The Cursed Fortress

by Chris Durbin

  Carlisle was sent to guard the eastern approaches to Louisbourg – Scatari Island, Cape Breton, and the Lorembec coast. It was a region of small harbours, each with its own fishing village, the fishermen spending the long winter mending their boats and nets, waiting for the ice to break. The area had been cleared of its Acadian and French inhabitants during Britain’s three-year ownership of Louisbourg at the end of the last war, and it had never fully recovered. Now even the fishing villages had a forlorn, half-deserted look about them. Nothing moved; it was as though the land had been immobilised by the snow, the ice and the fog rolling in from the Atlantic.

  ***

  As the sun rose Medina had looked into Big Lorraine Harbour at the western end of their area, then they’d moved on to view Little Lorraine and finally Baleine. Each tiny community looked abandoned; only the fishing boats drawn high up on the beach gave a hint of the occupation of the inhabitants. Now Medina was heading east-southeast into the teeth of a brisk northeaster that had already brought snow and hail and, as it was moderating, it looked very much like it would be bringing fog. The Portnova Islands off Cape Breton were just visible to northeast and Hosking was giving them a wide berth on account of the wicked shoal that lay concealed off their southern extremity. They would have to beat far out into the Atlantic before they could tack and make a board for East Point on Scatari Island. Captain Falkingham had made it quite clear to Carlisle that Medina’s job – her sole reason for being off Île Royale – was to prevent French men-of-war and supplies reaching Louisbourg. There were two – no, three, Carlisle reminded himself – principal routes that supply ships could take, and two of them passed through Carlisle’s area. The first and easiest was for the French to take the southern route across the Atlantic, catching the northeast trade winds from the vicinity of Madeira and following the currents along the east coast of America. That led past the English-speaking colonies and was a notorious haunt of British cruisers. The second was the northern route. It was a shorter distance, but ships had to battle cold headwinds and contrary ocean currents to take the Strait of Belle-Isle and approach Louisbourg from the Gulf of St. Lawrence. It was a brutal passage but happily free from British scrutiny. The third and least likely source of reinforcement and supply was from Quebec and Montreal, and that also meant approaching Louisbourg from the Gulf of St. Lawrence. It couldn’t be ignored, but it stretched the imagination to believe that New France could spare men or produce to support Île Royale.

  Carlisle knew that his proper station was off Scatari Island, but there he was exposed to the weather from whichever direction it came. It was a miserable and deeply unhealthy station and he moved southwest every other day on the pretext of watching the Lorembec coast.

  ***

  ‘Come in Doctor,’ said Carlisle in response to the knock at the door. Carlton’s daily report had become a depressing tale of sickness and injury. Medina had been only eleven days at sea, but they were the most testing that Carlisle had experienced. The coughs and colds and chronic rheumatism that always afflicted sailors in cold weather were being exacerbated by fevers and minor injuries as fingers and limbs, numbed by the cold, contacted hard oak and iron.

  ‘Sickbay’s full, of course, sir,’ reported Carlton. ‘I’ve sent the normal ailments back to their messes, but I have eight serious fevers and two cases of frostbite. I fear that I’ll be removing fingertips and toes soon.’

  ‘Is there anything more that can be done?’ asked Carlisle helplessly. He already knew the answer.

  ‘A few days in port, with warmth, fresh food and no watches to keep would help, sir,’ he said, as he always did. ‘However, if that can’t be obtained, then we must keep the galley fire going so that the men can have dry clothes and bedding. That is if they’ll make the effort.’

  ‘What do you mean, Doctor?’ asked Carlisle.

  Carlton had been expecting that question. He had an infuriating way of presenting information only when asked, and he led his listener to pose the right questions.

  ‘Many of the men – no, that’s not fair – some of the men would rather go straight from their watch into their hammocks, wet clothes and all, than waste valuable sleeping time standing around the galley range. That means their hammocks get wet, even if they’ve been dried while the men were on watch. It’s the primary cause of the fevers. The men being wet and cold on watch is hardly worth mentioning, they’re hardened to it, and it has little effect. The problems start when they spend four hours in a damp hammock in already-wet clothes.’

  ‘Then I’ll have Mister Moxon speak to the petty officers.’

  Carlisle raised his voice and hailed the sentry.

  ‘Pass the word for the first lieutenant.’

  Carlisle and Carlton could hear the voices calling the first lieutenant even through the normal noises of the working of the ship beating into a stiff breeze. Moxon arrived breathlessly after a wait of perhaps five minutes. He cut an unpleasant figure, in sea boots and a battered oilskin coat and hat.

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir, I was examining the new turns of gammoning with the bosun. They’ll never be as tight as we could achieve at anchor.’

  ‘They’ll hold though, Mister Moxon?’

  ‘Yes, they’ll hold, sir, and the bosun can take up the slack when we’re off the wind.’

  ‘Very well. Now, I understand from Mister Carlton,’ the doctor nodded in affirmation, ‘that some of the men are turning in without drying their clothes.’

  ‘I regret that’s correct, sir, some do.’ replied Moxon with a new look of concern.

  Both Carlisle and Moxon felt helpless when faced with medical problems. Slack gammoning on the bowsprit was a physical problem that had known and trusted remedies, medical issues were much less susceptible to plain seamanlike logic.

  ‘Then we must find a way of preventing this happening,’ said Carlisle, looking from one to the other of his officers.

  ‘It’s not quite so easy, sir,’ replied Moxon. ‘It takes a good half hour to get the everyday dampness out of the clothes, at least an hour if they’re wet. There’s only so much space around the galley range, and the cook still needs to boil his coppers. It’s just not possible to get everyone’s clothes dry every watch.’

  ‘Do the men understand the problem, do you think?’

  ‘Oh, I believe they do, but when it’s a choice of four hours’ sleep or a possible fever, which would take them out of the watch in any case, many choose the sleep.’

  Moxon paused to arrange his thoughts.

  ‘I was thinking through this problem just this morning, sir. Normally it’s just the men’s outer clothing that’s wet, their Guernseys, gregos and oilskins. They’re naturally reluctant to remove their shirts and trousers and anyway, they’re usually just damp, not wet. If we set a routine where the on-watch hammocks and the off-watch outer clothes are spread in front of the range, with a couple of hands to turn them, then I believe much of the problem will be solved. It’ll also give the people half an hour in front of the range each watch.’

  ‘That should help,’ said Carlton. ‘Damp under-clothing in a warm and dry hammock is not nearly so bad as wet clothing in a damp hammock, but can you make it work? The men are very conservative in these matters and can get bloody-minded.’

  ‘It’s the carrot and stick, Mister Carlton,’ replied Moxon. ‘The carrot is the opportunity to spend a half-hour of each watch by the galley fire, the stick is the loss of grog if they turn in wet; with your permission, sir,’ Moxon added, looking at Carlisle, ‘although I’m hoping that won’t be necessary when the men see the advantages.’

  ‘Then make it so, Mister Moxon, and have a petty officer detailed from each watch to supervise. You may make the master-at-arms responsible for this routine, and I’d like a report from you this time tomorrow.’

  He turned to the doctor.

  ‘I’d like a report from you also, Doctor. Have your assistant check that the hammocks are dry before the end of each watch; it’ll do him no harm to t
urn out every four hours, like the hands.’

  Carlton looked dubious. His assistant jealously guarded his status as an idler, a man who stood no watches and, except for emergencies, spent all night, every night, in his hammock. However, he’d raised this issue, and the first lieutenant’s plan was a good one. It would be churlish in the extreme if he didn’t agree to a little discomfort for his assistant. He could always take a turn himself; perhaps the change of the middle and morning watches which would be only an hour or two before his usual shake.

  ***

  Medina ploughed her lonely furrow to the east of Louisbourg. Every day brought its fresh crop of sickness. Thankfully there were no malignant fevers, none of the infectious diseases that passed from man to man in the confines of a wooden hull at sea, and so far, no sign of scurvy. The first lieutenant’s plan to have the people turn in with no worse than damp clothes, into dry hammocks, appeared to be working, and it had injected a much-needed dose of morale into Medina’s company. For there was nothing to occupy the men’s minds, nothing but this endless tacking and veering, making and shortening sail, frozen by the snow and ice, drenched by the rain and spray and always, always either wind or fog. No French man-of-war had sought to run the gauntlet into Louisbourg, not since Magnifique a week ago.

  On the fourth of April Medina ran right down to the western end of her area, blown by a full gale from the northeast. Carlisle was surprised to see Sutherland lying-to off Big Lorraine harbour. As he neared the two-decker, he saw the signal for Medina to close within hailing distance. It was a tricky manoeuvre, hailing distance in a full gale was too close for comfort. However, Carlisle acknowledged that it was the only way for a message to be passed between the ships as it was far too dangerous for a boat to attempt to take him across the wind-whipped water.

  Medina approached on Sutherland’s leeward side. Carlisle left the handling of the frigate to Hosking, whom he acknowledged was a better ship-handler than he’d ever be. With infinite care, under double-reefed tops’ls and a fore stays’l, Medina edged up towards the larger ship. Carlisle knew that the master, for all his skill, wouldn’t be able to hold Medina within hailing range for more than a minute, probably not even that long. The two ships naturally had different drift rates, but that was made infinitely worse as one was lying-to with its fore tops’l backed, and the other was surging ahead.

  The bosun passed a line around his captain’s waist and secured it to a deadeye. Carlisle climbed outboard of the gunwale, standing precariously in the mizzen chains, clinging with one hand to the lanyards.

  Falkingham may have been an older man, but there was nothing wrong with his lungs.

  ‘Ice broken up…’ Carlisle reeled as a breaking wave slapped into his body, penetrating even his tightly buttoned oilskin and wetting his face.

  ‘Ice broke up in the harbour entrance,’ repeated Falkingham, pointing to leeward, towards Louisbourg. ‘Go to Halifax…’

  Another wave surged up the frigate’s side and by some freak shot up through the skirts of Carlisle’s oilskin. He was now thoroughly wet.

  Falkingham pointed emphatically south, the direction that Medina would have to sail to make her offing for a passage to Halifax.

  ‘Tell Hardy.’

  Falkingham’s meaning was obvious, and in this howling wind there may be no chance of him elaborating his orders for days, and by that time it would be too late. The gale had finally broken up the ice that prevented easy access to Louisbourg. It now needed Hardy’s squadron to blockade it against French attempts to reinforce and resupply the fortress.

  Carlisle waved in reply and himself pointed towards the south. Falkingham nodded emphatically.

  ‘Thank you, Mister Swinton,’ said Carlisle as he was handed carefully back inboard, more than half drowned.

  ‘Mister Hosking, you may veer the ship and set a course for Halifax. Make a bold offing, if you please, I’ve no more liking for Île Royale’s lee shore than I do for any other. Perhaps we’ll have a quiet night tonight.’

  ***

  21: News of Ice

  Thursday, Sixth of April 1758.

  Medina, at Sea. Off Halifax, Nova Scotia.

  The northeasterly gale drove Medina hard down the coasts of Île Royale and Nova Scotia, so hard that when the gale reached its peak, which it held for twenty-four hours, they ran under nothing more than a storm jib and yet still they made eight knots. It was exhilarating sailing and would have been enjoyable were it not for the cold. The frigate suffered snow, hail and rain in agonising succession, and the quarterdeck was continually awash with the following seas breaking on the taffrail. However, the frigate’s people had the inexpressible pleasure of not having to go aloft; all the sail handling, such as it was, could be done from the deck. It wasn’t until the forenoon watch on the sixth of April, with the wind moderating and Cape Sambro in sight, that the master hauled his wind, set the frigate’s tops’ls and mizzen and made to the west for Halifax.

  ‘What do you make of it, Mister Moxon?’ asked Carlisle, his telescope trained on the harbour entrance to the west. The wind was still strong enough to make the frigate lively, and Carlisle was holding his glass against the mizzen shrouds, leaning far out to windward.

  ‘I suspect Mister Hardy has sailed,’ replied the first lieutenant, ‘I count at least six of the line and a frigate.’

  It was a stirring sight. Against the green of the wooded shore a squadron of men-of-war was reaching out to sea on an exactly reciprocal course to Medina’s.

  ‘Not Boscawen, then. I’d half expected to find him at Halifax by now, but you’re right, Mister Moxon, that’s Hardy’s squadron.’

  The details were becoming clearer by the minute as the distance between Medina and the squadron closed at the rate of a mile every five minutes.

  ‘Seven of the line and a frigate,’ said Moxon.

  ‘That’ll be Captain in the van, and I believe I can just make out Hardy’s flag at the main,’ said Carlisle.

  ‘Bosun, away the longboat crew, best rig for the captain’s calls,’ shouted Moxon.

  Without a doubt, Admiral Hardy would want the latest news from Louisbourg, and even at the tail-end of a Nova Scotia winter storm, the frigate’s captain would be expected to come alongside in some style.

  ‘Mister Hosking, half a cable to leeward of the flagship, if you please. I’ll be below for a few minutes.’

  He’d have to change out of his offshore rig. Thankfully he’d already prepared a report for Hardy, as it had been impossible for Falkingham to send his own report over to the frigate.

  As Medina approached the flagship, they saw a plain blue signal flag run up on the mizzen topmast head and a puff of smoke from a single gun. That was Hardy’s order for the squadron to bring to on the larboard tack. It was followed by a red-and-green swallowtail at the peak of the mizzen yard, the signal for frigate captains to report aboard the flagship. Hardy had only one other frigate, Port Mahon, and she quickly bore away to run down from her station a mile to windward of the flagship.

  ‘Bring to as soon as you’re on the flagship’s beam, Mister Hosking.’

  ***

  Admiral Hardy was all business when Carlisle and Samuel Wallis of Port Mahon entered the great cabin. He was clearly in a tearing hurry be off Louisbourg to impose the blockade in earnest; he didn’t even offer the two captains a seat.

  ‘Good morning, Captain Carlisle. No report from Falkingham? Well, I hardly expected one. No, don’t worry about your own report, my secretary will take it, just tell me the situation in your own words, I need to be on my way.’

  Now that was a curious response, it almost sounded as though he had little faith in the captain of Sutherland, thought Carlisle. Well, if Hardy chose to be brisk, he’d reply in kind.

  ‘The ice broke at the harbour mouth on the fourth, sir …’

  ‘Did it, by God?’ interrupted Hardy. ‘That’s good news and I didn’t sail a day too early. Is that why Falkingham sent you, to tell me that?’

 
; ‘Yes, sir, he did …’ Carlisle wasn’t having much luck in finishing sentences today.

  ‘Good, then there’s not a moment to lose. Do you have anything else to tell me?’

  ‘The rest is in my report, sir. We ran lines of soundings in Gabarus Bay, and we identified some batteries and destroyed one. The survey is also in my report.’

  ‘Well done, Carlisle,’ Hardy said, not looking vastly impressed. ‘I expect they’ll have moved their guns by now, but it was worth stirring them up. Did you have any casualties?

  ‘I lost a master’s mate and four men, and my yawl, sir, although I replaced the yawl with a French boat that we cut out from the Little Labrador Inlet.’

  ‘What on earth were you doing up there, Carlisle?’ asked Hardy, looking suspicious. Every flag officer was bedevilled by captains – particularly frigate captains – who happily left their station to chase prizes.

  ‘We prevented a French frigate and two transport from bringing an infantry battalion into Louisbourg, sir. I chased them up to Port Dauphin and stopped them landing there but couldn’t prevent them from getting into the larger of the two Labrador Inlets. I sent the longboat at night to destroy all the boats in the Little Labrador Inlet to annoy their march to Louisbourg.’

  Hardy looked thoughtful. He knew that he should have been off Louisbourg a week or two earlier, in which case he could have dealt with the French reinforcements out-of-hand.

  ‘You did well, Captain,’ he said, this time as though he meant it, ‘and I’m sorry to hear about you men. I look forward to reading your report, but for now I need to get this squadron off Louisbourg, and with this foul wind it could take a week. Now, how are your stores?’

  Carlisle paused for a moment. He didn’t want to be known as a captain who was always looking for excuses to return to port, and he had stores for three months still. Nevertheless, he was running short of wood and still needed that second suit of sails, and fresh water was always welcome.