While Rupert remained inside the harbour, the self-proclaimed Charles II and his court moved to Jersey, landing at St Helier in mid September. The plan was to move on to Ireland at the earliest opportunity, but Charles’s advisers were hampered by their own faction fighting, their lack of funds, and their leader’s innate laziness. As they lingered in the Channel Islands, news arrived of savage Parliamentary victories at Wexford and Drogheda in September and October. Drogheda, just north of Dublin, held out until Cromwell led his men in a ferocious charge. When the defensive walls were breached, Cromwell ordered his men to spare nobody: 2,500 defending troops and up to 1,000 civilians perished. Those seeking sanctuary in the church were smoked out to waiting executioners, or chose to burn alive. Aston, the Royalist commander, was held down and his skull was staved in with his own wooden leg. All other captured officers were summarily shot, while their soldiers were lined up and decimated: one in ten was hauled out and clubbed to death in front of his comrades. The rest were sent to toil in servitude, in the sugar-cane fields of Barbados. News of the brutality that followed futile resistance led to many of the new king’s remaining garrisons quickly surrendering.
It was clear that Cromwell’s advance was unstoppable and that he would eventually reach Kinsale by land. Rupert heard rumours of discontent in the town’s garrison and judged that the safety of his fleet demanded decisive action: he overpowered the governor and took command of the fortress. This persuaded the governor of nearby Cork, who had already made up his mind to betray his town, to attempt a small place in history as the man who killed Prince Rupert of the Rhine.
Rupert’s passion for stag-hunting being well known, the governor invited him to join a hunt outside his town. Rupert accepted, before urgent business prevented his going. When the invitation was reissued, with rather too much haste and enthusiasm, Rupert’s suspicions were aroused. He confronted the governor, who confessed his true intentions and then surrendered Cork to the prince. There was a further plot, involving one of Rupert’s ensigns who had been compromised by the enemy. The plan was for this traitor to overrun one of the guard-posts at the entrance of Kinsale, allowing the Parliamentarians to sail into the harbour. But he and his colleagues were rumbled before they could attempt their treachery and were executed after a summary trial.
Although these intrigues and plots on land were worrying for Rupert, a far greater challenge lay outside Kinsale harbour. Robert Blake shared the prince’s lack of naval experience. However, he fully understood the meaning of his orders: Parliament had told him to ‘pursue, seize, scatter, fight with and destroy’[408] the Royalist fleet. Both princes were already aware of his military tenacity and skill. They were to be unsettled, though, by the ease with which he transferred these gifts to maritime warfare. It was Rupert’s grave misfortune to be pursued by such a fierce and determined terrier, whose career drew the admiration of Nelson who, in a rare moment of modesty, said: ‘I do not reckon myself equal to Blake.’[409] It was Rupert’s ill luck to be faced with Blake at his most able and focused.
*
Eventually the weather came to Rupert’s aid, strong northeasterly winds dispersing Blake’s blockade. ‘The seas thus cleared,’ Prince Rupert’s papers recalled, ‘we set sail for Portugal.’[410] The prince began his expedition on 17 October 1649 with seven ships. He was forced to leave several others behind: they were in good condition, but there were not enough men to crew them.
The small Royalist fleet was buffeted by the same storm that had driven away its enemy. However, there were immediate rewards for braving the gales: Prince Maurice took the first prize of the voyage and this was quickly followed by a brief engagement, which yielded up two more trophies. Maurice then took a fourth ship. At this point King John IV of Portugal, who in 1640 had secured his nation’s independence from Spain, invited the princes to Lisbon as his guests.
Rupert sought and received the king’s assurance that he and his flotilla would be subject to the Law of Nations, which guaranteed the Royalists’ safety while in Portuguese waters. If the prince was nervous about how he would be received, he need not have worried: his and Maurice’s welcome was warm, the gun emplacements along the River Tagus saluting them as they passed. Anchoring in the Bay of San Katherina, Rupert organised supplies for his fleet and discussed the disposal of his plunder with local merchants. The princes were then invited ashore, ‘where they were received by many of the nobles, and treated in very great state for some days, until preparation was made for their reception at Court; which being ready, the King sent his nobles with a great train to attend them to his palace, where he received them with great kindness’.[411]
With the formalities completed, Rupert oversaw the sale of his goods, which raised £40,000. He then prepared his ships for the next leg of their voyage. The seven, original vessels were careened and filled with fresh provisions, while the captured merchantmen were adapted for warfare. It was clear the prince was not planning to indulge the King of Portugal’s hospitality for long: he wanted action and booty. However, his plans were undone by the appearance, on 10 March 1650, of Blake. He was in his customary role, menacingly patrolling the harbour mouth, waiting to pounce.
Parliament looked to Blake to rid the seas of the threat of the Royalist privateers: ‘The clearing of the coasts of such implacable enemies, would be a great encouragement to merchants, and therefore we are very joyful to hear there is a gallant fleet prepared by the Parliament’, London learnt from its pamphlets, ‘the knowledge whereof, strikes a terror into the enemy, who having persisted in their obstinacy, deserve not the least favour; for how can it be safe for the Commonwealth not to revenge such injuries done to the State?’[412]
Blake carried an ambassador with him from England, who demanded that Rupert, Maurice, and their ships either be immediately handed over or forced to sail for open waters. The ambassador pointed out that the princes had been capturing neutral ships to add to their fleet and that this was an unacceptable threat to peaceful commerce. The king refused to yield to these demands, stating that he would, as he had promised to do, observe the Laws of Nations: this meant that Rupert’s fleet would have three days to leave Lisbon. The ambassador replied that such a delay was unacceptable. If King John persisted in harbouring its enemies, he explained, then the Commonwealth’s navy would feel free to attack Portuguese shipping.
In the meantime the weather deteriorated and Blake looked for protection in Weyes Bay. Blake’s proximity encouraged some Portuguese merchants to express their unhappiness at the Palatine princes’ presence. One of John IV’s chief advisers, the Conde de Miro, strongly sympathised with Parliament and urged the king to expel his guests. The matter proved divisive at a heated meeting of the Royal Council: strong support was expressed for both of the English navies, with de Miro fanning opposition to the princes’ continued presence. The king proposed that the Portuguese were duty bound to escort the vestiges of Charles I’s navy out of the harbour, to prevent their annihilation by a superior force. However, his merchants wanted to be rid of the princes and of the unsettling effect their visit was having on their peaceful dealings: England was a very important export market for Portuguese wines, figs, oranges, and lemons, while King John’s dependencies (especially Brazil) sold their sugar to London via Lisbon. The merchants’ greatest fear was Blake’s threat to interfere with their shipping.
Rupert skilfully exploited the rift among the Portuguese. He concentrated his attention on the clergy, who were sympathetic to his plight, and who: ‘began to fill the pulpits with how shameful a thing it was for a Christian King to treat with the rebels’.[413] At the same time the prince made sure the people saw him in the flesh, rather than merely hearing about him as a faceless troublemaker in their midst. While secretly preparing his fleet for departure, Rupert rode to hounds each day, a glamorous, energetic prince, seemingly unconcerned by the furore engulfing his hosts. Rupert’s ease with people of all backgrounds, which had so shocked the aloof Royalist grandees early in the Civil War,
charmed a populace accustomed to a snobbish aristocracy. This clever public relations’ exercise paid off, the groundswell of opinion siding with the put-upon prince. For the time being, it was impossible for de Miro to toss Rupert into the waiting, open jaws of the enemy.
The Parliamentarians now resorted to skulduggery. A small force was put ashore to ambush and kidnap the princes on one of their hunting expeditions. The trap was sprung, but Rupert and Maurice reacted quickly, galloping to safety. Rupert then plotted his revenge, his love of science leading to the creation of an ingenious booby-trap: he ‘fitted a bomb-ball in a double-headed barrel, with a lock in the bowels to give fire to a quick-match, [and he then] sent it aboard their Vice-Admiral in a town-boat with one of his soldiers clad in a Portugal habit, to put into the stern-boat as a barrel of oil’.[414] But the would-be assassin gave himself away, undermining his foreign disguise by swearing in remarkably fluent English. Blake’s men dismantled his device and arrested him. Rupert, always loyal to his bravest men, later managed to secure his release.
The prince looked for an escape from Portugal with increasing anxiety. A letter arrived from Charles candidly revealing his appalling financial position and urging his cousin to place him in funds through privateering. But Rupert’s task was made more awkward when Parliament reinforced its blockading fleet: not only did this complicate his escape plans, it also endangered the Portuguese fleet whose trade with Brazil was so extraordinarily profitable. The prince realised that this threat would make the Lisbon merchants even keener to see the back of him. It was best if he went quickly, and voluntarily.
John IV persisted in his support of the Royalists, but his influence was waning. Meanwhile de Miro’s supporters ensured that the dockworkers performed slowly, so delaying Rupert’s plans. However, organising provisions was one of the prince’s strengths: through hectoring and bullying he prepared his flotilla for a dash for the open seas. The king told his admirals to assist the Royalists’ flight, when it came, by sailing out with them.
On 16 July the perfect opportunity arose for Rupert to slip the blockade: news came that Blake had taken the majority of his ships to find fresh water in Cadiz. However, to Rupert’s annoyance, the promised Portuguese escort failed to materialise, its admiral delayed so long that eventually Rupert’s men were forced to sail alone. Despite Blake’s temporary absence, there were still enough Commonwealth ships patrolling outside the Tagus to contest Rupert’s escape, especially now that he had forfeited the advantage of surprise. In the ensuing action the prince’s fore-top mast was destroyed by a cannonball, leaving his ship temporarily immobile. He limped on, but after a fortnight, with his provisions running low, Rupert returned to Portugal. He remained there for the rest of the summer. Another attempt to break out, in the fog of early September, was also a failure because one of de Miro’s men betrayed the plan.
A week after this second fiasco, Parliament carried out its threat to fall upon the Brazil fleet: Blake captured nine Portuguese ships, adding them to his force. The king was so disturbed by news of this aggression that he went directly to Rupert’s ship and asked him to attack Blake. Even though his vessels were unprepared for such a venture, Rupert felt obliged to assist, but the enemy steered clear of the Royalists. Eventually, his supplies exhausted, Rupert was forced to return once more to Lisbon.
In October, Blake summoned all his ships to regroup and refit in Cadiz. ‘The King, having no more use of our ships,’ recorded Prince Rupert’s papers, with mild resentment, ‘victualled our fleet, and fitted us with such other stores as were necessary for us, giving the Princes many thanks for their endeavours to preserve the fleet, and assured them of his friendship.’[415] The stress of hosting unpopular guests for so long had sapped John IV of his loyalty to their faltering cause. Soon after the Royalists quit his kingdom, he gave in to de Miro: Portugal made peace with England’s Parliament and agreed that the princes would receive no further protection in any of its territories.
The outlook for Rupert’s expedition was bleak. Under-resourced and with ill-defined aims, Prince Rupert’s papers recalled, ‘Poverty and despair [were our] companions, and revenge our guide.’[416] Blake allowed no breathing space, his eagerness in pursuit fuelled by concern at Royalist attacks on Commonwealth shipping along the Portuguese and Andalusian coastline. Fearing that the superior enemy fleet would pick off his ships one by one, the prince ordered his captains to meet at Formentera in the Balearic Islands. His commanders, however, were eager for booty and dangerously delayed their rendezvous. When they suddenly saw the enemy on the horizon, they dashed for the harbour of Carthagena, where they expected to be granted sanctuary.
The Spaniards, however, did nothing to stop Blake as he sailed into Carthagena, firing at Rupert’s ships. One Royalist vessel, the Henry, was overrun by its crew and joined the enemy. The rest realised that they were in a hopeless position: ‘Our officers not being able to defend themselves’, the prince’s papers revealed, ‘ran their ships ashore, making them unserviceable; another having landed his ammunition, set fire on his ship, so as they were no ways profitable to the enemy.’[417] Blake destroyed or captured nearly all the Royalist fleet in a day. The only two ships to escape were those commanded by Rupert and Maurice.
Unaware of his comrades’ fate, Rupert waited by Formentera with mounting concern. The island was uninhabited, so when he quit it he left letters for his men, urging them to meet him in Toulon as quickly as possible. His instructions were rolled up in a bundle and placed under a rock. This he draped with a white flag, to attract attention. Rupert then set sail for Toulon, where he hoped to meet up with Maurice immediately, and to see his captains soon afterwards.
Chapter Sixteen - Suffering for the Cause
‘Prince Rupert being not ashamed of openly to declare that, providing he might but ruin and destroy the English interest, especially the estates of the merchants and mariners of London, and the owners and proprietors of all ships belonging to the same, he cared not whether he got a farthing more while he lived, than only what would maintain himself, confederates and fleet.’
William Coxon, a prisoner of Prince Rupert
The position for Prince Rupert was now as forlorn as any he had experienced in his fighting career. He was admiral of a group of ships so slight that it barely merited the description of ‘flotilla’, let alone ‘fleet’. However, the destruction and capture of most of his force failed to distract him from his duty: he remained committed to gathering prizes to pay for his exiled cousin’s court, as well as to continuing the struggle on behalf of his late uncle. To achieve these aims, he needed to outwit a vastly more powerful enemy.
The reserves of the Commonwealth’s navy were formidable and increasing, for Cromwell realised that continuing naval dominance was crucial to his grip on power. He was at the head of a political structure that needed military muscle to control the extreme forces unleashed by the Civil War. Out of the ashes of conflict had sprung spiritual zealots, who wanted to sweep away all religious hierarchies, and Levellers, who sought a communist political structure. Although the New Model Army contained elements from both sets of fanatics, it was control of the army that ensured the Commonwealth’s continuation.
The navy was essential for funding the army. Customs and excise underpinned a structure that was, by any other name, a military dictatorship. After the mutiny that had taken the fleet to Helvoetsluys in 1648, a drastic purge rid the navy of two-thirds of its officers, who were judged political defectives. Their replacements were God-fearing men, either drawn from the army or promoted after long service in merchant ships. The latter were known as ‘tarpaulins’, to distinguish their hardy professionalism from the dilettantism of the previous, gentlemanly, officer class.
The Commonwealth fleet doubled in size between 1649 and 1651, and its vessels were made more robust, the key vessels named after Parliament’s military victories. The Naseby was the flagship, its figurehead a representation of the all-conquering Cromwell trampling his foes. Lighter, fas
ter escorts were also built, to protect England’s ships from Royalist and French raiders, and to help merchantmen to trade in distant markets. A convoy system was introduced in 1649 to guard against privateers. The end of the Thirty Years’ War had also intensified mercantile rivalries: the Dutch, in particular, were keen to regain their global pre-eminence in trade, while Britain was eager to keep the profitable business it had built up while its competitors were distracted. Cromwell judged a strong navy essential, for reasons of politics and commerce.
Commonwealth apologists celebrated the growing muscularity of their regime. ‘Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant Nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks,’ John Milton wrote in Areopagitica. ‘Methinks I see her as an Eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam, purging and unscaling her long abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance, while the whole noise of timorous and flocking birds, with those also that love the twilight, flutter about, amazed at what she means, and in their envious gabble would prognosticate a year of sects and schisms.’ If the Republic were to achieve its aims of maturity and permanence, then there could be no place for reactionary Royalists, such as Prince Rupert. They must be obliterated.
*
1650 seduced Charles Stuart with a false dawn. The would-be king left Jersey in February to inform his mother of plans to fight with the Scots against the Commonwealth. Despite Henrietta Maria’s entreaties not to betray his father’s legacy, he went to Breda to broker a deal with the Covenanters — when he promised to establish Presbyterianism in his northern kingdom, he stooped to a religious compromise that his father had rejected in favour of execution.
Prince Rupert: The Last Cavalier Page 27