Текст книги "Kings and Emperors"
Автор книги: Dewey Lambdin
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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Night on the open sea, as dark as a boot, with the Westerlies keening in the rigging, and HMS Sapphire plunging and hobby-horsing under reduced and reefed sail. The clouds overhead were thick, and there was no moon. Captain Alan Lewrie was on deck, bundled up in his boat cloak, with a wool muffler round his neck, and his oldest hat on his head, peering into the darkness to count the many glowing taffrail lanthorns of the transports ahead of his ship to make sure that none of them were veering off, or lagging. There were even more astern, a second convoy low on the Southern horizon, with its own escorts over-seeing its safety. And, far out on the Northern horizon, beyond his own group, hull down and barely guessed at, there were even more, their night-lights winking as the sea surged ships atop the long rollers, then dropped the trailing ships into the deep troughs. All bound for some port in England.
He paced about, from the windward side which was his, alone, by right, to the helmsmen at the massive double-wheel, then down to leeward for a bit, where the officer of the watch, Lt. Elmes, stood.
Looking forward along the length of his ship, he could see a wee glow from the lanthorn at the forecastle belfry, and the ruddy square glows of the hatchways that led down to the upper gun-deck.
England, my God, he wearily thought. He had no idea if Percy Stangbourne had survived the last French assaults, and wondered what would happen when he mailed that promised packet of letters for him. Most of the army was off and away, large clutches of ships sailing as they were filled and sorted into convoy groups. There were still ships waiting at Corunna for the rear-guard, for the men who spiked the guns and despoiled what was left in the depot that could not be carried away. He had no idea what their fate might be.
At least the people are in good takings, he noted as the sound of music came wafting up from below through those hatchways. “Spanish Ladies,” “The Jolly Thresher,” “One Misty, Moisty Morning” were being sung in hearty bellows. The crew was happy; they would be in England soon.
He frowned, feeling very glum, as he speculated if he would be going back to Spain, to Gibraltar, or Lisbon anytime soon. Would Thomas Mountjoy still have need of him and his ship, or would he and Sapphire be sent halfway round the world to do something else? And, there was Maddalena to gloom about. If there was no return to Gibraltar, they would never see each other, again, and he would have to send her a very sad letter and a note of hand with which to support her ’til she managed to find someone else who would see to her up-keep.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he growled.
To make things worse, the musicians below struck up a new tune, and a strong tenor voice, he thought it might be Michael Deavers from his boat crew, began to sing “Over the Hills and Far Away.”
He only could recall the few lines that Captain Chalmers had sung, even though he had tried to play the tune on his penny-whistle that afternoon.
“‘And I would love you all the day … all the night we would kiss and play, if to me you would fondly say, over the hills and far a-way,’” he mouthed along under his breath, humming the tune at the rest. “Oh, damn, but I’m sorry, girl,” he whispered. “Minha doce … meu amor.”
Over the hills and far away.
AFTERWORD
Napoleon Bonaparte, self-crowned Emperor of The French, must’ve been very bored when he decided to overthrow the Spanish Bourbon king and conquer the Iberian Peninsula. Oh, there was still England to be invaded (he hadn’t completely given up on the scheme) but he’d beaten everybody else in Europe, had Russia cowed and allied (sort of) with his Empire, and ruled the roost from the Atlantic to the Germanies, Poland (still beholden to Russia, anyway), and most of Italy.
There was Portugal, long a friend of England, that must have her ports closed and all her trade with Great Britain shut down, to complete the implentation of his Berlin Decrees and establish his Continental System to destroy British–European trade and bankrupt his last enemy. Fine and dandy, but, why Spain?
After all, Minister Manuel Godoy had cozened his country into an alliance with France in late 1804, had handed over good warships, money, food, and access to Spain’s overseas colonial ports, not that the French were in a position to take advantage of that after losing control of the seas after the Battle of Trafalgar. Spain was supine, a lick-spittle ally, and as said in A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy … “mostly harmless.” Napoleon was allowed to march an army through Spain into Portugal and conquer, but occupied cities in the North and centre of Spain. Did he really imagine that by conquering Spain he also gained every Spanish colony in the world, including the Phillipines in the Pacific? Or, was Spain merely a stepping-stone to grander ambitions, like seizing both Gibraltar and Ceuta, then crossing into North Africa, marching East to Egypt (again!) and even to British-held India? You have to give it to him; the little bastard dreamed big!
There was no real point to it, but, perhaps Napoleon thought it would be a walk-over. He did not take into account the Spanish people, nor did he take into account, or thought very little of, the British, who thought it possible to confront Napoleon on land, at last.
Everywhere that French armies went, once they had conquered a new province or country, they usually found quick-thinking collaborators who’d go along with them, and populations so weary of all those Thirty Years’ Wars and Hundred Years’ Wars that had plundered their lands and wealth that they would meekly succumb and try to make the best of things. Garrison duty was usually dull for the French, and they could quickly enlist, or conscript, young men into “allied” militaries who could police their own countries, and march to flesh out the already-massive French armies.
Nobody, anywhere in Europe, had ever cut a French throat in their sleep before, rebelled against them, ambushed their couriers and supply convoys, and armed themselves. General Castaños’s victory against French General Dupont at Bailén must have been an embarrassing shock to Napoleon’s pride in his armies. Unfortunately that victory made the Spanish think that they were invincible, which led many of their other Generals to lead Spanish armies to utter catastrophes, later on. The introduction of self-organised, self-armed bands of guerrillas, partidas who fought the “Little War” as they called it, was another shock; why, it was against the very rules of war, as they were understood in Europe, as chaotic as war on the frontiers against savage Red Indians! (Politically Correct types may blow it out yer arse.) Except from people like the bum-licking Godoy and the elite classes of Spain, the Anfrancesados, Napoleon and his men could not find very many collaborators, or recruits to serve alongside their own soldiers, either; the guerillas saw to that, making it very bloodily clear that co-operation or collusion with the invaders could be fatal. There were very few Quislings in Spain!
Napoleon’s expected quick conquest was turning into a steaming pile of merde. His trusted Marshal Junot had his can kicked at Roliça and Vimeiro, his other Marshals had retreated to the North of Spain, and his lacklustre brother, Joseph Bonaparte, now King of Spain, had to abandon Madrid and run for his life!
Enter the unfortunate General Sir John Moore. He didn’t ask, and no one told him, how desolate central Spain could be in the middle of Winter, or just how bad the roads were. Mr. John Hookham Frere took all the empty Spanish promises as Gospel, and eagerly passed them on to Moore; his only qualification for his important post at Madrid as a diplomat to the Supreme Junta was his friendship with Foreign Secretary George Canning! “Old School Tie,” or “Arse-Hole Buddies,” don’t make the most effective, or useful, representatives.
Actually, HM Government in London thought that invading Spain would be as easy as a stroll in Hyde Park … minus the rain! When Moore and Sir David Baird’s separated wings of the army realised at last that Napoleon had come to Spain himself with massive re-enforcements, they had no choice but to retreat to the coast and try to save the army, especially when Napoleon realised that he might be facing Sir John Moore, and got on a tear to be after him, thirsting for a victory over the British. He pushed his troops so hard, in the same horrid conditions as Moore and Baird experienced, that he was stranded for hours in a raging blizzard in a mountain pass, urging his men on, and earned a shout of “Convicts suffer worse than we do. Shoot him down, damn him!”
The glittering prize of destroying a British field army was too tempting. Napoleon abandoned any plans to continue marching South to polish off the Spanish rebellion, which left half the country free of him, which in the long run proved fatal. Then, after sitting before the city of Benavente for two days waiting for bridge repairs, and getting urgent despatches from Paris warning him of new problems with the Austrians, Napoleon turned the pursuit over to Marshal Soult and left Spain forever, never to return.
With the excellent help of the Royal Navy, Moore’s army was plucked from disaster, from Vigo and from Corunna in an operation likened to the miraculous evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force from France in 1940, Dunkirk.
By drawing Napoleon upon him, Moore saved Spain from utter disaster and collapse in the last month of 1808, and January of 1809. Historians reckon that the resistance, and the introduction of a new British army into Spain under the returned Sir Arthur Wellesley in the Spring of 1809, created a “Spanish Ulcer” that was the turning point in the long Napoleonic Wars, and cost France more in the long run than the disasters in Russia of 1812!
Even if the Spanish never could do much to aid that eventual victory; Wellesley, later Lord Wellington, never could quite trust them to do what they boasted.
* * *
Lewrie, and the crew of HMS Sapphire, are not to know this; as they sail away through stormy seas from Corunna to land their transports in English harbours, and shelter, the whole thing looks as revolting as a stray dog’s dinner, and yet another shameful defeat at the hands of the “Corsican Ogre” and his invincible armies. Moore is dead, a sacrificial hero slain at the moment of his last success, the best hope of Britain gone. His Majesty’s Government may toss up their hands and cut their losses, abandoning both Spain and Portugal to their own devices.
Will Alan Lewrie get a few days of shore leave, long enough to catch up with doings in Anglesgreen, post those letters from Viscount Percy, or, if Percy fell in the fighting at Corruna, must he deliver them by hand to help Percy’s widow, Eudoxia, and his sister, Lydia, grieve?
Might he have time to really catch up with his son, Hugh, who seems to be doing quite well at his early naval career, or discover what’s up with his other son, Sewallis, and all his talk of dancing, carousing at subscription balls, and taking aboard strong drink? Is he no longer serving willingly, and might want out of the Navy?
Once back in England, and in Admiralty’s clutches, what fresh orders might await him, and where might they send him, this time? No more Independent Orders, no being seconded to the needs of Secret Branch, and Thomas Mountjoy’s whims or needs … no more returning to Gibraltar, and Maddalena Covilhā! Why, his new duties might be as bad as commanding that squadron of bloody gunboats, without the comfort of a fond and affectionate young woman!
And what’s that rot about “high-mindedness,” and getting the “Stink Eye” from the upright and high-minded Captain Chalmers? Has Respectability reared its ugly head, again, and when back in England, what social changes might Lewrie encounter. Will he be in the same bad odour as his father, Sir Hugo?
Hint-hint!
Fare-well, and adieu, to you, ladies of Spain,
For we’ve received orders to sail for Old England,
but we hope very shortly to see you, again!
Lewrie may be a cad, but he’s a useful cad. This time, though, he may have enough sense to stay aboard ship and not go haring ashore with the Army … maybe. You’ll simply have to wait and see.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEWEY LAMBDIN is the author of twenty previous Alan Lewrie novels. A member of the U.S. Naval Institute and a Friend of the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, England, he spends his free time working and sailing. He makes his home in Nashville, Tennessee, but would much prefer Margaritaville or Murrells Inlet. You can sign up for email updates here.
Also by Dewey Lambdin
The King’s Coat
The French Admiral
The King’s Commission
The King’s Privateer
The Gun Ketch
H.M.S. Cockerel
A King’s Commander
Jester’s Fortune
King’s Captain
Sea of Grey
Havoc’s Sword
The Captain’s Vengeance
A King’s Trade
Troubled Waters
The Baltic Gambit
King, Ship, and Sword
The Invasion Year
Reefs and Shoals
Hostile Shores
The King’s Marauder
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Diagram of Full-Rigged Ship
Diagram of Points of Sail and 32-Point Wind-Rose
Map of Iberia
Map of Battle of Vimeiro and Battle of Corunna
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Book One
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Book Two
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Book Three
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Book Four
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Afterword
About the Author
Also by Dewey Lambdin
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
KINGS AND EMPERORS. Copyright © 2015 by Dewey Lambdin. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.stmartins.com
Maps copyright © 2015 by Cameron MacLeod Jones
Cover design by David Curtis
Cover art: Battle of Camperdown, October 11, 1797, painting by George Chambers (1803-1840), 1830, oil on canvas. Detail. French Revolutionary Wars, Holland, 18th century © De Agostini Picture Library / G. Nimatallah / Bridgeman Images
Cover photographs: parchment © Tischenko Irina / Shutterstock.com; compass © rangizzz / Shutterstock.com
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978– 1-250-03006-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-03007-8 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781250030078
First Edition: February 2015
