by V. A. Stuart
Jack looked frankly puzzled. “But surely, so far as you are concerned, it will solve itself, will it not, when Admiral Bruat becomes the French naval C-in-C? You used to tell me, in your letters, that you and Bruat saw completely eye to eye and that it was Hamelin who was obstructive.”
“Yes, that is so,” the Admiral admitted. “But the French naval command is subordinate to the military command and Canrobert refuses to consider anything save the siege and the immediate requirements of his land forces. He appears to be convinced that the only way to capture Sebastopol is to batter it into submission by means of a continuous bombardment by heavy guns. I have endeavoured, again and again and with Lord Raglan’s full support, to persuade him to agree to a combined naval and military attack on Kertch but he always turns a deaf ear to me. For such an attack to succeed, we should need troops and he insists he can’t spare any from the siege. Look …” Sir Edmund crossed to his desk and took from it a rolled map, which he spread out on the table. “You may recall that when we discussed our plan for a naval expedition to the Sea of Azoff in the spring, I pointed out the enemy supply routes. The so-called siege of Sebastopol is a farce, so long as these remain unmolested. The north side of Sebastopol is completely open and Menschikoff is able to receive a constant stream of troop reinforcements at Bakshi-Serai, together with fresh supplies of arms and munitions and food, which he can send into Sebastopol as and when they are needed. By the same token, he has built up a large and well-equipped force in the Valley of the Tchernaya which could, at any time, attack and even capture Balaclava. The way to defeat him and to take Sebastopol is, I have always maintained, by attacks upon his supply routes. Here and here and here …” His forefinger stabbed at place names on the map in front of them. “Attacks he is not expecting and for which he is not prepared, on strong-points whose garrisons are now depleted and which he would be compelled to reinforce.” The Admiral’s voice rose as he talked on, outlining the strategy he and Lord Raglan had wanted to employ and pointing more than once to the narrow Isthmus of Perekop, by which the Crimean peninsula was joined to the Russian mainland.
Jack listened in silence, but with ever-increasing dismay. Although they had talked several times of the plan for a naval task force of light draft steam frigates to operate in the Sea of Azoff, of which he himself had been promised command, his father had never, until now, voiced the frustration he felt or given an explicit reason for the Navy’s apparent failure to cut the enemy’s vital line of communication with the mainland which—on the map, at any rate—looked so vulnerable.
“On my insistence, Captain Spratt of the Spitfire made a survey of the Gulf of Perekop three weeks ago,” Admiral Lyons went on, his voice now sounding weary. “A course I had urged upon the Commander-in-Chief virtually since we set the siege trains ashore. Spratt’s report confirmed what I had heard—the gulf is too shallow to be navigable, even by gunboats, within fourteen miles of the road across the isthmus. It is therefore unassailable from the sea but if troops could be set ashore here”—again his forefinger jabbed impatiently at the map— “it would be a very different story. Lord Raglan, in very truth alas, has no troops he can spare and all our Marines, as well as the Naval Brigade, are required for the siege. But General Canrobert …” he sighed. “Canrobert could let us have five or six thousand men without endangering his position, at least for the limited time that we should need them … yet he will not. He has also refused French support for an attempt—which I have every reason to suppose would be successful, since the Circassians have promised us their aid—to take Anapa. The only naval action he seems prepared to agree to is a second bombardment of Odessa in the spring which, in my considered view, would be a waste of powder and shot. … Odessa has sent all the troops and supplies Prince Menschikoff asked for and sent them, under our noses, last summer! So we have reached stalemate and winter is upon us. I shudder to think how many poor fellows will die of sickness and from exposure on the Upland before we see the spring—more, I gravely fear, from these causes than as a result of enemy action. And all because General Canrobert refused to advance on Sebastopol when the Allied Armies, after their victory at the Alma, could have walked into the place with scarcely a shot fired! And, furthermore, when we could have supported the advance from the sea, before Korniloff sank his line-of-battle ships across the harbour entrance. Sebastopol was ours for the taking!”
Jack smothered an exclamation. “Did not Sir George Brown volunteer to take the town with his Fourth Division alone and Lord Raglan urge the advance?”
The Admiral inclined his head. “They did, but to no avail. St. Arnaud was dying at the time, of course, and Canrobert had only just been appointed to the French Supreme Command so that then, I concede, perhaps his caution was understandable. But not later. He has always turned a deaf ear to Lord Raglan’s requests to give his support to an assault on Sebastopol. Even when he has not refused—as on the occasion of our ill-fated naval attack on the harbour forts which, it was agreed by all the Allied commanders, was to have been the prelude to a landward assault—Canrobert has failed to keep his promise. Oh, he’s had excuses, sometimes quite valid ones by his standards, but I venture to suggest that Lord Raglan would not have made them. Canrobert is a strange man, always in a state of agitated uncertainty, and his whole concept of war is at variance with ours. He’ll never commit himself to any attack, unless his troops can be assured of massive artillery support and, although he’s not lacking in personal courage, his doubts and fears on behalf of the troops under his command cause him—even when he has been persuaded to commit himself—to change his plans and revise the agreed time-table. All of which makes him”—the Admiral shrugged— “well, let us say, an ally I’d never have chosen and …” he hesitated, as if fearing that—even to his son—he might have spoken too plainly and added emphatically, “What I’ve told you is strictly entre nous, Jack. It must go no further, you understand.”
“Of course not, sir. I’m glad you told me, though.” Jack’s hand rested for a moment on his father’s. “I’m beginning to understand your predicament. Let us hope that General Canrobert will place no obstacles in the way of our Sea of Azoff operation. Do you think he will?”
“It is a possibility which, I fear, cannot be ruled out,” the Admiral answered, his tone clipped. “Despite the fact that he has given his approval to our preliminary plans. These, as you’re aware, call for him to furnish a minimum landing force of six thousand French troops—and we must have at least that number, Jack, or we shall achieve nothing.”
“Yes, sir,” Jack agreed. “But would not Omar Pasha provide us with a Turkish force, if the French will not help? Or Lord Raglan might be willing to release enough Marines for our purpose, temporarily, of course, and—”
“No,” his father said. “Lord Raglan is most insistent that we must have French support … and he is right, we must. Yet when we endeavour to persuade Canrobert to give us a firm promise, he counters with the suggestion that our spring offensive should be directed against Odessa. If only I could convince him that Odessa is no longer contributing anything to the war!” He sighed. “You can see, can’t you, my dear boy, why I am no Cochrane? As Commander-in-Chief, I fancy I shall come closer to emulating poor Charlie Napier, however little I desire to.”
“Never!” Jack denied. “You have always had the Nelson touch, sir. And are you not the Admiral who stole the headlines in The Times, when you took this ship into shoal water, right under the guns of Fort Constantine? Aye, and stayed there, exchanging shot for shot with the enemy, with less than two foot of water under your keel? You can’t deny it, sir. Why, a dozen people sent me the cuttings and Aunt Catherine showed them to me when I went home. I could recite the whole report to you from memory.”
“God forbid!” Admiral Lyons spoke with a touch of asperity but, relenting, went on with a dry flash of humor. “And that was Canrobert’s doing, believe it or not. The original plan of attack was mine but Canrobert insisted on one he had worked out being adop
ted in its stead. Imagine that, Jack—a naval plan of attack devised by a military commander! Bruat and I attended a conference on board the Mogador on the morning of 16th October and argued against it until we were hoarse. Admiral Dundas was horrified by the whole misconceived plan and even Admiral Hamelin did not like it but told me, with tears in his eyes, that he could not go against Canrobert, to whom his command is subordinate, as I mentioned. And Canrobert made it quite clear to us all that, unless his plan was adopted, he would refuse to permit the French Fleet to take part and would not support the land attack. So we had no choice, we had to accept what amounted to an ultimatum.”
“But that was monstrous, Father!” Jack was stunned.
“Indeed it was,” his father agreed. He reached for pen and paper and made a rough sketch. “And, as you can see, Canrobert yielded, as usual, to his obsession for supporting his troops with guns. In this case, with naval guns … even if it rendered the entire seaward attack on the forts ineffective. He had the French Fleet in line from Streletska Bay to the center of the harbour entrance—here, where the Russians sank their line-of-battle ships, you see? Their sole purpose was to back up his land-based assault which, in the event, was never launched. And, in order that Hamelin might do so, we had to sweep round to south’ard, thus”—he pointed to the sketch— “to form up on the French van and prolong the line to the north. Our sail-of-the-line were all lashed to steamers, to bring them into position—and that position, on Canrobert’s plan, was such as to require them to engage the forts at a range of eighteen hundred yards. Eighteen hundred yards, at extreme elevation! The Britannia, for example, our French military strategist placed here”—his finger indicated the flagship’s position—“where she was exposed to the fire of several enemy batteries on the cliff-top, with all save her lower-deck guns out-ranged.” Again the Admiral’s voice held a note of bitter frustration, as the memory of that abortive and costly action returned in all its vivid, heartbreaking clarity. Yet it had been an action that, had it been carried out as he had originally envisaged, might have achieved its objective brilliantly.
Instead it had cost the combined British, French, and Turkish Fleets over five hundred killed and wounded and had gained nothing, because General Canrobert had declined to order the land-based attack to which he had agreed and Lord Raglan had been unable to proceed without him. Canrobert’s decision had been reached before the combined fleets had steamed into position, but the naval commanders had been left in ignorance of it, and the French Commander-in-Chief had decided to break his promise after a shell had exploded in the principal magazine on the Upland. … Edmund Lyons expelled his breath in a weary sigh. What, he wondered, would the famous Cochrane—Lord Dundonald—have done in his present situation? How would he have dealt with Canrobert?
Jack was studying the sketch of the engagement with frowning concentration and, with a murmured, “This is not quite complete,” his father took it from him to add a curving, dotted line which followed the shoreline northwards from Fort Constantine.
“That is the shoal,” he explained. “Which was the reason why I had to indulge in what The Times correspondent exaggerated into heroics in his report. He’s a civilian, of course, and does not understand the first thing about naval or military tactics. But as you can see, Jack my boy, the safest and most effective manoeuver I could make, in the circumstances, was to lead my inshore squadron so close to the fort that its guns were unable to bear on any ship. By the same token, for our ships’ guns to have even a remote chance of damaging stone walls at least six-foot thick, our broadsides had to be fired at close range.” He went into brief technical details and Jack nodded, still frowning, as he followed the Admiral’s explanation by means of the sketch.
“You’ve seen Fort Constantine,” his father went on. “It stands thirty-foot high and is horse-shoe shaped, mounting two tiers of guns in casemates, with additional guns en barbette on its summit—a total of almost a hundred pieces of ordnance, of which half command the approach and the channel. Behind the fort, on the north side, there’s a ridge, terminating in a cliff about a hundred and fifty feet high. Here”—he leaned forward, to mark the location on his sketch—“the enemy placed a battery of eight guns, en barbette, to command the seaward approach where there’s a bend on the north side of the shoal, with fairly deep water. They had observed us sounding it, of course, and were well aware that a line-of-battle ship could only approach Fort Constantine thus. We gave that particular battery the name Wasp, for obvious reasons. Further along the cliff, towards the harbour mouth, they threw up several earthwork batteries—here and here—between the fort and the telegraph station. When I drew up my original plan of attack, I timed it for early morning, hoping for the usual sea mist and banking partly on stealing up on the enemy unobserved and partly on the fact that, due to their height, the guns of the cliff-top batteries would not, initially, be able to depress sufficiently to sweep the water immediately beneath them. But …” He sighed again.
“But?…” Jack prompted, looking up from the sketch. “What happened, sir?”
“But General Canrobert saw fit, not only to alter my plan of attack but also to defer the whole operation by four hours,” his father supplied harshly.
“Yet you still attacked, Father?”
The Admiral inclined his head regretfully. “Yes, we still attacked … in the belief that, if we failed to do so, we should endanger the success of the land-based assault on Sebastopol and its probable capture. An assault which, may I remind you”—he spread his hands in a despairing gesture—“had already been called off, at the eleventh hour, by Canrobert! We were not informed that he had countermanded his orders to his troops—even Admiral Hamelin wasn’t told. No signal had been arranged to cover such an eventuality because it was considered to be beyond the bounds of possibility—Canrobert had given his word that he would throw his entire force into the attack. So … both we and the French Fleet steamed into action, convinced that we were doing so in support of the armies on shore.”
“I find it … dear heaven, Father, I find it almost impossible to credit.” Jack stared at him, shocked and bewildered. “The reports in the English press gave no hint, they—”
“Nevertheless, it is true,” his father assured him.
“I am appalled, sir,” Jack confessed. He listened in silence as his father gave him a brief and bitter account of what had happened during the action. “The real hero was Mr Codrington Ball, Second-Master of the Circassia, who piloted us in, sounding as he went. We reached our position virtually unscathed, in company with the Sanspareil, which anchored on our starboard quarter. The rest of the squadron were less fortunate, coming under heavy fire from the Wasp and Telegraph batteries before they could get close enough inshore to place themselves out of danger. The Albion was set on fire and was compelled to haul off, followed an hour later by the London and the Arethusa, both set ablaze by red-hot shot. The Albion alone had eighty men killed and wounded. We ourselves began to come under very heavy fire, the guns of Fort Alexander, on the south side of the harbour, got our range and raked us … but you’ve read the newspaper reports. They were reasonably accurate in regard to the rest of the action, so I need not repeat it all. You know that poor Jope, my valet, lost an arm, don’t you?”
“Yes, Aunt Catherine told me. She said you had ordered him below but he refused to leave your side.”
The Admiral’s expression relaxed. “Yes, poor fellow. But he was obeying my order most reluctantly when he was hit. We were fortunate, you know, to suffer only thirty casualties. Of our upper-deck guns, we could only use our bow pivot, we had so many gunners ashore with the Naval Brigade.” He described the bombardment in detail, his firm mouth tight with remembered despair as he confessed that—for all their three hours of heroic toil—his gunners had been able to silence the guns of Fort Constantine for only ten minutes, when a lucky hit blew up some stored ammunition.
Jack’s concern grew as he listened to the account of the lives which had been
needlessly thrown away, of good men wounded and fine ships dismasted and set on fire … and all, his father told him, with a swift flash of anger, to no purpose because, once again, Canrobert had gone back on his word.
“We almost lost the Rodney,” the Admiral said, the anger fading from his voice. “Graham brought her most valiantly to our succor, when we and the Sanspareil were sorely pressed by four of the cliff-top batteries and our upper deck was ablaze. At the critical moment the Sanspareil forged ahead of us and Graham, determined not to swerve from his resolution of drawing some of the fire from us, backed astern and ranged past the Agamemnon obliquely. When the Rodney’s bow was parallel with ours, Graham let go his anchor but, as the ship swung with her stern a few yards nearer the forts than ours, she tailed on to the shoal. The smoke was so thick, I did not see that she was aground but, fearing that she was about to come aboard of us, I ordered Agamemnon to haul astern to clear her and then—still unaware of poor Graham’s predicament—I made a sweep in order to get another lick at two batteries that had been cutting us up all day. We had to slip our bower anchor, because the Rodney was lying athwart our hawse and, for one rather tense moment, our jib-guys were touching. Kynaston of the Spitfire, who had the Rodney in tow, was compelled to follow our example and haul astern, also with the loss of his best bower—but if he had not, he would have got himself on shore with Graham, as he told me afterwards.”
“Yes, he told me that too,” Jack confirmed.
“The newspapers reported it all, of course and, if you’ve talked to Kynaston, I’m probably telling you what you know already. But”—the Admiral looked up, smiling, to meet his son’s gaze—“did you know that your young friend Phillip Hazard was commanding the Trojan which, with the Spitfire and Lynx, played a very gallant part in getting Rodney off the shoal?”
“No, I did not.” Jack returned the Admiral’s smile. “I’ve seen Phillip a couple of times but he never mentioned it. I knew he had the temporary command of Trojan—he was commanding her when we met in Constantinople, early in November, but I haven’t seen him since. You gave him the Huntress, Algy told me. I’m very glad, sir. Phillip is the best of fellows.”