Hostile Shores (26 page)

“Hear hear!” Commodore Popham enthused.

“Now, with these two forts commanding Table Bay, there is no way to land our force directly upon Cape Town,” General Baird went on, returning his attention to the map. “Commodore Popham, Beresford, and I have thought it best to go ashore in either Saldanha or Blaauwberg Bay, which, or so Commodore Popham and his officers assure me, are open to the sea, and relatively free of any rocky shoals or reefs. Behind either, there is a chain of hills which must be surmounted, but there are passes through which we must march, before descending the Eastern slopes to what is reputed to be a decent road which leads all the way down round the shore of Table Bay to Cape Town.

“It is our intention to flank wide round Fort Knocke, here, at the East end of Cape Town,” Baird went on, “and, should it prove necessary to assault the town proper, it should be done from the South and East, out of the range of Fort Knocke’s heavy artillery, up through the outskirts and street-to-street. I would much prefer, though, for the Dutch to meet us in the open long before, so we may bloody their noses and reduce their numbers
before
we fall upon the town, eliminating the risk of laying siege.”

“I don’t remember either fort mounting all that many pieces of artillery facing landward, sir,” Lewrie offered, “though I suppose they could shift some guns from the seaward side. There
were
openings in the ramparts for such. But, once your troops get into the houses on the South side of town, would the Dutch really fire at their own town? They don’t strike me as ruthless enough to risk killing their own people.”

“It’s all profit and loss for the Dutch, yes, Lewrie,” Popham said with a laugh. “They are ever a
mercantile
lot!”

“What is there, Lewrie … on the Southern outskirts?” Baird asked him directly.

“As I recall, sir, it’s all truck gardens and vineyards, cottagers with some livestock, and some native African workers’ housing,” Lewrie said, tilting his head to one side to summon the images from his memory of the time he’d ridden the area, back when he and Eudoxia Durschenko had flirted with each other … before she’d discovered he was married. “Cape Town’s not all
that
large a city, sirs. The farms and such just get larger the further one goes outside the commercial centre, warehouses, and docks. Larger pastures, more livestock, more space between dwellings ’til one’s in open country, where the native people still have a few
kraals.
They lost their own pasturage to the Dutch a long time ago. And the Dutch brought in slaves from the East Indies t’make up the numbers of farm workers. It just straggles off. There aren’t many free natives or East Indians, and those who are are gathered together in little, separate quarters. Unless they tear down the rich, White part of town for fortifications and dig trenches, the town’s wide open, as is the countryside.”

“No impediments,” Brigadier General Beresford said, sounding like a man with his fingers crossed.

“Not unless one calls wood fences impediments, sir,” Lewrie assured them all.

“At any rate, our sudden appearance just out of range of their heavy guns will give them no time to prepare against us,” Commodore Popham idly dismissed. “We bring the fleet to anchor … well, here,” he said, tapping a finger just West of Robben Island at the Nor’west end of Table Bay, “sort ourselves out, and begin landing the cavalry and the regiments of the Light Brigade of Foot in either Saldanha or Blaauwberg Bay a day or two later, the winds and surf allowing, we’ll be at their throats before they know it! Forewarned even a week, the Dutch would still have too little time to prepare fortifications for a siege of Cape Town.”

“Their key defences are the two fortresses, though, Commodore Popham,” Beresford hesitantly pointed out. “Is the officer in command of their forces the cautious sort, he may not wish to stray too far from their reach.”

“Then he will be lost,” Baird countered, scoffing. “Where we face the worst peril is upon the beaches, or just behind them in the hills. Counter us there, and he could delay our advance to a crawl, and a series of head-on assaults from one advantageous point of terrain to the next, especially did he deny us a crossing of the Salt River. No, Beresford, I still say
their
general, whoever he is, will and
must
meet us in the open. The Cape Colony is too large an area to be defended by infantry alone. I expect that the Dutch will have more horse than we may field, so he will possess the advantages of rapid mobility, and only a pluperfect
fool
would throw that edge away.”

Christ, a soldier with a brain in his head!
Lewrie thought with admiration for Baird;
Now
there’s
a rare bird!

“And, what part will
Reliant
and I play, sir?” Lewrie asked of Popham.

“Admiral Villeneuve and
his
huge fleet may be destroyed, do we believe your news, Captain Lewrie,” Popham quickly told him, with a grin, “but the French still have more than enough ships in the Indian Ocean, prowling
this
side of the Cape of Good Hope. ’Til we have established a firm lodgement ashore, we must keep one eye peeled seaward against their interference. Your
Reliant, Leda,
and
Narcissus,
I will keep mobile, cruising close ashore, perhaps to provide some fire support against any Dutch batteries, but still able to sortie should any French warships turn up … to protect the transports.”

“’Til we may shift them deeper into Table Bay, sir? But, what should I be doing after that?” Lewrie pressed. “If I was sent along to share my experiences ashore—”

“There is that, Commodore Popham,” General Baird said. “If there is a threat from the French, your larger ships would be more than a match to any of their frigates, hmm? Captain Lewrie here might prove to be useful and informative ashore.”

“It’ll be Navy boats that get your troops to the beaches, sir, and to sort out the cavalry, artillery, and supplies,” Lewrie quickly suggested. “I could bring along my Marines, and an equal number of armed sailors, say … eighty or so, in all. If the French show up, my First Officer is more than capable of fighting my ship for me.”

“And, your own Flag-Captain, Captain Downman, you have already assigned the role of supervising naval co-ordination of the landing, sir,” Baird added. “Indeed, let’s bring Lewrie ashore with us.”

“It will be as you say, Sir David,” Popham consented. “Well, gentlemen. Now that’s settled, let us have a ‘stirrup cup’, as it were, to bid Captain Lewrie a safe return to his ship!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Christmas came and went, with raisin duffs for each eight-man mess, and a “Splicing of The Main-Brace” issue of grog, to celebrate, minus the wilder rites of civilians, and no Lord of Mis-Rule leading a ravening pack of carolers to barge into houses and demand dinner and drink from their betters. Very quietly the next morning, Boxing Day was observed, with minor gifts for stewards and servants in the Midshipmens’ and officers’ messes, and in Lewrie’s great-cabins.

The great-cabins were also the site of the New Year’s Eve supper for the officers, with as grand a repast as could be concocted after several months on-passage, livened by music and song, and a flowing bowl of punch which had to be refilled twice over.

The First of January of 1806 the next morning was welcomed with yet another “Splice The Main-Brace” and a day of “Make And Mend” idleness for all hands, beyond necessary ship’s work. With
Reliant
and the invasion convoy now below the 30th Meridian, and hundreds of miles out to sea from the shores of Africa, the temperatures were once more bearable, as was the glare of the sun. Many sailors went bare-chested and hatless as they sewed to repair or alter their clothes, wrote letters or had them written by more literate mates, read books or months-old newspapers, worked small-stuff twine to fashion rings, bracelets, and lanyards for their personal knives, or more complicated brooches that they hoped to have sewn on distant loves’ gowns, someday. Some carved rock-hard salt-meat into snuff boxes, or combs. And, many “caulked”, seizing the rare opportunity to sleep without disturbance beyond their few hours off-watch in their hammocks below.

*   *   *

“It is now official,” Sailing Master Caldwell declared after he lowered his sextant and scribbled his sums on a scrap of paper. “May I now wish you all a Happy New Year, sirs.”

“Ehm … would the new year actually have started at Eight Bells of the Night Watch, sir?” Midshipman Shannon piped up.

“For landlubbers, aye, Mister Shannon,” Caldwell grudgingly allowed. “For them, the last stroke of midnight would do, along with all the church bells, but … the
ship’s
day begins at Noon Sights. Happy New Year, Captain Lewrie.”

“And the same to you, Mister Caldwell,” Lewrie answered, admittedly a trifle blearily. His supper party the evening before had polished off a round dozen bottles of various wines, two massive bowls of punch heavily laced with rum, gin, some precious champagne, and great sloshes of his personal store of aged American bourbon whisky, and it had taken a hard look and a long try to rouse himself when wakened at 4
A.M.
at the change of watch. There were some bohemian types and young sprogs of the sporting set who wore coloured glasses, and today Lewrie wished that he had a pair, for the bright and lovely day was painful on his eyes, and enflamed the dull headache that throbbed behind them.

I do b’lieve a passionate kiss, or a cold breakfast, might
kill
me,
he told himself in moody misery, stifling yet another belch from his dicey stomach. All he wished was a
very
quiet few hours below in the relative silence, and dimness, of his cabins ’til sundown.

“I reckon us to be here, sirs,” Caldwell happily babbled on, “and am most pleased that
most
of the younkers’ reckonings agree with me.” He cast a chary eye upon Shannon. “We are actually a bit Sou’west of the Cape of Good Hope, and still on larboard tack. Almost in the latitudes of the prevailing Westerlies, hmm.”

“Do any of you young fellows have an explanation why Commodore Popham would lead us so broad?” Lt. Westcott posed to the Mids.

“Well, sir, sailing this far South, perhaps he
intends
to fetch the North-most fringes of the Westerlies,” Midshipman Eldridge said. “In that way, we could approach the Cape below it, then alter course and sail up to Cape Town and Table Bay on the Sou’east winds, from a quarter which the Dutch would not expect.”

“The Commodore is a very clever fellow,” Midshipman Rossyngton quickly agreed. “Why, the Dutch might even take us for a large French trade making its way to Europe from their Indian Ocean possessions!”

“Did we continue our slow approach from the North, they would spot us and be on the alert for days, else,” Midshipman Munsell speculated. “But, coming from the South, we’d be on the Cape, and along the shore, as quick as one could say ‘Knife’! Right into Table Bay in the middle of their dinners! Catch them with their breeches down!”

“Not into Table Bay itself, no,” Lewrie grumbled. “Can anyone tell me why? No? Pray do refer to the other chart.”

Once rolled out and pinned to the traverse board, Lewrie jabbed a finger at several features depicted, saying nothing, and leaving it for the Mids to figure out.

“Ehm … there are those two forts,” Midshipman Grainger shyly said. “Fortresses, really, especially this one on the West side of Cape Town, guarding the seaward approaches.”

“And here, and here?” Lewrie prompted, pointing to the mountains South of the town and the bay. “First, there are the Twelve Apostles along the shore. Above them on the West side of town are the Lion’s Head and the slightly lower Lion’s Rump. South of town is the Tafelberg … ‘Table Mountain’ …
and,
the lesser mounts of Signal Hill by Green Point, and the Devil’s Peak below Table Mountain’s foot. Any of them are tall enough for any watchers to see twenty miles or more out to sea on a good day, so there’s little chance of catching them with their breeches down. An approach from the South, as it appears that Commodore Popham prefers,
might
give the Dutch a day less to get ready to resist us, but I doubt they’d take us for a French commercial trade. And why is that, young sirs?”

“That they no longer have any, sir?” Munsell guessed.

“Spot on,” Lt. Westcott said with a laugh. “The French lost all their trade from China and India in the first months of the first war in 1793, and never could revive it, even during the Peace of Amiens. They’ve been driven from their few footholds in India, and only hold naval bases in the middle of the Indian Ocean. The Dutch might expect to see one or two frigates or large privateers coming round the Cape to put into Table Bay for provisions, but not a fleet such as ours.”

“So, even coming from the South, on favourable winds, there’s no chance of surprise,” Midshipman Warburton concluded.

“Well,
some
surprise, but not a
total
surprise,” Mr. Caldwell said with a grunt of satisfaction.

“If the fortress on the West of Cape Town commands the way into the Bay, where are we to land the Army, then, sir?” Midshipman Shannon hesitantly asked, his head laid over to one side in puzzlement.

“North of Robben Island, on the Nor’west side of Table Bay, Commodore Popham favours either Saldanha or Blaauwberg Bay. Blaauwberg lies much closer to our objective,” Lewrie told them. “Depending on the wind, weather, and the surf conditions, of course. That’s where we will land General Sir David Baird’s soldiers, God help ’em.”

“They’re rather open to the sea, really,” Grainger pointed out.

“So’s Table Bay, when ye get right down to it,” Lewrie said. “I spent weeks anchored there repairin’
Proteus,
and when the winds got up, we
did
drag a little, even with both bowers and kedge anchor down. And us with no rudder!
That’ll
keep one up at night!”

“Once Cape Town is taken, sir, might there be a chance for us to go ashore?” Rossyngton asked. “I’d imagine that every Man Jack’d be keen to see the sights.”