by V. A. Stuart
The signal was greeted with enthusiasm by the British Fleet. The Albion’s crew were the first to man her rigging and cheer, and her example was quickly followed by the other ships. Trojan’s men cheered as heartily as the rest, Captain North looking on without any visible sign of excitement or pleasure. At Phillip’s urgent prompting, he gave grudging permission for an extra tot of rum to be issued with the men’s evening meal but, apart from this, he made no concession to the prevailing spirit of exuberant optimism by which most of the other ships were enlivened. His men did not cheer him, as many of the other crews cheered their commanders, but he did not appear to be in the least concerned by the omission and, as usual, decks were scrubbed next morning before daybreak and Trojan’s seamen at exercise aloft soon after first light.
A frustrating delay of two days followed—due, it was said, to the failure of the official declaration of war to reach the French Fleet—and only the little 6-gun steamer Fury was sent to keep observation off Sebastopol. There was a constant coming and going between various ships and the two flagships, as senior commanders consulted with the Admirals. On the morning of 11th April, the French Commander-in-Chief, Admiral Hamelin, paid a visit to Britannia attended by his second-in-command and numerous staff. Soon after the French Admiral’s return to his own flagship, the Ville de Paris, Admiral Dundas summoned his Captains to a final council of war, at which they received instructions to commence a rigorous blockade of the Russian Black Sea ports, in co-operation with the French Fleet.
Trojan received orders to proceed to Odessa in company with Retribution, a 28-gun paddle frigate commanded by Captain the Honourable James Drummond, Niger—Commander Leopold Heath—and the French steam-frigate Descartes of 20 guns. The small squadron came-to off the Russian port on the morning of 13th. News of their coming had evidently preceded them, for a large crowd of townsfolk gathered on the cliff-top to watch their arrival.
The four ships stood off, out of range of the shore batteries, and a note addressed to the Governor, Baron Osten-Sacken, was delivered, demanding an explanation of the attack on the Furious and reparation for the outrage offered to the British flag. A boat from Retribution took the note to meet one which had put out from the shore and, as they waited for this to return, Phillip ascended to Trojan’s maintop and, his glass to his eye, subjected the harbour and what he could see of the town to a lengthy scrutiny.
It was a warm, sunny morning and everything looked very peaceful, the crowds on shore apparently regarding the approach of a squadron of enemy warships with more curiosity than apprehension. The guns, although manned and trained on the waiting ships, were silent … their crews evidently under orders not to provoke aggression. The town, Phillip saw, was attractively laid out with trees and gardens, the houses built of stone and the tall spire of the Orthodox Cathedral rising above the gaily painted domes and cupolas of its numerous Moslem mosques and temples.
He studied the place with mixed feelings, recalling Mademoiselle Sophie’s presence there and Sir Edmund Lyons’s plans for an attack on the harbour defences. These, at first sight, did not look as formidable as he had imagined they would. There was a coastal fort to the west of the town, standing high up, and several batteries at intervals along the curve of the bay, well placed for their guns to dispute entry to the port. The harbour itself was an artificial one, formed by three long stone moles which projected into the sea and divided it into two basins, both of which were crowded with shipping. Each mole was guarded by a stone parapet, split with embrasures for cannon on the seaward side. The most powerful of these lay to the north of the cliffs—the Imperial Mole—with a fort at its extremity, from which the muzzles of some 26 heavy calibre cannon bristled menacingly. Behind the fort lay the Imperial Harbour and dockyard, with a number of ships on the stocks, and some stone buildings which appeared to be barracks, naval storehouses, and an extensive arsenal, on the town side. As his glass swept the harbour, Phillip estimated that at least two hundred vessels of various sizes were sheltering inside, the majority small trading brigs and schooners which were congregated within the Quarantine Basin, several flying the British flag.
Niger and Descartes made a reconnaissance of the western side of the bay and both were returning to their anchorage when a brig, lying about fifteen hundred yards from the beach, unwisely showed Russian colours before slipping her chain and making sail towards the shore. Niger gave chase and, hooking her skilfully, towed her outside again, passing within range of a battery of eight guns which, to Phillip’s surprise, did not open fire. Descartes stood in, to give her British ally support, but no attempt was made by the Russian gunners on shore to interfere and, still triumphantly towing her prize, Niger steamed out of range. Trojan’s men cheered her lustily and Retribution signalled “Well done, Niger.”
Next morning, no reply to his note having been received from the Governor, Captain Drummond of Retribution, announced his intention of remaining off Odessa to await any communication that might subsequently arrive from the shore. He dispatched the rest of his squadron to commence a blockade of the coast—Descartes to proceed to the mouth of the Dniester river, Trojan and Niger to that of the Dnieper—their instructions to intercept and capture any enemy vessels they might encounter.
Captain North, returning from a conference on board Retribution, appeared not ill-pleased by the opportunity for prize-taking which his new orders offered. After telling Phillip to make sail, he added, a trifle sourly, “It is to be hoped, Mr Hazard, that Commander Heath, in his efforts to win promotion to post-rank, will not snaffle all the prizes.”
It had rankled with him more than a little, Phillip was aware, that Captain Drummond—although a few weeks junior to him—had been put in command of the squadron on the grounds of his greater local knowledge and experience, and his temper improved visibly as Odessa faded into the distance. There could be no disputing his right to give orders to Niger, since Leopold Heath was only a Commander, and Trojan’s Captain exercised his prerogative throughout the rest of the day, until the two ships parted company … Niger giving chase to a Russian transport, in tow of a tug, Trojan in pursuit of a schooner.
Niger’s prey escaped into the river where, without a pilot, Commander Heath could not follow her, but North showed the schooner no mercy, finally driving her ashore just out of range of the Russian fort at Kinburn, with which a few shots were abortively exchanged. She was carrying a cargo of coal and, when this had been transferred to Trojan’s depleted hold, he ordered her set on fire, since she was too badly damaged to be worth taking as a prize. During the next three days, however, five other small vessels were taken, two empty, the rest with cargoes of linseed, salt, and oatmeal. North drove his ship’s company relentlessly from dawn to dusk but for once— aware that they would eventually be entitled to a share of the prize money—the men did not resent it. They worked efficiently and well and, under screw or sail, Trojan’s speed was more than a match for any small trading ship to which she gave chase.
On 17th April, Sidon arrived and Captain Goldsmith brought orders for Retribution and Descartes to join him in an attack on the batteries at the Sulina mouth of the Danube. Due to bad weather, this attack could not be made until 19th, when Niger joined the rest of the squadron, leaving Trojan to patrol off Odessa and the Dnieper river mouth. On 20th, Sidon again brought orders from Admiral Dundas. The combined British and French Fleets were, it seemed, on their way to Odessa, and Retribution, Trojan, and Descartes were instructed to join at once. Sidon herself—having run aground and sustained some damage during the attack on the Sulina forts—was to return to Varna for repairs, accompanied by Niger, the latter having gallantly gone in under heavy fire and towed her to safety.
That evening the two Fleets were sighted at anchor some four miles off Odessa. A summons to the Governor to surrender all Russian ships in the harbour and to send out British, French, and neutral trading vessels—under the threat of a bombardment—had apparently elicited no reply. In consequence, arrangements for an attack w
ere already being made and Captain North, in common with the other steam frigate commanders, was sent for by Admiral Dundas as soon as the squadron dropped anchor. Speculation as to the form the attack would take was rife on board the newly arrived ships, as officers and men waited impatiently for their commanders to return from the flagship.
Phillip was conscious of oddly conflicting emotions as he, too, waited for news. Somewhere on shore, he could only suppose, Mademoiselle Sophie must also be waiting and wondering anxiously what would transpire. No doubt if she could not see the forest of masts and spars rising above the Fleet anchorage, she would be aware of the presence of the great, menacing ships, would know that the Governor had given no answer to their ultimatum. It was a trifle ironic that the ship in which she had journeyed from England was, in all probability, to be one of those which would launch the attack, he thought wryly, and he wondered if she would see and recognize Trojan when the time came or whether, as he hoped, she was even now being taken to a place of safety outside the town. He had no means of knowing where she was or what dangers she might be called upon to face and … he gazed stonily at the distant shore. In spite of a natural desire to strike a telling blow against the enemy, he was aware of a strong and growing reluctance to take any personal part in the coming attack on the town which had given Mademoiselle Sophie shelter.
By the following afternoon, however, Phillip knew that he would have to do so. North, taciturn and uncommunicative always, had told him nothing and was again absent aboard Agamemnon, where Admiral Lyons was said to be drawing up the final plan of attack, when Tom Johnson appeared alongside in one of Agamemnon’s boats. He greeted Phillip cheerfully when he came on board. “I can only stay for a few minutes,” he apologised. “Frederick Maxse is aboard Vauban on the Admiral’s business and I am on my way to pick him up. But I thought you’d like to know that Retribution and Trojan are to lead the steam squadron in, when the attack on Odessa takes place. You’ll go in under engines, of course, but instead of anchoring, each ship is to deliver her broadside and then retire out of range while the next in line takes her place.”
Phillip’s brows lifted in surprise. “We are not to anchor? These are new tactics, are they not, Tom?”
Tom Johnson grinned. “And no doubt you can guess from whose fertile brain they sprang! Admiral Lyons knows this harbour and the only thing that worries him is the probability of heavy casualties among your men. So he’s devised this plan, which should keep them to a minimum. It may be a trifle unorthodox but it’s a clever strategy, Phillip. You will be able to come close-in to the batteries, but you will present a moving target throughout the attack … out of range as you reload, of course, and only in range for the length of time it takes you to discharge your broadsides, in turn with the other ships of the squadron. Look, I got Frederick Maxse to help me make a sketch to illustrate how it’s to be done …” He took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, spreading it out for Phillip’s inspection. “The whole squadron will wheel and circle in a radius of half a mile, do you see?”
“Yes, I do indeed.” Phillip studied the sketch minutely, impressed by its ingenuity. “Which ships will be engaged, do you know?”
Tom Johnson nodded. “It is to be a combined British and French operation, Phillip, undertaken by light-draft steam frigates only. As I told you, Retribution and Trojan will lead the lines, then Descartes and Mogador to maintain French honour, followed by Terrible and Tiger of ours, Vauban and Caton of the French, and finally Furious and Sampson, with Highflyer in reserve. Your targets,”—he pointed to the sketch—“are to be the harbour fortifications and the fort and arsenal on the Imperial Mole, as well as the Russian ships sheltering behind it. And the dock-yard, of course, if you can reach it … but the town itself and all neutral vessels in the Quarantine Harbour are to be spared.”
Phillip was immensely relieved. “I am thankful,” he confessed, with feelings “that the town is to be spared.”
“Well, it’s certainly a more civilised conception of war than what occurred at Sinope,” Tom Johnson agreed. “For which, as you say, we can be thankful … again to Admiral Lyons since, according to Maxse, he is responsible for the decision. On his advice, the Commander-in-Chief has directed that the line-of-battle ships are to take no part in the bombardment, beyond supplying rocket-boats, whose fire will be directed by Commander Dixon. This means that only military targets will be attacked and those from close range, so that there will be less danger of random shots falling on the town.”
“Good,” Phillip approved. He folded the plan and returned it to its owner. “When are we to launch the attack?” he enquired. “Or hasn’t that been decided yet?”
“The Commander-in-Chief’s ultimatum expires at sunset,” Lieutenant Johnson told him. “If the Governor rejects it and fails to give up the ships he is sheltering—including our own and the neutrals—then I understand that the attack is to begin tomorrow morning, as soon after daybreak as possible. The Admirals are hoping, of course, that word may reach Sebastopol by telegraph in time for the Imperial Fleet to sail to Odessa’s defence. If Nachimoff decides to try conclusions with us, we shall be waiting for him! Well …” he extended his hand. “I must go, I promised I would not keep Frederick waiting. Good luck to you tomorrow, Phillip. I’m sure that Trojan will acquit herself well.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Phillip said, with sincerity. “I am more than grateful to you for telling me what is in prospect. Captain North … that is, I did not know very much, I—”
“Having met your commander, I’m not surprised,” Tom Johnson put in dryly. “He is not very forthcoming, is he … particularly to his inferiors in rank?”
“No, not very, I’m afraid. But—”
“I did not take to him,” Agamemnon’s acting First Lieutenant admitted. “And since I had, in any case, to pass under your stern, I thought I would call on you and make sure you knew what was going on. Also …” Reaching the entry port and his waiting boat, he paused, eyeing Phillip gravely. “Also it occurred to me that you might feel some concern for the passengers you brought from England, the two ladies whom Furious put ashore here recently. I reasoned that you would feel some qualms at the prospect of being ordered to bombard the city where they had taken refuge … and, indeed, that few of your ship’s company would welcome it. I hope I’ve been able to set some of your fears at rest because—if they are still in town—your passengers should be in no serious danger.”
“I’m much in your debt, Tom.”
“Nonsense, my dear fellow. It was the least I could do.” Tom Johnson swung himself down into his boat and took his place in the sternsheets, a hand lifted in farewell as the boat cast off.
Phillip returned to the quarterdeck where Martin Fox, who had just come on watch, assailed him with a spate of eager questions.
“Pass the word for the Gunnery Officer, Mr Fox, if you please,” he said formally and then, relenting, put an arm round Fox’s shoulder. “Tomorrow, Martin, we are to bombard Odessa with a combined steam frigate squadron. But between then and now, we have work to do, so beat to quarters, will you please? When Sutherland joins us, I’ll explain the plan of attack Admiral Lyons has worked out, which I’ve just had expounded to me. It is unorthodox but I believe it will be successful … and the town itself is to be spared.”
“And so, let us hope, will our poor little Grand-Duchess,” Fox answered soberly. He gave the necessary orders, a grim little smile curving his lips… .
2
It was still quite dark when, on the morning of 22nd April, orders came for the steam frigate squadron to clear for action.
On board Trojan, the men went about their preparations with grim purposefulness, mingled with a certain apprehension common to both the experienced and those who had never seen action before. Hammocks were sent up and stowed in the nettings during the Middle Watch, the decks sanded and, after an early breakfast eaten by the light of lanterns—for which only the hardy few had any appetite—the galley fires were damped down.
Mess tables and stools were triced to the overhead beams of the deck above, bulkheads taken down, and, as the ship’s company were drummed to quarters, the Surgeon and his assistants took possession of the midshipmen’s berth on the lower-deck, shifting four sea-chests together to form an operating table.
Below decks, the felt-lined copper doors of the magazines were opened, the Marine sentries stood aside, and soon a procession of powdermen and ammunition carriers converged in the darkness of the narrow alleyways in the bowels of the ship, to begin passing up supplies of powder and filled cartridges for their guns. On the main and upper decks, the guns’ crews stood to their guns, six men to each, with six others to assist in running out, training, and elevating the gun. The tompions were removed from the muzzles, the vents cleared, the matchtubs half filled with sand in readiness to receive the lye-soaked matches on their linstocks, when the guns’ captains set them alight.
Admiral Lyons’s plan of attack called for starboard broadsides to be fired in succession so, the previous evening, Phillip and the Gunnery Officer had placed as many 32-pounders from the port batteries as they could contrive to fit into the starboard side of Trojan’s upper deck. Since the action was likely to be prolonged, Phillip had men from the port-side guns’ crews standing by to relieve those on the starboard side, and the powdermen and auxiliaries serving each gun also had their reliefs, to ensure that there should be no delay in reloading and bringing the guns to bear.
The cable was hove in and, as the squadron awaited the signal to weigh, Trojan’s starboard guns—including the two long 52-pounder, pivoted guns on the forecastle—were elevated to 1,200 yards range, loaded with shell, and run out through the open port-lids. At four bells in the Morning Watch, the expected signal was broken out from the masthead of Britannia: “Weigh and proceed.”
