“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!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“A pretty day for it, I must say, sir,” Mr. Caldwell the Sailing Master commented as Lewrie paced the quarterdeck near him, in passing.
“Pretty, aye, but a windy one,” Lewrie responded after a long squint aloft to the stiffly fluttering commissioning pendant and the thrumming and clattering of running rigging and blocks. HMS Reliant lay almost beam-on to weather, rolling alee, then upright, and snubbing at her anchor cables. “Yesterday was calmer. Better for it.”
The fleet had come to anchor just West of Robben Island on the night of the 4th. Yesterday, on the 5th, the demonstration towards Green Island had been made. Now this morning, the 6th of January, was the day selected by Commodore Popham to land the army.
At the moment, that prospect didn’t look all that promising to Lewrie, for though the skies were clear blue and the high-piled clouds were as white as fleece, there were strong winds from offshore, which had stirred up a heavy surf, combining to make a landing very risky.
Lewrie fetched a longer, more powerful telescope from the binnacle cabinet forward of the double-wheel helm and went to the bulwarks on the lee side to extend the tubes and raise it to one eye to peer deep into Blaauwberg Bay.
“Christ on a crutch,” he muttered in dour appreciation.
The bay was chopped with white-caps and white horses right to the shallows, and streaked with long, white curling waves mostly parallel to the shore where they began to break, rank upon rank of them marching onwards to crash and expend themselves upon the shingle and sand, each a little more than one hundred yards apart. Were heavily loaded boats sent in under oars, they would be hobby-horsing up and over each wave, bows-high first, then stern-high as they passed over the steep crests, and burrowing their bows in. Their final dashes to the beach would be nigh un-manageable, riding the crests if they were lucky, but it was good odds that many would broach beam-on to those waves, and be rolled over and under!
“Still no signal from Diadem?” Lewrie asked over his shoulder.
“None yet, sir,” Lt. Westcott told him.
“It might be best were the landings put off ’til tomorrow,” Lewrie said as he lowered the long day-glass, collapsed the tubes, and turned away from the rails, with a frown on his face.
“Perhaps conditions may be better in Saldanha Bay, sir,” Lieutenant Merriman hopefully suggested. “It is a bit more sheltered.”
“But, only the slightest bit, Mister Merriman,” Lewrie pointed out as he pulled out his pocket-watch to see how much of the morning had been wasted. “From Saldanha Bay, it’s more than a day’s march to Cape Town. That’d give the Dutch bags of time to mount a counter move. Daylight’s wasting. If we don’t move soon, we might as—”
The blustery morning was broken by the report of two guns, the announcement of a general signal to all ships. Two sour and yellowish-white puffs of powder smoke sprouted from the flagship, HMS Diadem. A long moment later, strings of brightly-coloured signal flags went soaring up her halliards.
“It is … ‘To Weigh … In Order of Sailing’,” Lt. Westcott slowly interpreted. “The last is spelled out letter-by-letter, sir. It is … ‘Saldanha’!”
“Very well, Saldanha Bay it is,” Lewrie said with a quick nod of his head, puffing out his cheeks in a disappointed sigh. “And God help poor soldiers. Hands to ‘Stations To Weigh’, Mister Westcott.”
“Aye aye, sir!”
Once every warship and transport had hoisted their own ‘Affirmative’ signals to acknowledge receipt and understanding of t
he orders, Diadem struck her string of signals, which was the ‘Execute’. On each vessel, messenger lines were fleeted to capstans, the messengers nippered to the much stouter anchor cables, capstan bars fitted to the tops of the drums, and sailors breasted to the bars and began the heaves to reel in the hawsers. Most ships were anchored fore-and-aft by best bowers and kedges, so bow hawsers had to be eased and the aft hawsers taken in to break the kedges free; then, the process had to be repeated to bring the bow hawsers to “Up And Down”, just shy of breaking the bowers from the bottom. Sail began to appear on every ship, mostly jibs, stays’ls, and spankers to begin with, to gain some control and keep them from sagging alee onto the shoals round Robben Island, and to put a bit of forward drive on.
Altogether, all those evolutions took the better part of an hour, before the first transports bearing the 38th Regiment of Foot, the bulk of the cavalry, and the artillery led out ahead of the rest on course for Saldanha Bay, up the coast.
“Hmm,” Lt. Westcott said, looking aloft. “We may need to let the tops’ls fall to the next reef point, sir. I think the winds are moderating.”
Lewrie, who had been standing by the windward side of the quarterdeck, on the larboard side, first looked seaward to determine if another column of ships was stealing their wind, then turned to face his First Officer. “Damned if it ain’t, Mister Westcott. Do you bare more canvas, aye.” He took another long moment to judge how his ship moved underneath his feet, then exclaimed, “And, damned if the sea’s not as lively, either. Think I’ll take another peek ashore.”
Back to the compass binnacle cabinet he went to fetch out that powerful telescope, went to the lee, starboard, bulwarks, and looked shoreward. Blaauwberg Bay was off the fleet’s starboard quarters, by then, and the approaches to Saldanha Bay were off the starboard bows, still miles away, and Blaauwberg Bay was … calming!
The confused chop had ebbed in a single hour with the dropping of the offshore wind, and the clashing large white horses seemed to have dissolved, leaving only scattered white-caps and cat’s paws on the sea. The strong sets of rollers and breaking waves no longer crashed on the beaches, but merely gushed ashore in sheets of foam, and were much reduced in height.
Hostile Shores Page 21
