“Well, sir,” Midshipman Hillhouse at last spoke up, “we could have landed the 77th closer to the objective.”
“It was a long dash at the double-quick, yes,” Ensign Gilliam had said with a titter of remembrance, and at his daring to say anything. Major Hughes almost snapped his neck, whipping about to glare slit-eyed at Hillhouse, then in tooth-grinding affrontery as Ensign Gilliam spoke, as if he’d just been addressed by a talking tit-mouse.
Marine Lieutenant Keane, who had still appeared at least partially sobre, added that, in retrospect, the battery could have been taken more quickly if a sweep by two companies round both sides of the place might have done the trick, and they could have caught all the Spanish officers and gunners in their underdrawers … assuming that Spaniards wore such.
“That would’ve saved us a fair parcel of ammunition, what?” Lt. Staggs had chortled over their wasted volleys, which had raised a loud and drunken laugh and a chorus of agreement from all but Major Hughes, and it had gone on from there, loosening up, with everyone contributing. Some of the suggestions, of course, were just too silly, given the age, and state of inebriation, of the participants, but all in all, the session had proved to be somewhat productive, trailing off in remembrances of how much outright fun it was to smash and burn things, and how humiliated the Spanish soldiers had been, after being ordered to strip to shirts, trousers, and stockings, and all their uniforms, accoutrements, boots, and weapons had been piled inside their barracks and burned along with it.
Major Hughes, it must be admitted, most pointedly did not contribute much to the session, signalling his displeasure and unease with stifled harumphs, re-crossings of his immaculately-booted legs, black scowls, and now-and-then astonishingly high, or low, flappings of his thick eyebrows, and Lewrie had been convinced that he had heard some faint, deep growls rumbling in Hughes’s throat that rivalled a wakened bear or a large watchdog.
With the last ridiculous ideas shot down, it had been time for drinking games, “a glass with you, sir!”, and song. They were, for the most part, young enough to still be students, well-pleased with themselves, and reckoning themselves bold and gallant warriors. Food was served from the sideboard cabinet in the dining-coach; fingers of toasted cheese rolled in bread crumbs; baked potatoes filled with bits of bacon, cheese, and shredded onion; thick-sliced “Tommy”, fresh bread from shore, with sliced ham or roast beef and mustard for sandwich makings; and both sweet and dill pickles. Lewrie had been amazed by how they had managed to stagger to the sideboard, load their plates, and return to their seats after so much wine had been taken aboard. He’d shared despairing looks with Pettus, for his cabins would need a real cleaning in the morning, and had feared that his carpets would never be the same. Fortunately, all had managed to stagger to the larboard side quarter-gallery when caught short, and no one, thank the Lord, had puked.
It had wound down after another hour, with the wine replaced by hot tea or coffee, and the officers of the 77th had been seen to the entry-port and waiting boats, though more than a few had had need of a Bosun’s chair, roped into the sling on a board for a seat, hoisted aloft suspended from the main course yardarm, and lowered into a boat, with the youngest and drunkest, Litchfield and Gilliam, delighting in it so much that they shrilled, “Whee!”
Lewrie thought that he had managed the whole affair most handily, and had used the junior officers’ comments and suggestions to do the goading and prompting without a direct confrontation with Major Hughes, all but patting himself on the back … but he’d been wrong.
“A word, sir,” Hughes had rasped in a threatening growl as the last of the 77th’s officers had departed the deck. “What a disreputable show, Captain Lewrie, I’ve never seen in all my born days, I tell you! Is that the way you run your ship, by a bloody committee, with damnable democracy, and a vote for all?”
“I thought it would prove useful, sir, since, as you said, we are breaking ground with such operations,” Lewrie had bristled up, “and celebrate their first success.”
“Prejudicial to good order and discipline is what I term it, sir!” Hughes had gravelled back, his face flushed with more than wine, and his eyes red. “Children, and subalterns, should be seen, but not heard. Next thing you know, they’ll begin second-guessing my orders, and questioning me why! Damme, they’re to obey my every order, else it all turns to utter chaos! You undermine my authority, sir, and I won’t have it!”
“I’ve done nothing of the kind, sir!” Lewrie had shot back.
“General Dalrymple appointed me to command the landing forces, sir, me!” Hughes had insisted, getting louder and drawing the attention of the people in the harbour watch. “If you find my conduct lacking, do you think me incapable, say so to my face, here and now, and ask the General for another officer!”
“I do not think you incapable, Major Hughes,” Lewrie had had to respond in kind, “but I do think you drunk. I have no intention of asking for you to be replaced.”
“You just handle your part, Captain Lewrie,” Hughes had fumed, “just get us where we’re supposed to go, and leave the military part to those who know what the Devil they’re doing, with no interference from … amateurs! Damme, I’ve spent twenty years at a soldier’s trade, sir, Ensign to Major, and I know what I’m about more than a sailor, or a tailor’s dummy of a Marine, and I’ll show you, I’ll show all of you, how to handle troops and win victories, damme if I won’t!”
He had been almost chest-to-chest with Lewrie, and had seemed ready to make his points with jabs of a stiffened finger, before stepping back, wheeling to stomp to the entry-port, and start to descend with no help. As he’d doffed his plumed bicorne in a departing salute, Hughes had flung his last shot.
“I will show you all!” he had barked.
* * *
“No, that doesn’t sound as if it went at all well,” Mountjoy agreed, looking gloomy. “Do you think he’s not really up to scratch?”
“At this moment, I haven’t a bloody clue,” Lewrie confessed. “He’s efficient, has all the nigglin’ little details seen to, and has his men trained, well-behaved, and … frisky. He takes good care of ’em. He’s just so … rigid. Hopefully, I’ve lit a fire under his arse, or rowed him enough t’change his ways. We’ll just have to see how he behaves on the next operation.”
“How soon can you sail, then?” Mountjoy asked.
“Hmm … end of the week?” Lewrie loosely estimated. “I spoke with the Captain of a frigate that’d just come in, and he said that there’d been some vicious gales from Sardinia to the Balearics, and I expect ’em here before they blow themselves out. Might get some precious rain at the Rock by tomorrow.”
“My gutters and rain-barrels are ready for it,” Mountjoy said, all but clapping his hands in expectation, “and the house has a good, deep cistern. My hydrangeas could do with a good rain.”
“Which’re those?” Lewrie, who had not a single clue about botany beyond recognising the difference ’twixt flowers and weeds, asked.
“Those in the pots, there,” Mountjoy told him as if amazed by his lack of knowledge.
“Ah,” Lewrie said. “Heard from that fool, Romney Marsh, yet?”
“Just the one note,” Mountjoy said, shaking his head in wonder. “Cryptic as all Hell … ‘Have arrived, met Goya’.”
“Who’s Goya?” Lewrie asked, befuddled once more.
“A famous Spanish painter,” Mountjoy said, snickering. “So … end of the week, you say?”
“Weather permittin’, aye,” Lewrie told him. As he sipped at his wine, though, he wondered again just what Major Hughes had meant when he said that he would show everyone how good a soldier he was.
What’s he goin’ t’do t’prove it? Lewrie wondered.