Kings and Emperors

“Part of my convoy escort, sir,” Lewrie quickly offered, “the Barbados frigate, a thirty-two. She’s fast and weatherly.”

And, she ain’t the Sapphire, Lewrie thought; Better anybody than me. I want t’stay and see what happens!

“Thank you for the suggestion, Captain Lewrie,” Purvis replied. “Aye, once the French ships have been captured, it will be safe for Barbados to enter port and take the emissaries aboard.”

“Then I can land my troops at Port María?” Spencer pressed.

“Ah … no, Sir Brent,” Purvis had to inform him. “The Junta will not tolerate the presence of British troops in, or near, Cádiz, though if threatened by the arrival of a French army, that may be allowed at a later date. They have suggested Ayamonte, instead.”

“Where the bloody Hell’s Ayamonte?” Spencer groused, turning red in the face.

“It’s a small seaport at the mouth of the Guadiana River, Sir Brent,” Purvis said, almost with a sly look. “Your troops won’t have to be ferried onto a beach, but can land directly on the quays, and the transports may moor alongside, making the un-loading of your artillery and supplies much easier.”

“Wasn’t on my maps,” Spencer gravelled.

But it was on Lewrie’s sea charts, and he recalled where it was; he had to hide his amusement.

“Ayamonte is on the South bank of the Guadiana, Sir Brent,” he took some delight in telling him. “Portugal is on the North. As far as the Spanish want you to Cádiz, and still be in Spain.”

“The stiff-necked, prideful bastards!” Spencer screeched.

“Look on the bright side,” Lewrie quipped. “You can be rowed over the river and liberate Portugal, if you’ve a mind.”

“Rear-Admiral Sir Charles Cotton, blockading Lisbon, reports that his informations place only four thousand French soldiers at Lisbon,” Purvis said with a shrug. “He thinks a British force of six thousand could take the city, though personally, I doubt his figures. They seem too low, to me.”

“We know that Marshal Junot led fifty thousand troops into Portugal, and there is a lot of territory to cover,” General Spencer said with a hopeful note. “Hmm, Lisbon, Oporto, the ah … other cities to occupy. Your man Cotton might be right.”

“Temporarily, Sir Brent,” Purvis cautioned, “but if you march on Lisbon from Ayamonte, Junot could summon re-enforcements quickly, and I believe that we have all seen the Napoleonic way of war, by now, and how quickly French armies can move. Portugal must be left to the expeditionary force under General Sir Arthur Wellesley. On my part, I shall add one of my Third Rates to the escort and retain the Barbados frigate to transport the Spanish delegation to London, when it arrives in Cádiz from Seville. So, you may begin your landing at Ayamonte at once, Sir Brent.”

“Then let’s be about it, shall we, sir?” Lewrie prompted the General, who was still looking peeved. “With weather permitting, we can have you and your troops on dry land by the eleventh or twelfth.”

“A toast all round, gentlemen,” Admiral Purvis proposed, waving his empty glass in the air to summon his cabin servants for re-fills. And once all the glasses had been re-filled or topped up, Purvis paused in thought for a moment, then said, “We could call for victory, or we could call for peace with Spain, but I think a general sentiment may cover the situation presented us. Gentlemen, I give you Death and Confusion to the French!”

“Death and Confusion to the French!” they all chorused lustily, and those seated pounded their fists on their chair arms, stamped their feet on the hard oak deck, and punctuated the air with more huzzahs.

After that, most officers gathered up their hats and made their way to the weather decks to depart. Lewrie was certain that he was the junior-most Captain present, and would be first down the side to his boat, but Purvis crooked a finger at him.

“Bide, Captain Lewrie,” Purvis said. “I shall write orders for the Barbados frigate’s Captain, and would admire did you forward them to that worthy.”

“Of course, sir,” Lewrie agreed.

“Sorry you will not have an opportunity to meet Collingwood,” Purvis said, “but, he’s off to Gibraltar to confer with Dalrymple.”

“It is of no matter, sir,” Lewrie shrugged off.

“Good, then,” Purvis decided. “I will assign the Norwich to be Barbados’s replacement in your squadron. Her Captain caught a fever and passed over, recently, and her First Lieutenant, Abercrombie, is Acting-Captain. I note that you do not fly a broad pendant?”

“No, sir,” Lewrie told him. “My appointment as senior officer was by luck, and a request from General Dalrymple, so Admiralty had nothing to do with it. If a man senior to me had shown up among the assembled ships, I would not be drinking your excellent wine.”

“Had you not made a name for yourself as a fighting Captain, sir, I’d take you for a scape-grace!” Purvis said with a faint laugh.

“Well, it’s still early days, sir,” Lewrie japed back.

“Hah! Whilst I write my orders, you should have another, then,” Purvis decided. “Re-fills here!” he called to his servants.

*   *   *

“Have you any news to share, sir?” Lt. Westcott asked once Lewrie had gained his own quarterdeck, and sent his boat over to the frigate with new orders.

“Grand news, and a fair parcel of it, Mister Westcott, which I will share,” Lewrie told him, gri

“Aye, sir,” Hillhouse replied, straightening up.

“We’re off to Ayamonte, Mister Westcott, as soon as one of the Third Rates joins us,” Lewrie said.

“Where’s Ayamonte?” Westcott wondered aloud.

“The arse-end of Spain, right by the Portuguese border,” Lewrie said. “If the Dons don’t want us in Cádiz, we’ll have t’go in the back entrance. Mister Yelland? Fetch your charts for the coasts North of Cádiz, will you? We’re landing a British Army in Spain!”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Grubby-lookin’ place, ain’t it?” Lewrie mused aloud after a long look through his telescope, now that Sapphire was safely anchored in the Guadiana River, in the middle of the stream and just a few hundred yards from the town of Ayamonte. The troop transports and supply ships, which drew less water, had preceded the two-decker to the town and its piers. Lewrie had thought to leave the sloop of war and brig-sloops at the mouth of the river, several miles below, to guard against the slight risk of the rumoured French squadron at Rochefort appearing to crush his little ad hoc force. They would cruise off-and-on the coast. The 74-gun Norwich he had ordered to anchor in the mouth of the river as a floating battery to deny an enemy an entrance to the river. He would have liked to stay down there with her, but, he had to be close to General Spencer, and had to carefully feel his way up to Ayamonte.

“Anchored fore and aft, sir, with springs on the cables as you wished,” Lt. Geoffrey Westcott reported. “Hmm … the land about the river and the town is fairly level. Should there be French troops in the vicinity, we should be able to support General Spencer ’til he’s got his artillery ashore.”

“Not a lot to the place, is there, Geoffrey?” Lewrie asked the First Officer. “It could be almost picturesque, if somebody thought to re-paint and sweep up the trash.”

“Count on the Spanish for that, sir?” Westcott said, snorting in derision. “Not in our lifetime. It looks to be fairly prosperous, though. Lots of large fishing boats and coastal trading vessels … warehouses, there, behind the quays? They appear not to be locked up and idle, like the ones we saw along the South coast last Summer. It may be there’s a decent trade here.”