‘Huh!’ interrupted Monck, dissembling vigorously. ‘Would that he had. ’Twould have afforded me pretext for resigning.’
‘No, no, Your Grace!’ There was genuine alarm in Clarendon’s tone. ‘Your resignation would serve no purpose. Besides, Prince Rupert spoke warmly in your favour. The King is your friend, sir, and well knows the debt he owes you, and His Majesty…’ Clarendon faltered for a moment, then added, ‘is easily distracted.’
‘Come, My Lord, you mean he is exhausted. He should go to bed to sleep not fornicate. Someone should remonstrate with him for, God knows, His Majesty’s fortunes rest upon a thin enough foundation.’
‘I have tried remonstrating, George,’ Clarendon admitted confidentially. ‘He doth not listen and it is making me unpopular.’
‘Well that is to your credit, Ned,’ Monck admitted. ‘But this war with the Dutch is damaging our prosperity and the City will not forgive His Majesty if the enemy carry off all the trade of the world under our noses. That will be our defeat and a more consequential loss than ten ships-of-war and even eight thousand wretched fellows so lately lost to us.’
‘And you think a further trial of strength with De Ruyter might wrest all the advantage to us?’
‘It is our best and our only chance to bring this disastrous war to a conclusion, Ned,’ Monck retorted sharply, picking up his hat and taking his farewell of the King’s Minister.
*
‘You have seen Dorothy?’ Anne asked gently. She regarded her husband with concern as he stood momentarily before seating himself at the head of the table. Besides the deep lines of age and experience that bit into his features, and the shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes, he had grown abominably gross, so-much-so that the faithful Gumble had remarked upon it, regretting that he had not accompanied His Grace to sea on account of his own ‘languishing sickness,’ but remarking that the interval of absence had provoked a marked difference in his master. Thomas Gumble was of the private opinion that Monck’s dropsy was inveterate and that his wheezing asthma might prove fatal. Anne’s sharp eye flickered to Gumble, who had, like the rest of the company assembled in The Cockpit for dinner, half risen as the great man – her great man – took his seat.
The carver creaked as Monck, groaning himself, subsided into it and Gumble, the Morices and the Clarges, both Masters and Mistresses, drew their chairs up to the board.
‘Aye, I have waited upon Dorothy. She is seeking some consolation from Doctor Barrow.’
‘Was his end...?’ Gumble began uncertainly.
‘His soul was shriven before he departed this life,’ Monck reassured Gumble, who felt his absence from Monck’s side all the more acutely now both the opportunity and the danger had passed. He had not yet realised His Grace intended returning to sea almost immediately.
‘What happened?’ Clarges asked bluntly.
‘You want that I should recount it?’ Monck asked, looking in turn at the ladies.
‘We all knew him so well, Your Grace,’ Mistress Morice remarked.
Monck laid down his cutlery and leaned back, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. ‘’Twas a hard fought action that lasted in all four whole days, during the greater part of which we were embattled with the Dutch. They press a hard action and on the second day, standing by my side upon the deck of the Royal Charles – that was lately the Naseby,’ he added in parenthesis for the benefit of Morice and Clarges, ‘a round-shot came inboard and struck poor Will’s right leg at the knee…’ A horrified murmur went round the table, Mistress Morice burying her face in her hands. ‘’Twas shattered, of course, and Will was taken below where, in due course, the surgeons took it off.’ Monck paused, then added, ‘I saw him later that day, after nightfall when I could leave the deck. He had taken a fever and lay delirious. The surgeons assured me he would live, but that is their practice for they must persuade themselves that what they do is for the good, but…’ Monck sighed. ‘He lingered two days and died upon the 4th. We were soon afterwards anchored on the Shelf off Harwich and I accompanied him ashore. He was laid to rest within the parish church, that of St Nicholas. I miss him as a friend, though Matthew Lock has assumed the office of my Secretary.’
‘You rode him hard, George,’ Anne said critically, drawing looks from her guests. Monck accepted her admonishment. ‘He was near-blind from your ceaseless dictating.’
Monk nodded. ‘Yes, he was, but I did not ask him to accompany me to sea. On the contrary, he insisted upon it.’
The distress being caused by the turn the discourse had taken woke Gumble to his professional concerns. ‘You have the power to instil in those about you a strong sense of duty, Your Grace,’ he offered soothingly.
‘Have I?’ Monck retorted. ‘I think not, Doctor. Will Clarke was his own man enough to see where his duty lay without my influence.’
But the eulogising Gumble could not abandon his flattery for, though of a different character than Anne’s, his own belief in Monck’s inherent greatness ran strong in him.
‘Your Grace has a great and subtle influence that binds people to your service.’
‘That is true, Doctor,’ put in Clarges, temporising and aware that Gumble’s panegyric had overrun its course. ‘We are all, equally, His Grace’s servants.’
An awkward silence followed this fulsome statement. It was broken by a quiet enquiry from Morice. ‘Shall Your Grace continue in command of the fleet?’
‘I hope not!’ Anne’s voice was cold.
‘I am to continue in joint command with His Highness, The Prince Rupert.’ Monck’s tone was bland and he stared at his wife. Anne glared back, then cast aside her napkin.
‘Ladies,’ she said, rising.
Monck expelled his breath as the women withdrew, then looked round the table with a rueful expression. ‘Gentlemen I wish it were not so, but the King commands it and I believe we might yet strike a blow fatal to the pretensions of our enemy. Our fleet will be ready soon and De Ruyter and his admirals will not expect so precipitate a recovery.’
‘May I drink to the success of Your Grace?’ Gumble asked, his contrition obvious.
‘Aye, Doctor, you may,’ Monck responded with a kindly smile. ‘And do you pray for my bodily welfare that I may stand these late trials, for I fear I shall not be able to bear them for much longer, my health being precarious.’
*
Monck stood beside Prince Rupert at the larboard hance of the Royal Charles as the great flag-ship snubbed her cable. She was anchored near the buoy of the Nore, surrounded by the refitted ships of the King’s fleet. Most bore some marks of their recent battering at the hands of the Dutch, but all crossed spars upon their lofty masts and the magazines of each man-of-war were filled with powder and shot, their store-rooms and holds – if not full of the promised extent of their requisitioned victuals – then carrying a sufficiency.
‘Well, George,’ Rupert enquired quietly, ‘they look fine enough. Do you think they have the stomach for a fight?’
Monck grunted. They had had the by now customary difficulties manning the fleet. It seemed hauntingly odd to him that the seaman said to have hauled down Ayscue’s colours aboard the Royal Prince was named Lambert. It there were too many Lamberts in the fleet the loyalty of the seamen would prove fickle and possibly as disastrous as it had been to Ayscue. The wretched admiral had been in the act of encouraging his men, telling them that the Prince Royal would float off the Galloper on the rising tide when alarmists among the crew pointed to the fire-ships then bearing down upon them. Cowardice, it was said, had precipitated the man-of-war’s surrender.
Monck had had a bellyful of disaffection and disloyalty. For a man bound to his commission such conduct ran against the grain. In the Army he could purge and cashier; in the Navy it was less easy. There were far fewer men, both officers and seamen, with sufficient expertise to appoint to vacancies. As with everything at sea, such solutions were always more difficult than on land. How then could he answer Prince Rupert’s question?
‘In truth, Hi
ghness, I do not know nor would I care to test the temper of the men. Sometimes it is unnecessary, particularly when the enemy is shooting at you. However, we must do something, so I suggest an exhortation, to be read by every captain to his company, to say that they fight for the prosperity of England, nothing less, nothing more. The Dutch must be beat if we are to have any rest and they are to see their families again.’
‘An exhortation?’ Rupert raised an eyebrow and stared at Monck with a faint expression of incredulity upon his handsome face. ‘Do you think that would act to any effect?’
‘No, but unless Your Highness can think of anything better, I cannot.’ Monck replied shortly. ‘As for the officers, the example of the five captains will impinge upon our people sufficiently, of that I am more confident.’
Rupert nodded. ‘Very well.’ He smiled affably. ‘And now, Your Grace,’ he said with a formality that quickly became wry, ‘since we are in joint command, which of us should draft this exhortation?’ Monck made a gesture of deference, but Rupert brushed it aside. ‘No, no, you have the touch, George, do you see to it.’
Monck nodded and took his leave of Rupert, passing into his cabin and acknowledging the salutation of Captain John Hubbard, the wounded Kempthorne’s successor.
By that evening, though still woefully deficient in competent able-seamen, word came that a large draft of soldiers was expected on the morrow. It would help to make up the numbers, if not the expertise. That evening there also went out from the Royal Charles Monck’s exhortation, ‘to be read only after the ships of the fleet have come within sight of the enemy’. A more sinister written order had at the same time been sent to the fleet’s flag-officers and captains; it too bore all the hallmarks of Monck’s own exacting standards and was a reminder of his likely reaction to any future dereliction of duty.
The several Commanders of the Fleet under Our Joint Command are to take especial care that they each and all keep their Line-of-Battle, and upon pain of Death that they fire not over nor through any of our own Ships.
By sunset on 22 July, a mere seven weeks after De Ruyter had been left master of the North Sea, ninety English men-of-war, including a number of specially prepared fire-ships, lay at anchor off the Gunfleet Sand. News of the Dutch arrived by way of a fly-boat; they were six leagues away, to the east of Orfordness. The order was given to weigh. De Ruyter had seventy-two ships ranged against his enemy and there was disaffection in the Dutch as well as the English fleet.
For two days the fleets manoeuvred in light and fitful winds. Now led by Vice Admiral Sir Thomas Allen, who had under his command in the van several frigates and six fire-ships, the main body of the English fleet held its formation in a long, if snaking line ahead. It was intended by Monck and Rupert that action would not be joined until their line-of-battle should extend the full length of the Dutch fleet. The enemy, it was anticipated, would adopt their favourite formation of a shallow demi-lune, which they believed conferred the best chances on a fleet in the leeward position. But there ensued in this complex game of cat-and-mouse several changes of wind and periods of calm when both fleets anchored to mitigate the otherwise disruptive effects of the strong tides. By nightfall of 24th July 1666, the English fleet lay at anchor in Hollesley Bay, a shallow indentation on the coast of Suffolk, to the south and west of Orfordness. From this point, Orford Castle bore north-west and the low coast lay green in the summer sunshine, the low red cliffs at Bawdsey topped by pine trees and the occasional curious horseman. Before midnight boats were despatched round the fleet; all were to watch the flag-ship for the order to weigh. The Dutch lay four leagues to the south-east, off the Shipwash Bank.
Monck was early astir and by two o’clock on the morning of the 25th – St James’s Day - he was on deck, where Hubbard presently joined him.
‘The wind is settled into the Nor’-nor’-east, do you pass the word. We weigh in an hour.’
At three the lanterns were run aloft, and three guns fired to draw the attention of the fleet. By the time the sun rose the English were almost all under-weigh standing in line on the larboard tack towards the distant enemy. By four bells in the forenoon watch – ten o’clock – the first ranging shots rang out from the van under Allen with his frigates and fire-ships. The Dutch cut and ran, drawing the English after them to the south-east as the action became warm and the gunfire terrific, causing a smoky pall to fall upon the sea.
Monck and Rupert kept the red flag for close-combat hoisted throughout, and bore down upon De Ruyter in his magnificent flag-ship De Zeven Provincien. Some distance astern the Dutch rear fell out of their half-moon and rounded upon the English rear. This was not immediately discerned from the Royal Charles. To the joint Commanders-in-Chief the main battle was being pressed to advantage.
‘With what powder did you fill your exhortation?’ Rupert shouted to Monck, clapping his hand upon the crown of his hat for fear that the wind of a passing shot should deprive him of it. ‘Never have I seen our fellows work at their guns with such vigour… See! See, De Ruyter’s fore-mast is going by the board… and, God’s teeth! It takes his main with it!’
‘Nor will the mizzen stand for long!’ bellowed Hubbard, the words hardly out of his mouth when the third of the Dutch flag-ship’s masts tottered and fell.
The wind, falling ever lighter, obscured much of the action until about four in the afternoon, when the concussion of the guns lessened and the smoke gradually lifted. The van and centre of the Dutch fleet had been damaged and were in a poorer state than the opposing English squadrons. What was more, they were drawing off.
‘Where the devil is his rear?’ Monck cast his eyes about the horizon.
‘And where the hell is ours?’ Rupert asked. ‘Hubbard! D’you see…?’
‘Aye, Your Highness, Sir Jeremiah’s squadron was engaged with Tromp’s. I spied them last to windward when Tromp, if ’twere Tromp for I think it so, tacked out of line and Sir Jeremiah followed.’
‘There! There they are!’ Monck, who had seized a perspective glass was pointing away toward the Dutch coast. A pall of smoke lay along the horizon, a denser spot to the west told where a ship burned.
Monck rounded on Hubbard. ‘Have we an undamaged boat towing astern?’
‘Aye, Your Grace. Both the long-boat and your barge.’
‘Send an officer in the long-boat to the Royal Oak. Impress upon Sir Thomas Allen that I – we – hold him responsible for maintaining contact with the enemy’s main body throughout the night. We must re-engage, d’you comprehend my meaning?’
‘Absolutely!’
‘See to it then.’
At dawn the English van and centre lay to leeward of De Ruyter and a signal, sent to Allen who lay as he was bidden betwixt the main bodies of the opposing fleets, ordered him to tack. This manoeuvre being accomplished, allowed the bulk of the English fleet to reform its line, albeit a ragged pretension with several of the frigates falling off and unable to come-up. Thus the two main fleets ran slowly towards the Dutch coast, a reversal of Monck’s retreat during the Four Days’ Battle, for it was now the beaten De Ruyter who drew off to lick his wounds.
By the afternoon the Dutch were, one-by-one slipping into ever shallower water. Despite the endeavours of every captain in the English fleet it proved impossible to cut the enemy off. It was, however, increasingly clear to Rupert and Monck, that they had triumphed over the enemy.
‘Your Highnesses…’ Matthew Lock, Monck’s new Secretary, was seeking to gain their attention and both Monck and Rupert turned to him. ‘By my reckoning we have taken or destroyed upwards of a dozen of the enemy’s sail.’
The two Commanders-in-Chief spent an uneasy and an anxious evening counting the cost. The light winds enabled boats to ply among the ships and they made their sluggish way under easy sail towards the east, whither the Dutch had disappeared into the night. Monck fretted over losing contact but the wind remained steady if frustratingly light, the chief advantage of which was to prevent the Dutch entirely escaping. Both con
fused and concerned that Sir Jeremiah Smith with his Rear Squadron had broken the English line, Monck was equally aware that it was Smith’s duty to match his ships with the enemy’s opposing rear and that Van Tromp’s self-inflicted detachment – for whatever reason – demanded Smith press him.
By midnight it had fallen calm and the English fleet came to an anchor to avoid being swept too far down-tide. Monck and Rupert nevertheless hoped that the tide would sweep the disabled Dutch down to where the English guns could destroy them at daylight. But the Dutch also anchored and at three on the morning of the 27th they weighed and carried a light and steady breeze towards Flushing, beyond the reach of the English, taking advantage of shoal-water and the deeper draught of their enemy’s ships.
Monck could not sleep. Despite his aching legs he went on deck and dawn found him pacing uncertainly up-and-down, the ship’s officers keeping out of his way until, as the sun-rose he could contain himself no longer and sent word for Hubbard.
‘Do you send boats and hoist the signal for all flag-officers and captains to a General Council for eight, no seven o’clock.’
He wrote afterwards to Anne, with the boy Kit in mind, of what happened in the succeeding days, dating his letter on 4th September from St Helen’s Road, off Portsmouth.
…Thus, having beat the Dutch back to their own Shore we held a Great Council aboard the “Royal Charles”. We, having Taken or Burnt or Destroyed at least Twenty of their Ships of War, their considerable losses being upwards of seven thousand men including four Admirals, a prodigious quantity, by this means we took also some of their Captains. By one of these, by name Laurens Van Hamskeerk, we learned some intelligence of their Hiding their Trade, to a very great number of Merchant Ships, especially those from the East Indies which make a good Prize and from which we may do very well, behind the islands of Vlieland and Terschelling. After cruising for some days and demonstrating within sight of the remains of the Dutch fleet, which by now they had reinforced so that they might have contested matters again with us had they a mind to the Venture, they fell back within the shelter of their dykes and shunned us, refusing the Gauntlet of further Battle.
Sword of State: The Wielding Page 19