Hostile Shores (27 page)

“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.”