It was an intoxicating thought: there were threats hanging over them but these would be resolved in a few months, if not weeks, and it was unthinkable that Whitehall could refuse the governor’s direct request. He would write the letter, crying up the beauty and splendour of life under Table Mountain – but delay sending it until things were settled.
That was what to do. He began scribbling in a fury of passion.
Renzi entered the Burgher Senate with suitably grave features and in the severe attire that he would wear from now on at every official occasion. Behind him in the little procession were Ryneveld and Höhne, his sworn translator.
The assembly slowly rose to their feet, their gaze disdainful. The president, his expression stony, at the last possible moment yielded his high chair. Renzi gave a civil inclination of his head and sat, the Senate conforming in an unnerving hush.
This was the powerhouse of Cape Town, the merchantry, professionals and captains of trade meeting together to run their community as they had done since the Dutch first arrived. They had built this characterful ‘Town House’ in the middle of the last century when it had become clear that the colony had a future. Its three-arched portico and elaborate mouldings were finished with the white and yellow plasterwork and green shutters so distinctive of Cape Town.
Renzi braced himself. It was vital that he put across messages of reassurance, respect and hope to a people whose land had been taken in conquest by his own country.
He stood and looked about the room. ‘Mr President – Mijnheer de Voorzitter van Nuldt Onkruydt,’ he said, with a wash of relief when it seemed he had pronounced it acceptably, ‘I do thank you for your invitation to speak and for your kind welcome.’ He turned and, with a smile, bowed to the granite-faced man while Höhne droned out the translation.
The rows of faces gazed back at him, hard men of money and power whose very dress seemed alien and foreign.
‘We bring you opportunity and prosperity by freeing your colony from the oppression of the Corsican Bonaparte. Now you may trade freely with the world, succouring the fleets of the Indies and finding full commercial advantages in the status of free port that His Excellency has bestowed . . .’
It was unnecessary to explain that free trade would never extend to the King’s enemies or their friends, and that the fleets of the Indies were those of England, not the Dutch, whose trading empire in the Spice Islands would now wither without supplies and support from the Cape.
‘Your customs and traditions in the practice of commerce will be respected by this government . . .’
In so far as they did not conflict with English mercantile law and the revenue raised was adequate for the purposes of government.
‘. . . as will be the ancient rights and privileges of this House here assembled.’
He had not detected a single movement in the impassive rows of men facing him; their faces – individual, broad, tanned and seamed – betrayed no trace of feeling.
‘Therefore I commend to you the Acts of His Excellency the Governor . . .’
Höhne finished the translation and Renzi smiled. ‘If there’s any question that I’m able to answer for you, gentlemen?’
In the front row a thick-built man with a brooding expression stood slowly.
‘Yes?’ Renzi said pleasantly.
A stream of guttural Dutch and the man waited, arms folded.
Höhne leaned forward. ‘Herr Maasdorp asks, which governor?’
Ignoring the jibe, Renzi came back with what he hoped was a robust summary of the situation.
Afterwards, in the carriage, Ryneveld tried to make light of it. ‘The first time they have met you. Hollanders do not readily put hearts on their sleeves, as you say. However . . .’
‘Your point?’
‘It’s troubling they do not see their interests coinciding with yours – ours. That they did not see fit to applaud your appearance does not speak of contentment and reconciliation – rather resentment. Maasdorp can be a troublemaker and all it needs is for some fool to spark a spurning, a turning of the back, and Cape Town will be ungovernable.’
The ball was now assuming increasing importance as it was becoming clear that this would be a breakthrough event, throwing the two cultures together – or turn into a ruination. According to Ryneveld, it was fast becoming public knowledge but attracting contempt from some; Renzi felt the beginnings of despair. He so wanted it to be a success, not least because this would be his place of settling with Cecilia.
‘You’ll pardon my straight talking, Sir David, but I find it a rum thing that we’re to discuss defence in depth and we’ve emptied the barracks of troops to send ’em out to Hottentots Kloof. A singular thing, sir!’ Lieutenant Colonel MacDonald had strongly opposed General Beresford’s all-or-nothing march against Janssens and wasn’t going to let it rest.
‘Mine the responsibility, yours the duty,’ Baird said mildly, smoothing the campaign map. ‘At this moment my chief task is to provide as hot a reception as may be conceived to any enemy who dares threaten us in our new possession. Which is to say, until the form of the French response is known, like good soldiers we must cover all lines of approach.’
He looked around the room. ‘Now, gentlemen, we face a near insufferable problem in defending our new possession. I detail our vulnerabilities for your earnest reflection.
‘The castle and all the batteries may be relied on to secure the Table Bay anchorage but a determined enemy might land at any point up the coast unseen by us, and when numbers are sufficient march upon us in strength.
‘That’s not my main anxiety – the Navy is there to discourage them – but what disturbs my sleep is what the Dutch before don’t seem to have considered welclass="underline" the three points of approach that’ll see an army poised high above us, ready with guns to pound us into surrender, our batteries all seaward facing.
‘The first and second are on the western flanks of Table Mountain. Should any enemy land there’ – he held up his hand to silence Popham’s protest – ‘then in less than a mile they are at the Kloofnek to the south, or more probably between the Lion’s Head and Rump. Either will see their guns dominate a helpless town.’
He gave Popham a wry smile. ‘The commodore does assure me that a sailor might find a hundred reasons why this is impractical but it does not ease my mind. If the French have seamen half as daring as our doughty tars then they’ll find ways. Need I remind you of that Caribbean rock you captured, fortified and called a ship? Brought Martinique completely to a stand with just a few guns perched up high.’
Knowing glances flashed around the table; all were aware of Commodore Hood’s feat just two years previously. Against overwhelming odds he had established a gun-post on a barren pinnacle off the island to become a thorn in the side of the French.
‘As to the third, this is the eastern flank of Table Mountain, past the Devil’s Peak. Any landing in the north of False Bay will see ’em without delay above the town, this time to the east. And if there are simultaneous landings . . .’
Another tight smile. ‘Therefore our options are few. Fortifications at these points will take too long to build, so I conceive that a body of troops must be posted at each to perform what I can only describe as a “Thermopylae” against the foe.’
MacDonald stirred restlessly. ‘And while these soldiers are out of reach, in siege of General Janssens?’
‘Then, of course, even this is denied us,’ Baird answered testily. ‘Do you question the Navy’s resolve to exert the utmost vigilance in denying the French the opportunity to land in the first place?’
He sighed, then continued firmly, ‘Given this outline of what faces us, we must get to the details. Colonel Pack, tell us the state of the batteries.’
Pack snorted fiercely. ‘Damn it, they’re useless! We’ve four hundred guns and on some the carriages have crumbled to powder. Others wi’ bird’s nests in the muzzles. Honeycombed iron guns, rotting bronze ’uns. We open fire, the French will fall about wi’ laughter is best we can hope for, sir.’