‘Aye, Your Highness.’
‘But they are Hydra-headed, Ned,’ Rupert said. ‘Kill one and another immediately springs up in his place.’
Spragge shrugged. ‘Our men are equal in valour, our guns as worthily served as theirs, our ships as staunch – better, some say. We have fought them in two actions off their own coast and, though they have been inferior in numbers, they have driven us off, thwarted our intention to land troops and yet neither they nor we have lost a ship. Another push, perhaps …’ Spragge ran out of wind and shook his head.
Rupert looked from Spragge to his other admirals, ‘Sir John? Sir John?’ All four were knights and all bore the same Christian name so that the repetition brought slow smiles to their hitherto grim features. They all shook their heads. Rupert turned to Faulkner. ‘Sir Kit?’
‘Sir Edward is right, Your Highness. They defend their own shore and escaped us after the first action off Schooneveld by hiding amongst their own shoals. When the wind next favoured them they again came out and drove us nigh back to Sole Bay. Their direction is always competent in the hands of their admirals and is most assiduously followed by their captains. De Ruyter is, of course, pre-eminent. I was not present off Southwold but from what I have gleaned he separated us from D’Estrées then, and he has done so ever since …’
‘Or D’Estrées has separated himself from us!’ Spragge put in.
‘Quite so. As for Sir Edward’s advice, it is a hazard. To sever heads might work to our advantage, but I doubt we shall succeed against de Ruyter himself, while perhaps the cost of trying may prove too high.’ Faulkner paused then, looking round at the faces staring at him. He was older than them all, and they knew his experience was wide. Judging the moment right, he went on: ‘They have a weakness in their trade, Your Highness. We have attempted its seizure at sea before but never pursued the matter with much vigour. Admiral Holmes’s raid on Vlieland had a devastating impact I am told, being in some communication with Amsterdam by way of trade myself. I am convinced that their attack on the Medway was provoked by ours at Vlie. We may anticipate the arrival of their East Indies trade off the Texel in late July or early August. They pass the ships into the Zuider Zee and on to Enkhuizen. Thus we may hurt them off the Texel, and if de Ruyter comes out to cover the Indies fleet, then Sir Edward’s attack on their flags might pay off.’
There was a murmur of assent, and Rupert looked round the assembled officers. ‘Very well, then. Upon my receiving reports that all our ships have fully recruited, we shall sail for the Dutch coast. I wish therefore to be ready to cruise by the first week in July.’
Rupert followed his dismissed officers out onto the quarterdeck as a matter of courtesy, talking intensely to Spragge as they left the great cabin. When they had gone Faulkner moved to the table to clear the papers and secure them in the leather satchels that made up the commander-in-chief’s official files. A moment later Rupert returned to the cabin, having seen Spragge depart in his barge for his own flag-ship, the Royal Prince. ‘A glass of wine, Sir Kit?’
The two men stood for a moment, staring through the stern windows, though neither of them took notice of the anchored fleet, or the town of Great Yarmouth stretched behind the sand dunes.
‘This is an interminable war,’ Rupert confided. ‘To have fought two fights such as we just have and yet been unable to force a decision augurs ill. England cannot possess much more powder and shot but that we may well throw it all away once again. We have six thousand troops awaiting the order to embark the moment we have cleared the enemy coast of de Ruyter, yet I dare not embark them before that coast is clear, or they will eat us out of provisions.’
‘War is always about attrition, Your Highness. On the evidence you cite, we are not likely to wear our enemy down by these bruising encounters alone, but the bruising encounters of themselves drain down our respective treasuries. While I am not in a position to know with any certainty, I may hazard the guess that His Majesty’s is at a low ebb.’
Rupert grunted. ‘A desperately low ebb.’
‘Quite so. But there is turmoil in the United Provinces, their cities are still surrounded by undrained water from the inundation that stopped the French advance, their commerce must thereby be affected and the arrival of the East India fleet consequently awaited eagerly. If we may interpose ourselves between the Zeegat van Texel and the India ships coming north-about round the coast of Scotland, then we may succeed in striking the master stroke.’
Rupert clapped him on the shoulder, in an obviously more cheerful frame of mind. ‘I chose my Captain-of-the-Fleet well, Sir Kit. We may yet trounce these Dutchmen.’
‘One other thing, Your Highness.’
‘What is that?’
‘Whatever his protestations, I would not include M’sieur D’Estrées in your calculations of force. I notice Mynheer de Ruyter does not.’
Rupert stared at him for a moment and then nodded.
The fleet put to sea in July and cruised ineffectually off the Dutch coast. De Ruyter sailed in pursuit, but when the wind came away from the north and the Anglo-French fleet stood towards him to give battle, the wily Dutch admiral retired behind the shoals and into the Schelde with his inferior fleet. Then, in early August, word came south from Scotland that a Dutch fleet had been seen off the Hebrides. These were the ships of the Dutch East India Company, and Rupert at once gave orders to sail; but so too did de Ruyter, and he did so a day or two in advance of the Anglo-French squadrons. Faulkner’s plan therefore miscarried, and they caught only a distant sight of the riches of the Indies being borne away under de Ruyter’s guns, though one East Indiaman, the Papenburg, was seized as she straggled some miles astern of the main convoy.
Frustrated and furious, Rupert and D’Estrées kept the sea, tempting de Ruyter to re-emerge after seeing the East India convoy safely into the Zuyder Zee. The huge Anglo-French fleet of ninety sail proceeded to manoeuvre off the Zeegat van Texel, the entrance to the Zuyder Zee, just clear of the off-lying shoal, the Haak Sand. On the evening of the tenth of August the Dutch were seen creeping down the coast, their familiarity with the locality and their shallower drafted ships allowing them to edge south under the northerly breeze. The wind dropped away during the night, but by daylight on the eleventh it had veered and blew off the land; Faulkner was called from an uneasy doze, to be informed that the Dutch were making sail, bearing down to engage.
Buckling on his sword he ran on deck, glass in hand; Rupert joined him a moment later. He called for the signal for line of battle to be hoisted, though the fleet lay in commendable station, D’Estrées ahead in the van, Spragge astern with the rear division.
A gun was fired to draw attention to the signal as Faulkner took his station. Next to him John Wetwang acknowledged a report that the flag-ship’s crew were closed up at their battle-stations. Sir William Reeves was in discussion with his sailing master and they were briefly joined by Prince Rupert as the first sounds of gunfire were heard. A moment later Rupert crossed the deck and spoke to Faulkner, who in turn summarized the dispositions of the two fleets as the Dutch were allowed to overtake the allied line and match ship for ship.
All along the allied line the ships were spilling wind both to keep station and to allow the Dutch to come up. Spragge’s squadron had already opened fire as the leading Dutch ships passed them to draw level with D’Estrées, ahead of Rupert’s centre.
‘Who commands the Dutch van?’ Rupert asked Faulkner, studying the enemy line as it led past them, just out of range.
‘Banckerts. He cut D’Estrées out at Sole Bay and our last encounter.’
‘He’s doing it again,’ said Rupert, not taking his eyes from his glass. ‘He’s passing his damned ships through D’Estrées’ line to engage from leeward.’ Rupert lowered his glass with an expression of furious exasperation. ‘Mein Gött! D’Estrées is lost to us once again. He will fight another private action!’
As the two lines of ships converged, those of the Dutch van turned to starboard, inte
nding to pass between the intervals in D’Estrées’ line and then swing again parallel to the French squadron and nailing D’Estrées against the shallows off the Dutch coast. A moment later Faulkner lost sight of D’Estrées and Banckerts as they exchanged broadsides, then clouds of dense smoke interposed.
Meanwhile the English centre edged away, necessarily drawing the Dutch offshore into deeper water, but thereby playing into de Ruyter’s hands. With D’Estrées again detached from his ally, the old master tactician could bring a superiority of his inferior fleet against a now weaker portion of his enemy. The thunder of the guns now grew intense and the world once more became an anarchic chaos of death and bloodshed as the squadrons began to engage and became locked in their life-and-death struggle. Rupert’s centre, vigorously attacked by de Ruyter, swung slowly to starboard, turning in the course of the following two or three hours from a southerly to a northerly heading. The Dutch men-of-war clung tenaciously to Rupert’s flank as the thunderous cannonade went on for hour after relentless hour. The ships’ decks trembled as the discharged gun carriages rumbled inboard, driven by recoil, and a few moments later rumbled out again after reloading.
Half-blinded by smoke, utterly deafened by the concussions, ears popping in the changes in air pressure, Faulkner tried to observe the progress of the action and keep Rupert informed as they stood upon the shot-torn deck. From time to time Faulkner went up onto the exposed poop-deck to get a better view before returning to the quarterdeck. Spars and splinters, loose ends of shot-away halliards, lifts and braces fell about them, entangling their legs and restricting their movements. The whistle of ball and bullet flew across the quarterdeck, killing in an instant Sir William Reeves, Rupert’s flag-captain. In the waist men died at their guns, cut in two by bar-shot, eviscerated by round-shot, knocked off their feet by balls from the swivel-guns in the enemy tops. Yet they screamed like devils and played their own fire with equal devastation.
For some time, where possible through the dense smoke, both Rupert and Faulkner had been studying the conduct of Spragge’s rear as it too became increasingly detached from Rupert’s centre division. Faulkner, his long-glass to his eye, strove to determine what was happening. His eyes grew sore with the strain, and he frequently lowered the telescope to wipe them, unconscious in the confusion that he did so with a silk handkerchief that had once belonged to his late wife and which he had stuffed into his pocket as a remembrance.
‘Perceive now,’ Faulkner roared into Rupert’s ear, ‘the miscarriage of Spragge’s plan!’ He pointed with his telescope to starboard where, amid dense gun-smoke, a continuous twinkling of fire from the muzzles of two dozen men-of-war marked a ferocious engagement centred on a duel between Spragge’s flag-ship, the Royal Prince, and Tromp’s the Gouden Leeuw. ‘’Tis another private action!’
‘All our plans miscarry!’ Rupert roared in response as a hail of shot swept the deck.
Faulkner met the first ball, which came inboard over the rail to strike his cuirass and crush his chest. He stood for a moment, unable to breath, and saw the second ball which carried away his head. His body fell at Rupert’s feet, and only the Prince observed what happened. Later, much later, when night drew its cloak over the carnage, others found Faulkner’s plumed hat and his wig – with what remained of his head inside it – lying in the scuppers on the far side of the quarterdeck. The telescope Rupert’s uncle had once given Faulkner was also picked up and passed to the commander-in-chief.
In the Royal Sovereign’s battered cabin Rupert took the old glass and turned it in his hand, reading its inscription. ‘This was the property of a most gallant officer,’ he said sadly, laying it aside and picking up his quill.
Edmund Drinkwater received the package containing the telescope together with a letter in the Prince’s own hand.
Sir,
This is to Inform you of the Unhappy News that your Kinsman, Captain Sir Christopher Faulkner, died at My Side during the late action against the Dutch off the Texel, one of the hardest fought actions in this present, or any previous war.
Sir Christopher was well known to me, as was also his wife, whose devotion to My Late Mother was Exemplary. I wish You to know that I held him in the Highest possible Esteem and the King’s Service and the Country as a Whole in the Poorer for Your Loss. It was Necessary that his Body was committed to the Deep; he Lies in Goodly Company. Please Accept my Sincere Condolences.
Rupert P.
Edmund laid the letter aside and picked up the telescope. He was looking at it when he sensed a presence in the room. For a moment his blood ran cold, and then a small voice asked, ‘Is that Grand-father’s telescope, Father?’
Edmund looked round. His son Nathaniel stood in the doorway and came closer to look at the glass which he had seen Faulkner use from time to time when embarked in the Hawk. The boy stared at the brass tube which his father held out to him. ‘I think that you should have it. Your Grand-father would have wanted you to, I think.’
‘Is he dead?’
Edmund nodded. ‘Yes. Like your Mother and Lady Kate.’
‘Well, they will all be together now, won’t they?’ the boy said with conviction.
Edmund Drinkwater ruffled his son’s hair. ‘I do most certainly hope so.’
Author’s Note
As with the previous two novels in this trilogy, many of the characters and most of the major events affecting the life of Kit Faulkner are real. I have taken liberties with the personalities of the less well-known of the people involved, but the main events, from the Restoration of King Charles II, by way of the Plague and the Great Fire of London to the Dutch attack on the Medway, are based on contemporary accounts. Other background events, such as the comings and goings of the Brethren of Trinity House, derive from my own original research. ‘Honest George’ Monck, first Duke of Albemarle, a man who saved the nation as surely as Winston Churchill, deserves an occasional remembering, despite the controversies attaching to his reputation, which included accusations of murder and bigamy. I hope I have done honour to his shade here. Other men such as Sir Henry Johnson, the principal builder of East Indiamen then at Blackwall, or Samuel Pepys and John Evelyn, were prominent enough figures who would have been known to Faulkner. As for Ensign John Churchill, the later Duke of Marlborough, he participated in Albemarle’s funeral procession.
The rendition of the three Regicides from Delft is a fact, and the parts played by Abraham Kick, Major Miles and the mysterious Armerer are based upon what little is known of the detail of a secret state abduction. One wonders if this last-named was perhaps the Nick Armourer mentioned by John Evelyn as a familiar of the Queen of Bohemia. At any rate, it was he who spirited John Okey, John Barkstead and Miles Corbett from Delft. It was said that he engineered the getting of a boat into the ‘little canal’ near the Rathaus and then conveying the prisoners to Helvoetsluys where Captain Tobias Sackler awaited them in the Blackamoor. Though usually referred to as ‘a frigate’, the Blackamoor was in fact a small, pink-built man-of-war.
The architect of the act of rendition itself, Sir George Downing, is worthy of mention in detail, not least for the fact that he was a product of the age and his personal moral ambivalence mirrors that of the society in which he functioned. Born in 1623 he was the son of a Puritan attorney who emigrated to Massachusetts in 1638. George Downing was among the very first to graduate from Harvard University whither he had been sent thanks to the sponsorship of John Okey. Downing afterwards returned to England. Here he was caught up in the Civil War, becoming chaplain to Okey’s Regiment in the New Model Army then being raised by Cromwell. (Okey himself had a chequered career; a Baptist Puritan turned colonel of dragoons, he had opposed Cromwell as Protector, been cashiered several times and was dismissed by Monck before fleeing abroad.)
After the execution of King Charles I in 1649 and the establishment of the Commonwealth, Oliver Cromwell appointed Downing scoutmaster-general. This was a highly confidential post, actually the director of intelligence for the nascent
English Republic. In 1657 Cromwell, now Lord Protector, sent Downing to The Hague as ‘resident’, the Protectorate’s ambassador. He also served as a Member of Parliament, surviving the Restoration of King Charles II, who confirmed his appointment to The Hague. It was during this period that he bungled an attempt to abduct the Regicide Edward Dendy in Rotterdam, but in early March 1662 successfully seized Okey, Corbett and Barkstead.
In 1667 Downing was appointed to the Treasury Commissioners and was equally active in financial reforms and modernization of the state’s borrowing, with mixed success. He later held an appointment on the Board of Customs and if not remembered today, is regularly if inadvertently commemorated by references to Downing Street. It is an inescapable irony that our present Prime Minister’s residence stands on land developed by a man involved in many things, of which rendition was but one.
On the scaffold John Okey said of Downing: ‘There was one, who formerly was my chaplain, that did pursue me to the very death. But both him, and all others, I forgive.’ Pepys, who owed some of his own advancement to Downing, said of his part in the seizure of the Regicides that he was like ‘a perfidious rogue, though the action is good and of service to the King, yet he cannot with good conscience do it’. Later, in 1667, on Downing’s appointment to the Treasury Commission, Pepys remarked that it was: ‘A great thing … for he is a business active man, and values himself upon having of things do well under his hand, so that I am mightily pleased in … [the] choice.’
With regard to other details of the background, the Restoration of the Monarchy in 1660, though generally accepted by the greater part of the population, was not universally welcome and some wished it otherwise. Plots against the King were hatched not least because there were those who held to their Puritan principles, regarding them as sacred. Several groups comprised these ‘Irreconcilables’, among them the Anabaptists, Independents, Presbyterians and Fifth Monarchy men, even a wing of those people of peace, the Quakers. History records only the deeds of men in such affairs, but the Puritan age conceded considerable licence to the views of women, mixing this with an ancient prejudice against any they considered witches. The presence of Elizabeth, the ‘Winter Queen’ of Bohemia, under Lord Craven’s roof at Leicester House, is a matter of record, while her son, Prince Rupert of the Rhine, cannot pass ignored in this turbulent period of English history. Although the plague killed a terrifying fifth of London’s population, it was possible to survive it – even be unaffected by it (Pepys was, though he moved his household to Woolwich and his office to Greenwich), while the Great Fire which followed burned fiercely to the west of the Tower, but did little damage down-river.
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