Kings and Emperors

Good Christ, we’ve won! Lewrie thought with glee; They ain’t invincible! As hapless as the British Army had behaved in Holland, as disastrous as their efforts had been at Buenos Aires where two armies had been forced to surrender to half-trained, poorly-armed Argentine patriots, no one had given this army, or “Sepoy” General Sir Arthur Wellesley, much of a chance against the French, yet…! The odds had been beaten, the French had been beaten, beaten like a drum, and Lewrie was suddenly very glad, and proud, to have seen it happen, and take even a minuscule part in it!

I could be dined out on this tale for years! he crowed.

Gallopers were headed along the ridge line to pass the word, and Lewrie identified Lt. Beauchamp coming from the opposite direction, with Wellesley and Burrard just crossing the Maceira to come to the parley.

With a sense of satisfaction and conclusion, Lewrie turned his horse about and headed back to the bay, crossing the shallow Maceira and threading his way through the baggage train to the open plain between the hills. It was a long two miles, but he let the horse pick its own way down to the sea. He worried whether there would be someone to take charge of the beast, or would he have to leave it to graze with dropped reins. It had been a poor prad, but it had served him well enough, and he gave the horse an encouraging pat on its neck.

Fortunately, there were soldiers from the Commissariat loading more waggons and carts to bear fresh supplies from the ships up to the army, and one of their officers swore that he’d look after it.

And there were boats plying ’twixt the supply ships and the shore, and Lewrie managed to flag one down and cadge a ride out to Sapphire, out where he belonged, waded out to clamber aboard and take a seat on the stern-most thwart beside a Midshipman.

“How goes the battle, sir?” the young lad asked. “No one can tell us anything.”

“The French are suing for terms,” Lewrie told him, gri

“Huzzah, sir! Hear that, lads?” the Mid called to his oarsmen. “We’ve won the battle!”

Lewrie closed his eyes and slumped in weariness, still with a pleased smile on his face, quite enjoying the rock, pitch, and thrust of the boat’s motion as it was stroked out into the bay.

Once aboard, I think I’ll have me a sponge-off, and a good, long nap, he promised himself.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The Phoebe frigate came into the bay the day after the battle, and a great military show it was to form a grand parade to welcome Lieutenant-General Sir Hew Dalrymple to his new post as Commander-In-Chief of British forces in Portugual. Lewrie watched it from a comfortable sling-chair on Sapphire’s poop deck, sheltered from the heat under a canvas awning that spa

He thought it odd, even so, that the army had returned to its encampments, with only a few regiments still posted to keep an eye on the French. Those officers he had overheard as they had awaited the arrival of General Kellerma

That was up to General Burrard, Lewrie supposed, and none of a sailor’s business, but he thought it silly to spruce up and march to band music just to make a show for Sir Hew. Frankly, he, and all his crew were growing tired of idling at anchor off the mouth of the Maceira, watching boats working by day and night to ferry off wounded soldiers to ships that would bear them back to England and proper hospitals. Shouldn’t they be going somewhere?

*   *   *

It was a couple of days later before orders turned up to sail, and they came mid-morning during cutlass drill.

“Boat ahoy!” Midshipman Ward shouted overside at an approaching rowboat, using a brass speaking-trumpet to augment his thin shrill.

“Despatches for your Captain!” came the reply, and a side-party was hastily assembled. Lewrie broke off his own sword practise with Marine Lieutenant Roe and went to the bulwarks in his shirtsleeves.

“Oh, Goddamn,” he groaned, “it’s that damned fool, Hughes.”

“It seems he’s rejoined Sir Hew’s staff, sir,” Lt. Roe said, making a sour face. “Better there than in command of troops, I suppose. At least he won’t stumble about and get himself captured again, on staff.”

“Well, there are proper soldiers, and then there are clerks, Mister Roe,” Lewrie quipped. “I’m sure he has all his paperwork just tiddly.”

Lewrie sheathed his hanger and trotted down to the quarterdeck to welcome Hughes aboard, loath as he was to clap “top lights” on him again. He even plastered on a grin.

“Ah, Captain Hughes! Welcome aboard,” he said in greeting as Hughes completed his climb up the battens to the deck.

“Good morning, Captain Lewrie,” Hughes purred back, in kind, “though, there was a sudden vacancy and I was able to purchase a promotion. It’s Major Hughes, now. Substantive, not brevet.”

“Congratulations, Major Hughes,” Lewrie amended. “Care for a ‘wet’ in my cabins? Cool tea, or cool wine?”

“Thank you, sir, I’d much appreciate it,” Hughes said with an harumph. “Sir Hew has need of you and your ship to bear despatches to Admiral Cotton, off Lisbon, and another set for General Drummond at Gibraltar.”

“This way, if you please, Major Hughes,” Lewrie bade, waving an arm towards the coolness of his great-cabins.

*   *   *

Once seated on the starboard-side settee, and with a glass of wine in his hand, Hughes gave him a quizzical look. “I heard tell that you were ashore the day of the battle, sir, potting the odd Frenchman alongside the soldiers, what?”

“Curiosity, aye, and I was,” Lewrie said agreeably. “Quite the sight to see, Frogs dyin’ in droves, and ru

Left unsaid was “You should have been there,” and Hughes was aware of it. He harumphed again and took a deeper sip of his wine.

“Yayss,” Hughes drawled, “young Wellesley did well, for his first encounter with the French. His victory convinced them to offer terms, with their fellow, Kellerma

“Well, just damn my eyes!” Lewrie exclaimed, wishing he had something stronger than his cool tea to toast that. “But, doesn’t Junot have the bulk of his hundred thousand troops still whole, and grouped round Lisbon? Why should he just give it all up?”

“Well, he’s surrounded, Captain Lewrie,” Hughes boasted. “He is blockaded by sea, bound in by the Tagus River at Lisbon, and has nowhere to go but to straggle back cross the rough mountains into Spain. Here,” he offered, handing over two thick packets of reports and letters. “There is a letter for you, a summary of the terms of the treaty, so you may answer any of Admiral Cotton’s, or General Drummond’s, questions on the broader points. Yes, it’s best that the French evacuate Lisbon, and their other enclaves, before they run out of provisions and Sir Hew’s troop positions prevent them from foraging the countryside.”

Lewrie opened his letter and sca

“Mine arse on a band-box!” he barked. “Ship ’em home to France, on British ships, with all their arms, flags, and personal possessions? They’ll be on parole, won’t they? Unable to serve against us ’til exchanged for an equal number of British prisoners?”

“Ah, no,” Major Hughes carefully corrected. “That would require the existence of an hundred thousand or so British soldiers held by the French, already, and we know that ain’t so. Equally, there would be no way to enforce that rule once Junot’s army is back on French soil, so that demand was not made.”