by V. A. Stuart
“I hope so. It’s not an easy language and I’m not really very good at speaking it.”
“Well, a few hours in the town should suffice, if we keep our eyes and ears open. Certainly those few hours will tell us more than days of observation from the deck of a ship,” Phillip said. He was suddenly conscious of a feeling of excitement at the prospect of smuggling himself ashore in Odessa and, once again, his thoughts strayed unbidden to Mademoiselle Sophie. It was extremely unlikely that he would catch even a glimpse of her, of course, but he would walk through streets in which she had walked—or along which she had been driven—past buildings on which her gaze had rested and see again the scenes, the people and the places that were familiar to her. Remembering what Andrei Narishkin had told him, he wondered whether her child had yet been born and, if it had, whether it was, in fact, the son he had wanted so much. A son would be the heir to all that his father had owned: his proud title, the great, rambling, stone-built palace which lay hidden behind a high wall on the outskirts of the town. … Phillip bit back a sigh.
He would probably never know about the child, he told himself sternly, and, however many hours he spent in Odessa, the Princess Narishkina would not be aware of his presence there. Even if, by some miracle, he were to catch sight of her— in the distance, perhaps, or over the heads of a crowd of passers-by—he would have to remain silent, unable to speak her name or to call out to her, lest he draw unwelcome attention to himself. His brief elation faded as Graham, poring now over the chart of Odessa and its adjacent coastline, endeavoured to choose a landing-place for them, near enough to the town for them to reach it on foot and far enough away for the arrival of their boat to pass unnoticed.
“There’s fog about,” he said, rolling up the chart at last. “Remember how thick it was, when the Tiger went aground? I never thought I’d welcome another fog like that but it would certainly assist us to slip ashore without being seen.” He hesitated. “Tell me, Phillip, is Captain Broke to be informed of our mission?”
Phillip got to his feet, stretching his cramped limbs wearily. “I presume that he’ll have been informed but I shan’t know until I’ve seen him.” He stilled a yawn. “I fancy we’ve done as much planning as we can at this stage, don’t you?”
“Yes, I think so,” his brother agreed, rising also. “Just one small matter, before you go—concerning the First Lieutenant.”
Phillip’s brows lifted in a surprised curve. “Oh … what about the First Lieutenant, Graham?”
“How much do you intend him to know of the nature of our mission?”
“Well …” Phillip considered the question, frowning now. “I had not given it much thought,” he admitted finally. “But the simple fact, I suppose, that you and I are to be set ashore and that we shall spend some hours on a reconnaissance of the port of Odessa. He’ll be in command of the ship in my absence, so obviously he will have to be told what we are doing. No more, though … none of the whys and wherefores. In any case, my orders are confidential and I’m not at liberty to disclose them to anyone, apart from yourself, of course. I shall tell Quinn when and where to send a boat to pick us up, as soon as that point is decided … but until I’ve had a word with Captain Broke, I shall say nothing.”
Graham nodded his approval but offered no comment. Phillip bade him good night and, leaving the chartroom, went to pace the quarter-deck for another hour, deep in thought. It was a cold, overcast night, with little wind and a damp, misty smell in the air and he wondered when, at last, he went to his own quarters, whether Graham’s forecast of fog would prove to be correct. In a way, it would help them but, remembering the Tiger’s fate, he found himself hoping that the following day would dawn bright and clear.
His hopes were realized and the rendezvous with Captain Broke’s squadron was made in watery sunlight during the early afternoon of 18th January. But within less than an hour of sighting the three ships, a thick mist descended to envelop them, and all three, in obedience to a signal from the squat, paddle-wheel corvette Gladiator, prudently dropped anchor. Phillip, with matching prudence, brought the Huntress to within hailing distance of the squadron and himself came-to on the Gladiator’s port quarter. In response to her commander’s invitation, he went on board at once, being met at the entry port by both Captain Broke and Lieutenant Risk, commander of the steam-screw gun vessel Wrangler, whose gig secured to the Gladiator’s starboard chains a few minutes before his own.
“We will ask the Frenchman to join us in a little while,” Captain Broke said. “But first, I think, we had better have a brief, all-British council of war to decide how best we can assist you to carry out your mission, Commander Hazard … without endangering the success of that with which we ourselves are charged.” He waved a hospitable hand, inviting his guests to be seated, his steward offering wine and cigars.
The council of war, which he conducted with breezy good humor, began at once. It was agreed that the squadron should approach Odessa at first light, with the Huntress in company and the Gladiator in the van, under a flag of truce. When this had been acknowledged, a boat, commanded by Lieutenant Risk, would be rowed to within sight of the Imperial Mole, there to await the arrival of the Russian boat sent to meet it, to whose commander the blockade notice would be formally delivered. The squadron would then anchor just out of range of the shore batteries until such time as a reply to the notice was received.
“If this infernal fog persists,” Captain Broke remarked, “it’s to be hoped that the gunners on shore will see my flag of truce before opening fire on me! You were present at the bombardment of this place last April, weren’t you, Commander Hazard? Tell me … what sort of marksmen are they in Odessa? As good as those fellows at Kimburn?”
“We found them too accurate for comfort, sir,” Phillip told him. “But we gave as good as we got.”
“Then it will behove us to be careful,” his host said, laughing ruefully. “I had my foretopmast shot away at Kimburn. And my gunners are out of practice … indeed, there are times when I question whether I’m in command of a ship-of-war or a horse-transport! However, to return to our problem. This, to my mind, is the somewhat delicate one of how far I can support you in the carrying out of your orders, without infringing the truce by which I am bound. To be honest, Hazard, I should prefer to know as little as possible concerning your movements—officially, that’s to say. But, speaking off the—er —record now, I presume that you’ll make your own arrangements for getting ashore?”
“Yes, I will,” Phillip assured him. “My gig will set us ashore and return to take us off.”
“Excellent!” Captain Broke approved. “Dick Risk was afraid you might want to go ashore with him. But you say ‘us’ … You won’t be alone, then?”
“No, sir, I’m taking my Master, who was a prisoner-of-war in Odessa for nearly five months. …” Phillip gave a quick explanation and again the Gladiator’s Captain nodded his approval.
“A capital idea to take him along with you, Hazard … and if he can speak some Russian that should make your task easier. Not that it’s going to be easy, I fear—I confess I don’t envy you, my dear fellow, ’pon my soul I don’t. Eh, Risk? What a pair of names yours are, come to think of it … Hazard and Risk! Hardly augurs well for this affair, does it? However, one cannot question one’s orders, one simply has to carry them out … and I gather the Admiral has a strong reason for sending you to Odessa, Commander Hazard. For how long do you anticipate staying there—still off the record, of course?”
“I’m not sure,” Phillip admitted. “So much will depend on circumstances I cannot foresee. A day ought to allow us all the time we need.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Broke demanded bluntly.
Phillip’s smile was apologetic. “Then we shall have to stay longer, I’m afraid, sir. I’ve tried to make my plans flexible so far as timing goes. If the fog lifts, we’ll have to make our landing before first light but, if it persists, we may be delayed. We have chosen a spot that seems suitable, a sm
all, sheltered cove a mile or so to the west of the town. …” He launched into a brief explanation, to which both his fellow commanders listened with interest and, in the case of the solemn-faced Risk, a certain amount of apprehension. Phillip was unable to decide whether his anxiety stemmed from concern for himself and Graham or because the Wrangler’s commander feared that he was being made party to an infringement of the truce, to the letter of which his conscience demanded that he should adhere. But he offered no open objection, taking his cue from Captain Broke, whose earlier qualms on this score appeared to have been allayed. Only when Phillip started to outline his plan for returning to the Huntress on the completion of his mission did Risk venture a question.
“When do you intend to order your boat to pick you up, sir?” he asked diffidently. “If you’re unable to tie yourself to a hard and fast time?”
Phillip turned to face him. “Well, I think it likely that we shall have to wait at least until dark to attempt to make our way back to our landing-place, Mr Risk. We can’t bank on the fog, can we? So I propose to order my gig to lie off the entrance to the cove two hours after darkness falls and to wait for ten to fifteen minutes. If we are unable to rendezvous with him then, I’ll instruct my boat commander to pull back to the ship and return to the cove an hour before daybreak … but again, only to wait for about fifteen minutes, just in case they’re seen. Should we fail to make the second rendezvous, the third will have to be the following evening, obviously and—”
“And should you fail to join the boat then, sir?” Richard Risk persisted.
Phillip shrugged. “In that event, Mr Risk,” he said dryly, “I fear it will mean that we have fallen into the enemy’s hands, so that it would serve no good purpose to send the boat back a fourth time. As I said, a day should suffice for us to make our reconnaissance … two days and a night would more than suffice, but, by allowing myself that much latitude, I am trying to anticipate any unforeseen contingencies which might delay us.”
“A wise precaution, Commander Hazard,” Captain Broke observed. “And, if I may, I should like to suggest one or two others, on my own behalf, to ensure that my squadron does not officially break the truce. For a start—” He hesitated, meeting Phillip’s gaze unhappily. Guessing what he was about to say, Phillip put in quietly, “Of course, sir, in the—I venture to hope unlikely—event of our being taken by the enemy, you would be compelled to deny any knowledge of our existence.”
Captain Broke smiled his relief. “I should,” he agreed. “I’m glad you understand that, Commander Hazard. You’ve taken a weight off my mind. The other suggestions I should like to make are that you approach the port well astern of us tomorrow morning—no doubt you could feign trouble with your engines—and that you come to anchor at a distance from my squadron, so that my flag of truce—at any rate technically— does not cover you. Is that agreeable?”
“Certainly, sir,” Phillip assented readily. Lieutenant Risk gave him a worried glance but said nothing.
“Thank you,” Captain Broke acknowledged. He held up his glass. “I drink to the success of your mission and to your safe return, my friend. Between ourselves, I shan’t know a moment’s peace until I’m informed that you have returned safely to your ship but …” He sighed heavily, glancing from one to the other of his guests. “I think we’ve settled all we can, don’t you?” Both officers murmured their assent, although Risk still looked unhappy, and he rose to his feet. “Good—then we’d better invite the Captain of His Imperial Majesty’s frégate de battaille Mogador to repair on board or he may take offense. He’s a charming fellow but a trifle touchy. You’ll stay and partake of a meal with us, won’t you, Hazard?”
Phillip hesitated. “Well, it’s most kind of you, sir, but I have a number of matters to attend to and—”
“Nonsense, my dear fellow!” Captain Broke interrupted forcefully. “Do you good to forget about tomorrow for a couple of hours. Besides, I have a shoulder of lamb for just such an occasion as this and my cooks are busy with it now. A pity to waste it, don’t you agree?”
It was a pleasant evening, rounded off by an unusually good meal and the French Captain—belying Sir George Broke’s suggestion that he was touchy—proved a congenial and entertaining guest, in whose light-hearted company even Lieutenant Risk thrust his cares behind him and began to relax. Phillip enjoyed himself but made his excuses soon after the meal had been cleared away, anxious to get back to his own ship in order to put the final touches to his preparations for the following morning, which—if everything went according to plan—would require him to be early astir.
And, he reminded himself, as his gig pulled away from the Gladiator’s bulky paddle-box, one of his first tasks would be to talk to Quinn. He had to make sure that the First Lieutenant fully understood his instructions and that he left no loophole by means of which these might be misinterpreted. Ambrose Quinn would be in command of the Huntress during the time that he and Graham were ashore and on his shoulders would rest full responsibility for the prompt appearance of the gig at the correct time and place … and for its recall, if this were necessary. As it might be, he knew. The chances of either Graham or himself arousing suspicion or being challenged by a vigilant sentry were fairly remote but they existed and had therefore to be taken into account, if only because of the delay they might cause.
He could, of course, put Anthony Cochrane in command of the gig, thus dividing the responsibility but … Phillip’s mouth tightened, as the ghostly outline of his ship loomed up through the darkness, her riding and deck lamps all but obscured by the mist. Conditions tomorrow night might well be as bad as they were now, he thought ruefully, and the search for two men, hidden in a tiny cove, as difficult as hunting for the proverbial needle in a haystack, in which case, Cochrane’s experience—and his proven loyalty—would be invaluable. Nevertheless, responsibility for organizing the rescue was properly Quinn’s and, in fairness to the man, he had to be allowed to take it. To place him in only nominal command would be to undermine his authority as First Lieutenant and this, Phillip decided, recalling how Captain North had behaved in a similar fashion to himself, this he could not do to Ambrose Quinn.
From the deck above them, a boy’s piping voice hailed the approaching boat and Midshipman O’Hara answered crisply, “Aye, aye—Huntress!” The side-party was assembled when Phillip swung himself aboard and he saw, a trifle to his surprise, that the First Lieutenant was also standing by the entry port waiting to receive him, fingers touching the brim of his cap.
“Good evening, Mr Quinn,” he said, acknowledging the salute, which was a courtesy that, on occasion, his second-in command found ingenious excuses for omitting. “I should like a word with you in my cabin, if you please.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Ambrose Quinn responded. “I’ve been waiting for a word with you, too, sir, as it happens.”
His tone implied mild reproach for his commander’s lengthy absence but Phillip ignored this, offering neither explanation nor apology. He led the way to his own quarters in studied silence, sensing, from his companion’s expression, that whatever news Quinn had to give him was not good.
“Well, Mr Quinn?” he questioned curtly, as soon as they were alone. “What is it?”
“It’s Mr Cochrane … I regret to tell you that he’s been taken ill, Commander Hazard—seriously ill, in my opinion.”
“Oh … when did this happen?” If Cochrane was, in fact, seriously ill, one decision had been made for him, Phillip reflected wryly.
“About two hours ago,” Quinn answered. “I relieved him of the deck and noticed that he wasn’t looking himself, so I advised him to retire to his cabin and sent the Assistant-Surgeon to him at once.” He described Anthony Cochrane’s symptoms, his voice carefully devoid of expression. “The Surgeon has given him some medication but I understand that this has not helped Mr Cochrane a great deal.”
It would be surprising if it had, Phillip thought, in view of the Assistant-Surgeon’s youth and inexperience. Poor
lad, he did his best but he had barely completed his first year’s training as a doctor and anything out of the ordinary run of medical emergencies left him helpless and perplexed.
“You’ll go and see him, sir?” Quinn suggested.
“Yes, of course, in a few minutes. But first I have some instructions for you for tomorrow, Mr Quinn. They’re important and will require your full attention, because I shall be going ashore, with the Master, and you will be in command of this ship in my absence.” Phillip saw his First Lieutenant’s jaw drop in stunned astonishment but he recovered himself quickly and listened in attentive silence to all that his commander had to say.
“You mean,” he asked uncertainly, when Phillip had done, “you mean that you intend to—to go ashore at Odessa tomorrow morning, Commander Hazard, and to remain there all day?”
Phillip inclined his head. “Those are my orders, Mr Quinn, and I am not permitted to explain them to you. But, as I told you, the Master will accompany me and, as I have also told you, I shall require my gig to pick us up two hours after nightfall, at the point I have indicated … the same place at which we shall be set ashore. If we should fail to rendezvous with him then, the boat commander is to return for us one hour before daybreak. That’s all quite clear to you, isn’t it?”
Ambrose Quinn continued to stare at him as if unable to believe the evidence of his own ears, but he managed a puzzled assent. “Your instructions are clear enough,” he conceded. “And, of course, I shall carry them out to the best of my ability, Commander Hazard, but …” He broke off, shaking his head. “I’m wondering why you … well, frankly, I confess I find all this very confusing. You say that Captain Broke’s squadron will be under a flag of truce, charged with delivery of a note to the port authorities?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Is the Captain aware of your intention to go ashore, sir?”
“Officially he is not, Mr Quinn—and officially the Huntress will not form part of the squadron under his command.” Phillip spoke with quiet emphasis, repeating the directions for the Huntress to anchor at a distance from the other ships of the squadron, as Captain Broke had requested. “You will not communicate with Captain Broke’s squadron by signal or by boat during my absence,” he added. “And there can, of course, be no signals to me and I shall make none whilst I am ashore. You—”
