Holbrooke's Tide

by Chris Durbin

  Fairview looked questioningly at Holbrooke. Was that good news? Two at least of them must be vessels that Lynton or Treganoc had burned, but equally, two of them could be his own boats. It was improbable, he knew, because if the longboat and yawl had been taken, they wouldn’t have been burned, and it was difficult to imagine under what circumstances they’d be destroyed by their own crews.

  An hour to the rendezvous, and an hour and a half before the boats should be there. This was the worst of times, waiting for the return of the men that he’d sent into harm’s way. He could have gone himself, heaven knew he had enough experience of covert night operations in boats; he’d run into St. Stephen’s Cove in Minorca night after night while the fort of St. Philips was under fire and surrounded by the besieging French. But now his place was here, on the quarterdeck of Kestrel, creating the diversion and ensuring that they were in the right place to pick up the boats.

  The hour passed slowly. The lookout could see over the low point of land – Reide Point – that lay between the sloop and the Dollart and reported the progress of each fire. He was sure now that he saw five widely spaced blazes, and one by one he reported as they faded out. With half an hour to go, the Dollart was again in darkness. The fires in the vessels had burned out, or they’d been extinguished, or the vessels had sunk.

  ‘’Deck there!’ there was excitement in the lookout’s voice now. ‘I can see a boat coming towards us now, I can just make out the splashes of the oars.’

  Only one? Holbrooke had a bad few moments.

  ‘Deck there! Two boats, it’s the longboat and the yawl, sir.’

  Holbrooke looked over the gunwale at the approaching boats. He could see no damage, no missing oars and no apparent casualties. However, the longboat appeared to have an extra person sitting in the stern sheets. He stared hard into the darkness as the details of the boat became clear. Yes, it was Major Albach, sitting beside Lynton and looking for all the world as though he was one of Kestrel’s officers.

  ‘You have the deck, Mister Fairview,’ said Holbrooke. ‘As soon as the boats are secured, take us down the channel to Randzel Sand. I’ll see the first lieutenant, Mister Treganoc and the bosun in my cabin. Hold Major Albach on the quarterdeck until I call for him.’

  ◆◆◆

  The adrenalin from a night of action in open boats hadn’t subsided, and Treganoc and Jackson were itching to add details to Lynton’s account of the night. In listening to them, and seeing the way that they behaved together, it was clear that these three were rapidly forming a special bond that excluded their captain. Holbrooke was envious of them. A gap had formed; his deliberate distancing of himself from his officers had been effective, and now he was no longer one of them. The god had taken his seat on Mount Olympus, and the mere mortals were learning to form their relationships that recognised Holbrooke’s presence and guidance but acknowledged that he was no longer one of them.

  ‘When we reached the centre of the Dollart, still undiscovered, we saw a regular procession of boats running from the Dutch side into the eastern approach to the Emden Road. We stopped six of them, but at least three others turned around and headed back. All six were carrying food and animal fodder for the French garrison. We burned five…’

  ‘Yes, we saw that,’ said Holbrooke.

  ‘…and we emptied the cargo of the sixth into the water, except for whatever fresh stuff we could load into the boats without impeding the rowers. We put all the crews into that last boat and sent it home. There were no casualties.’

  ‘How much cargo in total? Your best estimate, please.’

  Lynton looked to Treganoc and Jackson.

  ‘About a ton, or maybe a little more, in each boat, sir,’ said Jackson. ‘They were only small craft, probably hadn’t been out of the Dollart in their lives.’

  Then they’d destroyed or taken something over six tons and destroyed five boats. That was better than Holbrooke had hoped, and it justified the risk. Probably the Dutch side of the Dollart had lost half of its cargo-carrying capacity in one night. They wouldn’t be keen to make that run again.

  ‘Well done, gentlemen, that’s a good night’s work. You have achieved what I had hoped. Now, what about Major Albach?’ said Holbrooke.

  Lynton nodded at Treganoc.

  ‘The major was in the last boat, the one that we sent back with the crews. It was the only hint of resistance that we encountered all night. I boarded over her larboard side and was confronted by a man wielding a short sword most professionally. When he recognised me, he dropped his guard, and we shook hands. I imagine we must have looked rather foolish’

  ‘So why is he here? Why didn’t you send him back with the others?’ asked Holbrooke.

  Treganoc looked confused for a moment. ‘Because he asked to come here, sir. He said he needed to speak with you. I didn’t think to question him, as he seemed so well with you when we last saw him. I imagined you had come to some arrangement. I hope I did right, sir.’

  ‘Aye, he almost looked as though he was expecting us, sir,’ said Jackson, backing up the marine lieutenant. ‘He didn’t seem at all surprised when we came piling into his boat, the sword appeared to be a just-in-case.’

  Holbrooke looked at his three officers. He was barely older than two of them, and quite a few years younger than Jackson, but he felt an almost paternal affection for them and a proprietorial pride in their achievement.

  ‘Very well, my compliments to Mister Fairview and I’d be obliged if he could arrange the watchbill so that you can all catch up on sleep, Mister Lynton.’ And then, ‘Mister Treganoc, as the major’s captor, would you bring him below, please? There’s no need for you to remain, but we must remember that he’s a potential enemy, and should be escorted. And pass the word for Mister Chalmers, if you please.’

  ◆◆◆

  22: A Dangerous Proposal

  Thursday, Ninth of March 1758.

  Kestrel, at Sea. The Ems Estuary.

  Treganoc opened the cabin door, nodded to his captain and ushered the familiar brown-uniformed figure into the cabin.

  ‘Major Albach. How do you do?’ asked Holbrooke, rising to greet his guest. The Austrian looked older than when Holbrooke had last seen him, his face was thinner, and there were lines of worry between his eyebrows, which Holbrooke would swear weren’t there six weeks before. He also looked tired after his eventful night.

  ‘Very well, thank you, sir,’ he replied in his imperfect French, taking the offered seat. ‘Monsieur Serviteur, comme c'est bon de te revoir. Yes, I would very much like a coffee. It was cold in that boat, and I’m a little damp from the splashing of the oars.’

  Chalmers entered as Serviteur left to fetch the coffee. The Frenchman was clearly pleased that the major had remembered his name. It was touching, in a way, to see how easy this Austrian major felt in Kestrel’s cabin. One could almost have thought him an officer of the ship.

  ‘Mister Chalmers, perhaps you’d help us where we stumble in our understanding of each other?’

  ‘With the greatest of pleasure,’ replied Chalmers. Privately, he knew that the two understood each other quite well enough, but it had become an established practice for Holbrooke to have Chalmers present when he had an unusual meeting.

  ‘I fear that once again I must carry you away from Emden, Major. We’re bound down the estuary, but I’ll be able to return you to the Frisian shore tomorrow. I assume Knock will be acceptable?’ said Holbrooke.

  ‘It will, sir, it will, and I thank you.’ He looked from Holbrooke to Chalmers, his usually open, honest face taking on an almost conspiratorial aspect.

  ‘But you should know, sir, that I’m not an unwilling guest.’

  Holbrooke bowed but said nothing. Chalmers merely looked politely attentive, as though this was no business of his, but he didn’t want to offend by looking disinterested.

  ‘To be perfectly frank with you, sir, to nail my colours to the mast, I believe that is the English expression,’ he paused, ‘I’ve been looking for
a way to contact you for the past week.’

  ‘We had an arranged signal, Major. Could you not have used that?’

  ‘I fear – no, I know – that the French commander at Emden is watching me. I couldn’t ride out to the north without him taking notice, and he has taken to sending an escort whenever one of us Austrians leaves the city. My purpose would have been immediately known.’

  Holbrooke nodded and studied the major’s face, but he learned nothing. Something was causing him concern, but that could be accounted for by the very fact that he was in discussion with the man who was probably at this moment the subject of a much less friendly debate in the French headquarters in Emden.

  ‘But surely you weren’t out on the Dollart with the expectation of meeting our boats. They’ve never penetrated so deeply before,’ said Chalmers, acting his part as the deliverer of obvious statements.

  ‘No, I had taken a boat across to Wolendorp yesterday – it’s the only harbour with decent land communications on that side of the Dollart – to negotiate for supplies for my men. The French in principle control the commissariat for our common good, but they take what they want and leave little for us. The countryside is bare, nothing has come by sea since January, and the Dutch fear to send boats across from Delfzijl.’ He looked keenly at Holbrooke who acknowledged with an inclination of his head the part that Kestrel had played in closing the Ems estuary.

  ‘The only route left is across the Dollart, and only very small boats can make that crossing. There were few of them before tonight, now there are not enough to supply even the French garrison with the barest minimum of food, and that is dependent upon their being persuaded to sail now that the danger has become manifest. My men will starve.’ Albach paused, he was evidently mustering his resources to take an irrevocable step. ‘When I saw Lieutenant Treganoc, I decided to seek a meeting with you.’ He looked from Holbrooke to Chalmers and back again, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he said in a less assured voice, ‘So here I am, willing to talk about amity and co-operation between our nations.’

  ◆◆◆

  Holbrooke shifted uneasily in his chair but caught himself before his discomfort became too obvious. He was out of his depth, and he knew it. It was no business of the commander of a sloop to be dabbling in international diplomacy. A post-captain may do so when the occasion demanded, but even he’d know that he negotiated with representatives of foreign powers at his peril. The Admiralty would have no hesitation in disowning Holbrooke’s actions if they ended in disaster, or even if they were deemed to have ended in disaster. Thin ice indeed.

  ‘Perhaps, Major, you could give us some indication of the nature of the cooperation that you are looking for.’ Chalmers had seen Holbrooke’s disquiet and was buying time for his captain to recover his equanimity. He’d seen Holbrooke’s letter from Carlisle; he knew how seriously the advice had been taken and recognised how closely this meeting aligned to the motive of the advice. Dare anything, grasp every opportunity, Carlisle had said.

  Albach must have known that at some point he’d have to make a specific request. He must be the one to reveal his hand; he was, after all, the supplicant. For a moment he appeared to lose his nerve. He looked as though he could retreat at any moment and make a few banal remarks to cover his withdrawal; perhaps his courage was insufficient. But it was a fleeting moment, and with an almost physical effort the major squared his jaw and tilted back his head. Whatever doubts had assailed him in that brief second or two, he’d crossed his Rubicon.

  ‘I must lead my men out of Emden, sir,’ he said, looking now at Holbrooke, ‘and it must be done soon, while they still have the strength to march back to their homes.’

  There was another silence. Albach’s resolution had stiffened Holbrooke. He nodded almost imperceptibly at Chalmers; thank you, my friend, was his meaning.

  ‘And how can King George’s navy help with that, Major? I have no transports, and you have how many men?’

  ‘One thousand, two hundred and twenty, sir,’ replied Albach. ‘However, even if British shipping was available to take all my men, I couldn’t leave in that manner. It would be too obviously a breach with Austria’s allies, the French. We must leave overland. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and we can only leave when the French are ready to go.’

  ‘Then it’s hard to see what role I can play…’

  ‘If you will permit me,’ said Albach, interrupting. It was certainly out of character for the Austrian to interject like this, he was one of the most unfailingly polite people that Holbrooke had ever met. Perhaps he was anxious that Holbrooke should hear his proposal before a refusal could stifle the proceedings. ‘You have it in your power to force the French to leave, without loss of life and with great honour to yourself.’

  ‘Can you be more specific, Major? I have already cut off all hope of resupply from the sea unless an overwhelming force of French ships should break the blockade, and if you are correct, they’ll get no help from Wolendorp or anywhere else on the Dollart.’

  ‘That’s correct Captain. They will get a trickle of supplies overland, but the Ems river is too full of ice now for laden boats. Rations will be short, but we mustn’t underestimate the capacity of the French army to endure privations, and they will be sure that my men suffer before they do. No, if I have to wait until the French are starved out, my men will be in no state to march two-hundred miles to the Austrian Netherlands in winter.’

  Holbrooke looked with concern at the major. He surely wasn’t going to propose that Kestrel make an attack on the city!

  ‘The French won’t be starved out, sir,’ he said, ‘but they are highly susceptible to what they perceive as inevitable military logic. They know nothing of the sea. I flatter myself that I at least see the potential of sea-power and its limitations. Unless you have spent the last few months in Emden, you cannot conceive with what almost supernatural powers you are attributed. They see Kestrel – and, if I may say, her commander – as the architect of all their misfortunes. Look at the way that you dealt with their field guns. The French Royal Artillery is not used to being defeated, and certainly not by a ship! Before you came to the Ems, Emden was a fat, well-fed garrison enjoying a peaceful existence in a backwater of this war. Your sloop is rarely seen but is constantly the subject of evil rumour and conjecture. The French expect at any moment to be attacked by you! The cooler heads understand that sixteen guns cannot prevail against their walls, but for every man of sense, there are nine who believe you capable of anything. If you can raise the level of their concern – you don’t need to attack the city – I believe that you will force the French garrison to withdraw. Then my men and I can make our own escape.’

  The silence was palpable. Holbrooke and Chalmers recognised what an astonishing proposal this was. It opened up Albach to the most severe charge in any military force: treason.

  ‘Excuse my frankness, Major,’ said Chalmers, ‘but I assume you understand the consequences to your person if the French commander heard of this conversation.’

  ‘I do, sir, believe me, I do. And not only the French. My own people will forgive me if I bring back my men with honour, but if I should fail and this agreement – pardon me, I assume too much – this proposal is ever heard of, then my life will certainly be forfeit.’

  Holbrooke stood and walked to the window. He could see the sun just starting to rise, turning the clouds in the southeastern sky orange. It was a heart-stoppingly beautiful sight, a metaphor for rebirth after a cold, dark winter. Very few sailors are immune to omens and portents, and Holbrooke wasn’t one of them. His mind was made up. He turned and walked deliberately back to the table.

  ‘Your proposal interests me, Major,’ he said. ‘But I’m curious. Won’t you be suspected by the French? This is the second time you’ve been entertained by us.’

  ‘The French commandant maintains the outward civilities, and I dine with him at least once a week. I’ve been meticulous in setting his mind at rest, and he understands why Britain
would feel obliged to release me when I come into your power. The circumstances of last night are easy to explain, and, of course, I could hardly have arranged such an eventful night. He may harbour some suspicions, but I don’t think he will act on them. In any event, I feel safe enough, and there is no danger to Kestrel as there are no armed vessels at all in Emden. If the worst should happen and I am taken, there is still nothing that he can achieve against a man-of-war.’

  ‘Well, I could – and I make no commitment – I could bring Kestrel close enough to the city to be a visible threat. How long would I need to stay there, do you believe?’

  ‘That’s a difficult question, sir,’ said Albach. ‘The city is on edge. A day may be enough, or it could take longer. I regret there are no guarantees.’

  Holbrooke and Chalmers were both watching the major carefully. If this was a ruse to lure Kestrel into a trap, then perhaps it would show on his face. If the major was lying. If there were, for example, half a dozen gunboats lurking deep in Emden Road, where they couldn’t be observed, then Kestrel could find herself trapped and overwhelmed. But nothing showed on Albach’s face, nothing more than a deep concern at the way that he was exposing himself to professional and personal disaster. Holbrooke had seen no sign of any gunboats in Emden, and they’d surely have shown themselves by now. If there had been, there would have been an enormous temptation to act earlier against this irritating intruder.

  ‘How would you and your men leave, Major?’ asked Chalmers. ‘I remember you said that you have transport.’

  ‘There’s a good road on the east bank of the Ems that we can follow as far as Meppen, then we can cross the river and head south towards Aachen. I hope that we will be on the road for no more than ten days, but the weather will have the last word. I hope that I won’t have to fight the French, but if they try to take my carts, then I certainly will.’

  ‘Timing, sir? When will you be ready to move?’