“Perhaps,” Lewrie grudgingly allowed.
“I hope you do not hold anything against him, sir,” Mountjoy said in a soft voice. “Getting him, and those troops, has been as hard as pulling Sir Hew’s teeth … if he had many left. Now we’re on the cusp, I would hate for any grudges to hamper us.”
Damme, he’s all but givin’ me orders! Lewrie thought in shock. Mountjoy had been his clueless, landlubberly, ink-stained clerk back in the long-ago, a lad more than ten years his junior, and it cut rough to be chided, even in the mildest way! He was a bloody civilian, for God’s sake!
“‘Yes sir, no sir, two bags full’,” Lewrie growled, pretending to tug at his forelock like a tenant or day-labourer. “I promise to be good, Daddy.” Which drew a laugh from Mountjoy.
“I wonder where he’s dining,” Mountjoy said. “It is tempting to see if his girl is all that fetching.”
“At Pescadore’s, and she is,” Lewrie told him, providing him a brief description.
“Damned good establishment,” Mountjoy commented once he was done. “It might be fun to simply pop in and…?”
“Temptin’, aye,” Lewrie said, “but … no. We’d best not. If Hughes thinks we’re spyin’ on him, it’d just ruffle his feathers.”
“Well, he has some impressive feathers,” Mountjoy japed.
And an impressive woman, Lewrie thought, half-wishing that they could just happen to amble in so he could get a longer, closer look at Maddalena. Dammit, I may be jealous of him!
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Over the next few days, Lewrie began to suspect that he had mis-judged Major Hughes. He and Mountjoy had Hughes up to Mountjoy’s lodgings so they could lay out the agents’ reports and sketches in greater privacy than they could in a borrowed office in the Convent, and they were amazed how Hughes grasped the possibilities so quickly, and raved over the prospects. They took him out to Harmony to tour the troop accommodations, and Hughes was a fount of good suggestions for improvements and tweaks to make the men—his men, now—more comfortable.
On his own, Major Hughes had arranged shore billets for the men of the 77th and their officers, had arranged provisions and cooking facilities for them, and had worked them into the rotation to use the parade ground for close-order drill, and at least a weekly use of the firing range, with ammunition to boot. In all, Hughes was a paragon when it came to working out the niggling details, and carried on in a brash, burly, charge-ahead manner. He also got Lieutenant Keane and Lieutenant Roe and their Marines ashore to participate. The loudest voice on the parade ground was his as he put them through the usual “square-bashing” and mock battle manouevres, with all three companies abreast to make rushes by company, with the others covering them, and even thought to rehearse mock retreats to the “beach” once the raids would be over, either opposed by Spanish forces, or getting off without a shot being fired at them. Major Hughes was most enthusiastic. Unfortunately, that enthusiasm did not extend to the 77th’s officers.
Lewrie and Mountjoy discovered that lack of enthusiasm at their first meeting, a dinner served in Sapphire’s great-cabins, followed by a presentation of the overall scheme, complete with large hand-drawn plans pinned to the bulkheads. Even though Lewrie had ordered his cabins scoured with vinegar, smoked with faggots of tobacco, and citronella pots set out, they all looked as if the usual stink of a warship might gag them, to start with.
The 77th Regiment of Foot was not an old or distinguished unit, and had only been raised in 1793, at the start of the War of The First Coalition, and had only taken part in one overseas expedition, and that had been the disastrous Dutch Campaign of 1798, where the British Army had been driven back to their transports by the highly-experienced French and Dutch, looking hapless, and as dangerous as so many sheep. There had been a rumour, Mountjoy learned on the sly, that the 77th would be going to the West Indies, aptly known as the “Fever Islands”, where untold thousands of British soldiers had sickened and died in the annual ravages of Malaria, Yellow Jack, Cholera, or Dysentery since the first wars over their possession.
Hence, the prices for officers’ commissions had plummeted like stunned seagulls and a great many of the original regimental officers’ mess had sold out to seek commissions in other units, resulting in an host of new, in-experienced young men.
Captain Kimbrough, for instance, was only nineteen, and Captain Bowden was eighteen. Lieutenant Staggs was seventeen, and his counterpart in the second company was only sixteen, so young and new to their uniforms and accoutrements that their leather still squeaked! The Ensigns, Litchfield and Gilliam, who had not been invited to the first introduction meeting, were even younger!
“Now, once the transport fetches-to into the wind, or comes to anchor off the beach,” Lewrie lectured, pointing to one large sheet of paper pinned to the bulkhead, “my Navy tars will haul the boats alongside, drop the scrambling nets over the side, and man the boats, here, here, and here, right under the chain platforms of Harmony’s shrouds to either beam. Your men will form up at the shrouds in six groups.”
“Platoons,” Major Hughes contributed.
“Right, platoons,” Lewrie amended. “At the order to man boats, you’ll see your men down into the boats, and they’ll cast off and row shoreward, forming line-abreast so all six boats, along with the four from Sapphire which carry my Marines, arrive on the beach, or quay, or solid ground, pretty-much as one.”
“We’re expected to row, sir?” Lt. Pullen asked, sounding as if that much exertion was beneath him. He looked appalled.
“The sailors do the rowing, Leftenant Pullen,” Hughes snapped. “Don’t be an arse.”
“You and your men sit on the thwarts in-board of the oarsmen,” Lewrie told Pullen. “Soon, as the boats ground, the sailors’ll boat their oars, and some will jump out into the surf to make sure that the boat is secure. You’ll note in this sketch that the dockyard built them all with a square-ish bow platform. You’ll leave your boats by the bow, run up to the edge of the beach … by platoons…” Lewrie said with a nod to Hughes, “and then set off towards your objective. My men will remain on the beach to guard the boats ’til you return.”
“If I may, sir?” Hughes interrupted. “Your men will carry the minimum of accoutrements, musket-bayonet-hanger-haversack, with spare flints and fourty cartridges-brass priming horn-cartridge box containing fourty rounds-water bottle-firelock rag to keep out the wet, and snot rag for blowing your noses, got that? Packs and blankets will not be required, as we will only be ashore for a few hours, nor will rations beyond a bit of cheese, bisquit, or a wee sausage. It will be like a boy’s first romp with a wench … in quick, and out quick.”
Pullen and Staggs tittered and blushed.
“Hopefully, someone is satisfied,” Marine Lieutenant Keane japed. He and his fellow officer, Lt. Roe, seemed ages older than the 77th’s officers, who seemed total innocents in comparison.
“We’re going to practice all this, starting tomorrow, weather and surf depending,” Lewrie told them all. “Right after breakfast, the boats will be alongside the quay to ferry you and your troops to the transport. You’ll go aboard, get assigned quarters, make up your beds, and stow away your equipment, then spend the night aboard, to get accustomed. Weather allowing, the next morning will see us out at sea, down by Europa Point or the old Chapel, or on the Eastern side in one of the bays, far from prying enemy eyes.”
“And we’ll keep at it ’til we can board the boats, land ashore, deploy, then return to the ship as quickly and as efficiently as is possible,” Major Hughes sternly said, putting them on notice. “Speed is of the essence. Success depends upon giving the enemy as little warning as possible. A question, Captain Kimbrough?” he asked to an up-raised hand.