* * *
“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.”
“Go for a ride on an ostrich?” Lewrie suggested.
“Oh, surely, sir!” Eldridge hooted, leery of such an implausible notion. Even gullible little Shannon pulled a wary face.
“I’ve seen it done,” Lewrie declared. “S’truth! Not that I did so. But, there’s lashings of fresh water, fresh fruits and vegetables, vineyards everywhere ye look, and the Dutch’ve managed t’produce very good wines … whites, mostly. Their red wines are fine if drunk here, but they don’t travel well. And, bein’ Dutch and all, their beers are hellish-good. Aye, Mister Rossyngton, I’d imagine that once the Army is successful, we’ll be here awhile, and can land liberty parties for a whole day or so … once the working-parties’ chores are done, mind.”
“Long enough to go hunting and riding, sir? Long enough to see elephants and lions and such?” Shannon enquired, so eager that he seemed to bounce from one foot to the other.
“Well, one’d have t’ride rather far abroad t’see the wildlife,” Lewrie told him. “and I don’t think we could spare you that long. The Dutch have been here for centuries, and have driven most of the lions and all far away from their farms. That’d be like tryin’ t’find bears and stags roamin’ Islington, these days. Elands, kudus, and gnus are still near the settled lands, and you must have at least one meal when ashore. The game meat’s marvellous! I had a chance to shoot a few, when I was here last, and even bagged a rare crocodile. Still have its teeth back home in England. Some say that crocodile tail-meat is as good as chicken, but I found it rather tough.”