The Valiant Sailors

by V. A. Stuart

  This so far surpassed anything achieved at gunnery practice hitherto that Phillip sent for the gunnery officer, Henry Sutherland—a young Mate, recently promoted to the acting rank of Lieutenant—and offered his congratulations. Sutherland, who had suffered frequently under the lash of North’s tongue during the past eleven days, when his guns’ crews had fallen short of the Captain’s expectations, flushed with pleasure and stammered his thanks.

  “I had begun to fear that it was I who had failed, sir,” he confided. “I lack experience, I know, and I thought it must be for this reason that the men were making such a poor showing. But today … today they were good, weren’t they?”

  “They were very good indeed, Mr Sutherland,” Phillip assured him. “In view of which we’ll give all hands a ‘make and mend’ this afternoon … and you may tell your guns’ crews that it is they who have earned it. Mr Fox …”

  “Sir?”

  “Send hands to dinner at eight bells and then have ‘make and mend’ piped for the watch below.”

  The pipe was received with subdued cheering, for it meant that, for the first time since they had left England, the watch below would have no duties to perform and would be free to smoke in their messes, sleep if they wished, and write letters home.

  The gunroom dined at two o’clock at sea and Mademoiselle Sophie, accompanied by the Baroness von Mauthner and escorted by one of the gunroom stewards, presented herself at the appointed hour, to be received with respectful enthusiasm by the members of the mess. They all stood until their guests were seated and their behaviour, Phillip observed approvingly was—as Martin Fox had promised—exemplary.

  Each officer who possessed a private store of food had contributed something to the feast and the cook, given such an abundance of provisions, had excelled himself. The soup, although basically the usual concoction made from stewed salt “junk,” had been appetisingly flavoured with spices and, as alternatives to the inevitable curried beef of uncertain age or boiled salt pork, there were potted lobster and shrimps, sardines and pâté, and boiled rice, instead of mashed ship’s biscuit.

  The Baroness von Mauthner, obviously suspicious at first of the invitation and what acceptance of it might imply, was considerably mollified when she found that, in addition to the young officers she had expected, there were a number of her vintage. At table, she sat between Surgeon Fraser and the paymaster, John Oliphant, a man of sixty, who had travelled widely in India, having served at one time in the Bombay Marine.

  Seated opposite her, she had the reassuring sight of the Master’s snowy white head and, not far away, the balding one of the Captain of Marines, Alexander Murray, who was in command of the draft of Marine artillerymen. After a while, mellowed by the good food and wine and enjoying the conversation of her neighbours, she ceased to watch her charge as closely as she had at the beginning of the meal and Mademoiselle Sophie took full advantage of her temporary freedom from supervision.

  Phillip had placed her on his own right hand, at the far end of the table from the Baroness, with Anthony Cochrane on her other side and Laidlaw and Sutherland opposite. Within a few minutes, she was talking to them gaily, her dark eyes sparkling and the lovely, sensitive mouth curving into a smile as she looked from one to another of the faces grouped about her. The young officers fell swift victims to her charm and she accepted their homage shyly, asking them eager questions and listening to the answers they gave her with the same rapt attention that, Phillip recalled, she had displayed during their train journey, when he had told her about the voyages he had made.

  Seeing her enjoyment and watching for the reappearance of her smile, he was glad that she had come, glad that Martin Fox had been so insistent in his suggestion that she should be asked to do so. Up till now, he thought, the voyage could not have offered her much in the way of entertainment … just the Captain’s company and the confines of the screened-off portion of his day cabin allocated for her use, with an occasional walk on deck with the Baroness, under his escort. She was very young to be kept thus a prisoner and forced to hold herself aloof from the sort of young, high-spirited companionship in which she was now so obviously delighting … too young, surely, and too eager for life for it to be anything but a hardship?

  He sighed, wondering again who she was and why their Lordships of the Admiralty should have sent her with the Trojan to Constantinople … why it should be necessary to convey her there so urgently and what was to be her fate when she eventually left the ship and went ashore. Could she be of royal birth, as Martin Fox had half-jokingly suggested … a princess or an archduchess, hiding her real identity behind the name of Mademoiselle Sophie? It was possible, Phillip supposed since, if she were, this would explain why she was so closely guarded and why a British frigate had been put at her disposal by the Admiralty. It would also explain why he himself had been sent to escort her from London but … he frowned and, abandoning speculation, gave himself up to the pleasure of watching her and listening to her laughter. Soon, he reflected, she would be gone and it was highly improbable that he would ever see her again, whoever she was and whatever the mystery surrounding her… .

  At a little after seven bells, he went on deck to relieve Martin Fox, who had the Afternoon Watch.

  “Well?” Fox asked, when the formalities of handing over the watch had been completed. “How fares the gunroom reception for our royal passengers?”

  “It is an unqualified success,” Phillip told him. “Go and see for yourself … you deserve to, since the idea of holding it was yours. The port is still being circulated and my chair, beside the chief guest, is vacant … so I suggest you delay no longer.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” Fox acknowledged, smiling. “That is an order I’m only too delighted to obey. And with your permission, Mr Hazard, I intend to offer myself as escort to our young lady of mystery when it is time for her to take her evening stroll on deck. Since the Captain is still indisposed and your duties are, in consequence, very arduous, it would seem incumbent on me to volunteer my services. But, of course, if you …”

  Phillip shook his head. “Volunteer away, Mr Fox, with my blessing. But you may find you have a rival … I’ve told young Laidlaw that I’ll keep the First Dog and won’t require him and I do not think he plans to spend the evening on make and mend. Also, remember if you please, you will have to escort mademoiselle’s duenna as well and I do not advise you to try to elude her, in the circumstances.”

  “Of course, sir, I wouldn’t dream of it. I seek only to solve the riddle of mademoiselle’s identity, in any case … a mystery always intrigues me. But …” Fox prepared to go below, “I will let you know what I’m able to discover.”

  Dusk was closing in when he returned to the quarterdeck and the Baroness von Mauthner was with him, her hand resting on his arm. “Ah, Lieutenant Hazard!” Seeing Phillip, she accorded him an unusually affable greeting. “I have to thank you,” she went on, lapsing into French, “for your most generous hospitality. Your officers are most charming and I have spent a very entertaining afternoon in their company … mademoiselle also. And you are very thoughtful to have arranged for Lieutenant Fox to take me for my evening promenade … I had feared, you see, that in the absence of your Captain I might have to forego it.”

  “It is a pleasure to serve you, madame,” Phillip told her, in English. He was careful to avoid Martin Fox’s eye as he added, “Mr Fox will, I know, always be happy to offer you his escort, any time you wish, until the Captain recovers. You have only to ask.”

  “You are mos’ kind, Mr Hazard … really mos’ kind.”

  “Not at all.” Phillip continued to regard them both gravely. “But where is Mademoiselle Sophie? Is she not taking an evening walk also?”

  “Mademoiselle Sophie is fatigued,” the Baroness explained. “I have taken her to her cabin, so that she may rest a little. But now I must continue my own promenade or my kind escort will become impatient. Au revoir, Lieutenant Hazard.” She gave him a gracious inclination of the head and
departed on the arm of her escort, Phillip hiding a smile, as he glimpsed the expression on Martin Fox’s face.

  After evening quarters, when he had the men standing to their guns, he again dismissed the watch below and, for the first time since leaving Plymouth, heard them dancing and singing to a fiddler for over an hour before they turned in. It was a happy sound and Phillip listened to it with gratitude and relief, remaining on deck to do so, although he had been relieved by Anthony Cochrane, who had taken over the watch. He had been leaning, lost in thought, on the quarterdeck rail for some time when he heard the faint tip-tap of a woman’s footsteps and turned, in surprise, to see Mademoiselle Sophie crossing the deck towards him. She was heavily muffled in a dark cloak and, as she reached him, put a finger to her lips to enjoin his silence.

  “Mademoiselle …” Phillip’s voice was low. “What are you doing here?”

  She looked up at him, smiling. “I came for a breath of air before retiring, Mr Hazard. For that and … to thank you for this afternoon. I enjoyed myself so much. You would not believe what a pleasure it was for me to meet your officers, to talk to them, to … to laugh with them. I so seldom have the opportunity to …” she broke off, biting her lower lip. “I liked them—they were all so kind to me and they have such good manners.”

  “I’m glad you liked them, mademoiselle. But …” Phillip looked round uncertainly, expecting to see the Baroness. “You’ve come up here alone?”

  “I … yes, I am alone. ” Mademoiselle Sophie lowered her gaze. “The Baroness von Mauthner is asleep, I did not want to disturb her. But I heard your sailors singing …” She gestured in the direction of the forecastle. “So I came. I … it is all right for me to come to this deck in the evening, is it not? The Captain permitted it and I did not think that you would mind.”

  “I do not mind, mademoiselle. But—”

  “But you are in command of the ship whilst the Captain is indisposed, are you not?” she challenged, looking at him then.

  “Yes,” he affirmed, “I am in command. But I am responsible to the Captain, responsible for carrying out his orders and … I don’t think that he would approve of your being here by yourself, mademoiselle.”

  “You would tell him?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Then,” she asked composedly, “why should it matter, Mr Hazard? So long as you do not tell him.”

  He sighed and she went on quickly, her smile returning and the dark eyes bright, “I think perhaps you are doing other things of which you do not intend to tell the Captain, Mr Hazard … and I think also that everyone is pleased and thankful because of this. They are all much happier when you are commanding the ship—why, the sailors are singing, are they not? I have never heard them sing before, not once. And the Baroness and I have had a most delightful day.”

  Phillip flushed scarlet. “Mademoiselle, I assure you—” he began but she interrupted him. “In my opinion, for the little that it is worth, I consider it a pity that you cannot command it—her, I mean—all the time, Mr Hazard!”

  There was no adequate answer to such a statement and he found himself echoing her smile. “To express such opinions on board a British ship-of-war is tantamount to mutiny, Mademoiselle Sophie! I cannot listen to you … indeed, if I were to adhere strictly to my duty, I should order your arrest and hold you, under heavy guard, in your cabin until the Captain is able to deal with you.”

  “And then, I suppose”—her tone was unexpectedly bitter— “he would order me to be flogged, like your brother.”

  Phillip was silent and Mademoiselle Sophie added gently, “I did not intend that as a reproach, Mr Hazard.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am quite sure,” she answered promptly. “I have seen enough of your naval discipline—and of Captain North— to realize that you could do nothing to help your brother. That was why I intervened …” He attempted to express his thanks but again she cut him short. “I ran no risk,” she told him, “and I knew that Captain North would listen to me, that he would take heed of what I said. The only thing that frightened me a little was that I had to show myself in front of all those men, that I had to walk past them all. I hesitated, I … waited, hoping that the Surgeon would succeed in having the flogging stopped. But when he did not, then I was left with no choice— I had to show myself.”

  “Then you saw it all?”

  “The flogging? Yes.” She shuddered. “It was horrible! I … how is your brother, Mr Hazard? I have enquired for him almost daily but no one could tell me.”

  “He is recovering, mademoiselle,” Phillip said, conscious of shame. “The Surgeon cared for him well and he is now fit for light duty. I have arranged, since he is a competent navigator, for him to assist the Master. In a day or so, if you would care to receive his thanks, I know he would welcome the opportunity to tell you himself how much he appreciated your courageous intervention on his behalf.”

  “I should like to talk to him, Mr Hazard, I … tell me about him, will you not?” She asked a number of questions, which Phillip answered as explicitly as he could and he saw her face soften in pity as she listened. To his relief, however, Mademoiselle Sophie did not pursue the subject.

  “I must go,” she said, looking at the tiny gold fob watch pinned to her dress. “It is late and, as you say, the Captain would not approve of my being here at this hour by myself. But I am glad to have had this talk with you, Mr Hazard.”

  “I am glad also,” Phillip assured her, with sincerity. He offered her his arm. “Permit me to take you below.”

  “You are not busy?”

  “No, not at the moment. I have, in any case, to make Rounds very soon, which will necessitate my leaving the deck. So …” She accepted his proffered arm, smiling up at him again. “Then thank you, Mr Hazard. I should be grateful for your escort.”

  Phillip took leave of her outside her cabin, feeling a warm glow in his heart when she asked him, with charming diffidence, if she and the Baroness might again take their mid-day meal in the gunroom.

  “Of course, mademoiselle … nothing would give us more pleasure.”

  “You are very kind … it will give me a great deal of pleasure, too. Good night, Mr Hazard. A demain!”

  “A demain, Mademoiselle Sophie … good night.”

  2

  The next morning, Friday, Phillip exercised both watches aloft after Divisions and was well satisfied with the manner in which the men worked.

  There was a fresh south-westerly breeze and Trojan, under a press of sail, ran briskly through the Cerigo passage. Logging eleven knots, she passed between the two Greek islands of Zea and Therima in brilliant sunshine, with scarcely a cloud in the sky. The weather appeared to be set fair but the glass was falling and the wind showing a tendency to shift and, from previous experience of the Greek Archipelago at this time of year, Phillip knew that the lovely scene could very quickly change to one of grey, storm-wracked desolation. He was uneasy and, as a precaution, ordered steam to be got up. Within twenty minutes of his issuing this order, however, the Chief Engineer came on deck in a state of some distress, to inform him apologetically that a piston had broken right across and that it would be necessary to disconnect the screw, while repairs were effected.

  “How long will your repairs take, Mr Forgan?” Phillip asked, careful to keep his feelings hidden.

  The Chief Engineer mopped his heated brow with a scrap of cotton waste. “At least four to five hours, Mr Hazard,” he answered. “But …” He gestured to the blue, cloudless sky. “Let’s hope you won’t need the engines until we enter the Dardanelles. I can guarantee you’ll have them then.”

  The glass continued to fall throughout the morning and, before going below for dinner at two o’clock, Phillip studied the chart with the Master. The Doro passage had yet to be made and he warned Martin Fox, who had the Afternoon Watch, to give Cape Kafirevs a wide berth and to call him, should there be any deterioration in the weather. Although the sun was still shining as b
rightly as ever, some instinct led him, as an added precaution, to order double breechings rove on the guns, further securing these with tackles.

  “Keep as much sail on her as you can,” he advised, “but if it looks squally, shorten sail at once. I don’t like the way that glass is behaving.”

  The message he’d been half-expecting all morning reached him just as he was finishing his meal. Martin Fox sent the midshipman of the watch to inform him that the wind was increasing and veering to the east and a heavy sea getting up. Having warned both passengers to remain in the gunroom, Phillip left them in the Surgeon’s care and hurried back on deck, to find the sky ominously overcast and a squall in the offing. The watch, under Fox’s instructions, were aloft taking in sail and sending down topgallant yards, when the main-mast look-out hailed the deck.

  “Land on the port bow, sir!”

  Phillip frowned. He stepped aft to the binnacle and nodded to Fox, who swiftly ascended the main rigging and, a few moments later, called out a confirmation of the lookout’s warning. His description of the rocky point, towards which Trojan was being driven, was far from reassuring and a check of the chart showed Phillip that the ship was already nearly a mile off her course … unless the Master had made an error in his reckoning. The whole sky was now as black as night and the surface of the water—so deceptively blue and calm, less than half an hour before—was being whipped to fury by the rising wind.