Lewrie, who had been standing by the windward side of the quarterdeck, on the larboard side, first looked seaward to determine if another column of ships was stealing their wind, then turned to face his First Officer. “Damned if it ain’t, Mister Westcott. Do you bare more canvas, aye.” He took another long moment to judge how his ship moved underneath his feet, then exclaimed, “And, damned if the sea’s not as lively, either. Think I’ll take another peek ashore.”
Back to the compass binnacle cabinet he went to fetch out that powerful telescope, went to the lee, starboard, bulwarks, and looked shoreward. Blaauwberg Bay was off the fleet’s starboard quarters, by then, and the approaches to Saldanha Bay were off the starboard bows, still miles away, and Blaauwberg Bay was … calming!
The confused chop had ebbed in a single hour with the dropping of the offshore wind, and the clashing large white horses seemed to have dissolved, leaving only scattered white-caps and cat’s paws on the sea. The strong sets of rollers and breaking waves no longer crashed on the beaches, but merely gushed ashore in sheets of foam, and were much reduced in height.
“Signal from Diadem, sir!” Midshipman Eldridge sang out. “Two guns, general to all ships, and it is … ‘Columns Wear South In Order Of Succession’ … and ‘Leading Columns First’! ‘Land … Army’ … she’s spelling out B … L … ‘Blaauwberg’!”
“Now this is goin’ t’be a rat-scramble!” Lewrie hooted in sour amusement. “Recall our bloody ‘sugar trade’ two years ago, Mister Westcott? And what a cock-up that was when America-bound ships tried t’leave the convoy?”
“Sadly I do, sir,” Lt. Westcott agreed, snickering.
There had been over an hundred merchantmen to herd and guard from the “rondy” at Jamaica to England, but no one had given a thought to the ships bound for Savannah, Charleston, the Chesapeake, and ports in New England. They’d been scattered throughout the convoy like raisins in a pudding, and when they’d altered course to thread their ways through the long columns of ships, perfect panic had resulted, and it had taken the better part of a whole day to sort the convoy back into proper order again, with the America-bound ships posted down the lee side, so they could leave without frightening the wits from everyone!
“Well, here it comes again!” Lewrie said, laughing out loud. “I expect the Commodore will wear out two sets of signal flags before he’s done … and he’s the one who invented the code system!”
The fleet was sorted out in order of importance, with the merchantmen and transports bearing the intial landing force in the lead, and the secondary waves astern of them. Now, the lead group must go about, one at a time, to reverse their order of sailing, and steer for Blaauwberg Bay, whilst the rest would have to stand out to sea to give them room, then wear about to reverse their order and fall astern of those ships carrying the first regiments.
Hmm, I don’t recall the Popham Code includin’ stock curses, Lewrie told himself; I s’pose we’ll have t’spell ’em out. Takes all the spontaneity, and the fun, from ’em!
* * *
And, indeed it was far past mid-day by the time all ships had managed to come about and sail into Blaauwberg Bay in their proper order, close the shore, and come to anchor in ragged, dis-ordered ranks parallel to the beaches, about one mile to seaward. It helped that the winds were still from offshore, instead of the typical Sou’east Trade winds, so they could wear about from one beam-reach to another, not butt their way in a series of short tacks into the Trades!
“Signal, sir!” Midshipman Grainger, who had taken Eldridge’s place at the change of watch, crisply reported. “It is … ‘Send Boats’, and … ‘Commence’!”
“Very well,” Lewrie said. “Hoist the ‘Affirmative’, then take your place in charge of the second cutter, Mister Grainger. Mister Westcott? See to haulin’ our boats from towin’ astern to the entry-ports, and muster the boat crews.”
“Aye, sir!”
The sailors told off to man the boats left their watch-standing duties and gathered round the four most-experienced Midshipmen assigned to lead them, along with the tarry coxswains specially selected to the tricky and risky work of conning the boats through the surf and foamy breakers to safe groundings on the beach, land their soldiers, then get the cutters and barges safely off and back to the transports for a second load; as many runs as it would take in concert with the transports’ boats to get a full regiment ashore.
Lewrie left the quarterdeck and descended to the waist before the ship’s boats reached the entry-ports. Bisquit, the ship’s dog, was already out of his shelter beneath the starboard quarterdeck ladderway, prancing about and through the groups of men, curious to see what this unusual activity was about.
“Lads!” Lewrie called out. “The surf’s subsided considerably, and conditions have improved, but … the Army’s trustin’ to us to see ’em safe ashore. It might be a temptation t’rush things, but this’ll best be like ‘church work’ … slow and steady. You cox’ns…,” he said, looking the chosen men in the face directly, his own boat’s Cox’n, Liam Desmond, too. “Every man’s life’ll be in your skilled hands. That’s why you were picked for it. And you young gentlemen,” he said to the eager-looking Midshipmen, “you trust to your cox’ns’ skill and experience, the closer ye get to shore. It won’t be an occasion for sky-larkin’, and with the late start you’ll probably be at it ’til sundown, and might have t’finish the work tomorrow mornin’, too, so give your hands a rest when ye can, and breaks for water.
“As to the second rum issue, lads,” he added with a grin. “It will be doled out late, once you’re back aboard.”
That raised a cheer.
“Away ye go, then, do your best, and show our redcoats, and the idle lubbers aboard the transports, what the Navy, and Reliants, can do!” Lewrie concluded, doffing his hat to them. “And, as the Spanish say, ‘Go with God’, and I fully expect t’see all your smilin’ faces when you return!”
He returned to the quarterdeck as the boat crews began to go down the battens to the waiting boats, to stand amidships of the cross-deck stanchions and hammock nettings to see them off. Poor Bisquit dashed about, yipping and whining as if all his friends and playmates were abandoning him. As the last hands left the deck, he sat down and looked left and right, ears perked in puzzlement.
“Bisquit,” Lewrie called to him, and the dog bounded up the ladderway to the quarterdeck to press against Lewrie’s leg for reassurance. Lewrie leaned down to pet him and ruffle his fur.
“No need t’fret, ye silly beast,” Lewrie cossetted in a soft voice. “They’ll all be back aboard by supper time. Even if they won’t have time t’hunt ye up a nice, fresh bone or two.”
Well, at least I hope they will, he grimly thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Lewrie hosted a supper for his officers and the four Midshipmen who had led the boats, and his cook, Yeovill, had done his best with what little variety was left in his personal stores after the long passage South from Madeira. There was reconstituted vegetable soup, no chance for a fresh salad, a roast duck from the forecastle manger, and yellowfin tuna steaks from a smallish fish which Yeovill had gotten once they’d come to anchor, eked out with shrivelled baked potato halves smothered in the least-mouldy cheeses and shredded bacon, and a bowl of boiled green snap beans purchased at Funchal. Lashings of wine more than made up for the lack of anything special, or fresh.
“Well, it wasn’t all that bad a day, after all,” Lt. Merriman commented. “We managed to get most of the infantry regiments ashore.”
“And, half the cavalry,” Lt. Arthur Simcock, their Marine officer, crowed.
“And, some of the artillery, too!” Westcott pointed out. “The Army won’t be over-run during the night, God willing, and we’ll have the rest ashore by tomorrow, mid-day.”