It ain’t as if the Spanish know we’re comin’, or can even see us if they knew t’look out for us, Lewrie groused to himself, pacing the deck and wincing at each leadsman’s call; so what’s his bloody urgency? It’s like Popham’s runnin’ from his creditors!
Poor Mr. Caldwell, the Sailing Master, looked as if he would fret himself to an early grave, breaking out in a fine sweat despite the coolness of early morning as he was reduced to tracing his index finger round his much-pawed charts each time a new sounding was called out, as if to divine their exact position by the procession of indicated fathom markers. Lewrie noted that that index finger shook at times, and that Caldwell was actually mouthing silent words; curses or prayers, no one could say.
* * *
The fogs did burn off by mid-morning, relieving one and all. As soon as it did, though, the flagship was hoisting a flurry of signals. The first was a “General” to all ships, announcing that the Commodore would shift his flag to the Narcissus frigate and proceed up the Plate Estuary to gather the latest local information. In his absence, his Flag-Captain, Downman, would command the squadron and the troop transports. They should look for him off Flores Island on the North shore of the estuary, near Montevideo. The second hoist summoned Narcissus alongside Diadem, so the Commodore and his entourage could be barged over to her to arrive in state, break out his broad pendant, and scamper away at a rate of knots, leaving the rest of the ships to wallow along as best they could.
“Wants t’beat us to the loot, does he?” Lewrie speculated to Lt. Westcott in a low voice. “Ah, Mister Caldwell! My congratulations on seein’ us through. I am sending down for a pot of cold tea. Might I offer you a glass?”
“Thankee, but no, sir,” Caldwell said, mopping his face with a red calico handkerchief after he had gathered up his personal navigation aids and rolled up the large scale chart. “If I may have your leave to go below for a bit, I had something stronger in mind. This morning has taken its toll upon me, I do confess.”
“Nice enough, now, though,” Lewrie made note, pausing for a moment to hear one of the leadsmen call out, “Eighteen fathom! Eighteen fathom t’this line!”
“A pretty morning, aye, sir,” Caldwell agreed, looking out and up at the skies and clouds and the state of the glittering seas as if seeing them for the first time in his life, blinking in amazement.
“Do you reckon that the ship is in no danger for the moment, sir, you have leave to go below,” Lewrie allowed.
“Thank you, sir, and I shall return shortly,” Caldwell vowed.
“After all this fog and uncertainty, I feel in need of a stiff ‘Nor’wester’ myself, sir,” Lt. Westcott stated.
“Should I send down for rum, instead?” Lewrie teased.
“Cold tea’s fine, sir,” Westcott said with a twinkle.
Lewrie left the windward bulwarks and went to the binnacle cabinet to look over the other chart that Caldwell had left behind for their use, the one which showed the Plate Estuary all the way beyond Buenos Aires to the mangrove swamps and jungles on the North bank of the estuary, where the great river spilled out from the interior. He found Flores Island, still hundreds of miles away, and heaved a sigh.
“Pass word for the Purser if you will, Mister Westcott,” he reluctantly said. “It’ll be days ’til we come to anchor off Flores, and we’ll have to wait for the Commodore’s return. In the meantime, it will be necessary to reduce the bread and water rations to three in four, unless God grants us a deluge. Perhaps we can make up the lack with small beer, or try to bake fresh bread, if the wind and sea state allows.”
“Just slipped his mind, did it, sir?” Westcott whispered with a savage, knowing look on his face.
“Perhaps he’ll find a fresh-water stream far out of the way of any watchers,” Lewrie sneered. “Or, meet up with some Spanish bum-boat traders.”
“Lashings of water, wine, and charming señoritas,” Westcott wistfully said. “Ah, the possibilities!”
“You quite forgot the chance they’d have fresh fruit,” Lewrie reminded him.
“Hmm … mangoes … coconuts … or even … melons!” Westcott japed, raising cupped hands to his chest as if weighing the mentioned delights, widening his palms at each in lustful anticipation for the young women of the Argentine.
“You’re bloody hopeless, ye know that,” Lewrie told him.
* * *
It was the 13th of June before all ships were together, again, off Flores, where they did find fresh water, and dead-calm waters which allowed them to bake bread. Commodore Popham was off again almost at once, shifting his flag to the Encounter brig, which drew even less water than Narcissus. Before departing, though, he took the time to hold a quick conference aboard Diadem.
“My initial reconnaissance went well, sirs,” Popham energetically told them with a smile. “In Encounter, I intend to scout as far as Buenos Aires. Colonel Miranda, when I met him in London, told me that Buenos Aires has never felt the need for defensive walls, or any fortifications beyond some harbourside batteries. The fortified town is Montevideo, much closer to the open ocean, and is garrisoned more strongly to protect Buenos Aires from invasion … hah! We shall deal with Montevideo last.
“In the meantime, Captain Downman, and Acting-Captain King, I wish you place Diadem so as to keep a close eye upon Montevideo,” Popham continued, “and prevent any of its garrison from crossing over to the South bank of the estuary to re-enforce Buenos Aires before we may pluck it, ha ha!”
“Very good, sir,” Captain Downman agreed.
“Now, someone must keep watch on the back door whilst we make our preparations and choose a good landing spot,” Popham said with a cheerful clap of his hands. “To that end, Captain Lewrie, Captain Rowley, and Commander Edmonds, I wish for your ships to fall back down to the mouth of the estuary and cruise to keep a lookout for any impudent intruders who might turn up and interfere … as well as taking any Spanish merchantmen bound into the Plate.”
Ye brought us all this way, Lewrie thought, fuming up at once; and we’re not t’take part? Christ!
He could only nod in obedience.
“Now, upon my return, and the determination is made as to where the army is to be landed,” Popham went on with a merry grin, “we shall transfer our ‘Royal Blues’ aboard Encounter and Narcissus. That will give us the equivalent of a half-battalion of infantry. Each ship will give up around twenty armed seamen, making one hundred, and all of our Marines—that would be three hundred fourty all told, is my reckoning right, and no one falls overboard and drowns whilst I’m away, what?—together that gives us four hundred fourty extra men to assist Brigadier Beresford. With the army troops, we may field one thousand six hundred and thirty.”
“About that, yes, Sir Home,” Beresford said, nodding.
“As we saw at Blaauwberg Bay, gentlemen,” Popham went on and drawing them to gather round his dining table where a copy of a very old Spanish chart was laid out, “it is vital that we land everyone as close to Buenos Aires as possible, giving the Dons little time to react … assuming they can, ha! I will be taking a rowboat inshore after dark to look at Point Quilmes, which is only twelve miles from our goal. Above Point Quilmes, the depths are too shallow for any of our ships to swim. Do you concur, sir?” he asked General Beresford,
Beresford blinked his eyes and peered nigh myopically at the chart for a long moment before responding. “If we can get our ships no higher up the coast, then Point Quilmes has much to recommend it, Sir Home … though there is this river, the Chuelo or the Cuello … three miles from Buenos Aires, where the Spanish could make a stand. How dearly I feel myself in need of a squadron of cavalry.”