by V. A. Stuart
“Bully” Hewett, as he was affectionately known, had recently been appointed to his first command—that of the flat-bottomed, steam-screw gun vessel Beagle, of 4 guns—and his disappointment was understandable. The Beagle, by reason of her shallow draught, would have been one of the first ships to enter the Sea of Azoff had Kertch been taken, and her young commander, always in the thick of things, had been keenly looking forward to the prospect of taking her into action. “Now,” he whispered glumly to Phillip, “there’s to be no action. I’m beginning to wish that I’d stayed ashore with my Lancaster battery. Damn the French, I say!”
And this, it seemed, was the general feeling. The French, as usual, were to blame for the fiasco. Under General Canrobert’s command, it had so often happened that British plans for an end to the stalemate of the siege had been acceded to initially and then rejected that, although everyone was dismayed, few were surprised. There were one or two suggestions—the most pressing of these coming from Captain Keppel—that an attempt should be made to land what troops were available, after a preliminary naval bombardment of Kertch, but Captain Spratt’s estimate of the depth of water in the Strait swiftly put a damper on even Keppel’s enthusiasm. Phillip, called upon to make his report on the Anapa defences, did so very briefly, supporting Spratt’s contention that the line-of-battle ships would be unable to approach close enough to their target, due to lack of water, to bring their guns effectively to bear.
“I am afraid, gentlemen, that further discussion of this unfortunate situation will be to no avail. We must retire before our enemy—General Canrobert has left us with no alternative,” Admiral Lyons told them. He sounded very tired, but added, as his Captains rose, taking this as their dismissal, “Be assured, however, that I shall not cease to urge the Allied High Command to renew this expedition as soon as may be possible—within a week or two, if I have my way. The enemy can only look upon what has occurred as a feigned movement and they will therefore be less prepared for attack here, as elsewhere. Indeed, I cannot fancy anything so calculated to draw off his force from the main body of his army and thus aid other important operations—such as the French Emperor envisages—as for us to become masters of the Sea of Azoff.” He laid a consoling hand on his son’s shoulder and, for the first time since he had summoned the squadron commanders to hear his decision, his lips parted in a smile. “I thank you all for your patient forebearance. Good morning, gentlemen.”
They started to file out, Phillip with them, when Algernon Lyons, the Flag Lieutenant, caught him by the arm.
“Don’t rush away, Phillip,” he said. “The Admiral would like a word with you. He’s talking to Captain Keppel at the moment, but I don’t think he’ll be long.”
Phillip waited and Jack Lyons, who had been standing talking to some of the officers of his light-draught steam squadron, recognized him and crossed to his side. “Well, Phillip, this is a sad day, is it not?”
“Indeed it is,” Phillip agreed. “We can only hope that the Admiral will contrive to persuade General Canrobert of the urgent need for us to enter the Sea of Azoff.”
“Don’t speak to me of Canrobert!” Captain Lyons pleaded, an angry glint in his blue eyes. He was like his father, Phillip thought, taller, broader of shoulder, but with the same square-cut chin, firm mouth, and deep-set eyes. He had inherited his father’s charm of manner, as well as his fine intellect and, at thirty-six, a senior Post-Captain with an enviable Service record, would almost certainly reach Flag rank himself in due course. Phillip had served under him in his first command on the China Station and their friendship was of long standing, dating back to the days when Sir Edmund Lyons had been British Ambassador to the Court of King Otho of Greece, a post he had held with distinction for fourteen years. “To think,” Jack Lyons went on, “that we were within less than two hours’ steaming from our destination when that miserable little despatch boat came up with us! If only the fog had fallen sooner, she might not have found us in time, for I swear, Phillip, had we set the troops ashore before Canrobert’s instructions were delivered, Admiral Bruat would have permitted them to remain. He is the best of fellows, you know, and this operation meant as much to him as it did to my father. He was heartbroken when the decision to abandon it was forced upon him, but in the circumstances Canrobert left him no choice. If he had agreed to go on to Kertch it would have been held that he had disobeyed a direct order from the Emperor.”
“I suppose it would. All the same . . .” Phillip shrugged disgustedly and the younger Lyons smiled, in rueful understanding.
“I know how you feel and how we all feel. However, you will not have to return to Kazatch with the rest of us, you lucky dog! My father has something else in mind for you which may relieve the monotony for a while.”
Phillip’s spirits rose. “You mean I’m not to go back to the blockading squadron?”
“So I was given to understand, although I know no details, beyond the basic fact that my father is anxious to make contact with the Circassian chiefs, with a view to organizing attacks on Soujak Kaleh and Anapa, aided by Turkish troops. It sounds as if it were to be a cloak-and-dagger mission of some kind and one very much after your own heart.” Jack clapped a friendly hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “After your exploits in Odessa last winter, my father naturally considers you well suited for the task. But come—the others are leaving, so he’s free now and he’ll tell you about it himself.”
Phillip followed him eagerly and the Admiral, after taking affectionate leave of his son, seated himself once more at the head of the long table and motioned Phillip to a chair beside his own. A steward brought in a tray of coffee and set it down in front of him.
“Ah, Phillip, my dear boy—help yourself to a cup of coffee and, while you’re about it, pour one for me, if you please. My throat is as dry as a bone, after all the cajoling and arguing I’ve had to do—alas, to no avail.” Phillip did as he had requested and he went on, “There is a service I should like you to perform, if you will, which may be of some considerable assistance to me in my efforts to convince the French High Command—and the Emperor—that this expedition to the Sea of Azoff must be mounted again without delay. Have you the maps I asked for, Frederick?”
“Yes, sir.” His secretary spread out a map of the Circassian coast and laid a sealed package at Phillip’s elbow. “And the orders for Commander Hazard, sir.”
The Admiral thanked him and gestured to the map.
“Your orders allow you a fairly free hand, Phillip, but I’d like to explain them before you go, so that you will understand what I’m trying to achieve and act accordingly. I want you to proceed at once to Ghelenjik and there make contact with a Circassian chief by the name of Serfir Pasha—he has a Turkish title but he’s not a Turk. You were not with me when I made a reconnaissance of the area last May, with part of the steam squadron, were you?”
“No, sir.” Phillip shook his head, “I was with the Tiger, sir, when she—”
“When she ran aground in fog off Odessa and the enemy blew her to pieces,” the Admiral finished for him. “Yes, of course you were . . . I had forgotten. Well, to give you a brief resumé of our doings, we took Ghelenjik last May and left a Turkish and Circassian garrison to occupy the place, after we had repaired its defences. I had hoped then to enlist the armed support of the Circassians against Anapa and Soujak Kaleh, and I sent Captain Brock overland to Bardan, with a party of Marines, with the object of persuading the chiefs—and, in particular, their paramount chief, Schamyl, who is a very able soldier—to combine forces with the Turks. I wanted to gain control of the whole coast, but”—he sighed—“Schamyl insisted on waging his own campaign in Georgia which, I may say, he has done with conspicuous success. The others, although their hatred of the Russians is intense, told Brock that they could do little without aid—they asked for troops and munitions, and we had none to spare, unfortunately, and I had little success when I sought aid for them from the Turks. I did manage to obtain eight hundred troops from Selim Pasha, an
d with these we occupied Redoute Kaleh and Soukoum”—his long forefinger jabbed at place names on the map—“which latter place is still held by a very gallant naib of Schamyl’s, Mohammed Emin Bey, with about two thousand of his tribesmen.” The Admiral went into details and Phillip listened occasionally, asking a diffident question.
“These Circassians are a wild, undisciplined people, Phillip,” Sir Edmund Lyons warned. “They are robbers and freebooters, who have much in common with the Bashi-Bazouks—some of whom you may have encountered in the French camp. They fight bravely enough, but mainly for plunder and as often among themselves as against a common foe, and they mistrust any leadership save that of their own chieftains. They have good reason to mistrust the Turks and especially the Turkish Pashas, whose generalship leaves a good deal to be desired and who, I have been told on reliable authority, supplied them with faulty rifles and out-of-date ammunition, with which to wage war on the Russians. Nevertheless, they have waged war on them, sallying forth from their mountains to attack and harass supply columns and the like, with little help from the Turks. And they would have fought with us and under our command had we been able to leave even a token naval force with them last May—on the occasions when they did, we found them splendid allies. Captain Brock sent me a report on his dealings with them and there’s one from Captain Jones, of the Sampson, whom I left at Soukoum Kaleh to repair defences. I’ve asked Frederick Cleeve to prepare copies of both these reports for you, since you might find them useful, and we are searching for an interpreter whom you can take with you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Phillip acknowledged gratefully.
“Don’t thank me, my dear boy—you will need all the help you can get. This is no easy task I am setting you, you know.”
“I understand, sir. And I’ll do my best, of course, sir, but . . . what exactly do you wish me to do when I have made contact with Serfir Pasha? Attack Anapa and Soujak Kaleh with the Circassians?” Observing the Admiral’s smile, Phillip reddened. “I mean, sir, you—”
“In the now famous words of Sir Colin Campbell, ‘damn all this eagerness!’ But it does my heart good to find you so eager . . .” the smile was, Phillip realized, a kindly, even affectionate one and his momentary embarrassment faded as the naval Commander-in-Chief went on, “No, Phillip, what I really want you to do is to assemble the Circassian chiefs, with the aid of Serfir—or, through him, obtain the promise of their support—and persuade them to join with a Turkish force, under the command of Mustapha Pasha, who is coming to Ghelenjik in a Turkish steamer within the next ten days. You need not worry about Mustapha, he is one of the better Turkish generals and I am sending Commander Osborn in the Vesuvius to meet him. We need a firm promise of concerted action from both Circassians and Turks. If they could be induced to move on Anapa and Soujak I believe that not only would the enemy evacuate both places but that they might also withdraw from Yenikale and Kertch . . . which would make our entry into the Sea of Azoff very much easier. Even the promise of a move by the Circassians against Anapa might enable me to shame General Canrobert into reassembling this force, which has so shamefully had to be recalled. If you were able, in addition, to rouse the chiefs in the Kouban area to move on Yenikale, this too, would be extremely useful. But you have not much time, Phillip.”
“No, sir. About ten days I think you said?”
The Admiral inclined his head. “Yes . . . perhaps a little longer. You will have to leave the Huntress to cruise off Ghelenjik, under the command of your First Lieutenant whilst you are ashore, but if, in order to offer encouragement to the chiefs, you consider it expedient to land some of your men I should not disapprove. You’ve no Marines on board, have you?”
“No, sir.”
“Then we must try to supply you with at least some Marine Artillery and an officer. I shall also supply you with weapons and ammunition, to distribute among the chiefs—a case of Minié rifles to be included.” Admiral Lyons smiled faintly. Turning to his Flag Lieutenant, who was hovering in the background, he issued the required instructions and then continued, “I think that’s all, Phillip, except that if you see fit and believe such a manoeuvre necessary to impress the Circassians, take some of the leaders with you and fire a few broadsides at the Anapa batteries. Within reason, and, of course, without risking your ship, you may use your own discretion in this respect. The Viper will accompany the Vesuvius—if either you or Sherard Osborn have anything urgent to report, entrust letters to Lieutenant Armytage for delivery to me.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Taking this as his dismissal, Phillip picked up the package Lieutenant Cleeve had prepared for him and got to his feet. “Thank you very much, sir.”
His Commander-in-Chief eyed him with quizzically raised brows. “I say again, I’ve set you no easy task and can allow you very little time in which to accomplish it . . . yet still you thank me! What it is to be young and eager, my dear boy . . . well, I can only wish you Godspeed and good luck. You can take the rifles with you, they’re prepared. The Marines and your interpreter will be sent to you before we sail.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Phillip stiffened to attention. “I shall hope to see you back here, with both squadrons, before long.”
“I shall be back,” the Admiral promised grimly. “Over General Canrobert’s dead body, if necessary, for we shall never take Sebastopol and end this war until we control the enemy’s supply routes from the Sea of Azoff—of that I am convinced. And we must end this war, Phillip . . . it is costing too much in human suffering to be allowed to drag on into another winter.”
Phillip left him and found Algernon Lyons awaiting him at the entry port and his gig already alongside. “Your rifles and ammunition are aboard your gig,” he said. “And—a bit of luck, Phillip—there’s a Lieutenant of Marines called Roberts in this ship, who has volunteered to accompany you. He helped the Circassians to repair the defences at Soukoum Kaleh last year when he was serving under Captain Jones in the Sampson. He says he knows something of the country and a word or two of the lingo, so I thought you’d probably like to have him. I don’t know him personally—he’s only on passage with us—but he seems a sound sort of fellow.”
“I’ll be delighted to have him,” Phillip assented. “Thanks for finding him, Algy. Is he ready—shall I wait for him?”
The young Flag Lieutenant flashed him a reproachful smile. “Commander Hazard, the difficult we do at once—the impossible takes a trifle longer! The Admiral only conceived the idea of sending you to Ghelenjik when the French left us high and dry, you know. Roberts is collecting his kit and choosing the men he’ll be bringing with him, but as I only told him what was afoot about two minutes ago I’m afraid he won’t have begun to sort himself out yet. Don’t worry, though—I’m sure that you’ll be anxious to return to your ship, so we’ll deliver your Marines to you within the hour.”
Phillip thanked him and, swinging himself through the entry port, descended to the waiting gig. He felt elated at the prospect before him. If it wasn’t the action for which they had all been hoping, at least it promised excitement of a kind and a change of scene. Any change would be a welcome relief from the boredom of ferrying troops, or the no less wearisome but more exacting task of maintaining the blockade of the Russian Black Sea ports, in fair weather or foul. The Huntress had done little else for the past six months and the weather—he suppressed an involuntary shudder—had been almost always foul and invariably cold. Besides, the Admiral had given him permission to run in and fire a few broadsides at Anapa—his guns’ crews could put in some useful practice, he thought gleefully, and it would raise the morale of the whole ship’s company if they were able to open fire on the enemy, instead of keeping safely out of range of the coastal forts, as they were ordered to when on blockade duty.
Midshipman O’Hara caught the change in his mood and asked, greatly daring, “Sir, you look pleased . . . does that mean we’re going on to Kertch without the French, sir?”
“No, that isn’t on the cards, I’m afraid,�
� Phillip answered. “Both squadrons are returning to Sebastapol . . . but we’re not, praise be!” He said no more, but the boy brightened visibly and the gig’s crew, reacting with that strange sixth sense all seamen seemed to possess, put their backs into their work, sending their small craft skimming swiftly across the anchorage to where the Huntress lay, rolling a little in the slight swell.
CHAPTER TWO
Back on board, Phillip lost no time in telling his watch-keeping officers of their new orders, which were greeted with cautious enthusiasm. The ships of the blockading squadron had been supplied with coal before leaving for the rendezvous at Cape Takli and Graham reported the Huntress’s bunkers virtually full, but her three-hundred-horse-power engines consumed coal at a prodigious rate, as Phillip had learnt from experience, and he decided to conserve his supply for as long as he could.
“We’ll proceed under sail,” he said. “The Marines and an interpreter have yet to join us but Algy Lyons promised that they would do so within the hour, so we’ll weigh as soon as we’ve taken them on board. And”—he consulted his pocket watch—“I’ll tell the ship’s company what’s in store for us, if you would be so good as to muster both watches aft before they’re piped to dinner.”