The consequent leftward movement of the New Model cavalry caught the eye of Prince Rupert. Fearful of being outflanked by superior numbers, and eager to attack, he suddenly unleashed the battle cry, ‘Queen Mary!’, an anglicised tribute to Henrietta Maria. In response, the New Model Army roared, ‘God and our strength!’ At this, both sides flew into battle.
After a volley of musket fire, the two armies were quickly upon one another, fighting hand-to-hand. Such was the ferocity of the Royalist attack that the vastly superior Parliamentarian infantry was at first pushed back. The king’s secretary, Sir Edward Walker, described the scene:
The foot on either side hardly saw each other until they were within carbine shot, and made only one volley, our falling in with sword and butt-end of musket did notable execution, so much as I saw their colours fall and their foot in great disorder.
Prince Rupert’s cavalry had the upper hand but they then made a fatal mistake. Having routed a section of Parliamentarians, they chased it off the battlefield until they reached the Parliamentarian baggage train some 15 miles away. In comparison, Cromwell and his men, including my ancestors Colonel John Twistleton and Colonel John Fiennes, stayed on the field and regrouped. Such actions signified the newfound professionalism of the New Model Army and would be the key to its success.
Now outnumbering the remaining Royalist cavalry by more than three to one, Cromwell invited their disorganised horse to charge uphill. The Royalists took the bait. As they approached, Cromwell’s infamous Ironsides charged through musket smoke and opened fire, before cutting the Royalists down with vicious swipes of their swords. After a brief but bloody encounter, the Royalist cavalry was trounced.
Cromwell now turned his Ironsides to outflank the Royalist infantry. Attacking them from the rear, they caused the Royalist troops to panic. Some tried to run, while others surrendered. Most were ruthlessly killed, with no mercy shown.
When the king saw the battle being lost, and his throne along with it, he rode forward with the intention of leading his own lifeguards into the fray. The Earl of Carnwath suddenly grabbed his horse’s bridle and screamed: ‘Would you go upon your death!’ Without the king, there was no cause left to fight for. Facing the inevitable, Charles had no option but to flee to safety.
As the smoke cleared from the battlefield, the picture was one of complete ruin for King Charles. More than 1,000 of his men had been killed, with many more left mortally wounded on the field, while 5,500 had been taken prisoner. The cream of the king’s army, and most of his veteran soldiers, had been lost.
In one day, the New Model Army had reduced the king’s fortunes by a far greater degree than the old armies had achieved over the three preceding years. Unlike previous battles, no soldiers of the king had been allowed to withdraw unmolested from the field. There had been none of the almost farcical backing off to meet at another time, another place. Moreover, instead of chasing the enemy off the field, the men had remained and continued to fight.
In May 1646, while King Charles’s decimated forces fought on forlornly, the king had no choice but to surrender himself to the Scottish army, in order to remain out of Parliament’s hands. However, the Scots soon sold him back to the English and he was subsequently put on trial. While he awaited the verdict, William Fiennes, despite having supported Parliament during the war, was the only peer who paid for the royal children to be well looked after while their father was away. Charles was found guilty of treason, and executed on 30 January 1649. For the first, and only, time, England was a republic. Meanwhile, Cromwell and his New Model Army achieved yet another famous victory at the Battle of Worcester in 1651, where three Fiennes were present, helping to force Charles II into exile.
As well as earning acclaim as a military commander, Cromwell continued to be an outstanding politician, being sworn in as Lord Protector on 16 December 1653. Unlike the king, the Lord Protector was to seek the majority vote of a Council of State and supposedly abide by it, although it was to all intents and purposes a military dictatorship. Cromwell’s power in such a position was also buttressed by his continuing popularity among his New Model Army.
While Cromwell had two key objectives as Lord Protector – to heal the nation after civil war and to ensure spiritual and moral reform – he died on Friday 3 September 1658. The most likely cause of his death was said to be septicaemia as a result of a urinary infection. Following an elaborate funeral at Westminster Abbey, he was succeeded as Lord Protector by his son Richard.
Unlike his father, Richard had no power base in Parliament, or the army. Weakened by this, he was forced to resign in May 1659, thus ending the Protectorate. With no clear leadership, various factions jostled for power, which eventually saw Charles II emerge from exile in 1660 to restore the monarchy and become king. One of his first acts was to appoint my ancestor William, the man who had plotted so fervently against his father, as Lord Chamberlain of the Household and a Privy Counsellor. Not for nothing was he known for his dexterity as ‘Old Subtlety’.
In a fit of revenge, Charles II ordered Cromwell’s body to be exhumed from Westminster Abbey on 30 January 1661, the twelfth anniversary of the execution of his father. It was then hung in chains at Tyburn, London, before the decomposed head was cut off and displayed on a pole outside Westminster Hall. Afterwards, it was owned by various people, and was even publicly exhibited several times, before being buried beneath the floor of the antechapel at Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, in 1960.
As for the New Model Army, Charles II disbanded it shortly after his return. Although it may have died in name, it had emphatically shown what could be achieved by a professional army and it would serve as inspiration all over Europe. While England may have addressed the perilous condition of its army, its navy was soon in a similar state of disarray, and an elite European unit looked to take advantage in one of the most outrageous raids in history . . .
15
THE DUTCH MARINE CORPS
AD 1667
As the summer haze wafted over the mouth of the sparkling River Thames, it seemed that England was finally at rest. After two dismal years, which had seen London decimated by plague and fire, England’s navy had also suffered damaging defeats in the Second Anglo-Dutch War. But now, with London being rebuilt, the war looked to be at an end and the two countries were engaged in peace negotiations. King Charles II could finally breathe a sigh of relief. However, the Dutch grand pensionary, Johan de Witt, had other ideas. While, on the one hand, he negotiated for peace, on the other he had received information that could allow him to wipe out the entire Royal Navy in one fell swoop. Following a long history of disputes with England, he was increasingly tempted to go for the jugular.
The First Anglo-Dutch War had initially broken out over trade disputes during the early years of Cromwell’s Commonwealth. Indeed, I had learnt about the background to some of this as a child living in Cape Town, South Africa. In school, we learnt that British ships had first entered Table Bay in 1601, and, twenty years later, claimed the Cape for King James I. The Dutch, however, arrived thirty years later and ignored this British claim, going on to set up a commercial base. At that time, the land all the way to the south as far as Cape Agulhas was rich in game, which Dutch nomadic ‘trekkers’ began to decimate. They also killed off great numbers of the desert-dwelling Kalahari San or Bushmen. The Dutch aggressively repeated such actions around the world, leading to great rivalry with England, and eventually conflict.
Although the conflict ended in 1654, with neither side able to claim outright victory, de Witt continued to forge the Netherlands into one of Europe’s trading superpowers, while also undertaking a massive shipbuilding programme. Soon the Dutch merchant fleet had grown into the largest in Europe and came to dominate the west African coast, again threatening England’s ability to trade. So commenced the Second Anglo-Dutch War in 1665, where two years of bitter fighting followed, with each side inflicting significant blows on the other.
In August 1665, the English fleet had
been defeated by the Dutch at the Norwegian port of Bergen, but were soon to suffer far worse. In June 1666, during the so-called Four Days’ Battle, the English fleet was decimated by Michiel de Ruyter, one of the most formidable admirals in Dutch history. While the pride of the fleet, the Prince Royal had been forced to surrender, the Royal Navy had lost twenty-three further ships, with 1,450 wounded and 1,800 captured. In contrast, the Dutch had lost just four ships and 1,300 wounded.
Whereas the Dutch navy had gone from strength to strength over the previous decade the English navy was in disarray. During the latter years of the Commonwealth and Protectorate, naval debt had rapidly accumulated and funds had dried up, in part due to the upkeep required for Cromwell’s New Model Army. Investing little in building new ships, some men went unpaid for up to four years. Soon the arrears in pay owed by the state had rocketed to £400,000. Indeed, by February 1666, the navy had a debt of £2,300,000 and only £1,500,000 available to answer it.
With tickets being issued in lieu of proper pay, it became difficult to recruit seamen voluntarily. Each county was subsequently given a quota to fill but many men went into hiding to avoid service. Even when seamen joined the fleet there was a risk they would desert. Peter Pett, commissioner of Chatham Dockyards, was moved to write to Samuel Pepys, secretary of the Navy Board, about the sorry state of the pressed men. He referred to them as ‘those pitiful creatures who are fit for nothing but to fill the ships full of vermin’. The English commander, George Monck, also complained that he had ‘never fought with worse officers in his life, not above twenty of them behaving like men’.
It was unsurprising that, with haphazard pay and poor conditions, a number of English subjects defected to the Dutch cause. A few had done so for ideological reasons, but many had been driven by the pursuit of money. The Dutch paid, while the English did not. Many of the English prisoners captured by the Dutch even refused to be repatriated, and offered to fight for them instead. With this, the English navy looked to be no match for the Dutch.
With English pride wounded after the shame of defeat during the Four Days’ Battle, it seemed all was lost. However, after a quick rebuilding and recruiting operation, hostilities resumed in July 1666, in the St James’s Day Battle. Against all the odds, the English now inflicted a surprising and humiliating defeat on the Dutch, with over 5,000 Dutchmen dead or wounded compared to just 300 English casualties.
But, just as Charles II looked to capitalise on this momentous victory, London was hit by its second major disaster in the space of a year. The city was only just recovering from the deadly bubonic plague, which at its height had led to 7,000 deaths a week and forced thousands to flee safety, rendering London a ghost town. Unsurprisingly, this had done enormous damage to the economy and in turn the navy. Little more than a year later disaster was to strike again when, on 2 September 1666, fire tore through the city.
The devastation was tremendous. In four days, an estimated 70,000 people had been made homeless. Over 13,000 houses had been destroyed, as had vital trading buildings such as the Custom House and the Royal Exchange. The cost of the fire was estimated at £10 million, an incredible sum for the time.
Faced with this disaster, there were no longer funds to continue the war. The Dutch were, however, also keen to bring the conflict to an end, with losses mounting up on both sides. With peace now very attractive, the Dutch and English thrashed out terms in Breda. As they did so, Charles II took the step of laying up his entire navy in shipyards, while he also discharged most of the crews of his prize vessels in an effort to save money. Yet, in their absence, all that now protected the laid-up English fleet at the main dockyard at Chatham was a chain across the River Medway. Word of this soon reached de Witt.
The Dutch grand pensionary realised that, with Charles having diverted his attention and financial resources to rebuilding London, he had left his fleet vulnerable to attack. This was a chance not only to destroy the English navy but to hold Charles over a barrel in the peace negotiations. It was a unique but high-risk opportunity, and one that a newly formed Dutch corps could capitalise on.
Two years previously, the noble Lieutenant Colonel Willem Joseph Baron van Ghent, along with de Ruyter, had approached de Witt with an idea. In response to the specially trained English Royal Marines, who had only themselves been set up in 1664, they wanted to create a new regiment of specialist ‘ship soldiers’. The regiment would have its own command and serve exclusively at sea, armed with sabres and snaphaan guns.
De Witt enthusiastically agreed to the idea and appointed van Ghent as the Dutch Marines’ first commander. However, it was an Englishman named Thomas Dolman who was to be put in charge of the 800 troops for the operation on the Thames. Sadly, little is known about Dolman other than he had turned to the Dutch after refusing to accept the Restoration in 1660, having been a friend of Oliver Cromwell and George Monck. While Monck and Dolman had once been friends, soon they would come face to face in conflict.
On the morning of 6 June 1667, a massive Dutch taskforce of sixty-two frigates, fifteen lighter ships and twelve fireships entered the mouth of the River Thames between the Isle of Sheppey and the Isle of Grain. Their arrival caused instant panic. As word of the assault reached nearby Chatham Dockyard, where the majority of the English fleet was based, Peter Pett, the commissioner, immediately raised the alarm. But it was already too little too late; the English were woefully unprepared.
Virtually unopposed, the Dutch Marines made their way to Sheerness Fort, which guarded the approaches to the Medway and Chatham Dockyard. On approach, Captain James van Brakel’s ship, the Vrede, opened fire on the Unity, causing it to withdraw upriver. Meanwhile, Dolman and his 800 marines stormed onto land and charged towards the fort. However, they found that most of the Scottish garrison had already deserted, leaving just seven soldiers behind. Quickly taking the soldiers captive, the marines seized the fort’s guns and stores, before pulling down the English flag and hoisting the Dutch flag in its place. The Medway now lay undefended. Unless the English acted quickly, their entire fleet would be lost.
Having been ordered to take charge of the impending disaster, George Monck found things were even worse than he had imagined. Only twelve of the 800 dockyard men expected at Chatham had arrived after the alarm was raised. Moreover, of the thirty sloop sailboats required for defences only ten were available, with the other twenty being used to evacuate the personal possessions of several officials. Incredibly, no munitions or powder were available and no batteries had been ordered to protect the 6-inch-thick iron chain that blocked the Medway. As things stood, Monck had his work cut out.
With the Dutch fleet making its way to the chain, Monck immediately ordered fireships to be sunk before it, hoping to blockade the Dutch. He also ensured that the Charles V, Matthias and Monmouth were moored in defensive positions behind it, while ordering the Royal Charles, the flagship of the English fleet, to be moved upriver and out of harm’s way. However, Commissioner Pett was unable to find sufficient men to move the ship. They just had to pray the chain held firm.
Yet in the Dutch fleet was a captain with something to prove. Having been arrested for allowing his men to plunder the Isle of Sheppey, Captain James van Brakel begged to be restored to his command, promising to break the chain that crossed the river. It seemed a suicide mission but nonetheless permission was granted. Soon van Brakel’s ship, the Vrede, along with two fireships, the Susanna and the Pro Patria, sailed to the front of the Dutch fleet and headed directly for the chain. In response, the English guardships and batteries unleashed a tirade of cannon fire and gunshots, but still the Vrede kept going.
Coming alongside the Unity, the marines positioned themselves on the mast of the Vrede and fired down at the fleeing English soldiers. All the while, van Brakel screamed for cannon after cannon to be fired at close range. In the face of such firepower, the opposition from the Unity collapsed and the Dutch marines stormed on board.
While van Brakel took the Unity, the Dutch fireship
the Susanna sailed up to the chain but, after coming under attack, it erupted in flames. Yet, as the English cheered, the Pro Patria now sailed through the black smoke and snapped the chain as though it were a piece of string. As she positioned herself alongside the Matthias, the marines set her afire, then, with a huge detonation, blew her up. The river to Chatham, and to the English fleet, was now open.
This was the signal the Dutch had been waiting for. Steaming forward, the fleet peppered the Charles V with cannon fire and then set her alight. The English crew tried to escape in boats, while others jumped overboard and began swimming to shore, being picked off by the marines’ gunfire as they did so.
On seeing this, van Brakel left the Unity in a sailboat and made for the burning Charles V. Climbing over the bows, with his sword drawn, he ordered a trumpeter to go aloft and haul down the English flag. Another major English ship was now in Dutch hands, although they were unable to put out the fire and instead decided to blow her up.
A Royal Navy historian who witnessed the events stated:
The scene at that moment to be witnessed below Chatham, has not often been paralleled in naval history . . . The river was full of moving craft and burning wreckage; the roar of guns was almost continuous; the shrieks of the wounded could be heard even above the noise of battle, the clangour of trumpets, the roll of drums, and the cheers of the Dutch as success after success was won; and above all hung a pall of smoke, illuminated only, as nights closed in, by the gleam of flames on all sides and the flashes of guns and muskets.
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