The Leeward Islands Squadron Read online

  THE LEEWARD ISLANDS SQUADRON

  The Second Carlisle & Holbrooke

  Naval Adventure

  Chris Durbin

  To

  Philip Missen MBE

  Operations Manager, Porthcawl Lifeboat

  Royal National Lifeboat Institution - Saving Lives at Sea

  ***

  The Leeward Islands Squadron Copyright © 2018 by Chris Durbin. All Rights Reserved.

  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.

  Cover designed by Book Beaver.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chris Durbin

  Visit my website at www.chris-durbin.com

  First Edition: 2018

  ***

  Contents

  Contents

  The Seven Years War

  The Captain

  Principal Characters

  The North Atlantic 1756-1757

  The Lesser Antilles 1756-1757

  Port Louis, Grenada 1756-1757

  Fort Royal, Martinique 1757

  Prologue: Privateers

  1:The Commodore

  2: Sealed Orders

  3: Chiara’s Letter

  4: Medina Prepares

  5: Jackson

  6: Attack on Port Louis

  7: Change of Command

  8: Redemption

  9: Fire Ship

  10: Fort Royal

  11: Take, Sink or Burn

  12: Mission Accomplished

  13: Death at Sea

  14: Carlisle Bay

  15: Passage to Antigua

  16: English Harbour

  17: A Cruise

  18: Fort Louis

  19: Prizes

  20: Ambuscade

  21: Escape

  22: Passage North

  23: A Commercial Venture

  24: Consequences

  25: News From Nice

  26: Barbuda

  27: Theories

  28: St. Bartholomew

  29: Mutiny

  30: The Hunt

  31: Scorpion

  32: L’Arques

  33: Reunion

  Epilogue: Pitt’s Strategy

  Nautical Terms

  Bibliography

  The Author

  Feedback

  The Seven Years War

  1756: Disaster on land and sea

  The Seven Years War (known in America as The French and Indian War) can justly be described as the first global conflict. It was fought in Europe, North America, the West and East Indies, Africa and all the oceans of the world. By its end, Britain was the undisputed master of North America and India and, most importantly, of the trade routes between the home islands and her colonies. The war marked the start of Britannia’s one-hundred and sixty-three years of ruling the waves, from the Annus Mirabilis of 1759 to the Washington Naval Treaty of 1922.

  However, the first year of the war – 1756 – didn’t end well for Britain. Minorca had been lost to the French through naval mismanagement, Calcutta had been besieged and taken by the Nawab of Bengal and Montcalm had captured Fort Oswego on Lake Ontario for the French. The first Newcastle administration had fallen, and the government was rocked by the trial of Admiral Byng. But through this gloom, Lord Anson, the First Lord of the Admiralty, before he was temporarily cast into the wilderness along with the Duke of Newcastle, had started to deploy his ships to counter-attack.

  This is the fictitious story of Captain Edward Carlisle and his first lieutenant, George Holbrooke, as they form the tip of the spear that Anson thrust into the French West Indian possessions.

  If any of Carlisle or Holbrooke’s exploits – either ashore or afloat – seem a little unlikely, then I recommend that you read Augustus Hervey’s Journal which was published in 2002 by Chatham Publishing. Hervey spent much of the Seven Years War at sea in command and was present at several battles and other operations, including the disastrous battle of Minorca. When you read his startlingly frank account of those times, you will agree that a novelist has no need of overstatement when writing of the Royal Navy of the mid-eighteenth century.

  ***

  The Captain

  Lastly, Whereas the Charge and Command of the Ship, and of the Officers and Men serving therein, are entirely entrusted to the Captain, and the Welfare and good Management of the Whole does in especial Manner depend upon his Economy and Prudence, he is to understand … he is himself responsible for the whole Conduct and good Government of the Ship, and for the due Execution of all Regulations here set down, which concern the several Duties of the Officers and Company of the Ship, who are to obey him in all Things, which he shall direct them for His Majesty’s Service.

  Regulations and Instructions, 1734

  ***

  Principal Characters

  Fictional Characters

  Captain Robert Jermy: Commanding Officer, Wessex and Commodore of the squadron.

  Captain Edward Carlisle: Commanding Officer, Medina.

  Lieutenant Miles Godwin: First Lieutenant, Wessex.

  Lieutenant George Holbrooke: First Lieutenant, Medina.

  James Thompson: Sailing Master, Wessex.

  John Hosking: Sailing Master, Medina.

  John Chalmers: Chaplain, Wessex.

  Able Seaman Jackson: Captain’s Coxswain, Medina.

  Able Seaman Whittle: A follower of Captain Carlisle’s from his home in Virginia.

  Lady Chiara Angelini: Captain Carlisle’s friend.

  ***

  Historical Characters

  The Duke of Newcastle: Prime Minister of Great Britain from 1754-1756 and 1757-1762.

  The Duke of Devonshire: Prime Minister of Great Britain from 1756-1757.

  William Pitt: Leader of the House of Commons from 1756-1761.

  Lord George Anson: First Lord of the Admiralty from 1751-1756 and 1757-1762.

  Rear Admiral Thomas Frankland: Commander-in-Chief, Leeward Islands Station.

  ***

  The North Atlantic 1756-1757

  The Lesser Antilles 1756-1757

  Port Louis, Grenada 1756-1757

  Fort Royal, Martinique 1757

  Prologue: Privateers

  Monday, fifteenth of November 1756

  Medina, at Sea, Ushant east-southeast 17 leagues

  There were no lights showing in Medina. Even the tiny binnacle lantern had been extinguished, and the slow match at the guns had been covered with tarpaulins to prevent the privateers detecting her presence. The frigate ghosted along under her lower sails alone, the light north-westerly breeze providing enough steerage way to keep her head to the southwest as she kept pace with the convoy a mile to windward. The swell building from the west suggested that these light airs would not last the night, but it was the next few hours that concerned Captain Carlisle.

  ‘Deck ho! I see ’em, sir, broad on the larboard beam.’ Even the lookout was speaking softly – as much as a man can do when calling to the quarterdeck from the masthead.

  ‘Both of them? Where are they heading?’

  ‘Same course as us sir, two brigs under full sail about two miles away.’

  ‘Very well, Whittle. Let me know if they alter course but keep a sharp lookout all round
.’

  Carlisle breathed a sigh of relief. He had staked his reputation on the two French brig-corvettes using their superior speed to cross the convoy’s wake as soon as the light faded. His conference with the convoy commander had been unsatisfactory, shouted across fifty yards of heaving sea. Carlisle had pressed his opinion as hard as he could – his conviction that the attack would come from leeward, not from windward where the enemy was first sighted. Captain Jermy was a sick man, which may have accounted for his lack of tactical thought. It was evident to Carlisle that the French privateers would want a clear run back to France if they should be fortunate enough to cut out one of the Levanters – the Turkey Merchants as they were sometimes called – or even an East Indiaman. Backing her captain’s hunch and in defiance of orders, Medina had reduced sail and slipped quietly through the convoy as soon as Carlisle was confident that the brigs could no longer distinguish him from the ships of the convoy.

  ‘Mister Holbrooke,’ he said to his first lieutenant, ‘let the men know the situation, it’s probably best if you walk down to the guns and tell them individually. We can expect no immediate help from Wessex, not until we start firing.’ The commodore’s ship had remained resolutely to windward of the convoy, where the privateers were last seen.

  ‘Aye-aye sir,’ replied Holbrooke. He lowered his voice, ‘it looks like we are in the right position after all.’ This was the closest that Holbrooke could come to open criticism of the captain of Wessex, four years senior to Carlisle on the captain’s list and commodore of this small squadron by courtesy of those few years.

  Carlisle took a few turns up and down the quarterdeck. In his last commission, he would have been staring eagerly to leeward, hoping for a glimpse of the brigs. Since then he had learned to trust his lookouts who surely had better eyes than he had and could be relied upon to report any change. He needed this time to decide on his next move, and he knew that he had two options. The obvious and safe course of action was to disrupt the attack immediately by opening fire – long range though it was – and bringing Wessex hurrying through the convoy to help. That would at least hold off the brigs while they decided on their next move and may even cause the privateer masters to give up. After all, the wind was set to increase, and the convoy would consequently move much faster on its way across the Bay of Biscay, making attacks more difficult. However, Carlisle had an embryonic reputation as a fighting captain, a reputation won in the desperate fight to take Vulcain earlier that year in the Mediterranean, and if it were to persist, that reputation had to be fed and nurtured. Apparently, his frigate had not yet been identified by the two brigs, Medina having reduced sail specifically to blend in with the three East Indiamen who habitually shortened sail overnight. The four Levanters were forced to copy the Indiamen or lose the protection of the convoy, and their insurance. The bold option was to wait until the brigs were committed to the attack and then spring the trap. He could damage them, perhaps even take one, but a determined French attacker had at least a chance of carrying off a prize in a confused night-time melee. Carlisle turned over the alternatives in his mind, but the deciding factor was the cohesion of his crew. When he commissioned Medina only last month, he had been permitted to turn over most of his people from his previous command, Fury. His complement had been made up with a draft from the press tender – competent seamen for the most part, but there was still a clear split between the old Furies and the new men. Carlisle hoped that the first taste of action would bring them together, and it was that thought that tipped the balance.

  ‘Mister Hosking,’ he said to the sailing master. ‘Bring her onto the wind; we will move closer to the convoy.’

  He was committed. Now, when he opened fire, the brigs would be too close for Wessex to intervene in time. He was consciously cutting his superior officer out of the action, or that is how it would look in a court martial.

  ***

  Carlisle had sent the crew to quarters at dusk, but the frigate had been cleared for action long before then. They were all at their stations now, not stripped to the waist as they had generally been in the Mediterranean, but still wearing shirts, waistcoats and jackets against the North Atlantic in November. It could be a long wait before the Frenchmen made their move.

  Holbrooke returned silently to the quarterdeck. ‘The men are in good heart sir, looking forward to a little action.’ He looked over the larboard quarter to where the lookout had reported the privateers, ‘I fancy I can just see them now, a pale patch against the darkness.’

  It was a dark night. The moon and stars were hidden by a blanket of low cloud that almost met the sea, and the light wind was doing nothing to disperse it. The dew had already started to fall, dampening the miles of hemp cordage and causing the bosun and his mates to scurry from fore to aft, feeling the tension on the shrouds.

  Carlisle gave a sideways glance to leeward. He didn’t know why, but it was much easier to detect objects in the dark that way. Holbrooke was correct. The two brigs were just visible from the deck, they had all sail set and were beating up towards the convoy in a most determined manner.

  ‘At least you won’t have to worry about Fury’s old demi-battery this time Mister Holbrooke,’ said Carlisle. ‘Your twenty-eight guns are all under your own eye now.’

  Holbrooke smiled. Medina was of a newer generation than Fury; in fact, she had only completed fitting out last month. Medina had four more nine-pounders than the older frigate, but the critical point was that they were all on the upper deck in two long batteries and only the four three-pounders were on the quarterdeck. There were no guns at all on the fo’c’sle and none on the lower deck. It gave the first lieutenant a far greater degree of control over the ship’s main armament.

  ‘They are moving up fast now sir,’ observed Holbrooke. ‘They certainly have a good turn of speed; about a point free of the wind I would say.’

  ‘Wonderfully fast, those brig-corvettes. But then they don’t have to carry three months stores and water, and their scantlings don’t have to stand the rigours of years on blockade duty. Out and back in less than a week is their normal routine. I’ll let them come closer before we spring the trap,’ replied Carlisle.

  Medina was close astern of the last Levanter, with the Indiamen clustered at the head of the convoy. The brigs were now a mile to the east of the frigate. In this meagre visibility, it was unlikely that the masters of the convoyed ships would have seen the threat approaching from leeward. Carlisle watched intently, waiting for the moment when he judged that the brigs would perceive the trap that had been set for them.

  ‘There they go,’ said the master as the two brigs put up their helms and started to come off the wind. They had spotted the frigate lying in wait for them.

  ‘Stand by larboard battery,’ roared Holbrooke.

  ‘Put up your helm Mister Hosking,’ shouted Carlisle. ‘Mister Holbrooke, fire when your guns bear.’

  Medina turned smoothly to larboard. When the lead privateer was squarely on her beam, Holbrooke gave the order and the battery opened with a roar, all guns erupting nearly simultaneously to send a hundred and fourteen pounds of cast iron across the eight cables of water that now separated them. It was difficult to see any damage; the telescope was useless in this light, and the new night-glasses that Carlisle had heard about had not yet made its way to sea. However, it looked like the lead privateer was struggling with her fore-topsail, so perhaps they had scored some hits.

  Carlisle recognised this as the moment of greatest danger. He could see that after a few minutes hesitation the stern-most Indiaman had hardened onto the wind in an instinctive desire to put the greatest possible distance between them and their attackers, and the others were in the act of following suit. Wessex would have heard the thunder of Medina’s guns and would have seen the flash on this dark night; she would surely come down to assist. But in the meantime, the brigs could split up and attack the head and tail of the convoy. If they did that there was at least an even chance that they could snap up a va
luable prize in the confusion and darkness. Carlisle knew that he had to keep the French privateers on the back foot.

  ‘Mister Hosking, lay a course to intercept the second brig. I expect her to attack the rear of the convoy. Mister Holbrooke, have you reloaded?’

  ‘Yes sir, loaded with ball.’

  ‘Deck there! I can see the commodore coming down now, it looks like he will pass ahead of the convoy.’

  Good, at least Jermy was thinking. If Medina was engaged astern, as the flashes from her broadside would suggest, then Wessex should be at the head of the convoy. As if on cue, the lead brig altered course to larboard and headed southwest.

  ‘Mister Holbrooke, one broadside for our friend as we pass. Aim for her masts.’

  A staggered broadside this time, carefully aimed by each gun captain. Now that the brig was nearer, holes could be seen in her sails, and there were a few parted lines, hanging slack in the light breeze, but no critical damage. She sped on southwest unaware that Wessex was heading for the same point.

  Carlisle carefully observed the two brigs. Their intention was clear: one would attack the head of the convoy while the other would attack the rear. Medina couldn’t deal with both attacks, and one of them would surely make off with a prize. A large, well-practised and ruthless prize crew could board and be underway to France in ten minutes. That would leave one of the brigs to continue to harry the convoy, preventing the escort from chasing the retreating prize. The whole plan relied on Wessex being unable to interfere in time to shift the balance. They didn’t yet know how close Wessex was to the head of the convoy. Carlisle felt confident that between them, the fifty-gun fourth rate and the twenty-eight-gun frigate, they could hold off the two privateers.