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The opening months of the Anglo-French war in the Atlantic clearly demonstrated the dominance of the British Navy over their French rivals. The British had gotten the better of the French in the minor naval engagements thus far, and in late 1755 British cruisers snapped up hundreds of French ships in the Atlantic, most of them merchant vessels. Yet this success was arguably in spite of the leadership of the British prime minister Thomas Pelham-Holles, Duke of Newcastle, who despite being chiefly responsible for the policy of escalation and provocation that had led to war had done little to prepare for it. The Royal Navy still suffered from cutbacks under the tenure of his late brother Henry Pelham, and as events in the Mediterranean would soon show, he had left key British positions dangerously vulnerable.

From late 1755, Newcastle was convinced that the French were set upon an invasion of England - so convinced, indeed, that for months he ignored or dismissed reliable reports that the French were preparing for action in the Mediterranean. Even when the buildup at Toulon was acknowledged, Newcastle believed that it was most likely bound for Corsica, as the approach the French had made to the Corsicans in January (to be discussed below) was known to him. As a consequence, at the beginning of 1756 the British Navy had only four ships of the line in the entire Mediterranean theater and woefully inadequate garrisons at Gibraltar and Menorca. Newcastle deigned to send reinforcements only because of strong public and parliamentary outcry, and by the time he did the French were already on the move. Their target was Menorca and the naval base at Port Mahon, a position second only to Gibraltar in importance. The port was commanded by Fort St. Philip, an extremely formidable fortress but furnished with a garrison that was too small to fully man its defenses.

From the start, the relief fleet under Vice-Admiral Temple West was plagued with difficulties. Their launch was considerably delayed by a dearth of sailors and bad weather. Upon reaching Gibraltar, West found that the garrison there was so thin that the Governor refused to give West more troops, fearing for the safety of his own position. West’s crew shortage was such a problem that in order to make his fleet combat-capable he had to strip sailors from his frigates to man his ships of the line and even use ordinary army soldiers as crewmen. Worse still, the Admiralty had assumed that West would be able to rendezvous with the ships already in the Mediterranean, but two ships of the line and two frigates were blockaded at Port Mahon. When Vice-Admiral West finally met his French opponents in June of 1756 he would find himself outmatched.

The result was a crushing defeat. West succeeded in making contact with the Menorca garrison and began landing troops, but the untimely arrival of the French fleet under Admiral Roland-Michel de la Galissonière forced him to call off the operation and prepare for action. Galissonière, by no means a hot-headed captain, knew that he was under strict orders to defend the land operation and initially kept his distance, but he soon realized that his ships were larger and more numerous (13 French ships of the line to 11 British) and that the wind had turned in his favor. He pressed the attack, and although West fought bravely he was outnumbered, outmanned, outgunned, and outmaneuvered. The French captured two ships, the 64-gun Trident and the 50-gun Isis, and damaged the 60-gun Kingston so badly its crew had to scuttle it to avoid capture.[1] Three British captains were lost, two killed and one captured. The rest of the British fleet was heavily damaged and escaped a much greater disaster only because Galissonière, faithful to his orders, did not abandon his transports to pursue them. “None of their ships long withstood the fire of ours,” Galissonière wrote in his report, “and our vessels suffered but little.” The battle had proved enough of a distraction for the British ships blockaded at Port Mahon to slip away, but this was a small comfort.[A]

With his fleet battered and his men thoroughly demoralized, there was no chance that West could challenge Galissonière again. He resolved to do what he could to aid the besieged garrison by using his frigates and lighter ships to disrupt French supplies, but such mischief could only delay the garrison’s fall, not prevent it. Galissonière became a national hero and was given a marshal’s baton by a grateful King Louis XV; West was scapegoated by Newcastle and dismissed from the service. The defeat so stunned Newcastle and his ministers that they gave serious thought to suing for peace, perhaps offering a favorable boundary settlement in the Americas for the return of Minorca, but the disaster caused such public indignation that Newcastle dared not attempt it. Within a few months Newcastle too was to become a casualty of Menorca, falling from power in October as a consequence of his failures.

Since the beginning of serious hostilities at sea in 1755, King Theodore and his prime minister, Count Gianpietro Gaffori, were in complete agreement that the best course for Corsica was neutrality. To side against France would be suicidal, but to side clearly against Britain would endanger Corsican access to the Tabarka concession.[2] Corsica would allow the ships of the belligerent ports into its harbors - which were, after all, free ports - but following the example of Livorno, strict rules of neutrality would be observed to avoid any accusation of partiality. Confident that Corsica’s neutrality would be respected, Theodore saw no need to expand the army or take any defensive precautions, things which the state did not really have the money for anyway.

The first sign that this policy might not be tenable for Corsica came in January of 1756, when the French government proposed to assist the island’s defense by stationing two infantry battalions in Corsica and requested that the Corsicans terminate their trade with the British, whose officers at Tabarka and Port Mahon purchased some of their foodstuffs and naval stores from Corsica. Gaffori politely declined the offer of troops and demurred on the proposed embargo, pointing out that such an action would be provocative and unwarranted given that Britain and France were not actually at war. Theodore conveyed his own regrets to the French envoy, claiming that he had sympathy for the French position but could not go against his government. The French did not immediately force the issue, but the matter was not forgotten.

Following the Battle of Menorca and the fall of Fort St. Philip, the French turned once again to Corsica. They had installed a strong garrison at Menorca to prevent its recapture, but no such force was guarding Corsica. The French feared that Theodore might come to some arrangement with the British, a fear that was stoked by reports that the Anglophile Corsican ambassador to Britain, Pasquale Paoli, had held private meetings with the Duke of Newcastle. Even if Theodore’s pledge of neutrality was serious, the British could always strongarm him into cooperation. Don Carlos of Naples had folded like a wet rag and backed out of the war when the British had menaced Naples with the guns of the Royal Navy in 1742; how could weak little Corsica be expected to show any more backbone?

The Corsicans had refused France’s protection in January, but after the fall of Menorca their compliance was no longer optional. On June 8th, Armand de Vignerot du Plessis, Duc de Richelieu, the commander of the siege of Port Mahon - and Princess Elisabeth’s brother-in-law - arrived without warning at Ajaccio with 44 sail, including eight ships of the line. The highest ranking Corsican official present at that time was the provincial luogotenente, Marquis Luca d’Ornano, who thus received Richelieu and his demands. Noting that a state of war now existed between France and Britain (the British had declared in May), the duke informed d’Ornano that “for the protection of the Corsican people” it was necessary for the Corsican government to agree to His Most Christian Majesty’s terms. They included the occupation of Ajaccio, Calvi, and San Fiorenzo by French troops, the cessation of all trade with Britain and her allies, and other measures intended to bring Corsican policy into line with French aims, including the recall of Ambassador Paoli from London.

D’Ornano complained that this was not proper behavior for an ally and asked for more time, as he could hardly make these concessions on behalf of the entire Corsican government. Richelieu would allow this, but demanded to be able to bring his ships into the harbor and land his forces. Controversially, d’Ornano complied, claiming later that resistance was pointless. Although the citadel of Ajaccio was a reasonably strong fortification, the city was completely unprepared for attack - there were no gunners, no troops except the part-time presidial dragoons, and hardly any powder in the citadel’s magazine.

When the Corsican foreign minister Giovanni Vincente Garelli arrived four days later to negotiate with Richelieu, he found that the city was already effectively under French control. With the French occupation now a fait accompli, Garelli signed the “Convention of Ajaccio” on June 13th, accepting virtually all the French demands. He managed to make only a few modifications to the terms, of which the only one of importance was that the French agreed to compensate the Corsican government for provisioning the French forces. Richelieu remained only long enough to supervise the occupation of Calvi and San Fiorenzo. In total, the French occupation forces amounted to around 3,500 men - seven battalions of infantry and a small detachment of engineers and artillerymen - under the command of Maréchal de Camp Guy-André-Pierre de Montmorency, Marquis de Laval, who established his headquarters at Calvi.

Mere days after the signing of the convention, West was relieved by Vice-Admiral Edward Hawke, who arrived at Gibraltar with six more ships of the line. Unfortunately for Hawke, there was nothing to be done to salvage the situation. Menorca had surrendered, Corsica was occupied, and Galissonière had returned to Toulon with his fleet. All Hawke could do until the end of the year was to cruise the Western Mediterranean, protecting British merchants and attacking French shipping as he was able.

The French occupation of Corsica did not lead immediately to violence between the Corsicans and their French “allies.” Corsica’s neutrality had been violated, but the French aim appeared to be to secure the island rather than topple the government. Although he was privately outraged by the complete lack of consideration or courtesy shown him by the French, Theodore publicly preached calm and cooperation. When the consulta of 1756 met at Corti in August, the Marquis de Laval came personally to assure the delegates of France’s good will, and neither Theodore nor Prime Minister Gianpietro Gaffori uttered a word against him. This was not to say that everyone was happy to see the French return to Corsica; the “French Invasion” of 1738-41 was still a recent memory, and the controversial reforms and exactions of Henri Léonard Bertin had not endeared the French to the Corsican people. But because the French forces were confined to three coastal towns, most Corsicans did not have to suffer their presence, and the assurances by both Laval and their own leaders that this was a temporary state of affairs mollified them. The occupation might be an indignity, but it remained preferable to war. In fact only one Corsican official preached war, and he was not even on Corsica.




Cavaliere Pasquale Paoli had arrived in London in 1753 as the Kingdom of Corsica’s first ambassador to the Court of St. James’s. Although he had been chosen chiefly because he was one of the few Corsicans who could speak English, he turned out to be the perfect man for the job. As an ambassador from the wild land of Corsica he was at first a mere curiosity, but Paoli was no backwoods rustic. Schooled in the academy at Naples, fluent in multiple languages, and possessed of an extraordinary memory, he was a cultured, charismatic, and highly literate man who could easily hold a conversation with the British luminaries of his day. Although Paoli was a pauper as ambassadors went - his stipend from Corsica was rather slim - he was given lodging by the Dutch ambassador and his austere lifestyle became a core part of his image. Brilliant yet humble, erudite yet unassuming, Paoli cultivated a reputation as a “man of virtue,” the ideal combination of polished Enlightenment education and simple rural rectitude. He was not himself a warrior and had never been in battle, but he could certainly point to his family’s brave deeds in defense of liberty; his brother had lost an eye at Ponte Novu, and his father had lost his life fighting the Genoese. Paoli was not the captivating social butterfly and unparalleled raconteur that Theodore had been during his stay in London, but he nevertheless became a popular and much admired figure.

The French were correct to call Paoli an Anglophile; he was an admirer of Britain’s success and came to regard Britain to be a model for Corsica in many respects. Still, when war arrived he dutifully followed his instructions to preserve Corsican neutrality. Following the Convention of Ajaccio, however, Paoli went rogue. Instead of resigning his post and returning to Corsica as Foreign Minister Garelli had ordered, Paoli simply ignored Garelli’s instructions. The Convention, he maintained, amounted to nothing more than extortion, a worthless treaty extracted from the Corsicans at the point of French bayonets. Paoli’s stipend was cut off, but this was of no importance; he had plenty of well-wishers in London who provided for his needs. From this point on, “Ambassador” Paoli became a one-man government-in-exile who crafted his own foreign policy as he saw fit, and the sole objective of this policy was to convince the British to invade Corsica.

Paoli’s case was strategic. With the loss of Menorca, the British position in the Mediterranean was hobbled. Corsican ports would provide the British navy with ample provisions as well as bases scarcely a hundred miles from the French coast from which British privateers could wreak havoc on French trade. Diplomatically, it would be a chip at the negotiating table; the British could refuse to withdraw their forces unless the French withdrew theirs (from Menorca, for instance). Paoli also reminded the British of his peoples' valiant struggle against the French and their record of service on the continent, assuring anyone who would listen that several regiments of loyal auxiliaries could be raised from the population.

Best of all, all this could be achieved with only minor exertion on the part of Britain. As Paoli portrayed it, occupied Corsica was a roiling cauldron seething with hatred for the French occupiers. A mere token effort - a handful of warships, a few battalions of troops, and some shiploads of guns and munitions - would be sufficient to raise the Corsicans in rebellion once more. Surrounded by the Corsicans on land and the British at sea, the French garrisons would have no choice but to surrender, handing the British a new base of operations and a much-needed morale boost after their disastrous defeat at Menorca.



The invasion Paoli urged would not materialize in 1756, but his argument caught the attention of a rising figure on the British political scene, William Pitt. A voice of belligerence in Parliament since the beginning of his political career, Pitt was a vituperative critic of Newcastle and was despised by King George II for his opposition to subsidies for Hanover during the War of the Austrian Succession. Initially, Paoli was chiefly of interest to Pitt because the “fall” of Corsica was yet another means to discredit Newcastle, but Paoli’s proposed scheme was right up Pitt’s alley. Firmly against a “Hanoverian policy” and continental commitments, Pitt believed that Britain’s strategy ought to be to use its naval power to protect its trade, disrupt the trade of its enemies, and dismantle the overseas empires of its rivals. A naval “descent” on Corsica would certainly aid in protecting and interdicting trade, and it would be a highly visible and popular victory (as what patriotic Englishman would not applaud the “liberation” of Corsica from French tyranny?).

The problem, of course, was that Paoli’s characterization of the situation in Corsica was nowhere near the truth. He had no idea what the popular response to the occupation was, and the population he described as teetering on the verge of insurrection was, for the moment, completely quiescent. Although he intimated to the British ministers that he had the support of his king, there is absolutely no reason to believe that Theodore or his government supported or were even aware of his lobbying on their behalf. Because the French had expelled Britain’s envoy in Corsica, however, the British knew little more than Paoli did, and Paoli’s description of Corsican fury was exactly what the British expected from the “malcontents” who had waged war for twenty years against the Genoese, French, and Austrians to secure their freedom.[B]


Footnotes
[1] For the Isis, this was a homecoming. The ship was originally French, but was captured during the War of the Austrian Succession. After returning to Toulon, the place of its construction, it was given its original name back - the Diamant.
[2] This was working exactly as intended, for securing Corsican neutrality was one of the reasons Britain had bought Tabarka and opened the concession to the Corsicans in the first place.

Timeline Notes
[A] The Menorca campaign ITTL occurs around the same time as the OTL Menorca campaign, but with some different people and a different outcome. IOTL, the relief force was led by Admiral Byng, who was more evenly matched with the French (in part because the British ships at Port Mahon were able to slip away just before the French blockaded them) but nevertheless fought an inconclusive battle in which no ships were lost before withdrawing and leaving Menorca to its fate. As a consequence, he was accused of cowardice, court martialed, and executed by firing squad. His execution was the source of Voltaire’s famous quip in Candide ("In this country, it is wise to kill an admiral from time to time to encourage the others"). ITTL, West gets caught at a disadvantage, fights, and loses three ships in the process. Although this is a worse outcome for Britain, it’s a marginally better outcome for the fleet’s commander - West gets cashiered, but nobody can accuse him of being a coward, so at least he doesn’t get shot. It is possible this will have some long-term effects on Britain - some writers and historians have claimed that Byng’s death, while a gross injustice, probably did “encourage the others” by teaching Britain’s naval officers that aggression and risk-taking were preferable to a slavish adherence to the Admiralty’s rules of engagement. It’s also a better outcome for Galissonière. It is believed that Louis planned to make him a Marshal of France IOTL, but he fell sick and died on his way back to Paris and never received it.
[B] I did tell you Paoli was going to play a part eventually, didn’t I? He’s been mentioned before, but this is his entrance into the story as a major character.