Blown Off Course by David Donachie Page A

distance, Toby Burns observed the negative shakes of the head and a degree of heated discussion: these army officers were seemingly not enamoured of their prospects, which suited him admirably. Uncomfortable as it would be, he would happily re-cross the mountains without another shot being fired. Driffield was closer, within earshot of the discussions, and it was not long before he came striding towards the midshipman, his face angry.
    ‘Damn these bullocks, they are a shy lot.’
    ‘How so, sir?’
    ‘They say that what lies before us is too formidable to assault with the forces we have, and even if we could subdue the outworks they lack the means to lay siege to the city.’
    ‘So we pull back?’ Toby asked, careful to sound disappointed.
    ‘After a demonstration, I think, yes.’
    ‘Demonstration?’
    ‘We cannot just retire with our tail between our legs, Mr Burns, without showing Johnny Crapaud our mettle. I daresay Dundas and Stuart will be satisfied to subdue that redoubt before us. It hardly serves to my mind.’
    ‘What would satisfy you, Mr Driffield?’
    ‘Why, Mr Burns, that you and I show them what our service is made of by beating our weapons on their city walls. Rest assured, if they do decide to attack thoseguns, you and I will be well to the fore. The navy will take a cannon this day or we will expire in the effort, so get yourself two primed pistols and a sharp blade, while I get my marines ready.’
    ‘And the sailors, sir?’
    ‘No tars, this is a task for Lobsters.’ Driffield grinned then. ‘And, of course, midshipmen of the right stripe.’
    Much time was taken up getting the British artillery into position and firing, seeking to subdue the enemy by destroying their outworks, with the obvious concomitant that they were within range of counter battery fire. It was a damned dangerous place to be but Toby Burns had no choice and it was just as well, given his ignorance, he had no need to issue orders regarding range and powder – the gunner’s mate sent along saw to that – for, quite apart from his lack of knowledge, he would not have trusted his voice to emerge as anything other than a squeak. Driffield, on the other naval cannon, could not shut up, issuing a constant stream of bellowed encouragement to, ‘Give them hell, lads,’ and, ‘Let us see the true colour of their damned claret.’
    Meanwhile the assault parties were forming up, half the available force, officers dressing lines so that their men would not disgrace them by risking their lives in an untidy fashion. Then came the moment Toby dreaded most, when Driffield called to him, gleefully ordering his own men, who had been working their cannon in shirtsleeves, to don their red coats, gather their muskets, fix bayonets and take a heavy tot of the soldier’s rum to still their gut. On the marine officer’s heels, Toby,the taste of that rum still burning in his throat, was close enough to the major leading the assault to hear the idiot marine thanking him for the chance to face a glorious death.
    As the drum started beating, the youngster had to work hard to keep his bowels from issuing an involuntary evacuation, but the terror of exposure had him marching forward as the command was given. They passed the mouth of the naval cannon to a last salvo, followed by loud cheers, with the grinning faces of the tars full of encouragement. For the first time in his naval career, the midshipman issued a command that was stern enough to be immediately obeyed.
    ‘Belay that damned noise.’
    ‘Do not castigate them for encouragement, Mr Burns,’ Driffield called, ‘for it is only engendered by jealousy. They, I am sure, would wish to be alongside us.’
    The first French ball scythed into the centre of the long, thin line of redcoats and took with it two bullocks, the ranks closing up automatically to fill the space, the eyes of the men Toby Burns could see, staring straight ahead, fixed upon their object, with he wondering how they