by V. A. Stuart
“No, sir. We rode out the gale at sea, under our engines, as you advised the Resolute to endeavour to do. We lost one of our sixty-eight-pounders, when it broke loose on the quarterdeck and we were unable to secure it, and we shipped several tons of water but that was all. We were in less danger, as it happened, than the ships at the Eupatoria anchorage, which suffered almost as severely as you did here …” Phillip supplied details, while Captain Dacres continued to regard him with incredulously raised brows.
“I’m glad to hear the Bellerophon is safe but … you say the Henri Quatre was wrecked! Dear God, a three-decker, less than five years off the stocks and a steam-screw at that, anchored in a protected roadstead … it’s unbelievable! Do you hear what the boy’s saying, Leo? Perhaps, after all, we have less to reproach ourselves with than I had imagined, for at least we did not lose our only liner. Tell me more, Hazard—how did the Henri Quatre run on shore? And were Bellerophon and Leander able to send boats to her aid?”
“Forgive me, sir,” Captain Heath intervened, “but I suggested that Hazard should make his full report when the Admiral joins us. Evidently he has quite a story to tell.”
“Evidently. Well, Mr Hazard, we will wait to hear it until the Admiral comes aboard but, in the meantime, I must congratulate you on preserving the Trojan undamaged.” Captain Dacres eyed him with approval. “Captain Crawford will be immensely relieved to know that his ship is safe.”
“I … did you say Captain Crawford, sir?” Phillip was aware that his voice sounded unnaturally loud but the mention of Captain Crawford’s name had come as an unexpected shock. Yet it should not really have been unexpected, he chided himself—it had always been on the cards that Trojan’s Captain would return to resume his command. He had even discussed the possibility with poor Martin before he died “Is he—is the Captain here, sir?”
“Indeed he is—did not Captain Heath tell you? The Avon brought him, a few hours after you sailed for Eupatoria … fully recovered, I am glad to say. And he reproached me very bitterly for having sent his ship out into the teeth of the gale with—forgive me, Mr Hazard—a comparatively inexperienced junior officer in acting command. But …” the port commander smiled. “I can only suppose that he does not know you well or realize your professional competence. Perhaps you did not serve under him for long?”
“I have not served under Captain Crawford at all, sir,” Phillip began. “You see, sir …” he was interrupted by a midshipman, who entered, cap in hand, to announce that the Admiral had been sighted.
“I will receive him, sir,” Leopold Heath offered but his senior obstinately shook his head. “Good God, Leo, I’m still capable of dragging myself to my own entry port and, as long as I am, I won’t have you trying to molly-coddle me. All the same, I shall be grateful for your arm … wait for us here, if you please, Mr Hazard. And you’ll dine with us, of course?”
“Thank you, sir.” Phillip waited, containing his impatience and wondering whether Captain Crawford—who had also served as a midshipman under Sir Edmund Lyons in the thirties—would be with him. He heard the shrill sound of the boatswain’s mates’ pipes, as the Admiral was paid the customary honors and, a little later, the sound of voices on the deck outside. He recognized the Admiral’s and then, as the cabin door opened, heard Captain Dacres say, with deep feeling, “Thank God … and thank you, sir! You have taken a well-nigh unbearable burden off my shoulders.”
From his face, and that of Leopold Heath, which was wreathed in smiles, Phillip guessed that the Admiral had somehow contrived to persuade Lord Raglan to change his mind concerning the need to evacuate Balaclava—a guess which was confirmed, when Sir Edmund Lyons answered gravely, “I’ve won you a respite, my dear Sidney, and for the moment, that is all it is. But we must continue to hope … I had strong backing from Sir Colin Campbell this morning, incidentally. His support turned the scales in our favour. But it will cost us forty more heavy guns for the Naval Brigade.”
“A small price, sir, in my view,” Dacres assured him.
“A view the Commander-in-Chief is unlikely to share but … I agree.” Admiral Lyons, too, was smiling. He looked chilled and tired, Phillip thought—as well he might, after the long ride from Lord Raglan’s farmhouse headquarters on the Heights—but, as always, his courage and optimism were infectious. Even Captain Dacres, sick man though he was, seemed to take on a fresh lease of life in the Admiral’s presence as now, almost cheerfully, he motioned Phillip to join him. “Mr Hazard, sir, who has been in acting command of the Trojan and has just come from Eupatoria. By a remarkable feat of seamanship, he took her, with troop reinforcements for Captain Brock, to Eupatoria, when the gale was at its height, and safely made port with, I understand, only the loss of a single gun. He has a report for you, sir.”
“I am quite sure he has! Well, my dear Phillip, I am delighted to see you.” The Admiral’s handshake was warm, his blue eyes affectionate as they rested on Phillip’s face. “You shall regale me with an account of your adventures as we eat. I breakfasted before dawn, and, I confess, I am devilish hungry now … but it was worth the inconvenience of an uncomfortable ride in the darkness. You will have gathered, no doubt, from all the smiling faces about you, that we are—for the time being, at any rate—to continue to hold and to the best of our ability, defend Balaclava?”
“Yes, sir,” Phillip assured him. “It is quite a victory, sir.”
“A small victory,” Admiral Lyons amended. “But it had to be won, and the panic counsellors defeated, not for the first time, as you will recall.” He accepted a glass of Madeira from his host. “Jack told me he had seen you in Constantinople, Phillip. It is a great joy to me to have him here … in fact, I have shifted my flag to the Miranda temporarily, so that we can catch up with each other’s news and enjoy each other’s company for a short while.” He raised his glass. “Did he give you any of this stuff?”
“Indeed he did, sir, and it was much appreciated.” Phillip glanced round, seeing many familiar faces among the members of the Admiral’s Staff. Captain Crawford, however, was not among them and Sir Edmund, as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud, said, eyeing him quizzically, “If you are looking for your Captain, I fear you will be disappointed. We saw the Trojan as we rode down from the Heights and, when we reached the harbour, I offered him the use of my barge, so that be might go out to her. No doubt, in your absence, your First Lieutenant will do the honors.”
“My First Lieutenant was killed, sir,” Phillip told him quietly. “He was mortally wounded during an enemy attack on Eupatoria and—”
“An attack on Eupatoria?” The Admiral asked, with a swift change of tone.
“Yes, sir. It was successfully repulsed, sir.”
“Tell me about it, Phillip.”
Phillip took the despatches with which he had been entrusted from the breast pocket of his frock coat. “From Captain Brock, sir, for you. And I have a personal letter for you from Lord George Paulet. The Cyclops was sent to the Fleet anchorage, sir, with full reports for the Commander-in-Chief.”
The Admiral thanked him and read the letters, his white brows furrowed. Over dinner, he kept Phillip at his side and questioned him minutely, with Dacres and Leopold Heath occasionally interposing queries of their own.
Afterwards, the talk became general and was of Balaclava and its defences, of Fleet news and then, inevitably, of the storm and the appalling losses it had caused, Phillip’s news of the loss of the Henri Quatre evoking murmurs of shocked disbelief from those who had not been aware of it.
The meal over, the Admiral and his staff lingered for only a short while. Sir Edmund took Captain Dacres aside, talking to him earnestly in a low voice. Phillip, in common with the rest, had no idea what was the result of their conversation but Leopold Heath confided, as the Admiral prepared to make his departure, “He is trying to persuade Dacres to take sick leave … and I hope, more than I can say, that he will agree to do so. Not, let me hasten to add, that I am anxious to succeed him as commander of this
port but because I am very much afraid that, if he stays here much longer, it will be the death of him. You’ve seen how desperately ill he is.”
“Yes, I have, sir,” Phillip agreed sympathetically and Captain Heath gave vent to a long sigh. “Well, the Admiral must have been at his most persuasive this morning, to have talked Lord Raglan and the Generals round, so let us hope he will be equally successful with my chief. Incidentally, talking of chiefs, Hazard, now that yours has returned to resume command of the Trojan, have you any idea of what your next appointment will be? Has the Admiral said anything about your rejoining his Staff? Because should you be unemployed, I would be more than pleased to apply for your services, if I do take over from Captain Dacres. You would not be at sea, of course, but you would be reasonably certain of promotion and, from my point of view, a capable assistant, who isn’t afraid of work, would be a great asset. Think about it, will you?”
“Thank you very much indeed, sir,” Phillip answered, with genuine gratitude. “The Admiral has said nothing concerning my future, so I don’t yet know what he may require of me—if he requires anything at all. But, until he does, I think perhaps I had better go back to the Trojan and pay my belated respects to Captain Crawford.”
“Yes, perhaps you had. Au revoir, Hazard, and good luck to you.” Captain Heath clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Remember there’s a berth for you here, if you need one … the only thing I cannot promise is that you will enhance your popularity if you accept it!”
Phillip thanked him again and found himself wondering, as he joined the rear of the procession which had formed up to escort Admiral Lyons to his barge, whether the Admiral now had any need for him on his personal Staff. His previous appointment to the Agamemnon had been temporary—almost as temporary, he thought regretfully, as his command of the Trojan had been … and, perhaps, even his acting rank which had not, as far as he knew, been confirmed. For his promotion to become official, Admiral Dundas, as Commander-in-Chief, had to recommend it to Their Lordships and, if be had failed to do so, then … he shrugged resignedly. He was back where he had started, as the Trojan’s First Lieutenant, since poor Martin’s death had left the appointment unfilled, although this, too, would depend on whether or not Captain Crawford wished to retain his services. Crawford might have an officer of his own choice in mind or he might prefer to promote Duncan Laidlaw. Judging by what he had said to Captain Dacres on the subject of inexperienced junior officers, he …
“Phillip! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Hold hard.” Phillip turned to find the Admiral’s nephew and Flag-Lieutenant at his elbow. “The Admiral wants you.” Lieutenant Algernon Lyons grinned, enjoying his surprise. He had succeeded Cowper Coles as Flag-Lieutenant and was an efficient and extremely pleasant young man, whom everyone liked. He laid a hand on Phillip’s arm. “What were you trying to do—slip off to the Trojan, without as much as an adieu to any of us? Aren’t you interested in your new command, my dear chap?”
“My … my what?” Phillip stared at him incredulously. “Algy, did you say command?”
“I did indeed. Didn’t my uncle mention it at dinner?”
“No.”
“Well, he intended to and I know he wants to tell you himself, so I won’t spoil it. But look lively, there’s a good fellow—we’re late and he’s had a pretty tiring day.”
Feeling a trifle dazed, Phillip followed him to where the Admiral was taking courteous leave of Captain Dacres. “Ah, Phillip …” Lyons motioned him to board the waiting barge, “We will take you out to the Trojan. I have some news for you.”
As the barge pulled away, skimming swiftly across the evil-smelling water of the inner harbour, the Admiral said, “I had intended to tell you during dinner that the Commanderin-Chief has endorsed my recommendation for your promotion, but we were interrupted.”
“Thank you very much, sir. I am deeply indebted to you, believe me, for I do not think the Commander-in-Chief would have approved my promotion without your backing, sir.” Phillip tried to swallow the lump which had risen suddenly in his throat. “After Captain North’s death, sir, the Admiral told me, that—”
Sir Edmund Lyons cut him short. “Nonsense, my dear boy, that is all in the past. You have more than earned a step in rank and you seem also to have proved, during the last week or two, that you are capable of holding a command of your own. Well, I am going to give you one.” He smiled. “Admiral Dundas has accorded me the privilege of choosing some of the Captains who, in future, will be serving under me. You know, of course, that I am to succeed him as Commander-in-Chief when he hauls down his flag?”
The lump in his throat vanished and Phillip echoed his smile. “Yes, sir.” The transfer of command would, he knew, be welcomed enthusiastically by every officer and seaman in the Black Sea Fleet, for the Rear-Admiral was their hero. “When, sir?”
“Sooner than I had expected, Phillip—probably before the end of December.” The Admiral spoke quietly and, for an unguarded instant, a flicker of what might have been reluctance or even fear shone in his blue eyes. But it swiftly faded. “Looking back on a life of responsibilities not always courted but, please God, never shrunk from, this will be the heaviest responsibility of all. I can only pray that I shall be worthy of the trust reposed in me by Her Majesty’s Government and by the men I shall command.” He broke off and then went on, with a change of tone, “There will be a number of changes in the composition of the Fleet. Some of the sailing ships-of-theline will be sent home—Britannia, Trafalgar, Queen, and London—and they will be replaced by steam-screws. The Royal Albert is to be sent out to receive my flag and, I hope, she will be joined by Captain Keppel’s St Jean d’Acre and Lord Clarence Paget’s Princess Royal, from the Baltic Fleet. In addition to steam ships-of-the-line, I have long urged Sir John Graham and Their Lordships to send us more light draught sloops and gunboats of the Arrow class, for these, as you know, are ideal for the type of operation called for in these waters. We should have a respectable number of them by spring, when it is my intention not only to blockade the enemy’s ports but to attack and, where possible, seize them.”
Phillip’s heart lifted, quickening its beat. For too long, he thought, the Black Sea Fleet had been inactive, its ships of war used to transport troops and stores, to protect convoys, to beat wearily back and forth outside Odessa and Kertch, as well as Sebastopol, in an attempt—not always a hundred per cent successful—to disrupt the enemy’s sea-borne trade and prevent them from sending troop reinforcements to Prince Menschikoff.
“My son Jack has his heart set on leading a small steam squadron into the Sea of Azoff when it is free of ice,” the Admiral continued, a note of paternal pride sounding briefly in his voice. “He has already drawn up a plan of operation, with which I can find no fault—provided we get the sloops and gunboats for which I have asked. Menschikoff obtains vast supplies of grain and stores, as well as troops, by road from that area and will be able to hold Sebastopol indefinitely if his supply route remains unmolested. Well, we shall molest it, we shall molest all his communications! Given a number of small, fast, heavily armed squadrons of sloops and gunboats, driven by steam, we can harass the enemy from Odessa to Trebizond, Phillip, and make a valuable contribution to the successful conclusion of this war. At present, apart from supplying men and guns for the siege and ferrying troops we are, as a battle Fleet, contributing little. As I say, it is my hope that in the spring there will be a significant change in the composition of the Fleet, as well as in the part it will play …” he talked on of the future and of the plans he was endeavouring to make and Phillip listened eagerly, as the barge crew propelled their craft with deep, even strokes of their long oars, down the narrow inlet beneath the shadow of the towering red sandstone cliffs which hemmed it in and then into the open sea, steering towards the line of anchored ships silhouetted against the glow of the setting sun.
Two ships had joined the line since he had brought the Trojan in, Phillip noticed, and one of these caught and held
his eye. She was a steam-screw sloop-of-war, ship rigged and ram bowed, of sturdy rather than graceful design, with a tall, slender funnel sat at an angle between her main and foremasts and her boats on davits astern and on either quarter. In the fading light he could not see much more but, in view of what the Admiral had just been telling him of the request to the Board of Admiralty for light draught steam-screws with a comparatively heavy armament, his interest quickened. She was new, her design differing in several respects from those with which he was familiar but on the whole, he decided, he liked the look of her. She might lack the beautiful lines of a Symonite sailing brig but she was workmanlike and compact, obviously ideal for the type of operation which the future Commander-in-Chief was planning. As he stared at her with rapt attention, Admiral Lyons laid a hand on his shoulder and the barge crew, at a crisp order from their commander, rested on their oars.
“Her Majesty’s sloop Huntress, Phillip,” the Admiral said. “The first of her class to be built at Woolwich and, I most fervently trust, the first of many to join my flag before spring. She carries two 68-pounders on slide carriages and twelve 32s …” he went into technical details, to which not only Phillip but the rest of his officers listened with approving interest. Then, smiling, he requested the barge commander to go alongside the new sloop, and turned to Phillip. “Well, do you like her?”
“Indeed I do, sir, very much,” Phillip assured him enthusiastically.
“Her commander unhappily died on the voyage from England, so I am appointing you in his place, Phillip. Go aboard and read your commission at once—you can make your farewells to the Trojan later.” Still smiling, Admiral Lyons waved aside his stammered thanks. “I shall make time to inspect you as soon as I can but now I have a mountain of paperwork awaiting me on board my own ship, so I shall not tarry. God go with you, boy.”