Killigrew’s Run

by Jonathan Lunn

  ‘He had his reasons.’

  ‘Oh? And what were those reasons?’

  ‘No concern of yours, Lieutenant-General.’ Nekrasoff took his leave of Ramsay and went outside to watch as Chernyovsky’s men loaded the files into the cart parked in the street in front of the town hall by torchlight.

  Seeing him, the starshina approached. ‘Why can’t you get your own men to do this? My men are Cossacks, Colonel, not clerks.’

  ‘My men are otherwise engaged at the castle.’

  ‘Well, as long as you don’t expect my men to go through all these papers…’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll leave that task to men who can read.’

  Chernyovsky glowered at him, but said nothing. Feeling pleased with the witticism – and with the day’s work in general – Nekrasoff took out his silver-plated cigarette case and selected a cigarette. He struck a match to light it, and hesitated as a strange popping sound reached his ears from some way off. He frowned.

  ‘Hear that?’

  Chernyovsky cocked his head on one side. ‘Sounds like… musket fire!’

  The two of them stared at one another for a split second. ‘Tell your men to drop everything and bring their carbines!’ ordered Nekrasoff, throwing down his cigarette as he broke into a run.

  Although he got a good head start on the Cossacks, he was out of condition, and they caught him up just as he emerged from a side street on to the waterfront. They were just in time to see the squad of men from the Atalanta firing sporadically after the Milenion as she faded into the evening gloom.

  Nekrasoff grabbed one of the other matrosy. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Someone’s stealing the yacht, sir. Lieutenant Lazarenko told us to stop them.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lieutenant Lazarenko, sir. He’s the senior lieutenant on board the Atalanta—’

  Nekrasoff rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t care about Lieutenant Lazarenko, fool! Who’s stealing the Milenion?’

  ‘Don’t know, sir.’

  ‘It couldn’t be the English sailors, could it?’ Chernyovsky suggested with a frown.

  ‘Impossible,’ spat Nekrasoff. ‘All the English sailors are prisoners at the castle with Lord Bullivant and his family and crew.’ He saw two men tied up next to one of the stone bollards where the Milenion had been moored. ‘Who are those men? Bring them to me!’

  One of the matrosy produced a bayonet and cut through the bonds of the two men. ‘It’s Malinoff and Klossovsky!’

  ‘You know them?’

  ‘Yes, sir. They’re sailors in our crew. They were guarding the English yacht.’

  ‘Bring them here.’

  Unsteady on their feet, the two matrosy were brought before Nekrasoff, rubbing chafed wrists. ‘You two were guarding the Milenion?’ Nekrasoff asked them.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ they chorused.

  Nekrasoff held out a hand to Chernyovsky. ‘Nagaika.’

  The starshina took his Cossack whip from his belt and handed it to the colonel. Nekrasoff uncoiled it, and then lashed it across the face of first Klossovsky, then Malinoff.

  As Russian seamen, they were used to taking blows, and stood there and took them – flinching when the whip scored lines of blood from their cheeks – but quickly standing to attention again with the gore dripping down their faces. ‘Thank you, sir!’ they chorused.

  ‘Did you see who it was that stole the Milenion?’

  ‘I think they were English, sir,’ said Malinoff.

  Chernyovsky smirked. ‘Perhaps these were different Englishmen from the ones you have secured at the castle.’

  ‘Come on!’ Nekrasoff told him irritably. He ran along the quayside to where the Atalanta was moored, followed by Chernyovsky and his men and the surviving matrosy from the squad sent to stop the Milenion. The two men on guard at the top of the gangplank saluted him, and he strode to where the officer of the watch stood on the quarterdeck.

  ‘I need to speak to Captain-Lieutenant Pechorin at once.’

  The officer took in Nekrasoff’s Third Section uniform with a distinct hint of a sneer of distaste. ‘It’s customary to ask permission of the officer of the watch before you board one of the Tsar’s ships.’

  ‘I haven’t got time for formalities, Lieutenant! It may have escaped your attention, but someone is stealing the Milenion. Now, where is Pechorin?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. He went ashore a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir—’ ventured Malinoff.

  Nekrasoff rounded on him furiously. ‘Be quiet, you! Your stupidity has caused enough trouble for one night!’

  ‘But, sir—’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me? I said, hold your tongue, or your next posting will be to the White Sea Squadron!’ Nekrasoff turned back to the officer of the watch. ‘Who is second-in-command of this vessel?’

  ‘I am, Colonel. Lieutenant Mstislav Trofimovich Lazarenko, at your service.’

  ‘You have seen that the Milenion is getting away?’

  ‘It has not escaped my notice, sir, yes.’

  ‘Then may I ask why you are not steaming in pursuit?’

  ‘Our boilers are cold…’

  ‘Then fire them up at once!’

  ‘Our stokers are working on it, sir.’

  ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘From cold?’ Lazarenko shrugged. ‘Two hours.’

  ‘Two hours! ’

  ‘Perhaps more.’

  ‘And meanwhile the English are getting away!’

  ‘They won’t get far, sir.’

  ‘You seem very sure of that, Lazarenko.’

  ‘It’s perfectly simple, sir. If you would check the weather vane at the truck of our mainmast, you would see that the wind is from the south-west. The inlet runs in a south-westerly direction for four vehrsty. Even a fore-and-aft rigged schooner like the Milenion can sail only within four points of the wind. That means they’ve got to tack against the wind.’

  ‘And what does that mean in plain Russian?’

  ‘That it will take them at least two and a half hours to reach Vitsand Sound. Once we have steam up, we can cover the distance in about twenty-five minutes.’

  ‘You have sails, don’t you? Why not pursue under sail until you have steam up in your boilers?’

  ‘Hardly seems worth the effort, sir.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Atalanta is square-rigged, sir; she can’t sail closer than within six points of the wind. Even if we did set out under sail, we’d make so little progress tacking, it wouldn’t make much difference.’

  ‘It could make all the difference. If there’s only a five-minute margin for error, we’re going to be cutting it damn fine.’

  ‘Not really, sir. You see, there’s a chain cable across the channel at Vitsand Sound. It’s impossible for them to get past.’

  Nekrasoff shook his head. ‘If Killigrew could escape from the castle, he can find a way to get past that chain cable.’ He turned to Chernyovsky. ‘There’s a coastal battery at Vitsand Sound, isn’t there? How long will it take one of your men to reach it?’

  Chernyovsky shrugged. ‘It shouldn’t be too difficult to get a man and a pony across the inlet to Leksvall. From there he can ride to the battery at Vitsand in a matter of minutes.’

  ‘Send your best man at once! Tell him to make sure the battery commander has his men on stand-by, cannon loaded and ready to fire, looking out for the Milenion. They’re to open fire on it at once. Then you can take the rest of your men to the opposite side of the channel and wait. Killigrew will probably try to send men ashore to break the cable on the east side of the channel. Be ready to ambush them.’

  Chernyovsky grinned. ‘With pleasure, Colonel.’ He saluted, then wheeled and marched back down the gangplank to where his men waited on the quayside, calling for them to fetch their ponies.

  Nekrasoff took out another cigarette, tapping it twice against his cigarette case before putting it in his mouth. Confident that there was no way for the Mil
enion to escape the inlet, he felt calm and in control of the situation once more. Let Pechorin and his men take the blame for the escape of the English on board the Milenion: he’d worry about how he was going to explain their escape from the castle when Kizheh had told him what had happened there. It would be his own prompt and efficient response to the crisis that would avert disaster, and it would be him – Colonel Radimir Fokavich Nekrasoff – who took the credit.

  He might even get the Cross of St George for this.

  He noticed Lazarenko talking to Private Malinoff. The lieutenant nodded, and ordered Malinoff below to get his face stitched up by the ship’s surgeon.

  Lazarenko crossed back to where Nekrasoff stood. ‘It seems we’ve located Count Pechorin, sir.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He’s on board the Milenion.’

  Nekrasoff stared at him in disbelief. ‘You mean… he’s actually helping them to escape?’

  Lazarenko smiled, clearly pleased at the invidious position his superior now found himself in. Evidently there was no love lost between the lieutenant and the count. ‘Oh, that I very much doubt, Colonel. It seems he was entertaining a young lady in the Milenion’s saloon when Commander Killigrew took him hostage.’

  ‘Entertaining a lady on the Milenion…’ echoed Nekrasoff, disgusted. ‘At a time like this!’

  ‘Does this mean we cannot open fire on the yacht?’ asked Lazarenko. ‘I mean, if we hull her, there’s a chance the count could be killed.’

  ‘That’s not our concern.’

  Lazarenko smiled like the cat that got the cream. ‘As you will, sir.’

  Chapter 11

  Flight from Ekenäs

  10.05 p.m., Thursday 17–12.05 a.m., Friday 18 August

  The deck lurched slightly as the Milenion’s keel touched bottom, and Killigrew’s heart leaped into his mouth. He could feel the keel scraping over rocks below, but hardly enough to slow her. It was just a touch; but enough to throw her head off, off a windward shoal where they did not have much space to spare. And since they were now sailing on the starboard tack, they would be going about at the same time.

  ‘Steady as she goes, Endicott.’

  The Liverpudlian wrestled with the helm. ‘Steady it is, sir.’

  The channel made a sharp dogleg round the south side of the island.

  ‘Ready to go about!’ ordered Killigrew.

  ‘It’s going to be bloody tight, sir,’ warned Endicott. ‘Tighter’n a crab’s bum-hole, like, if you’ll pardon the expression.’

  ‘I have every confidence in you, Endicott. Haul of all!’

  ‘I just hope it isn’t misplaced.’

  ‘Hard a-lee!’

  Endicott spun the wheel once more. ‘Helm’s a-lee!’

  The schooner’s bows came round on to a new heading, round the south-west side of the island and the angle of the rocky coast. The men hauled the sheets to bring the foresail and mainsail round to catch the wind from the other side, and Killigrew and Endicott ducked as the mainsail boom swung low across the quarterdeck. The breeze filled the sails once more.

  ‘Ease the helm.’

  Endicott brought the rudder amidships, but he was not used to steering a ship that responded as lightly as the Milenion seemed to. The bows came round too far, and they were in danger of running aground on the island.

  ‘Meet her! Handsomely does it!’

  Endicott spun the wheel back to compensate.

  ‘Right the helm. Luff and touch her.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  And suddenly the island and the narrow channel were fading astern, and Pechorin was no longer smirking but regarding the commander with a cool and thoughtful gaze.

  Killigrew remembered to keep breathing. ‘Handsomely done, Endicott.’

  The Liverpudlian grinned. ‘Nuttin’ to it, sir,’ he said, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

  ‘Steady as she goes.’

  ‘Steady it is, sir.’

  With the far side of the channel about a mile off, Killigrew judged he had a few minutes before they would have to tack again. ‘Iles! Spell Endicott at the wheel. He’s earned a break. Hughes, go for’ard and keep a sharp lookout for shoals and skerries.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Araminta emerged on deck.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Killigrew demanded. ‘Didn’t your father tell you to stay below?’

  ‘I thought that was just until we were clear of the harbour.’

  ‘I’d prefer it if you could remain below until we’re out of the inlet. We should be safe enough once we reach the open sea. A couple of hours, that’s all.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on that if I were you, Mr Killigrew,’ said Pechorin. ‘You’ve still got to get past the chain at Vitsand Sound.’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ said Killigrew. It was true: he just had not worked out what the hell he was going to do about it. ‘Molineaux, perhaps you’d be so good as to secure Count Pechorin below?’

  ‘My pleasure, sir.’ When Molineaux secured someone, they stayed secure.

  ‘Oh, and while you’re down there, you’ll find a scantily clad young blonde woman has locked herself in the stateroom adjoining the saloon…’

  Araminta regarded Killigrew with an arched eyebrow.

  ‘His friend, not mine.’ The commander jerked his head at Pechorin. ‘Secure her also, Molineaux. Who is she, Count? Daughter of one of the local burghers?’

  ‘Er… something like that.’

  ‘Wife?’

  Pechorin scowled.

  Killigrew grinned, and tutted. ‘Naughty boy. How in the world is she going to explain this to her husband?’

  ‘Is it my fault if these damned Finns cannot keep their womenfolk at home?’ demanded Pechorin. ‘I was just bringing some adventure into her life.’

  Araminta smiled. ‘I’m afraid your notion of adventure doesn’t compare with Mr Killigrew’s.’

  ‘Don’t denigrate what you haven’t experienced, my lady,’ Pechorin retorted archly. ‘Oof!’

  ‘Sorry, Ivan, did I get you with my elbow there?’ asked Molineaux, helping the count to his feet. ‘Still, serves you right for using smutty talk in the presence of a lady. Come along, now.’

  As Molineaux marched Pechorin below decks, Killigrew turned to Araminta. ‘Please, miss, I’d much prefer it if you went below.’

  She smiled. ‘You do seem to have an aversion to my company, Kit. But seriously, is there nothing I can do to help? Mr Charlton seems to have made the injured men comfortable, and I’m afraid I’m really not much of a nurse. Perhaps I could make coffee for you and your men?’

  ‘The way you did on board the Lightfoot at Cowes that day?’ he reminded her.

  She grimaced. ‘I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I? I’ve already told you, I’d never made coffee before.’

  ‘Try not to set the galley on fire this time!’

  She gave him a disparaging look, and went below.

  Killigrew chuckled to himself.

  Charlton came on deck, looking very pleased with himself. ‘I’ve made the wounded comfortable, sir. I’m afraid the sailor who got shot is in a bad way, but there’s nothing more I can do for him.’

  ‘What about Mr Dahlstedt?’

  ‘He’ll be fine. His hands looked worse than they were. I’ve splinted his fingers; given time, I’m sure he’ll live to play the piano again. If he ever could in the first place. Sleep’s what he needs now. I gave him an opiate, and he went out like a light.’

  ‘Good…’ Killigrew turned away, and then the implication of Charlton’s words sank in. He turned back to face the assistant surgeon. ‘You… did… what?’

  ‘Gave him an opiate. He was in a good deal of pain, I thought it would be best if he could sleep through it.’

  ‘You stupid great nincompoop!’ exploded Killigrew. ‘He’s the only one who knows these waters! How the devil’s he going to chart us a course to safety if he’s drugged to the eyeballs?’

&nb
sp; Charlton looked crestfallen. ‘Sorry, sir. I didn’t think of that. Do you want me to try to wake him?’

  Killigrew shook his head wearily. ‘Let him sleep for now. You’d better get your head down too; I think we can manage without you for now.’

  ‘Maybe you should rest as well. Remember what Mr Dyson said: you should be taking it easy.’

  ‘That isn’t an option at this moment in time.’

  ‘Are you sure? You do look rather peaky.’

  ‘A little tired, that’s all,’ he assured Charlton with a wan smile. ‘It’s been a hard day.’ But the truth was, he felt ready to collapse on the deck. The last thing he needed was another fainting fit, not now.

  Charlton headed below, passing Molineaux, who was on the way back up. ‘Come back, Mr Strachan, all is forgiven, eh, sir?’ said the petty officer.

  ‘Mr Charlton’s doing the best job he can under difficult circumstances,’ Killigrew chided him gently.

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’ The petty officer looked suitably abashed.

  ‘Listen, Molineaux: I need you to take an inventory of all the guns on board. Gather together all the muskets and pistols we brought with us, make sure they’re all loaded and primed, and make an inventory of all the ammunition we have spare.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir. Although – with all due respect – I don’t reckon barking irons will do us much good if that Russki flapper catches us. Maybe I should have a look round below, see if there’s anything else we can use.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Won’t know till I’ve taken a look-see, will I, sir?’

  ‘You’re right, I suppose. All right, Molineaux, see what you can come up with.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Molineaux made his way along the deck, gathering up muskets and cartouche boxes.

  ‘Captain Thornton!’ called Killigrew.

  The master crossed the quarterdeck to meet him.

  ‘All our lives depend on us getting this ship out of the inlet,’ Killigrew told him. ‘That means we’ve got to work together, do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes.’ Thornton’s face made it clear that understanding the situation and liking it were two very different things.

  ‘I need you to be my second in command. That means when I’m not on deck, you’re the officer of the watch.’