Conquest

The castle came into view: low and compact, it was nevertheless large, star-shaped and with extensive outworks. Floating proudly above all was a huge Batavian standard. And well before they closed with it, they heard, from a lesser fortress at the forward corner of the outer wall, the heavy crump of a single round of artillery. They were being warned.

‘Halt!’ The order echoed down the column. Kydd moved up as Baird took out his telescope and carefully inspected the terrain – the castle, its surrounding cover, the foothills at the base of the massive Table Mountain. At length he lowered it, his face set.

‘There’s no getting past it. It will have to be invested.’ There was a murmur of dismay at the talk of beleaguering the town. ‘And there’s so little damned time,’ he added bitterly.

Kydd looked at him in some sympathy. This was the man who had commanded at the dreadful slaughter that had closed the siege of Seringapatam, and those dark memories must be haunting him now.

Baird snapped the glass shut and turned to his staff. ‘We fall back out of range and set up camp behind that ridge,’ he said, indicating the low rise they had passed. He glanced at Kydd and gave a tired smile. ‘The good captain here has pointed out the difficulties attendant on a sea bombardment. Perhaps he’d be kind enough to advise on the landing of navy cannon as must be in the character of our siege train.’

Kydd nodded uncomfortably. ‘I shall try, sir.’ With an entire army waiting, regiments consuming rations and the Dutch, no doubt, calling in their outlying forces to counter-attack triumphantly, Baird urgently needed answers, not objections. But to land massive naval guns as he wanted would be near impossible. The heaviest, the thirty-two- pounders of Diadem, were monsters, three tons of cold iron. They would have to be slung beneath two launches in order to be moved, and such a contraption coming through the booming surf would result in an uncontrollable, bone-crushing rampage.

And there was the question of the gun carriage. Aboard ship these were precision devices to level the gun, absorb recoil and, in general, lay and control the gun. They were fitted with trucks, small wheels expecting a hard deck, which would be utterly useless ashore. The standard army cannon in the field was a six-pounder so there was no question of trying to fit a thirty-two-pounder to its tiny carriage.

Then Kydd tried to bring to mind what they had achieved at the defence of Acre – but conditions had been different there: a sheltered harbour, a stone wharf, and they had been the defenders, not the attackers. The effect, though, had been dramatic. At three times the size of army cannon, even the smaller naval weapons were not to be scorned. And perhaps four – six of them? Yes, this might work. ‘Sir, in this surf I fear we cannot expect to bring in the biggest guns. Should we fashion a kind of raft it might be possible to get eighteen-pounders to you, the carriage in the nature of a slide as we do employ for our carronades.’

‘Very well,’ Baird said heavily. ‘Make it thus, if you please.’

‘Then I’ll return to my ship if I may, sir, and—’

‘I’d rather you stayed, Mr Kydd,’ he said, adding quietly, ‘I value your counsel. Is there not a lieutenant you might send?’

‘Yes, sir, if you wish it.’ He would do his duty but he had little stomach for land wars and the horrific scenes of a sacked city – he yearned for the clean salt tang of the sea and blessed naval routine.

The camp sprang up in remarkable time, rows of tents at exact spacing covering acres of ground, a flagpole at the centre at the commander-in-chief’s headquarters and sentries posted on all sides.

A flurry of activity resolved to a dispatch rider arriving. ‘Sir, from Lord Beresford.’ The general had been posted to keep watch on Janssens’s Hollanders, left in the mountains after the Blaauwberg battle.

Baird read the message with a frown and stuffed it into his waistcoat. He glanced around his officers. ‘We’re in it for the long haul, it seems. Janssens has crossed over the Tygerbergs and, circling around Stellenbosch, has taken residence in the Hottentot-Hollands range only some twenty or thirty miles away. Not only that but the castle has dispatched a substantial wagon train of cannon and supplies to him there.

‘Gentlemen – we have decisions to make.’

The worst fear of a commander-in-chief at siege – that a powerful army threatened his rear – was a reality. Janssens had a secure mountain stronghold, which would serve as a point of concentration for the reinforcements now converging. When the time was right he would descend to crush the invaders.

The headquarters tent was unfurnished. It served to keep the fierce afternoon sun at bay, but every officer had to remain standing. Baird drank thirstily from a soldier’s canteen, wiped his mouth and turned to address them.

‘My fellow officers. I will not hide it from you. We are—’

‘Sah – Gen’ral Baird, sah!’ It was the regimental sergeant major of the 71st at the door-flap. ‘L’tenant Grant’s compliments an’ he begs you’d come, um, now,’ he finished woodenly, with an odd expression.

‘Very well, Sar’ Major,’ Baird said, and followed him, his officers hurrying along too: nothing short of a grave threat would have impelled the young lieutenant to intrude.

Standing at the edge of the camp, Grant pointed across the flat ground before the castle to a cavalry officer on a white horse picking his way carefully towards them. He bore a large white flag. When the halfway point was reached he stopped and waited.

‘Good God!’ blurted one officer. ‘The gall of ’em, calling for our surrender before the first shot!’

‘It’s a trick,’ growled another.

‘No, it’s not,’ said Baird, sternly. ‘The Dutch are an odd lot but they know the meaning of honour. L’tenant – do see what it is they want.’

The young man went for a horse, swung up and crossed to the waiting officer. Hats were doffed, words were briefly exchanged and a letter was handed over. With a civil bow, they wheeled their horses around and returned whence they’d come.

Grant handed the letter to Baird. ‘Sir, I’m desired to give you this from the commandant of the castle.’

He took it and gravely broke the seal. As he read it his face worked with emotion. He scanned the words again, then lowered the paper and looked about him, overcome.

‘Read it aloud,’ he choked, handing it to his aide.