The Valiant Sailors

by V. A. Stuart

  “He confided to me that he is your brother and he cared for you unremittingly when you were with the rest of us, in the lazaretto, you know. In fact, I understand that our First-Lieutenant intends to bring his conduct to the attention of the Commander-in-Chief at the first opportunity. He displayed great courage and devotion to duty during the attack on Tiger and was instrumental in saving the lives of two wounded seamen, in addition, I have reason to believe, to my own. So we are both deeply in your brother’s debt, Mr Hazard. Perhaps, as a result of the First Lieutenant’s report, he may have his commission restored to him when we are released … let us hope so, at any rate.”

  Phillip echoed this hope. “Is there any immediate prospect of our being released, Doctor?” he enquired.

  “There is talk of an exchange of prisoners,” Lawless answered. “Although when this will take place I cannot tell you. Some of our men will be sorry when it does, after the way they have been treated here! But”—he laid a solicitous hand on Phillip’s shoulder—“you should try to sleep now, Mr Hazard. It is inadvisable to overtax your strength when you are making such good progress. Plenty of rest and good food are to ensure that you are fit to return to duty, when our release is eventually arranged. So make the most of your convalescence in these pleasant surroundings.”

  Phillip was glad enough to take his advice. For the next few days he rested, eating well and building up his strength, visited daily by the Governor and his personal physician and waited on hand and foot by his servants. He formed a great liking for Baron Osten-Sacken and his kindly, charming wife learning, somewhat to his surprise, that the Baron held the high rank of Aide-de-Camp General in the Russian Army and was in active command of some thirty thousand troops, which formed the garrison of Odessa. They talked of the war and— again to Phillip’s surprise—the Governor talked to him freely, admitting the failure of the Russian Army of the Danube to take Silistria as a major disaster and making no secret of his strongly felt regret that their two countries should be opposed.

  “England has not chosen her allies well, Mr Hazard … her cause should be Christian Russia’s, not that of the heathen Turk. A war between our two great nations can only weaken both and ultimately do neither the smallest good. Had England, Russia, and France been united now, instead of fighting against one another, then the ’sick man of Europe’—as the Emperor aptly calls your present ally—could speedily have been disposed of and the Ottoman Empire divided between us … to its vast betterment. Christian peoples, for so many bitter years under the barbarous and inhuman domination of the Sultan, could have been freed from slavery. The Black Sea could have been opened to the trade of all nations, once the Porte’s stranglehold on the Bosphorus was challenged and broken. But as it is …” The Governor shrugged regretfully. “You will lose the flower of your manhood, if you attempt to wrest Sebastopol from us. And, until you do, Mr Hazard, the war will drag on … for the Russian peasant will fight heroically and to the death in defence of his own soil. This was a lesson Bonaparte learned to his cost, was it not?”

  Phillip listened to him attentively and afterwards thought over what he had said, recognizing the logic of his argument, if not its justice. The Russians had suffered a set-back on the Danube front and were in full retreat, leaving Omar Pasha, the Turkish Commander-in-Chief, in victorious possession of Silistria and his strongly held headquarters at Shumla. The threat to Constantinople had been removed, the British and French expeditionary forces were steadily building up at Varna, on the Bulgarian coast, and the Allied Fleets were in undisputed command of the Black Sea. Admiral Lyons’s steamer squadron had scored signal successes in raids along the Circassian coast but … there had been no attack on Sebastopol, and the Russian Black Sea Fleet waited there behind its formidable shore defences for the battle that, inevitably, must come. Admiral Lyons had said so and the Governor of Odessa had expressed a similar view … Phillip stirred restlessly in his luxurious bed and longed, despite the comfort of his prison and the kindness of his captors, to return to Trojan’s quarterdeck so that, when the eventual struggle took place, he might take part in it.

  The Governor raised his hopes, a few days later, with the news that an exchange of prisoners was being negotiated, and thereafter he made strenuous efforts to put his illness behind him. It was a painful and labourious process, for he still had little more strength than a child and his right leg, when he attempted to stand on it, crumpled up under his weight and the room whirled about him in dizzy circles when, clinging to a chair and ignoring the pain, he tried to take a few faltering steps. The Russian doctor anxiously counselled patience, even Tiger’s two surgeons besought him to prolong his convalescence, but Phillip refused obstinately to listen to them. Only fit men would be exchanged and he was determined to be fit, at whatever the cost, when the Governor’s negotiations were completed. He knew, from a chance remark dropped by Tiger’s First Lieutenant, that the number of Russian prisoners to be repatriated was 180 which meant, in all probability, that about thirty of Tiger’s men would have to be left behind.

  “You would be welcome to remain here, Mr Hazard,” the Governor told him, sympathetically watching his agonised attempt to walk, unaided, across the room. “You, perhaps, more than any of your brother officers merit special consideration. Indeed, if it were your wish, I could arrange for you to he transferred temporarily to St Petersburg. There, like the midshipmen who were previously my guests here, you could undertake a course of study at the Imperial Naval Academy until you are well enough to resume active duty.”

  “Your Excellency is suggesting that I should remain here voluntarily?” Reaching the chair that had been his goal at last, Phillip grasped its back with both hands, holding himself upright and facing the Russian Governor, a shocked question in his eyes. “But why, sir … what have I done to merit more consideration than any of my brother officers?”

  “Surely you know, Mr Hazard?” Baron Osten-Sacken challenged, smiling. “You have a ring in your possession, have you not … an emerald ring of unusual design?”

  The ring Mademoiselle Sophie had given him, Phillip thought, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. Until this moment any questions he had asked concerning Mademoiselle Sophie had been evaded or politely ignored by his Russian captors, as if they were all, from the Governor downwards, bound by a conspiracy of silence. His visitors from the Tiger’s crew had made no reference to the part she played in bringing about his recovery and, for this reason, he had almost convinced himself that the vigil she had kept at his bedside had been, as he had originally supposed, a dream … an hallucination, born of his feverish delirium. Yet now, suddenly meeting the Governor’s gaze, he was less certain, conscious that he might have been deceiving himself. And if he had, if his vision of Mademoiselle Sophie at his bedside had not been an hallucination, then … his heart leapt exultantly but sensing that, behind the bland smile, Baron Osten-Sacken was watching him keenly, he kept a stern rein on his emotions.

  “The ring was a gift, was it not, Mr Hazard … a gift made to you as a token of gratitude for personal services rendered to a member of the family of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor?” the Governor persisted, without change of tone.

  But now, although he continued to smile, the shrewd dark eyes were alert and watchful beneath their heavy brows and Phillip sensed that it would behove him to tread warily. Evidently the Governor’s servants had found the ring among his few possessions and had reported their find to their master. It seemed equally evident that Mademoiselle Sophie’s visits—if they had really taken place—would also have been reported to him, since they must have taken place beneath his roof and it was probably on this account that he was seeking reassurance. Phillip took a firmer grip of his chair-back and braced himself, feeling for the ring in his pocket.

  “The gift was made to me by a lady I know only as Mademoiselle Sophie, your Excellency,” he said quietly. “This lady travelled as a passenger from England to Constantinople on board Her Majesty’s steam frigate Trojan of whic
h I have the honour to be First Lieutenant. Only the Captain was informed of her identity, sir, and …” Phillip hesitated but Baron Osten-Sacken was silent, eyeing him expectantly, and he went on, choosing his words with care, “The pleasure I derived from serving her was more than sufficient reward and I did very little. Therefore, if your Excellency wishes, I will return the ring, together with my personal assurance that the lady in question will continue to be known to me simply as Mademoiselle Sophie. As indeed, sir, she is known to the rest of my ship’s company.” He held out the ring, still in its velvet lined case and added, meeting the tall Russian’s dark gaze quite steadily, “I have no recollection, sir, of having seen Mademoiselle since she left the ship at Constantinople.”

  “I see that we understand each other, Mr Hazard,” the Governor said. There was relief in his eyes and his smile was now unreservedly warm. “There is, of course, no necessity to return the ring … your assurance is all that I require, your word as an English officer and gentleman. No doubt you are aware that Mademoiselle Sophie’s nuptials were celebrated recently, in the Cathedral here in Odessa?”

  “I had heard something to that effect, your Excellency,” Phillip admitted. “And Mademoiselle herself told me, before she left the Trojan, that she was to be married. She did not tell me to whom and I … may I be permitted to know his name?”

  “Her bridegroom is the Prince Andrei Stepanovitch Narishkin, Colonel of the Regiment of Chasseurs of Odessa.” Baron Osten-Sacken’s voice did not betray his feelings but the smile he had worn for so long abruptly faded. “His Highness is aidede-camp to the Prince Menschikoff, Governor of the Crimea and Commander-in-Chief of our military and naval forces. As possibly you may have been told, it was the Prince Narishkin who destroyed the Tiger frigate and brought about your capture, Mr Hazard.”

  The arrogant young princeling on the white charger, Phillip recalled, of whom Tiger’s First Lieutenant had spoken with so much bitterness, as his field guns had reduced the defenceless frigate to a blazing wreck … he felt a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach, the memory filling him with revulsion. So he was Mademoiselle Sophie’s husband, he was the one to whom, as a child, she had been betrothed and who now … he had to struggle to hide his dismayed reaction to this news but somehow, tight-lipped and white of face, he managed to do so. Alarmed by his pallor, Baron Osten-Sacken insisted on his seating himself.

  “You are not strong enough to stand for so long, Mr Hazard,” the Russian reproached him. “Believe me, you would be well advised to remain here until your health improves.”

  “I am grateful for your concern, sir. But I …” Phillip turned in his chair to face him. “If I merit any special consideration from your Excellency, then I would ask that I may be included in the number of officers who are to be exchanged. I am anxious to return to my own ship, sir, and to my duty.”

  “Very well … if this is what you really wish, it shall be arranged. Your anxiety to resume your duties is highly commendable but …” the Governor shrugged his elegantly uniformed shoulders. “I am sorry. I had promised Sophia Mikailovna—that is to say, Mademoiselle Sophie—that I would see you fully restored to health and I have done all I can to keep my promise to her. I cannot compel you to stay here against your will but I have made a similar offer—also at Mademoiselle’s behest—to your brother, Mr Hazard. He is, I understand, serving as a seaman and not as an officer in the English Navy?”

  “Yes, sir, he is. But I scarcely imagine—”

  “How does this come about?” Baron Osten-Sacken put in, “When, as I believe is the case, your father is an Admiral and when your brother was apparently one of the heroes of the recent action against the Tiger’s frigate?”

  Phillip explained, as briefly and non-committally as he could adding, with conviction, “I do not think that my brother will wish to remain here either, your Excellency.”

  “Do not be too certain, Mr Hazard … the suggestion is not that he should remain here but that he should go to St Petersburg, in order to study at the Imperial Naval Academy. There, I assure you”—the Governor’s tone was dry—“he will be treated as an officer and use made of his services, if he should desire to offer them although not, of course, against his own countrymen. We have enlisted English and Scottish officers in the Russian Navy in the past, Mr Hazard, and many have served with great distinction and risen to high rank.”

  Notably Admiral Sir Samuel Greig, Phillip thought, known as “the father of the Russian Navy,” his sons, and Admirals Mackenzie, Drysdale, Tait, and Alexander Elphinstone … all had flown their flags in the Black Sea within the last seventy years. A British Captain, Adolphus Slade, held Flag rank in the Turkish Navy at present, with the title of Muchaver Pasha, so that it was by no means unusual for British officers to serve a foreign power but surely Graham … he said, with confidence, “It is extremely good of your Excellency to make this offer to my brother but, in all honesty, sir, I believe that, like myself, he will want to rejoin the British Fleet.”

  “To be flogged again, Mr Hazard?” the Governor questioned. He rose, his smile returning briefly. “Her Highness the Princess Narishkina told me of the incident. It shocked her a good deal, I think, when she witnessed it. As your brother’s decision may shock you but … I will send him to you, when he has definitely made up his mind. Au revoir, Mr Hazard.”

  His assumption proved, however, to be correct. A few days later, Graham presented himself in the sickroom and announced, without excuse or apology, that he intended to accept Baron Osten-Sacken’s offer and was leaving for the long overland journey to St Petersburg that night. Phillip stared at him in shocked disbelief and Graham went on, still without apology, “Some of us have to remain behind Phillip. I’ve volunteered to do so, that is all.”

  “You of all people! I find it hard to credit,” Phillip managed at last.

  “Do you … you shouldn’t. You cannot possibly imagine that I enjoy life as it is lived on the lower deck, even if you’ve never experienced it for yourself.” Graham spoke with unconcealed bitterness. “For God’s sake, Phillip, don’t look so horrified! What has the British Navy to offer me if I do return? Service under a commander like North? An able-seaman’s berth wherever I serve, with perhaps the chance of promotion to bo’sun’s mate if I behave myself and touch my forelock fifty times a day to officers, whose professional competence will never match mine? No thank you … I infinitely prefer the chance the Russians are willing to allow me.”

  “Tiger’s First Lieutenant intends to report favourably on your conduct,” Phillip reminded him. “You saved two lives under fire, Graham, and he will make the facts known to Admiral Dundas. He—“

  “Will that get my commission restored to me?” Graham demanded harshly.

  “It might. After all you—”

  “Don’t be naive, Phillip. You know as well as I do that nothing Tiger’s First Lieutenant can say will have the slightest effect on their Lordships of the Admiralty, on whom the decision will ultimately depend. The transcript of my court martial will be referred to and the recommendation rejected … even if Admiral Dundas can be prevailed upon to put it forward. The Navy has a long memory.”

  There was truth in what he said, Phillip was forced to concede. Nevertheless he advanced every argument he could think of to persuade his brother to change his mind, but Graham was adamant. “No,” he said, with a firmness which precluded further argument. “I’m going to St Petersburg, Phillip. I only came here to tell you so and to take leave of you. I hope we can part without bitterness.”

  “Do you wish me to inform Father of your destination and what you intend to do?” Phillip asked, playing what he was aware was his last card.

  Graham shrugged. “That is for you to decide. I’d prefer you simply to tell him that I am a prisoner of war as, in fact, I am. It would hurt him needlessly if you told him anything else and he wouldn’t find it easy to understand the reasons for my decision.”

  “I do not find it easy to understand them myself.”
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  “Oh, come now … you do in your heart, Phillip.”

  “Yes, perhaps I do,” Phillip confessed reluctantly.

  Graham smiled at him. “I shall have friends in high places in Petersburg,” he observed lightly. “You know, I suppose, that our ’Mademoiselle Sophie’ is a niece of the Tsar and that she is now married to one of the richest landowners in this part of Russia?”

  “I had heard that.” Phillip’s tone was stiff. But he accepted his brother’s proffered hand and wished him well, although already there was a gulf between them and both were aware of it. He was more relieved than disappointed when Graham cut short his leave-taking on the plea of other farewells to be said, yet watched him go with deep sadness, convinced that they would be unlikely to see one another again.

  Arrangements for the promised exchange of prisoners were concluded a few days later and, on 11th July, the little six-gun dispatch steamer Fury entered Odessa Harbour under a flag of truce to land 180 Russian soldiers, captured by Admiral Lyons’s squadron during raids on the Circassian coast. Still scarcely able to walk, Phillip was assisted on board, together with the other members of Tiger’s crew who were to be liberated. He was sent to Therapia to recuperate and found himself a guest of Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, at the Ambassador’s pleasant summer residence on the Bosphorus.

  Admiral Lyons, bringing Sir George Brown—commander of the British Light Division—with him, arrived in Agamemnon on 2nd August and promptly co-opted Phillip’s services. A land-based assault on Sebastopol had been agreed to by the Allied commanders, the Admiral told him, and he was now faced with the stupendous task of supplying ships in which to transport 30,000 men of the British Expeditionary Force from Varna, on the Bulgarian coast, to the Crimean peninsula and landing them there, with their guns and horses.