by V. A. Stuart
The wharves themselves were makeshift platforms, fashioned from planks, and only one had sheers, erected originally by Captain Lushington of the Albion to enable his Naval Brigade guns to be landed. Balaclava was, of course, little more than a fishing village with a Greek population, whose sympathies in the present conflict were, Phillip was aware, open to doubt. A cluster of picturesque white houses and green-tiled roofs, it possessed few facilities for serving the needs of an invading army … least of all an army which, as Mr Boxer had reminded him, was deficient in land transport. The British Army had been compelled to leave most of its pack-animals, as well as its ambulance wagons, behind in Varna. Some of these had since been shipped to the Crimea, but not nearly enough, and a disastrously high proportion of cavalry horses and pack mules had died during the voyage across the Black Sea in bad weather. As a result, supplies were taken to the infantry camps in Maltese carts or Turkish arabas drawn by bullocks; even camels had been pressed into service as pack-carriers and the rest dragged or borne on the backs of weary soldiers, sent down to Balaclava after a night on picket or in the trenches. The sick and wounded came down, agonizingly, in the same way… .
The French at Kamiesch were better provided for in this respect, Mr Boxer observed, as the Beagle slowly nosed her way through the narrow channel at half-speed. “I was there a few days ago, with the Admiral, and their transport system leaves nothing to be desired. They have a fine wharf built by their engineers, and every convenience is provided for the prompt landing and disposal of stores. One of their naval officers told me that, at Kamiesch, there’s a place for everything and everything in its place … and he was making no idle boast, Mr Hazard, I assure you. They’ve even set up a small town of tents, with each street named and numbered and, believe it or not, two Parisian restaurants have recently been opened there, under canvas. Whereas here …” he grunted in exasperation. “It’s a shambles, is it not?”
Phillip was forced to agree that he was right. “It’s beginning to smell like that, I grant you, Mr Boxer.”
“And do you know why?” the Beagle’s Master asked. “Because half the bullocks we brought back from Yalta died before they could be disembarked and there being nowhere to house the miserable creatures which did get ashore, they had to be slaughtered too. Not that our men fare much better. Over there”—he pointed with an indignant forefinger—“is the so-called hospital wharf, Mr Hazard. The sick and wounded soldiers from the trenches lie there for hours, without food or shelter, until an empty transport is found in which to take them to Scutari. There’s talk of rigging an awning for them but I’ve seen no sign of one yet although, on Captain Tatham’s orders, the Simoom’s sailmaker had the canvas ready a week ago. Still, given time, I suppose …” he spoke with weary cynicism, “some army quartermaster will take the responsibility of signing the necessary requisition for it and it will go up. Our Jacks are better off than the soldiers—they’ve at least got the Diamond in use as a hospital ship. They’re fed and their wounds are dressed and they don’t have to wait in the open. But … well, you can see why I say that Balaclava isn’t worth fighting for, can you not, Mr Hazard?”
Again Phillip could only incline his head in shocked acquiescence. Yet, he thought, Balaclava had to be fought for, it had to be fought for and held, if the British Army were to remain in the Crimea as an effective fighting force. The alternative—unless Sebastopol could be taken within the next few weeks—was, as Graham had reminded him, evacuation … with the loss of everything that had been so dearly won. Remembering the ghastly scenes of carnage he had witnessed after the Battle of the Alma, he shuddered. So many gallant men had sacrificed their lives in order to gain this tiny, crowded harbour which was now the army’s lifeline, that it could’nt be abandoned … however inadequate for the purpose it had proved.
To lose Balaclava would be to lose the war, or so it seemed to him, standing on the Beagle’s narrow quarterdeck as she drew slowly closer to the wharf. Captain Tatham could scarcely be expected to welcome the warning he brought, since it must inevitably add to the congestion and chaos if a Russian attack materialized and the Sanspareil had to take up her station in the harbour as a matter of urgency. Nonetheless, the warning must be delivered… .
Phillip thanked Mr Boxer and, experiencing some trepidation at the thought of the interview before him, he stepped ashore from the tender, O’Leary behind him with his valise.
“I may be here for some time, O’Leary,” he told his new orderly. “So perhaps you had best make your way up to Kadi-Koi. Make what arrangements you can there for our accommodation. There’s a naval party already there, I believe—the guns’ crews from Niger and Vesuvius—so presumably there will be tents.”
“Leave it to me, sorr,” O’Leary answered, with the confidence of a seasoned campaigner and, content to do so, Phillip went in search of Captain Tatham, finding him in his cabin aboard the Simoom. He explained his mission and, contrary to his somewhat pessimistic expectations, the Captain received his news with evident relief.
“The Sanspareil cannot come too soon, so far as I am concerned, Mr Hazard. Oh, admittedly clearing the harbour for her will present its problems and cannot possibly be done without help from the steam squadron … but you say the Admiral has promised us this?”
“Yes, sir, he has. But the sanction and approval of the Commander-in-Chief have yet to be confirmed, for which purpose Admiral Lyons has now gone aboard Britannia. My instructions are to request you to make such preparations as you may deem advisable for the reception of the Sanspareil—possibly at short notice, sir—but to take no action, pending further orders from the Admiral …” Phillip supplied what details he could.
“Very well.” Captain Tatham shrugged resignedly. “I’m very grateful to the Admiral for giving me prior notice of his intentions, but I trust confirmation will not be too long delayed … because everything points to an attack on Balaclava being imminent. One is constantly hearing reports of our army patrols and pickets being driven in, and of large bodies of Russian troops gathering in the Tchernaya Valley. They can be there for no other purpose and must know, by this time, I imagine, how thinly our line is held.”
“That is the Admiral’s view, sir,” Phillip confirmed. “And also, I believe, that of Sir Colin Campbell.”
“But they don’t propose to evacuate Balaclava?”
“No, sir. To the best of my knowledge, no such proposal has been put forward. Very much the reverse in fact.”
“H’m.” Captain Tatham pursed his lips. He seemed about to offer some criticism, but, after a moment’s consideration, evidently thought better of it. “Frankly, Mr Hazard,” he confessed, “I should welcome the presence of the Sanspareil in this port, if for no other reason than because the command would then devolve on Captain Dacres, who is considerably my senior. Don’t look so shocked”—as Phillip’s brows rose in an astonished curve—“I’m not shirking my responsibilities, I assure you. Given the requisite authority, I should fulfil them to the best of my ability … but I have not been given that authority. Since the steam squadron was withdrawn, as Senior Naval Officer I have been designated commander of the port. But any orders I issue in this capacity are liable to be countermanded by the Principal Agent for Transports, who out-ranks me, or by General Airey, on Lord Raglan’s behalf. No doubt you have observed the haphazard berthing arrangements I’ve been compelled to make, and the laden ships outside harbour won’t have escaped your notice either, I feel sure.” He sighed, not waiting for Phillip’s answer. “I’m responsible for ships entering and leaving Balaclava Harbour, Mr Hazard, but not—unhappily—for the disposal of their cargoes.”
Feeling that some remark was now expected of him, Phillip managed a non-committal, “Yes, I see, sir.”
“I doubt if you do,” the port commander retorted bitterly. “But to give you one example … before the Alma, the Guards Division entrusted their knapsacks to the Navy’s care, to enable them to go into action unencumbered. The vessel into whose hold the kn
apsacks were consigned has twice entered this port and, on both occasions, the Guards sent fatigue parties down to take delivery of them … but, having no written authority, the officer in charge was sent back to camp empty handed. The ship in question—still with the knapsacks occupying valuable space in her hold—has been ordered first to Varna and subsequently to Constantinople, where she now is and I am blamed for it! I have even received a note on the subject from His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge, reproaching me for the fact that his guardsmen lack such essential items of personal equipment as razors and combs. I could go on, Mr Hazard, but I will spare you, since I am sure you have other commissions to perform on the Admiral’s behalf.”
Phillip rose. He felt intensely sorry for the unfortunate Captain Tatham, whom he knew as an efficient and thoroughly reliable officer, but there was no consolation he could offer beyond the assurance that, if he could, Admiral Lyons intended to come in person to Balaclava.
“Even if he is unable to do so, sir, detailed instructions are to be sent to you which will give you full authority to have the harbour cleared, should this be necessary.”
“Heaven be praised!” the Captain said, with feeling. He looked more cheerful, however and, when Phillip left him, he was already making plans to evacuate as many of the sick and wounded from the hospital wharf as time and the Principal Agents for Transports would permit.
CHAPTER THREE
1
Phillip’s final call before leaving Balaclava was on Commander Leopold Heath of H.M.S. Niger with whom, in response to his hospitable invitation, he dined. Niger, having landed guns for No. 4 Battery at Kadi-Koi, was at anchor within sight of the harbour entrance, preparing to return to the Fleet anchorage off the Katcha and Phillip, to his annoyance, experienced some delay in obtaining a boat to take him across to her. The warmth of the welcome he received, however, soon restored his good humour.
Commander Heath was a stocky, blunt-featured man with dark hair and whiskers, whose lovely wife had been with him at Therapia when the Trojan had first arrived in Turkey, but had now gone to Malta to await the birth of their first child. Phillip enquired for her and his host replied, with a beaming smile, that he was expecting news at any time. They had worked together during the disembarkation at Kalamita Bay and, in spite of the difference in their ranks—Heath was the Fleet’s senior Commander of Sloops—were on terms of friendship, born of mutual respect and liking.
“Well, Hazard, what brings you to this benighted place?” the Commander asked curiously, when they were seated at his dining table. “I thought you were commanding the Trojan?”
Phillip shook his head. “I handed over my command to Captain Crawford yesterday, sir, on appointment to the Agamemnon.”
“Crawford, eh? Charles Crawford … wasn’t he one of Sir Edmund’s young gentlemen in the midshipmen’s berth of the Blonde?”
“He was Acting-Mate, he told me, sir, promoted after Navarino, when he served with the Admiral’s brother in the Rose.”
Leopold Heath nodded wisely. “Then his appointment is no surprise, is it? But what of your own … you’re on the Admiral’s personal staff again, I’ve no doubt?”
“Temporarily, sir, yes …” Phillip explained his mission as they ate and saw his host’s dark eyes light up in eager anticipation, as for the same reason, Captain Dacres’ had done.
“Capital, my dear Hazard! You could have brought me no more pleasing news since, I must confess, I find harbour duty—in this harbour—somewhat frustrating. Poor Tatham does his best—indeed, he is doing all a man can do in this situation, but his is an impossible task and my heart bleeds for him. You have seen and talked to him, I imagine?”
“I’ve just come from the Simoom, sir.”
“Then you’ll have heard of the difficulties which beset him. I fancy, between ourselves, Hazard”—the Commander’s expression was admirably controlled but the corners of his mouth twitched—“that the unfortunate affair of the Guard’s knapsacks upsets him most of all, although it is certainly not his fault that they’ve gone astray. My problems are negligible by comparison but you’ve saved me from serving on a wearisome court of inquiry, for which I am grateful. Furthermore I’ve always cherished a secret yearning to play the soldier.”
“Have you, sir?” Phillip, too, was careful to conceal any hint of amusement but, abandoning pretense, Leopold Heath permitted himself a full-throated laugh. “Yes, by gad, I have! And it went decidedly against the grain to send my guns and their crews, under the command of my First Lieutenant, to Sir Colin Campbell’s support at Kadi-Koi, while forced to remain here myself. I wonder …” He broke off, eyeing Phillip speculatively. “When do you leave for Kadi-Koi, Hazard?”
“My orders are to report to Sir Colin after informing you and Captain Tatham of the Admiral’s plans for the defence of Balaclava Harbour, sir. But …” Phillip hesitated. Time was passing but, so far as he knew, there had been as yet no confirmation of Admiral Lyons’ss tentative orders, and he had been due to meet Admiral Dundas aboard his flagship at 8:00 a.m … . he frowned. Niger’s officer of the watch would have informed his commander, had the Sanspareil been sighted off the harbour entrance and the appearance of four hundred Marines in Balaclava—by whatever ship had conveyed them thither—would certainly also have been reported.
Sensing his anxiety, Commander Heath rose. “Let us try to ascertain what, if anything, is happening, shall we? I imagine that Sir Colin will prefer confirmation concerning his reinforcements to vague promises of future help. If you delay long enough to bring this to him, it will be all to the good.”
They went on deck but neither the officer of the watch nor the midshipman he sent scurrying to the masthead were able to make out any signs of unusual activity, save for the fact that a small steam transport had tied up alongside the hospital wharf and was starting to load sick and wounded. Captain Tatham, true to his promise, had taken the first step towards clearing the harbour … but surely, Phillip thought, fighting against a strong feeling of dismay, surely the Commander-in-Chief could not have rejected the proposals of his second-in-command out of hand? Lord Raglan had made a personal request for the Marines’ position on the Balaclava Heights to be reinforced—a request which, in normal circumstances, could hardly be refused. To risk a ship-of-the-line was, admittedly, a more serious matter over which any naval Commander-in-Chief might hesitate, yet … he glanced uneasily at Commander Heath.
“I ought to leave, I think, sir,” he began. “But—”
“I’ll get word to you, Hazard,” the Commander offered. “As soon as there’s anything definite to report. You’ll be staying at Kadi-Koi, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir. That is unless Sir Colin Campbell wishes to communicate urgently with the Admiral, in which case I am to return with his despatch.”
“Then you may rely on me. To tell you the truth, I’m tempted to ride up with you myself, however …” Heath sighed, “perhaps I had better not, in the circumstances. But inform my First Lieutenant—and Commander Powell of Vesuvius if you come across him—that I hope to be joining them under canvas very soon, all being well.”
“Certainly, sir.” Phillip thanked him for his hospitality and the Commander smiled.
“You’ve relieved the tedium of a harbour watch and given me at least some hope of action. And I could do with it, just now … waiting for news of one’s first-born, at this distance, one tends to brood, you know, and to worry. My Mary is very precious to me … you’ve met her, so you’ll understand why. By the bye”—his eyes searched Phillip’s face curiously—“what happened to that extraordinarily beautiful young lady of mystery you brought out from England in the Trojan, and then transferred with such unseemly haste and secrecy to the Furious in Constantinople?”
“Mademoiselle Sophie, sir?” Taken by surprise at the question, Phillip reddened.
“Yes, I believe that was what she called herself … but it wasn’t her real name, was it?”
“No, sir. She was travelling incognito
and—”
“Did you ever learn who she was, Hazard? My officers were all vastly intrigued by the mystery.”
“She was a Russian Grand Duchess, a niece of the Tsar, and Furious took her to Odessa just before official news of the declaration of war reached us.” His emotions under control now, Phillip was able to supply this information quite matter-of-factly, his voice without a tremor. “In Odessa she married Prince Andrei Stepanovitch Narishkin, to whom she had been betrothed since childhood. Prince Narishkin is a Colonel in the Russian cavalry and was wounded at the Alma, later sent back to Odessa in an exchange of wounded prisoners of war. I heard a rumour that he may be joining Prince Menschikoff here quite soon, sir, oddly enough.”
“That is indeed odd,” Commander Heath agreed. “In fact the whole story is odd, is it not? But you seem to be remarkably well informed … how did you come to hear the rumour, Hazard? Don’t tell me”—the question was asked in a bantering tone—“don’t tell me the lady still communicates with you?”
Phillip smiled faintly. “No, sir, she does not. I heard the rumour from my brother, who was taken prisoner when the Tiger ran aground off Odessa and subsequently …” He was interrupted by a shrill hail from the masthead.
