Conquest

‘Now, as you may observe, Table Mountain is at their backs. Where the ground levels to the north we have the castle. Beyond the castle is a fort, and past that – nothing. A ten-mile length of beach up to and past Robben Island here. Now, there is a coast road, a contemptible thing that will take an ox-wagon or four men abreast, not enough to send troops in haste.

‘Losperd’s Bay is here, at the end of the beach, past the island. And, gentlemen, this is where we go in.’

Military and naval heads craned forward together to peer at the map. ‘I’m supposing we can get our troops landed before the Dutch can reach us. We form up and accept battle, driving them back on the town.’

He looked back sharply at a muffled ‘Without guns, without cavalry . . .’ but continued grimly, ‘I’m only too well aware that an opposed landing may be bloody but I’m sending in the smaller navy ships to cannonade the landing place as the boats approach.’

Kydd knew full well who this would be, and the problems he and Leda must face. Were they to present their broadsides to the enemy, cutting across the path of the boats, or fire over their heads at fearful risk to them with rolling seas on the beam? And who would be there to help the soldiers and their kit disembark on an open beach? And what of the risk to the ship? Enemy guns lined up on solid ground could hardly miss, and a damaged ship out of control would be a wreck in a short time, wreaking chaos.

Baird’s iron gaze moved slowly around the table. Then he said, ‘I will not accept anything except that we are ready to invest the castle within a very short number of days. Else we stand exposed to any forces the enemy summons. I shall make my meaning clearer, gentlemen. We move on the Dutch tomorrow.’

Chapter 3

It was as if a sign had been given: no sooner had they returned to their ships than the wind veered from the usual south-easterly directly for their objective. It settled to a broad westerly during the night and increased to a respectable briskness.

In the dawn’s light the little armada saw the mountains of the Cape ahead and set their course for the climactic act of the drama. Within hours they had cast anchor in fifteen fathoms just to the north of the grey-green anonymity of Robben Island, two miles offshore from the landing place.

Kydd glanced over to the mainland and took in a low, flat coastline, a long beach ending in a twist of shoreline and a knot of dark rocks. Away in the distance was the grand sight of Table Mountain, at this angle picturesque and magnificent. A mile or so inland a blue-grey pair of hills rose abruptly from the flat plains, and in the far distance a light-grey craggy mountain range limned the horizon.

And not a sign of the enemy! Had they achieved the surprise they so much needed? The looming of an invasion fleet at their very doorstep must surely be causing dismay and alarm among the Dutch.

There was little time to ponder, however, for the flagship immediately summoned all commanders for a last conference before the assault was unleashed.

Kydd boarded Diadem, feeling the excitement and tension. On her quarterdeck a piper in kilt and bonnet stood at the ready.

In the great cabin Baird waited calmly for the meeting to come to order. Then he said briskly, ‘It seems we have our wish, gentlemen. I propose to dispense with preliminaries and proceed without delay.’

Fierce grins showed among the army officers: the endless weeks at sea had been a sore trial for them but now there would be action at last.

‘We begin embarking in the boats immediately. These will depart on my command for Losperd’s Bay. This is a clearly defined stretch of sand between two points of rock. To occupy the dunes immediately inland is our first objective. Commodore?’

Popham’s glance took in all the naval captains. ‘Offshore bombardment will be by Diadem’s thirty-two-pounders, firing over the heads of the boats going in. Leda and L’Aurore will go to two anchors as close to the shore as practical and pass springs for adjustment of aim. Their positioning will be to either side of Losperd’s Bay. A continuous fire will be maintained before and, as signalled, after the landing.’

‘Thank you,’ Baird said. ‘It will keep the enemy tolerably entertained, I believe. I shall remind you again – the rapid establishing of a foothold is critical to our success. We must move before the foe wakes to his situation.’

Kydd felt muffled thumps and scrapes through the deck, which he recognised as boats coming alongside in the brisk seas. The embarkation was beginning even as they sat.

‘Nevertheless, as a prudent commander I will make a last reconnaissance. Brigadier General Ferguson has claimed that honour for himself but begs he might be accompanied by a senior naval officer.’

Ferguson, a bewhiskered Highlander, red of face but with piercing and intelligent eyes, acknowledged the table and Popham nodded pleasantly. ‘It can be arranged. A ship’s pinnace under sail will be adequate to your purpose, which Captain Kydd, I’m sure, will be delighted to command.’

While L’Aurore’s pinnace was readied Kydd and Ferguson watched the embarkation. The same brisk westerly that had sped them to Diadem had produced a sizeable swell and white wave-crests, and the soldiers with their equipment were finding it difficult to get aboard.

Every boat was being pressed into service: big launches seating sixty soldiers, with twenty oarsmen, through to barges and cutters crowded up to the larger ships. The troops were assembled on deck by file, their kit beside them. As well as their muskets and bayonets, each man had to carry sixty rounds of ball cartridge, spare flints and haversack rations for three days.

They climbed into the bucking craft awkwardly, trying to keep in the centreline away from the seamen at the oars and looking at the hissing seas nervously. The boats backed off and joined the assembling armada.

L’Aurore’s pinnace came alongside, cutter-rigged with a mainsail boom and long bowsprit. Kydd took the tiller, with Stirk at the main-sheets and Poulden with Doud forward. Ferguson boarded, sensibly clad in a plain uniform and accompanied by two blank-faced soldiers.

‘Shove off,’ Kydd ordered, and the boat swung out of the lee of the 64, catching the westerly squarely. Under a single-reefed main they surged towards the shore on the backs of the combers.

‘A mite lively,’ the major general said peevishly, as the pinnace took a foaming crest over the gunwale, soaking