In the severe winter of 1794/95, France crossed the frozen rivers that traditionally protected the Netherlands from invasion and quickly captured several Dutch cities. However, the freezing conditions also allowed a most unusual military action to take place on the night of the 23/24 January 1795.
© Martin Marais 2019
Martin Marais has asserted his rights under the
Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988,
to be identified as the author of this work.
Published in 2019
Northern Holland, 23 January 1795.
“Sainte Mère de Dieu, il fait froid,” General of Brigade Jan Willem de Winter complained bitterly, his breath fogging in front of his face. He wrapped his fur-lined collar more tightly around his neck to stop the cold penetrating.
“That’ll teach you, Jan, to volunteer for these scouting trips.”
De Winter gave his long-time friend, Lieutenant-Colonel Louis Joseph Lahure, a sideways look, not daring to move more than his eyes in case the movement caused the icy air to sneak under his fur-lined clothes.
“As you well know, Louis, I did not volunteer for this expedition. General Pichegru has a particular skill in making it obvious who he wishes to volunteer for his little expeditions.”
Lahure laughed in agreement. “That he does.”
“I can assure you,” de Winter continued, “I would much rather have remained in Den Hag and taken part in the celebration of our capture of that city, especially in this weather. I have never known it this cold. Have you?”
“No, I haven’t,” Lahure responded shortly. “I bet you’re pleased you took my advice to buy that Canadian, fur-lined cloak.”
“Certainly am. What did you say it was again?”
“Beaver. Nothing can beat beaver fur for keeping out the cold.”
De Winter could only agree. While his face seemed to burn from the cold, the rest of his body remained remarkably cosy. Even his hands and feet, which had suffered terribly last winter, felt warm.
Lahure sniggered.
“What’s amusing you so much?” de Winter enquired.
“Just a thought.”
“That being?”
“Well, I suppose it’s entirely possible that the general decided that you were the best officer to lead this expedition because you had the most appropriate clothing for the weather.”
De Winter did not respond immediately. Instead, he considered the implications of what his officer friend had just said.
“I shall enquire about that when we return, and if it is true, Louis, I shall personally emasculate you.”
Lahure laughed. “In this weather, you would be hard pressed to find anything to cut off.”
De Winter grinned at Lahure. “How much further?” he asked.
Lahure looked around.
The half moon threw a cold light over the flat, featureless landscape.
He frowned. “It's hard to say. This country is so featureless it's impossible to know where one is at any moment. And all this snow only makes it more difficult.” He glanced at the moon, resting just above the horizon. “It’s close to midnight. We must be pretty close to where the fleet is anchored.”
“Let's hope so. One quick look and then we’ll move on and find somewhere to get out of this wretched cold.”
“It seems your prayers have been answered,” Lahure observed, pointing a gloved hand at an approaching horseman.
“Let's hope they've found that damned Dutch fleet.”
The two cavalry officers watched as the scout was directed towards them from the front of the troop. They did not halt their mounts when he drew up in front of them and saluted.
“We’ve located the fleet, Sir.” The frozen vapour of the scout’s breath all but obscuring his face.
“Good, fall in and give me your report.”
The scout fell in beside De Winter.
“Where is it?”
The scout pointed. “Just beyond that low ridge, Sir. You will be able to see it from up there.”
“How many vessels?”
“It’s difficult to say, Sir, there is a low fog covering the sea, but the moon was higher earlier and I estimate there must be more than a dozen ships.”
“That's a reasonably sized fleet. Could it be Captain Hermanus Reintjes’ fleet, do you suppose, Colonel?”
“That would be too much to hope for, Sir” said Lahure reverting to de Winter’s formal title in front of the scout. “But let’s hope so, for if it is, you could be a hero, Sir.”
“How so?”
“As you know, Reintjes’ fleet is the last obstacle to Holland surrendering. If it is him, and you capture his fleet, it will force the final surrender and bring the war to an end.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Colonel? We are hussars, not mariners. I suppose we could make the infantry swim out to the ships and take them, but I doubt any of them can swim one hundred yards, let alone far enough to get to the fleet.”
Lahure grinned at de Winter. “It was just an idea, Sir.”
De winter grinned back, amused at the trap he had walked into.
“We'll stick with what we know best – find out the details of the fleet, set some poor bastards to keep an eye on it and then find a warm, cosy inn in which to spend the night. And hope the fleet is still there in the morning.”
De Winter drew his mount to a halt as he finished setting out his plan for the night. They had reached the crest of the low, snow-blanketed ridge. It gave sufficient height to look over the bay towards the fleet. The low moon gave just enough light to be able to see the dark forms of the distant vessels that lay at anchor below them, their upper decks and the bare masts protruding above the sea mist.
“How many ships do you make it?” Asked de Winter.
Lahure scanned the mist covered sea. “As the scout said, Sir, more than a dozen. It looks like a mix of naval and merchant ships”
“Yes, that's what I thought. Good. Set a guard on this ridge, Colonel, and let's get out of this freezing cold.”
They urged their horses on through the snow. The tinkle of the ironware sounded brittle in the icy air. They trudged down the slope and rode along the snow-hidden sea shore towards the inviting twinkle of lights from a fishing village, which they could make out in the growing darkness as the moon dipped below the fog shrouded horizon.
Dark shadows loomed in the mist to their right, some distance from the shore. De Winter drew his horse to an urgent halt.
“Hold to,” he rasped into the icy air and pulled his horse around to face the threat, drawing his sword as he did so.
The order to prepare for battle ran down the ranks of the cavalry and trailing infantry, until all three hundred soldiers were facing the approaching apparitions.
“Who goes there.” Lahure called out.
“Friends,” came the response, in French. “It is I, Sergeant Carbonneau and four others from the 8th Hussars.”
De Winter felt the tension of his small army lift. What on earth, he wondered, were his men doing in boats. He had given no orders for his men to take boats, so why had they done so. He wandered why the boats were riding so high in the water. Then, as the line of men materialised from the fog, he realised they were actually on horseback. He had heard of a man walking on water, but not mounted men! As they neared, he could hear the clop of the mounts’ hooves on the ice.
“Sir,” the Sergeant saluted and drew his horse up in front of his commanding officer.
“Sergeant Carbonneau,” de Winter responded.
“You were lost?” de Winter asked.
“Sir?”
“You were lost?” de Winter repeated, indicating the direction from which the sergeant and his men had come.
“No, sir, we were reconnoitring the Dutch fleet.”
De Winter snorted in disbelief.
“Watch your sarcasm, Sergeant,” Lahure ordered.
“I beg your pardon, Sir, I intended no disrespect, but the truth is we have been out to the ships to reconnoitre them.”
“On horseback?” Lahure queried.
“Yes, Sir. The sea has frozen over. The ships are bound in the ice. They are stuck fast.”
“You managed to ride right up to the vessels?”
“No, Sir. We kept some distance from them. We did not want to rouse them. We were concerned that they would see or hear us, and use their cannon on us. We were, however, able to ascertain that there are over fifteen vessels including, we believe, the Admiral de Ruyter.”
Lahure raised an eyebrow. “The Admiral de Ruyter. That’s the flag ship of Captain Reintjes,” he said turning to de Winter.
“Indeed,” de Winter nodded.
“It is Reintjes,” Lahure observed. “What a shame we are not able to capture him.”
“It is a shame,” de Winter concurred, “… unless.” He turned to the sergeant. “The capture of this fleet could bring the war to an end, Sergeant. Do you believe it would it be possible to ride right up to the vessels?”
“I believe it would, Sir.”
“What are you thinking, Sir?” asked Lahure
“That maybe your earlier jest about capturing the fleet is not so outlandish.”
“I was joking, Sir.”
“I know you were. And I was amused. But that was before I knew that the sea was completely frozen over. Now I’m intrigued, and a plan is forming in my mind. Call the officers for a meeting, including those of the infantry.”
“Yes, Sir,” Lahure saluted and he drew his mount round, saying as he did so, “Sergeant, instruct the officers of the infantry to join us.”
The two men encouraged their horses through the snow.
De Winter stared into the growing gloom. The ships were invisible, hidden within their blanket of fog. He glanced at the horsemen who had arrived with the sergeant – a corporal and two privates, who, abandoned by their sergeant, sat awkwardly in the presence of their commanding officer. Their eyes looked everywhere, except in the direction of de Winter. He found their obvious determination to avoid meeting his eye amusing. De Winter nudged his horse towards them. They seemed to shrink into their saddles, and moved their horses so that they did not impede what they assumed was his desire to get passed them. He stopped beside the first man.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
The man looked about him, looking for the support of a more senior ranked member of the troop. His corporal did not come to his rescue.
He glanced briefly at de Winter.
“Me, Sire.”
A grin spread itself across de Winter's frozen lips. ‘Sire?’ He'd never been called that before.
“You sound Dutch.”
The man flinched.
“Are you?”
The man looked around again.
“If you are, man, there is nothing to be ashamed of. I am Dutch myself. As is Colonel Lahure, although you would not know it from his name nor his accent. Most of the French army seem to be made up of foreigners, especially, it seems, Dutch. And, it pleases me that our countrymen seem better at making war than our French masters. So, are you Dutch?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Ha! You give me too exalted a position, man. I’m a 'sir' not a 'sire'.”
“My apologies, Sir.”
De Winter shrugged. “It’s of no matter. So, what’s your name, my Dutch friend?”
“Pieter, Sir. Pieter van der Westhuizen.”
“A good strong Dutch name. And what rank are you?”
“A private, Sir.”
“So, tell me, Private van der Westhuizen, did you really ride out to those ships?”
“We did, Sir.”
“Where you not afraid that you would fall through the ice?”
Van der Westhuizen frowned. He thought for a moment. “No, Sir, that possibility never crossed my mind.”
“Ha, the bliss of the ignorant, hey?”
“No, Sir. When you live with so much water around you, you get a sense for such things. It was understanding, rather than ignorance, as I am sure you would understand, as a Dutchman.”
De Winter stared at the man. The man held his gaze of a moment and then looked down.
De Winter laughed. “You, my man, are wasted as a private. You are promoted to corporal.”
Van der Westhuizen looked up in surprise. “Thank you, Sir.”
“And I wish you to act as our guide on an attack on the navy.”
“Of course, Sir.”
De Winter looked beyond the soldier and stared through the fog. “How far out is the fleet?”
“About three miles, Sir.”
“Do you think the ice will support a horse with two riders, even near the ships?”
Van der Westhuizen thought for a moment. “I believe it would, Sir.”
“Good.” De Winter started to turn his horse away in order to arrange his troops.
“There is one thing we should do, Sir.”
“What would that be, Corporal?”
“We should muffle the horses' hooves. The snow is deep here, but it soon thins and the noise of their hooves on the ice may carry to those aboard the ships. If it warns the crews of our approach, we will be like sitting ducks in front of their cannon.”
“Excellent suggestion, Corporal. Please start gathering material for that purpose.” De Winter drew a spare hat and a pair of gloves from one of his saddle bags. “Here, you can start with these.”
“They are far too good for that purpose, Sir.”
De Winter thrust the hat and gloves at the corporal. “Take them.”
“Yes, Sir,” van der Westhuizen said, and took them with obvious reluctance.
De Winter swung his horse round and rode along the lines of his men until he located Lahure and the other officers. He threw them a casual, “Gentlemen,” in greeting, as he dismounted.
“Sir,” they responded in muffled chorus.
They’re a rum looking lot, De Winter thought, with their coverings of fur and only the feint glint of their eyes visible beneath the enveloping folds of their fur hats.
“We are about to embark on a most unique adventure.” He paused dramatically.
They stared back mutely.
“We are about to capture the Dutch navy,” he announced.
The announcement was met with a lot less enthusiasm than he would have liked. But then, they had been in this warmth-sapping cold for hours. He could appreciate their desire to ride to the warmth of some inn, rather than go gallivanting across the ice on some fantastical adventure. Who had ever heard of the cavalry going into battle against a naval fleet? No one. But as far as he was concerned, that was the appeal of what he was planning. What a story he would have to tell in the officers' mess! Bugger them, he thought, this might be something they would rather not do, but he was their commanding officer, and he wanted to do it and they would do as he ordered.
“Gather whatever spare cloth you can find and bind it around the hooves of the horses. Make sure you place the cloth beneath their hooves. The aim is to quieten the noise they might make on the ice, not to keep them warm. Each horse is also to take an infantryman. We will ride, in silence, out to the fleet and capture the ships for France.” He pointed dramatically across the frozen waters to where he imagined the fog-hidden ships were located.
The men looked at him, dumbly.
I wish I hadn't made that stupid joke, Lahure thought sourly, imagining how he would much rather be tucked up in bed, warming his increasingly cold hands on the buttocks of some warm, young wench.
Ignoring their sullen looks, de Winter heaved himself onto his mount, no mean feat considering his encumbering layers. He sat patiently as the horses’ feet were bound and the men mounted. Then he helped his allocated infantryman abroad. Once the man had settled onto his horse, de Winter looked across at Lahure. He grinned.
“This was your crazy idea, Colonel, so I want you to lead the attack. I have already instructed Corporal van der Westhuizen to guide us to the ships.”
Lahure pursed his lips. Jan was enjoying this little adventure far too much.
“Lead the way Corporal,” Lahure ordered, sullenly.
Van der Westhuizen drew his horse round and urged it through the blanket of snow towards the bank of fog that hung over the ice. His pinion passenger clung to him, more for warmth than from fear of falling.
Van der Westhuizen followed his earlier trail through the snow. When the trail was no longer discernible, he looked up and took a bearing from the stars that winked at him through the mist. Looking ahead the fog seemed thick as a polar bear’s coat.
“What do you think, Corporal?” Lahure asked from behind him. “Can you find them?”
“Yes, Sir, but we should continue in extended formation. If we continue marching in single file, we may miss them.”
“Give the order,” Lahure said to Sergeant Carbonneau. “Extended order, to my left. Make sure each man knows to keep the man on his right in view at all times. No man is to get himself lost.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Carry on, Corporal, but not too fast.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Lahure positioned himself to the left of van der Westhuizen, making sure he could see him clearly through the fog. He did not take his eyes off the dark shape of the Corporal.
The situation suddenly struck Lahure as completely surreal. It was hours before sunrise and the moon had disappeared completely. It should be dark as pitch. But it was not. True, it was nowhere near as bright as the earlier moon-lit night, but there was a silvery greyness to the light, not sufficient to see detail, but he could clearly see the dark shape of van der Westhuizen, who seemed to be floating in the air. However, other than the darkness of van der Westhuizen’s form, Lahure had the sense of no other colour, but a vast expanse of grey-white.
There was not a breath of air and the fog hung about him with the appearance of something solid, it was only the fact that it offered no resistance to the passage of his horse that evidenced its ethereal nature. Nevertheless, its icy touch on his face gave him the distinct feeling of resistance as he moved through it. Except for the unfamiliar weight of the infantryman on his back, he could have been entirely alone, even the form of van der Westhuizen seemed to be little more than a ghostly apparition. He drew comfort from the physical presence behind him, although he had no idea who the man was, he had not even enquired about his name before hoisting him aboard his horse. How strange it felt to be so intimate with a person, and yet know nothing about him.
Lahure became aware that van der Westhuizen had become less spectre-like in form – the man was moving towards him. As he got closer to Lahure, van der Westhuizen silently lifted an arm to point.
Lahure looked in the direction indicated. To his half left he saw a huge, dark shape looming out of the grey fog. He looked to his left and noted that his troops had concertinaed their extended line and were consolidating in his direction. A small sense of embarrassment descended over him, had he been the only one go not have noticed the ship?
“Corporal,” he ordered more harshly and loudly that he intended. His voice seemed to boom from his chest. Damn, the last thing he needed was to inform the enemy of their approach. He cleared his throat and asked in a more tempered tone, “Do you know which vessel that is?”
“No, Sir, but it is too small to be the flag ship.”
It looked huge to Lahure, but then the true scale of anything was difficult to appreciate in the foggy gloom.
“Let's approach it quietly,” Lahure ordered without the slightest hint of irony in his voice.
Once beside it, it was clear that the ship was sealed up tighter than a drum. The cannon ports were shut against the cold and there was no sign of life. The ship sat in the ice as though it has always been there, like some strange, monumental sculpture in commemoration of the ship and its crew. The chain hung from the bow in a lazy curve to the point where it disappeared into the ice. For the relatively small size of the boat, the chain seemed enormous.
“That'll stop it drifting away,” Lahure quipped.
De Winter could not help chuckling at the irony.
“How many ships did you say there were, Corporal?”
“About fifteen, Sir.”
“That's more or less twenty men per boat,” Lahure calculated quickly. That should be ample for an attacking force for each vessel. He could send a group of men to capture each ship they passed, but should the crew of one of the ships resist, the noise of the struggle would easily be heard in the utter silence of the night. That would severely compromise the element of surprise that they had so obviously managed to achieve. And if, as a consequence they managed to take only one or two vessels and not the entire fleet that would be damned annoying. No, he had to find the flag ship and capture that first and get Captain Reintjes to give a general order to surrender.
“Let's find the flag ship,” he said, almost to himself as to anyone else. “Do you think you can find it quickly?”
Van der Westhuizen shrugged. “We’ll just have to ride around until we find it, Sir.”
Lahure looked around. The fog was so thick that, even with the surreal half-light, the ghostly shape of only one ship was visible. Lahure suddenly felt that this adventure had the potential of turning into a disaster. He and his men could wonder around aimlessly for hours. It was only by sheer luck that they had marched straight up to the first ship. Had they missed it, they could have carried on riding for miles, and in this weather it would not bode well to get lost; there had to be places where the ice would not bear the weight of a man, let alone a doubly mounted horse. The consequences of falling through the ice were too terrible to imagine. But, of course, there was no going back, not now; not without looking a fool. But what to do? He could not send his men off in groups, he might never see some of them again.
“What do you wish us to do, Sir?”
“We need to locate the flag ship. But I want to keep the men together. You will lead the way. Starting from the further side of this ship ride away from it in a wide arc. If we're lucky we'll come across another vessel before we do a full circle.”
Van der Westhuizen led off at quite a pace. The troop followed him.
Much to Lahure’s relief, the strategy worked, but as before the vessel was obviously not large enough to be the flag ship. The same was true for the third, and the fourth.
The cold was now palpable and seemed to be seeping through Lahure's furs and biting into his flesh. He determined to take the next ship regardless of whether it was the flag ship or not. Then he would ask the captain about the disposition of the fleet and ascertain where the flag ship was.
When he saw the next vessel looming out of the gloomy fog, he felt happier. It was much larger than the previous ones. They were approaching it from its stern and as he drew up to it, he read the name emblazoned on the woodwork below the captain's balcony – Admiral de Ruyter. It was the one he was after.
“This one will do,” he stated, gleefully.
As with the other vessels, this one was in complete darkness. As before, there did not even seem to be the glow of a watch fire. The question was how to get onto the deck. But before Lahure could give this much thought the problem was dealt with.
Lahure watched in surprise as a Hussar guided his horse to stand against the side of the ship. He then scrambled up to a standing position on his saddle. The infantryman behind him, used the cavalryman as a climbing frame and was able to reach the shutter of a cannon port. Grasping one of the small chains used to lift the gun port door and thrusting the toe of his boot behind that of a lower port, he was able to haul himself up the side of the ship using the chains of the gun ports until he reached the bulkhead and heave himself over it and onto the deck. After a short interval, during which Lahure assumed he was checking the deck for guards, the man tossed one end of a rope down to those waiting on the ice below.
Lahure was impressed. He had not planned that method of boarding the boat, if the truth be known he had not given the capture of the ships much thought. So, he was pleased his men had just got on with it, without consulting him. That did seem to be one of the traits of the modern French army, the men were not entirely reliant on their officers. Maybe that was why the French army had been so successful, despite the fact that every other European state seemed to be fighting them at the moment.
Lahure directed van der Westhuizen and half a dozen men up the rope to secure the deck and then he followed, with de Winter coming up behind him.
The man who had thrown down the rope helped Lahure over the rail and onto the deck and then proceeded to blow warm air into his freezing hands. Lahure removed his outer gloves and offered them to the man. They were gratefully accepted. Drawing his sword, Lahure gesticulated for his men to follow him, quietly. He made his way stealthily towards the rear structure of the ship, to where the captain’s accommodation would be located. He tried to open the door. It was locked. He removed his glove and tapped smartly on a glass pan. The sound seemed loud in the silence, and the others looked around quickly to make sure none of the crew had been aroused by the noise. But the only sign of the crew was a lantern that came to life within the cabin and made its way towards the door. A bleary-eyed orderly stared out of the window with the lantern held above his head. He was obviously having difficulty seeing who had disturbed his sleep, as he pushed his face closer to the window. Lahure stepped back into the shadows. After a while he heard a bolt draw and then another and then the door swung open.
“Hoe ...”
Lahure stepped forward and forced his way in, his sword prodding the man backwards.
“Quiet!” Lahure ordered.
“Hoe is jy?”
“Corporal, tell this man we wish to see the captain.”
Van der Westhuizen explained. He also explained who Lahure was and a look of horror flashed across the man’s lean features.
He turned abruptly and rushed deeper into the cabin, calling, “Kapitein! Kapitein!”
Lahure, de Winter and van der Westhuizen followed.
“Wat!” came an irritated response.
“We have been boarded! We are being attacked!”
“Calm yourself, van Niekirk,” Captain Hermanus Reintjes called as he stomped towards his attackers, wrapping his bed robe around his body. He stopped before Lahure. “Hoe is jy?” he demanded.
“Do you speak French?”
“Nee.”
Lahure paused. He was certain the captain would speak French. Of course, he could communicate with the captain in Dutch, in which he was fluent, but he was here representing France, so they would speak French.
“I am Lieutenant-Colonel Louis Joseph Lahure, of the 8th Hussars. I have captured your ship and request that you surrender both this ship and your entire fleet to me, as a representative of the Government of France. Tell him, please, Corporal.”
Captain Reintjes listened intently, not taking his gaze from Lahure.
He frowned and scrutinised Lahure’s face.
“How did you get here?” he asked in perfect French.
Lahure grunted, and then explained, “We rode.”
“You rowed? Has the ice melted?”
Lahure looked bemused. “No, that’s why we were able to cross.”
“Sorry, I’m confused. If the sea is still frozen, how were you able to row to my fleet?”
Lahure laughed. “We did not row across, we rode across, on horses.”
Reintjes smiled broadly. “I see. How creative of you. I had assumed that we were perfectly safe from attack. But apparently not.”
“Is that why you have not set any watches?”
“Partly, but mainly because we have already been ordered to surrender.”
Lahure looked at him aghast.
“Although,” Reintjes continued, “I did not expect to be surrendering to the cavalry. What an excellent story I shall be able to tell to my fellow officers,” he laughed, bowing towards Lahure. “I and all my crews are at your disposal, Sir. I congratulate you.”
“Corporal, escort the captain to his desk and help him draft the order to surrender.”
“There is no need, Sir.” Reintjes smiled. “They already have the order.”
“Nevertheless, Sir,” Lahure responded, testily. “Protocol demands it.”
“Of course. This way Corporal.”
“Well, that’s a turn-up for the books,” de Winter observed. “And a damned nuisance. It could spoil a very good tale for the officers’ mess. Lahure, I want you to write the report of this skirmish. Make sure you gloss over this nonsense about the manner of their surrender.”
Lahure grinned, “Of course, Jan. No need to let the facts get in the way of a good story.”
“Indeed not.”
Author’s note.
I feel a need to apologise for the confusion caused by whether Lahure ‘rowed’ or ‘rode’ to the fleet. Such confusion could not, of course, occur in either French or Dutch, but I am writing in English and could not resist.