by Chris Durbin
Albach raised his hat and bowed. Holbrooke and Chalmers returned the salute and then made the same courtesy to the older man.
‘Captain Holbrooke, Reverend Chalmers. May I present you to Colonel Reutter of the Imperial Austrian army? Colonel, this is Captain Holbrooke…’
‘Of his Britannic Majesty’s sloop, Kestrel,’ interposed Holbrooke, determined to take back the initiative. ‘At your service, sir,’ he continued in French. Holbrooke knew how his obvious youth could play against him in this kind of situation, and he wasn’t going to allow that to happen.
The colonel bowed again. Perhaps he had little French, although that seemed unlikely to Holbrooke. Probably he was keeping silent until he understood where this conversation was leading. Holbrooke decided to play along with it.
‘Major Albach, it’s a pleasure to meet you again. Perhaps you could translate for the benefit of Colonel Reutter,’ he said briskly. ‘Mister Chalmers, as you know, can help us with any difficulties in the French language.’
Albach looked uncomfortable. Evidently, he’d have preferred the colonel to leave this meeting to him.
‘Colonel,’ Holbrooke addressed the senior of the men facing him. ‘In three hours after this meeting, at thirty minutes past eleven, Commodore Holmes of His Britannic Majesty’s frigate Seahorse will lead his squadron into Emden Road.’ Holbrooke paused while Albach translated, he was almost certain now that the colonel had understood him without the need for Albach to repeat it in German.
‘Before he does so, I must be able to make a report to him regarding your intentions. How long do you intend to stay in the city?’ asked Holbrooke perhaps more bluntly than he intended. It would have been so much easier if they had all understood English.
There was a short exchange of words in German, the colonel’s expression never changing.
‘Colonel Reutter wishes me to say that Her Imperial Majesty’s forces will march out of the city at midday.’ Albach looked as though he’d like to add more, but not with his superior listening.
‘Very well. Then I am authorised to inform you that Commodore Holmes will do nothing to hinder you leaving so long as you take only your own property.’
The colonel nodded imperceptibly to Albach.
‘We will carry our personal arms, our baggage and provisions for the journey, nothing more,’ said Albach.
‘Then let us turn to the matter of salutes,’ said Holbrooke. ‘The commodore finds it inappropriate to salute the Prussian flag as Prussia does not appear to have any effective government of the city.’ He paused, but this time Albach made no pretence of translating. ‘However, as you are the senior representative of a friendly power, sir, and it appears that you are the effective governor of this city until midday, the commodore is prepared to fire a nine-gun salute for your personal honour.’ The colonel was unable to keep the surprise from his face; the ends of his moustache twitched upwards, magnifying the movement of his cheek muscles in proportion to their distance from them.
‘This is on three conditions, sir. The first is that the Imperial flag is flying from that staff,’ Holbrooke motioned towards the flagstaff at the base of the jetty. Albach nodded. ‘The second is that you return the salute gun-for-gun and the third is that Colonel Reutter personally greets the commodore when he steps foot on shore.’
Albach glanced sideways at the colonel, who nodded slightly.
‘It is agreed,’ said Albach. ‘We have one field gun only, so the reply will be slow, I trust you’ll explain that to the commodore so that he doesn’t misapprehend that we are being disrespectful.’
‘Then you will see us again in three hours,’ said Holbrooke, making a low bow to the colonel and to Albach. He waited politely for the colonel to turn away and watched as they walked up the jetty towards the town.
‘How impersonal diplomacy can be,’ said Chalmers. ‘That man is practically a shipmate, and yet we weren’t able to so much as greet him with a smile.’
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The two Austrians didn’t speak until they reached the gate, then Holbrooke saw Albach turn to the colonel and speak rapidly, emphasising his point with short movements of his hands. The colonel replied, questioned, then nodded in assent. Albach turned back towards Holbrooke and Chalmers as the colonel continued through the gate without a backward glance.
‘Captain Holbrooke, Mister Chalmers,’ called Albach as he strode rapidly back down the jetty. ‘May I have a few moments of your time before you depart?’
Holbrooke looked at his pocket watch. It was a calculated gesture to emphasise that time was short if the squadron was to be under the walls of Emden in three hours. However, he regretted it as soon as the watch was out of its fob pocket; the colonel’s stiff demeanour, his refusal to speak a common language had affected Holbrooke’s manners, but it was entirely inappropriate considering his past association with the major.
‘I won’t take more than a few minutes, sir,’ said Albach, his friendly approach turning to a cool reserve. ‘The matter is of importance.’
‘My dear Major Albach,’ said Holbrooke smiling now, ‘I apologise if I sounded severe. I will always have time to speak to you.’
Albach smiled in relief. His errand could hardly be accomplished without Holbrooke’s goodwill. ‘First I want to thank you – and of course your commodore – for the generosity of your terms for our evacuation of the city. Colonel Reutter feared they’d be far more onerous.’
It was clear to Holbrooke what Reutter had feared. Holmes could have insisted on a surrender and an evacuation under parole. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable, given that the Austrians were forcibly occupying a city which belonged to Britain’s ally, the King of Prussia. What they didn’t know was that Holmes was under orders to treat the Austrians with consideration, as though they had no part in this war. Furthermore, Holmes’ worst nightmare was that the Austrians would decline to march out, leaving him with the problem of feeding them and arranging their passage to Ostend.
‘I hope the terms of our agreement emphasise the point that Britain and Austria have no argument with each other,’ said Holbrooke. ‘Tell me, Major, we spoke of this before. Do you have the means to march your men two-hundred miles back to the Austrian Netherlands?’
‘Yes, we do,’ Albach replied quickly.
Holbrooke suspected that he wanted to forestall any offer of help from the British navy.
‘We travel light, and that is what I wanted to talk to you about,’ said Albach. ‘I mentioned the single field-gun that we have. It’s a nine-pounder and far too heavy to be carried on the road that we must travel. It would be a severe embarrassment to Colonel Reutter, and to me personally as an artilleryman, if the Prussians should seize that gun. It’s bronze and is engraved with the imperial cypher, clearly identifiable as Austrian. Would you carry it away from Emden?’
This peculiar obsession with their guns that soldiers had, particularly artillerymen. The navy had no such care and would happily jettison any number of weapons if a ship needed lightening to enable it to run faster or to break free from a reef. Holbrooke considered for a moment. Of course, he must agree. He had no idea what the commodore would want to do about the gun, but that wasn’t his concern. When the Austrian’s had left, it was unlikely that anything he could say would influence the gun’s fate. But if he now refused, he feared that it may make the handover of the city less smooth.
‘Of course, we cannot dictate what happens to the gun after that,’ Albach said hastily. He also wanted the handover to proceed without any problems. ‘If it can be returned to the imperial forces at Ostend, so much the better, but I certainly do not insist upon it.’
‘Mister Treganoc could even spend a few days polishing it,’ murmured Chalmers, not quite softly enough for it to escape Albach, who grinned. He remembered the marine lieutenant and his love of field guns.
‘Of course, my dear Major,’ said Holbrooke. ‘As you say, I cannot warrant what will happen to it, but I can state that I’ll do my best to see tha
t it doesn’t stay in Emden.’
‘The gun will be on the jetty then. That will be my last act in this city, to return your salute gun-for-gun, and I shall be honoured to do so.’
There was silence between the three men. They knew that this was the last chance to confer before the formalities of the change of ownership of a city swept them both up.
‘Then on your long journey south, you’ll think of us as we’re battered by the North Sea gales?’ asked Chalmers.
‘Aye, and perhaps you’ll remember me, when I’m eating the hide off the horses, sheltering from the blizzard when the wind comes into the nor’east again. I know where I’d rather be, so raise a glass of hot grog in memory old friends.’
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27: Emden Occupied
Monday, Twentieth of March 1758.
Kestrel, at Anchor. The Dollart.
Kestrel’s anchor was at short stay when Holbrooke returned after his hasty meeting with the commodore. The sloop was to lead the way into Emden Road through the western approach with Fairview restored to his rightful ship. It appeared that the commodore had more faith in Fairview’s ability to keep the squadron off the mud than he did in his own sailing master’s. Fairview’s navigation of the squadron up the Ems estuary had caused enough friction with the flagship’s sailing master already, and for the sake of peace, it was time that they were parted, each to his own proper ship.
The anchorage had been planned so that Kestrel would lie to the east of the jetty, Seahorse directly off the jetty and Strombolo to the west. The cutter Acrias would patrol the Ems Estuary to give warning of any intruders.
‘Let go!’ shouted Fairview as Kestrel’s bow came abreast the eastern canal that penetrated the city. The impact of Kestrel’s blockade was easy to see as the sloop passed the mouths of the two canals; there were no active vessels berthed alongside, no heaps of food and supplies piled up on the wharves and no local produce waiting to be exported. The docks that only a few years ago had been expanded at huge expense to take the Prussian East India company’s ships lay idle and deserted except for two abandoned pinks, a testament to the efficacy of sea power.
As Kestrel’s anchor touched the ground, Holbrooke stepped down into the gig to be rowed across to the flagship. It was an undignified way for a captain to meet his commodore, but speed was more important than dignity if the commodore was to make his appointment with Colonel Reutter.
Bang! The first gun of the nine-gun salute broke the stillness, and a thousand waterfowl took to the air, screaming their indignation and wheeling around the sky in confusion. Bang! The second ended any doubt and the birds, as though by one accord, veered south and headed for the peace of the Dollart. Holbrooke watched the jetty. He’d already confirmed that the gun was in place and that a crew was standing around it. He could even make out the stout figure of Albach, standing somewhat apart from the gun crew, his tricorn held formally in front of his chest.
The last of Seahorse’s guns roared out. There was a pause; it seemed like minutes, but it was only twenty seconds, and then to Holbrooke’s inexpressible relief, the Austrian gun spoke. Nine times it fired, with an agonising wait of a minute-and-a-half between each report. He could see the crew working feverishly, and he could see Albach with a pocket watch timing the salute, restraining them from firing before the due time. Slow they may have been, but the interval between each gun was precise.
The light nor’westerly wind that had come during the forenoon took control of each ship once its sails were furled and its anchor had taken hold. With the last gun of the Austrian’s salute, Strombolo, the last to anchor, lay back on her cable with her head to the west. The Austrian army and the citizens of Emden looked out upon a long line of guns facing the town at pistol-shot range.
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Seahorse’s longboat – rated a commodore’s barge for this occasion – came gently alongside the jetty where Kestrel’s longboat had been only three hours before. The commodore stepped out of his barge, and as he did so – at the same instant, indeed it was no coincidence – Colonel Reutter stepped through the gates of the city onto the jetty, looking even frailer than he had earlier in the day. If the onlookers had expected any kind of high ceremony, they were sadly mistaken. The Austrian colonel had nothing to give to the British commodore to mark the change of ownership. The keys to the town hall were kept by the mayor, the keys to the city gates had been thrown into the sea by the departing French, and there was no document to be signed. Colonel Reutter maintained the fiction that he spoke nothing but German, so the ceremony – what there was of it – consisted only of mutual salutes and wishes of good fortune that may or may not have been understood by the other party.
The formalities concluded, the colonel, surrounded by his meagre staff, painfully mounted his horse and clattered away on the cobblestones to the Upper Gate, at the south-eastern end of the city. There his one thousand, two hundred and twenty men were formed up in good order; skirmishers to the front and flanks, baggage and camp followers to the rear. At midday precisely, the column started moving, taking the southeast road to meet up with the Ems and follow in the footsteps of the retreating French.
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‘Well, I count this a success,’ said Commodore Holmes as he, his three captains and Treganoc, now the senior marine officer in the squadron, stood high above the upper gate, surveying the city on one side and the marching Austrians on the other. ‘Now we must create some kind of order in the town, and I suspect that will be the hard part. But I also must get word back to the Admiralty. This will cheer the government and reassure Prince Ferdinand that he’s not alone fighting the French on the continent. I’ve a mind to send you, Holbrooke, what do you say?’
‘Thank you, sir, I would be honoured,’ he replied. It was, indeed, an honour. This was no great victory, not even on the scale of Cape François, but it would come to Anson’s attention and even the King’s. Assuredly it would come to the King’s attention. This action directly impacted on the relief of his possessions in Hanover. Holbrooke realised that it hardly warranted him hoping for promotion, but then again…
‘I could, of course, send Acrias,’ mused Holmes. ‘But I may need a shallow-draught cutter in this damnable estuary. No, you should go, Holbrooke, you’ve spent longer than any of us on this coast, and your sloop still looks too much like a privateer for my liking. Go directly to Portsmouth if you get an easterly wind, otherwise Harwich or the London River. In either case, take yourself off to the Admiralty as soon as you arrive.’
Holbrooke was aware of the attitudes of the others. Taylor needed all the exposure that he could get to move into a ship-of-the-line and away from the commodore’s apron-strings. He’d dearly love to take the news, but of course, Seahorse was the commodore’s only frigate and must stay on station. Smith was too good-natured to show any envy, but he must have been thinking ruefully that it could have been Strombolo taking the news.
‘I’ll have to borrow your marines, of course, as a temporary garrison, and Lieutenant Treganoc, now that I don’t have a marine captain.’
That was only to be expected. The squadron would have its hands full in administering this city until they should be relieved by Ferdinand’s heterogenous Army. But what an opportunity for Pitt, to garrison Emden with British soldiers without having to place them under Ferdinand’s command and without having to significantly compromise his policy of leaving the continental soldiering to his allies.
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As they spoke, out to the southeast, the marching Austrians came to an untidy halt. It looked like the head of the column had stopped suddenly, and each of the units behind had reacted with more-or-less alacrity.
‘Does anyone have a glass?’ asked Holmes, looking around him. Treganoc came to the rescue with a compact telescope of the sort that soldiers used in the field. It was poor magnification compared with the naval variety that didn’t generally have to be carried on the person for long, but it was better than nothing. Holmes adjusted th
e focus, pulling the unfamiliar tube in and out, trying to get used to the amount of friction.
‘Ah, now I see the problem,’ said the commodore. ‘Some clumsy soldier has fallen off his horse, right at the head of the column. Oh! It looks like it could be the colonel. He didn’t look too spry, did he?’
With the naked eye, they could see a huddle of officers around the fallen figure. A small group broke off. Holbrooke was almost sure that one of them was Albach. There was a short pause, no more than five minutes, and then a horseman came cantering back towards the gate.
‘That’s Major Albach,’ said Treganoc.
‘Good God, what now?’ asked the commodore in exasperation. ‘If he thinks that he can turn his men around and come back into the city, he can think again. I’ll bar the gates to him. Mister Treganoc, I want to know that those gates can be closed from the inside; let me know as soon as possible if you please. And meanwhile put a marine guard down there.’
Albach reined in his horse outside the gate just as a flustered marine, bayonet not yet fixed, rushed into place under the arch of the gate. The major at least understood the protocol now that the city was under the command of another nation; marine or no marine, he wasn’t going to pass that gate without permission.
‘May I enter to speak with you,’ he shouted in French, directing his voice to the group on the gate.