by V. A. Stuart
Ambrose Quinn appeared unusually subdued and willing to give at least a fair trial to the methods Phillip advocated for the enforcement of discipline. He made no open admission of his willingness and continued to express contempt for the unseamanlike errors of the untutored “plowboys and counterhoppers”—as he persisted in calling them—who formed the bulk of the Huntress’s crew. But he ceased to drive them in his usual relentless fashion and the men responded gratefully. They were no less in awe of him than they had been previously and they still feared the lash of his tongue, but this, Phillip was well aware, was necessary if the results he wanted were to be achieved.
There were few opportunities, when the over-laden ship was fighting her way through winter gales, to exercise her crew aloft or at their guns. Returning empty, however, as she now frequently did, after discharging her human cargo on Eupatoria’s small, congested wharf, any break in the weather was utilized to good purpose. Towards the end of the bleakest January most of them had ever known, the Huntress’s topmen were sending up and crossing yards, setting, reefing or taking in sail, their times for these exercises—if they broke no records —showing sufficient improvement to gladden the heart of their commander, as he watched and logged them.
The guns’ crews, under the patient supervision of Joseph O’Leary, now rated Chief Gunner’s Mate, loaded and ran out the twelve 32-pounders on the main deck and manoeuvered the slide-carriages of the two formidable upper-deck sixty-eights in endless rehearsal, both in daylight and in darkness. Side competed against side, gun against gun and each crew, from gunlayer to powder-boy, worked until they came near to dropping from exhaustion, as drill followed drill. They were still a long way from the standard of perfection O’Leary demanded but here, too, a steady improvement was the reward for their efforts and Midshipman Robin Grey—recently promoted Acting-Mate and Gunnery Officer—began to show as much enthusiasm for marksmanship as he had hitherto reserved for the sending and receiving of signals.
His role of protective mentor to the occupants of the midshipmen’s berth was also proving effective, Phillip observed with relief. Lieutenant Quinn left his charges severely alone, although he maintained a keen and critical eye on their behavior when off duty and had been heard, on more than one occasion, to offer the opinion that an older hand than Grey would have been a better choice. That the young gentlemen themselves did not share his opinion became increasingly apparent in the smartness they displayed, the manner in which they applied themselves to their duties and—most significant of all, perhaps—by the respect they accorded the seventeen-year-old Grey.
In other departments there was a gradual, if less noticeable, raising of standards and throughout the ship a growing spirit of comradeship, as the Huntress’s people started to take a pride in her and to become aware of that indefinable sense of belonging together, which is the hallmark of a good ship’s company. There were still a few weak links—the Third Lieutenant, Luke Williamson, a rather characterless individual, whose previous service had been as a Mate in the Coastguard; the warrant Gunner, Mr Vicars, too elderly and slothful to give O’Leary the benefit of his long experience; and the Paymaster, Mr Haynes, who was also elderly and lacking in efficiency— the two latter, Phillip suspected, his First Lieutenant’s men, rather than his own. And, of course, there was Ambrose Quinn himself who, although outwardly cooperative, still remained an unknown quantity, whose loyalty could never wholly be relied upon.
In general, Phillip was satisfied, but he waited eagerly for news of the arrival of more troopships from England and from Malta—promised for early in February—which would release the Huntress and her sister ships-of-war from their present arduous and unrewarding duties. There were rumors, as yet unconfirmed, that a Sardinian army of upwards of fifteen thousand men was about to join the Allies, and that transport would have to be provided for them, from the Mediterranean, again probably by the British Black Sea Fleet.
But the Fleet itself was being augmented by the arrival of more steamers from England. The Royal Albert, a new steam-screw three-decker of 121 guns, to which Admiral Lyons would transfer his flag as soon as repairs to her damaged rudder had been effected, and the Hannibal, 91, had already arrived, Phillip learned. The St. Jean d’Acre, 101, under his old and much revered commander, Captain Keppel, and Lord Clarence Paget’s Princess Royal, 91, were expected at the end of the month, in addition to several newly built and commissioned steam-screw frigates and sloops, of the Huntress and Arrow classes, specially requested by the Admiral. All were carrying reinforcements of troops and Marines for the British Expeditionary Force on the Upland facing Sebastopol and hopes of an early and successful spring assault on the city were given fresh impetus, as were those of a naval expedition to the Sea of Azoff.
Even among the hard-pressed naval officers at Eupatoria, Phillip noticed, this information was received with general approval and a lifting of tension. Captain Hastings, of the 31-gun steam-screw frigate Curaçoa, the senior commander and, as such, responsible for the whole complex organization of the port, greeted him with a tired but optimistic smile, when he called to report his arrival with a further contingent of Turks from Bulgaria.
“You’ve heard the news, I take it?” the Captain said, motioning him to a seat. “And also, no doubt, that Omar Pasha paid us a visit a couple of weeks ago and, having expressed his approval of this place as a base for the Ottoman army, went on to Balaclava in the Inflexible to confer with Lord Raglan and Marshal Canrobert?” When Phillip nodded assent, he went on, still smiling, “As a result, we may look forward to the Pasha’s assuming the entire responsibility for Eupatoria’s defense in the foreseeable future, praise be to heaven! And to commanders like yourself, Hazard, who have performed what is little short of a miracle in ferrying his army across at this season of the year. I’m aware that none of you greatly relish your task and that I’ve had to drive you all harder than I care to think about but … the end is in sight. And for you there is to be a short respite, you’ll be pleased to hear.”
“A respite, sir?” Phillip echoed, surprised. “I haven’t asked for one.”
“I know that. All the same …” Captain Hastings searched among the mountain of papers on his table, finally bringing to light the package he wanted. “The Banshee brought orders for you to join Captain Broke in the Gladiator off the port of Odessa, where he is to deliver notification of the resumption of the blockade of the Black Sea ports, under a flag of truce. The Admiral anticipated that you might be at sea when his instructions reached me or that I might be unable to spare your ship from the service in which she is engaged … so he left the matter to my discretion. As it happens, I can spare the Huntress for the short time required. I’ve just been sent two steam-transports by Captain Christie, each with accommodation for nine hundred to a thousand Turks, and I also hope to have the Medway, when she has discharged the British troops she is carrying at Balaclava. Therefore”—he eyed Phillip curiously—“I shall exercise my discretion in your favor, Commander Hazard—since I understand the Admiral considers it important—and permit you to proceed at once to join Captain Broke’s squadron, which consists of the Wrangler and the French steam frigate Mogador, in addition to the Gladiator. I am to hand you these sealed orders and to tell you to carry them out, provided that you can do so without undue risk, either to your ship or of breaking the truce by which Captain Broke will be bound. Is that clear to you?”
“Yes, sir,” Phillip responded, conscious of a quickening of his pulses as he recalled his interview with the Admiral, now almost a month ago. “It’s quite clear.”
“Well, it isn’t to me,” Captain Hastings complained. “But so long as you know what is expected of you, no doubt that will suffice. Captain Broke’s squadron sailed from the Fleet anchorage last night, so you had better get under way at once.” He issued brief details of the time and place of the rendezvous with the Gladiator and held out his hand. “I’ll bid you au revoir and good luck, Commander Hazard. And I shall expect you to report back t
o me here when you are free to do so.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Phillip pocketed his orders and shook the extended hand. “Thank you, sir.” He was thoughtful when, a few minutes later, he took his place in the sternsheets of his gig and Midshipman O’Hara’s crew rowed smartly back to the roadstead, where the Huntress lay at anchor between the Valorous and the Viper, in whose company she had left Baltchik the previous day. All three ships had steam up, ready for departure, and he knew a moment’s concern as he assessed the depleted state of his coal bunkers. Coaling was usually done at Varna or Baltchik and he had taken on all his ship could carry while embarking his passengers, but they had had a rough crossing, with head winds throughout. A prolonged stay off Odessa would reduce his stock to danger level but … Phillip sighed. His orders were to get under way at once and they allowed him little enough time to make his rendezvous with Captain Broke’s squadron, so that he was left with no alternative.
“Weigh and proceed to sea under engines, if you please, Mr Quinn, as soon as the gig is inboard,” he told the First Lieutenant and, seeing his brother Graham on the quarterdeck, called him over. “We are ordered to Odessa. I’ll join you in the chartroom in ten minutes, if you would be good enough to plot a course. …” He saw a look of puzzled surprise on Ambrose Quinn’s face but offered no explanation and, after a perceptible hesitation, the First Lieutenant gave him a dutiful, “Aye, aye, sir,” and turned to pass on his orders to the Boatswain’s Mate of the Watch. The pipe sounded as the gig was deftly swung inboard and secured. Phillip smiled quietly to himself and went below to change and study his sealed orders.
His brother was in the chartroom when he entered it, ten minutes later, clad in watch-coat and seaboots.
“Ah, there you are, Phillip …” Graham turned, dividers in hand and his charts spread out on the narrow table in front of him. As Master, he was entitled to one of the main deck cabins opening off the gun-room, but long established custom decreed that, at sea, he should sleep in the chart-room, in a cot slung at its after end, so as to be instantly on call whenever a change of course was ordered or the ship’s position had to be checked. He made to rise from his stool, but Phillip gestured to him to remain seated, coming to lean over his shoulder in order to study the chart.
They discussed the rendezvous with Captain Broke’s squadron and agreed on a course and speed calculated to bring the Huntress in sight of the other three frigates within the specified area. Having despatched a midshipman with the necessary instructions to the Officer of the Watch, Graham went to lie on his cot, vacating his stool to his brother. “Phillip,” he said soberly, “am I right in supposing that the confidential mission with which we were entrusted before we left the Fleet anchorage is now on the cards?”
Phillip inclined his head. “Yes,” he confirmed. “The Admiral is anxious to obtain up-to-date and accurate information as to the present state of affairs in Odessa. As I understand it, his main reason for requiring this information is because a second naval bombardment of the place is being urged upon him by General Canrobert, as the opening of a proposed offensive by the Allied Fleets in the spring.”
Graham frowned. “And we are to spy out the land for this purpose?”
“No, for quite another purpose,” Phillip told him. “Our Admiral and Admiral Bruat are convinced that such a bombardment would prove a costly waste of time and effort—if not of lives—since both are of the opinion that Odessa is now contributing little to the war. Little, that is to say, that cannot be contained by our blockade of the port and the Gulf of Perekop. In their considered view, supplies are reaching Sebastopol, together with substantial reinforcements, from Taganrog and the Don River, across the Sea of Azoff and from Arabat. Indeed, Admiral Lyons believes that the entire Russian army in the Crimea is now being supplied by these routes and in perfect safety. The Straits of Kertch—the only means of entry into the Sea of Azoff—are well guarded by strong forts and land batteries, and also by a line of sunken ships similar to those with which they’ve kept us out of Sebastopol Harbour. Let’s see … you have charts of the area, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have.” Graham got up to search among his neatly stored maps and charts. With the one he had requested spread out between them, Phillip went into careful detail, refreshing his own memory of the plan Jack Lyons had outlined to him as he did so.
“Both Admirals are firmly of the belief that, if Sebastopol is ever to be taken, it is against Kertch that the spring offensive must be directed,” he explained. “And at once, as soon as the ice clears from the Straits and when the enemy aren’t expecting an attack. Jack Lyons has, in fact, already drawn up plans for a steam squadron, consisting of light-draught frigates and gunboats, to enter the Sea of Azoff for the purpose of cutting the enemy’s supply routes here and here and here. …” His finger indicated the lines of communication running across the shallow inland sea to its Crimean shore. “He has even devised a scheme to clear the barrier of sunken vessels across the Straits by means of submarine explosions. Divers, trained in the use of such explosives, are on their way out here from England, he told me.”
“Good Lord!” Graham pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “So it is as far advanced as that!”
“It is,” Phillip agreed. “And with Their Lordships’ full approval and, as might be expected, also Lord Raglan’s. He, too, is apparently as convinced as our Admiral that Sebastopol will never fall, so long as it continues to be supplied and reinforced. But General Canrobert is, I gather, opposed to the plan, chiefly—or so the Admiral hinted—because it could not be mounted as a purely naval operation. He would be required to furnish six or seven thousand French troops and he is exceedingly loath to withdraw any from the siege, even for a limited time. Lord Raglan could, at most, furnish a couple of thousand … and troops would, of course, be essential to the success of such an operation. Towns and forts would have to be taken and occupied, guns removed, and munitions and stores destroyed, starting with Kertch and probably Kaffa. And so, you see—”
“Yes, I do see,” Graham put in. “General Canrobert is advocating Odessa as the objective—instead of Kertch and the Sea of Azoff—because to bombard Odessa would be a purely Fleet action, involving none of his ground troops. Is that it, Phillip?”
“It would seem so. The matter was discussed at the Admiral’s dinner-table when I was there—in confidence, of course —and Canrobert’s objections weren’t stated quite so plainly but …” Phillip shrugged. “One was left with the impression that his were the only objections and that somehow they would have to be overcome if the Azoff operation is to be a practical possibility.”
“Then an up-to-date and accurate report on the present state of affairs in Odessa, of which you spoke just now, might help to overcome his objections,” Graham suggested shrewdly. “If, of course, it bore out the Admiral’s contention that Odessa is no longer a supply base for the enemy in the Crimea and, in particular, for Sebastopol?”
“Yes … as I understand the situation.” Phillip folded the chart and restored it to its box.
“That should not be hard to prove,” his brother said thoughtfully. “When the Allied armies failed to take Sebastopol, which they could so easily have done after their victory at the Alma, Prince Menshikoff had committed all his reserves and was in desperate need of reinforcements. The only troops available were at Odessa and, as you know, Baron Osten-Sacken sent all he had, overland across the isthmus of Perekop—a long and exhausting march—and he himself went in command of them. When I left Odessa, less than three months ago, he hadn’t returned and the town’s only defenders by that time were its garrison of pensioners and men who were unfit to march to Simpheropol or Bakshi-Serai … and, of course, the gunners manning the harbour batteries. I scarcely imagine that this situation can have changed. Travel in Russia is difficult at the best of times; in winter it is virtually impossible. But if General Canrobert requires proof, then I suppose we shall have to provide it. That’s our mission, isn’t it?”
Ph
illip nodded and Graham laid a hand on his arm. “Have you decided how we are to accomplish it?”
“I gave the matter a certain amount of thought after leaving the Admiral but when our orders were changed, well” —Phillip made a wry grimace—“that was the end of it. I must confess that I hadn’t visualized our joining company with a squadron, least of all one bound by a flag of truce. But no doubt there’s a reason for that—the presence of a French frigate, possibly, to vouch for ours, should Canrobert ever question our report.” He explained the squadron’s purpose and went on, “When he has delivered his notification of the reestablishment of the blockade, I imagine that Captain Broke will withdraw to await a formal reply from the neutral consuls, lying off in sight of the port. I’ve performed a similar service before, in the Trojan. Usually one sends a boat, which is met by another from the port after a certain amount of delay. The truce is punctiliously observed, both by the Russians and ourselves and—”
“And no one from our boat is permitted to set foot ashore?” Graham asked.
“No one, as a rule. They remain in the boat, sometimes for hours.”
“But I take it that, if we are to furnish the Admiral with an accurate report, we shall have to go ashore and into the town, shan’t we? And I also take it”—Graham smiled—“that you and I will form the shore party. Is that what you have in mind, Phillip?”
“Yes, it is, if you’re willing.” Phillip looked up to meet his brother’s gaze and did not need to wait for his assent. “You are fairly familiar with the town and have sufficient knowledge of the language to understand what’s being said … and, I trust, to enable you to get us out of trouble, should we be challenged.”