The Fall of Toulon

by Bernard Ireland

  Following his replacement as minister of marine by the duc de Praslin in 1766, Choiseul was behind the shrewd French acquisition of Corsica from the tottering Genoese Republic in 1768. The transfer made strategic sense in that British interest in the island as a forward naval base was well appreciated. Its population was rebellious and, effectively, only the major centres of population ever came under French control.

  French Court intrigues resulted in 1768 in the abrupt dismissal of both Choiseul (as minister of war) and Praslin. Continuing the former’s policies, Praslin had overseen fleet expansion to about sixty ships of the line and some fifty frigates and minor warships. A specialist corps of gunners had also been established to overcome the particular problems posed by firing from a moving deck. At the same time, measures were already in hand to introduce an escadre d’essai (‘squadron of evolution’) to develop new procedures in the handling and manoeuvring of ships in company and to evaluate promising technical innovation. This concept pre-dated British ideas on ‘experimental sailing’ by about twenty-five years.

  Fleet renewal then began to falter until the accession of Louis XVI in 1774. His first minister of marine, Sartine, had a short career but benefited from the king’s interest in the service. Once again, France was buzzing with the prospect of war against Britain, and ship construction proceeded apace.

  An opportunity for revenge had arisen with the revolt by the American colonies against British rule in 1775. Assistance to the rebels had the prospect of not only embarrassing the old enemy but re-establishing lost French influence in North America. The innate Anglophobia of Louis’s foreign minister, the comte de Vergennes, was further influenced by the young marquis de Lafayette, who had committed himself totally to the American cause and who, having shared the tribulations of General Washington’s hard-pressed troops at Valley Forge in the harsh winter of 1777–8, had Washington’s full confidence.

  Lafayette’s involvement to date had been voluntary, and the French government bided its time until it was convinced about the rebels’ ultimate chance of success. This came with General Burgoyne’s capitulation at Saratoga in 1777 and, satisfied that it was backing a winner, France concluded a treaty of alliance with the American revolutionaries just five months later.

  Such overt meddling resulted in the withdrawal of the British ambassador from Paris which event, far from prompting any explanation or apology, was met with reciprocal action. A formal declaration of war followed in July 1778. Seeking restitution from the British for what they saw as the humiliation of the peace settlement of 1763, the French again played the Bourbon family card to gain Spain as an ally, for she too had gained little from the 1763 treaty.

  For the French navy, the renewal of hostilities promised much, for the new United States lay beyond 2,500 miles of ocean. The naval dimension to the conflict would necessarily prove crucial. A force of twelve ships of the line and five frigates was assembled at Toulon. Commanded by soldier-turned-sailor the comte d’Estaing, the squadron sailed before war was declared. Its orders were to land a spearhead French military force in America and then to support Washington’s army as required. With the onset of winter, d’Estaing was to make for the West Indies. Here he was to cause a general nuisance threatening, and if possible taking, British island possessions and disrupting trade. All such action would oblige the Royal Navy to commit more vessels to the American station and to dissipate its strength further.

  It has been noted by others that the British failure to retain the American colonies hinged on the surrender of two armies, each event being preceded by a naval operation. Neither involved d’Estaing. The surrender at Saratoga, which enticed France into the war, had resulted when Burgoyne’s colleague, General Howe, failed to advance to link with him. Instead, he preferred to sail his army around to the Chesapeake in order to take Philadelphia. Tactically, the operation was a success. Strategically, it proved a disaster, well illustrating the weakness of divided command.

  Having sailed before war began in July 1778, d’Estaing was on the American seaboard promptly, but he failed to impress. Unable to goad an inferior British squadron to action near New York, he moved on to the British base at Newport, Rhode Island. Here, cooperation with the American revolutionaries was poor and, while he marked time, cruising off and on, d’Estaing was concerned at the arrival of a smaller British squadron. Too weak to attack the French, this force stimulated days of indecisive manoeuvring which were terminated by a great gale that inflicted significant damage to both sides. This was sufficient to make d’Estaing sail for Boston to effect repairs. Then, having failed to render ‘positive assistance’ to the Americans, he left for the Caribbean.

  Once in the West Indies, d’Estaing awaited reinforcement before making a move against the poorly defended island of St Vincent, which he took in June 1779. When unfavourable winds frustrated an attempt to take Barbados, the French seized Grenada instead. Here, d’Estaing was attacked by a slightly inferior British squadron. A hard-fought action resulted in no ships being lost but several British vessels being so damaged that they could well have been taken had the French so chosen. Instead, d’Estaing strictly observed his principal task of covering the military force that he had landed. Having been at sea for a creditable twenty months, d’Estaing then returned with a convoy and the ships of the original Toulon squadron, leaving the later arrivals to the new commander-in-chief, the comte de Grasse.

  General Washington, already less than impressed by d’Estaing’s assistance, was reinforced in the summer of 1780 by the landing of the comte de Rochambeau with 4,000 troops. These, too, showed no initial propensity for activity.

  Following a protracted campaign in the southern states, and having incurred considerable loss, the British general, Cornwallis, concentrated his army at Yorktown, Virginia, early in 1781. Located on a peninsula, Cornwallis’s position was strong as long as it could be maintained by sea. His route inland was blocked by Lafayette, who had a force sufficient to contain the British but not to defeat them. Lafayette was awaiting the arrival in September of de Grasse, with reinforcements from the West Indies.

  Alive to the French naval activities, the newly promoted Rear Admiral Samuel Hood contrived to prevent de Grasse landing but, arriving first and finding that all was quiet, he moved on to join his senior officer, Rear Admiral Graves, at New York. Shortly after, de Grasse was thus able to land his force undisturbed. He then remained in position so that, when Graves returned with a convoy of vital stores and reinforcements, he was unable to put them ashore. De Grasse conducted a skilful battle of manoeuvre to keep Graves (who seemed not to appreciate the implications of the situation ashore) at a distance. For imminent want of relief, Cornwallis was obliged to surrender.

  Although the struggle for the American colonies was not yet over, the issue was no longer in doubt. De Grasse departed for the West Indies, where he discovered his British opponents to be tactical equals. When, in January 1782, the French overran the island of St Kitts, Hood arrived with a force too small to influence events ashore. Threatened by de Grasse’s larger covering force, Hood anchored in tight line across a small bay and resisted every effort to dislodge him.

  Three months later, Hood was second-in-command to Admiral Rodney when, near Dominica, the latter broke de Grasse’s line of battle into three disordered groups. In this, the Battle of the Saintes, de Grasse was captured and only the aged Rodney’s reluctance to pursue saved the French from major defeat.

  It was not only in America that British and French naval forces clashed. Control of Ceylon and the east coast of India was still a matter of dispute between the two countries and, for two years, opposing squadrons under Commodore Suffren and Rear Admiral Hughes battled for supremacy. Unsupported by bases, the French commander had to rely greatly on captured materials and supplies. Between February 1782 and June 1783 the two groups fought five actions, mostly in support of operations ashore. Neither commander could afford to take an all-out risk, so neither achieved a clear-cut victory. Suff
ren, however, had proved a resourceful leader, albeit fortunate that the British Admiralty did not have the resources to reinforce Hughes to decisive strength.

  When en route to the Indian Ocean in April 1781, Suffren had departed from the usual French ‘mission-first’ philosophy by surprising and attacking a British force at Porto Praya in the Cape Verdes. Caught at anchor, the British rallied and inflicted the higher casualty toll. They had, however, been en route to seize the Dutch colony at the Cape, and the damage they received at Porto Praya delayed them sufficiently to allow Suffren to arrive first to reinforce the Dutch garrison. The outpost remained Dutch for the duration of the war.

  Two of Suffren’s captains were killed at Porto Praya and the commodore replaced that of the Annibal 74 with her promising first lieutenant, one Morard de Galles. Being junior to others, his election caused some rancour and he was moved to a frigate command. He continued to discharge himself well, however, and we will meet him again (as, indeed, we will Rear Admiral Samuel Hood).

  The continuing policy of Vergennes, the French foreign minister, was to seize British colonies wherever and whenever possible. As this required local naval superiority, it was essential for the French to ensure that the main strength of the British battle fleet remained tied to home waters, a course of action only possible if France could maintain a credible threat of an invasion of Britain. Vergennes feared, however, that any such enterprise if actually undertaken would bring about a coalition of states in Britain’s defence which would overpower France. The comparatively leisurely British response to the French threat suggested the British were aware that the prospect of a cross-Channel invasion was more apparent than real, even if the Admiralty could not afford to ignore it entirely.

  But that the broader French aim of stretching British naval capabilities to the limit was successful elsewhere was highlighted in America. Frustrated by the continuing French naval intervention there, the British aimed to bring Washington’s army to decisive action. In refusing to be so drawn, the American general bought time that diluted and exhausted British resources and, increasingly, encouraged British conciliation.

  In home waters, Britain’s first line of defence was the Channel fleet, commanded by Admiral Augustus Keppel. Initially inferior in strength to the comte d’Orvilliers’ Brest squadron, it was quickly reinforced to a similar strength of thirty ships of the line.

  An experienced but cautious 68-year-old, d’Orvilliers was fortunate in having talented subordinate commanders such as Guichen, la Motte-Piquet, du Chaffault and, for a period, de Grasse. Indeed, the admiral was exhorted by Sartine, the minister of marine, to expunge past shortcomings through the élan of his younger divisional commanders. However, although told that ‘the eyes of Europe would be upon [him]’, he was also warned of the importance of preserving his fleet as a threat ‘in being’, and that royal opprobrium would attend the loss or capture of any of his ships. Such conflicting advice was not calculated to generate bold action from an elderly commander-in-chief.

  Both fleets were quickly at sea, however, and in December 1781 clashed at what became known as the Battle of Ushant. As, after a period of peace, each admiral was again accustoming himself to action and neither wished to make an error which would leave the other undisputed master of the Channel, the action became one of manoeuvre. At this, the French held the stronger hand and their gunnery damaged British rigging to the extent that it caused some disorder. Being numerically inferior, d’Orvilliers was content and did not press home his advantage.

  Ushant was a drawn battle, with the British suffering more damage and casualties. This unsatisfactory outcome resulted in a major public quarrel between Keppel and his second-in-command, Palliser. Political opponents in their extra-service alter egos, they blamed each other for what was seen as a failure. Both were exonerated by relevant inquiries, but criticized. The seagoing career of neither progressed further, but the real culprit was the tactics of the time.

  Unable to establish ascendancy in the English Channel while acting alone, the Brest squadron remained out of it until French diplomacy was finally successful in securing the Spanish as allies. From July 1779, therefore, the British Channel fleet faced potential combined odds of about seventy to forty.

  Spain’s ambition was to recover lost territories but, being unable to afford a long war, insisted that France prepare and lead a cross-Channel invasion. Two armies, each of 20,000, were thus assembled in western France, together with the necessary transports. The initial plan was to seize the Isle of Wight, from which Portsmouth could be neutralized. To contain the Royal Navy would require fifty of the combined ships of the line. The remaining sixteen would act as escorts during the short Channel crossing.

  Having clearly read the developing threat, the British made preliminary moves. Fearing that he would be blockaded in Brest, in early June d’Orvilliers hurried to sea, not waiting to complete with sufficient stores for an extended operation. Following a week on passage, the French then had to mark time off Vigo for a further six weeks until, on 23 July, the Spanish finally emerged.

  Despite earlier high-level liaison, signals and procedures between the two fleets had not been harmonized. Flouting agreement, the Spanish also refused to operate under French command, their contribution being thirty-six ships to the French thirty. Already low on provisions, the French contingent was then ravaged by smallpox. D’Orvilliers’ only son was an officer aboard the flagship and the admiral helplessly watched him die, as so many others had already. The old man was devastated by his loss which, without doubt, affected his resolve.

  Unaware of their enemies’ difficulties, the British were concerned. At best, only forty-two ships could be mustered for the Channel fleet. Politics had so divided the senior ranks of the Royal Navy that an apolitical commander-in-chief had to be appointed. The best available was Admiral Sir Charles Hardy, who had last seen sea service some twenty years previously and who had already been given the pre-retirement sinecure of governor of Greenwich Hospital. Fortunately he had in Kempenfelt an able flag captain. Neither side, therefore, looked set to exhibit any high degree of operational brilliance. Nor did they.

  At last, in August, the combined fleets entered the English Channel, only to encounter strong and persistent easterlies. Unable to beat up-Channel, short of every necessity and with his sick and dying multiplying by the day, d’Orvilliers conveyed his despair to his superiors, who accordingly ordered him to invade the Cornish coast. Fortunately for the French, this preposterous idea was not put to the test for, as he looked increasingly unable to contain British naval activity, the admiral was then ordered to bring the British fleet quickly to decisive battle. In Hardy, however, the Admiralty had chosen well for, in resolutely seeking to avoid an engagement, he seized the weather gauge and hovered enticingly out of reach. On 3 September, d’Orvilliers gratefully received orders to return to Brest, ostensibly for rest and recuperation pending a further attempt. The 8,000 sick that he put ashore, however, convinced the administration that the attempt was over.

  From this sorry episode, neither side emerged with credit. Britain had suffered a major invasion scare that could readily have been avoided. Historically, any Franco-Spanish alliance spelt the possibility of their two fleets combining to outnumber that of the British and thus to threaten invasion. The traditional response had been to watch and, if necessary, blockade Brest to prevent any such junction. Not only was Brest not so watched from the April, when the alliance was concluded, but when d’Orvilliers was later waiting off the Spanish coast for six weeks he was not hunted down by Hardy, whose fleet was superior in strength to the French alone.

  The French, for their part, were cruising within easy range of their coasts. Why were their ships not rotated to complete with stores and crew replacements? And, with the French condition degenerating so obviously, why had their ally not then assumed the lead role to maintain the operation’s momentum? The intention to invade has to be seen as lukewarm at best, while Spanish interest lay less in
crushing Britain than in the recovery of Gibraltar and Minorca.

  For both latter enterprises the French cooperated willingly, even to the extent of placing naval units under Spanish command. With the Royal Navy’s presence in the Mediterranean reduced to a few cruising ships, it proved an easy task to land a military force on Minorca during the summer of 1781. Following a successful, six-month siege of the British base at Port Mahon, the island was again in Spanish hands.

  Gibraltar proved an altogether tougher objective. Climaxing months of siege, an all-out Franco-Spanish assault was launched from across the bay in September 1782. It was repulsed with heavy loss and, one month later, Admiral Howe effectively lifted the siege by outwitting the combined fleets with an inferior force and running in a timely convoy of upwards of 150 sail.

  Back in January 1780, Admiral Rodney had already rudely exposed the inadequacies of the Spanish fleet. En route to the Leeward Islands station, he escorted a supply convoy for Gibraltar and Minorca. Accompanied by a detachment from the Channel fleet, Rodney was in considerable strength. This he used off Cape Finisterre, rounding up a complete Spanish convoy and escort, the latter comprising a 64 and six frigates. Nine days later, near Cape St Vincent, he surprised a powerful Spanish squadron of eleven ships of the line and two frigates under the flag of Admiral Don Juan de Langara. In the course of a ten-hour pursuit, much of it at night, the British captured six ships of the line and sank a seventh. (Langara, who we will meet again, was considered by the British to be one of the better Spanish admirals.) Meanwhile, Rodney departed for the West Indies there, with Hood as his second-in-command, to crush de Grasse at the Saintes.