Hazard's Command

by V. A. Stuart

  “Of course,” Lejeune assented readily.

  “Good,” Phillip said. His mind busy with the various courses now open to him, he consulted his pocket watch. “How long do you think it would take you to get your party into position on the cliff top, Major?” he asked Leach.

  “It took the Frenchmen thirty-five minutes—with Lejeune to guide us, let us say twenty-five to thirty, once we are ashore.” The Major’s tone was confident and he added quietly, “And I can relieve you of one small problem, which may be on your mind, Commander—you need not concern yourself with the question of how we are to get back to the ship. Eupatoria is only about fourteen miles distant as the crow flies, according to my map, and perhaps twenty by the post road … which, of course, we should avoid and—”

  “But we cannot abandon you in enemy-held territory,” Phillip objected. “The boat in which you land will stay to take you off.”

  “You may require all your boats for rescue work, Hazard, if you’re unable to take the Rapide in tow,” the Major pointed out, with irrefutable logic. “I am quite confident, I assure you, that with eight well-trained soldiers and an adequate supply of ammunition, I can make my way to the town. Please”—as Phillip opened his mouth to voice another protest—“permit me to know best in what is, you will agree, a purely military problem. In matters of seamanship I yield to your judgement, Hazard, but in this …” He rose, smiling. “And now, I think, if you will excuse me, I will go and choose my men and make sure that their firearms are protected against a possible ducking.”

  Phillip let him go, with some reluctance. When he saw him again, the Trojan was closing the shore and his boats’ crews standing by to lower the first boat. Leach had mustered his small party by the entry port, each man with his musket carefully wrapped in oilskin and each wearing a borrowed naval watch coat over his scarlet jacket. Phillip recognized the young French officer, Lejeune, similarly equipped and then, to his stunned astonishment, noticed that Lord Henry Durbanville stood with them, also with a shrouded musket but wearing a grey Guards overcoat, his servant with him.

  He offered no comment but his surprise must have registered for, as he halted by the little group, Durbanville said, with a hint of defiance, “I am a good shot, Commander. I have won medals for my shooting and, in any case, as I told Major Leach, I can stand no more of your ship’s infernal rolling and pitching—I shall be very much more comfortable on dry land. I—er—” he held out his hand. “I bid you good-bye, sir.”

  Phillip accepted the proffered hand, feeling, for the first time in their brief acquaintance, some liking for the boy. Arrogant and unpleasant in manner he might be, but at least he did not lack courage. “I see,” he said. “Then au revoir, Captain Durbanville—and I wish you every success in your mission.”

  “Thank you, Commander Hazard. I have no doubt that it will be successful. As”—the addition was made with studied insolence—“I trust yours may be.” He drew himself up and saluted. “Perhaps we shall meet again.”

  “Perhaps,” Phillip acknowledged stiffly. His farewell to Major Leach and Lieutenant Lejeune was more cordial and Leach, after expressing his thanks for all that had been done for him, wrung Phillip’s hand warmly.

  “I have a letter here, if I might prevail upon you. To take charge of it, Hazard—to my wife, you understand. Should my military judgement prove, after all, to be at fault, I should be deeply obliged if you would consign it to her. Good-bye, my friend—and good luck!”

  “Good luck to you, sir,” Phillip answered with sincerity. “The boat will wait for Lejeune, so that if you change your mind about not rejoining us, you’ll have that much longer in which to do so.”

  He returned to the deck to watch the launching of the boat which, under Martin Fox’s careful supervision, was accomplished without a hitch. The men of Major Leach’s party were assisted into it and, under the command of Lieutenant Laid-law, the boat put off and was lost to sight in the darkness as the Trojan again got under way. From the shore, the Russian guns kept up their merciless attack on the French transport and, with time to spare while Leach and his party were rowed to the foot of the cliffs, Phillip decided to make a final attempt to silence them with the sixty-eight-pounder. Like all the rest, the first few shots were unsuccessful but, with his next, Sutherland scored a hit on a carelessly positioned limber containing what could only have been the battery’s reserve of powder. The weary gun’s crew cheered themselves hoarse as they watched the resulting blaze shoot skywards and saw the enemy gunners scatter in panic as first the limber and then a number of shells exploded in a series of dull roars.

  “Well done, Mr Sutherland!” Phillip shouted above the din, and the Gunnery Officer turned a smoke-grimed face towards him, beaming with pride. To Martin Fox, who stood beside him, Phillip observed with satisfaction, “And it was also well timed, I think. The boat should be almost at the foot of the path now, if they’ve kept afloat. You haven’t seen their signal yet, have you?”

  Watching intently with his glass, Fox shook his head but corrected himself a moment later. “That’s it, that’s the lantern signal now! They’ve made the shore, sir.” His tone was exultant. “As you say, the hit was well timed. And if that was their reserve powder, those gunners may find themselves running short, which will be all to the good. What now, sir?”

  “Well, we have to allow twenty-five to thirty-five minutes for Leach to ascend the cliff and take up his position,” Phillip responded, conscious that, for all the icy chill of the wind, his brow and the palms of his hands were damp with perspiration. “One more run for Sutherland’s gun, I think, to distract the enemy’s attention and then we’ll go in under engines, Martin.” He gestured towards the shore. “They’ve ceased fire, do you hear? If they have to send for more ammunition, it will gain another respite for which, I am sure, our Frenchmen will be thankful. The Rapide has two women on board—nuns of a nursing order—did you know?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Martin Fox lowered his glass, turning to stare across at Phillip in horrified surprise. “Poor souls, what they must be enduring!” He passed on the necessary orders to Cochrane and Sutherland and returned to his post, his glass once more trained on the shore. Over his shoulder he said, “I wish it was not quite so infernally dark! Have you decided how we shall get the tow-rope across?”

  “Not yet,” Phillip admitted. “It rather depends on circumstances and how much we can see, when we close the Rapide. But by rocket, if Leach is able to hold those gunners. It will be the quickest way, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes. But if he’s not able to hold them?”

  “Then by boat, I suppose. We shall have to send boats to take off her passengers in any event—the two nuns and the Army surgeons and any wounded she may have. Because even if we get a tow-rope to her, we may not be able to haul her off.” This was as far as he had gone in his plan of action but now, Phillip knew, he would have to work out, in detail, what they would need to do. Of necessity his plans had to be flexible—so many things could go wrong at the last minute and there was no way in which he could guard against every possible eventuality. But if he put Martin Fox in charge of the boats and left all decisions to him, including the direction of an armed landing party, which would cover the evacuation of the passengers and any wounded who could be moved, then the flexibility he wanted could be achieved. His First Lieutenant would, in this case, have to decide on the spot whether an attempt to tow the Rapide off was—or was not—feasible. He was an experienced and completely reliable officer, capable of making such a decision … there need be no anxiety on that account and, if the French ship could not, in Fox’s opinion, be refloated, then he would have to supervise the loading of passengers and crew into the boats. Should this be necessary … Phillip sighed. The boats might have to make two or even three trips, unless the Rapide’s own boats were able to help. He would have to keep the Trojan as close inshore as he could, so as to cut down the distance they had to row and he would have to have at least one boat standing by, i
n case any of the others were swamped in the heavy swell or ran into any other kind of trouble.

  If, on the other hand, Fox decided that it was worthwhile trying to tow off the French ship, then one boat would suffice to bring off the four passengers and the wounded could stay on board their own ship. An armed landing party might be required to give Major Leach support … Phillip frowned. He wished he had more Marines but, in common with most of the ships in the British Fleet, two-thirds of the Trojan’s normal complement of Marines were serving as part of the Balaclava defence force, under their Captain Alex Murray. The men who remained were commanded by young Lieutenant Smithson, who had little experience of active service conditions but … Phillip’s frown relaxed. Cochrane could take charge of the landing party, augmented by some tried and trusted seamen, with a boat standing by to take them off as soon as possible after the Rapide was refloated. Should anything go wrong, both landing party and boat’s crew would have a chance of boarding the French ship. A system of signals would have to be worked out—Midshipman Grey could attend to that—and now all he had to decide was exactly how he could ensure the safety of his own ship and how best he could handle her throughout the operation.

  “Martin …” as briefly as possible, Phillip explained what he proposed to do and was relieved when his second-incommand nodded approvingly.

  “I’ll send young Grey to you, shall I, and then make a start by assembling the boats’ crews and landing party?”

  “Yes, if you would, please. Grey can devise a signal to cover each stage of the operation, using a lantern to show negative or affirmative. In case of emergency or to signal a change of plan, the landing party had better take some distress rockets with them. And Smithson is to remain on board.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Is that all?”

  “Yes. Carry on, will you, Martin? I want to have a word with Mr Burnaby.” Phillip entered the chartroom as the quarterdeck gun once again opened fire. He listened, tense and anxious, as he and the Master pored over charts but this time there were no triumphant cheers from the gun’s crew. Young Grey reported just after the sixty-eight-pounder ceased fire and, his quick, intelligent mind grasping at once what was required, he settled himself at a corner of the chart table with signal pad and pencil.

  “You’ll wish me to take over the deck, sir?” Burnaby asked.

  Phillip nodded. “Yes, if you please, Mr Burnaby. I’m putting Mr Cochrane in charge of the landing party, under the First Lieutenant. Have two good hands on the lead … these charts are not too accurate.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Just one more point—when we bring the ship inshore, are you intending that the enemy should see her or are we to endeavour to slip in, without attracting their attention?”

  This was a question that had been in Phillip’s thoughts for some time and he hesitated, still undecided. There were obvious advantages to the second alternative since, if the enemy did not suspect his intentions until the last possible moment, he would have a much better chance of carrying them out successfully. On the other hand, if he doused the Trojan’s deck and navigating lights, the boats would find it hard to locate her and, heavily laden as they might be and with a strong sea running, it was essential that he pick them up with the minimum delay. They would have to depend on sighting the ship in order to rendezvous with her, since he could not forecast her position at any given time and, indeed, might have to change both plan and position without warning should circumstances demand it. Grey’s signals could be used to inform the boats’ crews and the landing party of any such change but … Phillip sighed. A great deal had to be left to chance and, whatever he did in an effort to hide the Trojan’s approach, the enemy might still see her and, as easily, guess her intention when they realized that she was closing the shore.

  He looked at old Burnaby, aware that the Master was still waiting for a reply to his question and was tempted to ask his opinion. Captain North had never invited any of his officers to express an opinion, he reminded himself, he had never sought advice, never explained any order he gave or considered that he ought to justify it. As commander, his must be the final decision, he knew but … Burnaby had had a great many more years at sea than he had. He was a fine seaman and a wise old man, who never offered advice but, when he was asked, he gave it freely and it was usually good.

  Phillip broke the silence. “In my place, Mr Burnaby, what would you do?”

  “I’ve been wondering,” the Master confessed. “Ever since we sighted that Frenchman. In your place, Mr Hazard, I believe I’d try to tow her off, if I could manage it without risking the loss of my own ship.” His deliberate emphasis on the word “loss” brought a brief, appreciative smile from Phillip. It implied that, like himself, Burnaby was prepared to risk damage to the Trojan but no more and he was conscious of a feeling of relief. “The least risk to this ship,” Burnaby went on, “is to slip her inshore without being seen, is it not?”

  “Yes, obviously,” Phillip confirmed. “Carry on, Mr Burnaby.”

  “Well, sir, as I see the situation, the Trojan is safe enough while she’s out of range of those shore guns and under her engines, she’s not likely to be driven ashore. So that another run past and a few more shots from the quarterdeck gun would, I fancy, aid the boats to get safely across to the Frenchman, because the Russians will be watching us and not the boats … which I take it is what you are aiming at.” Burnaby, too, was smiling now. “After that, sir,” he added, “I’d employ a little deception, I think.”

  “Deception, Mr Burnaby?”

  The old man inclined his grizzled head. “Aye, sir. I’d try to mislead them—make them think we’re on one course when, in fact, we’re proceeding in the opposite direction. It could be done, sir.”

  “Could it?” Phillip was interested. “How?”

  The Master’s smile widened. “There was a little trick we tried on the Chinese in ’42 which might work, sir. Those gunners can’t see much but, if they can see anything at all, it will be our navigating lights and, of course, the gun flashes. Well, sir, suppose we make another run past, with our navigating lights reversed—green showing to port and red to starboard—and then douse all lights and close the shore? We should bring-to where they weren’t expecting us, which might give us a useful few minutes in hand, so to speak, sir.”

  Young Grey, who bad been listening to the Master’s suggestion with as much interest as Phillip, could not suppress an excited exclamation.

  “Beg pardon, sir, it isn’t for me to speak, I know, sir but … it’s a capital idea and I believe it would work. And I could make some signals too, sir—confusing ones, purporting to be to another of our Fleet—so that we could fox them properly, sir.”

  “Restrain yourself, Mr Grey,” Phillip bade him, but without rancor, “you will have more than enough to do maintaining communication between the boats and ourselves. Have you worked out your signals yet?”

  “Yes, sir.” Grey offered his pad for inspection.

  “Good.” Phillip studied it and then returned the pad to him. “Find the First Lieutenant and Mr Cochrane and make sure that these signals are made clear to them. Instruct your Chief Yeoman to issue signal lanterns and to make sure that each boat has a supply of rockets. And Mr Grey—”

  “Sir?” All eagerness, the boy waited.

  “One more signal to add to yours—a green rocket or, in an emergency, a series of long and short blasts on our steam whistle is to recall all boats and to be obeyed immediately. Clear?”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Young Robin Grey sped off on his errand and Phillip turned again to the grey-haired old Master.

  “As our young gentleman rightly observed, yours is a capital idea, Mr Burnaby, for which I am grateful. Relieve Mr Cochrane of the deck now, if you please, and take in all sail. We’ll proceed under engines and, as soon as you’ve seen the boats away, start putting your plan into operation. Those Russian gunners may not know port from starboard but … it’s worth trying.”

  “Aye, sir, I think it is,” the M
aster agreed.

  With no lights showing, the Trojan slowly closed the shore, propelled by her screw. Burnaby brought her to and the boats were lowered, not without difficulty but, to Phillip’s heartfelt relief, without mishap. There was still no signal from Major Leach’s party but, Phillip realized with astonishment, only thirty minutes had passed since the first boat had grounded at the foot of the cliff. Warning young Grey to keep a keen look out, he saw the reversed navigating lamps placed in position and rekindled and heard Burnaby order their change of course.

  On this, which would, he hoped, be their final run, Sutherland’s crew—with the range considerably shortened—gave the sixty-eight-pounder its maximum elevation and maintained a rapid fire which was returned from the cliff top. The dismaying news that the gun had jammed was, to a certain extent, offset by a report from Grey that Major Leach’s signal had at last been made. Sutherland and his Chief Gunner’s Mate were working on the sixty-eight-pounder, confident that they could have it back in operation within ten or fifteen minutes, and Phillip knew that, if it were humanly possible, their promise would be kept. The gun was, in any case, the least of his worries now, he thought and, when Martin Fox’s first boat flashed intelligence of the landing party’s arrival across the expanse of heaving dark water which lay between them, Phillip gave the order to douse all lights and again close the shore.

  There was no means of knowing whether or not Burnaby’s ruse had deceived the watchers on the cliff top and it seemed to take an interminable time to bring the ship in under her screw. Phillip stood with the Master, glass to his eye, listening to the monotonous chant of the leadsman in the main chains. There was an adequate depth of water but this began alarmingly to lessen as the minutes passed and he was compelled to order the engines to “Dead Slow.”