Hostile Shores

The Marine sentry was pounding, his musket butt on the deck and bawling the arrival of his officers.

“Enter!” Lewrie bade them, getting to his feet to stand before the desk.

“Reporting as ordered, sir,” Lt. Westcott said for all.

There was one extra; the Purser, Mr. Cadbury, had come along. Pettus took quick note, and slunk over to the sideboard to put out an extra glass.

“It’s on, gentlemen!” Lewrie crowed. “First light, tomorrow, and we’ll be off!”

“Huzzah, sir! Huzzah, I say!” Marine Lieutenant Simcock cried.

“You’ve your lists of all the items our people will need ashore, I take it?” Lewrie asked. “Good! Commodore Popham assures me that the army will provide us with at least one four-wheeled waggon, and two horses, and one waggoner from the Quartermaster’s. He cautions that the waggon will have only limited space, since the horse team’s needs for water and feed will be aboard, in addition to all of our gear, so we will have to carry as much as our men can on their backs, and all hands will be on ‘shank’s ponies’. There will be no mounts or saddlery to spare for officers or Mids. As I told Pettus, be sure ye have your best shoes or boots on.”

“Who will go, sir?” Lt. Merriman eagerly enquired as the wine was poured for them.

“I promised Mister Westcott that he would go,” Lewrie said with a grin. “Does he not, there’d be a one-man mutiny! Since I’ve been at the Cape before, I will go ashore, myself. Sorry, sirs. But, someone more than capable must remain aboard to command the ship in my absence, and you and Mister Spendlove are more than able to fight the ship, do the French, or a Dutch squadron, turn up. The Bosun’s Mate, Mister Wheeler, and two Mids … I’m thinking Mister Warburton, and Mister Rossyngton, to keep the men in the naval half in good discipline.

“Now, how are we doing with the water bottles, their slings, and the canvas haversacks?” he asked, taking a sip of wine.

“The Sailmaker, Master Gu

“Good! Ammunition, Mister Simcock?” Lewrie continued.

“Thirty paper cartridges per man and musket, initially, sir,” Simcock happily informed him, “and sixty more rounds on hand, to be carted in the waggon for each man after. Do we begin now, sir, the Armourer can put fresh edges on cutlasses, hangers, and bayonets, if you will open the arms chests.”

“I will give you the keys once we’re done here,” Lewrie promised. “Rations, Mister Cadbury?”

“Four kegs of salt-meat, sir, two each of beef, two of pork, and a whole box of portable soup portions,” Cadbury piped up. “Three bags of bisquit, and two five-gallon barricoes of rum. I may spare you my assistant to keep track of issuing victuals. The Ship’s Cook has set aside spare utensils and pots, but, he and his helpers must stay with the ship to do for the rest of the crew, so I don’t know—”

“I’ve spoken to my cook, Yeovill, and he thinks he can cook for us whilst we’re away,” Lewrie said, “though he’s none too keen on the task. Nothing t’do but boil stuff, he said, with no real call for his culinary skills!”

“Unless we shoot some game meat, sir,” Westcott said in hope.

“Let’s hope that our army, or the Dutch army, haven’t driven all the tasty beasts away,” Lewrie said. “The overall command of the brigade is given to Captain Byng of the Belliqueux, assisted by Captain Hardinge and his officers. He was sent out with us to take command of a ship in India, and is available.

“They, I am informed, will be busy with landing the heavy artillery, the presence of which I just learned. And here I thought we were done with ferryin’.”

“Our transports must be like the Horn of Capricorn, sir,” Lt. Merriman said with a snicker, “filled with infinite plenty! What’ll they trot out next? Hindoo war elephants?”

“You will be taking your Ferguson along, sir?” Lt. Westcott asked, after he’d gotten a re-fill of his wine glass from Pettus.

“And my Girandoni air-rifle, should there be any game,” Lewrie said with an agreeing nod. “Assumin’ the bloody thing still holds a charge of air. Damn all leather washers and seals in this weather.”

“Then I wonder if I might borrow your fusil musket, sir,” Lt. Westcott requested. “A fusil’s longer barrel makes it more accurate than a Brown Bess musket, even if it is a smooth-bore.”

“Of course ye can, sir!” Lewrie gladly told him. “And, does it come to a fight, I pray you make good practice with it!”

“Mister Spendlove, sir,” Lt. Simcock spoke up. “I’ve a man, Private Radley, who is a keen shot. I wonder if I might borrow your splendid Pe

“I would be more than happy to oblige you, sir,” Lt. Spendlove replied. He sounded gracious, but a tad glum that his rifle would go and he would not.

“Mister Westcott and I have come up with a list of our sailors we deem suitable for the duty ashore,” Lewrie told the gathering. “If there are any objections or substitutions you gentlemen wish to make, look it over.”

Lewrie got the list from his desk, and handed it to the First Officer, who gathered the rest round the dining table to put their heads together. A few names were substituted, but in all, the list was found acceptable.

“Most of these lads gained experience ashore last year in Spanish Florida,” Lt. Merriman took note. “They’ll do handsomely.”

“Though they never had to march far inland under a soldier’s heavy kit, or did much skirmishing with the Dons or the Indians,” Lt. Spendlove said with a hopeful shrug.

“And that encounter with the Seminoli up near Amelia Island put the wind up ’em,” Lewrie said with a laugh.

“Or with the rattlesnakes, coral snakes, and alligator,” Lt. Simcock hooted. “That was a draw, at best!”

“I thought the alligator won,” Lewrie added. “Good trainin’, that was, for all the beasties that Africa has t’offer. Can anyone think of anything else we haven’t considered? Medical care? Clean spare stockings? Very well, then. Inform the Mids and hands chosen for the expedition, Mister Westcott, and allow them to make their preparations.” He went to his desk and fetched out the precious, closely guarded keys to the locks on the arms chests. “Take these, Mister Simcock, and see to the sharpening, then lock everything back up ’til we issue weapons at dawn. It will take at least three round-trips to land all our men and supplies, so let’s be sure that all’s in hand to start before dawn, at Two Bells of the Middle Watch. Re-fills, please, Pettus,” he ordered. “And, allow me to propose a toast.”

Denied the choice opportunity of serving ashore or not, with a precious shot at making their names known and “gazetted” or not, all expectantly stood with their full glasses ready.

“To us, sirs,” Lewrie intoned with due solemnity, “and to our success, and victory!”

“Us, success, and victory!” they roared, tossing their wine back to “heel-taps”.

*   *   *

Once the last of his supper guests had bowed their way out, Lewrie wheeled about and almost dashed to his day-cabin desk, fetching along a short candelabra from the sideboard for more light, so he might read his personal letters, at last. Lydia’s, or Hugh’s? That decision took but an instant, and he broke the wax seal of the one from his younger son.

It is Victory, complete and Glorious, and our good ship Pegasus, your old friend Capt. Charlton, and, dare I say my own humble Efforts in our perilous Endeavour, contributed to the Triumph of Arms!

Hugh had been posted on the upper gun-deck, he wrote, and had a better view than some of his fellow Midshipmen below on the lower gun-deck. He described how grey, gloomy, and overcast was the day, and how scant the wind, and how slowly the action had been joined, with some ships in the two long columns of warships, sailing bows-on at right angles to the horizon-spread combined French and Spanish fleet, struggling to maintain steerage way.