For King or Commonwealth (23 page)

At ten o'clock a boat arrived alongside. It was a hired Deal punt and bore an officer from the flagship who came up the ship's side, his face still bearing the stains of gunsmoke, his hair lank and matted with dried sweat. A young man of perhaps twenty summers, he introduced himself as Humphrey Hodson as he drew a sealed paper from his gauntlet and handed it to Faulkner.

‘Come below, sir, where I have better light and can refresh you. Mr Stockton, see the Deal boatmen get a nip of rum for their trouble, they are like to have a long night.'

‘That is thoughtful of you, Captain Faulkner,' Hodson said as they entered the cabin and the servant was summoned to reinforce the night-glim that would otherwise have served to illuminate the space. Once he had seen his visitor settled with a full glass, Faulkner gave a brief glance at the superscription to
Captain Faulkner, the BASILISK, frigate, Margate Roads
, opened the letter and perused its contents. It bore no date, only the time of
Seven O'Clock
, and
Triumph, The Downs
. He read on.

Sir,

Having seen you gallantly carry your vessel into action this day and noticed that thou hast received some knocks, I have you appraise the bearer, Lieutenant H. Hodson, of your ability to command your ship further to the Service of the State and the sooner the better to my desire.

Should you consider the possibility of rendering me due assistance by sunset tomorrow, pray without further reference to myself pass over to the coast of Holland and determine the location of our enemy. I am not persuaded that he is yet sufficiently beaten and would have early warning of his intentions.

Knowing you to have knowledge of the Holland coast I place this important Service in your charge the better to have it executed to my wishes.

I am, Sir, your faithful servant,

R
^obt
Blake,

Genl-@-Sea

Faulkner folded the letter and looked up at Hodson. He was fast asleep. A trickle of wine had run from his glass and stained his breeches and the glass would have fallen from his hand, if Faulkner had not rescued it. The sudden movement startled Hodson and he woke with a jerk.

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his filthy hair. ‘I am so sorry, sir, I . . .' he flushed with embarrassment.

‘Think nothing of it,' Faulkner said, smiling kindly. ‘It has been a busy day.'

Hodson managed a wan grin. ‘You have read the General's letter, sir?'

Faulkner nodded. ‘Yes. You are to inform the General that I shall do my utmost to be away before sunset tomorrow and would consider myself remiss if I was not under command sooner.'

Hodson repeated the sentence and then picked his hat from the deck. Standing, he bowed to Faulkner and made to withdraw. After he had gone, Faulkner re-read the letter, then followed Hodson on deck.

‘Mr Clarkson?' he called and a moment later the master appeared.

‘Sir?'

‘When convenient stand the men down and set an anchor watch. Do you think you can have the ship re-rigged by sunset tomorrow?'

‘I'd be damned sorry if she weren't ready by noon, Cap'n Faulkner. The second lieutenant has worked a modest miracle with God's help.'

‘Very well. That being so, we shall proceed to seek out the enemy as soon as we may.'

They had no trouble locating the Dutch fleet, which, as Faulkner had guessed, had made for Helvoetsluys. They raised the familiar low coastline, spiked with its church spires and windmills, and he felt a sudden pang for Katherine, wondering where she was and how she lived. But the size of the Dutch fleet swept all personal thoughts away as he gave orders to clew up the courses, back the main yards and heave to. His charge from Blake was specific and, he realized, the General was perceptive, even perhaps prescient. Whether Blake had received intelligence of Dutch intentions was impossible to say, but it was clear that something was afoot, for a frigate let fall her topsails and was soon under way, hauling round to intercept the
Basilisk
and chase her offshore and out of sight.

‘Those are Indiamen,' Clarkson said standing beside him, his own glass levelled on the outer road.

‘Aye, 'tis a convoy all right.'

‘And a damn big one. D'you think they are going to try and force the Strait, sir?'

‘I think that is what the General thinks.'

‘Then we didn't drub them t'other day. At least not as hard as we thought we had.'

‘No,' Faulkner ruminated, shifting his telescope on to the approaching frigate. ‘I think they were merely swatting us aside.' It would certainly explain a good deal and although Faulkner was incorrect in his assumption, he was not wrong in his conclusion. He shut his glass with a decisive snap. ‘Be so good as to haul the main yards, Mr Clarkson. We must run from this fellow and take the tidings to General Blake.'

The
Basilisk
reached The Downs three days later, after battling a strong headwind which seemed particularly contrary as it swung within four points of south-west and seemed diabolical in its intent to head them every time they tacked. Fortunately, the Dutch frigate did not pursue them far from the coast and they had lost her by the time that darkness fell that same evening. It was an uncomfortable season to be campaigning at sea but the situation was so uncertain that Faulkner perfectly understood Blake's reluctance to take his fleet into winter quarters. On boarding the
Triumph
, Faulkner could see evidence of the damage in the late action off the Kentish Knock. Ushered into the great cabin, Faulkner found Blake at his desk, his secretary, Francis Harvey, scribbling industriously at his elbow while he studied a chart of the Channel.

‘Sit down, Captain Faulkner.' Blake rolled up the chart and stared at his guest. ‘Well? What have you to tell me, sir?'

‘It was difficult to determine exactly what ships the Dutch have at the present moment, General Blake, but besides their fleet they appear to be assembling a large convoy of Indiamen. All vessels have their yards hoisted and there was little sign of them passing into winter quarters. Besides, I do not think they would over-winter at Helvoetsluys; certainly I have never observed that to be their practice.'

‘Which is why they tolerated Rupert's ships there and ours off-shore,' Blake put in.

Faulkner nodded. ‘Indeed.'

Blake drummed his fingers on the desk in front of him. ‘So, who is in command, d'you think? Eh?'

‘I am afraid I have no idea, sir.' Faulkner felt uneasy under Blake's scrutiny. He had heard the General could prove merciless towards his commanders that failed his expectations. ‘I thought it more important to acquaint you of the general situation immediately . . .' he said uncertainly.

Blake nodded appreciatively. ‘Quite right, but I should like you to take your frigate back and keep watch and ward and glean what intelligence that you can. Take no risk, however. Is there anything you require? If so, acquaint my clerk here and we will see what we can muster for you. I have heard disturbing rumours that there have been mutinies in the Dutch fleet but that would not explain their present activity.' Blake rubbed his clean-shaven chin. ‘I am wondering whether they have changed their commander, for it was De With we met off the Knock, not Tromp.'

For the whole of October, Faulkner dodged off the Goree Gat, withdrawing over the horizon for most of the day, but occasionally working close inshore under cover of darkness so that as the sun came up he could reconnoitre the anchorage. He flew Dutch colours and did this at irregular intervals, so that he could not be ambushed. Nevertheless, he had three close encounters with Dutch men-of-war, though none developed into more than an exchange of distant shot. He did, however, succeed in suborning the skipper of a small Dutch
schuyt
who for two sovereigns let it be known that the Dutch fleet was in a poor state of morale and that the hard-swearing and unpopular Van Tromp had replaced De With, having with him Jan Evertsen and De Ruyter as his subordinate flag officers.

‘Zat,
Kapitein
, iss bad for you, I tink,' he said in his thick English, pocketing the money with a grin and polishing off the large glass of rum Faulkner had given him. Reporting all this to Blake, he was sent back to his cruising station and, for a further three tiring weeks, the
Basilisk
maintained her watch. Finally, on 20th November, short of water and with his crew grumbling, Faulkner decided to return to The Downs. He discovered Blake to be awaiting the appearance of refitted ships to relieve his own fleet and act as the Winter Guard. Discontent was rife throughout the fleet and the word among those senior officers, with whom Faulkner briefly rubbed shoulders aboard the
Triumph
, was a common eagerness to return to port and the comforts of a winter fireside.

On the morning of the 24th a mass of sail was observed to be off the North Foreland. Eighty ships were counted, a number that soon afterwards soared to several hundred. Blake sent word round his fleet to make ready to unmoor and sent officers to the
Triumph
's mastheads to observe the enemy. For two days the reports came down from aloft and on Monday 28th Blake summoned his captains aboard his flagship for a council-of-war.

It was clear that with some ninety men-of-war, the enemy was vastly superior to Blake, who had forty-two, and were demonstrably covering a huge convoy which lay closer to the French coast as they all tacked hither and thither against the strong south-westerly wind that had blown intermittently at gale force and held the Dutch from passing rapidly through the Strait of Dover.

The slow but seemingly inexorable windward progress of this vast fleet provoked Blake into giving the order to weigh anchor and his captains dispersed to their ships, shaking their heads at the odds stacked against them. For the whole of the following day the wind raged from the south-west, forcing both fleets to anchor. Blake's ships had got no further than Dover, with Van Tromp's some six miles to seaward.

The following morning, however, the wind had veered into the west-north-west and came off the land, allowing the Dutch to head westwards and attempt to get to windward of the English fleet. If this occurred they could then double round and, with an overwhelming force, run down on Blake's ships and destroy them piecemeal. Blake hoisted the signal to weigh and for some hours the English ran down the coastline, their van abreast of the Dutch rear as the enemy men-of-war covered the convoy farther offshore.

This was not a game that could be played indefinitely. As every English captain knew, the trend of the coast was to swing to seaward in the great shingle promontory of Dungeness and, while deep water ran close inshore, the headland would compel Blake's fleet to alter course to converge with Van Tromp.

It was Whadcoat who reported the large, red battle flag run up to the fore-masthead of the
Brederode
as the Dutch admiral crammed on sail to head off Blake's
Triumph
, but Captain Robert Batten of the
Garland
gallantly interposed his forty-gun third-rate. The unequal battle that ensued between the two was somewhat levelled by a second intervention by Captain Walter Hoxton, commanding the armed merchantman
Anthony Bonaventure
, who opened fire on the
Brederode
's unengaged side, drawing some of her men from concentrating on the hapless
Garland
. The
Anthony Bonaventure
was herself now attacked by Evertsen's flagship, the
Hollandia
, grappled and boarded. Hoxton and many of his men were killed and as Batten ordered his men to repel boarders, he, too, fell and despite the exploding of mines along the
Garland
's deck to deter the Dutch from jumping across, the third-rate was taken by the enemy.

As the battle opened in the already fading daylight, the
Basilisk
had been keeping station on the
Triumph
. Seeing the remainder of the English fleet strung out astern of Blake, Faulkner ordered his ship's head round to engage the enemy now coming down upon them in a mass until he lost sight of Blake. In fact, Blake had run too far ahead and was obliged to haul round to come to the aid of his already stricken ships, only to have the
Triumph
's main- and fore-masts damaged and partially shot away. Faulkner was never certain what happened; he was in action for about twenty minutes against three Dutch ships all of which passed him, as though heading for some more worthy objective, surrounded by dense smoke that came not merely from the great guns and small arms, but from fires aboard several ships. One Dutch man-of-war exploded with such a terrible concussion that, for a few moments, all action ceased and a strange but short-lived silence fell upon the tossing vessels. Then the English were all hauling their yards and standing away for Dover.

‘God forgive them!' Whadcoat said, when he came on deck and saw Blake's fleet in full retreat, ‘but they are very like to cowards.'

There was no denying it, and during the following day the entire English fleet ran north, past Dover, through The Downs, past the North Foreland and the Kentish Knock. Pursued by Van Tromp, who had seen the Indiamen clear of any danger, the English fleet doubled the Long Sand Head where the Dutch were dissuaded from following them, now having an inbound convoy to protect. As the English ships came to their anchors it was clear that they had suffered a humiliating defeat. As an angry Faulkner afterwards wrote to Mainwaring:

It was a disgrace. Not twenty – half our strength – came to the general's assistance, the remainder pretending want of men to ply their tackle, and of them that stood to the engagement not eight did so to any purpose. We lost W
^alt
Hoxton and the good R
^obt
Batten, both sometime of our Fraternity . . .

But Faulkner's anger was as nothing to Blake's. Known for the ferocity of his temper, he dismissed his own brother and flag captain, Benjamin, Anthony Young, who had attacked the
Antelope
in Helvoetsluys and Harvey, his secretary, and several other senior captains, offering the Council of State his own resignation. Though several of these, including Benjamin Blake, were afterwards quietly reinstated, Blake was in no doubt of the lack of support of his commanders. Among those who had fallen back were almost all the frigates, making Faulkner's own part in the action the more commendable, even though the Dutch had failed to engage the
Basilisk
with the vigour that would easily have overcome what resistance she might have offered. That he had been stupendously lucky did not escape the thoughtful Faulkner, though he sensed his men swaggered amid the recriminations that flew about the fleet.