The Valiant Sailors

by V. A. Stuart

  “And where is that?” Mademoiselle Sophie wanted to know. “The gunroom, I mean?”

  “On the after part of the lower deck, Mademoiselle, but it is well lighted by the hatchway and skylights whereas, in the midshipmen’s berth, lamps are necessary day and night.”

  “And the Captain also has his meals there?”

  “No, the Captain’s day and sleeping cabins are on the main deck, Mademoiselle, and I imagine that you will be invited to take your meals with him.”

  “The main deck, Mr Hazard? That is the deck above, is it not?” Mademoiselle Sophie looked at him in some bewilderment. Phillip searched in his pockets and finally brought out a pencil and a used envelope, which had contained a letter from his mother. “I will draw you a rough plan of the ship, if you wish,” he offered, “so that you will be able to find your way about without difficulty.”

  He returned the letter to his pocket and set to work, Mademoiselle Sophie watching him with absorbed interest, as his pencil moved deftly across the scrap of paper. “It—she, I mean—has more decks than I had thought,” she observed, as the sketch progressed.

  Phillip nodded. “We speak of a three-decker,” he explained, “but this only refers to the number of gun-decks. A first-rate line-of-battle ship has three decks of guns and, in addition, of course, the hold and the orlop, which are below the waterline, and the quarterdeck and poop. A frigate like the Trojan has only one gun-deck although, as I told you, guns are also mounted on the upper deck and she has two 68-pounder guns on the quarterdeck. But you will see from this, Mademoiselle” —he passed her his quickly sketched diagram—“that, in fact, she has five decks, or levels, including the hold and quarterdeck. A three-decker has seven.”

  She studied the sketch, her smooth brow pensively furrowed and then, after thanking him politely for going to so much trouble to make everything clear to her, passed the sketch to her companion. “See, Madame, this is very interesting and really not difficult to follow. Here is the cockpit, where the poor young officers have to sleep in their hammocks … and the gunroom. Oh, and the Captain’s cabin also, with the quarterdeck above.”

  “I am concerned only with the position of my cabin,” Baroness von Mauthner stated coldly, in French. She added, in English, her tone still cold, “Zat is to say, Lieutenant Hazard, if I am to be found a cabin in zis so crowded ship of yours.”

  “I am sure that the Captain will have allocated suitable accommodation, Madame,” Phillip answered politely. “For both yourself and Mademoiselle.” He refrained from mentioning that his own cabin would almost certainly be one of those earmarked by Captain North for the use of the Trojan’s passengers and, when Mademoiselle Sophie retrieved her sketch and asked him to show her which cabin was likely to be hers, he pointed to it without a qualm.

  “Tell me more, Mr Hazard,” she begged. “Please … it is all so very fascinating. Have you served in a three-decker?”

  Phillip inclined his head. For the remainder of the journey they talked—of the ships in which he had served, of British naval customs, and then of his own career. Mademoiselle Sophie was an intelligent and interested listener, asking innumerable questions and leading him on to tell her about himself. He was usually reticent and ill at ease in the company of any strange young woman but he found himself relaxing under the spell of this young woman’s charm and friendliness and conversing with her without any feeling of constraint. In response to her eager prompting, he told her of the voyages he had made and the places he had visited and she listened entranced, the beautiful dark eyes seldom leaving his face.

  “Borneo, China … Australia and South America too! Oh, but you are fortunate to live such a life, Mr Hazard. I envy you. Is he not fortunate, Madame?” She appealed to Baroness von Mauthner.

  The Baroness sighed. She had taken no part in their conversation and clearly disapproved of it, Phillip thought. Once or twice she had attempted to dissuade her charge from talking to him but Mademoiselle Sophie patted her hand gently and assured her, in French, that it was doing no harm. “We pass the time, Madame, that is all. Would you have us sit in silence?”

  “That might be wiser, in the circumstances,” the Baroness returned repressively. But she did not press the point and finally, to Phillip’s relief, dozed off and slept peacefully until the train was in sight of its destination. Then, rousing herself guiltily, she peered out of the carriage window. “We are nearly there, I think. Come, it is time to remember who you are, my little one, and put an end to this … this foolishness.”

  “It is not foolishness, Madame,” Mademoiselle Sophie protested. “And I do not forget who I am.” But she reached obediently for her veil and began to drape it once more about her face. She said softly, almost apologetically, to Phillip, “It has given me much pleasure to talk to you, Mr Hazard. I … thank you for making our journey so interesting and enjoyable.” Then, as if this were his dismissal, she turned away from him, still fumbling with the veil, and lapsed into silence which Phillip, his conscience pricking him, did not attempt to break.

  Had he, he wondered uneasily, treated her as circumspectly as Lord George Melgund had warned him he must? Who was she, this girl with the husky, accentless voice and the beautiful, intelligent dark eyes, whose real identity had to be kept so carefully hidden? He sighed, conscious that he, too, had found the journey in her company interesting and enjoyable. But … his spirits lifted. The journey had only just begun, it was not ending here and there would be other opportunities of seeing and talking to her in the future. He might offer to take her on a tour of the ship, perhaps, or even to escort her ashore, when they called at Gibraltar and Malta … he glanced across at her, in mute and anxious question, but the dark folds of the veil she had donned now formed a barrier between them. Mademoiselle Sophie did not look up, did not seem to be aware of his gaze and the Baroness said, an edge to her voice, “We have arrived, Lieutenant Hazard, have we not?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  1

  The train drew into the platform and came slowly to a halt. Phillip alighted and was about to go in search of porters when he noticed a naval captain, in frock coat and sword, standing beneath one of the hissing gas lamps and looking about him with an air of expectancy. By the ticket barrier a party of blue-jackets waited, under the command of a midshipman, two of them on the ropes of a handcart which, as the train halted, they started to haul in the direction of the guard’s van. He recognized the midshipman first, then one of the seamen, and finally, with a sense almost of shock, realized that the resplendent figure in the gold-laced frock coat was that of his commander come, it seemed, in person to receive the passengers he had been so reluctant to accommodate on board the Trojan.

  Captain North strode briskly along the platform towards him, as he assisted the two ladies, in turn, to alight. Brushing past him without apology or greeting, the Captain removed his cocked hat and bowed ceremoniously over Mademoiselle Sophie’s hand.

  “Good evening, ladies … Mam’zelle, Ma’am …” His tone was deferential and he smiled at them both, Phillip observed, with every appearance of pleasure. “I am Captain North of Her Majesty’s ship Trojan, at your service. Permit me to take you out to my ship. I have a closed carriage and a boat waiting and my men will look after your luggage.”

  He offered his arm to the Baroness von Mauthner, who eyed him with the first sign of approval she had so far displayed and laid her hand on his braided sleeve.

  “Sank you, Captain … you are most kind.”

  “It is my pleasure, Ma’am. If you are ready, Mam’zelle …” with Mademoiselle Sophie walking demurely on his other side, Captain North ushered them past the ticket barrier and towards the waiting carriage. He said, over his shoulder, to Phillip, “Take charge of the working party, Mr Hazard, and see that the luggage is brought on board and stowed, if you please.”

  The request was peremptory and Phillip reddened but he managed a dutiful, “Aye, aye, sir.” Then remembering the orders he carried, he took the envelope with its hea
vy Admiralty seals from his breast pocket and, waiting until Captain North had handed both ladies into the carriage with due ceremony, he stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir—”

  “Well, what is it, Mr Hazard?” North turned impatiently. They were standing in a drafty spot and the wind whipped his sparse grey hair into a disarray which accorded ill with the magnificence of his new full dress uniform. He passed a hand over it, eyeing his First Lieutenant with disfavour, and clamped his hat on his head. Phillip held his ground.

  “I was instructed to deliver these orders to you, sir.”

  Captain North grunted. He accepted the proffered envelope, glanced at it indifferently, and thrust it into his own pocket. “I received instructions from the Port Admiral this morning,” he stated curtly, “which, I imagine, duplicate these. Very well, you may carry on, Mr Hazard … and look lively with that baggage, will you? It is my intention to get under way as soon as it’s on board.”

  “You intend to get under way tonight, sir?” Phillip questioned, mildly surprised.

  “That was what I said, Mr Hazard … are you deaf? You heard me, did you not?”

  “Yes, sir, I heard you but … the draft from Impregnable, sir. I understood that—”

  “The draft from Impregnable joined this forenoon,” the Captain told him. “Which reminds me …” he spoke lightly, as if it were a sudden afterthought but his cold grey eyes were narrowed and watchful as they met those of his First Lieutenant. “Yours is rather an uncommon name, isn’t it … Hazard? An honoured name in naval circles, I understand … with one unfortunate exception.”

  Phillip stiffened. He knew that look, knew from painful experience that, when North pretended to be casual, he was usually at his most venomous. “I do not think that I quite follow you, sir,” he said cautiously. “Perhaps you—”

  The Captain waved him to silence. “Oh, come now, I feel sure you do. Let me refresh your memory, Mr Hazard. You had a brother in the Navy, had you not … an elder brother who was court martialled and dismissed from the service a few years ago? I cannot recall all the somewhat sordid details but”—he frowned, as if in an attempt to remember—“there was something about being drunk on watch, as the result of which and his negligence his ship went aground and was lost … that was one of the charges brought against him, was it not? Yes, it is coming back to me now—the ship was the Comet and she ran ashore entering the River Plate.”

  Phillip felt sick with impotent fury but, aware that North was endeavouring to provoke him into an outburst, he was silent, not trusting himself to speak. Where, he wondered bitterly, had the Captain raked up the unhappy story, from whom could he have heard it? And why should he have chosen this moment to taunt him with it, unless in the hope of catching him off his guard and forcing an admission from him? He remained obstinately silent. The fact that the story had, at least, an underlying basis of truth made him the more determined to admit nothing and he waited, his expression carefully blank, for his tormentor to continue.

  Nothing loth, Captain North went on, “You are no doubt wondering why I should have brought this matter up now. Well, there is a man in the draft from Impregnable whose name, by an odd coincidence, is Hazard … George Arthur Hazard, according to his papers, rated A.B. He claims that he’s not a relative of yours but you must concede that it is something of a coincidence, Mr Hazard, and I felt that—in fairness to you— I should speak to you about it at once.”

  The colour drained slowly from Phillip’s cheeks. This could not be happening, he told himself despairingly, it was impossible, a nightmare from which, quite soon, he would awaken. Yet, in his heart, he knew that it was by no means impossible, for was it not just the sort of impulsive, foolishly quixotic idea his brother Graham might have had? To volunteer for the Navy because there was to be a war and therefore men would be needed, men who—if they volunteered—would not be too closely questioned … yes, Graham was quite capable of reasoning along those lines. He … the German maid, Anna, passed him with a murmured apology and Phillip stood aside, grateful for the interruption. Summoning the remnants of his shattered self-control, he opened the door of the carriage for her and assisted her to enter it, her grateful smile helping to restore his equanimity.

  “Thank you for calling my attention to this matter, sir.” He had himself well in hand when he turned once more to face his commander but it still cost him an effort to steady his voice. “However, my brother’s name is Graham, so it seems unlikely that this man can be he. And if you will forgive me, sir, the court martial evidence was—”

  Captain North cut him short. “I’ll be obliged if you will make certain of his identity when you return to the ship, Mr Hazard. You will find your namesake in the master-at-arms’s charge … he was in possession of liquor when he came aboard and appeared to be drunk. Which is in character, is it not?” There was a sneer in his voice and he smiled, obviously enjoying his subordinate’s discomfort. “I hope for your sake, of course, that he is not your brother.”

  “For my sake, sir?”

  “Naturally. It would be extremely bad for discipline if he were.” The Captain’s smile faded and his lean, angular face assumed an expression of grave concern. “The man was drunk … I have had to sentence him to six dozen lashes, Mr Hazard.”

  “Yes, sir,” Phillip managed woodenly but he was conscious of a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Six dozen lashes, expertly laid on, could scar a man for life and, if the recipient of such a flogging were not in good physical condition, then … he swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

  “See the man as soon as your duties permit,” Captain North ordered. “And report to me when you have done so.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The Captain turned on his heel. Without troubling to acknowledge his First Lieutenant’s salute, he curtly bade the coachman drive on and climbed into the waiting carriage.

  Phillip watched him go, staring after the slow-moving vehicle until it disappeared from sight in the gathering darkness. Gradually his anger subsided. It was useless, he knew, to lose his temper under the sting of North’s taunts and insults, and he was thankful that he had not done so. But, if this seaman should prove to be his brother Graham … he sighed, afraid to envisage the probable consequences. That they would be unpleasant he did not doubt and he found himself hoping fervently that George Arthur Hazard was no more than he had claimed to be … an able-seaman whose surname happened, by chance, to be the same as his own. Since Hazard was originally a Devon name, this was not beyond the bounds of possibility but … Phillip sighed again, with weary resignation. Then, thrusting the thought of his brother to the back of his mind, he returned to the station in search of the working party he had been ordered to supervise.

  Back on board the Trojan after a long, cold pull out against the wind in the twelve-oared cutter laden with luggage, he found steam up and learnt, from the officer of the watch, that preparations to get under way were already well advanced.

  “The Captain wishes you to report to him immediately, sir,” Lieutenant Laidlaw informed him. He added, his homely young face the picture of concern, “He has sent three times to inquire if you had returned, sir, but I had to tell him you hadn’t. My orders are to weigh anchor as soon as I’ve got the cutter inboard.”

  “Very well, Mr Laidlaw. You can pipe the watch to stations for leaving harbour when you’ve winched up that baggage and stowed the cutter,” Phillip instructed. “But there is a great deal of baggage and it will have to be carefully handled … that is what delayed me. So put a couple of good men on the winch.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Shall I report your return to the Captain?”

  “No.” Phillip gestured to his sodden frock coat, which had received a wetting when crossing the so-called “Devil’s Bridge” between Drake’s Island and Mount Edgecumbe, with the wind against the tide. “I’ll report to him myself as soon as I’ve changed. Has my cabin been turned over to the passengers, do you know?”

  Young Laidlaw nodded. “Yes sir
, it has. Your gear has been shifted into Mr Fox’s cabin, sir.”

  Phillip went below. There was no opportunity to visit the arrested seaman or even to make inquiries about him … that would have to wait, he decided. In the cramped forward cabin which he had now to share with Martin Fox, the senior of the three watch-keeping lieutenants, he had scarcely divested himself of his shore-going uniform when he heard the shrilling of the boatswain’s mates’ pipes, followed by a thud of feet on the deck above as the duty watch went to their stations. He was donning his seaboots when the midshipman of the watch came breathlessly to report that the ship was ready to proceed to sea.

  “You are late, Mr Hazard,” Captain North observed coldly when, in turn, Phillip made this report to him. “Punctuality is the first essential in an efficient officer and it is your duty, as I have had repeatedly to remind you, to set an example for your juniors to follow. You had a few pieces of luggage to bring out to the ship from Mutton Cove and a midshipman and the cutter’s crew to help you do it. You were aware that I was anxious to get under way as soon as possible but you delay sailing by over an hour! It is most reprehensible in an officer of your experience.”

  “Yes, sir,” Phillip acknowledged, tight-lipped. He offered neither excuse nor apology for his lateness and, for an uncomfortable moment, feared that the Captain was going to insist on an apology but—warned by his expression, perhaps—North thought better of it and did not do so.

  “Very well, Mr Hazard,” he said, after a perceptible hesitation, “you may carry on. Weigh and proceed under engines until we are clear of the Sound. If this wind holds, you should be able to make sail before we round the Eddystone …” He issued a string of detailed navigation orders and ended, with an abrupt change of tone, “Muster the ship’s company aft at three bells. I shall inform all hands of our destination and of what will be expected of them when we reach it. It is to be hoped that there will be less slackness when the men realize that they are to have the chance of action—and of prizemoney—very soon.”