“Ah! Take your word for it,” Tarrant laughed off, “Italian is nothing like my school Latin. There’s a letter come for you. Coffee, whilst you read it, sir?”
“Aye, that’d be fine,” Lewrie told him as a very young officer, a cavalry Cornet half-covered in dust from his joyously exuberant ride, handed Lewrie the letter, produced from his sabretache with a flourish.
“It’s from my Admiral, Charlton,” Lewrie announced as a cup of coffee was poured for him. He broke the seal and quickly read it. “He expresses his approval of our raid on Tropea, Colonel, he got my action report. Didn’t know which regiment I’d get at Malta … congratulations to the 94th … he’s left his flagship at Catania and boarded one of his brig-sloops to come to Messina for discussions with the commanding General on Sicily as to an operation he’s had in mind for some time, and I’m to report to him at the Castello ‘with all despatch’ … which is Navy for ’as soon as dammit’. Have you any horses, Colonel?”
“Well, no, actually,” Colonel Tarrant had to confess. “Garrison at Valletta, travelling by ship here, there is no way to feed or stable them, and no way to land them ashore. My dignity suffers, but…,” he said with a shrug.
“Hmm, it’d be quicker by boat, then,” Lewrie decided. “Jib and lugs’l on a barge. I think you should come with me, sir.”
“Sailing?” Tarrant balked. “In a small boat?”
“Call it a yachting jaunt,” Lewrie said with a smile. “Might I borrow pen and paper? I’ll send Charlton a quick note to confirm my receipt of his orders … make a suggestion. That Foreign Office fellow, Quill, should be there, too. It’s his informants who’d have the freshest assessments of what we’d face … wherever we’re going.”
“And Don Julio and his cut-throats?” Tarrant asked with a sham shiver.
“I very much doubt the commanding General would want them there!” Lewrie japed as he sat down to scribble. “They’d most-like make off with his silver services, ha ha. Or, get his staff drunk on grappa.”
He wrote his note, read it over twice, then signed it and stood to hand it to the cavalry Cornet, who had been patiently standing by, intrigued by the hint of a landing on the mainland, a battle, informants, and grappa.
“Off ye go with it, young sir,” Lewrie urged, “and I’d wager you will take great, galloping joy of the doing. Your horse blown?”
“No sir, she’s a goer,” the Cornet said, beaming. “All day long!”
“I must go back aboard for a while,” Lewrie explained, “make my arrangements, pack a kit for an overnight stay, if we must, and put on my best dress. I’ll be back to pick you up shortly, Colonel Tarrant.”
“Small boats,” Tarrant said, blowing out a breath of exasperation. “Small, tippy boats, not like a steady ship. My Lord!”
* * *
It had been a beautiful day for a short sail up the coast, with blue skies, high-piled white clouds, and a fresh breeze that bellied out the barge’s quickly rigged loose-footed lugs’l and jib, a breeze that cooled the beginning warmth of the day. The barge had taken on an angle of heel that had made Tarrant grip the thwart on which he sat, white knuckled and a tad pale in the face, but Lewrie had fiddled with the sheets, and Desmond had tweaked the tiller ’til the ungainly barge had gained a fair turn of speed, in relative safety. Within two hours, they handed the sails and rowed to the main piers, where Lewrie found temporary quarters, victual issues, and even a rum issue for his men with the Navy shore parties. A shabby open coach was whistled up to carry Lewrie and Tarrant to the imposing Castello, and off they went through the confusing maze of Messina’s grubby streets.
* * *
Stone walls, brick galleries, and stone floors made the Castello much cooler and dimmer than the glare and warmth of a Spring Sicilian day. An orderly Sergeant led them to a vast and imposing office of the commanding General, and Lewrie was pleased to see Charlton there.
“That was quick, I must say,” Rear-Admiral Charlton said as he came forward to shake hands, “Hallo, Lewrie, good to clap ‘top lights’ on you, again. Keeping well?”
“Very well, sir,” Lewrie replied with a broad smile, then made the introductions. “Where is it you wish to strike, sir?”
“Not so much me as it is the Army,” Charlton countered. “They’ve taken notice of my reports about what my lesser ships have seen along the coast from Cape Spartivento to Catanzaro, and Crotone, the other side of Calabria on the Ionian Sea and the Gulf of Squillace. There’s even more worthwhile places to raid round Taranto, French corvettes and smaller warships. But, that would take a rather large army. Ah, here are our hosts!”
A dashing Army officer in an immaculate uniform came bustling in, bearing the marks of a full Colonel, followed by three Leftenant-Colonels, and a Major. There were Ensigns or Leftenants to carry the map stands and maps, too. Lewrie was pleased to see Mr. Quill slink in behind them, dressed all in Beau Brummell black suitings, looking more like a whipped cur, though, as if he knew just how thin his welcome was in such an august gathering.
“Gentlemen, good day to you,” the Colonel energetically said. “I am Brigadier Charles Caruthers. The commanding General has left it to me to brief you, since it will be my brigade that will be landing on the far Calabrian coast. The Colonels of my regiments?” he said, introducing them. As he did so, his junior officers set up the map stands, backing boards, and unfolded maps to pin to them.
“Admiral Charlton, and Captain Sir Alan Lewrie, aha! Delighted to make your acquaintance, sirs. And you are, sir?” he said, turning to Tarrant. “The 94th Regiment of Foot? Highlanders, are you?”
“Line, sir,” Tarrant told him. “The number was used for the Royal Highland Emigrants regiment during the American Revolution, but it was retired when they disbanded.”
“I see,” Caruthers said with a nod. Higher numbers usually were assigned to Highlanders; he looked dis-appointed that the 94th was not. “Admiral Charlton, perhaps you may enlighten the officers of my brigade as to what your ships have discovered along the coast.”
With a borrowed pointer, Charlton stood and approached the main map, tapping small seaport towns from Brancaleone Marina to Bovalino Marina, Locri, Siderno, Marina di Gioiosa, Roccella, Monasterace Marina, Soverato, and Lido Catanzaro, explaining that a suspiciously large number of coastal trading ships had been noted in those small harbours, where there was little prospect for trade. Each time one of his ships had peeked in, they had noted a few more at each port, anchored, and not moving from one week to the next.
“Our best estimates total over sixty-five or seventy of them, gentlemen,” Charlton told them. “Each capable of carrying a company of French troops, and, from examining those few we’ve been able to intercept at sea, the French seem intent upon selecting, then storing, only those with shallow draughts, able to be run ashore on some beach to allow the soldiers aboard to scramble down over their bows.
“Your commanding General wrote me after receiving my reports, and suspected, as did I, that the French have hidden them from plain sight cross the Straits of Messina in out-of-the-way harbours where we would not think to look ’til they marched an invasion force cross the Aspromonte mountain chain from their main enclaves round Reggio Calabria, board them, then make a surprise landing near Catania or Syracuse, out-flanking the defences closer to Messina.
“The Navy’s part of the plan is to bring my entire squadron, with re-enforcements from the Mediterranean Fleet, to sail right up to these small harbours and take, sink, or burn their transports, staving off a threat of invasion here on Sicily. All at once, every port hit at the same time,” Charlton said with a faint smile. “That’s my part in it. Now you, Brigadier.”
Brigadier Caruthers jumped to his feet like a coiled spring and took the pointer, posing before the map with his booted feet spread, and tapping the pointer into the palm of one hand for a moment, with a confident smile on his face.
“Right, then!” he barked.
I don’t t
hink I like this bastard, Lewrie thought, casting a look over his shoulder to Mr. Quill, who was slumped against a side-board at the rear of the gathering, arms folded over his chest. Quill gave him a shrug, and a well-concealed roll of his eyes.
“The bulk of these transports are mostly concentrated from Locri here, to Roccella, here,” Caruthers began, whacking the map with his pointer, “There is a rather poor coastal road all along from Reggio Calabria, but rather a long march for the French when they put their plan in motion. There are two roads, however, that cross the peninsula and the mountains. One comes to Locri, the other to Marina di Gioiosa, and that is where it makes the most sense for the French to have put stores of arms, ammunition, rations, and artillery, ready to hand when the troops of the invasion force arrive. Whilst our compatriots in the Navy are blazing away at all the ports, it is my intention to land the three regiments of my brigade here … at Siderno, halfway ’twixt Locri and Marina di … however you say it. We believe that the French have only small, guard garrisons in the ports so far, mostly to protect the stores from local pilferers, and the Navy’s doings should pin them down in place, too unsure of what’s happening to think of concentrating to oppose us for at least two days, and allow us to eliminate the stores, further hobbling any invasion of Sicily in the near future, what?”
“Three full-strength regiments should be more than enough to fight off the two or three companies scattered up and down the coast,” one of the Leftenant-Colonels agreed with a rumble of amusement.
Lewrie shrugged; it sounded as if it might work.
“We have been able to scrounge up twelve ships to carry us over, so far,” Caruthers told them, “some transports, though some of them are cargo ships, not suited or fitted out for troops, unfortunately, but they could suffice. Captain Lewrie, I’m told you have three transports. I’ll need you to lend them to me for the operation.”
Hello? Lend them, mine arse! he thought; Buss my blind cheeks!
“I’m afraid, sir, that my transports are allocated to the 94th Regiment, and our operations,” Lewrie stated. “I was given to believe that the 94th would be a part of your operation, since they’re trained in amphibious landings, and have already carried out one, quite successfully, mind. That’s why I was invited here, is it not?”
“Well, perhaps we could employ the 94th,” Caruthers allowed with a polite smile frozen on his face. He coughed into his free fist. “What is your troop strength, Colonel, ah…?”
“Tarrant, sir,” that worthy reminded him. “I’ve six companies, less ten killed and wounded at Tropea, there are three hundred twenty men, though when we sail, I’ll probably have to leave at least a Corporal’s guard at our encampment to prevent theft by the Sicilians.”
“A rather paltry force, sir,” Caruthers drawled, amused. “Why, I intend to land ten times that.”
“Ah, but the 94th can be ashore in half an hour from the time we come to anchor, sir,” Lewrie pointed out. “And my own ship can contribute another seventy Marines, and an equal number of armed sailors.”
“Half an hour?” one of Caruthers’s Colonels scoffed. “Surely you boast, sir! Why, it may take half a day to get all of ours ashore.”
“I’ve eighteen large oared barges that can bear the whole force ashore in one wave, sirs,” Lewrie explained. “Colonel Tarrant can set his troops and my Marines out as advance guards whilst you’re coming ashore, and send scouting parties inland or up the coast road in either direction.”
“You’ve artillery?” Caruthers asked.
“Not a stitch, sir, not even swivel-guns,” Lewrie told him.
“Then I don’t see…,” Caruthers said, shaking his head.
“You expect no more than two companies of French troops at each harbour, sir,” Lewrie pressed, “perhaps with half of those out in the country to forage, loot, and patrol. They would have no artillery. And if they did, they’d be busy firing at Admiral Charlton’s ships.”
“As long as they last, that is,” Charlton bragged.
“Well, we’ll certainly need artillery,” Brigadier Caruthers insisted. “My plans envisage at least two batteries of twelve-pounders.”
“Horse-drawn, or man-hauled, sir?” Lewrie asked.
“Horse-drawn,” Caruthers told him, “‘flying batteries’ able to roam about wherever they’re most needed.”
“So you’ve a horse transport, and a ship to carry the guns and carriages, limbers, and caissons?” Lewrie pressed further. “No? Then how do you intend to get guns ashore?”
“I’m told that horses can be forced over the side of the ships and led ashore, swimming behind a rowing boat by their reins,” Caruthers answered. “As for the guns, I note that there are many barges in harbour at Messina, probably more like them at Catania and Syracuse.”
Christ, he hasn’t the first clue! Lewrie thought, appalled by the blithe assumptions on which Caruthers’s plan was based.
“Those are crude, flat-bottomed scows, sir,” Lewrie said, with his face blandly set, “low-sided, too, good for taking cargo out to an anchored ship, or carrying goods from ship to shore, and propelled by sweeps. They’re not seaworthy. Outside a flat-calm harbour, they’d be swamped by any sort of moderate sea. Use them for horse teams and your artillery, and you’d lose them halfway there.
“If you really wish to land guns and horses, it would be better if the 94th landed as close to the outskirts of Siderno and cleared the town,” Lewrie went on, “then you can bring the ships carrying guns and horses right to the quays … assuming you have ramps built for the unloading. Wide, strong … with side-rails so the horses don’t panic?” he added. “Though, how you get them all over the bulwarks…”
“Two sets of ramps, I’d think,” Admiral Charlton chimed in. “To get everything over the bulwarks, then down to the quays. By the by, does Siderno have stone quays? How high are they, and what is the water depth right alongside them, if they do?”
Charlton gave Lewrie a hooded look, as if to say that this was all a load of manure, and sounded more improbable by the minute.
“If the ship, or ships, carrying the guns and horse teams draw too much depth to get alongside the quays, then you’d need really long ramps,” Lewrie added. “More like bridges. They would take up a lot of deck space, unless one could tow them behind the ship, then hoist them into place, but … your ships, sir. How many sailors are aboard? Ramps that size would be extremely heavy, and I don’t see the fifteen or twenty sailors, cook and ship’s boys included, paid for by the Transport Board … a most parsimonious lot, believe you me … able to ‘pully-hauley’ anything that heavy. They might not even be strong enough to hoist your guns and horses from the holds.”
“If the ships could get right by the quays, sir,” Charlton said, “it would require your gunners, teamsters, and several dozens of your infantry to hoist everything up and over. Do you really need two full batteries? My ships, do they get within three-quarters to a half mile to the shore, can provide all the artillery support you’d need, sir.”
“In one broadside battery, sir, Vigilance mounts six nine-pounders, thirteen eighteen-pounders, and thirteen twenty-four-pounder guns,” Lewrie told the gathering. “If there is sufficient depth for me to get within that half a mile, I can reach out, line-of-sight, to almost two miles. Which brings up the question … how hilly is the coast, what’s the lay of the land? The harbour depth, the height of those quays as Admiral Charlton posed, and how many troops are ashore, and in town at any given time? Just where are the arms and rations kept, and in what amount? It seems to me that we’d need topographical maps and current navigational charts, and some scouting, before we launch any action. Mister Quill?” Lewrie called, making everyone turn and look over their shoulders at the lone civilian. “Do you have any informants familiar with the vicinity?”
“Not as many as I would like, Captain Lewrie,” Mr. Quill said, stepping forward from his slump on the side-board, though he did keep his arms folded cross his chest. “Not that side of the Calab
rian peninsula. My concerns have been focussed on the West coast, from Naples to Cape Spartivento. I’ve gathered rumours of the French marshalling ships and war matériel, but nothing solid.
“I could, however, send some ah … people in my employ there to ‘smoak’ out the situation,” Quill went on more confidently. “Along that poor stretch of coast, the appearance of smugglers with desired goods to sell would be most welcome to the locals, and the French garrisons.”
“Just so long as your spies show up in dowdy fishing boats,” Lewrie japed, “nothing the French might confiscate as troop transports.”
“Goes without saying, sir, hah!” Quill said, finding that amusing, and, unfortunately, treating them all to his wheezy, gasping laugh.
Lewrie looked at Brigadier Caruthers, whose breezy confidence had evaporated. The fellow’s face was flushed, his brow deeply furrowed, and his eyes were slitted almost shut in anger.
If looks could kill, Lewrie thought: Now, maybe you’ll take more time t’plan your little escapade. This ain’t like puntin’ from one bank o’ the Thames to the other, up round Henley where it’s calm and narrow.
“It would take me and my, ah, associates, about ten days to a fortnight to make their scouts, and report back, sir,” Quill estimated.
“That would give you more time to hunt up the last transports that you need, sir,” Lewrie stuck in, “and figure out a way to land at least one battery of guns … man-hauled, perhaps?”
“Without artillery, the whole operation could take no more than twelve hours ashore,” Colonel Tarrant spoke up. “Anchor, board boats, get rowed ashore, clear the towns of Locri, Siderno, and Marina di Gioiosi, find the stored goods and burn them, then re-embark.”
“We had hoped to do more than that, sir!” Caruthers spat in some heat. “Do we draw the attention of French forces in the area, we plan to meet them and give them a bloody nose into the bargain!”
That drew a hearty series of growls, roars, and “hear, hear” from Caruthers’s officers.
A Fine Retribution Page 35
