Trust Furfy t’find it, and get howlin’ drunk! Lewrie winced.
Ignoring that, while twitching the fingers of his left hand to Westcott to see to the problem, he genially laid out the situation, the possibilities, and what actions they had taken.
“Just as the shrapnel shells began to burst over ’em, sir,” he related, “we opened upon ’em. They had about five or six hundred men in all, and they pulled one infantry company out of line, and a troop of dis-mounted cavalry, t’deal with us, weakening the line. You can see the results, sir.”
“So, you did not play too high a hand, Captain Lewrie?” Baird asked, nodding his head in appreciation.
“Captain Veasey let Leftenant Strickland take half a troop, sir, and it was he who led the way and set us in our defensive positions, and instructed us both in how to receive cavalry and in how to deliver rolling volley fire, sir. In point of fact, it was more my lending him my men to his command than t’other way round.”
“Well, he is to be commended, then,” General Baird decided, “as is your regiment, Colonel Laird.”
“But, Sir David—!” Laird spluttered, red in the face, nigh puce with indignation.
General Baird grimaced at Laird’s overly-familiar use of his Christian name. “Sir Alan is to be commended, as well, Laird,” he said, stiffening his back, and making it quite clear that Laird was over-reaching. “Rest assured that your regiment, your junior officers, and Sir Alan will be mentioned favourably in my reports to Horse Guards, and Admiralty,” he added, with a brief grin and nod in Lewrie’s direction. “Will that be all, Laird?”
“Uhm, well…,” the deflated, frustrated Colonel managed to gravel out.
“Then do you take your regiment forward of the Heavy Brigade and scout by troops for the main Dutch force, sir,” General Baird ordered. “Find them, and report back, leaving a screen.”
“Yes, sir, at once,” Laird said, his chin tucked hard into his stiff collars, and spurred away.
“Just what are you doing so far forward, Captain Lewrie?” the General enquired once Laird was gone.
“Guarding the baggage train, sir, and getting shoved out of the line of march,” Lewrie explained with a shrug, “and made our own way.”
“Then do you wait ’til the baggage train is over the Blaauwberg and fall in with it,” Baird directed. “It may be best did you remain with it, the rest of the way, you know. I expect a hard battle with the Dutch before the day is out, and your wee lot would be of little help. You were lucky once,” Baird said, with a brow up.
“Once is quite enough, thankee, sir,” Lewrie replied, feeling sheepish.
Baird and his party wheeled away and clopped off, over the crest and downhill to the East, leaving Lewrie to finally let out a long-pent whoosh of relief.
Hah! Cheated Death, and Ruin, again! he told himself.
“Furfy!” he called out. “You men with him? The First Officer will be smellin’ those canteens ye pilfered. If there’s spirits in ’em, best pour it out, now. The Bosun’s Mate brought a ‘cat’ ashore with him, don’t ye know.”
“Breakin’ me heart, arrah,” Furfy muttered, sorrowfully turning his new Dutch canteen bung-down and spilling its contents on the dust of Africa.
“When the waggon’s up, we’ll re-fill with water,” Lewrie told them all, “but, we’ll also break open the cask of small beer.”
“Huzzah!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Hoy, the boat!” Midshipman Munsell hailed the barge as it approached.
“Reliant!” Cox’n Liam Desmond shouted back from the bows and showed four fingers to indicate the size of the side-party required to receive the frigate’s commanding officer back aboard. Sailors scrambled to toe the line of deck planks, and Bosun Sprague piped a long call as the barge came alongside and Captain Lewrie ascended the boarding battens to the entry-port, still laden with weapons. Once at the top and in-board on the starboard gangway, Lewrie doffed his hat to one and all, beaming fit to bust. Lt. Spendlove was his usual rather serious self, but could not hide a grin. Lt. Merriman, of a more cheerful nature, was almost chortling.
“Welcome back aboard, sir,” Spendlove intoned. “And, might I enquire how things went ashore, sir?”
“Just topping bloody capital, Mister Spendlove!” Lewrie said in high spirits. “Mister Merriman? Did things go well aboard? I see the French didn’t turn up. Well, hallo, Bisquit!” he cried, kneeling down as the ship’s dog pranced about in tail-wagging glee. “Here, I brought ye a fine new bone, and some biltong, to boot! It’s a stout impala bone, and the biltong’s hartebeest. Ain’t that tasty? Aye! No fear, there’s two hundredweight comin’ aboard.”
He got back to his feet and began to shed his Ferguson and the Girandoni air-rifle, and his pistols, piling all that ironmongery on the binnacle cabinet.
“Things went very well, sir,” Lt. Spendlove reported. “We’ve been anchored here in Table Bay two days now, ever since word came of the Dutch surrender. I saw to our old water butts getting emptied and scrubbed out, and fresh shore water taken aboard.”
“Very good, sir,” Lewrie said with a glad nod. “We were told of one Dutch warship, over in False Bay. What of her?”
“The Bato, sir, sixty-eight,” Lt. Merriman said. “Commodore Popham sent one of the other frigates round to see to her, but the Dutch burned her to the waterline before she could be made prize. We heard there was a battle, but so far no one’s told us anything. May we prevail upon you—?”
“Over supper tonight, once Pettus and Yeovill get me set back up,” Lewrie promised. “Aye, there was, and the Army went through the Dutch like a dose o’ salts. We had a grand view of it. And, a grand time ashore, too. Now Cape Town’s ours, and the Army garrisons it, I have hopes our people will be allowed shore liberty for a rare once. No risk of ’em takin’ ‘leg bail’ in a foreign country, hey?”
“Welcome back aboard, Mister Westcott … Mister Simcock,” Lt. Spendlove said in greeting as the other two officers gained the deck. “I gather we missed a grand adventure?”
“Didn’t you just!” Westcott hooted in glee. “Camping out in the open, sleeping rough, getting in some grand hunting and shooting? Campfires, roast game meat by the pound, as much as a man could cram down every night, and not an ounce of salt-meat junk boiled once we set foot ashore! Washed down with small beer or rooibos each night!”
“It’s a native bush the Khoikhoi … what people call the Hottentots nowadays … brew up,” Lewrie supplied, “and it makes a grand substitute for tea.”
“There will be several pounds of it coming aboard, so you may try it,” Westcott assured them. “With sugar, it’s delicious.”
“We even had a chance t’have our laundry done, as will you all once you get ashore,” Lewrie told them. “And hot fresh water to bathe in, too.”
“And are the Dutch laundresses handsome, Mister Wescott?” Merriman teased.
“Handsome, sturdy, blond, and most obliging,” their ever-randy First Officer said with a devilish grin.
The second barge was coming alongside with half of the Marines aboard. Pettus and Yeovill had accompanied Lewrie in the first, and Lewrie felt that he could quit the deck and retire to his cabins.
“Warn Mister Cooke that there will be lashin’s of fresh game meat comin’ aboard later for the hands’ supper for him to roast,” Lewrie said to Spendlove. “Onions, fresh fruits, potatoes, God knows what-all. I will be below.”
Once Lewrie was in his great-cabins, Chalky sprang off the bed and ran to him, tail high and meowing loudly in complaint. Lewrie scooped him up and carried him to the desk in the day-cabin to give him all the “wubbies” the cat demanded, at least ’til all the greetings had been made, and Chalky began to nip and swat at his fingers in lively play.