The Cursed Fortress by Chris Durbin

Author:Chris Durbin [Durbin, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-16T22:00:00+00:00

16: The Trap

Wednesday, Twenty-Ninth of March 1758.

Medina, at Sea. Off Île Royale. East Point, West 2 leagues.

The master’s chart of the east side of Île Royale was in French, of course. Carlisle had studied it before, and he knew the general layout of the coast that trended north-northwest from the small, rocky island known as Scatari that lay off Cape Breton. East Point was the furthest extremity of Scatari Island and thus the ultimate eastern extremity of the French possessions on Île Royale. From there a heavily indented coast ran sixty-six nautical miles up to North Cape.

If his theory was correct and the Frenchman had decided that it was too dangerous to make for Louisbourg with Medina guarding the entrance, then he had two real options. The first was to land his soldiers – if that was indeed his cargo – at Spanish Bay, sixty nautical miles from his last position before the fog enveloped him. The second was to continue a further fifteen miles up the coast to Port Dauphin. Spanish Bay had no port facilities; that fact had been confirmed by an audacious incursion by the sloop Hawke a month ago. At Port Dauphin, however, there was a fort, wharves and facilities for unloading troops and cargo.

How many men would the transports carry? They looked like good-sized, ship-rigged vessels capable of a fast passage from Brest, La Rochelle or Rochefort. The limiting factor in carrying troops was always food and water. The men themselves could be fitted into any spare space for a three or four-week passage, but their provisions for the voyage were bulky and liable to spoil. Probably each ship could carry three hundred soldiers, a whole battalion between them, with the battalion staff in the frigate. That almost certainly ruled out Spanish Bay; they would need the facilities of a regular port to disembark that many soldiers and their equipment.

On his own in the master’s cabin, Carlisle stared at the flickering candle that illuminated the chart, trying to put himself into the mind of the French captain. What would he do? Or, perhaps more importantly, what would the colonel in command of that battalion demand that he did? Both men would want to disembark the men as soon as possible. They were vulnerable every day they were at sea, and one British frigate that they’d seen may mean a whole squadron lurking somewhere in the fog. Without a doubt, the colonel would prefer to be put ashore in Louisbourg, but he wouldn’t want to fight to reach the harbour. On land, he’d face anything, but at sea he was helpless, and a single broadside could destroy half his force. If not Louisbourg, then would he demand to be landed at Spanish Bay? It was a lot closer to the town and would save at least a day’s march, more likely two.

Carlisle looked more closely at the chart and the pencil notes that Hosking had made in the margin. The entrance to Spanish Bay held deep water and was over a mile wide.

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