by V. A. Stuart
“Oh—then she mentioned the possibility to you?”
“Yes, sir.” Einar Erikson’s blue eyes met his, innocent of guile, yet somehow oddly challenging. “I’ll stay, sir. The Colonel’s still breathing but that is about all. I do not think he can last much longer, sir.”
“No.” Phillip looked at him, puzzled by his attitude. But there was no time now to question him; he was a good man and could be trusted to obey orders. He gave these briefly and then, observing that Selina was asleep, added an equally brief message of farewell, which he instructed Erikson to give her when she wakened. “Remember,” he added, “report to me at Ghelenjik as soon as you can and bring Miss Selina with you. I do not anticipate that we shall be there for much over a week, so you’ll have to get to the port by then or—”
“Or be posted as a deserter, sir?” Erikson asked quietly. Phillip shook his head. “I shan’t post you as a deserter,” he returned. “But you’d have to stay here until we were able to pick you up . . . and that might mean a long stay.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the young Norwegian acknowledged, smiling. “I understand. I . . . good luck, sir.”
“And to you, lad.” Phillip’s gaze lingered for a moment on Selina’s lovely sleeping face and then, smothering a sigh, he followed Cochrane and Thompson to the entrance of the cave.
During the next forty-eight hours, Phillip endured the most intense discomfort he could recall ever having suffered on land. Serfir and his force of about a hundred horsemen rode hard and without respite and he, perforce, rode with them, lacking their skill on horseback but grimly determined, nonetheless, to stay with them. He saw, at first, no visible sign of the enemy they were trying to outwit—only the tracks of their horses and, in one place, a scant three miles or so from the cave, the ashes of their bivouac fires. The Cossacks were skilled horsemen, too, and initially matched skill with skill, cunning with cunning, refusing the feint attacks launched by small bodies of Circassians against them and disdaining to pursue those sent to lead them astray.
“They are well led,” Yusef confided, at the end of the first day when, with the coming of darkness, his father at last ordered a halt. “But we shall settle that small problem tonight, do not fear, Monsieur Hazard.”
“How?” Phillip asked wearily. He was so stiff and saddle-sore that he had to allow Yusef to help him dismount but shook his head impatiently to the young Circassian’s concerned enquiries. “I am all right, just a trifle stiff, that’s all. It will wear off.” One of the men took his horse to tether it with the rest, and he started to pace slowly up and down, as the circulation painfully returned to his numb and swollen right leg. “How?” he asked again, seeking distraction from his pain. “How will you settle what you are pleased to call your small problem tonight, Yusef?”
Yusef put a friendly arm round his shoulders and matched his long, lithe stride to his guest’s limping one. “The Cossacks light fires at night,” he answered, smiling. “They post sentries and the rest sleep—the officers, almost always, apart from their men—and this is when we have the advantage over them. To our men, darkness is a friend, not an impediment . . . we like to launch our raids under its cover, stealing in silently, like a pack of hungry wolves, overcoming the sentries one by one.” He laughed, a deep-throated, amused laugh. “Tonight, when they have settled down, some of us will raid their bivouac and whilst my men silence the sentries, I shall see to it that their commander does not live to see the dawn.”
“You’ll be taking the very devil of a chance,” Phillip objected.
“Not so great,” Yusef assured him confidently. “And it is necessary, if we are to keep our promise to deal with these Muscovs in time for my father to meet Mustapha Pasha at Ghelenjik, within the limit set by your Admiral. We Circassians are men of our word, Monsieur Hazard.”
“I would not want you to keep any promise at the risk of your life, Yusef . . .” Phillip halted and turned to face the Pasha’s son uneasily. “Please understand that.” He had to search for the words he wanted, stumbling, as Yusef did, to make his meaning clear in a language in which neither was really fluent and, not for the first time that day, he found himself wishing that Selina had been there to interpret for him.
Yusef’s smile widened. “It is good of you to concern yourself for my life, Monsieur Hazard, but you need not. These Cossacks are swine and I hate them; it is for myself, for my own—how do you call it?—satisfaction that I intend to outwit them. I would take you with me, so that you might see that I make no idle boast, but with that leg of yours, you would make too much noise.” He pointed to a hollow in the ground and, divesting himself of his heavy sheepskin riding cloak, laid it across Phillip’s shoulders. “I shall not need this, for I go on foot. Wrap it round you and sleep, Monsieur Hazard . . . we light no fires, and you might be cold.”
“The men who slept on the bare ground without fires,” Selina had called them, Phillip reminded himself and took the cloak reluctantly. “Come and claim this, will you?” he suggested. “When you return from your raid?”
Yusef eyed him for a moment with raised brows and then, laughing aloud, enfolded him in a bear-like hug. “Very well,” he replied. “I will do as you ask. You are a friend, Monsieur Hazard—a true friend, just as the Colonel was to us. At first I was not sure—I saw your eyes on Selina but now I understand and I trust you. If your heart desires her, she is yours . . .” he did not wait for Phillip’s reply but left him, gliding like a shadow into the darkness and making no sound.
He returned, in the same cat-like silence sometime later and Phillip, roused from his chilled and uneasy slumber on the bare ground, felt a round, smooth object thrust into his hand. “I bring this as proof,” Yusef whispered, “It is a watch, like yours.”
“Like mine? But—”
Yusef gave a dry chuckle. “It has no crest but it belonged to a pig of a Cossack officer who will not need it any more. We took some of their horses also—they will give us little trouble tomorrow, you will see.”
His forecast proved uncannily accurate. Without their experienced commander, the hunters became the hunted and, where before they had been elusive, they now showed themselves with increasing frequency, committing blunder after blunder and finally allowing their force to be split up. One party of about thirty strong, finding itself cut off from the main body, took refuge in ignominious flight, after glimpsing Dafir and a mere half dozen Circassians on a ridge above them and, although Dafir did not bother to pursue them, they were not seen again.
A second and bolder group, seeking to ride down a small decoy party led, with consummate skill, by Yusef, was attacked from the rear by the Circassians in roughly equal strength and routed with the loss of almost a third of its number, after a brief and bloody battle. The fighting, when it became hand-tohand, was fierce and savagely brutal, with no quarter given or asked by either side and no prisoners taken. Phillip, riding with Serfir, was sickened by the spectacle, although he could not but admire the tactical skill which the Circassian leader displayed and the manner in which he controlled his wild, brigand horsemen, wheeling them this way and that and making use of the natural cover afforded by trees and hills.
The fighting, however, obeyed no civilized rules of warfare and once, after a successful encounter when the Circassians were systematically slaughtering and plundering the wounded, Phillip was driven to voice a protest, which was received with surprise and then ignored. Later, having evidently been told of his protest by Serfir, Yusef took him to a small clearing among the trees, a mile or so from where they had camped the previous night, and pointed to the bodies of three of his men. All three, Phillip saw with horror, had been hideously mutilated and Yusef said harshly, “These men were with me last night and they were taken alive.”
“Alive? But—”
The young Circassian shrugged. “Monsieur Hazard, we kill but we do not torture. The Cossacks have never shown us mercy; they have no pity even for our women and children and we have been fighting them for thirty years
. So . . .” he gestured with his blood-stained scimitar to the burial party which had accompanied him and Phillip turned away, unable to reproach him or to offer any reply.
By mid-afternoon what, in his ignorance, he had thought of as Serfir’s cat and mouse game was virtually over and, to his intense relief, the scattered remnants of the Cossack search party were permitted to make their escape, miles from where they had begun their search and, Yusef assured him solemnly, in order that his father might adhere to his promise and waste no time on them.
“We start now for Ghelenjik, Monsieur Hazard,” the Pasha’s son added. “And we will ride as long as it is light.”
They covered eight or nine miles before nightfall, made camp—this time with cooking fires—and were off again at first light, riding at a steady, loping canter among seemingly trackless and thickly wooded foothills in a westerly direction, with occasional glimpses of the sea.
It was almost dusk when, at last, the harbour and the huddled rooftops of Ghelenjik came in sight, dwarfed by height and distance but nevertheless unmistakable. Phillip, by this time exhausted and unshaven and in considerable pain, breathed a prayer of thankfulness to his Maker as they descended and he was able to make out the riding lights of three ships through the gathering darkness. All three lay at anchor close inshore but he was considerably disconcerted when he took out his Dollond and saw that two of the anchored ships were paddle-wheel vessels and the third a steam-screw gunboat which he recognized as the Viper. Of his own Huntress there appeared to be no sign and, in his exhausted state, he became a prey to the most alarming misgivings, which were only relieved when Dafir, who had galloped ahead to the fort, returned from it, ten minutes later, bringing Lieutenant Roberts with him.
“How are you, sir?” the young Marine officer greeted him cheerfully, reining in his horse to the slow gait of Phillip’s weary, mud-spattered mount. “You look pretty done up, I must say. Perhaps you’d care to come to the fort for a meal and a tub, before you report to Commander Osborn?”
Osborn . . . so the Vesuvius was here, Phillip’s mind registered; the second paddle-wheel steamer was probably Mustapha Pasha’s Turkish transport. “Yes,” he said, “thank you, Mr Roberts, I should . . . I haven’t shaved for three days. But tell me, where is the Huntress? And did Mr Cochrane and the gunner’s mate, Thompson, reach here safely a couple of days ago?”
Roberts nodded. “Oh, yes, sir, they both turned up all right and they’re back aboard the Huntress now. She sailed early this morning for Soujak and Anapa, sir, with Emin Bey and some of the other Circassian leaders on board. I understand that, on orders from Commander Osborn, she was to throw some shells into the shore defence, sir—though I don’t exactly know with what object, unless it was a cover for a survey or something. The Turkish Pasha—Mustapha, sir—got here the day before yesterday and I believe he went along too. The Circassian chiefs evidently don’t trust him further than they can see him because they’ve been sticking to him like glue, sir, ever since he arrived.” The young Marine officer grinned as he added, “The Huntress is expected back at this anchorage tomorrow morning, I understand.”
Phillip, his fears for his ship allayed, gave vent to a deep sigh of relief. He took his leave of Serfir, who was to make camp with his men outside the town and, after passing on the news Roberts had given him to Yusef, continued on his way to the fort. Here, he discovered, Roberts and his Marines had made themselves very comfortable and he was pleased to notice that the Bey’s redifs appeared to be on excellent terms with their British allies.
“We’ve got them fairly well organized, sir,” Roberts told him, with pardonable pride. “But I imagine, now that you’ve brought the Bey’s men back, we shan’t be here much longer, shall we?” He opened the door to his own quarters, standing aside for Phillip to precede him. “Here we are, sir. Please make use of anything you need. I’ll get my servant to bring you some hot water.”
An hour later, freshly shaven and the stains of travel removed from his person, Phillip sat down to a meal with his host. “Ship’s rations, sir, I’m afraid,” Roberts said apologetically. “But I’ve managed to get hold of some quite pleasant local wine.”
“After a diet of goats’ meat, Mr Roberts, I shall welcome anything,” Phillip assured him. “And you can bring me up to date with what’s been happening in my absence, if you will. But first—has Mustapha Pasha brought any troops with him, do you know?”
“He’s brought two field batteries and four hundred men, I believe, sir,” Roberts answered promptly. “But so far he hasn’t landed them.”
Four hundred men, Phillip thought . . . it was not a generous contribution, in view of what the Turks had promised and he—heaven help him—had led Serfir to expect. But the field-guns would be useful and if Serfir and the other chiefs could raise twenty or thirty thousand Circassians of the calibre of those he had spent the past few days with, then an assault on Anapa and Soujak would not be beyond the bounds of possibility. He questioned Roberts minutely as he ate and learnt that Emin Bey was confident that, with the force he could raise allied to Serfir’s, Anapa could be taken without difficulty.
“In his view, sir,” the Marine Lieutenant said earnestly, “The Russians won’t put up any resistance, if they are seriously threatened. Emin Bey thinks they will evacuate both Anapa and Soujak and retreat to the Kouban . . .” he went into details and ended, “But the Bey says he must have guns, sir.”
“And two field batteries won’t be sufficient for his purpose?”
“Hardly, sir. He’s had one conference with the Turkish Pasha already, sir, on board the Turkish frigate and I think it went quite well. But they were waiting for Serfir, of course, and now that you’ve delivered him there shouldn’t be any holdup. You had quite a job getting him here, did you not, sir? Or so I gathered from Mr Cochrane—he had a meal and a bath here, too, sir, so I heard his news.”
Phillip frowned into his wine glass. Quite a job, he thought wearily . . . well, perhaps it could be thus described. He looked up to meet Roberts’s grave-eyed scrutiny, remembering the conversation they had had before he had left the Huntress to go in search of Serfir. “Tell me, Mr Roberts,” he asked curiously, “how did you get on when you called at Soukoum? Did you see the—er—the Georgian girl?”
Young Roberts flushed to the roots of his thick, fair hair. This, obviously, was a question he did not relish but he answered it, after a moment’s embarrassed hesitation. “No, sir, I did not see her. She was married, sir, and . . .” he choked with suppressed indignation. “Married to a man old enough to be her father! I saw him and I . . . well, to tell you the truth, sir, I don’t mind all that much. Not now, I mean—it was a bit of a shock when I first found out but it wouldn’t have worked, I realize that now I’ve had time to think about it . . . if I’d married her, I mean. We come from different worlds, sir, and if I’d had to bring her home and introduce her to my family . . . well, it would have upset them quite a bit, I’m quite sure.”
Selina had spoken of different worlds, Phillip thought, with a twinge of sadness. Brave, beautiful Selina! Like young Roberts he might—had circumstances been different—have married her. And such a marriage, as Roberts had said, would probably have upset his family also . . . he sighed and took a deep draught of his wine, as Roberts talked on about the Huntress’s visit to Soukoum Kaleh.
“The men behaved admirably, sir,” he said. “There were no incidents and no one made trouble ashore. Er—some more wine, sir? It’s not bad, is it, sir?”
“It’s extremely pleasant, Mr Roberts,” Phillip assured him warmly. “And I am most grateful for your hospitality. I think, though, that I had better report my arrival—and Serfir Pasha’s—to Commander Osborn now. Have you any means of communication with the Vesuvius—could you ask them to send a boat for me?”
“Yes, of course, sir.” Roberts rose at once. “I’ll tell my sergeant to signal for a boat. Er—shall we report to you aboard the Huntress when she returns to the anchorage tomorrow, sir?”
“I’ll let you know, Mr Roberts, when I find out what orders Commander Osborn has for me.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Phillip reached for his cap. “I shall probably sleep on board the Vesuvius. The Viper’s here, too, is she not?”
“Yes, sir,” Roberts confirmed. “She arrived from Kazatch just before you did.”
Then she would have had latest news from the Fleet, Phillip thought and, eager to hear it, he donned his torn and mud-stained sheepskin cloak from sheer force of habit, only realizing how odd he looked when the midshipman in command of the boat from Vesuvius eyed him with unconcealed distaste before enquiring haughtily if he spoke English.
“Well enough to command Her Majesty’s ship Huntress, youngster,” he replied with pretended asperity and grinned at the boy’s open-mouthed astonishment. “All right,” he added, as the midshipman started to stammer an apology. “It’s an understandable mistake. I shan’t mention it to your Captain.”
He received a much warmer welcome when he stepped on board the Vesuvius, to be met by both her commander, Sherard Osborn, and Lieutenant William Armytage of the Viper. Both had served with distinction in the China War of 1842, when Armytage had been one of Captain Henry Keppel’s junior officers in the Dido, and Osborn in the Clio, under Captain Edward Troubridge. They were old friends of Phillip’s midshipman days—Sherard Osborn was, in fact, only two years his senior, although he had been promoted to his present rank soon after joining the Black Sea Fleet.
“Well, Phillip,” Osborn said, when greetings had been exchanged. “Have you eaten? Good—then come along to my cabin and we’ll have a drink. Unless you’d like our surgeon to look at your leg? Your young Second Lieutenant—what’s his name? Cochrane, isn’t it? He told me that you got a spent musket ball in it and I see you’re limping.” Phillip shook his head and Sherard Osborn smiled. “See the surgeon before you turn in, then, because I expect you are anxious for news and we’ve got quite a lot to tell you, haven’t we, Willie? As no doubt you have to tell us.” Reaching his day cabin, he waved a hospitable hand. “Sit down and make yourself at home. I’ll fix you up with a cot for the night, of course—sorry I had to send your Huntress off without you but in view of the Admiral’s specific instructions, I had no choice . . . and she’ll be back here by tomorrow. In any case, your brother’s a pretty experienced First Lieutenant, isn’t he? Indeed he’s . . . what? Seven or eight years senior to me. I was glad to hear he’d had his commission restored. Now . . . what will you have!”