Perilous Shore

by Chris Durbin

  The squadron, the transports and the storeships anchored in Saint-Cast Bay in the forenoon watch. It was still a wild scene with the wind shrieking through the standing rigging and the halyards while the ships tossed and bucked under the swell that found its way around the point and into the anchorage. Still, it was perfectly safe to take the longboat to the flagship and Holbrooke and Treganoc stepped through the entry port only slightly dampened by the elements.

  ◆◆◆

  22: Grenadiers

  Sunday, Tenth of September 1758.

  Saint-Cast Bay.

  Captain Overton led his horse through the close defile that ran from the low plateau, down the slope of the escarpment onto the beach at Saint-Cast. Behind him marched the hundred grenadiers that the Thirty-Fourth had contributed to the army’s advance guard. And behind them marched the grenadier company of the Sixty-Eighth. Since they’d been landed at Saint-Lunaire a week ago, he and his two companies had ranged across this odd little part of Brittany largely unhindered by the French Army. In the unusual late summer weather – they were not to know how quickly it would turn – they’d marched the couple of miles to the estuary of the Rance, and there they’d paused, waiting for General Bligh and his staff to decide what to do next. The river was half a mile wide at the point where it flowed past Saint-Malo and the army had no apparent means of crossing it.

  General Drury had been given command of the guards and the combined grenadier companies from the line regiments. He’d marched them twelve miles up the left bank of the river almost as far as Dinan, looking for a ford or a bridge, but at Dinan they’d met stiff resistance and withdrew without finding a means of crossing the river. Probably the bridge in the town was still intact, but it couldn’t be taken by Drury’s small force and it was clear that General Bligh was nervous about taking his army too far from the landing beach.

  Drury’s force had returned to the army to find them preparing to withdraw. Bligh had received word of a French force on the march from Brest, commanded by the Duke d’Aiguillon. Brest was no more than a hundred miles to the west and the duke could be expected on the Rance in days. To make matters worse, the first Autumn gale had swept in from the Atlantic bringing torrential rain to torment the British soldiers. Overton’s horse had suffered from the constant rain and now he was leading it by the bridle to conserve its energy for when it may be needed.

  Captain Overton looked behind him as he carefully picked his way down the defile. His men were in good order, but their spirits were low. There wasn’t a dry stitch of clothing among them. Their oiled ponchos had kept them dry for the first few hours, but the incessant rain and the gale-force winds had soon found the chinks in their armour. The men were wet, their equipment was wet, but worst of all their powder was damp. His company sergeant-major was fond of telling the men that their long land pattern muskets were merely spears that may occasionally – if they were lucky – be used to fire ball. Well, his cynicism was about to be tested, because Overton expected at least half the muskets to misfire at the first attempt.

  It was a relief to see the beach as he broke through the scrubby trees, and a sheer delight to see the squadron anchored off the bay, the hundred-odd ships blocking the view out to sea. But best of all was the long line of flatboats anchored by their sterns just beyond the point where the waves broke as they rushed up the slope of the sand. All was in order.

  There were two tarpaulined figures in the centre of the beach, and seeing the column marching down, they walked towards Overton.

  ‘Good afternoon Captain Overton,’ said Holbrooke as he and Treganoc strode up the beach. ‘You’ll be the advance guard of the army, I presume.’

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ Overton replied. ‘Good morning Mister Treganoc, you’ll forgive me if I don’t remove my hat,’ he added with a strained smile. ‘We are indeed the advance guard, in fact we are the very point of the bayonet, being the advance of the advance. However, when the main body of the army arrives, we must transform ourselves into the rearguard.’

  He paused to allow his two friends to admire his witty reply, but to no avail. Disappointed, he continued.

  ‘I’m to hold this southern end of the embarkation,’ he said sweeping his arm from the defile to the point of land to their south, at the furthest extent of the beach.

  ‘Who commands the advance guard, is it still General Drury?’ asked Holbrooke.

  ‘Yes. He has all the grenadiers and a half battalion of guards. Perhaps fifteen hundred men in all. And that reminds me, excuse me a moment.’

  He turned to dispatch a lieutenant to tell the general that he’d made contact with the beach.

  ‘One moment, Captain,’ Treganoc interrupted. ‘Before the messenger goes, have you seen these defensive works?’

  Now it was pointed out, Overton could see the earthworks in front of him. He’d seen Holbrooke and Treganoc scramble down from what looked like a sand dune when he approached, but now he looked more closely he could see that it was a trench-line dug at the point where the sand gave way to soil. He followed it with his eyes and saw that it extended the whole length of the beach. Surely the navy hadn’t had time to dig this in anticipation of the army arriving. Of course not, he must have been blind, the works had been in place for months if not years. They were weathered and crumbled in places, and they were constructed to face the sea. They were surely French defences, presumably dug by the local militia during some earlier alarm in case Saint-Cast was used as a landing site.

  ‘They face the wrong way, of course, but something could be made of them if the French appear before you’re all embarked,’ Treganoc continued.

  ‘Thank you, Mister Treganoc, much obliged.’ It was an essential piece of information and Overton would have looked particularly dull if he’d failed to mention it in his report.

  Overton scribbled a brief message and gave it to the lieutenant who turned and made his way back up the escarpment with a file of grenadiers.

  ◆◆◆

  ‘Have you seen anything of the enemy?’ Overton asked.

  ‘Nothing at all,’ Treganoc replied. ‘We kept off the beach until we saw you at the top there; this is the first time we’ve touched the sand…’

  A skirmisher on the left of the column, with lungs of brass shouted, ‘cavalry, sir, on the beach.’

  There was an instant stirring among the soldiers. Overton took a quick look then swung himself into his saddle, the better to be seen by his grenadiers.

  ‘The Thirty-Fourth will form a line!’ he shouted, restraining his capering horse, indignant at being mounted after such a pleasant walk. He gestured with his drawn sword for the line to be formed facing the horsemen.

  The sergeant-major turned to face the column that was still entering the beach from the defile and issued his orders in a voice calculated to carry in the heat of battle. As the last men of the two companies slid down, they moved automatically into their places at the left of the line. Each man cast off his tarpaulin coat and left it on the ground behind him. The red and yellow of the Thirty-Fourth Regiment of Foot gleamed in the sodden air.

  Now there was a double row of bayonets facing the French horsemen, stretching from the base of the escarpment to the line of the earthworks. The grenadiers couldn’t be outflanked either on the left or the right, not without the horsemen risking being trapped between the trenches and the sea.

  ‘Hussars,’ announced Treganoc who’d borrowed Holbrooke’s telescope. ‘About a half squadron, probably the first scouts for the Duke d’Aiguillon’s army.’

  The French hussars commanded the beach above the earthworks, but only as long as they stayed out of musket range of Overton’s line. They wheeled and gestured, unsure what to do next.

  ‘The Thirty-Fourth will advance,’ Overton announced. The drummer struck up a preliminary roll that turned into a marching beat. At the sergeant-major’s command, the whole line stepped purposefully towards the hussars.

  Holbrooke stayed close behind the line, partly for securi
ty and partly out of curiosity. He’d never been in a land battle before. He could see the hussars’ indecision. A hundred and fifty yards separated them from the line of bayonets now and they were withdrawing as the British advanced. It was a stalemate, but the hussars were at the greatest peril of unforeseen circumstances. Were they leaving it too late?

  Overton stood in his stirrups. ‘The Thirty-Fourth will charge!’

  The drummer’s rhythm increased. The officers on foot drew their swords and the sergeant-major gave the order. With a mighty cheer, the whole line broke into a run, their muskets and swords levelled at the enemy. Overton wasn’t trusting his damp powder; he’d settle this stalemate by the bayonet!

  Holbrooke ran awkwardly behind, clutching his sword to avoid it becoming entangled in his legs. Treganoc’s uniform was better suited to this kind of activity and he ran smoothly behind the line.

  The grenadiers were shouting now, and the hussars saw their imminent peril. At a command they wheeled away to withdraw at a canter along the beach. All but two, who tragically chose to turn towards each other. They collided and down they went, horses and riders entangled in stirrups and reins. The two men made frantic efforts to get to their feet, one even drew his sword while still trapped under his horse, but too late. The line of red and yellow surged over them. There was a bulge as the grenadiers nearest to the fallen Frenchmen paused. The muskets rose and fell. Holbrooke didn’t see the bayonets do their bloody work, but when the line had passed on, both men were already mortally wounded. No less than three bayonets had pierced each of them and their lifeblood was pouring out on the sand. The horses were untouched, and they scrambled to their feet, looking puzzled as to how to rejoin the herd. It was a pitiless action, but there was little room for chivalry in a bayonet charge.

  The hussars were chased halfway along the beach, turning in their saddles to voice their fury at the British infantry. When he was satisfied, Overton halted the line. He knew that there was no chance of catching them, but he’d at least given them a bloody nose.

  The grenadiers were breathing hard, but there were smiles and slapping of backs as they re-formed the line. This was their business; they had no feeling whatsoever for the wreckage of good men that lay on the sandy soil behind them. They were the enemy, not fathers and husbands and sons, not men who they could share a drink with. They were the enemy, and not a man in the ranks gave them a moment’s thought.

  ◆◆◆

  ‘Well, that answers the question about the whereabouts of the French army,’ Treganoc commented. ‘They won’t be less than twenty miles behind the hussars, and now they know where we are. They’ll certainly be here tomorrow.’

  ‘In that case, we’re ready to take you off the shore now,’ said Holbrooke, ‘we should have you all back in the transports before dark,’ he continued looking at his watch.

  ‘Unfortunately, that won’t be the case,’ said Overton, looking away. ‘The main body is planning to make camp for the night at Matignon; that’s nearly three miles from here.’

  Treganoc glanced at Holbrooke. Sheer madness, he thought. Today General Bligh could enjoy an orderly withdrawal from the beach. Tomorrow he would have to fight even to get onto the beach.

  ‘Will the general change his plans when he hears that the French scouts have found us?’ Treganoc wasn’t prepared to let this go.

  Overton paused, embarrassed to be discussing his general’s thoughts in front of a sailor and a marine.

  ‘I think not, he’s fixed in his purpose once he’s decided his course of action. He wants his army to march onto the beach after having refreshed overnight.’

  They were saved from further speculation by the sound of a drum. The escarpment above the beach was pierced by four defiles, and down the one nearest the centre of the beach he could see a much larger body marching. There were more horses in this group – General Drury’s staff presumably – although it was still predominantly infantry.

  ◆◆◆

  The commander of the French hussars held his squadron out of musket range; he was evidently counting the companies coming off the escarpment. When he was satisfied, he turned away and dictated notes to a junior officer who wrote on a piece of paper. Then, anxious not to be encircled and having seen all he came to see, he wheeled his horse’s head around and cantered away to the north.

  The advance guard was an impressive sight. Tired and wet they may be, but they were the pick of the army, and they carried themselves accordingly. Column after column marched down onto the beach, just over a thousand men after the half battalion of guards had been left at the small town of Saint-Cast to hold the top of the escarpment. The companies of grenadiers wheeled to the left and the right in turn and formed up in lines along the top of the beach.

  ‘Here comes Captain Rowley,’ said Holbrooke seeing a longboat hastening towards the shore. ‘He commands the embarkation, and this time he’ll do it from the shore. Five of us division commanders will stay on the beach until the army is embarked. Three of the others are post-captains and one’s a commander like me. We’re to see to the orderly loading of the flatboats.’

  That made Overton stare. Three post-captains and two commanders to organise the embarkation and be the last to leave the beach! That was a perilous duty indeed. It was all very well if the enemy wasn’t pressing from behind, but that was hardly likely to be the case now that the hussars had found the embarkation beach.

  ‘Sergeant-Major,’ said Overton, ‘let the men rest for a moment. When I return, we’ll have to do something about these earthworks so that they at least make a pretence of facing inland. I’m going to report to the general.’

  ‘And I must report to Captain Rowley,’ said Holbrooke.

  ◆◆◆

  23: Delay and Frustration

  Sunday, Tenth of September 1758.

  Saint-Cast Bay.

  Holbrooke had met General Drury during the landing. He commanded the guards brigade but had been extracted to lead the combined grenadier companies taken from each of the line regiments and a half battalion of his guards. It had always been an important service, but now it was vital. This rearguard would have to hold the beach against a French army and perhaps extricate itself and re-embark under fire; a complicated and dangerous manoeuvre that had rarely been accomplished before.

  ‘As you see, general,’ said Rowley, ‘we are ready to embark the army immediately.’

  Rowley had been briefed by Holbrooke on the army’s overnight plans but chose to pretend that he imagined the army would be following close behind the advance guard.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Captain,’ Drury replied. ‘The main body of the army will embark tomorrow. I would be grateful if you would kindly arrange for your boats to be on the beach at first light.’

  Rowley paused, regarding Drury with a thoughtful eye. A major-general was only one rank higher than a post-captain and the stakes were high.

  ‘General, as I understand it, tomorrow we will have a French field army about our ears. It will be a bloody business to embark the army even with Mister Howe’s squadron providing covering fire. If the army marches now, we’ll be clear of the beach before the French arrive. Surely that’s worth attempting?’

  Drury was not an inflexible man. He was a good soldier and understood better than Rowley the dangers of staying on the French shore another night. Even a quite modest enemy force could disrupt the embarkation. His guards and grenadiers would be in the greatest danger, having to hold the beach while the main body embarked, then withdraw to the boats under fire from the top of the escarpments. He knew well the efficiency of the French field artillery and could easily visualise the speed of the horse-drawn guns taking position on the escarpment when the British rearguard vacated it. He and his men would be subjected to canister and ball from commanding positions as they hurried to the boats. He considered Rowley before replying.

  ‘You make an eloquent point, Captain Rowley. I’ll send a message to General Bligh, but don’t hold out very much h
ope. I’ll have a reply in perhaps two hours, can you hold your boats off the beach that long?’

  ‘I’ll hold them all day and all night if I have to, sir. They’ll follow the tide in as it rises. The sea isn’t too bad at present, but if the wind veers much more northerly this beach will be untenable. I implore you, general, to do whatever you can to hasten the army.’

  ◆◆◆

  The reply came in just an hour. The main body would be on the beach at nine o’clock on the morrow. No explanation, but then nobody had expected one. It was just one of those fateful military decisions that would be inexplicable to future historians.

  The boats lay off the beach until there was no possibility of their being employed that night. The sun set in the last dogwatch but there was still an occasional illumination from the quarter moon that appeared between the scudding clouds, until that also set in the first watch. Then there was no point in remaining and Rowley made the signal for the flatboats to return to their mother ships.

  During the middle watch the wind did indeed veer, a full four points into the northwest and the anchorage felt the force of the swell as it was funnelled and shortened in its passage around Saint-Cast Point.

  ◆◆◆

  As the ships’ bells rang eight for the end of the middle watch, the boats and their crews were underway again, nosing up to the shore, hoping for an early start. There was no sign of the main body of the army.

  Rowley’s boat came within hailing distance of Holbrooke’s.

  ‘It’s time for us all to go ashore, Captain Holbrooke,’ he called, ‘the other three are on their way.’

  There were to be five sea officers on the beach: Joshua Rowley of Montague, a sixty-gun fourth-rate; Jervis Maplesden of Portland, a smaller fifty-gun fourth-rate; William Paston of Jason, a forty-gun fifth-rate; John Elphinstone of the eight-gun sloop Salamander, a commander like Holbrooke, and Holbrooke himself. They each had an older midshipman or master’s mate as a runner. Holbrooke had selected Edney as his second. It was a prodigious outpouring of the squadron’s leadership and a tangible demonstration of the navy’s determination to extract the army from this perilous shore.