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, Highness, 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 confused 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.
This being so, His Royal Highness concurred with me that if the tinder be not brought to the flame then the flame must be taken to the tinder, which Metaphor served us Nicely for we sent Sir Robert Holmes with some smaller vessels and fire-ships into the Gap between Vlie and Terschelling, by which means he fell upon the assembled Trade and burnt some One Hundred and Sixty Dutch Merchant Ships including their Great Indiamen – the equivalent to that great ship named for you that we launched in honour of the Trinity Brethren last year. This event we have named Holmes’s Bonfire which took place upon August the 8th in the evening thereof.
Such matters leaving us the Most Complete Masters of the Dutch coast and the seas between, we have had occasion to fall back down-Channel, it blowing Strong and Persistent from the East which, if it did not bring the Dutch out to further Contest matters they must be seen to have Given over to us that Command of the Sea that they hitherto reserved for themselves. Besides, there came word of a French fleet to disturb our Slumbers. However that may be, there has been no sign thereof and withal the Weather now inclining towards that season the Mariners describe as Equinoctial and the breeder of great Gales and Storms, we stood west and arrived at this place.
I am content that we have heard that the lighting of other Bonfires and the ringing of the Church Bells announced our Victory, but am afeared that the emergence of Faction will follow upon certain remonstrances between Sir Robt Holmes and Sir Jeremiah Smith. Holmes is of the Prince’s party while I am staunch in the Defence of Sir Jeremiah. This is an unhappy situation and I have writ to the King to state with perfect Candour that Sir Jeremiah had more men killed in his ship than in any other in our Fleet. There is talk of their fighting for their Honour, which I think a Grievous thing when both men have behaved with Great Gallantry during the late War.
One other thing I must give thee Warning of and desire that you make known to both Will Morice and thy Brother that they may Work in my our Interest. There are those who express an Opinion that I have favoured the Prosecution of this War to mine own Gain. I am prepared to Defend my Conduct before Parliament and would not shrink from this for it has become a Necessity.
I pray that this letter may find my Love well and soon able to welcome,
Your Loving Husband,
Albemarle.
*
Holmes and Smith fought their duel and Monck prepared for a difficult return to London and the political upheaval that – notwithstanding the English victory that had followed – he knew would follow his loss of the Four Days’ Battle. He deeply regretted that the St James’s Day action had not annihilated the Dutch fleet, for all that it had left the English dominating the North Sea and the Channel, the French having never unmoored. The uneasy worm of unfinished business writhed in Monck’s belly with the itch of foreboding. He had been too long a political warrior not to know the temper of his enemies, both at home and abroad. The Dutch would not rest and would take Holmes’s raid upon their commercial shipping as a deep wound that required avenging, deeper even than a fleet defeat. As for his enemies at home, those at Court hated him the mo
st, men consumed by jealousy and motivated by faction who would pull down any success until it could be measured alongside their own mediocrity. Monck gave not a fig for them for himself, only that they might ruin his achievement and thereby that of the country he loved. Ruminating on such things as he and Lock dealt with the business of the fleet - which Rupert kindly delegated to him ‘as it being a matter with which he was more conversant’ – he was interrupted by an importunate Hubbard.
‘Beg pardon, Your Grace, but an express has just arrived from London. I have an order for you from the King. The city is on fire.’
CHAPTER EIGHT – LONDON
September 1666 – April 1667
Monck regarded the still smoking ruins of what had once been houses along the Strand. Beside him stood the Earl of Craven, whose blackened features told of his tireless efforts to extinguish the fire and save lives during the preceding week.
‘Here it was,’ Craven said, gesturing to the stumps of burnt timber which had once marked the corner of a dwelling, ‘that His Majesty himself ordered the placing of powder to blow down an interval and breach the flames.’
Monck nodded. ‘That was well done.’ He stared about him at the devastation wrought by the conflagration, most of which lay to the eastward. ‘’Tis a pity the remedy was not applied earlier,’ he commented drily. ‘The King was abed, no doubt,’ he added, pointedly.
Craven nodded. ‘Aye, much time was lost but both the King and the Duke of York took an active part with their Lifeguard when the extent of the mischief was known.’
Monck looked askance at his companion. ‘I hear Your Lordship was among those first on the scene,’ he remarked, conversationally.
‘I did my best, Your Grace,’ Craven replied seriously, ‘having had a horse trained not to bolt before fire, but to ride towards it.’ Monck suppressed a smile. Craven was an engaging fellow, of that there was no doubt. His loyalty to the King’s aunt, the Queen of Bohemia, was legendary but there was a touch of madness in his ideas which had a harum-scarum quality. ‘But I have not the authority which Your Grace carries,’ Craven went on, ‘London much missed your presence and many say that had thou been here when the fire began, far less damage would have been sustained.’
Sword of State: The Remarkable Story of George Monck Page 58