Hostile Shores

“Very good, sir,” Captain Downman agreed.

“Now, someone must keep watch on the back door whilst we make our preparations and choose a good landing spot,” Popham said with a cheerful clap of his hands. “To that end, Captain Lewrie, Captain Rowley, and Commander Edmonds, I wish for your ships to fall back down to the mouth of the estuary and cruise to keep a lookout for any impudent intruders who might turn up and interfere … as well as taking any Spanish merchantmen bound into the Plate.”

Ye brought us all this way, Lewrie thought, fuming up at once; and we’re not t’take part? Christ!

He could only nod in obedience.

“Now, upon my return, and the determination is made as to where the army is to be landed,” Popham went on with a merry grin, “we shall transfer our ‘Royal Blues’ aboard Encounter and Narcissus. That will give us the equivalent of a half-battalion of infantry. Each ship will give up around twenty armed seamen, making one hundred, and all of our Marines—that would be three hundred fourty all told, is my reckoning right, and no one falls overboard and drowns whilst I’m away, what?—together that gives us four hundred fourty extra men to assist Brigadier Beresford. With the army troops, we may field one thousand six hundred and thirty.”

“About that, yes, Sir Home,” Beresford said, nodding.

“As we saw at Blaauwberg Bay, gentlemen,” Popham went on and drawing them to gather round his dining table where a copy of a very old Spanish chart was laid out, “it is vital that we land everyone as close to Buenos Aires as possible, giving the Dons little time to react … assuming they can, ha! I will be taking a rowboat inshore after dark to look at Point Quilmes, which is only twelve miles from our goal. Above Point Quilmes, the depths are too shallow for any of our ships to swim. Do you concur, sir?” he asked General Beresford,

Beresford blinked his eyes and peered nigh myopically at the chart for a long moment before responding. “If we can get our ships no higher up the coast, then Point Quilmes has much to recommend it, Sir Home … though there is this river, the Chuelo or the Cuello … three miles from Buenos Aires, where the Spanish could make a stand. How dearly I feel myself in need of a squadron of cavalry.”

“General Baird had none to spare,” Popham said with a dismissive wave of a hand, “and the horse transports had to be released for return to England immediately following the landing at Blaauwberg Bay. We do have those dis-mounted troopers of the Twentieth Light Dragoons … perhaps they could dash ahead on ‘shank’s ponies’, what?”

He got his expected laugh.

“With a swift landing, I have complete trust in your ability to brush aside what meagre opposition we may face, General. Now!” Popham declared, then clapped his hands once more and began to sketch out details of the landings.

Lewrie had a look at Beresford, and gathered that that worthy was not quite as sanguine as Popham was. For his part, he wasn’t as confident in Brigadier Beresford, either.

He’s a pleasant old stick, but what’s he done in the past, and against whom? Lewrie wondered; Our Army officers buy their ranks, buy their way up, and make Colonel or General by seniority, not experience! Belong to the right clubs, patrons an’ friends at Horse Guards, in Parliament? And, Beresford looks so mild a fellow, God help us.

General Baird had done a fine job at Cape Town, but he had had equal numbers against the Dutch, all the time in the world to get his troops ashore with no opposition, and had had to fight only one brisk skirmish to clear the Blaauwberg, and one sharp set-piece battle, with everything all “tiddly”, and superiority in artillery and infantry. Baird even looked like a soldier who knew what he was about!

A quick landing, a quick march to Buenos Aires, against how many? Lewrie speculated; Un-opposed? That might be askin’ a lot this time! From what I’ve seen of our Army, they don’t have “quick” in their field manuals!

He had been rapt in his own thoughts, with only half an ear for Popham, who had been carrying on with zest and enthusiasm, most-like formulating ideas for crossing the Andes to seize Chile, next, set up cattle ranches the size of France for every participant, or have a city named for himself, for all he knew.

Don’t matter, really, Lewrie sourly thought; Popham’s his own best audience.

“… once the mid-day meal is piped, we shall begin transferring Marines and sailors to Encounter and Narcissus,” Popham said, as if he was summing up, at last. “Captain Lewrie, not only shall we need your fourty-odd Marines and twenty armed sailors, I fear that I must requisition your barges and cutters, to speed the landings when they begin. You’ll get them all back, once the landings are done.”

“Of course, sir,” Lewrie answered.

“Can’t let you have all the fun ashore, this time, hey? This time, Acting-Captain King of Diadem will command the ‘Royal Blues’,” Popham said. “Your Reliant draws too much water, in any event, to accompany us further up the estuary.”

“I understand, sir,” Lewrie said by rote, reminding himself to plaster a wee smile on his phyz.

“That should be all for now, gentlemen,” Popham concluded. “On the morrow, we shall set off for Point Quilmes, land the Army and our naval contribution, and win ourselves a splendid victory!”

“Hear hear!” the others shouted, pounding and drumming their fists on the table top. “Toast, toast! To victory!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Reliant’s sailors and Marines returned back aboard to a hearty welcome, loud cheers, and good-natured teasing, boasting of their experiences alongside the army, and crowing over their easy victory. A soon as Marine Lieutenant Simcock, and the Second and Third Officers, Lts. Spendlove and Merriman, gained the deck, Lewrie and Lt. Westcott were all over them, demanding news.

“It came off as easy as ‘kiss my hand’, sir!” Lt. Merriman crowed. “We waded ashore on the twenty-fifth and the morning of the twenty-sixth, set off up the coast road, met the Dons, and had a battle—”

“Not much of one, sir,” Lt. Simcock interrupted, bubbling over with good cheer. “They were all cavalry, about fifteen hundred or so, and we saw them off after a few volleys and some sharp practice with our artillery. They scampered, and we marched again to catch them up, but they melted away.”

“They did cut the bridge over the Cuello, but they didn’t stay to deny us crossing, sir,” Lt. Spendlove boasted. “Captain King had all the landing boats come up the river, we used bridge timbers to make rafts, and were in the city’s outskirts by the twenty-eighth. After that, the Spanish had no choice but to surrender the place to us.”

“God, the loot, sir!” Simcock hooted. “We took nigh a million silver Spanish dollars from the treasury, and a company of Highlanders caught up with their viceroy’s coaches on his way to the back country, and took over six hundred thousand more! What we seized by way of goods in the warehouses might be worth double of all that!”

“A rather peaceful and un-eventful occupation after that, sir,” Lt. Spendlove said with a shrug. “A lot of angry looks were all that we got. The Commodore ordered that private property was respected.”

“That, and some harsh wines, and high prices in the taverns and eateries,” Lt. Merriman stuck in. “Beef steaks the size of serving platters with almost every meal, though. The Argentines are simply awash in cattle. They roast steaks over hot coals on almost every streetcorner.”

“So the independence movement is now in charge?” Lewrie asked.

“Pshaw, sir!” Lt. Simcock spat. “As far as any of us could determine, there is no independence movement, save for a few top-lofty scribblers and rich intellectuals. The whole idea seems more an idle salon exercise than a real revolutionary movement.”