by V. A. Stuart
When Fox rejoined him on the quarterdeck, Phillip gave his orders. Both wind and sea were setting the ship on a dead lee shore and, with little sea-room in which to manoeuvre, he knew that he dared not attempt to lie-to until the squall passed. He would have to wear her round, under as much sail as she would carry, so as to claw her off-shore. With the screw to help, it would have been a comparatively simple matter to bring her head round but, under sail alone, there was bound to be some risk with this strong, shifting wind and he knew that he would have little margin for error. But … his mouth tightened. It had to be done and he put a second man on the wheel, hesitating over his choice and finally deciding to entrust the task to his brother Graham, who had emerged from the chartroom at that moment.
“Keep her full but ease her a spoke or two when she sends,” he said and added, “Be careful or she’ll take the wheel out of your hands! When I give the word, luff all you can.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Graham acknowledged, his face without expression. Phillip turned to Martin Fox.
“Mr Fox … hands to wear ship, if you please.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Bo’sun’s mate … pipe ‘hands to wear ship.’ Man the main and fore braces.”
“As soon as she comes round, Mr Fox, I want the main course on her,” Phillip decided. “But wait for my order and have a reliable man standing by the mainsheet with an axe, in case we need to relieve her in a hurry.”
Martin Fox’s brows lifted but he offered no criticism of this decision. Phillip stood by the compass. He felt oddly calm, aware that he had done all he could in the circumstances when, without warning, the sails lost wind and began to flap with a sound like thunder and he yelled to Graham to put up the helm. When her close-reefed topsails filled again, Trojan had broken off two points and the rocky shore loomed closer, marked by a line of foaming breakers a bare quarter of a mile to leeward now.
“How’s her head, quartermaster?” Phillip asked, having to shout to make himself heard.
“Nor’ nor’ east, as she was before she broke off, sir,” Graham answered.
There was no time to be lost; the watch were at their stations for wearing, the after-guard of seamen and marines standing by the braces, and Phillip took up his position on the starboard hammock-netting, grasping the main-mast backstay to hold himself upright, as a deluge of water broke over the forecastle. He raised his arm, brought it down smartly, and saw the men at the wheel brace themselves. A strong gust of wind struck the ship with alarming violence just as her head was coming round and he was flung off his feet, only saving himself by clinging to the backstay. The deck about him was strewn with struggling seamen, striving as he was to regain their footing as he yelled, at the pitch of his lungs, to Graham to put the helm up again. He and the quartermaster obeyed but for several seconds, which to Phillip seemed endless, the frigate lay like a log, shipping water fore and aft and heeling so far over that her lee channels were awash.
Then she righted herself and, rolling heavily, responded at last to her helm. The port watch of hammocks, hammock-netting, and rails, together with a number of half-ports and a water cask, vanished over the side but she came round, head to wind, as Graham and the quartermaster spun the wheel. Phillip, hoarse with the effort of making his voice heard above the roar of the wind, waved urgently to Martin Fox. The men at the braces took the strain, the yards came round, and, with the mainsail set and the wind right aft, Trojan heeled and lurched her way to safety on the other tack, the rocky shore a boiling tumult of white water, now slowly receding.
Even now she was not out of trouble for, with the mainsail on her, she lay in the trough of the foam-crested breakers, forcing her way through them as if lacking the power to rise above them and a tremendous sea breaking over her, so that even the quarterdeck was awash. Phillip regained his vantage point in the hammock-netting, peering apprehensively aloft and watching the swaying masts, with a silent prayer that they would hold. Then, when he was satisfied that she had weathered the rocky point, he shouted to the man he had stationed at the mainsheet to use his axe. Relieved of her main course, the frigate steadied and lifted herself buoyantly to meet the next wave. The danger over, Phillip breathed a fervent “Thank God!” as Martin Fox staggered across to join him, bent double against the tearing force of the wind.
“Just for a moment there,” he exclaimed breathlessly, “I swear I could see the keel, Phillip!”
“So could I,” Phillip confessed ruefully, his voice all but drowned by the eerie howling of the wind in the rigging and the creak of straining timbers. He yelled hoarsely to the quartermaster to put the wheel amidships and added, “You had better find out how much damage has been done, Martin, as soon as you’re able to make your way for’ard. And you’d better relieve the men at the pumps, too … we’ve shipped quite a lot of water, I’m afraid.”
“I’m afraid we have,” Fox agreed, with a slight shudder. “I wouldn’t want to go through anything as close as that again in a hurry, I can tell you.” He flashed Phillip a wry grin. “I wonder what the Captain thought of it?”
They did not have to wait very long to find out. An irate message from Captain North demanded an explanation and Phillip dispatched a reluctant midshipman of the watch to make matters clear to their commander. By the time the youngster returned, the storm had passed over and Phillip shrugged off the reproof North sent back with him. The wind dropped as swiftly as it had risen and, within less than an hour, had shifted again to the S.W. Phillip ordered the watch aloft to reset sail and after a further hour, with most of the damage she had suffered set to rights and her engine repairs completed, Trojan was once more running free under all sail and the sun had reappeared.
The sunset that evening was magnificent. Both Mademoiselle Sophie and the Baroness von Mauthner—whose meal in the gunroom had been so rudely interrupted—ventured on deck to admire it and the beautiful prospect of the Archipelago spread out before them. Phillip pointed out landmarks to them, identifying some of the nearer islands and, on the pretext of showing her their position on the chart, took Mademoiselle Sophie to the chartroom, where Graham was at work.
She greeted him sympathetically but, in the presence of the Master and two cadets who were under his instruction, no conversation of a personal nature was possible. Graham himself, to Phillip’s surprise, seemed in any case anxious to avoid speaking to her. She said, when they returned to the quarterdeck, “He is a strange man, your brother, is he not?”
“Strange, mademoiselle?” Phillip shrugged. “Yes, perhaps he is … certainly he is a very embittered one. He has reason, of course, to believe that life has treated him badly. Apart from the unhappy termination of his naval career—which, no doubt, was his own fault—my father has disowned him and still refuses, to Graham’s distress, to have anything to do with him. He was deeply attached to the old man and to my mother, too, of course … and this hurt him more than anything, I believe. My father is a retired rear-admiral and at one time he and Graham were very close to each other … so much so, indeed, that I was often rather jealous.”
“That is why he has joined the Navy again as an ordinary sailor?” Mademoiselle Sophie suggested. “In the hope of regaining his father’s respect?”
“He does not admit that this is his reason but I imagine it must be, yes.”
“Poor man!” Her dark eyes filled with tears. “He hasn’t made a very auspicious start, I fear. Tell me … was it by chance that he was sent to H.M.S. Trojan or did you arrange that he should be sent because it—she—is your ship, Mr Hazard?”
“No.” Phillip shook his head emphatically. “I was not even aware that my brother was serving in the Navy, mademoiselle. Had I known …” his tone was regretful, “I should have done everything in my power to have him entered in any ship but this one, I assure you. However, he is one of a draft of seamen intended for distribution among the Fleet, so that I shall probably be able to arrange for his transfer soon after we join. In the meantime …” he sighed.
“In the me
antime,” Mademoiselle Sophie said, with a smile, “you are endeavouring to keep him out of the Captain’s sight, are you not?”
“Yes, mademoiselle,” he admitted. “It isn’t difficult while the Captain is indisposed, of course, but when he resumes command …” he spread his hands in a gesture of resignation and, impulsively, she caught at his arm.
“Perhaps this may be an unkind and … and mutinous thing to say but I hope …” Mademoiselle Sophie’s voice dropped to a whisper, “I hope that Captain North may remain indisposed for quite a long time. As I told you last night, the sailors are happy when you are in command … everyone is happy, there is a different atmosphere throughout the whole ship. You make a very fine Captain, Mr Hazard.”
Phillip’s colour deepened. “I am only a lieutenant, mademoiselle, and besides I—”
“But, Mr Hazard …” she halted and stood looking up at him, an odd challenge in her eyes and her soft young mouth again curving into a smile. “This afternoon when that dreadful storm overtook us, we might have met with disaster had you not acted so quickly and efficiently. Lieutenant Fox told me what happened, so you cannot deny it. He was full of admiration for your seamanship and has done nothing but sing your praises ever since. And Lieutenant Cochrane said that had the Captain been in command—”
“I think, mademoiselle,” Phillip put in hastily, “that you had better not tell me what Mr Cochrane said … it is almost certain to be mutinous.”
Mademoiselle Sophie met his gaze gravely but her eyes were sparkling. “Well, perhaps he was a trifle indiscreet,” she conceded. “But Mr Cochrane is an exceedingly nice young man and he, too, admires you very much. Indeed I cannot find anyone who does not admire and respect you.”
“I am deeply gratified to hear that, Mademoiselle,” Phillip assured her, “But all the same I—” She ignored the interruption and went on, her tone pensive, “On the other hand, Mr Hazard, it is impossible to find anyone at all who has a good word to say for Captain North.”
“Mademoiselle, I beg you …” Scarlet with embarrassment, Phillip stammered something unintelligible, even to himself. Then, observing the approach of the Baroness von Mauthner on the Surgeon’s arm, with the Captain of Marines and Anthony Cochrane on her other side, he thankfully led Mademoiselle Sophie across the deck to join them.
“Ah, Lieutenant Hazard!” the Baroness said, in her harsh, heavily accented English. “It would seem, according to zese gentlemen, zat we owe our preservation from ze storm to you. I should like to express my sanks.”
“Lieutenant Hazard does not like to be thanked,” Mademoiselle Sophie informed her demurely. “Not even for having saved our lives.”
The Baroness regarded Phillip in some bewilderment.
“But zis ees not a liddle sing, eet …” she broke off with a shrug. “Zen ve must respect his wishes … tell me, Mr Hazard, ven shall ve reach Constantinople?”
“On Monday morning, all being well, madame,” Phillip replied. He flashed her a grateful smile and then excused himself, conscious of Mademoiselle Sophie’s eyes following him, a trifle reproachfully, as he descended the hatchway to the lower deck. Regretting his churlishness, he waited for her after the evening meal but she did not, as he was hoping she would, come on deck for her accustomed promenade and his disappointment was quite unreasonably keen… .
For the next two days, Trojan continued on her course in perfect weather and with a fair wind, exchanging numbers with several British ships and a Turkish and two French steam corvettes, with which salutes were punctiliously exchanged. The wind headed north during the late afternoon on Sunday and, aware of the strong current in the fifty-mile length of the Dardanelles, which made the Strait impassable to sailing vessels against a northerly wind, Phillip ordered steam up and the screw lowered. At sunset the ancient Castles of Sestos and Chanak-Kalessi were sighted and an hour later Trojan entered the Dardanelles, the mountains of Sintros and Lemnos, purple in the distance, offering a last glimpse of the Greek Archipelago.
As the light was fading, Mademoiselle Sophie came up to the quarterdeck. She came alone and, walking over to where Phillip was standing by the taffrail, held out her hand to him.
“I have come to bid you farewell, Mr Hazard,” she told him and added, a catch in her voice, “All things come to an end, do they not?”
Phillip accepted the proffered hand, holding it lightly in his own, and Mademoiselle Sophie made no attempt to withdraw it. “We shall all be extremely sorry to see you go,” he said lamely, conscious that this was an understatement.
“I shall be sorry to leave, too, Mr Hazard.”
“You will leave when we reach Constantinople, mademoiselle?”
“Yes.” She bowed her dark head. “So I understand. The Baroness von Mauthner received a note from the Captain this afternoon and it seems that everything has been arranged for our departure. A boat will be sent to take us ashore as soon as the ship drops anchor.”
“I see.” Phillip looked down at her bent head. It scarcely reached his shoulder and he stifled a sigh, aware that he would miss her and aware, also, with a sudden quickening of his pulse, of how strong an attachment he had formed for this strange, lovely girl—half-child, half-woman—whose real name he did not even know. He had sternly repressed his feelings up till now, had refused to admit that he had any feelings where Mademoiselle Sophie was concerned but he knew, when she raised her small, pale face to his, that they existed, whether or not he was prepared to acknowledge their existence. “Will you stay in Constantinople?” he asked huskily, hoping against all reason that she would answer him in the affirmative and that this would not be the last time he would see her.
But she shook her head. “No, I do not think so … for a few days, perhaps, that is all.” There was regret in her voice and, emboldened by this, he ventured to ask another question. “When you leave Constantinople, where will you go, mademoiselle?”
“To my mother’s house,” Mademoiselle Sophie answered bleakly. “And then I am to be married.”
Phillip stared at her, shocked out of the controlled calm he had imposed on himself. “You are to be married?” he exclaimed, unable to conceal his dismay. He had imagined many things, but not this, and her announcement came as a completely unexpected blow to him.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “It was arranged a long time ago, when we were both children. That was when we were betrothed.”
“When?” he demanded harshly. “When is the marriage to take place?”
She continued to look up at him, meeting his shocked and unhappy gaze quite steadily, her face curiously devoid of expression. “I do not know when, I … they have not told me. Perhaps not for some time. I … I hope not for some time, Mr Hazard.”
“But … do you not love the man to whom you are betrothed, mademoiselle?” Phillip asked, making an effort to speak gently.
“Love him? But … ” Mademoiselle Sophie drew a quick, startled breath, as if his question had taken her by surprise and her hand moved restlessly in his. His fingers tightened about it. “Why, yes,” he prompted. “Surely it is usual to have some regard, some feeling of affection for the man who is to be your husband?”
“In England, perhaps,” she conceded reluctantly. “Not in … that is, not in my country, Mr Hazard. I … I scarcely know the man to whom I am betrothed. I have only set eyes on him once in my life and that was when I was a child. I told you … it was all arranged a long time ago.”
Phillip stood looking down at her in uneasy silence. He felt deeply sorry for her and sensed that, although she, too, said nothing, she had sought consolation from him and needed more than his pity. Yet there was so little he could say without betraying himself, so little consolation he could offer to one in her position and in these circumstances. She was not an ordinary young woman of his own class and he could not, in honour, take her into his arms as, for a moment, he felt tempted to do, promising her his love and devotion … once she left the ship tomorrow she would, in any event, be beyond his reach. He wo
uld no longer be able to serve and protect her, however much he might desire to do so, and even to suggest that he could would be to deceive her, as well as himself.
He hesitated and then raised the hand he held to his lips. “Mademoiselle, I can only offer you my sincere good wishes for your future happiness and prosperity. It has been both an honour and a source of great personal pleasure to me to have made your acquaintance.”
“Has it, Mr Hazard?” Her voice sounded tired and she eyed him sadly as she withdrew her hand from his. “I, too, have derived much pleasure from our acquaintance. I …” She managed a wan little smile, “I hope that we may meet again one day. It seems improbable but I shall continue to hope for it just the same. So I shall say, ’au revoir,’ Mr Hazard, not goodbye.”
“Au revoir, mademoiselle,” Phillip responded. “And a safe journey to your destination.” He walked with her to the main deck but, reaching it, she bade him come no further.
“It is perhaps better if I go alone, lest the Baroness see us together. I had told her that I was going to rest for a little while in my cabin but the maid, Anna, is in there packing and … I could not leave the ship without bidding you farewell. Also there is something I …” Mademoiselle Sophie opened the bead-trimmed reticule she carried and took from it a small package, carefully wrapped and sealed, which she put into Phillip’s hand. “I would like you to have this as a souvenir and a … a token of my gratitude for all that you have done to make this voyage so pleasant an experience for me. But please …” her smile returned, with all its familiar warmth and charm. “Do not open the package until we have left the ship. Goodnight, Mr Hazard … and may God have you in His keeping wherever you may go.”
She slipped quietly away, leaving Phillip gazing down at the tiny package in his hand, the muscles of his face stiff.
