrow gap between Cape Dauphin and the Siboux islands, and Medina could be seen racing for that same gap from the other side.

  ***

  ‘You see the situation now, Mister Moxon,’ said Carlisle, pointing to the transports just two miles to the west.

  ‘Yes, sir. Won’t they lie-to on the other side of those islands and hope they can slip through into Port Dauphin when the frigates are engaged?’

  ‘Perhaps, but look at it from that colonel’s perspective,’ Carlisle replied. ‘He’ll have seen his frigate already cut about in the sails and rigging. No doubt he’ll have been told that she’s up against the same British ship that saw her off two weeks ago. I doubt whether he has much faith in a favourable outcome. And if we take or disable the French frigate, the transports will never make Port Dauphin. They could run into that next bay to the east of the islands – Labrador Inlet I think it’s called – but there are no facilities there for offloading and the entrance is narrow, just two cables. That’ll be his fallback position, but it’s not a very attractive one.’

  ‘Then you think he’ll make a break for the passage inside the islands while we’re engaged with the frigate?’

  ‘I think it’s probable.’ Carlisle stood in thought a moment. ‘Yes, that’s what I would do. If he waits, there’s a chance that he’ll have an uncontested passage, but that’s no certainty, and if he’s wrong, he’ll lose his whole force, and he knows it. He’ll shorten sail and wait until we’re engaged, but he won’t wait to see the outcome. So, we need to deal with that frigate quickly, and that’s where you come in, Mister Moxon. Disable her for me, bring down her topmasts or her yards before the transports are through the passage.’

  Moxon looked over the taffrail at the French frigate. It was nearly two miles astern now, and the gap was increasing. He raised the telescope to his eye. He could see frantic activity on the foremast and the bowsprit as they hurried to re-rig the fore stays’l. When they achieved that they’d have restored full manoeuvrability, and he’d have to start the process of disabling her all over again.

  ‘Aye sir,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘the lads will bring down her spars for you.’

  ***

  Carlisle watched the three pieces moving across the coming battlefield. They formed an equilateral triangle with sides of two miles. The Siboux islands were like a knife – a long, sharp knife – penetrating the southwesterly side. The whole triangle moved southwest at a stately five or six knots under the now moderate northeasterly breeze, impaling itself even further on the islands.

  There was an optimum time for Medina to turn and face the French frigate. It could be calculated to a nicety by trigonometry, but Carlisle didn’t have the leisure for that, he’d have to make a guess based on his long years at sea and his experience of previous fights. He’d have about twenty minutes, he thought, to disable his adversary. If he took longer than that the French would win, the transports would be through the narrows and safely at anchor behind the fort. Even two or three well-served guns behind the embrasures would prevent Medina from following and render the transports safe from any cutting-out expedition that he could mount. Carlisle desperately wanted to tempt the French colonel to commit to the passage behind the channel, rather than run for the Labrador Inlet. If he saw Medina in his way, even if the French frigate was still intact, he’d hesitate, and having hesitated, the northeasterly wind would make up his mind for him. The optimum point for the engagement was where the two islands were separated by a narrow channel. It was coming up fast.

  ‘Mister Hosking!’

  ‘Aye sir,’ replied the master.

  ‘I’ll be asking you to bring the frigate onto the wind in a few minutes. When I do so, furl the courses as soon as you’re on the wind. We’ll fight the Frenchman before he can get down to the transports.’

  ‘Aye-aye sir,’ replied Hosking. He turned to the bosun to give his orders.

  Carlisle took another look at the moving triangle. Not yet, too soon. He wanted to be close enough to the southwestern end of the islands so that he could quickly run down on the transports.

  ‘You’re loaded with chain, Mister Moxon?’ he asked unnecessarily, betraying his nervousness.

  ‘Chain it is, sir,’ the first lieutenant replied with a grin, his white teeth showing through the powder stains on his face.

  The seconds ticked by.

  ‘Now, Mister Hosking! Bring her onto the wind.’

  Medina swung jerkily towards the wind with rattling blocks and slapping halyards as the courses were furled as fast as they’d ever been. Most of the hands who were strung out along the yards knew that they had to be back at their guns ready to open fire.

  With the wind as close to the larboard bow as ever it could be, Medina thrust her way into the failing breeze, her speed much reduced but her manoeuvrability greatly improved. Now that the courses weren’t obscuring the view, the French frigate was clearly visible four points off the larboard bow. She was coming down on them under full sail in her urgent need to support the transports. Carlisle had time for one quick glance to starboard. The Transports were still steering for the passage between the cape and the islands and as he watched, he saw the leading transport shaking out its courses. They were committing to the passage!

  ‘Send your larboard crews to the tacks and sheets, Mister Moxon, and stand by to engage to starboard.’

  The first lieutenant could see the captain’s plan. He was going to turn across the Frenchman’s bow and rake him from ahead with chain shot. If that didn’t bring down a spar or two, nothing would.

  ‘Remove your quoins,’ Moxon shouted to his crews. H
e watched as the row of muzzles pointed skywards. The captain was clearly planning that this first broadside should be delivered at the closest possible range, and the guns would need to be at maximum elevation for the shot to reach the masts, sails and rigging.

  The two frigates rushed towards each other. The Frenchman was intent upon getting past Medina and supporting the transports while Medina was determined to stop her or render her ineffective before she’d got past her tormentor.

  ‘Mister Hosking bring her about if you please,’ Carlisle said calmly, only his clenched fists betraying his state of mind. ‘You may fire when your broadside bears,’ he said in a moderated shout to the first lieutenant.

  Medina came quickly through the wind, but even in that short space of time, the French frigate had moved much closer, so that she was a huge looming presence just two cables off the beam. Her bows were filled with seamen still rigging the new forestay and fore stays’l, her foretop was likewise crowded with men securing the cumbersome rope around the base of the fore topmast.

  ‘Fire!’ shouted Moxon.

  Medina reeled to the force of the blast. There was a moment where nothing could be seen for the powder-smoke, but the wind quickly blew it away to leeward. The gun crews had no time to admire their handiwork, but the result of that single broadside had been devastating. The fo’c’sle and foretop had been swept clean of people. The scene at close quarters must have been truly frightening because chain shot mangled a body in a way that round-shot rarely did. However, the critical thing for Carlisle was the headsails and the foremast, and they were all apparently undamaged. The chain shot had shredded the sails and decimated the crew, but by some miracle the masts and standing rigging were untouched. The French frigate still bore down upon them.

  ***

  Medina had plenty of way and was moving fast across the Frenchman’s bow. The gun crews were working hard to reload the starboard battery, their gregos mysteriously discarded and a few of them were even shirtless.

  ‘Starboard broadside again,’ shouted Carlisle. ‘Will she stay, Mister Hosking?’