Andrew Swanston - The King's Exile

‘Good God, were they all asleep? How could they take a hundred prisoners? And how did they get into the harbour in the first place? Were the batteries out of action?’

‘There was rain this morning, sir. Visibility was poor. They came in under its cover. By the time they were seen, it was too late to prevent them landing. They were trained men who knew their business.’

‘Of course they were. What did we expect, a rabble of pirates? Did we take any prisoners?’

‘We did, sir. Twenty, I believe. Some were Scots.’

‘Perfidious Celts taken at Dunbar, I don’t doubt, and now Cromwell’s men. It sounds like a disaster. But it’s done now. What would Lord Willoughby have me do?’

‘He asks that you send two hundred men to replace his losses. He expects another attack directly.’

Charles was not at all sure that reducing his force by two hundred was a good idea, but if Willoughby wanted it he had no choice. ‘Tell Lord Willoughby that I will send two hundred men under the command of Captain Skeete at dawn tomorrow. It’s too late to march today.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Having summoned Captain Skeete and given him his orders, Charles dragged Thomas and Adam to the Serpent for dinner. He was fuming. The garrison commander should be drawn and quartered. Fifty dead, a hundred captured and twenty cannon destroyed.

‘Ye gods,’ he thundered, ‘what chance of defending the island have we if that is the best we can do?’

Despite Thomas’s urging him to calm down and consider how best to defend the north rather than worry about the south, Charles was beside himself. ‘Michel de Montaigne, a great French philosopher, said that not being able to govern events, he governed himself,’ Thomas told him.

‘I care not a fig for your Frenchman. They might as well hoist a flag of surrender now and be done with it.’ With a pint of claret inside him, it took a long time for Charles to regain his temper.

The first sight of longboats came at dawn the next morning when Captain Brown’s watchmen spotted twenty of them about a quarter of a mile out and heading for the beach. A messenger was despatched to Charles, who replied that he would bring fifty men to Six Mens Bay immediately.

At the bay Captain Brown spread his force out among the trees along the length of the beach. Adam and Thomas waited with white platoon at its southern end and watched as the longboats approached.

‘I see no Vikings, Adam,’ said Thomas, ‘but it’s a large force. Approaching two hundred.’

‘About that. How long before they land, do you suppose?’

‘Ten minutes, no more.’

‘Right. We mustn’t let Charles down. Let’s hope he arrives in time to see us in action.’

Watching the boats approach the bay, Thomas thought again of the only other battle he had witnessed. There he had been with the king and never in real danger. Here things would be different. He would certainly not be encrypting messages.

As soon as the leading boats were within musket range, a few lightly armed infantrymen jumped out into water barely as high as their waists. Captain Brown’s men held their fire, allowing the first of them to wade to the beach. The captain wanted to keep his men hidden for as long as he could. As expected, the light infantrymen formed up on the sand to cover their more heavily armed colleagues.

The moment they did so, he gave the order to fire. Muskets flashed all along the tree line and perhaps a quarter of the enemy’s front line fell. Ignoring the screams of the wounded, the remainder pressed on for the shore, their muskets held over their heads, and, once there, they formed a line. They returned fire but their targets were among the trees and hard to see.

While the attackers were reloading, the defenders fired another volley. Again, several men went down but the volley was far from decisive. By this time the boats were grounded in shallow water and more armoured troops were reaching the shore. They spread out in a double rank and sent their first volley into the trees. The front rank then ran a few paces up the beach and dropped to one knee to reload. The second rank fired over their heads. Two ranks of less than a hundred men each did not reach right along the bay, so they had to take some fire from left and right and their progress was impeded by the seawater that had splashed their muskets and dampened their charges. One in ten misfired and had to be recharged and reloaded before firing. But these were highly trained infantry, their breastplates proof against musket shot, and there was not a hint of panic. With dead and wounded all around them, they maintained their order and kept their line while the advance guard withdrew to protect their means of escape.

At the southern end of the bay Adam and Thomas had been watching and waiting. Judging the moment to be right, Adam ordered a volley of musket fire and then led white platoon in a headlong charge across the sand. Thomas, ignoring strict instructions not to put himself in danger, charged with them, intending to do what he could to help the wounded.

At the northern end Captain Brown also led a charge. The double attack by screaming swordsmen on both flanks took the enemy by surprise. Some turned to meet the threat and three swordsmen fell before they reached the line, but Adam had impressed upon their men the need for speed over the ground. Keeping to the firmer sand near the water’s edge, they were soon among the invaders.

In a matter of seconds, the battle changed. Lines of infantry firing at each other from a distance were replaced by slashing, thrusting swordsmen, each one intent upon hacking off an arm or piercing a throat. In the mêlée Adam saw one of his men make a clean kill with a thrust to the heart, only to have his knees cut from under him and his exposed neck severed from behind. The man’s blood stained the sand and splattered his killer. The defenders’ attack was fast and brutal, yet the rigid discipline of men trained and hardened in Cromwell’s army proved up to it. After the initial impetus of their charge, white platoon on one flank and Captain Brown’s platoon on the other found their advance blocked.

Thomas moved from body to body, searching for any he could help. It was mostly futile. Bodies, dead and maimed, lay on the beach and in the water and any wounded man foolish enough to call for help was likely to find himself swiftly despatched by an enemy sword. One man who had taken a ball in the leg Thomas was able to assist to the cover of the trees. From there he saw that the landing party were adept at protecting each other by fighting back to back, ensuring that an attack could only come head-on, and that in this fashion they were gradually gaining the advantage. Captain Brown’s platoon was losing men and giving ground. The invaders were slashing and hacking their way along the beach, forcing the defenders back. If they gave way, the entire force of the enemy would turn on white platoon and the battle would be lost.

Thomas was about to rejoin the fray when a troop of screeching swordsmen, a familiar tall figure to the fore, charged out of the trees and joined the fight. Crack soldiers though they were, fifty fresh men with fifty-one fresh swords — Charles had judged the situation to warrant two — were too much for the landing party. Retreating hastily, they splashed through the shallow water to find the comparative safety of their boats and Charles was soon able to give the order for his men to disengage. There was no point in risking more lives if the enemy were leaving and could be sent on their way with musket fire. Watching from the northern end, Captain Brown followed suit. His men stepped gratefully back and let the muskets do their work.

Thomas joined the swordsmen who stood on the shore and cheered while the musketeers continued firing. They were more parting shots than anything else but a few hit home as the boats struggled to get back out to sea. Only two were still within musket range when a wild figure, bearded and dishevelled and shouting incoherently, ran out of the trees frantically waving his arms at the departing boats. Adam and Charles watched in astonishment.