“We take it one item at a time,” Mountjoy exclaimed, looking as if he’d clap his hands in glee. “First off … hmm.”
“Two, maybe three companies of infantry,” Lewrie suggested. “I prefer light infantry, light companies used to skirmishing. I s’pose we’d have to go hat-in-hand to Sir Hew Dalrymple for those.”
“Then, when you have the troops committed, it’s only natural that the next request would be to Captain Middleton, for the yards to build the boats,” Mountjoy slyly added.
“And, once the boats are begun, I go prowl about to capture a decent-sized Spanish merchantman to be our transport,” Lewrie said, “or we convince Sir Hew to commandeer one from the next troop convoy.”
“And, if we have the troops, the boats, and the transport, we need extra sailors to man the boats that will carry the troops ashore and back, and supplement the transport’s crew.”
“We get the transport, we get the scrambling nets, then the extra sailors,” Lewrie gleefully schemed on. “It’s good odds that the naval hospital will have men healed up from their sicknesses or their wounds, with no chance to rejoin their original ships, just idling with nothing to do! Lastly, we stock the transport with all manner of rations for all, and we’re off!”
“Huzzah!” Mountjoy cried. “Rock Soup, by God! Huzzah!”
“But only, sir,” Deacon finally contributed, most laconically, “if Sir Hew is of a mind to bother the Spanish.”
“Hey? What’s that, Deacon?” Mountjoy scoffed. “Whyever not?”
“The gentleman may imagine that if Spain will allow a French army march across their country to invade Portugal, then they might go so far as to allow the French to march down here and try to take Gibraltar, with Spanish armies collaborating. He may imagine that it may be better to keep all his five thousand troops here, and send for re-enforcements, instead, sir.”
Damned sharp for a former Sergeant from the ranks, Lewrie told himself; Where do Twigg and Peel find ’em?
“All we can do is ask,” Lewrie said, wondering if their bright ideas might come to nothing. “See what he has in mind, get an inkling of what he’s been told by London that he hasn’t seen fit to share with you, so far, Mountjoy.”
“Well, I suppose we should,” Mountjoy grudgingly agreed, much sobered. “Yes, I’ll send a note to Sir Hew requesting a meeting to introduce you, and our plans. Keep your fingers crossed that he doesn’t send you off to Tetuán for fruit and water, instead. You will run my note up to the Convent, Deacon? There’s a good fellow.”
“The Convent?” Lewrie asked.
“It was a convent, once, when the Spanish had the Rock. Quite a good and roomy place for his headquarters,” Mountjoy explained. “I think your best will be in order, Captain Lewrie … Sir Alan, rather. Sash and star, all that? Sir Hew will place great stock in your turnout.”
“Shave and brush my teeth, too, I suppose?” Lewrie complained.
“If you’d be so kind,” Mountjoy said in wry reply.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Hah, I wonder why they call him ‘the Dowager’, Lewrie had to wonder when introduced to Lieutenant-General Sir Hew Dalrymple in his offices the next afternoon. Mountjoy had told him that Sir Hew had been born in 1750, had purchased a commission as a Lieutenant in his teens, at thirteen, and was now only fifty-seven years old, thirteen years Lewrie’s senior. Sir Hew didn’t look like an aged dodderer, or sound like an ancient “skull full of gruel”. He seemed quite lucid, in fact.
“Is not your ship a tad too large for the operations that Mister Mountjoy, here, envisions, Sir Alan?” Dalrymple asked.
“I would have preferred a frigate, Sir Hew,” Lewrie told him, “but I was given command of Sapphire before Mister Mountjoy’s superiors thought to make use of me.”
“Sir Alan has been involved in several cooperative ventures in aid of Secret Branch since the 1780s, off and on, sir,” Mr. Mountjoy stuck in.
“Spying?” Dalrymple said with a sniff of dis-approval.
“Not directly, sir,” Lewrie had to point out. “Providing naval support and military support in aid of overseas … doings.”
“An unsavoury activity, spying,” Sir Hew commented, grimacing. “Knives in the back, all that? Even are the informations discovered by such doings useful. This hint of a French army preparing to conquer Portugal is disturbing, but welcome, for instance, though the means by which it was gained, well. Forewarned is forearmed. In light of this news, hmm … I fear I may not spare a substantial number of troops at this moment, sirs. If France can obtain Spanish permission for their march cross Spain, then they may even goad the Spanish to mount a new assault against my defences.”
“As you may see in my proposal, sir, Captain Lewrie thinks that only two or three companies of light infantry would be required, along with his Marines and armed sailors,” Mountjoy sweetly, and patiently, wheedled. “Perhaps the skirmishers from two or three regiments. If the Spanish and French do assault the Rock, the grenadier companies and the line companies would be more use upon the ramparts, in the forts.”
“What?” Sir Hew quickly objected, not liking that one bit. “You intend to blend companies from three regiments, troops who have never served together before, officers in charge of them who come from three regimental messes, with disparate traditions, who are suddenly supposed to work together? I do not see how that combination could be even the slightest bit successful!
“And, just where in Andalusia do you intend to make your raids, sirs?” Sir Hew continued quibbling. “From Tarifa to Estepona, close to Gibraltar? Cross the bay at Algeciras? If I am in the near future in danger of a siege of Gibraltar, I would much prefer that it comes later rather than sooner, allowing time for re-enforcements to arrive. A sudden rash of pin-pricks against the Spanish in, or near, their Campo de Gibraltar might cause the government in Madrid to send fresh armies to General Castaños, with orders to assail us once again.”
Deacon was right, damn him, Lewrie thought, wishing he could scowl but keeping “bland” on his phyz; Dalrymple won’t upset the apple-cart, or hurt his good relations with the Dons.
“Had you a fleet, Sir Alan,” Dalrymple said, pleasant now that his “pet” was over, “and I could lure ten thousand men from General Henry Fox on Sicily, I would much prefer having a go at the Spanish enclave at Ceuta, cross the Straits. Blockade the place so that Spanish troops in the great fortress there cannot be ferried over to Castaños, or a French expeditionary fleet could combine with the Spanish, and mount an attack on the South end of the Rock, perhaps down near the Chapel of Europa, or the Tuerto Tower defences.”
Sir Hew rose and uncovered a large map which was marked with pinned-on arrows indicating where he would like to land that theoretical army, and some dots to mark the bounds of a naval blockade.
“The Sultan of Morocco might not care to have another European power supplant the Spanish, but he would most certainly relish Spain being ousted, sirs,” Dalrymple said, almost smacking his lips at the prospect, and gazing almost lovingly at his map. It was a very well-done and handsome map, certainly drawn at some expense. “I have corresponded with the Sultan at Tangier, and have hinted most broadly as to that possibility. His replies are mildly encouraging.”
“Uhm, sir,” Mountjoy said with a squirm of discomfort. “There is a French ambassador at Tangier, and the Sultan’s court is a cesspool of intrigue. Even the broadest hints, as you say, might have already been bandied about and relayed to Paris, and to Madrid to warn them that you envision seizing Ceuta.”
“French spies, sir,” Lewrie added, summing the matter up, playing on Sir Hew’s distaste for the trade. “Worst of a filthy lot.”
“Here now!” Mountjoy whispered from the corner of his mouth.
Dalrymple sighed longingly over his map for a bit more, oblivious to their exchange, or Lewrie’s broad grin, then slowly re-covered it and came back to his desk.
“Sadly, London has only given Fox twelve thousand men, and he’s none to spare, even f
or Gibraltar’s defence,” Sir Hew told them. “If I need more, they must come from England. You say that you are here to lend aid to Mister Mountjoy’s doings, Sir Alan? Does that mean that your ship will spend much time in harbour?”
“No sir, sorry,” Lewrie replied. “If I must act alone and use my Marines and armed landing parties, in my own boats, I’ll be out at sea most of the time. Of course, I will need to see Captain Middleton for larger boats, so I can land all my men in one group, quickly.”
Rock Soup’ll have t’start with boats and scramblin’ nets, he thought with a groan; Then I get out of port soonest, and capture some sort o’ boat for Mountjoy.
“Pity, that,” Sir Hew gloomed. “Gibraltar is in dire need of a permanent naval presence. One would wish that you could have Captain Middleton build boats large enough to serve as gunboats, and man them with your sailors.”
“I have my orders, Sir Hew,” Lewrie said.
Mine arse if you’ll have me! he thought.
“And I cannot countermand them,” Dalrymple said.
Thank bloody Christ! was Lewrie’s thought.
“Unless there is a true emergency,” Dalrymple posed.
“So long as the dockyard is building more boats for me, it can produce boats for you, sir,” Lewrie quickly countered, “and there are sailors and gunners recovering in the naval hospital, surely, enough to form a harbour guard flotilla, even some recovering officers and Midshipmen separated from their ships and unlikely to rejoin them anytime soon, who could lead them. Does Captain Middleton have twelve-pounders or eighteen-pounders in storage; well, there you go, sir!”
“Once Captain Lewrie had found a transport for the light infantrymen, sir,” Mountjoy stuck in, springing quickly to lay the ground for another of their requests which they had hoped to bring up later, “we had hoped to avail ourselves of those men, to man the transport and make up the boat crews.”
“In your plan sent to me, Mister Mountjoy, you stated that Sir Alan has a great deal of experience with, what did you call them … amphibious raids and landings?” Dalrymple said, lifting a page from Mountjoy’s proposal to squint over it. “Boat work, in other words, or word, rather? Am-phib-ious?” He worked his mouth over that.
“Buenos Aires and Cape Town last year, sir,” Lewrie boasted. “The Bahamas and Spanish Florida the year before, experiments in the Channel with various torpedo devices in 1804, and landings on the Spratly Islands and the Spanish Philippines in the ’80s ’tween the wars and…”
“Escaping Yorktown after the surrender, too, sir,” Mountjoy added for him. “Two or three ships’ boats got out to sea for rescue, or so I heard. Captain Lewrie’s work in the Far East against native pirates, sponsored by the French, was his first exposure to Secret Branch.”
“Never had to cut a throat, or stab anyone in the back, sir,” Lewrie could not help japing.
I leave all that to Zachariah Twigg, Jemmy Peel, and Mountjoy, he qualified to himself.
“But, just where did you two envision making your raids?” Sir Hew asked, still un-convinced.
“From beyond Tarifa in the West, to near Cádiz, sir,” Mountjoy assured him, “and to the East, from Málaga right to the French border.”
“Hmm … enterprising, I must say,” Dalrymple commented.
“So long a stretch that the Spanish cannot concentrate to defend against us,” Mountjoy schemed on, “and our choices so varied all along the coasts that our movements would be unpredictable.”
“Like the Vikings, or the Barbary Corsairs, sir,” Lewrie said.
“Minus the rape and pillage, of course,” Mountjoy corrected.
Sir Hew Dalrymple took a long moment to think that over, pulling at his earlobes, tugging his nose, before speaking, and that hesitantly, at last. “Hmm, does the defensive situation admit of the release of two or three companies, on a temporary basis, mind, to add some heft to your raids … now and then … then I may be able to spare you a few troops, if you are able to obtain a suitable transport for them. Just as I cannot countermand your orders, Sir Alan, and dragoon you to become a guardian for the bay approaches, I cannot order any vessel under the Transport Board’s hire to serve under your orders. If such is the case, I cannot imagine how you and Mister Mountjoy can gather all the needed elements, but … I wish you good fortune in the doing, and if you manage to put all the pieces together, then I may be able to aid you. I make no firm promises, but…?”
He spread his hands wide and shrugged, then stood, signalling that their conference was at an end, and Lewrie and Mountjoy had to be satisfied that he hadn’t given them an outright refusal.
* * *
“He didn’t say no,” Mountjoy said with a sigh.
“He didn’t clap us on the back and cry ‘sic ’em’, either. Not a good way to begin,” Lewrie groused as they made their way back down to the town. “At least his sherry was tasty.”
“It was Spanish,” Mountjoy told him. “Andalusia’s famous for it, and rivals Portugal … when they feel like trading with us.”
“Now there’s incentive for successful raids,” Lewrie laughed. “Haul off lashings of the stuff … if I can keep my sailors and Marines from drinkin’ it up, first.”
“You’ll see Captain Middleton, next, I suppose?” Mr. Mountjoy asked, taking off his wide-brimmed straw summer hat to fan himself, for the sun was fierce, and there was scant wind from off the bay.
“Thought I would, aye,” Lewrie told him.
“When Admiral Nelson had the Mediterranean Fleet, he came with a dozen extra shipwrights to improve the dockyard,” Mountjoy told him. “They were to build gunboats for the bay defence then, too, but nothing came of it. Shortage of funds, God knows why. Most of them survived the outbreak of Gibraltar Fever in 1804.”
“I never heard that it was un-healthy here,” Lewrie said.
“Only every now and then,” Mountjoy assured him, “though when it does break out, it’s as bad as the West Indies. Civilians who can do so leave town and camp out in tents on the eastern side of the Rock, high above the pestilential miasmas, where there are cooling winds. I have been told that by the time the fevers ebbed three years ago, the garrison was cut in half. Thank God it appears to affect the Spaniards, too, else they could have put together an army and marched right through the Landport Gate!”
“Well, in any case, once I’ve seen Captain Middleton, I’m off to sea t’get your boat,” Lewrie stated, “and our transport, too, is God just. Two-masted, about fourty or fifty feet overall?”
“That would do quite nicely, though even after all my time with you aboard Jester, I still know little of ships and the sea,” Mountjoy confessed. “A fishing boat, no matter how badly it reeks?”
“Perhaps a coastal trader, with a partial cargo of grain, and an host of rats?” Lewrie teased.
“No matter,” Mountjoy said with a wee smile, “for I’ll not be aboard her. No reason to be.”
“You’ll just sit in your cool offices, or on your shaded gallery, peekin’ through your telescope and playin’ the sly spy-master, instead,” Lewrie teased again. “By God, but His Majesty’s Government must be told how they’re wastin’ their money on idleness.”
“My dear fellow, but are you sounding envious?” Mountjoy japed.
“You’re Goddamned right I am!” Lewrie barked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“The tea tastes diff’rent,” Lewrie commented after a sip or two. He held his glass up to the light of a swaying overhead lanthorn with a squinty expression. “Fruitier?”
“Ehm, that’d be a dram or two of orange juice that Yeovill put in it this morning, sir,” Pettus told him. “There’s a whole sack laid by in your lazarette, along with lemons and bunches of grapes, and a few pomegranates, though he isn’t sure what to do with those, as yet. There are all sorts of melons, too, The Mohammedans in Morocco don’t make wine with their grapes, but they sure grow a lot of fruits and such. Do you like it, sir?”
“Aye, right tasty,” Lewrie agreed,
recalling how he’d relished cool tea with peach or strawberry juice offered him by their British Consul in Charleston, South Carolina, a few years back.
“Mister Snelling had the Purser buy up barrels of lemons, too,” Pettus went on as he bustled about the dining-coach. “Even if Mister Cadrick can’t sell them to the hands and turn a profit. For the good of the crew’s health, Mister Snelling said, for their anti-scorbutic properties.”
“Anti-scarrin’?” Jessop muttered.
“Prevents scurvy, Jessop,” Pettus explained, “like wine, sauerkraut, or apples.”
“Had a lemon, once,” Jessop said. “I’d rather have an apple.”
Jessop had the loose sleeves of his shirt rolled to the elbows, proud to sport his first tattoo on his left forearm. It was a fouled anchor.
Christ, which came first? Lewrie asked himself; The whores, the rum, or that? And which of his guardians lost track of him long enough t’let him have it done? I think I’ll haveta have a word with Desmond and Furfy.
He finished his tea with an appreciative smack of his lips and a dab with his napkin, then announced that he would go on deck for a stroll.
It was a beautiful mid-morning, with thin streaks of clouds overhead, a glittering blue sea dappled here and there with white caps and fleeting cat’s paws. HMS Sapphire trundled along on a fine tops’l breeze, her motion gentle and swaying slowly from beam to beam only a few degrees, and pitching and dipping her bows as she encountered the long-set rollers.
“Good morning, sir,” Lt. Elmes said with a doff of his hat as Lewrie emerged onto the quarterdeck.
“Good morning to you, sir,” Lewrie replied, tapping the front of his own hat in return. “Good t’be back at sea?”
“Aye, sir,” Elmes gladly agreed. “Though I doubt that our men would agree. One whole day of shore liberty has only piqued their interest.”
“Grumpy, are they, Mister Elmes?” Lewrie asked.
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