by Chris Durbin
‘Captain Carlisle required some months ashore to recover from the fractured clavicle that he suffered in the fight with Torenvalk, and so Admiral Cotes gave me temporary command of Medina, in the rank of lieutenant. I commanded Medina during the action off Cape François. Admiral Cotes had intended to give Torenvalk, or Kestrel now, to Commodore Forrest’s first lieutenant, but sadly he was killed at Cape François. When I brought the frigate back again to Port Royal, the admiral gave me the sloop in his stead.’
Clevland sat in silence for a moment, deep in thought. He’d heard many stories of minor incidents such as this that never made the news, but in this case, he was impressed by the factual way in which Holbrooke recounted the tale. He jotted a few words on the turned-back corner of Holbrooke’s report then looked up, his face visibly brighter.
‘Well, you’re to be congratulated, sir, and I can see no reason why their Lordships won’t confirm both your commission and your promotion. I wish you joy of your command.’ He looked at the clock and stood up. ‘Admiral Forbes will see you now, but please allow me just a few moments with him. You may wait here.’
Clevland left the door ajar, and Holbrooke started to relax, to attempt to control his breathing and his racing heart. He was therefore startled to see the secretary’s head pop back into the office after less than a minute. It was a curiously informal, almost comic action from such an important man.
‘One more thing, Mister Holbrooke. Your acting lieutenant, Mister Lynton isn’t it? Is he ready for his examination?’
‘He is, sir. Ready and eager.’
Holbrooke tried again to control his breathing. Unless he’d misunderstood, he’d just passed a crucial test. Someone, perhaps Admiral Forbes, had noticed the anomaly of a young man rising from master’s mate through lieutenant to command of a ship-rigged sloop-of-war in little more than a year and had flagged it as a concern. Clevland had been tasked to investigate, and Holbrooke had now been passed fit for this responsibility.
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4: Admiral Forbes
Wednesday, Twenty-First of December 1757.
The Admiralty, Whitehall.
Admiral Forbes was much the less daunting of the two. It had been a challenge to read Clevland. His motives weren’t clear, and his means were obscure, and however effective he may be, he was a civilian after all. But Forbes was a bluff, good-humoured sea officer whose mental processes were an open page. It was quite certain that Holbrooke wouldn’t be sitting here now if Clevland hadn’t given his seal of approval, and the meeting was positively cordial. Holbrooke knew something of Forbes by reputation. He’d resigned his membership of the board a year ago in protest at Admiral Byng’s sentence after the debacle at Minorca, having refused to sign the death warrant. In doing so he’d made it very plain that it was the sentence that he objected to – he considered it illegal, regardless of the Articles of War – not the guilty verdict of the court, which he agreed with. In his view, Byng had certainly not done his utmost to either save or re-take Minorca, but the savage sentence was politically motivated. Byng had been sacrificed to save the administration, but even that had been in vain as the government had fallen anyway. Forbes had returned to the Admiralty when the Pitt-Newcastle ministry was re-formed six months ago.
‘Mister Holbrooke, I have to congratulate you on your prize, on the action off Cape François and on your promotion and command. Such a lot in a short space of time! And I remember now that you took that little barca-longa into action against Vulcain off Sardinia last year. It would have gone hard with Carlisle if you’d been tardy on that day!’
‘Thank you, sir, I was privileged to be in the right place to assist.’
‘You appear to make a habit of it Mister Holbrooke, but if I may advise you, don’t be so modest. Nobody likes a man continually talking up his exploits, but if you say nothing, nobody will hear. If a tree falls in a park and yet nobody hears it, does it make a sound? you understand me?’
‘Yes, sir, and thank you,’ replied Holbrooke for want of anything better.
‘Now, down to business,’ said Forbes, eyeing Holbrooke appraisingly. ‘I need Kestrel at sea immediately; we’re woefully short of sloops. I could use a dozen more as escorts, with the City refusing to insure ships that don’t take a convoy. How soon can you sail, victualled for a three-month cruise in the North Sea?’
So that was it. The cold, stormy North Sea in the depths of winter. But there in that wild and desolate space between Britain and the bewildering array of European states that stretched from Norway in the north to the Netherlands in the south, the navy was engaged in a wide variety of activities. The Admiralty was eking out its resources to provide escorts for East Coast and Baltic convoys, they were harrying the French privateers running north out of the channel ports, and they were guarding the vital cod and herring fisheries on the banks. All those tasks were allotted to the smaller classes of cruisers, the sixth-rates and sloops. Kestrel must have come as an unexpected and very welcome gift to Forbes, at a time when the navy had not yet reached its maximum mobilisation. Whatever the duty, it would be quite a change from the Caribbean. Blue skies and the predictable trade winds would be just a memory, to be replaced by grey clouds and winter gales. But then, there were no tropical storms in the North Sea, no yellow fever and no self-important slave-owning planters.
‘The dockyard at Portsmouth wasn’t entirely happy with the work that was done at Port Royal, sir. They have a list of modifications that they estimate will take two months,’ said Holbrooke. ‘They want to rig a wheel forward of the mizzen and run the wheel-ropes inside the gunwales, and they want to exchange my driver for a lateen mizzen. They’re not happy with the magazine either although there are no definite plans for shifting it, and they’re talking about fitting a capstan instead of the windlass.’
Privately, Holbrooke wasn’t concerned if his ship didn’t have any of those modifications. In fact, he actively disliked the plan to replace the driver with a lateen sail; in a vessel of the size of Kestrel, a driver hung on a gaff and with its foot made fast to a boom was much handier. He realised that Forbes was studying him, perhaps suspecting him of preferring the delights of Portsmouth to winter on the North Sea.
‘But if I take her as she is,’ he continued hastily, ‘still fitted out as a privateer, I can embark stores and victuals and be at sea on Saturday,’ he said with a heavy heart, knowing that he’d have no time to visit his father.
‘A wheel, hey? Won’t the ropes foul your quarterdeck guns?’ asked Forbes, ready to be congenial now that he’d made his point.
‘The plan is to let the ringbolts for the blocks into the gunwale rather than the deck, then the ropes will lie close to the scuppers and just a few inches off the deck. They won’t impede the guns, but I haven’t seen how they intend that the backstays should be rigged; I can see a problem there,’ replied Holbrooke, fascinated to hear that the admiral hadn’t lost his interest in the technical aspects of a ship’s design.
Forbes knew all about the master attendant at Portsmouth and his refusal to believe that any other yard could properly convert a prize into a British man-of-war, fit to keep the sea in all weathers for extended periods. He knew about him, and most importantly he could judge when to ignore his advice.
‘Well, you’ll not be getting your wheel for a few months yet, at least. Nor will you lose your driver. The capstan, of course, is complete nonsense for a sloop, a windlass will do just as well, and it’ll give your people more berthing space. If you’re happy with Kestrel as she is, then let’s get her back to sea. This is no time to be prettifying, with our desperate need for cruisers.’
‘It would help if you’d give the word to the commissioner, sir, to move the stores along.’
‘Aye, that we’ll do, Mister Holbrooke. But Sunday is Christmas day, you’ll recall. I’ll give you until Tuesday. However, I need you at sea without fail on Tuesday the twenty-seventh. You’re to let me know as soon as you hear of anything that may to prevent your sailing. I w
on’t have the yards being tardy when I’ve ordered a ship to sea.’
‘Aye-aye sir,’ replied Holbrooke, prepared to be dismissed. He knew that the detail of his orders would be in a letter under Clevland’s signature.
‘Not so fast, Mister Holbrooke, I need to give you an outline of the orders because there are some ah… interesting aspects to them. Do you know anything about the fighting around the King’s possessions on the continent, Hanover in particular?’
‘The last that I heard, the Prussians had evacuated Hanover to the French, and the Duke of Cumberland had been recalled,’ said Holbrooke, wondering at his own daring in referring to the disgrace of the King’s son. ‘The French are on the Weser hoping to pass the winter without disturbance.’
‘Yes, well, it’s perhaps unwise to be so frank outside this room Holbrooke. But you’re right, Cumberland’s in disgrace, and he’s resigned all his public positions. However, since then Prince Ferdinand – of Brunswick you know, a Prussian – has taken command of the army and he’s planning to push the French back in the spring, or earlier if he gets the weather.’ He looked searchingly at Holbrooke, ‘what’s all that to do with us, you may ask.’
The silence lasted a second, then a few more. It was evident that Forbes’ question wasn’t rhetorical, he was waiting for an answer. Holbrooke thought fast. It must be something to do with the flanks of the armies. The French left flank, and the allied right were both bordered by the North Sea. But a sloop couldn’t be expected to make any great difference there, not by direct action against the mighty French military machine. It must be something else. Of course, the French needed supplies and their overland route must be getting very long and vulnerable. The number of carts, their horses and their military escort that would be required to supply an army that was wintered over 300 miles away from home across a hostile territory stretched the imagination. But by sea, two hundred tons could be transported in just one ship with a dozen crew, and it could be done in a tenth of the time. Whoever controlled the sea on an army’s flank could dictate the terms under which it was sustained. That was why it was said that no British army should stray more than a day’s march from salt water.
‘We can cut off their supply line, sir. The French army must use the sea to resupply over the winter and Kestrel can take or destroy the French transports and supply ships,’ he was thinking rapidly now, ‘and with last year’s order-in-council we can take any neutrals carrying for the French army.’
‘Just so Holbrooke,’ said Forbes, clearly pleased that he had thought it through so rapidly. ‘Now, I’m sending Commodore Holmes with a small squadron into the North Sea. He’ll be based at Harwich, but he won’t be able to sail until February, and I expect him to look into the Elbe and the Weser first. Your task is to start imposing the blockade on Emden. You do know where that is, don’t you?’
Holbrooke was tempted to lie, but in a flash, he realised how quickly that could unravel, and how hard would be his fall.
‘I regret that I don’t, sir, except that it lies on the German coast.’
‘Well, that much is obvious as I’m sending you to the North Sea,’ Forbes replied with heavy sarcasm. He stood and beckoned Holbrooke to a chart that hung from a roller mounted on the wall.
‘Emden is here, you see, on the east bank where the river Ems reaches the sea. The river marks the border between the Seven Provinces and East Frisia. Emden lately belonged to the King of Prussia – it came to him as some sort of legacy – and he was running a small East India business from there. You’ll be under Admiralty orders until Holmes arrives, probably in March, but whenever he arrives, you’ll join his squadron the first moment you meet him. Is that clear?
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Holbrooke, delighted to be given this independent task, even for a couple of months.
‘Emden, I think, is the key. The French took it in the summer, and they’re running in supplies through the Dutch islands, aye and around them when the coast is clear. They’re mostly using Dutch merchantmen, which is why the Rule of 1756 – the order-in-council – is so important to us. I haven’t been able to spare a cruiser since Hind was there in November, so they’ll be used to having things their own way. You’re to become familiar with the estuary; you must know it like the back of your hand before Holmes arrives. I can’t offer you a pilot for the Dutch and Frisian coasts, but you’ll get an experienced sailing master,’ he looked at a paper on his desk. ‘Josiah Fairview is his name, he comes with a good report from Trident, and he’ll join before you sail if I can get a message to him.’
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Forbes turned over another paper on his desk.
‘But there’s one other thing. I have a strange report from Sir Richard Hughes in Hind that there may be a detachment of the Austrian army in Emden. The Austrian’s for God’s sake! What they’re doing there I can’t imagine, if they’re there at all. But you’re to remember that we’re not formally at war with Austria although they’re fighting our Prussian allies in the east. The Austrians haven’t become involved in the King’s possessions, other than this Emden detachment, and of course, they’ve no navy to speak of and no overseas interests. So be careful how you proceed and do nothing to cause hostilities. Empress Maria Theresa is a good friend to King George, and so far, she’s given no direct cause for conflict.’
Holbrooke watched the admiral carefully. Forbes had nothing further to offer on Austrian neutrality and evidently was uneasy about leaving this delicate situation in the hands of a very junior officer.
‘You’ll receive your orders before Saturday, but you should post down to Portsmouth tomorrow. That will be in the orders so you can submit a receipt for the expense. Don’t try to go tonight, I’ve no desire to lose one of my captains to footpads on the Portsmouth road.’
Forbes turned yet another sheet of paper on the desk before him. ‘You’ll need a lieutenant, of course. Mister Deschamps will join you before you sail, he’s an experienced officer ... You’ve something to say?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Holbrooke, amazed at his own temerity. A year before he wouldn’t have dared address an admiral under any circumstances, much less to contradict him. ‘I’ve been very happy with my present acting lieutenant, Charles Lynton. He’s not passed yet, but he’s a good officer and knows the ship and the men…,’ he’d have said more, but the admiral interrupted him.
‘I understand, only too well, but Mister Deschamps must have a ship; oh yes, he must have a ship.’ The last words were said in a low mutter. He fidgeted with a pencil on his desk, not meeting Holbrooke’s eyes. ‘And young Lynton must have the opportunity to present himself for examination. If he misses the January board, it could be months before he gets a chance, and this war won’t last forever.’
Now that short exchange with Clevland made sense. At least there was some attempt to soften the blow, but it did appear that the admiral was uneasy about appointing Deschamps to Kestrel. Holbrooke wondered, but wisely said nothing.
‘In the meantime, Lynton will have a letter for the receiving hulk as an acting lieutenant. He won’t have to revert to the midshipmen’s berth, unless, of course, he fails the examination. He can present himself at Seething Lane in the new year. It’ll be the better for him, in the long run.’
‘Very well, sir,’ replied Holbrooke with a heavy heart. He started to rise, wondering how he’d break this news to his first lieutenant. He assumed the interview was over.
‘Don’t go yet. I’m finished for the day, but I’d dearly like to hear your account of Forrest’s action at Cape François. Normally I’d have presented you to the King, being the first bearer of these glad tidings, but I can’t delay you by even a day. However, at least I can be the first to tell him the details. By the way, are you related to the Holbrooke who was sailing master in the old Tiger around 1740?’
‘Yes, sir, he’s my father.’
‘And he’s well? Still with us?’
‘Yes sir, he lives in Wickham, just up the Alton road from Fareham. He has
an occasional teaching post at the academy in Portsmouth. I hope to see him before I sail, now that you’ve given me a few days in Portsmouth over Christmas.’
‘Then give William my best regards, he was a good sailing master although we were only together a few months. Now, I can’t promise that he’ll remember, but I’ll at least mention your name to the King.’
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5: Portsmouth
Thursday, Twenty-Second of December 1757.
Kestrel, at Anchor. Portsmouth Harbour.
The coach set off early from Charing Cross and they were out of London before most of the city’s folk had roused themselves. They were over Portsdown Hill by two o’clock and running down the slope to Portsea Island to cross through the new Hilsea Lines at the Portsbridge Redoubt. Holbrooke stepped down at the Hard while the day yet retained a little light under the overcast sky. It was a short walk to the porter’s lodge set into the dockyard wall at the main gate, and he had a glimpse of the academy, where he’d spent three years of his youth, over on his right side. He didn’t know whether his father was there, but he’d sent a message as soon as they anchored two days ago. He hoped they’d meet before Kestrel had to sail for the cold North Sea. One thing was sure, he couldn’t delay a minute in returning to his command and setting the wheels in motion to be stored for three months and ready to sail in just five days with Christmas in the middle.
At the signal station, they hung out a flag for Kestrel to send a boat. Lynton, as always, guessed the purpose and in ten minutes Holbrooke’s own crew with the ship’s longboat were rowing briskly across the hundred yards of Portsmouth harbour. At least there were some advantages to a small sloop: ships-of-the-line and even frigates were obliged to anchor at Spithead unless there was a need to come into the close confines of the harbour. A handy sloop, particularly one under Admiralty orders, could come and go almost as her captain pleased, and an anchor berth in the harbour would speed the storing and victualling that were so necessary before they sailed. It also saved him half a crown, he reflected, which was the going rate for a wherry to row him to Spithead. There was no signalling for a boat when your ship was at the fleet anchorage.