That was not quite what happened. Partway through the forenoon watch, the lookout at the masthead yelled, “Sail ho, two points to larboard.” Mr. Dunsmuir was ordered to take a telescope aloft and report what he saw. When he had neared the main topgallant truck, he took a firm grip around the shrouds* before levelling the telescope. In a moment, his voice floated down. “The ship appears to be a three master. She is on a course to cross our bow.” Soon after, he shouted, “Deck there, the ship appears to be a frigate under all plain sail to the topsails. She is coming into the wind as if to beat up to us.”
“Should we clear for action, sir,” asked the First Lieutenant, Mr. Hendricks, whose watch it was.
“No,” replied Giles. “She is likely a Russian picket ship and we don’t want to appear to be hostile. With this wind, we can tell if she appears to be aggressive long before we are in range, and we can clear then if necessary. However, do ready the guns for firing, but don’t open the ports and run out just yet.”
“Deck there,” came the next hail from Mr. Dunsmuir. “There is a sail behind the first one ... in fact, several sails.”
As time passed, it became evident that in front of them was a mass of ships, sailing in close formation, unquestionably a naval fleet. Giles surmised that it must be the part of the Russian navy, no doubt performing exercises. By the time all the ships were visible from Glaucus’s deck, they could see that the fleet was comprised of eight ships of the line sailing in two columns accompanied by three frigates and four smaller vessels, sloops-of-war and brigs. Almost at the same time, the lookout reported that low land had come into sight ahead.
“Mr. Hendricks, prepare to back our main topsail and restore the guns to their usual position so that it will not be evident that we were prepared for hostile action.”
When the Russian frigate was almost up to them, she backed her main topsail to come to a halt. Glaucus did the same. The Russian ship lowered a boat that set off across the short span of water between the two ships. In the sternsheets was an officer. Giles guessed that he was probably a lieutenant, and so there would need to be no special ceremony when he came aboard. Giles did wish that he had made more detailed inquiries about the ranks and uniforms of the Russian Navy when he was in London. He would just have to improvise.
The first man out of the boat when it pulled up alongside Glaucus was indeed a lieutenant. After smartly saluting the quarterdeck, he introduced himself as Lieutenant Boris Petrovitch Pirov. He stated, in flawless English, though with a thick Russian accent, that he was there to inquire about Glaucus’s presence in Russian waters.
Giles explained that they carried a special ambassador to the Court of St. Petersburg and introduced the Lieutenant to Sir Walcott, who elaborated at length just how important his mission was. Giles didn’t mention that he himself had another mission involving the Russian Admiralty.
“Admiral Smolensky, the vice admiral who is exercising his division over there, guessed that there was some such explanation for your coming here. He told me to welcome you and to guide you to the naval anchorage at Kronstadt. It is a bit tricky if you don’t know the waters, and there may be some signaling about where you are to anchor, which I can interpret for you.”
Lieutenant Pirov went to the side and issued a string of orders to the midshipman who was in the sternsheets of the boat in which he had come. Then he turned back to Giles and his circle of officers.
“I must introduce you to my officers, Lieutenant Pirov, since we will be shipmates if only for a short period,” Giles said, forestalling whatever the Russian might have intended to say. After he had named all the officers, he noticed that Sir Walcott had come on deck, dressed in the most impressive fashion, and was studiously ignoring what was going on. “Finally, Lieutenant, let me introduce you to the special ambassador whom we are taking to St. Petersburg. Sir Walcott Lainey, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Boris Petrovitch Pirov. Lieutenant Pirov will guide us into a safe anchorage.”
Sir Walcott responded to Lieutenant Pirov’s bow with a slight and condescending nod. He then launched into a discourse in French. From what Giles could gather, he was emphasizing how very important his mission was and how he must not be hindered in any way from reaching the Court. The lieutenant did not seem to be overly impressed, for after Sir Walcott had finished his lecture, the Russian officer turned to Giles and said, in English, “Captain Giles, you will, of course, have to visit Admiral Stroganoff in Kronstadt before proceeding, despite Sir ‘Valgoff’s’ appeal. My orders are to direct you to where the main fleet is at anchor and to introduce you to the Admiral when you have anchored near the flagship.” It was quite evident that Sir Walcott’s harangue had not impressed the lieutenant, as clearly indicated by the deliberate mangling of the envoy’s name.
Giles ordered them to get underway.
“That is Kotlin Island straight ahead. Kronstadt is on the southeastern corner. We should head to the channel to the south of the island,” Lieutenant Pirov stated.
“Mr. Brooks, make it so. And you might as well take your instructions directly from Lieutenant Pirov rather than waiting for me to confirm them.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the Master. “Lieutenant Pirov, I am surprised that the passage is to the south. The chart suggested that the north passage is wider and easier.”
“You may have a copy of an old chart, Mr. Brooks. The North passage is wider, but very shallow with shifting mud banks. The charts can be misleading, especially if you have a copy of some of the earlier ones, which were designed to fool the Swedes.”
Glaucus slid into the channel separating Kotlin Island from the mainland, and all eyes of those not immediately involved in sailing the frigate were glued on the evolving scene. They passed outside a wall that enclosed a merchant-ship harbor, which was guarded with several forts. Lieutenant Pirov proudly pointed them out to Giles, “They are sited on artificial islands, created by Peter the Great by having cribs of logs filled with stones placed on the ice in the winter so that they then sank into place when the ice melted in the spring.”
“Interesting,” murmured Giles, his attention diverted by the appearance of dozens of masts and spars of warships beyond the merchant harbors. Much of the Russian Baltic Fleet must be at anchor and the fleet that they had already seen was only a small part of it. Lieutenant Pirov helpfully told Giles what the Russian custom for saluting the Admiral was and when to commence firing the guns. As they passed the end of the merchant harbor, the first of Glaucus’s guns boomed out. It was followed steadily by the rest of the salute, as Mr. Abbott, the gunner, could be heard muttering the time-honored patter that allowed him to space the firings properly. The wind was dying, but there was just enough for Glaucus to slide into the position Lieutenant Pirov indicated and to anchor off the flagship’s quarter. The various adjustments to the sails to allow the frigate to sail through the fleet smoothly and then to stop at the correct place to drop the anchor followed by the prompt and apparently well-coordinated furling of the sails were all carried out with the precision that spoke of long training.
Both Giles and Mr. Hendricks heaved a sigh of relief when it was clear that Glaucus had fallen back to be brought up tight to the anchor rode with the anchor holding. As always when under intense scrutiny, he had been afraid that some mistakes, possibly minor, would make a shambles of the apparently effortless anchoring and give the fleet’s officers, who undoubtedly would be watching through their telescopes to see how the stranger would perform, a chance to laugh at another’s misfortune. He had feared particularly that the anchor might not hold so that he would be faced with trying to recover his anchor hastily while Glaucus drifted helplessly into danger. The smooth anchoring was important not only for Giles’s own pride, but also to demonstrate that the Royal Navy was a skilled and efficient force with which it would be sensible to become allies. Word of Glaucus’s smooth arrival would undoubtedly spread to a wider audience.
When it was clear that the anchor was holding, it was a task of only a
few minutes to lower the captain’s barge. Giles, who had already changed into his best uniform and shoes, descended into it following Lieutenant Pirov and Sir Walcott.
The flagship was a gigantic three-decker. Its name, carved amid the elaborate woodwork adorning the stern, was written in the Cyrillic alphabet.
“What does that say?” Giles asked Lieutenant Pirov
“Alexander Yaroslavich Nevsky,” was the reply. “He was an early Russian ruler and a saint.”
As Giles rose from his seat in the boat to climb onto the mammoth vessel, Sir Walcott also stood up with the clear intention of leading the way. Somehow, however, he tripped over Carstairs’ leg and went sprawling onto the floorboards of the barge. Amid the coxswain’s effusive apologies, Giles was able to take his proper place to lead the way onto the flagship. Carstairs’ attempts to help Sir Walcott to his feet, resulted instead in the baronet sprawling onto one of the rowers. Lieutenant Pirov, realizing that he would be needed to act as a translator as soon as Giles was aboard, followed him immediately out of the boat. Sir Walcott, with his finery in some disarray as a result of his mishaps, was finally able to board, though only after a significant time had passed.
Giles was welcomed on board by the flag captain, who introduced himself as Captain Sergei Borisovitch Panin. Captain Panin complimented Giles on Glaucus’s smooth anchoring and then asked if he was the same Captain Giles who had captured the French 74, Le Jour de Gloire. Giles acknowledged that he was the man who had captained Patroclus and had lost her. He reflected that the Naval Gazette must provide amusement to officers in navies that had seen little warfare. His past feats of war might well smooth his dealings with his Russian counterparts. He was also surprised to realize that Captain Panin had been speaking French, which Lieutenant Pirov had translated into English. He had been able to get the gist of what was being said even before it was translated. At that point, Sir Walcott arrived on deck. Lieutenant Pirov introduced him in Russian, again mispronouncing his name. Captain Panin responded in French, but he mangled Sir Walcott’s name still more.
“Admiral Stroganoff will see you now,” Captain Panin continued in French. “Come this way.”
Somehow, while he was translating this, Lieutenant Pirov succeeded in blocking Sir Walcott’s attempt to take the lead. As a result, it was Giles who first followed the flag captain into the Admiral’s cabin and was the first to be introduced to him. Sir Walcott was presented next, with the flag captain following Lieutenant Pirov in mispronouncing his name again. The Admiral made some welcoming noises, following which Sir Walcott launched into a long diatribe in French. As far as Giles could make out, the lecture concerned the importance of Sir Walcott’s mission and his own high status and how urgent it was that he get to Saint Petersburg as quickly as possible. Several times Giles heard him say ‘Prince de Galles’, which he knew was ‘Prince of Wales’. At one point, the baronet also seemed to be emphasizing how badly his name had been mispronounced. That got a raised eyebrow from the Admiral directed at Lieutenant Pirov who responded with a slight nod. Giles wasn’t certain, but he thought he saw the Admiral wink.
When Sir Walcott finished, the Admiral replied, words that the lieutenant translated, “Welcome to Russia, Sir Falsecost. I am afraid that some Russians have trouble with exactly how to pronounce English names. I am very pleased that you have set that straight. Unfortunately, Sir Falsecost, it is not possible for Captain Giles’s ship to proceed to St. Petersburg until tomorrow.
“Captain Giles, I do hope that you and your officers can dine with me this evening. Many of my captains would like to meet you. News of your exploits have definitely preceded you. Sir Falsecost, you, of course, are also invited.”
Sir Walcott was fuming all the way back to Glaucus. “That stuck-up sailor! Doesn’t he realize that I am His Majesty’s special ambassador? Suggesting that there is no urgency about my mission. Why the bumpkin couldn’t even get my name right. Hopelessly limited interests. More about your silly old battles, Captain Giles, than about my important connections with the Prince of Wales, even though I specifically mentioned them to him. I have a good mind not to dine with him. That will show him!”
“Suit yourself, Sir Walcott. You may find it a rather boring occasion. Just a lot of naval officers, who are sure to want to talk about naval matters.”
Giles couldn’t know how much of a role his remark might have played, but Sir Walcott did announce that he was not going to dine with the Admiral. Giles found on reboarding the flagship with Lieutenants Hendricks, Miller and Macauley that a sizeable number of Russian captains were on hand. Some were grizzled old-timers, others young men only a bit older than himself. He guessed that the older men would be captains of the line-of-battle ships while the younger men would turn out to be frigate captains. That proved to be the case as introductions were made with the name and size of each captain’s vessel.
Before they all sat down at the table, the Admiral took Giles aside. “I hope that I did not cause too much offense by deliberately mispronouncing Sir Walcott’s name.”
“You did, sir, but I would not worry about it. He is a man who seems to take offense overly readily and is quite obnoxious. I cannot speak for why the British government chose him to be a special ambassador for I am hard put to explain the choice. The only reason that I can think of was that the Prince of Wale used his influence so that he could more readily avoid him for a while.”
The Admiral laughed. “I am afraid, Captain Giles, that the workings of governments and diplomacy are beyond us simple sailors.”
Lieutenant Pirov, who was acting as interpreter during this exchange, looked decidedly relieved that the offense he might have caused Sir Walcott was not likely to cause any difficulties for himself.
The Admiral served up several dishes with which Giles was not familiar. He found some of them strange, but his liking of the wild boar and of a soup made from beets knew no bounds. Wine flowed freely. Besides the Admiral, those seating close to him were senior naval captains. They were obviously envious of his having experienced several years of war while they had been at peace. The older ones recalled their wars with Sweden, and Captain Obolensky, the captain of a seventy-four third-rate ship of the line, whose name Giles missed, waxed eloquent on the subject of how he thought that Sir Sydney Smith’s service to the King of Sweden had been grossly exaggerated. They restrained their detailed questioning of Giles’s exploits until the cloth had been drawn. Then nothing would do but that Giles told the whole table about how Patroclus had freed the British frigates and took the French line-of-battle ship. In setting the scene, he had alluded to Patroclus’s earlier capture of frigates and the story of the powerful bow-chasers involved both in those captures and in his battle with Le Jour de Gloire.
Small glasses of a rather tasteless but fiery liquor called vodka were brought out to drink the Tsar’s health as well as King George’s. This vodka seemed to take the place of port or brandy. It appeared that there was no question of only sipping the very strong drink; instead, his Russian companions insisted that he must drain his glass on each toast. His account held them sufficiently spellbound that no one seemed to be drinking as he talked, but when he stopped and questions started to flow, one captain after another suggested a toast and everyone threw back another shot of the liquor. Lieutenant Pirov, who was acting as interpreter as necessary, told Giles that vodka was flavored in many different ways and that he should try various ones that were available with the feast, but Giles realized that after the third round, he could not distinguish one flavor from another. Glancing down the table, he saw that his officers were also being plied with the strong drink in the same way, with most attention being focused on Lieutenants Miller and Macauley, both of whom had participated in the adventures that he had been recounting. He would have to see about the possibilities of leaving soon or else the whole contingent from Glaucus would have to be carried from the flagship.
Chief interest seemed to center around the use of heavy bow-chasers. All were
intrigued by Giles’s use of the innovation, but the discussion quickly became controversial. The standard argument against fore-and-aft guns was trotted out, namely that a ship could only carry so many heavy guns and diverting some of them to shoot forward would inevitably weaken the broadside while engaging one’s enemy broadside to broadside had long been the epitome of naval battles. Some of the frigate captains, who had experience in stern chases against pirates and smugglers did feel that stronger bow-chasers would enhance their ability to catch their opponents. Giles realized that he should not mention the way in which his aft-most guns on Glaucus could be used either as broadside guns or as stern chasers. Neither of the innovations he had adopted were accepted by the Royal Navy, and the stern-chaser adaptation did not run the same risk of weakening the broadside. He would have to warn his officers not to mention what Mr. Hughes had done to make it possible to use the guns either as stern chasers or as broadside guns. He hoped that his lieutenants had not already mentioned the modification or that their audience at the other end of the table were now so drunk that they would not appreciate the significance of what they were hearing.
Admiral Stroganoff must have noticed Giles’ discomfort in having to drink toast for toast with his enthusiastic captains, and called the evening to a halt. Even so, Giles had to be assisted by Carstairs into the boat for he was feeling a bit unstable and thought the deck was pitching in a way that seemed strange since surely the Alexander Yaroslavich Nevsky was in a well-protected anchorage. Lieutenants Macauley and Hendricks also seemed to be thinking the deck was very unstable as they walked a most peculiar path to get to the entry port. Lieutenant Miller did not have the same problem: he had to be carried on deck and secured in a bosun’s chair for his return to Glaucus. The Royal Navy officers would have to either learn how to drink vodka in moderation or else risk disgracing themselves completely.
A War by Diplomacy_At Home and At Sea, 1804 Page 17