by V. A. Stuart
It was seldom necessary to give an order, for there was little that anyone could do, and Phillip had taken every precaution possible before the storm broke. He had had the upper yards sent down before he had made his decision to ride out the gale at sea and, stripped of all save a single storm staysail, the Trojan was alone in a waste of angry grey water, bobbing about like a cork, now rising to the crest of a mountainous wave, now sliding down from a dizzy height into its heaving trough. The wind screeched and sang eerily in the rigging, sounding as if some monstrous musician were plucking at her shrouds and stays with giant fingers, to draw from them an insane and infinitely depressing dirge, with which to mourn her impending doom.
But she remained afloat almost, it seemed to Phillip, by a miracle, although many times during that endless day he came close to despair, certain now that the choice he had made had been the wrong one. He dared not think of what his hapless passengers were enduring in their confined quarters below deck. His own men were, for the most part, also below and only when one of the quarterdeck guns broke loose did he summon part of the duty watch on deck. He had the gun bundled unceremoniously over the side, preferring to lose it rather than risk injury to the seamen who were struggling vainly to secure its 95 cwt. of menacing metal. Then, as he watched the sixty-eight-pounder vanish into the seething blackness astern, he found himself once again doubting the wisdom of his decision … But he would have to stand by it, he knew, just as he would by his other, more important decision to put to sea instead of seeking the shelter of Eupatoria Bay. In any event, he had no doubt that the loss of a gun mattered a good deal less to him than the loss of a single one of his seamen but, to salve his conscience, he ordered double breechings rove on the remaining sixty-eight-pounder and sent Lieutenant Sutherland, the gunnery officer, with a working party, to make a careful check of the gun deck, to ensure that the accident did not recur.
There were, inevitably, other accidents. Two stokers were badly scalded when a steam pipe cracked, another burned both hands when he was hung against the door of the furnace he was endeavouring to replenish and a soldier, falling down a hatch-ladder, suffered head injuries and a broken leg. Able-Seaman O’Leary, who had acted as Phillip’s orderly when he had been attached to Sir Colin Campbell’s brigade at Kadi-Koi, was one of three men carried below after an heroic but somewhat foolhardy attempt to prevent the quarterdeck gun from breaking loose but none of the three, Phillip was thankful to learn, was seriously hurt. O’Leary, the Surgeon told him, had a crushed foot but was cheerful enough once this had been dressed and splinted.
By 4 P.M. when the watch changed, the wind had veered again to the north and moderated a little and, although the sea was still pounding the Trojan’s wooden walls with unabated violence, the glass had—at long last—started to rise. Mr Burnaby, when Phillip dragged himself with difficulty to the chartroom, half an hour later, expressed the cautious opinion that the worst of the gale was over. Inevitably, the ship had been blown off course and was now many miles south-west of her destination, according to his reckoning.
“‘If the delay in landing the troops at Eupatoria is causing you concern, sir,” the Master added, his shrewd old eyes sympathetically on Phillip’s white, exhausted face, dark with stubble, “I believe that we might soon venture into the bay with the assistance of the screw and, of course, exercising due care.”
The possibility that he might attempt to complete his mission had already been in Phillip’s mind and, encouraged by the fact that his supply of coal was not as depleted as he had feared it would be, he called for a report of damage sustained and ordered the well sounded. Both reports, when he received them, were as encouraging as that from the Engineer Warrant Officer had been. Most of the damage could be repaired; the Trojan’s only serious loss remained the quarterdeck gun and, although she had shipped a good deal of water, the pumps were slowly clearing it and the level was not alarming. All her masts were intact, no boilers were leaking, and the rudder had apparently stood up to the stresses and strains put upon it during the storm.
“We’ve been fortunate,” Martin Fox observed, blowing on his blue fingers in an effort to warm them. “I was afraid, more than once, that we were going to lose the foremast. And when the bowsprit shroud carried away and that sixty-eight-pounder broke loose …” he shuddered. “It’s a miracle more hands weren’t injured. O’Leary did well—he sang out just in time and most of the men were able to jump clear. He’s a good man in a tight spot, O’Leary—if he hadn’t waited to warn the others he wouldn’t have got his foot trapped.”
With vivid memories of just how good a man O’Leary had proved himself during their service on shore together, Phillip agreed emphatically with his second-in-command’s assessment. “But as you say,” he added, “we have been fortunate, Martin—exceptionally fortunate. To be honest, I’ve wondered many times today whether I was right in deciding to put to sea, instead of trying to make port at Eupatoria.”
“I’m quite sure you were right, Phillip.” Martin Fox looked up, a smile lighting his weary face. “Much of our good fortune was due to the fact that the Trojan had you as her commander, because no one could have handled her better than you did. I mean that with all my heart and I know there’s not an officer or a seaman who’d disagree with me.” He laid a hand on Phillip’s arm. “Is it any use my suggesting that you entrust the ship to me for an hour, while you go below for a meal and a change of clothing? You’ve not left the quarterdeck all day and I don’t doubt you’ll want to be here when we sight the coast again but, since that won’t be for at least a couple of hours, why not rest while you have the chance?”
Phillip thanked him and agreed. “Let’s hope our luck holds,” he said when, after consultation with the Master, he had ordered the necessary change of course. “Have the Paymaster issue an extra gill of grog to all hands, would you please, Martin? They’ve earned it, heaven knows, and they will need it to keep out the cold. And a hot meal as well, as soon as it’s possible for the cooks to get to work. Meantime see that each man on watch gets a mess-can of cocoa, even if the meal has to be delayed … and let them go below to drink it, in relays, if necessary. The engine room can probably produce sufficient steam-heated water for the cocoa with that distilling apparatus they’re so proud of, if the galley cannot—the tank was full yesterday and Ross complaining that no one would drink the stuff.”
Fox made a grimace. “It tastes quite foul. But flavored with cocoa, perhaps it will be drinkable.”
“I don’t think the men will object to it now,” Phillip said dryly. Swaying a little, as the ship rolled, he consulted his pocket watch. “I’d like the watch below to take their meal before they relieve the deck and then, if we do run into trouble, they’ll have some food inside them at least. The galley fire can be doused again before we attempt to enter the bay, if necessary. How are the soldiers getting on?”
Fox shrugged his broad shoulders. “A few seem to have found their sea-legs, sufficiently to bear a hand in mopping up but most of them are pretty miserable, I fear. And that includes the officers! I’ve only seen one ensign on his feet, although Major Leach did manage to pay them a brief visit during the Afternoon Watch. Poor fellow, he was as white as a sheet and could scarcely be described as ‘on his feet.’ But it was a gallant effort on his part, I must say. Durbanville, on the other hand, was conspicuous by his absence.”
They discussed one or two other matters and then left the charthouse together. Phillip, after an anxious look about him, braced himself against the still considerable force of the wind and, choosing his moment, crossed to the companionway and descended to his cabin. He changed into dry clothes, after towelling himself briskly to restore the circulation to his numb body, shaved as well as he could and then, having gulped down the mug of scalding coffee his steward brought him, went to pay a call on the injured men. He found all of them in good heart, including O’Leary, who displayed his heavily bandaged foot with a certain wry pride and who did not now appear to be in very much
discomfort. His breath exuded a strong smell of spirits and he gave Phillip a gap-toothed grin.
“Medical comforts, the Surgeon was sayin’ to me, sor. But when he gave me the glass and I smelt the strength of me tot, I was frightened near to death, for I thought he was plannin’ to take me foot off. I drank it down and then talked him out of that idea—and ’twas as well I did, sor, for now I’m feelin’ the benefit of it and not a twinge of pain at all.”
Phillip laughed. It was, he thought, typical of O’Leary and of other men of his kind. In peace time, a great many of them were labelled “Queen’s hard bargains,” but war—and in action—none could compare with them.
“You did a fine thing this afternoon, O’Leary,” he told the big Irishman. “When that foot heals, I’ll have a word with the Gunnery Officer about having you rated Gunner’s Mate. And if I’m not here, I’ll, see to it that whoever is appointed to command is informed of your behaviour.”
“That’s good of you, sor. But”—the seaman’s grin vanished—“I thought you were to be in command? Sure they’re not going to bring anyone in over your head, are they?”
“That remains to be seen,” Phillip evaded, conscious of the familiar ache in his throat as he visualized the possibility. O’Leary sat up belligerently, obviously intending to argue the point and, to avoid upsetting him, Phillip excused himself and went in search of Surgeon Fraser, whom he found ministering to Durbanville’s servant, a tall, fair-haired young guardsman who had suffered a fall.
He asked, when the soldier was dismissed, about O’Leary and saw Angus Fraser’s expression change. “I should have taken his foot off—it’s an appalling mess but like a damned fool, I let him persuade me not to. If gangrene sets in …” the doctor spread his small, neat hands in a despairing gesture. “Well, it’ll have to come off and probably his leg with it. But he’s quite a lad, that one, and he has his own cure in which he, at any rate, firmly believes. He asked for a second tot of whisky, when I had tidied the mess up a bit and, thinking he was in rather a deal of pain, I let him have his tot. And what do you suppose he did with it?”
“Well, knowing O’Leary, I imagine his action was original.” Phillip was smiling. “What did he do—pour it over the wound?”
The Surgeon inclined his balding head. “Aye, that’s precisely what he did, sir. And I’m fearing it will prove a waste of good whisky. Ah, well …” he sighed and turned to subject his visitor to a keen, professionally searching scrutiny. “How’s that leg of yours bearing up? You’ll have put quite a strain on it today, I’m thinking.”
“Don’t worry, Doctor—I’ve not felt it at all.”
“No doubt because you were numb with the cold,” Angus Fraser said tartly. “I’ll take a wee look, shall I, since you’re here?” He suited his action to his words, deaf to Phillip’s protestations that he felt perfectly fit, and was not satisfied until he had examined the old wound and applied a firm bandage to the leg. “There, that’ll be better, Commander Hazard. You’ll be wise not to neglect that leg, for if yon wound opens up again I will not be answerable for the consequences. How do you feel in yourself?”
“A trifle weary,” Phillip admitted. “As you must be too, Doctor—and hungry, now that I come to think about it. I’m going to the gunroom in the hope that the steward has been able to procure something for us to eat—are you coming?”
“Aye, I am.” The doctor rose, flexing his tired muscles. “What a day and what a gale! I cannot remember one like it, can you? Not for the first time, I’ve been asking myself why I was ever fool enough to come back to sea … and I had no answer. Is there any sign of that wind abating?”
“Mr Burnaby forecasts that it will moderate very soon and, as you know, he’s a fairly reliable weather prophet, so I’m praying that he’s right.” The two men made their way aft to the gunroom which, in a frigate, provided messing accommodation for officers of wardroom rank. “I’d like to seek the shelter of Eupatoria Bay tonight, if I can,” Phillip went on. “The wind is veering to the nor’ nor’ west and the glass has risen a fraction, so we may be better off there.”
“And you’ll be able to set the passengers ashore, will you not, sir?” Angus Fraser stood aside, holding open the gunroom door for Phillip to proceed him, a gleam of something that was not amusement in his eyes. “Including the delectable Lord Durbanville?”
“After you, Doctor.” Phillip waved him to the door. “Yes, there’s that,” he agreed. “And also the fact that, if we have another night under engines, our supply of coal will run dangerously low. As a sailing ship man, I hate to have to admit this but”—he shrugged—“our engines saved us today and I was very grateful that we had them. Entering the bay with our screw to assist us will not, I pray, prove to be too difficult—even if the wind shifts again to the sou’ west.”
“Then I’ll join my prayers to yours, Commander,” the Surgeon said, with mock piety. “For my patients’ sake and for my own. And now to eat—if we’re lucky!” He went into the gunroom and Phillip followed him.
They had, however, consumed only their first course when Midshipman Grey presented himself apologetically, cap under arm, with a message from Martin Fox.
“If you please, sir,” he said, addressing Phillip. “The First Lieutenant sent me to inform you that he has sighted what appear to be distress rockets, sir. They are a long way off on our port bow but he thought you would wish to know, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr Grey. Tell the First Lieutenant that I’ll join him right away.” Phillip was frowning. Distress rockets meant a ship in trouble and, with the Allied Navies supreme in the Black Sea, the ship would, in all probability, be either British or French. The coastal blockade deterred other merchant ships from venturing into these waters and …
“Begging your pardon, sir,” young Grey went on politely, “the First Lieutenant instructed me to ask that you finish your meal before coming on deck, sir. He will keep the flares under observation and report when he has been able to ascertain their origin and cause, sir.”
But Fox had been able to ascertain little more by the time Phillip rejoined him on the quarterdeck. He indicated from whence the flares appeared to have come and, from a study of the chart, it seemed probable that they had originated from a ship which had either been driven ashore or was in danger of going aground on the rocky coast fifteen or twenty miles west of Eupatoria Bay.
“There have been no more rockets sent up since I informed you of the sighting, sir,” the First Lieutenant said gravely. “Which could mean that she’s making for the bay—or that she’s foundered.”
“All the same,” Phillip decided, “I think we should investigate, don’t you? If she’s …” he broke off as, from a little further west than Fox had first seen the flares, a rocket rose to cleave a brightly lit path across the darkening sky. It was closely followed by a second and, his mind now firmly made up, he ordered a change of course. “Whoever she is, she’s still afloat and it would seem that she’s in need of assistance, so we had better get to her as fast as we can. Pipe hands aloft to make sail, if you please, Mr Fox. We’ll run in on the starboard tack under as much sail as she’s able to carry and then wear and approach her under engines.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Bo’sun’s Mate …” Martin Fox passed on the order and, as the pipe sounded, Phillip said, “When Mr Cochrane relieves you, Martin, go below and have your meal. I shall be here and I’ll send for you if necessary. It will take us a good hour to come up to her, even on this wind and I daren’t risk too much canvas …” he looked up at the towering masthead with narrowing eyes, before giving his instructions for sail to be set. “We shall have to watch that bowsprit … ease her a spoke or two when she sends, Quartermaster. And, Martin”—he turned again to his secondin-command—“you have at least an hour. Make the best use you can of it, understand?”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Fox permitted himself a brief smile. “Thank you, sir. I’m anxious to try the cocoa, I must confess!”
It was quite dark when Anthony C
ochrane relieved him and Phillip, as he explained the situation to the young watchkeeper, began to wonder how, in the inky blackness, it would be possible to locate the unknown ship which had sent up the distress rockets. And in the heavy sea that was still running, to put off boats to her, if he had to, would be a difficult and dangerous undertaking. Nevertheless, he knew that he could not ignore her call for help. If need be he could stand by her during the hours of darkness, keeping a safe distance off shore … again he glanced anxiously aloft, at the close reefed topsails, feeling the ship heel and shudder beneath his feet. The alert Cochrane ordered the yards trimmed but he, too, Phillip saw, was anxious. The wind had lost some of its fury and, on this tack, there was no risk of being driven on shore but occasional gusts still gave considerable cause for concern and when it became necessary to wear … he shivered, only partly from cold.
There was ample coal in the bunkers, he knew, to take the Trojan into Eupatoria Bay but a night spent outside, beating back and forth in order to keep within hailing distance of the stranded vessel, could not be risked without the help of the screw. Better, perhaps, to launch the boats and endeavour to take off her crew—although in darkness, on a hostile coast guarded by roving bands of Cossacks, this, too, would carry a high risk. Phillip started to pace the deck, wrestling with his problem but the ship again heeled violently and he was compelled to cling to the weather hammock netting to keep himself upright.
Half an hour passed, then three quarters of an hour and the wind, to his intense relief, unexpectedly moderated and a wan moon made its appearance from behind the scudding clouds. He rapped an order to the man at the helm and raised his night glass, searching for some sign of the unknown ship but, beyond glimpsing a line of foaming breakers a long way ahead, he could see nothing. She had not sent up any more flares, he thought. Could this mean that she had, after all, managed to weather the point and make for Eupatoria Bay? Or had her crew been forced to abandon her or, worse still, had she foundered and gone down, taking some or all of them with her? There was no means of knowing but he could not set the Trojan’s course for the bay until he had found an answer to the questions he had asked himself—could not and would not. He … suddenly, rising above the low moan of the wind and the creak of the ship’s straining timbers, there came the unmistakable sound of gunfire.