Текст книги "The King's Marauder"
Автор книги: Dewey Lambdin
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 27 страниц)
“We would do nothing to ruin your fairly cordial relationship with your counterpart, General Castaños,” Mountjoy slyly went on, “from which I am certain that you glean useful information upon the mood of the region. Yet, if Spain and France plan a move against you here, our raids could delay and limit his massing of forces by the Spanish, requiring the French to commit their troops, and their march to here would take so long that London would have more than enough time to send you all the re-enforcements you could wish, sir.”
“Perhaps that would end with British armies in Spain, meeting ‘Boney’s’ armies head-on, sir,” Lewrie suggested.
“That would be promising,” Sir Hew said, leaning back to fantasise for a moment. “But, landing British troops against allied Franco-Spanish armies…” He sighed and went gloomy again.
“Well, Sir Hew,” Mountjoy said, with a grin, “it has been our aim all along to break that alliance and get Spain out of the war. Neutral if possible, able to trade with the world again, or as a British ally in the best case.”
“Teeterin’ on the edge, Sir Hew,” Lewrie contributed, and drew a quick under-lid glare from Mountjoy who feared that Dalrymple would mis-interpret on which side Spain might teeter.
“Nowhere near Gibraltar, or General Castaños’s military region, d’ye say?” Dalrymple mused, pulling an earlobe again. “In that case, some limited offensive raids might…” He paused, then reached out to pluck a china bell from his desk-top and ring for an aide. A massive set of old oak doors opened, and an Army Captain entered.
“Sir Hew?” he asked with an eager-to-serve smile.
“Captain Hughes, the troop transports that arrived a few days ago,” Dalrymple enquired. “Of what units do they consist?”
“One squadron of horse, sir, two regiments of foot which will go on to General Fox,” Captain Hughes easily reported off the top of his head, “and several companies of replacements for various regiments.” Hughes had all the regiments’ numbers, and the numbers of troops at the tips of his fingers, the perfect aide.
I know this bastard! Lewrie realised; He’s that opinionated twit in the seafood chop-house with that girl t’other day!
Up close, and face-on, Captain Hughes was the epitome of a war-like officer, beefy, strong, and wide-shouldered, with a deep voice. His red uniform coat, with gilt lace epaulets, black facings and silver and red button loops, his shirt, neck-stock, and white waist-coat and matching breeches were immaculate and exquisitely tailored. Hughes’s boots were so well-blacked and buffed that they might have been made of patent leather.
Give him a beard and put him in hides, and he’d make a damned fine Viking, Lewrie thought; The shitten bulldog!
“Experienced, are they, Hughes?” Damrymple asked. “The replacements?”
“Fresh-trained and sent off from their regiments’ home barracks I believe, Sir Hew,” Hughes said, with a superior smirk. “Newlies.”
“Two companies from the 77th, hey? Hmm,” Dalrymple mused, and drummed his fingers on his desk. “Had their regiment suffered a great many casualties on campaign, I would have thought that their Colonel would have requested more from their home battalion. Perhaps whoever he is, he can soldier on without them, then. Full complement of officers with them, Hughes?”
“Two Captains, two Lieutenants, and two Ensigns, sir,” Hughes rapidly ticked off. “I do not know of their experience or abilities.”
“And have I made you conversant with any plans for offensive, seaborne raids along the coasts, Hughes?” Sir Hew asked further.
“I do believe that I might have come across some mention here and there in the course of sorting your correspondence, Sir Hew,” Hughes hesitantly said, cocking his large head over to one side.
“Allow me to name to you, sir, Captain Sir Alan Lewrie, Baronet, and Mister Thomas Mountjoy, of the, ah … Foreign Office. Sirs, my aide, Captain Daniel Hughes, seconded from the 53rd Foot,” Dalrymple said, rising to summon them together for the requisite handshakes. “And what did you make of such plans, Captain Hughes, given your scant familiarity with them?” Dalrymple asked him.
“They sound simply capital, Sir Hew,” Hughes replied eagerly. “A topping-fine venture!”
“Good, good, then,” Dalrymple said, beaming. “Glad to hear you find them so. Captain Lewrie has managed to arrange all the necessities with which to put the plans afoot, but for the troops. His complement of Marines aboard his ship will be a part of any landings alongside those two companies of the 77th.”
“How many men in all would that be, Captain Hughes?” Lewrie asked him, sure that he was the sort who would have the numbers.
“Including officers, sergeants, and corporals, that would be one hundred and twelve, Captain Lewrie,” Hughes quickly supplied.
“Just about right,” Lewrie told him. “About as many as the transport can manage. Them, plus my fifty-six…”
“Under a Captain of Marines, sir?” Hughes asked, with a bit of a scowl, as if imagining that Dalrymple might place him in command of the landing party. Hughes looked most eager for a fight.
“A First Leftenant, sir,” Lewrie told him.
“Hughes, as welcome as are your skills as my aide,” Dalrymple said, “still I have felt your desire to command troops again. For this task, I believe I will appoint you to take charge of those two companies of the 77th, and Captain Lewrie’s Marines when sent ashore on any of the raids.”
“I would be delighted to serve, sir!” Hughes loudly declared, puffing up his thick chest in pride. “Let us be at ’em, what? Yoicks, and tally ho!”
“And, for this duty, I think advancing you to a Brevet-Majority would not go amiss, either, Hughes,” Dalrymple added.
“You do me too much honour, sir!” Hughes exclaimed. “But thank you for it, all the same!”
“Agreed then, gentlemen?” Dalrymple asked them all.
“Quite,” Mountjoy assured him. “My thanks to you, Sir Hew.”
“With the troops, and Major Hughes’s experience, I am confident we’ll raise chaos and all the mayhem one could ask for,” Lewrie added. “We must fill the Major in on what we intend, and begin the training for the troops as soon as we can.”
“Mind, though, Captain Lewrie,” Hughes cautioned, “one mustn’t expect too much of men straight from the parade ground and the firing butts, ha ha! Takes months on campaign to make proper soldiers.”
“Well, then they’ll have less to un-learn,” Lewrie told him in good humour. “We’ll get them their sea legs, first, and their ‘duck feet,’ second. Where t’practice, though. Can’t do it here in the harbour for all the Spanish spies and watchers over in Algeciras t’see. Perpaps down by Europa Point, or a bay on the Eastern side of the Rock.”
“Bring those companies’ officers in to explain what’s needing, too,” Mountjoy suggested. “They won’t be happy with the new task.”
“I’ll see to turning them eager,” Hughes boasted.
“‘Growl they may, but go they must’, is it, sir?” Lewrie asked Hughes. “Just so they come t’see it as an adventure, not an onerous chore. Let us depart and leave Sir Hew be. He’s done us handsomely, and I’m sure he has many other pressing matters on his plate. Thank you, again, Sir Hew. We will keep you apprised of our progress, and of our first choice of objective.”
“And, it will be up to you, Sir Hew, to approve or object to our choices,” Mountjoy added to mollify the fellow.
* * *
“Is there a spare office where we can read you in, as it were, Major Hughes?” Lewrie asked the newly-promoted officer.
“I’m sure we can find one,” Hughes said, pulling an expensive-looking pocket watch from a breeches pocket. “Though, hmm. Do you wish to begin at once, this very hour, or might I attend to some other business first, sirs?”
“It is near Noon, aye,” Lewrie said, consulting his own watch. “Let’s say we meet back here in the Convent at one thirty?”
“Capital!” Hughes boomed. “Just topping-tine! I’ve a dinner companion, d’ye see, and can’t wait to give her the news.”
“You’re married, sir?” Mountjoy asked, wondering why a sensible man would bring a wife overseas.
“Not so’s you’d notice, no sir,” Hughes imparted, with a wink and a smirk.
“Don’t share too much,” Lewrie cautioned. “Ye never know who’s listening. Mum’s the word with civilians.”
Hughes gave him a quick scowl as if to say “will you teach my granny how to suck eggs?”, but Lewrie had seen him in action once, and was none too sure that Hughes could contain himself from bragging over his brevet promotion, his new command, and how he would sail off to win the war all by himself … as he’d boasted that day at Pescadore’s.
“One thirty, then, sirs,” Hughes agreed, putting away his watch. “I will meet you here at the appointed time. Good day!”
Hughes sailed back into his anteroom office to fetch his hat, a black beaver fore-and-aft bicorne with heavy gilt tassels to either end, adorned with swept-back egret feathers, and so arced that the tips fell almost level with his nose and his shoulder blades.
“Impressive,” Mountjoy said after he had departed.
“What, the man, or the hat?” Lewrie joshed.
“Well…” Mountjoy replied, puzzled.
“I’d not be one t’look a gift horse in the mouth, Mountjoy, but I’ve seen him before,” Lewrie explained as they made their own way out of the headquarters building to the street, and their own dinner. “Here on Gibraltar, the other day,” he went on, describing his meal at the seafood house, and Hughes’s demeanour with his girl.
“Was she fetching, sir?” Mountjoy asked, looking a tad askance.
“Aye, she definitely was,” Lewrie confessed.
“Perhaps her being with him has prejudiced you against him,” Mountjoy suggested. “A bit of jealousy, what?”
“I’ll allow that that plays a part, but only a wee’un,” Lewrie shrugged off. “Remember the old adage, ‘great talkers do the least, we see’? He’s a grand talker, is Brevet-Major Hughes. Why, I wonder, is he seconded to staff work, and not with his regiment?”
“Surplus to requirements?” Mountjoy pondered.
“Tosh!” Lewrie dismissed. “He bought himself a commission for life in the 53rd, and once in, an officer is always a member of that regiment ’til he’s too old t’serve and he sells his rank out to the highest bidder, gets crippled or dies, or gets cashiered for conduct un-becoming, or plain stupidity. Most-like, after a few years, the others in his mess couldn’t stand the bastard, and when Dalrymple was castin’ about for an aide-de-camp, they saw their chance t’be shot of him!”
“Or, he makes General,” Mountjoy pointed out. “Maybe Captain … Major Hughes, rather … has better connexions than most, and his posting is a way to give him a leg up to a substantive Majority, not a brevet rank. From his uniform and his kit, I’d imagine that he’s a fellow from a wealthy family, eager for his advancement. Money, and ‘interest’, go hand in hand, after all.”
“Perhaps,” Lewrie grudgingly allowed.
“I hope you do not hold anything against him, sir,” Mountjoy said in a soft voice. “Getting him, and those troops, has been as hard as pulling Sir Hew’s teeth … if he had many left. Now we’re on the cusp, I would hate for any grudges to hamper us.”
Damme, he’s all but givin’ me orders! Lewrie thought in shock. Mountjoy had been his clueless, landlubberly, ink-stained clerk back in the long-ago, a lad more than ten years his junior, and it cut rough to be chided, even in the mildest way! He was a bloody civilian, for God’s sake!
“‘Yes sir, no sir, two bags full’,” Lewrie growled, pretending to tug at his forelock like a tenant or day-labourer. “I promise to be good, Daddy.” Which drew a laugh from Mountjoy.
“I wonder where he’s dining,” Mountjoy said. “It is tempting to see if his girl is all that fetching.”
“At Pescadore’s, and she is,” Lewrie told him, providing him a brief description.
“Damned good establishment,” Mountjoy commented once he was done. “It might be fun to simply pop in and…?”
“Temptin’, aye,” Lewrie said, “but … no. We’d best not. If Hughes thinks we’re spyin’ on him, it’d just ruffle his feathers.”
“Well, he has some impressive feathers,” Mountjoy japed.
And an impressive woman, Lewrie thought, half-wishing that they could just happen to amble in so he could get a longer, closer look at Maddalena. Dammit, I may be jealous of him!
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Over the next few days, Lewrie began to suspect that he had mis-judged Major Hughes. He and Mountjoy had Hughes up to Mountjoy’s lodgings so they could lay out the agents’ reports and sketches in greater privacy than they could in a borrowed office in the Convent, and they were amazed how Hughes grasped the possibilities so quickly, and raved over the prospects. They took him out to Harmony to tour the troop accommodations, and Hughes was a fount of good suggestions for improvements and tweaks to make the men—his men, now—more comfortable.
On his own, Major Hughes had arranged shore billets for the men of the 77th and their officers, had arranged provisions and cooking facilities for them, and had worked them into the rotation to use the parade ground for close-order drill, and at least a weekly use of the firing range, with ammunition to boot. In all, Hughes was a paragon when it came to working out the niggling details, and carried on in a brash, burly, charge-ahead manner. He also got Lieutenant Keane and Lieutenant Roe and their Marines ashore to participate. The loudest voice on the parade ground was his as he put them through the usual “square-bashing” and mock battle manouevres, with all three companies abreast to make rushes by company, with the others covering them, and even thought to rehearse mock retreats to the “beach” once the raids would be over, either opposed by Spanish forces, or getting off without a shot being fired at them. Major Hughes was most enthusiastic. Unfortunately, that enthusiasm did not extend to the 77th’s officers.
Lewrie and Mountjoy discovered that lack of enthusiasm at their first meeting, a dinner served in Sapphire’s great-cabins, followed by a presentation of the overall scheme, complete with large hand-drawn plans pinned to the bulkheads. Even though Lewrie had ordered his cabins scoured with vinegar, smoked with faggots of tobacco, and citronella pots set out, they all looked as if the usual stink of a warship might gag them, to start with.
The 77th Regiment of Foot was not an old or distinguished unit, and had only been raised in 1793, at the start of the War of The First Coalition, and had only taken part in one overseas expedition, and that had been the disastrous Dutch Campaign of 1798, where the British Army had been driven back to their transports by the highly-experienced French and Dutch, looking hapless, and as dangerous as so many sheep. There had been a rumour, Mountjoy learned on the sly, that the 77th would be going to the West Indies, aptly known as the “Fever Islands”, where untold thousands of British soldiers had sickened and died in the annual ravages of Malaria, Yellow Jack, Cholera, or Dysentery since the first wars over their possession.
Hence, the prices for officers’ commissions had plummeted like stunned seagulls and a great many of the original regimental officers’ mess had sold out to seek commissions in other units, resulting in an host of new, in-experienced young men.
Captain Kimbrough, for instance, was only nineteen, and Captain Bowden was eighteen. Lieutenant Staggs was seventeen, and his counterpart in the second company was only sixteen, so young and new to their uniforms and accoutrements that their leather still squeaked! The Ensigns, Litchfield and Gilliam, who had not been invited to the first introduction meeting, were even younger!
“Now, once the transport fetches-to into the wind, or comes to anchor off the beach,” Lewrie lectured, pointing to one large sheet of paper pinned to the bulkhead, “my Navy tars will haul the boats alongside, drop the scrambling nets over the side, and man the boats, here, here, and here, right under the chain platforms of Harmony’s shrouds to either beam. Your men will form up at the shrouds in six groups.”
“Platoons,” Major Hughes contributed.
“Right, platoons,” Lewrie amended. “At the order to man boats, you’ll see your men down into the boats, and they’ll cast off and row shoreward, forming line-abreast so all six boats, along with the four from Sapphire which carry my Marines, arrive on the beach, or quay, or solid ground, pretty-much as one.”
“We’re expected to row, sir?” Lt. Pullen asked, sounding as if that much exertion was beneath him. He looked appalled.
“The sailors do the rowing, Leftenant Pullen,” Hughes snapped. “Don’t be an arse.”
“You and your men sit on the thwarts in-board of the oarsmen,” Lewrie told Pullen. “Soon, as the boats ground, the sailors’ll boat their oars, and some will jump out into the surf to make sure that the boat is secure. You’ll note in this sketch that the dockyard built them all with a square-ish bow platform. You’ll leave your boats by the bow, run up to the edge of the beach … by platoons…” Lewrie said with a nod to Hughes, “and then set off towards your objective. My men will remain on the beach to guard the boats ’til you return.”
“If I may, sir?” Hughes interrupted. “Your men will carry the minimum of accoutrements, musket-bayonet-hanger-haversack, with spare flints and fourty cartridges-brass priming horn-cartridge box containing fourty rounds-water bottle-firelock rag to keep out the wet, and snot rag for blowing your noses, got that? Packs and blankets will not be required, as we will only be ashore for a few hours, nor will rations beyond a bit of cheese, bisquit, or a wee sausage. It will be like a boy’s first romp with a wench … in quick, and out quick.”
Pullen and Staggs tittered and blushed.
“Hopefully, someone is satisfied,” Marine Lieutenant Keane japed. He and his fellow officer, Lt. Roe, seemed ages older than the 77th’s officers, who seemed total innocents in comparison.
“We’re going to practice all this, starting tomorrow, weather and surf depending,” Lewrie told them all. “Right after breakfast, the boats will be alongside the quay to ferry you and your troops to the transport. You’ll go aboard, get assigned quarters, make up your beds, and stow away your equipment, then spend the night aboard, to get accustomed. Weather allowing, the next morning will see us out at sea, down by Europa Point or the old Chapel, or on the Eastern side in one of the bays, far from prying enemy eyes.”
“And we’ll keep at it ’til we can board the boats, land ashore, deploy, then return to the ship as quickly and as efficiently as is possible,” Major Hughes sternly said, putting them on notice. “Speed is of the essence. Success depends upon giving the enemy as little warning as possible. A question, Captain Kimbrough?” he asked to an up-raised hand.
Kimbrough crossed his arms over his chest before speaking. “It seems to me, sir, that this ship, and the transport, can be seen a long way off, so … isn’t getting to within a mile or so of the shore more than ample warning of our coming, and our intentions?”
“If done in broad daylight, aye, Captain Kimbrough,” Lewrie told him. “We intend to close the coast in the wee hours of the night, and begin the landings before dawn … at first sparrow fart.”
“In the dark?” Kimbrough gasped.
“Can’t be done!” Captain Bowden said, blanching. “It’d be an hopeless muddle in the dark. The men aren’t trained…!”
“The Navy does it all the time, let me remind you, sirs,” Major Hughes gruffly countered. “Right, Captain Lewrie?”
“We do, sir,” Lewrie replied. “As for fighting at night, operating in the dark, recall Lord Cornwallis’s loss of his blockhouses which sealed his fate at Yorktown, taken by the Yankee Doodles in the dark. General Bonaparte took the last forts and batteries on the peninsula in a rainy night assault, which forced us to abandon Toulon. I was there to see that’un. I took a French frigate in the South Atlantic in a stormy night with half a gale blowing. Well, there was a lot of lightning,” he admitted. “It can be done.”
“But the men aren’t used to…!” Bowden insisted.
“We’ll get them used to it,” Hughes barked, cutting him off. “That’s what the rehearsals are for. God above, you sound as if you and your troops think that Raw Head and Bloody Bones are lurking in the night, eager to suck your souls! The men will learn their roles, and get good at them, if you gentlemen explain it to them with enthusiasm, and lead with enthusiasm. Your confidence in them, and in the method by which we strike the enemy, will make them confident.”
That shut the young officers up, though it didn’t make them appear any more eager. All slumped in their chairs, arms crossed over their chests, looking abashed and sullen, sharing queasy looks among them. Lewrie wasn’t sure that that very sound advice did them much good. The task of leading put upon them was what officers did, what their families had paid for them to be—leaders of men! Perhaps it was the way that Hughes had imparted his sageness was the problem; too harsh and demeaning.
* * *
“Damned slender reeds, sir … damned slender,” Major Hughes sourly commented after the junior officers had been dismissed and sent ashore. Hughes had lingered over a last glass of wine before taking his own departure. “Christ, what a clueless pack of tom-noddies the Army is awarding commissions to these days!”
“Well, any damned fool with money can buy his way in,” Lewrie said. “One’d think, though, that they knew what their chosen careers would ask of ’em. ‘If ye can’t take a joke, ye shouldn’t o’ joined’!”
“Hah!” Hughes barked with wry humour, slapping his knee. “I have seen this over the years, Captain Lewrie. Until recently, the British Army hasn’t left their home barracks except for a brief annual week of road marches, encampments, and field exercises, and it’s all a lark of champagne, claret cups, horse racing for young officers, and high spirits in their messes each night. Mirth, glee, songs, music, the mess silver, and comfortable beds.”
“Sounds grand,” Lewrie replied, “and damn my father for shovin’ me into the Fleet!”
“It’s much the same the rest of the year, with long spells of leave for shooting, fishing, or chasing young ladies,” Hughes groused, “and once the drill for the day, the inspections once a week, is done, most young officers stroll back to the mess for drinks, leaving their men to the sergeants, and only know their troops by names in a muster book, and without their books, they wouldn’t have a clue who they are. They do not lead, they simply pose in the proper place, by God!”
“Can’t do that in the Navy,” Lewrie told him, “livin’ cheek by jowl with ’em for months on end, and knowin’ ’em by the odour of their farts.”
“This lot, Lord,” Hughes bemoaned, more than happy for Pettus to top up his glass. “Oh, I can understand that this wasn’t what they expected. They thought they’d be in the chummy comfort of the mess, with the bands playing, the colours flying, the bugle calls, and the excitement of battle on a field of honour … not rolling about in a ship, getting wet from the knees down, separated for who knows how long from their regiment, and asked to do the total unknown things.
“Home, hearth, and family is the regiment,” Hughes mused with a note of fondness in his voice. “Recruited from the same county they grew up in, for the most part, many of the rankers childhood friends. A grand system is the way we build our Army, quite unlike the French levee en masse, which rounds up unwilling conscripts and shoves hordes of strangers together.”
Lewrie would have mentioned that the Royal Navy pressed hordes of strangers together, but didn’t think it was a good idea, even if it resulted in tightly-bound ships’ companies in the end.
“I expect you will lead our young fellows to the water, as it were, and make them drink, whether they like it or not,” Lewrie said in jest.
“Damned right I shall, sir!” Hughes exclaimed. “By the time I am done, they’ll know their stuff and swear that they volunteered for the privilege!”
“I have no doubt you will, sir,” Lewrie stated.
“What we’re to do, you know, Captain Lewrie,” Hughes said after a swig of wine, “is revolutionary, a method of attack never before attempted. Why, with a few more transports and some escorting warships, I can easily envision the landing of a whole battalion of specially-trained troops at once, overwhelming any objective, defended or not. What was it you called it in your proposal which you sent to Sir Hew … an amphibious operation? God, a fully-established Amphibious Regiment on Army List, perhaps someday an entire Amphibious Brigade! And the officers in at the beginning leading and training the additional troops to glory, honour, and promotion, hah!”
“Well, only if we make a success of it, mind,” Lewrie told him.
“We shall, we shall, by God!” Hughes boasted.
And you’ll be Colonel of the regiment, or be made Brigadier, or be knighted for it? Lewrie thought; Damn, but he dreams ambitious!
“Well, sir, I must take my leave,” Hughes said after tossing back the last of his wine, and rising. “It’s Mess Night at the headquarters, and we’ve a fresh bullock from Tetuán. Moroccan cattle don’t make the best roast beef, but they’ll do in a pinch, hah hah!”
“See you aboard the transport in the morning, then,” Lewrie said, “though I would’ve thought that your last night ashore for some time would be better spent with your mysterious dining companion.”
“Time enough for her, after a good supper,” Hughes said with a wink as he clapped on his grandly feathered bicorne.
“I’ll see you to the entry-port, sir,” Lewrie offered, thinking that if he were in Hughes’s shoes, he’d have given the roast beef supper a wide miss.
