Текст книги "Hostile Shores"
Автор книги: Dewey Lambdin
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 27 страниц)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Christmas came and went, with raisin duffs for each eight-man mess, and a “Splicing of The Main-Brace” issue of grog, to celebrate, minus the wilder rites of civilians, and no Lord of Mis-Rule leading a ravening pack of carolers to barge into houses and demand dinner and drink from their betters. Very quietly the next morning, Boxing Day was observed, with minor gifts for stewards and servants in the Midshipmens’ and officers’ messes, and in Lewrie’s great-cabins.
The great-cabins were also the site of the New Year’s Eve supper for the officers, with as grand a repast as could be concocted after several months on-passage, livened by music and song, and a flowing bowl of punch which had to be refilled twice over.
The First of January of 1806 the next morning was welcomed with yet another “Splice The Main-Brace” and a day of “Make And Mend” idleness for all hands, beyond necessary ship’s work. With Reliant and the invasion convoy now below the 30th Meridian, and hundreds of miles out to sea from the shores of Africa, the temperatures were once more bearable, as was the glare of the sun. Many sailors went bare-chested and hatless as they sewed to repair or alter their clothes, wrote letters or had them written by more literate mates, read books or months-old newspapers, worked small-stuff twine to fashion rings, bracelets, and lanyards for their personal knives, or more complicated brooches that they hoped to have sewn on distant loves’ gowns, someday. Some carved rock-hard salt-meat into snuff boxes, or combs. And, many “caulked”, seizing the rare opportunity to sleep without disturbance beyond their few hours off-watch in their hammocks below.
* * *
“It is now official,” Sailing Master Caldwell declared after he lowered his sextant and scribbled his sums on a scrap of paper. “May I now wish you all a Happy New Year, sirs.”
“Ehm … would the new year actually have started at Eight Bells of the Night Watch, sir?” Midshipman Shannon piped up.
“For landlubbers, aye, Mister Shannon,” Caldwell grudgingly allowed. “For them, the last stroke of midnight would do, along with all the church bells, but … the ship’s day begins at Noon Sights. Happy New Year, Captain Lewrie.”
“And the same to you, Mister Caldwell,” Lewrie answered, admittedly a trifle blearily. His supper party the evening before had polished off a round dozen bottles of various wines, two massive bowls of punch heavily laced with rum, gin, some precious champagne, and great sloshes of his personal store of aged American bourbon whisky, and it had taken a hard look and a long try to rouse himself when wakened at 4 A.M. at the change of watch. There were some bohemian types and young sprogs of the sporting set who wore coloured glasses, and today Lewrie wished that he had a pair, for the bright and lovely day was painful on his eyes, and enflamed the dull headache that throbbed behind them.
I do b’lieve a passionate kiss, or a cold breakfast, might kill me, he told himself in moody misery, stifling yet another belch from his dicey stomach. All he wished was a very quiet few hours below in the relative silence, and dimness, of his cabins ’til sundown.
“I reckon us to be here, sirs,” Caldwell happily babbled on, “and am most pleased that most of the younkers’ reckonings agree with me.” He cast a chary eye upon Shannon. “We are actually a bit Sou’west of the Cape of Good Hope, and still on larboard tack. Almost in the latitudes of the prevailing Westerlies, hmm.”
“Do any of you young fellows have an explanation why Commodore Popham would lead us so broad?” Lt. Westcott posed to the Mids.
“Well, sir, sailing this far South, perhaps he intends to fetch the North-most fringes of the Westerlies,” Midshipman Eldridge said. “In that way, we could approach the Cape below it, then alter course and sail up to Cape Town and Table Bay on the Sou’east winds, from a quarter which the Dutch would not expect.”
“The Commodore is a very clever fellow,” Midshipman Rossyngton quickly agreed. “Why, the Dutch might even take us for a large French trade making its way to Europe from their Indian Ocean possessions!”
“Did we continue our slow approach from the North, they would spot us and be on the alert for days, else,” Midshipman Munsell speculated. “But, coming from the South, we’d be on the Cape, and along the shore, as quick as one could say ‘Knife’! Right into Table Bay in the middle of their dinners! Catch them with their breeches down!”
“Not into Table Bay itself, no,” Lewrie grumbled. “Can anyone tell me why? No? Pray do refer to the other chart.”
Once rolled out and pinned to the traverse board, Lewrie jabbed a finger at several features depicted, saying nothing, and leaving it for the Mids to figure out.
“Ehm … there are those two forts,” Midshipman Grainger shyly said. “Fortresses, really, especially this one on the West side of Cape Town, guarding the seaward approaches.”
“And here, and here?” Lewrie prompted, pointing to the mountains South of the town and the bay. “First, there are the Twelve Apostles along the shore. Above them on the West side of town are the Lion’s Head and the slightly lower Lion’s Rump. South of town is the Tafelberg … ‘Table Mountain’ … and, the lesser mounts of Signal Hill by Green Point, and the Devil’s Peak below Table Mountain’s foot. Any of them are tall enough for any watchers to see twenty miles or more out to sea on a good day, so there’s little chance of catching them with their breeches down. An approach from the South, as it appears that Commodore Popham prefers, might give the Dutch a day less to get ready to resist us, but I doubt they’d take us for a French commercial trade. And why is that, young sirs?”
“That they no longer have any, sir?” Munsell guessed.
“Spot on,” Lt. Westcott said with a laugh. “The French lost all their trade from China and India in the first months of the first war in 1793, and never could revive it, even during the Peace of Amiens. They’ve been driven from their few footholds in India, and only hold naval bases in the middle of the Indian Ocean. The Dutch might expect to see one or two frigates or large privateers coming round the Cape to put into Table Bay for provisions, but not a fleet such as ours.”
“So, even coming from the South, on favourable winds, there’s no chance of surprise,” Midshipman Warburton concluded.
“Well, some surprise, but not a total surprise,” Mr. Caldwell said with a grunt of satisfaction.
“If the fortress on the West of Cape Town commands the way into the Bay, where are we to land the Army, then, sir?” Midshipman Shannon hesitantly asked, his head laid over to one side in puzzlement.
“North of Robben Island, on the Nor’west side of Table Bay, Commodore Popham favours either Saldanha or Blaauwberg Bay. Blaauwberg lies much closer to our objective,” Lewrie told them. “Depending on the wind, weather, and the surf conditions, of course. That’s where we will land General Sir David Baird’s soldiers, God help ’em.”
“They’re rather open to the sea, really,” Grainger pointed out.
“So’s Table Bay, when ye get right down to it,” Lewrie said. “I spent weeks anchored there repairin’ Proteus, and when the winds got up, we did drag a little, even with both bowers and kedge anchor down. And us with no rudder! That’ll keep one up at night!”
“Once Cape Town is taken, sir, might there be a chance for us to go ashore?” Rossyngton asked. “I’d imagine that every Man Jack’d be keen to see the sights.”
“Go for a ride on an ostrich?” Lewrie suggested.
“Oh, surely, sir!” Eldridge hooted, leery of such an implausible notion. Even gullible little Shannon pulled a wary face.
“I’ve seen it done,” Lewrie declared. “S’truth! Not that I did so. But, there’s lashings of fresh water, fresh fruits and vegetables, vineyards everywhere ye look, and the Dutch’ve managed t’produce very good wines … whites, mostly. Their red wines are fine if drunk here, but they don’t travel well. And, bein’ Dutch and all, their beers are hellish-good. Aye, Mister Rossyngton, I’d imagine that once the Army is successful, we’ll be here awhile, and can land liberty parties for a whole day or so … once the working-parties’ chores are done, mind.”
“Long enough to go hunting and riding, sir? Long enough to see elephants and lions and such?” Shannon enquired, so eager that he seemed to bounce from one foot to the other.
“Well, one’d have t’ride rather far abroad t’see the wildlife,” Lewrie told him. “and I don’t think we could spare you that long. The Dutch have been here for centuries, and have driven most of the lions and all far away from their farms. That’d be like tryin’ t’find bears and stags roamin’ Islington, these days. Elands, kudus, and gnus are still near the settled lands, and you must have at least one meal when ashore. The game meat’s marvellous! I had a chance to shoot a few, when I was here last, and even bagged a rare crocodile. Still have its teeth back home in England. Some say that crocodile tail-meat is as good as chicken, but I found it rather tough.”
“Lord, how many odd creatures’ flesh is compared to chicken!” Lt. Merriman exclaimed. “Snakes and I don’t know what-all. Why can’t we just stick with good old barnyard chicken and have done?”
“One might hope that there is more for us to do than landing the Army and then just waiting round ’til they take the Cape Colony, sir,” Lt. Westcott, ever in search of glory, honour, action, and favourable notice at Admiralty, groused. “Some way to take an active part?”
“And be among the first to encounter any fetching blond-haired Dutch maidens, do you mean, Mister Westcott?” Lt. Merriman teased.
“Well, there is that,” Westcott rejoined with a shrug and one of his brief, almost feral tooth-bearing grins. “Perhaps, sir, when you next meet with the Commodore,” Westcott said to Lewrie, “the offer of our services ashore might be deemed … welcome?”
“Get into some action alongside the Army?” Lt. Simcock, their Marine officer, stuck in with an eager look. He had been drowsing on his feet, drawn to the quarterdeck for the daily Noon Sights for lack of something better to do, but came awake at the prospect of gunfire.
“I will, of course, suggest such to the Commodore, but he and General Baird may think their five thousand men sufficient,” Lewrie told them. “I wouldn’t mind a chance t’do more than sit and twiddle my thumbs, either. Aye, we’ll see, Mister Westcott, Mister Simcock. The Day Watch is set, Mister Merriman? Very good. Carry on with the ‘Make And Mend’ ’til the First Dog. I will be below.”
Payin’ for the sin of inebriation, Lewrie thought, wincing at the twinkling glare of the sun off the wavetops, and wondering if the “hair of the dog” was a legitimate treatment for hangover.
He made it down the windward ladderway to the ship’s waist and tarried to pay attention to Bisquit, who was proud to show off his new collar, which was of red leather with ornate sennet work all round it. The dog put his front paws on Lewrie’s waist and whined for petting, his tail whipping like a pendant in a gale as Lewrie obliged him with head rubs, ear rubs, and soft words of praise.
Two loud thuds erupted from somewhere, taking Lewrie, and his attention, back to the quarterdeck.
“‘General Signal’ with two guns from Diadem, sir!” Midshipman Eldridge was calling out to Lt. Merriman, the Officer of the Watch, with a long telescope to one eye. “It is … ‘Fleet … Will … Alter … Course’. Due East!”
“Bosun Sprague?” Merriman shouted down to the waist. “Do you pipe ‘All Hands’, Mister Sprague. ‘Stations for Wearing About’!” Then he looked to Lewrie, excitement all over his usually jovial countenance. “Huzzah, sir! It is beginning, at last!”
“Indeed it is, Mister Merriman,” Lewrie replied, remembering to play-act stern and stoic, and clasping his hands in the small of his back, and looking up the long line of warships. “I would expect the next order will be to ‘Wear in Succession’. Carry on, sir.”
“Aye aye!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ships’ Masters sailing from Europe to the West Indies fell down to the latitude of Dominica before turning Due West to ride the Trades, for the towering height of Dominica’s mountains could be seen over sixty miles out to sea on good days, a sure sea-mark, and a merchant captain, even one less-skilled at navigation, could count on spotting them and adjusting his course after determining his position.
So it was with the fleet’s first sight of Table Mountain, and the welcome cries of Land Ho on the 3rd of January 1806. It was much closer to the sea than Dominica’s peaks, and nearly 3,600 feet high, a massive, looming blotch on the horizon which first could be mistaken for the thunderheads of a black-hearted and murdering storm. But, as the ships of the expeditionary force slogged on Nor’easterly with the prevailing Trades abeam, its solidity became apparent, dark blue-grey and streaked with wisps of clouds streaming past its tops. From that point on, even the most in-experienced helmsman on the wheel, or the cox’n at the tiller of a small boat, could steer for it and be sure of an eventual safe landfall.
An hour or two after Table Mountain had been deemed solid and not an apparition, the signal for “Captain(s) Repair On Board” went up HMS Diadem’s halliards, summoning all naval captains to a conference with Commodore Popham aboard his flagship.
* * *
“Ah, welcome back aboard! Will you take a glass, Lewrie?” the ebullient Popham gaily offered as the other officers gathered. Cabin servants were circulating with coin-silver trays of glasses and white wine, and Popham was turned out in his very best uniform, complete with the sash and star of the Order of The Bath, and he gave Lewrie a quizzical look to note that Lewrie’s everyday uniform coat was bare.
“No matter,” Popham poo-pooed. “You remember Sir David Baird, and Brigadier Beresford and their aides? Uhm, good! Allow me to name to you your fellows … gentlemen, I give you Captain Sir Alan Lewrie of the Reliant frigate. Sir Alan, this is my Flag-Captain, Downman. Josias Rowley, of Raisonnable … George Byng, of Belliqueux; Captain Honyman who has the Leda frigate; Ross Donnelly, of the Narcissus … Commander Joseph Edmonds, Acting-Captain of the old Diomede … and Lieutenants William King and James Talbot, of the Espoir and the Encounter, respectively.”
A burble of “Happy to make your acquaintance”, some nods, and the lifting of glasses in welcome followed Popham’s introductions.
“Stout, canny, and adventurous souls, all, I vow,” Popham said in praise, “and each that eager to be at the Dutch and conquer, ha ha! You will all have taken note of the various charts laid out upon my dining table? Let us gather round it and make our plans.”
Happy as a boy with a jam jar! Lewrie thought, noting Popham’s almost playful demeanour, and eager, forceful motions.
“Here, gentlemen, is Robben Island,” Popham said, using a ruler as a pointer. “Though some charts name it Penguin Island. It is not all that high out of the sea, but protects Table Bay from the worst of most blows. Fairly flat, too. Once we are a few miles offshore, it is my intention that the fleet come to anchor West of Robben Island. Not too close ashore, for the Dutch may have mounted batteries there, and garrisoned it.”
“It’s a prison, sir,” Lewrie told him. “When I was here before, the Dutch, and we, used it as a prison … for criminals and rebellious sorts, mostly. The many sharks in the strait ’twixt the island and the mainland prevent escape attempts. The prisoners are put at hard labour, making gravel out of big rocks. The guards ain’t soldiers.”
“Hmm, well, in any instance, we shall anchor far off the shoals and rocks,” Popham said with amusement, “which would put us out of the range of any light artillery the Dutch may have … or showers of rocks flung at us in pique, hey, gentlemen?”
After faint chuckles had faded, Popham went on. “Then, sirs, I intend to make an inspection of Blaauwberg Bay, our primary choice for where we land the army. Lieutenant King, I would much appreciate did you do me and Sir David the honour of taking us aboard your Espoir for a reconnoiter of the bay for the most suitable beach? Capital! Most kind of you. Now, sirs—”
Popham slid another chart atop the first, one that showed Cape Town and Table Bay in greater detail.
“Sir David and Brigadier Beresford have suggested that we make a demonstration to confuse the Dutch and lure their army far enough away from Blaauwberg Bay so our landing may face lesser opposition. On that head, Sir David has allocated the Twenty-fourth Regiment of Foot. Captain Honyman, I wish you and your Leda to escort the transports carrying the Twenty-fourth. As soon as we are come to anchor off Robben Island, do you acquaint yourself to the masters of the transports in question, and prepare them to sail down … here … as soon as the order for execution is hoisted to you. Feint a landing on Green Island, as if we intend to go right at the town. Bombard, if you wish, without putting troops ashore, in fact.”
“Most happy to oblige, sir, and it will be done as you wish!” Captain Honyman replied with a perky grin, as if he had just been given the most important duty, not a feint.
“Once a suitable stretch of beach has been selected in the bay, I will expect all our men o’ war to lend their largest ships’ boats to supplement the transports’ boats, so we may establish the strongest lodgement, as quickly as possible, ashore,” Commodore Popham went on, looking up from his charts to peer at each of his captains, in turn. “Launches, cutters, even your own gigs … though I think we may leave the little jolly boats to your Bosuns so they may row about to see if your yards are squared, ha!”
“If I may, sir?” Diadem’s Flag-Captain, Downman, a pleasant and inoffensive-looking fellow, interrupted. “I was wondering about the order of anchoring, both off Robben Island, and in Blaauwberg Bay. Which group of transports, bearing which regiments, should be closest to the chosen beach to form the initial lodgement, and which units might Sir David deem to be of lesser importance, which could be anchored behind those at first, landing their troops, artillery, or cavalry, later? It would seem to me that do we establish the order of landing now, we could reverse the order of anchoring off Robben Island, placing the most important furthest out from the island, but first to sail, when the order is given to land the army.”
Commodore Popham twitched his mouth as if irked by the suggestion, but quickly recovered his aplomb and leaned back from the table and charts to beam at Downman. “An excellent suggestion, Downman! We do wish to pull this off with the neatest sort of efficiency, hey? It will be up to Sir David, of course, as to which regiment he chooses to land first.”
“Well, actually, I was of a mind, to put two regiments ashore at once, Sir Home,” General Baird said to Commodore Popham. “Not knowing how quickly, or in how much force, my Dutch opponent might respond, it would be best to get the Thirty-eighth Foot and the Ninety-third Highlanders ashore. Do you concur, Beresford?”
“Hmm, well,” Brigadier Beresford pondered, “two regiments would be best, though perhaps one might substitute the Seventy-first Highlanders for the Thirty-eight Foot. They’re better-drilled than the Thirty-eighth, and the Twenty-fourth, for that matter.”
“And two regiments of Scots would naturally be competitive with each other,” General Baird agreed with a small laugh. “God help the Dutch. Yes, I agree, Beresford. You take the Thirty-eighth for your brigade, along with the cavalry and artillery, and we will land the Heavy Brigade first, with your Light Brigade to follow.”
“With that settled,” Commodore Popham said, “and with the names of their transports known, we may write instructions as to the order of anchoring, and the subsequent sailing into Blaauwberg Bay. I trust you to organise all that, Downman.”
“Of course, sir,” Captain Downman replied, almost in a whisper, as if having such a task thrust upon him was nothing new since sailing under Popham.
“And, whilst we’re all here, do you determine how many boats we possess, and of which size, to lend to the army for the landings,” the Commodore added.
Did Downman wince? Lewrie wondered; Is he that put-upon? What’s a Flag-Captain for, if not to be the serf for his lord and master.
“I’ve two cutters and two barges, Captain Downman,” Lewrie volunteered. “I had need of ’em in the Channel, the summer of ’04, and the dockyards never really asked for ’em back, so—”
“They’ll be most welcome, Captain Lewrie,” Downman promised him with a brief, shy grin.
“You use a barge fit for a full Admiral for your gig, do you, Captain Lewrie?” Popham teased, with a faint sniff.
“Just an humble cutter, sir,” Lewrie replied, tongue-in-cheek. “Ev’ryone knows I’m the modest sort. Ehm … might I ask what we will be doing during the landing, sir? Do we anchor far out, or sail in close to lend support with gunfire?”
“Diomede and the other two-deckers I wish to stand off-and-on, under way,” Popham told him. “Though we’ve seen no sign that the Dutch have their own warships at the Cape, there is always the odd chance. In like wise, we have not seen any French warships lurking in the vicinity, either, but there’s always a risk of their turning up at the worst time.
“A pity, do they not,” Popham went on in a whimsical manner. “How glorious it would be to gain a victory over a combined squadron of enemy vessels, and pull off the conquest of the Cape Colony, both! Ah, well.”
He shrugged off that hopeful fantasy, tossed them all a boyish smile, and continued. “Diomede and the sixty-four-gunners will stand guard against just that possibility, slim as the odds for that may be. It would be best did our frigates and lighter vessels close the shore and anchor near the first transports which bear the regiments for the initial landings.”
“If the wind is up and there’s a heavy surf running, sir, then we might help form a breakwater,” Captain Donnelly of the Narcissus frigate posed. “We, and the transports together … hey?”
“But, should Dutch artillery appear upon the hills behind the landing beach,” Commodore Popham countered, “you will consider yourself free to close to gun-range and engage with what fire you are able to deliver. Can’t let the Army do it all by themselves, what?”
“Of course, sir,” Donnelly said, seemingly satisfied with the Commodore’s reply.
Lewrie thought that Popham’s response to Donnelly’s query was just a tad “tetchy”. For all his charm and bonhomie, he might not care for doubtful questions from his subordinates, nor for suggestions on details which he had not yet fully considered, either.
“Once all the troops are landed, though,” Popham went on with a grin on his face, “we cannot let our compatriots in the Army have all the fun, either. I intend that we combine all our Marines, and such parties of armed sailors as we may spare, to go ashore and lend a hand.”
“Well, sir,” General Sir David Baird said, after a long pause and a tug at one earlobe, “that is a generous gesture, though hardly a necessary one, Sir Home. I fear your Marines and sailors would feel wasted guarding the beach, and the supply train.”
“Does the Navy do the guarding, Sir David, that spares your men from doing so,” Popham told him. “We determined earlier that the foe might possess more cavalry than infantry, given the vast size of the Cape Colony. Do the Dutch think to emulate the exploits of mounted partisan militias, like the Americans during their Revolution, or the irregular tactics of Red Indians, well! Your cavalry might be best-employed harassing them!”
Lewrie relished the sound of that, and was quick to volunteer.
“God yes!” he piped up. “I can land fourty Marines and an equal number of sailors under arms without diminishing Reliant’s ability to fight, or provide fire! Put me down for it! After all,” he added in jest, “I know the country, and all the poisonous snakes, scorpions, centipedes, spiders, and bugs!”
“By name, sir … personally?” Captain Byng of the Belliqueux said with a snicker. “All of them?”
“Once we take Cape Town, I also know all the good taverns and eateries,” Lewrie quickly rejoined in equal humour. “That’s surely worth something. And all the scorpions answer to Jan van der Merwe!”
“A moot point, for the nonce, gentlemen,” Popham told them, after he and the rest had had a good laugh. “But, once the bulk of the army and their supplies are ashore, we shall see about forming a Naval Brigade. First things first, hey? It may be that Sir David overwhelms the Dutch so quickly that our services might not be necessary, and we may go ashore at our leisure, after. Then, Captain Lewrie may give us a nature tour, ha ha! That may be as much as we may expect to contribute, more’s the pity.”
I don’t believe a word of it! Lewrie scoffed to himself; He’s nigh-droolin’ t’take an active part! If he can’t have a victory at sea as grand as Nelson at Trafalgar, I’d lay guineas that he’s cravin’ his name featured prominently in the papers back home! Didn’t he already say the Navy’d give the nation a new Nelson … and that he’s the best candidate for that … in so many words?
Lewrie accepted a fresh refill of wine and took a slow sip or two, looking round at the other officers in Diadem’s great-cabins with an eye for other candidates to inherit the title of National Hero. It was circumstances that caused that, being at the right place at the right time, and being lucky enough, stubborn enough, or talented enough to succeed, to win. He found it nigh-impossible for a man to arrange success, and acclaim. All Navy officers were aspiring, for promotion, command, and for honour and glory, though it usually was the rare one in an hundred who gained such fame.
Lewrie had had his short stint at being well-known and even famous … or infamous, depending on how you looked at stealing those dozen slaves to man his ship at Jamaica, becoming the darling of the Abolitionists and Wilberforce and his crowd, then being acquitted at his trial for it. Stout and prosperous London businessmen still gave him the evil eye, the ones who saw nothing wrong with the slave trade and the wealth that came from it!
Aye, and look where all that’s got me! he scoffed; But … it might be nice t’be mentioned in despatches, now and again. Hmm. Me, the new Nelson? Oh, bosh!
* * *
The conference ended about half an hour later, after the last niggling details had been threshed out, and Lewrie went back to the upper deck, and the sunshine, waiting his turn to depart in order of seniority, the junior-most first, and the senior-most last, into their boats. While chatting with the others, he became even more convinced that there would be a Naval Brigade formed, whether it was needed or not … with Popham at its head, most likely!
He determined that as soon as he was back aboard his ship, he’d see to his personal weapons, oil them and clean them, and fit fresh flints in the dog’s jaws of their locks. He’d take his pair of double-barrelled Manton pistols, and his pair of single-barrelled pocket pistols, too, the ones made by Henry Nock. Of course, he’d take his Ferguson breech-loading rifled musket, which could shoot accurately almost three times as far as any Tower musket, and fetching along the longer fusilier musket wouldn’t go amiss, either. And, for hunting game, the Girandoni air-rifle, which was almost silent.
Game! Fresh game meat, roasted over a campfire on a spit. His mouth began to water at the thought, and if Popham didn’t send a Naval Brigade ashore, then By God he’d find a way to land with the Army, and Devil take the hind-most!
