Rebels and traitors

Chapter Sixty-Seven — At sea: January 1649-September 1652

It was a small fleet that Prince Rupert took to Ireland: the Constant Reformation (his own command as admiral), the Convertine (under Prince Maurice as vice-admiral), plus the Swallow, Charles, Thomas, James and Elizabeth (the latter a hoy, or small sloop-rigged coastal vessel). On warships there were two commands; the captain and sailors operated the vessel whilst a separate complement of soldiers carried out the fighting. Prince Maurice's fighting troops included Orlando Lovell.

As colleagues they were polite but never close. Lovell grudgingly chose to attach himself to Maurice, Rupert's somewhat overshadowed younger brother, hoping he would be more congenial. Immensely tall, though not as striking as the daredevil Rupert, Prince Maurice had failed to get the measure of English politics and was thought unpersuasive in debate, so he was considered lightweight; it suited Lovell, who was as prone to jealousy of good commanders as to irritation with weak ones. The bravery, leadership and organisation that Maurice had shown in the war on land were beyond doubt; he was loved and respected by his immediate followers, and had provided Charles I with valuable officers. Serving under him at sea was not a retrograde step, or Lovell would never have done it.

Their first base was Kinsale in the south of County Cork, a perfect enclosed harbour, guarded by a narrow entrance that was almost invisible from the open sea, especially in rough weather — and the Irish Sea was notoriously rough. An attractive medieval town fringed the harbour bowl, long the centre of a thriving wine trade with Bordeaux, so Prince Rupert had something to drink when he fell ashore suffering from agonies of seasickness and Orlando Lovell had something to abstain from when he wanted to be fastidious. It was at St Multose Church that Rupert had his cousin immediately proclaimed King Charles II when, not long after they arrived, he heard of the execution of Charles I. The two princes had family reasons to be shocked, as well as feeling horror that an anointed monarch had been killed. For their men it was bad news too. Lovell, for one, took it to heart glumly. He had made the wrong choice, entirely his own fault, and was now consigned to serving as an adventurer among beaten men. He did not like it, but was in too deep to see any better options if he left.

They went to Ireland to prey on commercial shipping, and were resoundingly successful. Soon, as an adjunct to the land-based forces of the Marquis of Ormond, Rupert's ships also became a factor in the Commonwealth attempt to gain control of Ireland. He threatened Cromwell's supply line, forcing Admiral Robert Blake to patrol outside Kinsale whenever the foul weather was not interfering. The Royalists lurked in the mist like sea-wolves, threatening relief for the expeditionary force. But once they were penned up, the harbour became so full of shipping even neutral merchantmen could not enter. The Irish feared damage to their trade. Plots were fomented by supposed allies. Cromwell's galloping conquest of Ireland eventually made Kinsale untenable until, seizing his moment adroitly, Prince Rupert evaded Blake during a storm and sailed for Portugal.

They arrived at the mouth of the River Tagus in November. For almost a year Rupert made this an operational base. His initial reception from the King of Portugal was friendly; he sold prize goods, refitted and bought supplies. But Blake was on his heels, which unsettled Portuguese traders whose ships Blake threatened. Rupert issued an intemperate denunciation of Parliament; he became a liability. Blake several times prevented escape. Ingenuity was used on both sides. The English planned to ambush Rupert and Maurice while they were on land, hunting, but they galloped out of the trap. Rupert invented a booby-trap bomb disguised as a barrel of oil to blow up Blake's vice-admiral, but his agent gave himself away by swearing fluently in English. In August 1650, a French fleet arrived in a relief attempt, but their flagship sank and two others were taken, so the rest dispersed. Only in September, the month of the battle of Dunbar, did Rupert's ships slip out from the Tagus and bolt for the Mediterranean.

They were still being menaced. At the end of December, the little fleet was chased until five or six ships were 'defunct': two ran aground, one was set ablaze, two were captured. Rupert, temporarily separated from Maurice, escaped in a 'nimble sailor', the Rainbow. Maurice only caught up with him later at Toulon.

Intrepid piracy now became the way of life for the princes and their tattered band. They were outcasts, rarely permitted to land in European harbours and never again allowed to establish a base. Poverty-stricken and in constant danger, they were forced to hunt for prizes in shipping lanes where Blake patrolled and harried them.

They preyed not only on English merchantmen but on those of any country allied to the English Commonwealth. Only the Dutch saluted them as allies. Even countries that were hostile to the Commonwealth were nervous commercially, because the Rump Parliament was strengthening its navy, building new ships, appointing experienced New Model Army veterans to command and looking overseas for trade and position. The tiny Royalist flotilla made little impact and, apart from a general hope of seizing ships and treasure, their wanderings became troubled and aimless.

As they struggled, Lovell did not make a good pirate. There were intensely long periods when the ships were either moored or cruising on the lookout for prey, often pointlessly. While they were not fighting, he loathed the inactivity. Aboard ship or just as uncomfortable ashore in filthy taverns, he kept to himself, which made him unpopular, then he let it show that he despised people he had offended. He would not fawn on the princes; he would not cosy up to the men. Lovell could cope with deprivation; he prided himself on his hardness. But he regretted his decision to join this outlaw navy and he showed it. Always critical, he grumbled until he fell out of favour with Maurice. Though never as seasick as Rupert, he was frequently queasy, which did nothing to improve his sour mood. If he could have thought of anything better to do he would have left, but very few opportunities existed for landless cavaliers.

So, to his own surprise, he stayed with the princes for the three or four years they were at sea. As an existence it was hard and brutalising. Men ran a constant risk of being drowned or shot. Lovell lost colleagues he did respect to filthy weather, bad food and water, scurvy, other diseases and wounds. The group were denounced as common pirates. They had no letters of marque to validate them; no nation protected them under its flag; all ports offered an uncertain reception, so finding food and water was a constant anxiety. They committed brave acts of plunder, taking thirty-one prizes altogether, but were so hard pressed they never managed to sustain their good luck. Some of their ships were wrecked; some crews mutinied and deserted.

In November 1650 at Cartagena, Rupert managed to sell some valuable bronze cannon so was able to refit his little fleet, but the refurbished vessels still failed to prosper. Six months later, the French allowed him to berth at Toulon, where he bought stores, though on massive credit. He pinched together enough money to buy a ship he named the Honest Seaman; another they called the Loyal Subject joined them as they set off on travels that now took them through the Straits of Gibraltar and away from Europe. Rupert wanted to sail to the West Indies, where he believed there were Royalist supporters and rich pickings, but through 1651 was held off the west of Africa by endless wrangles among his men as they struggled to beat bad weather, the uncertainty of finding supplies and their own disagreements. Open plotting broke out among the officers on board.

Rupert's own ship, the Constant Reformation, had been leaking, and in a violent storm off the Azores the situation became desperate. His men were unable to plug the rift; they manned the pumps, heaved guns overboard to lighten the ship and used everything to hand to make a barrier against incoming water. Rupert even ordered them to force in 120 pieces of raw beef from their victuals but the storm battered through and poured in. The vessel was doomed — and so was the crew. Alerted by cannon-shots, Maurice brought the Honest Seaman as close as he dared, hoping to take people off. Rupert refused to leave the comrades who had been through so much with him, but a group of men jumped him and dragged him to the single lifeboat. They rowed him to safety. A couple more rescue trips were bravely made, Lovell supervising one, but the task was hopeless. The remnants of Rupert's crew kept their ship afloat until nightfall, but soon those with Prince Maurice watched the Constant Reformation go down, taking over three hundred men. Most of the treasure the fleet had acquired went to the bottom with her.

Limping to the Barbary Coast of Africa, they made repairs and tried to assemble supplies and water for an Atlantic crossing. During their refit they had various adventures with the local inhabitants. Sailors were killed or captured. Locals were taken as hostages. Peace overtures were misunderstood; there were pointless skirmishes. Rupert was struck by an arrow, which he cut out of his chest himself. At one point they made an incursion far up the Gambia river, where Prince Maurice captured two Spanish ships; one was broken up, the better vessel being taken by Maurice as his flagship, renamed the Defiance.

At last, in summer 1652, the tiny squadron crossed the Atlantic.

They had misjudged the moment. They found that the last Royalist enclave, in Barbados, had been extinguished by the Parliamentarian navy. The other islands and the American colonies saw where the future lay; they were coming to terms with the Commonwealth. There was no Caribbean safe haven. Instead of enjoying a tropical welcome, the Royalists found themselves isolated and at risk. Late summer was the season for heavy weather too, as fierce storms formed over the warm oceans. After sailing north past unfriendly islands, taking a few prizes, bartering glass beads for fruit and obtaining water — but no other supplies — at an anchorage controlled by the French, they sheltered in a bay called Dixon's Hole in the Virgin Islands. There they rationalised their motley collection of ships and prizes, while they prepared for the bad weather they knew was coming and considered their options. Provisions ran low, and there were many complaints about the local staple, cassava, a root for which they had to forage in dense undergrowth and which, even when they managed to find it, made unpalatable tapioca dumplings or a bitter bread; eating too much of it was poisonous.

Rupert had decided they were at risk of discovery by hostile Commonwealth patrols. He had set sail for Anguilla. Their situation worsened dramatically when, in the middle of September, a hurricane blew up. They were caught at sea; it was on them with frightening suddenness. They had seen enough bad weather, but this was far outside their experience. Apocalyptic winds howled in the sky. Enormous waves, fuelled by the great winds' passage over the mighty Atlantic, surged ever and ever higher. They had no chance to outrun the weather or to find shelter. Ships which had seemed perfectly substantial on a dock-side now felt like fragile toys; they became unmanageable. Helpless, they slid down vast swells of water as if they were heading inevitably to the bottom, then when they somehow cheated death and were driven up again from terrifying troughs, unrelenting water swept across their decks so powerfully neither man nor gear could withstand its power. Anyone carried overboard was gone in seconds. Lifeboats, sails, masts and rigging were torn away. Loose barrels rumbled to and fro and crashed about dangerously in their flooded holds. Even with barely a shred of canvas, the waves forced ships to careen sideways so steeply their spars seemed ready to touch the water and drag them under. Every rib and joint of their wooden hulls groaned in agony, as if the tormented timbers were being crushed in some giant ogre's paw. The soldiers cursed the sailors and the sailors, when they had breath to do it, cursed them back. Everyone was exhausted within hours, but they knew they would have days of this to endure.

Orlando Lovell played his part, as crews and troops fought heroically to survive. It was impossible to see from one end to the other of the small ship he was on. Dim figures loomed through spray, gesticulating wildly. Lovell worked now without complaint, soaked through to his shirt, long hair flying in wet strands as he fought to bail water, help reduce sail, clear spars, bolster holes. Now the men with him remembered why they had deemed him a good colleague. He lacked no courage in a disaster. Released from lethargy and ill-humour, he showed strong mental toughness. He bawled or signalled frantic orders above the howls of the wind, while he strove against their coming doom, using all his strength physically and encouraging others. They hardly heard a curse from him; he would not waste the energy. As the ship staggered and risked foundering, he was a desperate participant. Lovell was now a fierce man of action who fought strenuously, tirelessly, ingeniously for his own life and the lives of everybody with him.

The hurricane roared up to a climax. On the second day, the ships lost sight of one another. Unable to steer in the pitch darkness, they had to battle on, every ship independently, and every man for himself. Even the best captain in the sturdiest vessel could not help his craft survive the damage they were suffering. Rupert's ship was driven helplessly towards ferocious jagged rocks and his appalled men must all have perished, had not the wind then abruptly changed. They were flung into a safe harbour on an uninhabited island, where they made anchor in complete exhaustion.

When the hurricane finally passed over and made landfall far in the west, Rupert's battered vessel was alone. Somehow they crawled back to Dixon's Hole for repairs, intending to wait for any other survivors to reconnoitre at their last-known berth. As the last rags of storm blustered under grey skies, Rupert then searched desperately for his brother Maurice. One other ship of theirs was picked up, but of the Defiance no trace could be found.

Rupert was devastated. The Defiance and the other ships must have been wrecked on the treacherous reefs and rocks of the low-rising, sparsely populated Anegada, in the north of the Virgin Islands, or perhaps they came to grief on Sombrero Island, above Anguilla. Rupert hunted the region, fruitlessly seeking answers. Rumours would persist for years that Maurice was still alive, perhaps a prisoner of the Spanish, but eventually Rupert abandoned the search. He returned to Europe.

No word ever came. Only many years later did Sir Robert Holmes, who had served with Prince Maurice, learn from some Spaniards that shattered pipe-staves had been seen, washed ashore in great quantities on the beaches of Puerto Rico. Pipes were huge nautical barrels, the size of two hogsheads. These had been branded MP, which was the mark Prince Maurice used.

Long before that, early in 1653, just two ships crept back to France, with Prince Rupert. He was depressed, ill and exhausted. He lay sick for weeks, before his cousin Charles II sent a carriage and he rejoined the court. By then Rupert had accepted that his brother had perished. The Defiance was lost: utterly lost, with no survivors.