by V. A. Stuart
“Aye, aye, sir,” Graham responded formally.
Lieutenant Lyons was as good as his word. The Marines— thirty men and an elderly sergeant—arrived fifty minutes later from the Royal Albert, bringing with them the remainder of the stores. Phillip took an instant liking to the tall, husky young officer in charge of them, who introduced himself as Nigel Roberts and expressed keen pleasure at the unexpected opportunity he had been given to renew his acquaintance with the Circassian chiefs. The interpreter was less impressive, a swarthy, somewhat slovenly looking Turk, whose uniform had the appearance of having been worn both night and day and in all weathers, and whose manner was, to say the least, a trifle arrogant. He was an officer, he hastened to inform Phillip and, as such, entitled to a cabin and to take his meals in the wardroom. His claim was made aggressively, which suggested that these facilities had been denied him in the ship from whence he had come—the Princess Royal—of which he spoke disparagingly. Knowing Lord Clarence Paget as one of the most hospitable commanders in the Fleet, Phillip affected not to hear his waspish remarks and sent him below, under the escort of his steward, with instructions that he was to occupy a mate’s cabin and mess with the warrant officers. Acting-Gunner Joseph O’Leary who, since his recent elevation to warrant rank, had ruled the mess with a rod of iron, could be relied on, he knew, to tame the overbearing little Turk and— since O’Leary was a stickler for cleanliness—probably also to prevail upon him to take a much needed wash.
He smiled to himself at this thought and turned back to the deck. Graham, he observed, had lost no time. He had picked up the lee anchor and heaved in to a short stay on the weather cable, with jibs set and foretopmen aloft, already laying out along the yards, loosening the foretopsail. Meeting Phillip’s eye and receiving an affirmative nod, he sang out a string of orders. The waiting maintopmen went swarming up the shrouds and, as the maintopsail and courses were let fall and sheeted home, he brought the weather anchor to the cathead and ordered the head-yards braced around. There was little room to manoeuvre in the crowded anchorage, with several other ships also getting under way or preparing to do so. Graham, however, handled the Huntress with practised skill and her crew—almost all well-trained seamen now and proud of their ship—worked with a will, aware that they were being watched by numerous highly critical eyes.
The hands aloft—whose performance, Phillip noted with a keen sense of pleasure, could scarcely be faulted—came scrambling nimbly back to the deck, the maintopmen watching unobtrusively over Cadet Lightfoot, who had recently rejoined from the hospital ship Bombay at Therapia, after suffering a broken leg in a fall from the rigging. His twelve-year-old bones appeared to have mended perfectly and the fall had done nothing to shake his nerve; the boy bounded down the lee shrouds with the speed and agility of a small monkey, grinning cheekily at a grizzled seaman, who put out a hand in an attempt to slow him down.
“Trim sails for casting! Man port after braces and starb’d head braces!” Graham shouted, his voice and the boatswain’s stentorian echo sounding above the thud of running feet on the deck planking, as the forecastle and after-men of the watch pounded, barefoot, to their stations. The sails started slowly to fill, the Huntress began to gain steerage way and Graham brought her head to port, bracing head- and after-yards in opposition, until she should have sufficient way on to answer to her helm. Ships with a screw aperture, like the Huntress, were harder to tack than those without: the water meeting a constant current coming from the lee side through the screw-hole, which had the effect of carrying the stern to windward at an angle from the line of keel, without touching the rudder at all. Graham conned her expertly and, with the after-sails filling, he called out a sharp order to the quartermaster to right his helm. “Of all haul! Brace up the mainyard . . . Square head-yards!”
By eight bells, when Anthony Cochrane came punctually to relieve the deck, the ship was on course for Ghelenjik, running close-hauled on a freshening breeze.
“Hands to muster, sir?” Graham asked formally. Phillip nodded. “If you please. All hands, including the engineers and stokers.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Bosun’s mate . . . pipe all hands to muster aft.”
The boatswain’s mate of the watch put his call to his lips and, in obedience to the pipe, the men of both watches moved to the after part of the upper deck, forming up in their divisions, the divisional officers in front and the newly joined party of Marines, in their scarlet uniforms, to the right of the seamen. Last to make their appearance were the stokers, blue serge frocks hastily pulled over oil-stained undervests.
“Ship’s company mustered, sir,” Graham announced, as the men came to attention.
“Thank you,” Phillip acknowledged. “I shall not keep them long, and Mr Cochrane may pipe the watch below to dinner as soon as I’ve finished.” He gave the order to stand at ease and made his announcement as briefly as he could, explaining that the attempt to take Kertch and enter the Sea of Azoff had been abandoned and then going on to outline the purpose of their own mission, taking care to emphasize the importance of disciplined behaviour when ashore. “These people are our allies and we are calling on them in order to enlist their armed support against the enemy. The Admiral intends to put a steam squadron into the Sea of Azoff—he regards the operation as having been postponed, but not abandoned altogether. For this reason, he would like the Circassians, with some assistance from the Turks, to attack the Russian forts at Anapa and Soujak Bay, which are their last remaining strongholds on the Circassian coast. Both, and in particular Anapa, are well fortified and there are said to be in the region of eight thousand garrison troops in Anapa alone . . . so it will be quite a tough nut to crack.”
“Are we going to crack it, sir?” an eager voice asked.
Phillip smiled. “We have the Admiral’s permission to fire a few broadsides at the fort, lad, but . . .” his voice was drowned by a spontaneous cheer and he let this continue for a moment or two before raising his hand for silence. “We shall have to depend on an assault by land-based troops if the place is to be taken and occupied,” he warned. “Which will mean a Turkish force due, I understand, to be sent over from Batoum in the next ten days, and as many of the Circassian tribesmen as we can prevail upon to join up with them. But don’t worry, my boys—we’ll have a hand in the attack if all goes well.” There was another full-throated cheer and, looking at the excited, smiling faces about him, Phillip was satisfied that his announcement had raised the flagging morale of his ship’s company. Young Lightfoot, momentarily forgetful of the fact that he was on parade, was dancing with delight, his dirk drawn; Acting-Gunner O’Leary’s craggy face wore its familiar, gap-toothed grin; and Midshipman O’Hara emitted a spirited cheer of his own and flung his cap exultantly into the air.
In duty bound, Phillip reproved them. “That will do, Mr O’Hara,” he said sternly. “Oblige me by resuming your headgear. Mr Lightfoot, come to attention, if you please and remain so, until I dismiss you. I want the rest of you to remember that at no time is there to be undue familiarity with the native tribesmen . . . and their women are to be treated with respect. Is that clear? If any member of this ship’s company is found in compromising circumstances with a Circassian woman, he’ll have to answer to me—and I shall not go easy on him, whatever his rank.” A few faces fell a little as the implication of his words sank in and he went on, still sternly, “The success of our mission may well depend upon the manner in which you conduct yourselves. I shall expect all of you to behave with prudence and good sense. That’s all I have to say.” He caught Graham’s eye. “You may dismiss the ship’s company, Mr Hazard—including Mr Lightfoot.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Ship’s company, attention . . . dismiss. Mr Cochrane, pipe hands to dinner, if you please.”
The pipe was sounding as Phillip made his way below. Normally he dined in his own quarters when at sea, the hour at which he ate being flexible but today he decided he would take dinner in the gunroom—which, in a frigate, accommodated all officers o
f wardroom rank—and he issued instructions to his steward. “How about the Turkish—er—officer, Higgins?” he asked curiously. “I did not see him on deck—was he satisfied with his cabin?”
Able-Seaman Higgins, a gaunt-faced man with seventeen years’ service, who had joined the Huntress six months ago, after being hit by a shell splinter in the Naval Brigade’s Diamond Battery, permitted himself a superior smile.
“He was revelling in it, sir,” he answered expressively. “Told me ’e was a captain, sir, but it’s my belief that ’e’s no more an officer than I am. And I don’t fancy the little perisher—beg pardon, sir, I mean feller—I don’t fancy ’e’s been to sea very often. Got ’is ’ead down right away, he did . . . said he thought it might come on to blow. When I left ’im, ’e was sleeping like a baby, sir.”
“Sleeping, was he? Good Lord!”
“Yessir,” Higgins confirmed. “I don’t reckon ’e’ll trouble the warrant officers much but I passed the word about ’im to Mr O’Leary, sir, just in case . . . and I’ll keep me eye on ’im.” He vanished briefly and returned with a steaming pot of coffee, which he set down at Phillip’s elbow. “I thought you might care for this, sir, seeing you won’t be taking dinner for an hour or so. Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes, that’s all, thanks.” Higgins was a good man, Phillip reflected, as he sipped his coffee—worth his weight in gold because he never had to be told what to do or have things spelled out to him. He had been a first-rate seaman, according to his record, and he made an excellent steward, always at hand when he was wanted and careful to keep out of the way when he was not. His wound, like Gunner O’Leary’s, had left him with a bad limp but, although no longer fit to be rated a topman, this otherwise impaired him very little in the performance of his duties. Unlike O’Leary’s, his service conduct sheet was unblemished; he had no serious charges against his name and could, by this time, have reached warrant rank, but he had apparently always refused promotion, content to remain an AB. He . . . there was a tap on the door of his cabin. “Yes,” he called out, half-expecting Graham. “Come in.”
Lieutenant Roberts entered diffidently. “I wondered if I might have a word with you, sir. If you’re not too busy, that is.”
“Yes, of course,” Phillip assented readily. “I’ve been wanting a word with you, as it happens. Take a seat, Mr Roberts. Coffee? This has just been made.”
The young Marine officer reddened under his tan seeming, at first, as if he were about to reject both invitations, but, after a slight hesitation, he seated himself. Higgins, without being called, appeared with a fresh cup and silently withdrew. “If you’d rather had a drink—” Phillip began but Roberts shook his head.
“No, sir, no, indeed. Coffee’s most welcome.” He accepted the cup his host poured for him and sat with it held awkwardly between the palms of his two big hands, his round, boyish face continuing to flood with embarrassed colour. He was a flaxen haired young man, with a slightly snub nose and a pair of ingenuous blue eyes, very tall and powerfully built. Phillip judged him to be about twenty-two or three, although his fair colouring made him look younger.
“Well, Mr Roberts?” he encouraged. “What can I do for you, pray?”
“I’m probably wasting your time, Commander Hazard,” Roberts stammered, “But I . . . that is, sir, you—”
“Let me be the judge of whether or not you are wasting my time,” Phillip said crisply. “Presumably some aspect of our mission troubles you?”
“Well, yes, sir, it does, But—”
“Then I should be grateful if you would tell me precisely what . . . and why, Mr Roberts.”
“Yes, sir, I . . .” Evidently reaching a decision, the young Marine officer braced himself. “It was what you said just now, when you addressed the ship’s company . . . about not permitting any familiarity with the Circassians. Does that also apply to me, sir? You see, I was with them for nearly three weeks at Soukoum Kaleh, when I was serving in the Sampson, and I made a good many friends among them—there and also at Redoute Kaleh.”
“You helped to rebuild their defences at both places, didn’t you?” Phillip asked.
“I did, yes. And they’re remarkably fine people, sir. Not at all uncivilized, I assure you. They fight well and they hate the Russians, sir—believe me, they hate them—they welcomed us almost as deliverers and jumped at the chance we offered them to drive the Russian garrisons from the coastal forts. If we’d been able to land a few of our troops, even two or three thousand, the Circassians would have fought with us . . . Anapa would be in our hands now, sir, and probably Yenikale and Kertch as well.” In his enthusiasm, Lieutenant Roberts forgot his earlier embarrassment and talked on eagerly, describing the tribes he had met, their manners and customs, their fighting qualities, their courage, and Phillip listened with interest to his colourful account, conscious that the knowledge he was acquiring might well be extremely useful in the accomplishment of his mission.
“After we were recalled to the Fleet,” Nigel Roberts went on, “the Circassians took a number of other forts, including Golovin and Navagnisk. The enemy evacuated both places, spiked the guns, blew up magazines and fortifications, but I understand that the Circassians repaired the damage and are still holding them. And—I know you’ll find this rather hard to credit, sir—they also fitted out a small boat expedition, rowed across from Temriouk Bay, which is near the mouth of the Kouban River, to the Crimean shore, where they captured a couple of Russian gunboats. They manned the gunboats themselves and seized quite a number of grain boats and munition carriers before they were caught—that is to say, the Russians recaptured their gunboats but most of the Circassian crews managed to make their escape and—”
“You mean,” Phillip interrupted in astonishment, “that they launched this boat expedition in the Sea of Azoff?”
Roberts inclined his head. “Indeed they did, sir. Imagine what they might have been able to do if we’d been in a position to land a small naval brigade to assist and back them up, sir.”
The lad was right, Phillip thought, allowing his imagination brief rein. But this was the whole, regrettable story of the campaign up till now—because of the French insistence that all Allied resources must be concentrated on the siege and capture of Sebastopol. The flower of the British Army had perished at Balaclava and on the Heights of Inkerman and British naval strength had been severely depleted in order to furnish men and guns—and yet more men—for the prosecution of that costly siege. British fighting ships had been used as troop transports instead of for the purpose for which they were intended—to attack the enemy coastal forts, cut his supply lines and deprive him of reinforcements. French losses, in action and from disease, were higher in proportion to their numbers than the British, but Sebastopol still held out and General Canrobert, judging by today’s fiasco, had no intention of changing his disastrous tactics. Only the despised and badly led Turks and, if young Roberts were to be believed, some Circassian brigand tribes employed the right strategy but so ineffectively and with so little attempt to co-ordinate their efforts that they, too, were dying in vain.
He smothered a sigh as Roberts came to the end of his recital and, setting down his still untouched coffee cup, turned to regard his new commander expectantly.
“So you see, don’t you, sir, that I—”
Phillip cut him short. “I’ve no intention of restricting your contact with the Circassian guerillas, Mr Roberts,” he said. “Your knowledge of them and, indeed, your previous friendly relations with them will be of immense value to us, I’m quite sure. The reason I issued a warning to the ship’s company was, as you’ve probably realized, in order to protect the women, and if possible avoid any untoward incidents whilst my men are ashore which might cause trouble with the Circassians. They are Mohammedans, I understand, and their women are said to be very beautiful, so I deemed it advisable to make my warning a strong one.”
“The Circassian girls are exceptionally beautiful,” the young Marine officer confirmed.
“So are the Georgians—”
“Georgians, Mr Roberts?”
“Oh, yes, indeed, sir—but they are Christians, of the Greek Orthodox Church. We met a number of them in Soukoum. They kept open house for us, in fact, and we . . .” Roberts broke off, once again pink-cheeked with embarrassment and, as if fearing that he might have said too much, he changed the subject, embarking on a lengthy description of the different races to be encountered in the coastal towns and the reason why many of them supported the Turkish, rather than the Russian cause. Phillip studied his face thoughtfully as he talked. It was a transparently honest face, but he came to the conclusion, something was still troubling its owner, although Roberts was obviously in two minds as to whether to tell him what this was. Interrupting a dissertation on the Armenians, he said flatly, “Mr Roberts, you will, I trust, forgive a rather personal question but—were you in any way involved with any girl you met on your previous visit to this area?”
“Involved, sir?” Robert’s face was brick-red, but a look of relief spread over it. “Well, I . . . that was really what I came to see you about, Commander Hazard, only when it came to the point I . . . I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I was afraid you might think I had an ulterior motive for volunteering to join your ship and that if you knew, you might . . . well, that is—”
“That I might send you back to the Fleet?” Phillip suggested.
“Yes, sir. There is a girl . . . I mean, there was and to be honest, I was pretty fond of her. If circumstances had been different, I might even have . . . well, asked her to marry me. But as it happened, we got our sailing orders sooner than any of us expected and so . . . it didn’t come to that, sir.” Roberts spoke earnestly, his eyes meeting Phillip’s without flinching. “I suppose you’ll have to send me back?”
“Not necessarily, Mr Roberts. As I said, you could be very useful to us and I should be reluctant to have to deprive myself of your services. But I should expect you to conduct yourself with circumspection.”