by Chris Durbin
Perilous Shore
The Sixth Carlisle & Holbrooke Naval Adventure
Chris Durbin
To
Jan Guidoboni
The first reader of Carlisle & Holbrooke
Perilous Shore Copyright © 2019 by Chris Durbin. All Rights Reserved.
Old Salt Press LLC.
Chris Durbin has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Editor: Lucia Durbin.
Cover Artwork: Returning Under Fire by Bob Payne.
Cover Design: Book Beaver.
This book is a work of historical fiction. Characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or to events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Visit my website at:
www.chris-durbin.com
First Edition: 2019
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Copyright
Nautical Terms
Principal Characters
The English Channel
The Saint-Malo Raids
The Cherbourg Raid
Introduction
Prologue: The Privateer
1: The Dockyard
2: Blessings of the Land
3: Commodore Howe
4: The Flatboats
5: Disturbing the Peace
6: Stone and Iron
7: Cancale Bay
8: An Old Friend
9: The Duke
10: Wind and Tide
11: Reconnaissance
12: The Line of Battle
13: The Trap
14: Treachery
15: Penny for Your Thoughts
16: Called to Account
17: Cherbourg
18: A Measure of Redemption
19: An Opportunity
20: Assault Commander
21: September Gales
22: Grenadiers
23: Delay and Frustration
24: A Fighting Withdrawal
25: Disaster at Saint-Cast
26: The Prisoner
27: The Exchange
28: A Disappointing Return
29: London
30: The Packet
Historical Epilogue
Other Carlisle & Holbrooke Naval Adventures
Old Salt Press
Bibliography
The Author
Feedback
Nautical Terms
Throughout the centuries, sailors have created their own language to describe the highly technical equipment and processes that they use to live and work at sea. This holds true in the twenty-first century.
When counting the number of nautical terms that I’ve used in this series of novels, it became evident that a printed book wasn’t the best place for them. I’ve therefore created a glossary of nautical terms on my website:
https://chris-durbin.com/glossary/
My glossary of nautical terms is limited to those that I’ve used in this series of novels, as they were used in the middle of the eighteenth century. It’s intended as a work of reference to accompany the Carlisle and Holbrooke series of naval adventure novels.
Some of the usages of these terms have changed over the years, so this glossary should be used with caution when referring to periods before 1740 or after 1780.
The glossary isn’t exhaustive. A more comprehensive list can be found in Falconer’s Universal Dictionary of the Marine, first published in 1769. I haven’t counted the number of terms that Falconer has defined, but he fills 328 pages with English language terms, followed by a further eighty-three pages of French translations. It is a monumental work.
An online version of the 1780 edition of The Universal Dictionary (which unfortunately does not include all the excellent diagrams that are in the print version) can be found on this website:
https://archive.org/details/universaldiction00falc/
◆◆◆
Principal Characters
Fictional
Commander George Holbrooke: Commanding Officer, Kestrel
Major Hans Albach: Commander of the Dol de Bretagne Militia Artillery
Captain Charles Overton: Company Commander, the Thirty-Fourth Regiment of Foot
Lieutenant Charles Lynton: First Lieutenant, Kestrel
Lieutenant Colin Treganoc: Officer Commanding Royal Marines, Kestrel
Josiah Fairview: Sailing Master, Kestrel
Ishmael Renouf: Channel Pilot
John Edney: Midshipman, Kestrel
Reverend John (David) Chalmers: Chaplain, Kestrel
Jackson: Bosun, Kestrel
Jacques Serviteur: Captain’s Servant, Kestrel
Martin Featherstone: Corn Merchant in Wickham
Sophie Featherstone: Martin Featherstone’s Wife
Ann Featherstone: Martin Featherstone’s Daughter
◆◆◆
Historical
Lord George Anson: First Lord of the Admiralty
Duke of Marlborough: Commander of the British Expeditionary Army
Duke d’Aiguillon: Governor and Commander of the Army of Brittany
Admiral George Forbes: Lord Commissioner of the Admiralty
General Bligh: Commander of the British Expeditionary Army
Vice Admiral Sir Francis Holburne: Port Admiral, Portsmouth
Commodore Richard Howe: Commander of the Inshore Squadron of the Channel Fleet
Captain Sir Richard Hughes: Resident Commissioner, Portsmouth
Captain François Thurot: Commanding Officer, Maréchal de Belle-Isle
Captain John Campbell: Commanding Officer, Essex
Mrs Winter: Owner, Deptford Wharf Boatyard
◆◆◆
The English Channel
The Saint-Malo Raids
The Cherbourg Raid
‘Like breaking windows with guineas’
◆◆◆
Henry Fox, 1st Baron Holland, Paymaster General of the Forces.
Describing the failed raid on Rochefort in September 1757 which had cost around a million pounds and achieved almost nothing.
◆◆◆
Introduction
Pitt’s Campaign of Descents
Since 1756, the British government had been under intense pressure from its continental allies to contribute to the war in Europe. There was a great reluctance to send British soldiers to campaign in Germany, instead the government tried to fulfil its alliance obligations with monetary subsidies to Prussia and the German states that were fighting the French. The Army of Observation, led by the Duke of Cumberland, the King’s son, was funded by Britain, although no British units were on its fighting strength.
In 1757 the pressure intensified. In response, William Pitt devised a strategy of raids on the French coast with the principle objective of drawing French regiments away from Germany. He called the raids descents, and they were not intended as permanent invasions, but temporary occupations. The army was to be withdrawn after the target area was devastated and before a French field army could appear on the scene.
The first of the descents, on Rochefort in September 1757, didn’t go well. The expedition was plagued by delays to the frustration of the naval commander, Admiral Edward Hawke. When it arrived off the French coast, the vital island of Île d’Aix was quickly captured, but the army commander Sir John Mordaunt refused to land on the mainland. After destroying the fortifications
on the island, the force sailed for home. It was a failure and the troublesome paymaster of the forces Sir Henry Fox, eloquently described it in parliament as breaking windows with guineas.
Despite this initial setback, William Pitt was determined to continue the campaign of descents in 1758. In April, after the worst of the winter weather was over, he set the next phase of the strategy in motion.
◆◆◆
Carlisle and Holbrooke
1758 was a momentous year for our two heroes. Holbrooke, newly promoted to commander in the sloop Kestrel, was sent to blockade Emden on the North Sea border between the Netherlands and the German states. His story in the first quarter of 1758 is told in Holbrooke’s Tide, the fourth of the Carlisle & Holbrooke Naval Adventures.
Meanwhile, Carlisle in his frigate Medina was sent to take part in the siege of Louisbourg, in Nova Scotia. The story of that vital precursor to an invasion of Canada is told in The Cursed Fortress, the fifth in the series.
Holbrooke returned from Emden find himself ordered to join the Inshore Squadron of the Channel Fleet under Commodore Howe. Pitt’s strategy of descents on the French coast was about to have a dramatic effect on Holbrooke’s career and his hopes for the future.
The story continues…
◆◆◆
Prologue: The Privateer
Friday, Twenty-Sixth of May 1758.
Maréchal de Belle-Isle, at Sea. Off Montrose.
This time, François Thurot wasn’t quick enough. That wasn’t usually a criticism levelled at the celebrated Frenchman, sometime privateer and now an officer in the French navy. Speed of thought and action were the hallmarks of his successful career, along with boldness and a keen understanding of the profit-and-loss accounts of his trade. It was in recognition of those qualities that the French navy had sent him on this cruise of pure commerce destruction.
He’d been away from Saint-Malo for ten months and so far, his cruise had been successful. Over the past few weeks alone he’d taken seven laden colliers out of Newcastle to add to his long account. But now he’d let himself become trapped between two British frigates. He hadn’t immediately recognised them for what they were, perhaps because they were in company with two smaller vessels, and their identity was hidden behind his legitimate prey. Now his attackers were so close either side of him – little more than pistol range – that he couldn’t turn in either direction. He was forced to run to the east, away from the Firth of Forth where he’d hoped to pick up some lucrative merchantmen.
The Maréchal de Belle-Isle – named after his noble patron – was the strongest of the three, a forty-six gun frigate, almost a ship-of-the-line in weight of broadside. Nevertheless, she was at a decided disadvantage against the two small sixth-rates who could muster over forty guns between them and haul up on either side of him. And the long cruise had taken its toll; he had barely enough men to work both batteries simultaneously.
‘You may start firing,’ shouted Thurot at his first lieutenant.
Crash! went the larboard battery and the Belle-Isle’s deck tilted to starboard, throwing Thurot off balance.
Crash! The starboard battery fired but Thurot was ready for it this time.
Now the noise had become constant with the better-drilled gun crews reloading and firing more rapidly. There were sixty or so guns in action counting the ten or twelve each side for the British frigates. Thurot desperately wanted to get away, but he could see no chance. Five hours they fought, with dead and wounded aplenty on each side, and there seemed no end to it. Then there was an explosion alongside to starboard. A lucky shot had hit a powder ready-use store and one of the frigates started to drop astern. This was his chance and Thurot piled on sail and turned across the stricken ship’s bows. One raking broadside from right ahead and he was gone, leaving the frigates to lick their wounds as he headed out into the anonymous wastes of the North Sea.
◆◆◆
1: The Dockyard
Wednesday, Twenty-Ninth of March 1758.
Kestrel, at Anchor. Portsmouth Harbour.
Lieutenant Lynton’s left foot was resting on the anchor cable as it inched inboard through the hawse. He felt a jolt then a sudden easing of the tension as the anchor broke free from the stinking black sludge of Portsmouth Harbour.
‘Anchor’s aweigh,’ he called in a conversational tone, directing his voice to the quarterdeck.
There was none of the usual hustle and bustle associated with a ship leaving harbour. No tops’ls were loosed, no jibs backed, and no helm orders given, for His Britannic Majesty’s sloop-of-war Kestrel was merely moving from her anchor berth in Portsmouth harbour into the wet basin, to await her turn in the single dry dock at its northeast corner.
Josiah Fairview, the sailing master, stood on the quarterdeck from where he could see the cut in the masonry of the dock wall that led into the basin. It was just a hundred yards on the larboard bow, and the gate had been floated into the basin to allow Kestrel to pass through. He could see that the last of the flood tide was carrying the usual harbour flotsam in through the entrance.
‘Pull away the longboat,’ he shouted through the copper speaking trumpet.
The hands at the windlass rushed the last few fathoms of cable through the hawse with practised ease, the pawls clicking in short, staccato bursts as the men leaned their weight against the handspikes.
‘Larboard anchor’s catted,’ reported Jackson, the bosun.
‘There’s just a mite of flood tide still, sir,’ said Fairview, ‘we’re just a glass before the top of the tide. I’ll put her alongside larboard side to, with your permission.’
George Holbrooke, the master and commander of the sloop, studied the walls of the basin entrance. The light breeze from the southwest would naturally push them to the north side of the entrance; that and the flooding tide meant that Jackson would have to be fast with his rattan fenders to avoid damage to the sloop if they berthed as Fairview suggested. He didn’t often contradict his sailing master but on this occasion, he knew that the job could be done more elegantly.
‘Starboard side to on the southern side of the entrance, if you please, Mister Fairview. I fancy the longboat’s crew will get the for’rard warp ashore fast enough to stop us drifting across the gate. The yawl can hold our stern until we can hand the aft warp across.’
This was to be Holbrooke’s last act of ship handling for a month or two. From the moment that Kestrel was secured to the dockside, the sloop would be the responsibility of the master attendant. He wanted this manoeuvre to be done as best it could be, particularly with a small crowd of dockyard officers and supervisors watching. If he’d let the master do as he’d wanted, it would have been hard to prevent a heavy berthing with both the wind and the tide setting them on. The master’s suggestion was the safe one but would inevitably leave a few fathoms of scraped woodwork and paint for the dockyard to deal with.
Holbrooke’s way would have the sloop brought gently alongside on the southern side of the entrance, with the wind and tide keeping her off until the hands on the warps hauled her in. Of course, there was a chance that his boat’s crews would let him down, that they’d drop the warp as they transferred it from the longboat to the dockside, or that they’d be slow in taking the weight. Then it would be a hard berthing indeed as they’d drift across the basin entrance to the north side. However, he’d sailed with these men for half a year now – some of them for much longer – and he trusted them.
‘Aye-aye sir,’ replied Fairview, ‘starboard side to it is.’ If he was at all disturbed at his advice being rejected, he didn’t show it. ‘Longboat! Take your warp to the southern side of the entrance and look lively with taking the weight,’ he shouted.
The longboat was in the charge of Midshipman Edney, while Midshipman Turner had the yawl at the stern of the sloop. Edney waved in reply and under the coxswain’s urging the men hauled at their oars, towing the sloop against the light breeze and fading current.
Holbrooke looked over his shoulder. There was
no need to give Turner any orders, the yawl was in her ideal position, close to the sloop’s starboard quarter, holding the slack of a warp that ran through the after gunport and onto the bitts.
Kestrel moved slowly forward. He could see a stirring of interest among the dockyard officers and riggers as they realised his plan. If it worked, it would make their task of moving the sloop into the wet basin that much simpler, as the wind would tend to keep her off the wall and allow her to be easily moved through the entrance.
Fairview timed the manoeuvre carefully. At the point where the entrance was alongside the sloop’s waist and still a ship’s length away, he signalled the longboat. Now the timing of the operation became critical. The bosun eased the tow rope to give the longboat enough slack to reach the wall. Kestrel’s forward movement stopped and for a breathless minute, her way kept her in place. With the weight of the tow rope reduced, the longboat made a dash for the wall. The lighter warp was handed up and the bow oar dropped it over the bollard and made a crossed-arm signal to the sloop.
‘Heeeaaave, the fo’c’sle,’ urged Jackson, stretching out the vowels to stimulate the men’s efforts.
Kestrel’s bows turned quickly to larboard under the influence of the tide, the wind and the strain on the warp. Fairview waited for the right moment.