by V. A. Stuart
“He deserved his promotion,” Admiral Lyons answered. “He brought the Trojan quite unscathed through the hurricane and he was at sea when it struck, so he displayed seamanship of a high order. And he further distinguished himself during the recent attack on Eupatoria—Captain Brock sent a glowing report of his conduct after that affair. I could do no less than recommend him for his own command. As it chanced, the Huntress lost her commander, Francis Willoughby, on passage from England—the unfortunate fellow was accidentally drowned—so that I was able to give Phillip the vacancy. Not entirely with the approval of Admiral Dundas, I may say in confidence, Jack … he wanted the command for one of his own protégés. But I contrived, in this instance, to get my way.”
“I am truly delighted to hear it, sir.” Jack spoke with genuine warmth. “Phillip will do well, I’m quite sure. I trust you’ll permit the Huntress to join my squadron when—or perhaps I should say if—we enter the Sea of Azoff in the spring. She’s engaged in convoying the Turks to Eupatoria at present, isn’t she?”
The Admiral nodded. “Yes. I thought it would afford Phillip the opportunity to shake down with his new crew, few of whom are trained seamen … but she’s due to return to this anchorage sometime today. It’s a waste of a new steam frigate to use her as a troop transport and we’ve few enough, heaven knows, but what choice have I? The Turks must be ferried from Bulgaria.” He shrugged. “I’ve heard from Sir James Graham that the Royal Albert is on her way out to receive my flag. Did Willie Mends tell you?”
“He mentioned it, yes, sir, and said he would be going with you when you shift your flag. He is overjoyed at the prospect— and so he should be!” Jack smiled at his father. “I saw the Royal Albert on the stocks at Woolwich when we were fitting out for the Baltic, and one of the shipwrights told me, with immense pride, that she’ll be the finest ship of her class in the world. Certainly nothing I saw caused me to dispute his claim. In fact …” He launched into enthusiastic detail but was interrupted by a tap on the door.
The Admiral sighed. “Come in,” he said resignedly and, in response to his invitation, his nephew and Flag-Lieutenant, Algernon Lyons, entered the cabin, to announce formally that the Commander-in-Chief requested his presence aboard the flagship.
“Ah!” Sir Edmund Lyons exchanged a quizzical glance with his son. “That is all, is it, Algy? I’m not to be offered dinner?”
The Flag-Lieutenant permitted himself an expressive shrug. He had succeeded the recently promoted Commander Cowper Coles as Flag-Lieutenant, after serving with distinction in the attack on the Sulina mouth of the Danube in June, when his Captain, Hyde Parker of the Firebrand, had lost his life.
“Well, sir,” he returned apologetically, “the Furious has steam up and is preparing to weigh, so I … that is, sir, I—”
“You do not anticipate my leave-taking of the Commanderin-Chief is likely to detain me for very long?” Admiral Lyons suggested, again glancing in Jack’s direction, a gleam in his very blue eyes, which lingered there in brief resentment and then, as swiftly, faded. “Very well, Algy, you may call away my barge.” His steward appeared, bringing his boat-cloak and cocked hat, and he rose, stifling a sigh, to don them. “You’ll await my return, I hope, Jack?”
“Yes, of course, sir.” Jack assisted him into his cloak and let his hand rest affectionately on his father’s shoulder for a moment as he added quietly, “This is the day we’ve all been waiting and hoping for, sir, throughout the Fleet, believe me. And I imagine that Admiral Dundas is aware of it.”
“It’s to be hoped he’s not. Well, Algy, what are you waiting for? The Commander-in-Chief must not be delayed, least of all by his successor, if he’s in a hurry to depart.”
“Two steam frigates have been sighted approaching the anchorage, sir,” Algy Lyons informed him diffidently. “It is hard to be certain in this visibility but one of them looks like the Huntress and I understand, from Captain Mends, sir, that you wished to be told of the arrival of any ships from Eupatoria.”
“Yes, indeed I did.” The Admiral brightened, as he turned again to his son. “We’ll entertain Phillip Hazard aboard this ship, eh, Jack, my boy? You can play host to him until my return.”
“It will give me great pleasure, sir,” Jack assented readily.
“Good. I imagine the second frigate will be the Inflexible— she was due here yesterday. I’d like both captains invited to dine with me, as soon as they come to anchor. See to it, Algy, if you please.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The Flag-Lieutenant departed on his errand and Admiral Lyons went on thoughtfully, “The Huntress’s arrival is well timed—I have a special mission in mind for her, as soon as she can be spared from ferrying the Turks.”
“One better suited to her commander, sir?” Jack asked curiously.
“One for which he is uniquely suited.” The Admiral’s tone was brisk and he was smiling as he settled his cocked hat firmly on his head and moved towards the door of the stateroom which his steward was holding open for him. “Phillip Hazard and his brother were prisoners-of-war in Odessa last summer and, if General Canrobert requires proof that there are better targets for our spring offensive, then I fancy that, given the right opportunity, they could provide it.” He emerged into the passageway, acknowledging the salute of the Marine sentry on duty there. “You may tell Phillip, when he arrives, Jack my boy, that I’ll give him two of the officers he has asked for, from the Trojan and the two midshipmen … but I cannot, at present, replace his First Lieutenant. Tell him, though, that I shall be sending his brother to him, as acting-Master.”
“His brother … not Graham Hazard, surely, sir?” Jack’s dark brows rose in an astonished curve. “Didn’t he run the Comet aground at the mouth of the River Plate, about ten or eleven years ago? If my memory isn’t at fault, he was charged with neglect of duty and dismissed the Service, wasn’t he?”
“He was, yes,” his father confirmed. “But since then I understand that he has served as an officer in the mercantile marine. At the outbreak of this war, he volunteered as a seaman and served in that capacity, in this Fleet, until he was promoted—on merit, I’m assured—Second-Master of the Tiger. He was commended for gallantry when the Tiger was set on fire and captured off Odessa … and by the Tiger’s First Lieutenant, not by Phillip, who was also present, of course. That was how both the Hazards came to be prisoners-of-war in Odessa—Phillip, who was severely wounded in the Tiger affray, as a guest of the Governor, Baron Osten-Sacken, and nursed back to health by his captors.” His eyes were lit by a swift, significant gleam and Jack nodded in understanding.
“Is it at all likely that Graham Hazard will have his commission restored to him, sir?”
The Admiral shrugged, moving towards the entry port, where the side-party had already assembled, preparatory to piping him, with due ceremony, into his waiting barge.
“The matter is one that only Their Lordships can decide … and I fear they may not view my recommendation very favorably. But I have made it because I consider that Hazard has earned a second chance, though what the outcome will be I have no idea. So, in the meantime, I shall send him to the Huntress as Master, which is the best I can do. Well”—the Admiral’s thin hand rested briefly on his son’s shoulder—“I must go, my dear boy … but I shall see you later.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Jack Lyons stood aside to permit his cousin to take his place, as the side-party came to attention.
The new Commander-in-Chief of the Black Sea Fleet stepped into his barge, to the shrill twitter of the ceremonial pipe and, as he did so, a spontaneous, full-throated cheer rose from the men of the duty watch. Despite the bitter cold, both watches gathered on the upper deck and the cheering continued, growing in volume, until the barge vanished from sight into a cloud of swirling snowflakes.
CHAPTER ONE
Phillip Hazard was in a mood of quiet elation when he left the Agamemnon to return to his own ship. It was pitch dark and very cold and he shivered as he took his place in the sternsheets of
the Huntress’s gig and, wrapping his boat-cloak about him, nodded to the boat commander to cast off.
The Admiral’s hospitality had been generous, as indeed it always was, and he had enjoyed his four-hour stay aboard the flagship immensely, not least for the unexpected opportunity it had afforded him to talk at length to his friend and one-time Captain, Jack Lyons. With his fellow guests at the well-found table, he had drunk the health of the new Commander-in-Chief after witnessing, from Agamemnon’s quarter-deck, the departure of his predecessor, whose flag had been flying for the last time from the steam frigate Furious. He had seen the courteous exchange of signals between the two Admirals, their earlier differences—of which the whole Fleet had been aware—forgotten as each wished the other well in a hoist of coloured bunting, seen dimly through the falling snow as the Furious steamed away from the anchorage and set course for Constantinople. Later, as he ate, he had listened with growing eagerness to the plans for future naval operations which the new Commander-in-Chief had lost no time in outlining to his guests and staff—plans that would be implemented as soon as the dread Crimean winter gave place to spring—if Sir Edmund Lyons had his way.
As surely he must, Phillip told himself, now that Admiral Dundas had gone … and in spite of Canrobert. As Sir Edmund had remarked, a short while ago, Sebastopol could hold out indefinitely so long as its lines of communication remained open and reinforcements and supplies continued to pour into the town from the Russian mainland, with its vast resources of men and the materials of war. The siege guns on the Upland, upon which the French pinned their hopes, could pound the city’s walls and forts day after weary day without bringing their defenders any nearer to defeat. And those defenders were housed and properly fed, spared the cruel rigors of winter under canvas, which the Allied land forces must endure.
The Fleets were, on the other hand, in undisputed command of the sea, as the Admiral had reminded his listeners. Once the enforced inertia of winter came to an end and when the ships of war were released from their inglorious role as transports, then they could and would make a major contribution to the successful prosecution of the siege of Sebastopol by attacking and cutting off the defenders’ supply lines and starving them into surrender. Once the ice-bound Sea of Azoff became navigable, a squadron of light-draft vessels like his own could be despatched to carry the offensive to the enemy’s back door. In the meantime … Phillip had permitted himself a bleak little smile.
His own orders, issued privately and in confidence by the Admiral himself just before he left the flagship, had given him much to think about. “It is possible that I may not require this service of you,” the Admiral had said. “If I am able to convince General Canrobert on the information I have available, rest assured that I shall do so. But, if I cannot, then you will receive sealed orders, the precise nature of which you are to divulge to no one except your brother. In the meantime, prepare to sail at once to relieve the Highflyer in the Bay of Odessa.”
Phillip frowned. On the face of it, he would only be exchanging one unrewarding duty for another and the Huntress would, in future, maintain a lonely vigil off the port of Odessa instead of beating back and forth from Varna to Eupatoria, with every foot of space below deck occupied by seasick Turkish soldiers, whose discipline—by Royal Navy standards—left a good deal to be desired. But at least there would be some chance of action when he sought the information the Admiral had asked him to obtain and, he reflected with satisfaction, he would be free of his passengers. True, he had been warned that, when the time came, he must accomplish his mission without unnecessary risk to his ship and her company, but the warning was superfluous since he was unlikely ever to forget the Tiger’s fate.
He was pleased to learn that he was to have his brother Graham as Master, and that young Anthony Cochrane was also to be appointed to the Huntress. A pity, though, that Cochrane wasn’t more senior, so that he might have taken over as First Lieutenant. The two midshipmen who had been promised to him—Grey and O’Hara—would bring his complement of officers up to strength and put an end to a keenly felt deficiency which had tried him sorely ever since he had been given command of the Huntress.
Phillip’s brow cleared. One major cause for dissatisfaction still remained in the person of Ambrose Quinn, his present First Lieutenant but … Admiral Lyons had been more than kind in acceding to his request for his brother’s transfer from the Trojan, as well as Cochrane’s, and in permitting him to have the two midshipmen. He could expect no more and, indeed, might well have had to be content with less. …
He raised his head, looking about him. It was still snowing heavily, he realized, as his gig pulled away from the temporary shelter of the towering Agamemnon and a biting off-shore wind drove a flurry of snow into his face. Beside him a shrill young voice exhorted the straining oarsmen to put their backs into it and he turned, in some surprise, recognizing the voice, although he hadn’t at first recognized the muffled little figure crouching at his elbow.
Sensing his Captain’s eyes on him and anticipating the question he was about to be asked, the boat’s commander offered diffidently, “It’s me, sir—O’Hara, late of Her Majesty’s ship Trojan and now—”
“And now, it would seem, my gig’s midshipman once more! Well, I’m extremely pleased to have you aboard, Mr O’Hara.” Phillip held out his hand and the midshipman wrung it enthusiastically. “How are you?”
“Fine, sir. And if I may be permitted to say so, sir, I’m awfully glad to be serving under your command again.”
Imagining the grin he could not see in the darkness, Phillip permitted himself a brief smile. “I applied for you, you know,” he said, in explanation.
“Did you, sir? Thank you, I … I very much appreciate your having done so.” The boy’s voice was vibrant with sincerity. He was a good boy, Phillip thought, with all the makings of a first rate young officer, reliable, keen, and, because he could always win the respect of the men he commanded, well able to take responsibility. By comparison with the willing, but inexperienced, youngsters he had had to make do with up to now, both O’Hara and Grey would be worth their weight in gold to the Huntress.
“When did you come aboard?” he asked.
“An hour ago, sir,” Midshipman O’Hara answered promptly. “As soon as the signal from the flagship was received Mr Grey came with me—Mr Cochrane and Mr Hazard are to follow shortly, sir. And—er …” he hesitated. “I brought Able-Seaman O’Leary with me, too, sir. He somehow got wind of the Admiral’s signal and put in a request to be transferred to the Huntress also. Captain Crawford granted his request and he was in my boat before it was called away.”
“O’Leary!” Phillip exclaimed, feeling an odd tightening of his throat. He and O’Leary had gone through a great deal together and, he reminded himself, he owed much to the big, raw-boned Irish seaman, who had been his orderly during the battle for Balaclava and later on the Heights of Inkerman. “Is he fully recovered and fit for duty now, Mr O’Hara?” he enquired doubtfully, recalling the severe injuries O’Leary had suffered when the Trojan, under his own brief command, had ridden out the November hurricane at sea, on her way to Eupatoria. “The last time I saw him, Surgeon Fraser was uncertain whether or not his leg would have to come off.”
“Well, sir, the Surgeon saved his leg but he’s not had an easy passage,” O’Hara replied gravely. “And I can’t truthfully say that he’s fit. Captain Crawford wanted to send him to Therapia, to the Naval Hospital, but he contrived to avoid that. I fancy, sir, that the Captain was quite pleased to be rid of him. He’s been in trouble a time or two, you see, sir, and well …” The midshipman shrugged. “You know what he’s like, sir.”
He did, Phillip reflected wryly. Able-Seaman Joseph O’Leary had always had the name of a “Queen’s Hard Bargain.” Like many of his kind, he was at his best when he was in a tight corner or when there was fighting to be done; inaction drove him to drink and, inevitably, into trouble which was why, after nearly eighteen years’ service, instead of being
a petty officer, O’Leary was still rated A.B. He could imagine why Captain Crawford, who was reputed to keep rather a taut hand over his men, had been glad to see the last of him; but— he smiled to himself—Midshipman O’Hara had a weakness for his husky fellow-countryman and so, Phillip was forced to concede, had he. But it was hoped that the Huntress’s patrol would provide O’Leary with sufficient action to keep him happy or perhaps the responsibility of rank might have the desired effect. Heaven knew, his crew were raw enough. …
“Sir—” O’Hara ventured uncertainly. “You don’t mind, do you, sir?”
“Mind? What should I mind, Mr O’Hara?”
“Well, sir, I’m afraid that I backed up O’Leary’s request to Captain Crawford,” the midshipman admitted. He spun the tiller expertly, shouting a brisk order as, a ghostly white wraith in the gloom, the Huntress came into sight ahead of them. “I took the liberty of telling the Captain that you’d be pleased to have him, you see, sir. But he’s not really fit for active service, I must confess, and I feared you might think that I’d … that I’d taken too much of a liberty. But O’Leary begged me to put in a word for him and … well, we’re both Cork men, sir. I couldn’t bring myself to refuse.”
“I am very glad you did put in a word, whatever your reasons,” Phillip assured him. “O’Leary is a good man and I am pleased to have him, fully fit or not. My present ship’s company, with very few exceptions, are inexperienced seamen, with quite a deal to learn … and that applies to some of my officers also. Not to all, of course, but the two whom you and Mr Grey will replace are naval cadets, at sea for the first time in their young lives. They’ll be better off aboard a ship-of-theline, which carries a chaplain and a schoolmaster and half a dozen mates, who’ll have time to attend to their instruction.” And, he thought grimly, where the poor little devils would be safe from the sadistic bullying of his First Lieutenant, from which—for all his vigilance—he hadn’t always been on hand to protect them.