by V. A. Stuart
“Brandy, I think, thanks. I’ve been most royally entertained at the fort by my Marine officer, so make it a small one, would you?” Phillip lowered himself into a chair, stretching his injured leg out in front of him. It was not so swollen as it had been, he noticed—evidently Roberts’s tub had done it some good. Sipping his brandy, he gave a brief report of his stay with Serfir Pasha—Cochrane had already reported on this, so that it was necessary only to fill in such gaps as he had left. Both Osborn and Armytage listened with interest and when he had done, Osborn asked thoughtfully, “They’re pretty formidable fighting men, these Circassians, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would indeed,” Phillip agreed, remembering the past two days.
“Do you consider that this fellow Serfir is a man of his word, Phillip?” Sherard Osborn pursued.
“I do,” Phillip assured him unhesitatingly.
“And do you think he really can raise about twenty thousand of his countrymen for an assault on Anapa and Soujak?”
“Yes, I do—if he says he will. But he will need help from the Turks and I hope Mustapha Pasha realizes this—I hear he’s only brought four hundred men with him, and a couple of batteries of field-guns—”
“Six hundred,” Osborn corrected. “Or so he told me.” They discussed the situation at some length and then, when Osborn rose to refill their glasses, Phillip turned to Armytage. “What is the latest news from the Fleet, Willie? Has the Admiral managed to persuade Canrobert to agree to a second attempt to put a squadron into the Sea of Azoff?”
Armytage chuckled. “Better than that, my dear fellow—he’s persuaded Pélissier to agree to it and with enthusiasm! Canrobert has resigned the French Supreme Command, in favour of Pélissier—on the grounds of ill-health, it is believed.”
“You mean that Pélissier is the French C-in-C?” Phillip was staggered, unable to believe his ears. “Good Lord, when did this—this miracle happen?”
“Just before I left Kazatch. There were rumours floating about for days but this one was definitely confirmed yesterday. I can vouch for it.” Armytage smiled. “Our Chief, as you may imagine, has taken on a new lease of life . . . and small wonder! Canrobert has been like a millstone round his neck throughout this war. They say that Bruat is delighted, too.”
“And what is even more important,” Sherard Osborn added, putting Phillip’s refilled glass into his hand, “is that a conference has been called to plan the capture of Kertch. There seems, indeed, every reason to hope that the second expedition will leave Sebastopol within the next four or five days. The Admiral is only waiting confirmation—which Willie will deliver to him the instant Serfir and the other chiefs reach agreement with Mustapha—of a simultaneous uprising in Circassia and an attack on Anapa and Soujak.”
“Then,” Phillip suggested, elated by this news, “let’s drink to that, shall we?” He raised his glass.
“Let us drink to it by all means, my dear chap. But”—in the act of drinking the toast, Osborn frowned and lowered his glass—“I was on patrol off Kertch until thirty-six hours ago, Phillip, and every day adds to the accumulation of impediments which the enemy are placing in the deep water channel off Yenikale which may well impede even ships of very shallow draught, like your Huntress.”
“Does the Admiral know this?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve kept him informed—Willie has been back and forth carrying reports to him. We shall have to send a ship in to test and buoy the channel, I imagine.”
Phillip met his gaze in swift understanding. “Do you want a volunteer?” he asked. “How about the Huntress?”
“Well, that sounds a fair offer, Phillip. You draw less water than any of us, I fancy.”
“Then I’ll be happy to volunteer. When do you want to make the test run?”
Osborn smiled. “When I receive definite word that the expedition is on its way—not before, because we don’t want to alarm the enemy prematurely.” He laid a friendly hand on Phillip’s shoulder, “I’ve received no instructions yet, so we’ll wait and see what transpires, shall we?”
“Very good,” Phillip agreed. He shook his head to the offer of another drink. “No, thanks, I think I’ll turn in fairly soon, if you don’t mind, Sherard. How about tomorrow? You’re not leaving here yet, I take it?”
“No, not yet . . . though I can’t stay more than a day or so. Tomorrow I’d like to arrange a meeting between Mustapha Pasha and your chap Serfir Pasha, Emin Bey and Najib Bey and the rest of the Circassian leaders and, if it’s possible, get them to commit themselves. If and when they do, Willie can dash back to Kazatch to inform the Chief—I hope by tomorrow evening at the latest—and bring us back our orders. I think you’d better attend the conference tomorrow, Phillip, if you don’t mind, because you know Serfir and you might be able to tip the scales if he’s reluctant.”
“I’ll do my best,” Phillip promised. “But he doesn’t speak English—you realize that, don’t you?”
Osborn sighed. “I’d forgotten, I confess. I tell you what, then—we’ll get the conference organized as soon as your Huntress delivers Mustapha Pasha and Emin Bey, and leave them to it until about mid-afternoon. Then all three of us could go along to hear what they’ve decided. Bring that Turkish interpreter of yours—the little fat fellow—will you please? He can translate for us.” His expression relaxed in an amused smile. “I don’t wonder that you decided not to take him mountaineering with you, though—he’s hardly what one would describe as an athletic sort of chap, is he?”
Phillip laughed. “Not really, no. I hope he’s been useful to you?”
“Oh, yes, he has.” Sherard Osborn rose. “Well, I think we’ve covered the essentials and I don’t want to keep you up . . . you look as if you could do with a good night’s sleep.”
“I could,” Phillip admitted. He followed his host to the cabin which had been set aside for his use and Osborn said, “I’ll send my surgeon along to look at that leg of yours before you turn in, Phillip. If he can do nothing else, he can dress it for you.”
“Thanks, Sherard . . . also for your hospitality.”
“He’s young but he’s quite good at his job,” the Vesuvius’s commander added, brushing aside Phillip’s thanks. “And take advantage of my hospitality—get yourself some rest, old man, please. I’ll have you called the minute your Huntress comes to anchor. Good night—and sleep well.”
The young assistant-surgeon made his appearance a few minutes later. As his commander had said, he was good at his job—unlike poor young Brown, the Huntress’s assistant-surgeon, Phillip thought wryly, this boy had obviously had a good deal of experience and knew exactly what he was about. He spent a long time cleaning and probing the wound made by the spent musket ball, asking diffident questions concerning its removal and the old shrapnel wound above it as he worked.
“All things considered, sir,” he said when—apparently satisfied—he started to apply a fresh bandage, “it’s remarkably clean and should soon start to heal if you are able to rest your leg for the next day or so. You’ve been very fortunate in that no infection has set in—whoever took the ball out was—well, a trifle ham-fisted, I’m afraid.”
Remembering Erikson’s reluctant efforts, Phillip permitted himself a brief smile. “That,” he returned, “is no exaggeration, Doctor. One of my seamen removed the ball with his claspknife—and I had to order him to do it.”
The young surgeon looked shocked. “Then you are even more fortunate than I had supposed, sir,” he said, finishing off his bandaging with a neat knot. “However,” he qualified, “at least you’re better off than you would have been had the ball been left in until now. If it had, I’d have been taking your leg off, instead of dressing it, I think. If I may presume to advise you again to rest as much as you can, you should have no more trouble with this wound. I’ll look in again tomorrow. Good night, sir.”
Phillip thanked him and, left alone, wasted no time in undressing and getting into his cot. He was asleep almost instantly and did not waken unt
il a steward called him with breakfast and the news that the Huntress had been sighted, entering the bay.
It was with a keen sense of pleasure and relief that he boarded his own ship, an hour later. The Turkish and Circassian passengers were already on their way ashore when his boat tied up to the starboard chains and Graham met him with a restrained, “Welcome aboard, sir,” and a rueful smile that told more than words could have done. In the privacy of his day cabin, the efficient Higgins served them both with coffee and when he had gone, Phillip said, eyeing his brother quizzically, “You’re glad to be rid of your passengers, I gather?”
Graham sighed. “I don’t know how you guessed but . . . yes, I am. Oh, it was quite a successful trip, Phillip, you need have no anxiety on that score. We made a useful reconnaissance of both Soujak and Anapa and young Grey’s gunners made excellent practice on the forts at both places—I’ll give you full details in a moment. But the language difficulties have been, to say the least of it, a strain for all concerned and—”
“What about the corpulent Aslam? Isn’t he on board?”
“Oh, yes, he’s on board—but currently indisposed. To tell you the truth, he’s no sailor. No doubt he’s recovering now.”
“It’s to be hoped he is,” Phillip said. “We shall require his services this afternoon, when Sherard Osborn and I are to attend the Turkish-Circassian conference . . .” he brought Graham up to date with the plans Osborn had made and the latest news from Kazatch and saw his brother’s expression becoming more cheerful.
“Cochrane got back to you all right, I hear, and the gunner’s mate with him?” Phillip said.
“Indeed, yes. Young Tony Cochrane has been regaling us, ever since his return, with the most fantastic tales of your adventures among the Circassians. I confess to a certain scepticism, though.”
“Oh—on what account, pray? He’s a truthful young man as a rule.”
Graham refilled his coffee cup. “So I had always believed. But his stories of the beautiful Circassian girl—or was she Polish?—took some swallowing.”
“She’s Polish—that is to say, on her father’s side. Her mother was English, a sister of General Guyon’s, apparently . . .” Phillip’s thoughts went back, almost against his will, to Selina. How was she faring, he wondered anxiously, she and Erikson and the poor old Colonel? He had to make an effort to take in what his brother was saying.
“According to Cochrane, she’s quite an Amazon. He said she was shooting better than any of you when you ambushed that Russian supply train.”
“She was,” Phillip confirmed, his voice flat. “With a flintlock rifle, against our Miniés.”
Graham’s dark brows lifted in astonishment. “Well, of course, if you say so, then I believe it. Cochrane also said that you were hit in the thigh by a spent musket ball . . . is that true? And if it is, how are you?”
“It’s true—but I am perfectly all right, or shall be if I can rest the leg for a day or so. The Vesuvius’s surgeon has given me a clean bill of health.”
“I’m immensely relieved to hear it,” Graham said dryly. “I’ll grant you look quite fit, although I should not have thought that the best cure for a bullet wound in the leg was to spend— how long? Three or four days on horseback, with a Circassian raiding party!”
Phillip shrugged. “It was kill or cure, I think . . . although honestly, I hadn’t much choice. If I had let Serfir out of my sight, I should never have got him here. But God preserve me from ever taking part in such an operation again!”
“What was it like?” Graham asked curiously.
“The fighting was—oh, my God, Graham, it was quite horrifying. I did not think I was squeamish but it turned my stomach, I must admit . . .” He gave a strictly factual account of what he had witnessed and saw his brother’s eyes widen in shocked surprise.
“In defence of the Circassians though, they have suffered appalling oppression for thirty years and their hatred is directed mainly against the Cossacks, who have apparently been used as the instruments of that oppression . . .” he repeated the account Selina had given him, of the Cossacks’ behaviour when sent to occupy an undefended Circassian village and added, an edge to his voice as he recalled the terrible wounds inflicted on Selina’s father, “The Cossacks caught Colonel Gorak—the girl’s father—did Cochrane tell you? I saw, with my own eyes, how little mercy they showed him . . . and he was quite obviously a European and a Christian, like themselves.”
Graham nodded. “Yes, Cochrane told me about the Colonel—said he was a fine old man. He—I gather he was mortally wounded?”
“I’m afraid so,” Phillip confirmed. “I had to leave him where he was—in the cave, which Serfir uses as his mountain headquarters and field hospital. His daughter stayed with him and I left Erikson to look after her—I couldn’t leave her by herself, you see.” He explained the orders he had given Erikson and went on, aware that he looked and sounded embarrassed, “The poor old Colonel made me responsible for his daughter, Graham. It was his—I suppose it could be called his dying request, although he was still just about alive when I left him, so I could hardly refuse, could I?”
Graham sighed. “No,” he said, with conviction, “You could not have refused in such circumstances. One has obligations to one’s allies . . . how do you propose to carry out the Colonel’s dying wish in regard to his daughter? Cochrane seemed to think . . .” he broke off and Phillip demanded harshly, “For God’s sake, what did Cochrane think? I’d like to know.”
“Well, he said you’d told him nothing and that he was only guessing but he thought that the Colonel had asked you to marry her. I found that hard to believe, Phillip, I must confess, but . . .” Graham eyed him speculatively.
“It is true, nevertheless,” Phillip told him.
“Well, Cochrane said that she’s a really beautiful girl. Did you propose marriage to her, Phillip?”
“I did,” Phillip confessed. “And she refused me.”
“Refused you, by heaven!” Taken by surprise, Graham stared at him incredulously. “I suppose, in a way, I should be relieved for you . . . the Old Man wouldn’t have liked such an alliance, would he? And, I fear, neither would Mother but—did you want to marry her, Phillip? Did you fall in love with her?”
Phillip hesitated, a trifle resentful of the question yet seeking an honest answer to it. Remembering Selina’s fearless honesty, he finally shook his head. “No,” he said. “No on both counts . . . but I would have married her, for all that, if she had accepted my proposal. And you may call me every sort of a fool, if you like—I shall not deny it.”
His brother was silent, subjecting him to a thoughtful scrutiny. “In the circumstances,” he said, frowning, “I think you did the only thing possible, my dear Phillip. Indeed, I cannot see what else any man—with half a heart—could have done. But you’re not yet free of your promise, are you, even though she refused your proposal? How will you keep it?”
“I don’t know, Graham—in truth I don’t know.” Phillip spread his hands in a despairing gesture. “When she arrives here—as I trust she soon will and Erikson, too—I shall have to try to arrange a passage for her either to Batoum, in Mustapha Pasha’s ship, to join her uncle or, perhaps, to Eupatoria in one of ours. There’s an East India Company officer there, serving under General Cannon, who, her father told me, offered for her hand some time ago. Selina said that she would obey her father’s last wish—she gave me her word that she would make a Christian marriage or not marry at all—and she did mention that she had someone in mind. I can only suppose that it was this Indian Army officer, Captain O’Hay, whom she meant.”
“A passage to Eupatoria should not be too hard to arrange, Phillip,” Graham observed.
“No, I trust not. But I can arrange nothing until I see her again and . . . we may not be here for more than another day or two. If a second expedition to Kertch and the Sea of Azoff is agreed to by the new French Commander-in-Chief, I imagine it will be launched without delay, if the Admiral has an
ything to do with it.” Phillip took out his watch. “I promised Sherard Osborn that I would attend the conference on shore with him this afternoon and he wants me to bring Aslam, to interpret for us. If all goes well, Willie Armytage will sail this evening, to inform the Admiral . . . and if there is to be a second attempt to enter the Sea of Azoff, we may be required to make a survey of the deep water channel and buoy it, before Jack Lyons’s squadron reaches the Straits. Osborn says he has seen the enemy endeavouring to block it.”
“Then we’ve no time to spare, have we?” Graham suggested.
“No, we have not.” Phillip got to his feet. “I think I had better pay a call on the Captain of the Turkish frigate, don’t you? In case Selina does not reach here until after we’ve sailed, I could ask him to give her passage—if she wants it—to Batoum. She did tell me that she would like to stay with Serfir’s people but it’s possible she may change her mind. Erikson, I’m afraid, will have to wait here until we can pick him up but I imagine that Najib Bey could accommodate him at the fort and—” he was moving towards the cabin door but Graham forestalled him.
“A moment, Phillip.” He stood with his back to the door. “You ought to rest that leg of yours. I can quite easily call on the Turkish Captain on your behalf and, if I rout out Aslam and take him with me, I can be every bit as persuasive as you could. And as to Erikson, can you not have a word with Najib about him, when you’re ashore this afternoon—the conference with the Pasha is being held at the fort, is it not?”