by V. A. Stuart
There could be no doubting his sincerity and Phillip thanked him, strangely moved by his admission.
The cutter was within hailing distance of the Trojan now and, from her deck an alert midshipman sang out a challenge. “Aye, aye … Trojan!” O’Hara answered, as tradition decreed, his reply an indication that the commander was aboard his boat. With a deft thrust of his tiller, he brought the cutter in below the entry port, at which the side party was mustering and, as Phillip swung himself up the accommodation ladder with the swift ease of long practise, Martin Fox came to meet him.
“Welcome aboard, sir!” he greeted formally but his face wreathed in smiles. “I see that you brought Captain Durbanville back. I’ll order a bo’sun’s chair rigged for him, shall I? Or can he be lifted aboard?”
“Better let the surgeon decide,” Phillip answered. “He’s with him. But perhaps you’d pass the word to Surgeon Fraser that he’s likely to require an immediate amputation, would you please? And then come to my cabin. I’m anxious to know what’s going on. Did you land our Marines?”
Fox inclined his head. “On orders from Bellerophon, yes, sir. And there’s a request from the garrison commander for seamen volunteers and guns … I’ll tell you about it when I come below … Major Leach, by the way, is fully recovered.”
Five minutes later, he joined Phillip in his cabin, the steward at his heels with a jug of coffee liberally laced with rum, and a plate bearing an appetizing piece of tongue. Fox waited until the man had set down his tray and then began his report.
“We made our number to the Bellerophon as we entered the anchorage, Phillip, and I informed Captain Paulet by signal that we carried troop reinforcements and information of an impending attack on the town by a large enemy force.”
“You did not go aboard the Bellerophon, then?” Phillip asked. The First Lieutenant shook his head.
“No. She ordered us by signal to anchor off the wharf, put our troops ashore and also our Marines, and to convey our report of enemy troop movements to Captain Brock immedi ately. I carried out these orders and sent Midshipman Grey ashore, with Major Leach in the first boat, so that he could make a full report on the enemy force you and he had observed to Captain Brock in person. I thought the Captain might wish to question an actual eyewitness. Grey is still ashore but since then I have received an officer of the garrison, who came aboard to express the thanks of his commander and, as I mentioned, to request any guns and seamen gunners we can spare, to assist in warding off the attack. It seems the garrison has been greatly depleted by sickness and also because Captain Brock has had to send four hundred Marines of the original defending force to Balaclava, on Lord Raglan’s orders.”
“I see.” Captain Dacres had told him this, Phillip recalled, frowning, when he had ordered the Trojan to Eupatoria.
“The Bellerophon has landed all her Marines,” Martin Fox went on. “And more than half her seamen. She is seriously undermanned and was, I gather, fortunate not to have been driven on shore in the storm, as the others were. You’ve seen how many, of course … the Henri Quatre among them.”
“Yes. It was a sickening sight,” Phillip agreed, conscious of a chill about his heart which even the scalding coffee could not dispel. “What answer did you give concerning our men and guns?”
Fox shrugged. “I did not commit myself—I felt the decision must be yours, Phillip. But I assured Lieutenant James, the officer from the garrison, that we would do everything in our power to help them. He volunteered the information that the position, before the gale struck, was sufficiently precarious for the Bellerophon, the Leander, and two of the steam frigates to have their boom-boats out, in constant readiness to evacuate the garrison, in the event of their being unable to hold the place. But”—his tone was grim—“as you probably noticed, all the Bellerophon’s boats have been swamped or have broken adrift, the Spiteful and the Cyclops are leaking badly and the Leander has suffered considerable damage. Most of the French transports, as well as five of ours, have been driven ashore and wrecked and the Turkish two-decker went down with all hands. If the garrison cannot hold off this attack, it looks very black for them, I fear. And from what young Grey told me, it’s likely to be an attack in very considerable force, is it not?”
“It is,” Phillip confirmed. He described briefly what he had observed from the summit of the escarpment. “They were a long way away, which made it very difficult to estimate numbers but I would put it at several thousand—five or six, possibly even more, since we may only have seen the van. Their advance was slow but, as no doubt Grey told you, I should expect them to reach here before nightfall. Perhaps even by late afternoon … which does not give us long to get our guns ashore, does it?”
“You’re going to send them ashore, then?” Martin Fox looked relieved. “They’ve asked for ten 32-pounders.”
“What else can we do?” Phillip was on his feet, shaking off his weariness. “We can’t give them support from the sea. Tell me, how is the wharf equipped? Are there sheers and can we bring the ship alongside, to enable us to use them?”
“There are sheers and I’m assured that the depth of water is more than sufficient for us. Lieutenant James can provide working parties to assist our men to haul the guns into position and—he’s an artilleryman, incidentally—he says he has a powder wagon and some horse-drawn carts, to take ammunition. He has also promised to send us horse teams for the guns. They’ll have to travel some distance.” Fox sighed. “From what James has told me, I understand that the defences consist of Captain Brock’s headquarters, a fortified house in the center of the town, and a series of palisades and earthworks extend ing from the lazaretto at the south-western end to the magazine, on the eastern extremity of the bay. He says they are soundly constructed, with loop-holing and breast-works and the gun positions are good, with plenty of sandbags and gabions.”
“Is he still on board?” Phillip demanded. “I’d like to find out how he proposes to site our guns.”
“He’s in the gunroom.” Fox, too, was on his feet, pushing impatiently at the bandage wound about his head and Phillip asked, “How is the head, Martin?”
“Causing me no trouble, except that the bandage keeps slipping and is an infernal nuisance. In any case, it was only a scratch.” Martin Fox turned, to meet Phillip’s gaze, his own suddenly apprehensive. “Phillip, our friendship has lasted for a good many years and has stood the test of time, has it not?”
“Of course it has. Why do you ask?”
“I am perfectly fit to be entrusted with command of the shore party, I give you my word,” Fox said earnestly. “And you, after all—”
“Did I question that, my dear fellow?” Phillip laid an affectionate hand on his arm. “You will also have to take charge of the landing of the guns, because I must repair aboard the Bellerophon to report myself to Lord George Paulet, seek his permission to disarm this ship and, as best I can, explain my absence from her quarterdeck when she made port. Call away my gig for me, would you please, while I have a quick word with Lieutenant James?”
Martin Fox flashed him a swift, boyish smile. “You will not have to explain your absence, Phillip—Captain Paulet is not aware of it.”
“Not aware of it? What do you mean, Martin?” Phillip stared at his second-in-command. “I don’t think I quite understand. Surely you informed the Bellerophon?”
“What do you take me for?” Fox was still smiling. “We’ve always covered up for each other, have we not, since we were mids? My signal to the Bellerophon was made in your name and I took the—er—liberty of instructing young Grey to make his report to Captain Brock also in your name. Correctly, I venture to suggest—he would have received no warning of attack had you been on the quarterdeck all day, would he?” The First Lieutenant moved to the door of the cabin and stood holding it open for Phillip to precede him. “After you, Commander. I will call away your gig and make a signal to the Bellerophon right away, sir. And perhaps, when you have spoken to Lieutenant James, you would be goo
d enough to tell me precisely how many guns we’re to land, so that I may volunteer their crews?”
“One moment, Martin.” Phillip held out his hand, conscious of an almost overwhelming relief. Good, loyal Martin … for what had he taken him? “I want to thank you.”
“Thank me for what?”
“I … for covering up for me. And for being the good friend that you are. I’m grateful, believe me.”
“I do. I also believe that you would have done the same for me, had our situations been reversed.” Martin Fox wrung the outstretched hand and then mumbled, suddenly embarrassed, “There’s no need for you to feel grateful, my dear Phillip. Not to me—I owe you a great deal. Er”—he looked down at the still half-filled cup and Phillip’s barely-touched plate. “I can send James to you here, while you finish your meal. Damn it, you must be famished!”
He was., Phillip realized. He resumed his seat, gulped down the contents of his cup and then refilled it. He was enjoying the tongue when Lieutenant James knocked on the cabin door to request admission.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Phillip was received kindly enough by Lord George Paulet but the Bellerophon’s Captain was deeply distressed by the loss of so many of the Allied ships under his command and could think or talk of little else. Even Phillip’s warning of the Russian advance on the town did not noticeably add to his gloom. He received it with a shrug of the shoulder and a resigned, “Well, this is only what both Captain Brock and I expected. If Lord Raglan had wanted us to hold this God-forsaken town, he would hardly have deprived us of the best fighting men in the garrison, would he? Damn it, Hazard, we had to send him three hundred and eighty Marines at the beginning of November … for the defence of Balaclava, I was given to understand. Balaclava!” He sighed. “Yet I hear rumours that it’s to be abandoned.”
Phillip murmured something, feeling acutely sorry for him.
“Normally I’d have been sorely tempted to advise Captain Brock and his garrison to abandon this place,” Paulet went on grimly. “And taken them aboard our ships. But how can I do that now? I haven’t sufficient ships left afloat to embark half Brock’s men—I haven’t even enough hands aboard my own ship to hoist in and repair my boats and the Leander is in much the same state. Believe it or not but I had to send a leak ing barge, with a crew of five, to take off some of the Henri Quatre’s people … and they all but sank crossing the anchorage! You saw the Henri Quatre— of course, on the beach?”
“Yes, sir, I did. I was … horrified, sir.”
Lord George Paulet spread his hands in a gesture of angry helplessness. “Well, I suppose, in the light of your report, Hazard, there’s only one course open to us. We shall have to do all in our power to assist Captain Brock’s garrison to repel the attack when it comes. Do you agree?”
Without hesitation, Phillip nodded. “I do, sir.”
“In my case, that means nothing—I’ve supplied Brock with every man and every gun I can spare. But … you’ve landed troop reinforcements and you say you’ve been asked for guns and ammunition, as well as crews?”
“Yes, sir,” Phillip confirmed. He enlarged on Lieutenant James’s request for aid and added diffidently, “I took the liberty, sir, of ordering my First Lieutenant to prepare to land ten of our 32-pounders, pending your lordship’s approval, since we haven’t much time to get them ashore and into position. But if you wish, I can countermand the order and—”
“No, no, you did the right thing,” Captain Paulet assured him. “We’re in a desperate position and, if you care to take the risk of landing your guns, you must do so … and good luck to you! Apart from the three small steam frigates, yours is the only fully-manned ship we have and perhaps I ought to advise you to hold her in an effective state … but what would be the use?” His tone was bitter. “If the garrison suffers defeat, we cannot evacuate them between us, can we? I don’t think I could stomach running out of here, with the few fit men that were able to reach me, and abandoning the wounded to the Cossacks. No, we must make a fight of it, we’ve no choice. I only hope your warning has come in time for the poor devils on shore to derive some benefit from it … though I hope still more, of course, that you were mistaken and, by some miracle, the Russians are in retreat to Perekop.”
“They did not look as if they were in retreat to me, sir,” Phillip was compelled to point out.
Lord George eyed him glumly. “Alas, I’m sure you are right, my dear Hazard … it was just wishful thinking on my part. We’re a thorn in Prince Menschikoff’s side—we always have been. He wants to drive us out of Eupatoria and, as doubtless those swine of Cossacks lost no time in telling him of our losses during the gale, he probably sees this as a heaven-sent opportunity to launch a full scale attack on us.”
“That seems more than likely, sir,” Phillip agreed, wondering how he could take his leave. Time was passing all too quickly. “My lord, with your permission—”
Lord George’s weary, anxious eyes met his. He said, as if Phillip’s words had not reached him, “You heard what happened to most of the unfortunate seamen who managed to swim ashore, after their ships foundered or broke up, did you not? The Cossacks shot them, firing down on them from the top of the cliffs—they shot unarmed, shipwrecked men, Hazard, in cold blood! We could see them from here, before the light went and again in the early morning, and we were helpless to intervene, fighting to keep our own ships afloat. I had three anchors down, including a sheet anchor, and this ship was rolling so heavily, her yard arms were under water! Only the offset saved us from going on shore ourselves and, as I told you, our boats were all smashed to bits. There was nothing we could do to stop those infernal Cossacks, who massacred hundreds of poor fellows, right under our noses—they even fired on the few boats we were able to send to the rescue. But of course—you experienced the same thing, when you went to the rescue of that Frenchman, didn’t you?”
“Er—yes, sir.” Phillip wondered from whom the Bellerophon’s Captain could have heard this story and, answering his unvoiced question, Lord George Paulet smiled for the first time since receiving his visitor. “The Rapide brought-to almost across my bows, in order to give me a glowing account—in French and through his speaking trumpet, on the part of the Master—of what you and your people had done for him. It was the one heartening piece of news I’ve had since this infernal gale struck and I shall see that the Commander-in-Chief bears about it at the first opportunity, Hazard. I shall be sending a despatch to him by the Cyclops, if and when she is able to sail but I decided to delay until I can acquaint the Admiral with the news that our garrison has repulsed this latest attack. If the attack is not repulsed there will, I am afraid, be no despatch from here.”
“No despatch, sir?” Phillip echoed uncertainly.
“No, my boy.” The tired eyes lit with a defiant gleam. “Because I shall not be here to send it. I cannot put to sea, with most of my crew ashore. My only course will be to bring the Bellerophon close in and use what guns she has left to batter the defences into ruins, with as many of their captors as possible cowering behind them. Ah well …” he rose, holding out his hand across the immaculately polished cabin table. “I had best let you go, so that you can land those guns of yours. Your ship is moored to the wharf, you said?”
“Yes, sir.” Phillip also rose.
“Then leave her there, under a strong guard and with steam up, in case all does not go well,” the captain ordered. “If you need coal, there’s plenty—if you have men to load it and you’ll have—what, eighteen or twenty guns still aboard?” He asked a few more brief questions and then nodded. “Then the Trojan will take off as many of the garrison as can reach her, if the attack cannot be beaten off, and the steam frigates can do the same. Those are the only instructions I can give you, Hazard. You will want to go ashore with your guns’ crews, I imagine?”
Phillip’s heart leapt and he said eagerly, “With your lordship’s permission, yes indeed.”
“For what it is worth, you have my permission,” Pa
ulet said. “You seem to be the sort of fellow the garrison needs … perhaps you and your guns may contrive to tip the scales in their favour, who knows?” His handshake was firm and he added, as he walked with Phillip to the door of his cabin, “Place yourself under Captain Brock’s orders and offer him my best wishes, when you see him. Au revoir, Hazard—and good luck!”
When Phillip returned once more to the Trojan, the work of unshipping the thirty-two-pounder guns from her starboard battery was proceeding apace. His seamen, assisted by a party of soldiers and a few Marine artillerymen from the garrison, were going about their task with a will and already, he saw, half-a-dozen guns stood on their wheeled carriages on the wharf, rigged with slings and lines for towing. Two others were being hauled along one of the narrow streets of the picturesque little town by teams of men—some of them Tartar townsmen, he realized with surprise—and three horse-drawn ammunition wagons, fully laden, moved off as he climbed from his gig on to the wharf.
Martin Fox, seeing him, came hurrying over to join him. “All’s going well, sir,” he reported formally. “James promised to supply horse teams for the guns but, as they haven’t appeared yet, I called for volunteers in the hope of saving a little time. Ah!” he broke off, pointing. “Here come the horses now … and they look like captured Cossack ponies, don’t they?” He called out an order to Lieutenant Sutherland, the Gunnery Officer, and then turned back to Phillip, smiling. “Sutherland’s in his element. He’s been to inspect the defences and says the engineers are working like beavers, preparing sites for the guns. With a little luck and if those Cossack horses put their backs into it, we may have them in position before the enemy even sight the town.”