The Valiant Sailors

by V. A. Stuart

  “Anything that I could do to remedy the situation would have to be done through official channels,” Phillip pointed out. “Which takes time and there would be a risk—a very considerable risk—of failure.”

  Burnaby did not pretend to misunderstand him. “The men would wait, so long as they knew that something was being done, Mr Hazard.”

  “Would they trust me to do what was in their best interests, do you think?”

  “They trust and respect you,” Burnaby said earnestly. “The more so, since you came back. They all know that you were appointed to the flagship by Admiral Lyons, with a fine chance of gaining promotion if you stayed … and yet you chose to return to this ship. That is why they are looking to you to help them, Mr Hazard. They will all be behind you, as well as the officers, I give you my word … if you act now. Well, sir?” There was a gleam in the faded blue eyes, as the old man looked up expectantly to meet Phillip’s gaze. His own did not waver as he went on, choosing his words carefully, “I’m no sea-lawyer, Mr Hazard, but I do know that a legal remedy exists for a situation of this kind. I also know that it will need a brave man, a man with the courage of his convictions, to set the wheels in motion, because tyranny and oppression aren’t easy charges to prove, not legally. But you’ll know better than I do what the risks of failure are likely to be … you said yourself they’d be considerable. If you bring the charges, you would be taking the risks, sir.”

  He had no illusions on that score, Phillip thought, with wary resignation. “Yes, I’m aware of the probable consequences of failure, Mr Burnaby,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I’ve always been aware of them.”

  “Yet you came back to the ship?”

  “Yes, I came back,” Phillip agreed. But he had been a fool to do so, he told himself wretchedly … a stupid, quixotic fool, throwing away his chances of promotion and perhaps his whole career because—even if he succeeded in getting North relieved of his command—he himself would be a marked man ever afterwards. Why, even this conversation with Burnaby might be held against him, if it ever got out, construed as a “conspiracy injurious to naval discipline” yet … he stiffened. The alternative to risking his own neck was to see his ship’s company risk theirs by taking the law into their own hands which, in time of war, meant that few of them would escape hanging. But … there was Anthony Cochrane. He had forgotten about Cochrane, whose trial by court martial was yet to come. If it took place soon and his own petition to the Commander-in-Chief, based on the evidence heard at Cochrane’s trial, followed after it then …

  “What about the court martial on Lieutenant Cochrane?” he asked, clutching at this straw of hope with an eagerness of which he was ashamed. “When is it to be, Mr Burnaby?”

  “Captain North has withdrawn the charges, sir,” Burnaby told him flatly. “He has decided to deal with Mr Cochrane himself.”

  So North suspected … well, that was scarcely to be wondered at, Phillip supposed. Some whisper must have reached him as to the nature of Cochrane’s defence and, realizing that the man he had accused would be supported by his brother officers, North had taken steps to avoid the issue. He had seen his danger and … Phillip frowned. This, of course, closed the door on his own faint hope of escape because it was now he, not Anthony Cochrane, who would have to make the countercharges and prove them, if he could. A petition to the Commander-in-Chief to have North suspended on the face-saving medical grounds of insanity or mental incapacity would not be of the smallest use. He would have to apply for a court martial, with himself as accuser … he would have to prefer charges against his commander which, by their very nature, would be extremely difficult to bring home. Such charges always were, since the basis of all naval discipline lay in the power vested in the captain of a ship of war … the power of life and death, absolute power which those under his command disputed at their peril. The dividing line between a strict disciplinarian and a tyrant was a very thin one and the benefit of any doubt that existed was invariably given to the senior in rank by a naval court, because authority must always be upheld.

  Feeling suddenly as if the jaws of a trap were closing about him, Phillip shivered.

  “Well, sir …” Burnaby rose. “I will leave this matter in your hands.” There was a note of relief in his voice. “There’s no more to be said, is there?” He had obviously said all that he intended to say and, Phillip reflected, it was more than many others would have said, in his place … but then old Burnaby, too, was a good man.

  He nodded and they shook hands solemnly, as if to seal a pact. Within a few minutes of the Master’s departure, Martin Fox and Duncan Laidlaw, both looking strained and anxious, presented themselves at the door of the cabin. Phillip ushered them in, guessing for what purpose they had come.

  “Well, gentlemen …” He remained standing. “What is it?”

  “You’ve talked to Mr Burnaby, have you not?” Fox said, his voice low.

  “Yes, I’ve talked to him.”

  “And you’ve agreed to take action?”

  Phillip studied their two grave faces in the dim light of the lantern which, hanging from the bulkhead above them, provided the cabin’s sole illumination. “Is it your considered belief that I should take action?” he asked quietly.

  They both assented, without hesitation, and Martin Fox added vehemently, “Things cannot be allowed to go on as they are, Phillip. As responsible officers, with the welfare of the ship’s company at heart, we must intervene and you, as First Lieutenant, are the proper person to take whatever steps are necessary.”

  “I will do what I can, then,” Phillip promised. He gestured to his chest and the single chair and invited them to sit, thinking to lessen their tension. “A drink?” he suggested. “I have a bottle of whisky and you both look as if you could do with a tot. Martin?”

  Fox thanked him but Laidlaw shook his head. “I won’t, sir, if you’ll forgive me. I am due to relieve Mr Cochrane of the watch in fifteen minutes. I only came because … that is I—” He glanced at Martin Fox, who came swiftly to his rescue.

  “We brought these papers for your approval, sir,” he announced formally and held out a large, unsealed manila envelope. “Perhaps you would care to look through them, in case any of them may be of use to you.”

  “What are they?” Phillip asked.

  “The statements we prepared for Anthony Cochrane’s defence,” Fox explained. “Since the charges against him have been dropped, they can no longer be used for the purpose for which they were intended. We thought, however, that they might serve as a basis for you to work on and also as a guarantee of our united support for whatever action you deem it most expedient to take … a petition to the Commander-in-Chief or an application for the Captain’s trial by court martial. You’ll find they are complete.”

  Phillip subjected the contents of the envelope to a quick scrutiny. The statements, he realised, had been made by all officers of wardroom rank, each of whom had appended his signature to his own hand-written account of Captain North’s system of command, as practised since his appointment to Trojan. The mates and senior midshipmen had signed a joint statement, which was brief and to the effect that they wholeheartedly supported and concurred with the evidence offered by their superiors.

  “There’s also this,” Fox said. He offered another document for Phillip’s inspection. “It is in the form of a letter addressed to you which, as you will see, we have all signed … requesting you to take action on our behalf. We felt it would be a safeguard for you, should your motives be questioned and—”

  “I do not require safeguards, least of all written ones,” Phillip objected. He glanced up from his perusal of the letter, looking from one to the other of his visitors with unconcealed dismay. “But this is quite the most dangerous and incriminating document I have ever seen in my life! For God’s sake, Martin, have you taken leave of your senses? Whatever possessed you to allow anything like this to be put into writing?”

  “I’m sorry … it was my idea to write it, I
’m afraid,” Martin Fox admitted, crestfallen. “I did not feel that it was fair or just to put you in a position where you had to take all the risks, none of us did. And besides—”

  “I am grateful for your concern, my dear fellow,” Phillip assured him, his expression relaxing a little. “But if it should fall into the wrong hands, this letter could be evidence of conspiracy … proof of it, in fact. Study Article Nineteen of the Articles of War, which deals with the penalties for ’mutinous assembly.’ This damned piece of paper could get us all broken!” He expelled his breath in an exasperated sigh, turning the letter over to read the last few signatures. They had meant well, he thought, but … “You composed and signed this in the gunroom, I suppose? When … today?”

  Fox and Laidlaw exchanged uneasy glances. “Yes, sir,” Laidlaw confessed, “This evening, whilst you were talking to Mr Burnaby. But surely there’s no danger, we are all in agreement, we are all behind you, sir. That was what the letter was intended to prove … and no one refused to sign it.”

  “No one?”

  “No, sir, no one. In any case, the Captain isn’t on board. He had his gig called away as soon as he had finished dining and went to visit the Captain of Fury, I understand.”

  In order to expedite the transfer of Able-Seaman Hazard, no doubt, Phillip told himself resignedly and wondered what sadistic motive had prompted North’s action.

  “Nevertheless, Mr Laidlaw, this letter will have to be destroyed,” he said. “I’d better burn it, I think.” He reached up for the lantern, the letter in his hand and hesitated, looking again at the signatures it bore. “You assured me that no one refused to sign this but there is one name missing, surely? That of the Captain of Marines … a rather significant omission.”

  “Alex Murray is ashore with the harbour defence force,” Fox answered promptly. “But he would have signed it if he had been on board, Phillip. He felt as the rest of us do and you’ll find his statement with the others.”

  “Who is in command of our Marines, then?” Phillip questioned. “They’re not all ashore, are they?”

  Both officers shook their heads. “We have a temporary replacement for Captain Murray,” Fox said. “Lieutenant Smithson … I don’t believe you have met him, he joined us from the Britannia about a week ago. Since he’s not a regular member of the ship’s company, I did not suggest that he should sign the letter. But—”

  “But he is aware of its existence, is he not?” An alarming suspicion was taking root in Phillip’s mind and, try as he might, he was unable to dispel it. “And presumably he also knows about these statements you prepared for Cochrane’s defence?”

  “I …” Martin Fox reddened miserably. “I’m not sure. I suppose he must know, we’ve talked about them in his presence. And … I think he was with us this evening. Was he, Duncan, do you remember? He’s young and very quiet and unobtrusive, one hardly notices if he’s there or not.”

  “He was there,” Duncan Laidlaw asserted. “I remember because I had occasion to speak to him about relieving the after-magazine guard. But … does it matter if he knows, Mr Hazard? I mean, as Fox says, he’s hardly more than a boy.”

  “It may matter very much, I’m afraid.” Phillip made an effort to steady his voice. His brain was racing now, as he sought to assess the possible consequences of his brother officer’s indiscretion. If young Lieutenant Smithson, true to the traditions of his Corps, had conceived it his duty to report all he had seen and heard that evening in the gunroom to the Captain, then there was no time to be lost. The letter was their greatest danger, it had to be destroyed … he took down the lantern and started to open it, his fingers clumsy in their haste. “Why did the Captain decide to withdraw the charges against Cochrane, Martin?” he demanded tensely. “Do you know?”

  Martin Fox shrugged. “He gave no reason. But … I suppose because he got wind of the fact that these statements were to be made at the court martial and realized that, if they were, Cochrane would be completely vindicated.”

  “How did he get wind of the statements and of your intention to use them? Who could have told him, who would have told him… unless it was Smithson?”

  “Dear sweet heaven!” Fox groaned aloud. “I’ve been a perfect imbecile, Phillip. None of us would have breathed a word, that goes without saying, but Smithson … Yes, I suppose Smithson could have told him. He’s young and inexperienced, he’s only been with us for a few days and, if he imagined that he had stumbled on a hotbed of disaffection and intrigue, he might have gone to the Captain. He might even have believed it his duty to do so.”

  “Exactly.” Phillip’s tone was harsh. “And if he did?”

  They stared at each other in mute dismay. From the deck above came the shrilling of the boatswain’s mates’ whistles and a stentorian bellow, calling the side-party to muster, and Laidlaw said, the colour draining from his cheeks, “The Captain! He’s returning aboard and—”

  “Burn this, Martin,” Phillip ordered, thrusting the letter into Martin Fox’s hand and gesturing to the lantern. “Laidlaw, on deck with you at once. Take over the watch from Cochrane and delay things for as long as you can, to give us a chance to get rid of these statements.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Galvanised into action, Laidlaw opened the door of the cabin, only to jump back with a startled exclamation an instant later. “There are Marine sentries posted by the after-hatch, Mr Hazard. Four of them and …” He swallowed hard. “Smithson is with them.”

  “Carry on, Mr Laidlaw,” Phillip bade him, suddenly calm now that the moment he had dreaded was upon them. “Relieve the deck … the Marines won’t stop you, they are coming for me. And Martin … for pity’s sake, get that letter burnt!”

  Martin Fox held up the charred remains of the letter, his smile unsteady. “It’s burnt to ash, Phillip. But we’ll never manage the statements now.”

  “Then give them to me and get out, I beg you!”

  “No.” Obstinately the younger man stood his ground. “This is all my fault, the result of my crass stupidity. I’m not leaving you to face the music alone. Can’t you see I—” he was interrupted by a peremptory rap on the door. It opened and a slim, pale-faced youth in the uniform of the Royal Marines stood framed in the aperture. He saluted and said nervously, “Lieutenant Hazard?”

  “I am Lieutenant Hazard,” Phillip acknowledged. Laidlaw, he saw, was not with the Marine guard by the after-hatch, which meant that they had let him pass and he wished, now, that he had given him custody of the statements. But he had not been sure … he drew himself up, eyeing the young Marine officer sternly. “What do you want?”

  “I have orders to escort you to the Captain’s quarters at once, sir,” the youngster told him.

  “To escort me? Do you mean that you have orders to place me under arrest?” Phillip challenged. “Is that why you have brought a guard with you?”

  Lieutenant Smithson reddened in embarrassment. “No, sir. That is, I am to place you under arrest if you refuse to obey the Captain’s command to report to him and to—”

  Phillip cut him short. “I have never in the past refused to obey the Captain’s commands, Mr Smithson. Why should you imagine that I am likely to do so now? I would point out to you that I am the First Lieutenant of this ship and that, when the Captain requires my presence, it is not necessary to send a file of Marines to ensure my compliance with his wishes.”

  Smithson’s flush deepened. He passed his tongue agitatedly over his lower lip and said, avoiding Phillip’s coldly disapproving gaze, “I beg your pardon, sir, but those were the Captain’s instructions to me … I am only repeating them. I have been charged with other instructions, sir.”

  “And they are … ?”

  “Mr Fox is also to report to the Captain,” the young Marine officer returned. “And I am to take possession of a number of statements, which Mr Fox delivered to you and … a letter, sir. I should be obliged if I might have these, so that I may take them to the Captain.”

  From the deck above cam
e the thud of running feet and Phillip heard another bellow from the Boatswain, calling the watch below to muster at their stations. Laidlaw had taken over the watch, then, his mind registered, and the shrilling of the side-party’s pipes meant that the Captain’s gig had come alongside … his mouth tightened. Captain North must have given young Smithson his instructions before leaving the ship, he thought. Now, on the Captain’s return, they were being put into effect and evidently the Marine guard had been posted as soon as Martin Fox and Duncan Laidlaw had entered his cabin, to make certain that the statements—and that unfortunate letter—were not removed from it. Therefore it would not be the slightest use his denying the existence of the statements, Phillip decided. By themselves, without the letter, they were not evidence of conspiracy against Trojan’s officers but rather so damning an indictment of North’s abuse of his command that he would not dare to have them made public. And even if he destroyed them, he could not destroy the men who had written them, could not erase from their minds the bitter memories which had led to their being willing to put their condemnation on paper.

  Phillip’s gaze went to the little heap of ash at Martin Fox’s feet and, from this, to his face. He smiled in reassurance, and turned to the pink-cheeked young Marine officer. “Suppose I refuse to give you the documents you ask for, Mr Smithson … what then?”

  “My orders are to search your cabin for them, sir. But …” Smithson’s sharp eyes lit on the scattered papers and he pointed to them triumphantly. “Those are the papers I am required to take to the Captain. Perhaps you will be so good as to give them to me, Mr Hazard.”