by V. A. Stuart
“Sir George Brown and I, with General Canrobert and Colonel Trochu, have made a reconnaissance of the Crimean coast, Phillip,” Sir Edmund said. “Our object was to ascertain the position of coastal forts and gun batteries in the vicinity of Sebastopol, which might impede the landings, and to make sure that ample supplies of water were available. The Bay of Katcha seems to offer all we need for a suitable landing place …” He pointed to it on the chart and spent half an hour enlarging on his plans for the disembarkation and the merits of the spot he had selected for this to take place. “We had seven fathoms of water at half a mile from the beach, which will mean that the Fleets can enter the river mouth to cover the landings and supply the armies. Then, when the military forces converge on the town we, from the sea, can engage the Russian Fleet in harbour, if they still refuse to come out and meet us. If they attack our convoy on its way to the Katcha River, we shall have ample strength with which to counter them.”
The plan seemed to Phillip, as he studied the maps and charts, admirably conceived. Admiral Lyons had allowed for every contingency and, now that the decision to attack Sebastopol had at last been reached, he applied himself with his usual dynamic energy and efficiency to the problem of finding sufficient ships to enable the land-based assault to be put into operation. As always, Lyons’s powers of organisation surmounted all difficulties and Phillip, working with his small staff, witnessed the creation of an armada, seemingly by magic.
From Malta came several steamers towing flat-bottomed boats, and in Constantinople itself Admiral Boxer and his transport officers procured others and began the construction of wooden pontoons, made from Turkish long boats lashed together in pairs and planked over to form rafts capable of carrying a battery of guns or a company of infantry. In addition to these there were, of course, the transports—both steam and sail—which had brought the Army from Malta to Gallipoli and Scutari and thence to Varna and, on paper, the makeshift fleet grew daily. During August ships left the Bosphorus for Baltchik and Kavarna Bays in a steadily increasing flow and Phillip, at a desk on board Agamemnon or at another in Admiral Boxer’s office on shore, dealt with a mountain of paperwork. Despite lack of sleep and long hours of toil, the wound in his leg healed and he was able to walk for quite long distances, with a slight limp but unaided and without strain. He was impatient to return to active duty but, realizing that the work with which he was at present assisting was of greater value than anything he could have done at sea, he restrained his impatience.
An epidemic of cholera had broken out in Varna, taking an appalling toll of both seamen and soldiers but, in spite of this, preparations for the invasion of the Crimea went on. It was generally believed that Varna was the source of the outbreak and that, once the Allied forces left the unhealthy little town, they would leave the infection behind them.
“There are those—naming no names, Phillip,” Sir Edmund Lyons observed, “who seek any excuse to avoid attacking Sebastopol. Nevertheless I am confident that the attack will succeed, if it is undertaken before the end of August and if our combined naval and military forces press it home with sufficient courage and vigour from the moment of landing. But if it is delayed for even three or four weeks, then I very much fear the outcome … and I fear that embarkation may be delayed, unless I am on hand to ensure that it is not. So I shall return to Varna now and to the endless conferences and councils of war we hold with our allies, which seldom result in anything but fainthearted argument in favour of caution. Wars are not won by exercising caution … the bold, decisive action is the only one that can bring success.” He sighed, eyeing Phillip thoughtfully. “Do you want to come with me, Phillip? Or will you remain here, at Admiral Boxer’s elbow, where your presence will be of great value for another few weeks? Two, at the outside, if I have my way.”
“I will do whatever you command me, sir,” Phillip assured him.
“Then stay,” the Admiral said. “I’ll send for you when the embarkation begins. And, as a reward for your exertions here, during your convalescence, would you like me to have you appointed to Agamemnon?”
Phillip stared at him incredulously. The offer of appointment to Agamemnon was more than he had ever dared to hope for … yet, gratified though he was, he did not at once accept it. The Admiral, evidently reading his unspoken thoughts, said with a smile, “You may, of course, return to Trojan, if you would prefer to do so. She is your ship, is she not?”
Yes, she was his ship, Phillip thought ruefully … or she had been his ship, until North’s appointment had taken her from him. Under North’s command, he had very little desire to return to Trojan, he realized … indeed, he shrank from the prospect. Life in Constantinople had been pleasant, in spite of the long hours he had had to work, and he had enjoyed the Admiral’s confidence, even his friendship, during the time he had been here. It would not be so pleasant to return to North’s taunts and insults, after his happy association with Sir Edmund Lyons, he was fully aware. In addition Captain Mends—whose gallant and skilful handling of Arethusa during the attack on Odessa had won the admiration of the entire British Fleet— had recently exchanged with Captain Symonds and was now, as Flag-Captain, commanding Agamemnon. There were few men he would rather serve under than Mends … Phillip looked up to echo the Admiral’s smile, his decision reached.
“I am sure that Lieutenant Fox is more than capable of acting as Trojan’s First Lieutenant, sir. So, if you will permit me, I should like nothing better than to serve under your command and that of Captain Mends, sir, in Agamemnon. I am deeply grateful for being given this opportunity to do so.”
“Good.” Admiral Lyons patted his shoulder, the gesture affectionate and fatherly. “I shall be glad to have you, and Jack will be pleased when I tell him you’re with me. He’s done exceptionally well with Miranda in the White Sea … I must show you his last letter, which I received a few days ago.”
The Admiral consulted his watch. “I shall have to go … Captain Mends will be wanting to get under way.” He returned the watch to his pocket and held out his hand. “You have made the right decision, Phillip. Strictly between ourselves, I hear somewhat disquieting reports of Trojan … she’s not a happy ship, is she? Or, come to that, a particularly efficient one, from all accounts. The Commander-in-Chief has had requests for transfer to other ships from several of her officers, I understand. And one of them—Lieutenant Cochrane—is under arrest, awaiting trial by court martial on charges of insubordination brought by his Captain … the Admiral mentioned this, in his letter to me delivered this morning by the Banshee.”
Young Anthony Cochrane, Phillip thought unhappily, had finally allowed his impulsive tongue to run away with him and had said too much. He was distressed, although scarcely surprised, by the news and, for a moment, regretted his decision not to rejoin Trojan. But if he had done so he could have done nothing to save Cochrane, he knew … throughout his service under Captain North’s command, he had never managed to save anyone from punishment, not even his own brother. To have gone back would have been merely to stand by and watch young Cochrane broken, powerless to intervene on his behalf, so perhaps, as Admiral Lyons had said, he had made the right decision. He drew himself up and saluted and the Admiral, after glancing at him searchingly, dismissed him with the promise that he was to be sent for when the embarkation from Varna began.
CHAPTER EIGHT
1
Twelve days later, Phillip received orders to join Agamemnon and, when the dispatch steamer which had brought him from Constantinople dropped anchor in Kavarna Bay, he saw that the embarkation of the British Expeditionary Force had already begun. From then until 4th September it continued, as the 30,000 troops, with 2,000 horses and 54 guns, were loaded on to the waiting transports, together with tents, stores, arms, and equipment, in an open bay and impeded by a strong swell. Every officer and seaman in the British Fleet toiled unceasingly from dawn to dusk, under the personal supervision of Admiral Lyons and his Principal Officer of Transports, Captain Christie.
By 4th September the operation was successfully completed, the only losses being the tragic but seemingly inevitable deaths from cholera. The British flotilla formed up into six lines of fifteen ships, each line containing a division of the Army complete with its arms and equipment, and with a steamer to tow each pair of sailing ships. A small detachment of six transports, also in the tow of steamers, carried the medical department, siege train, and reserve ammunition … the former cut to a minimum, owing to lack of space. For the same reason, the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, the ambulances and transport wagons, and the pack horses and mules had to be left behind in Varna, to be brought on afterwards, when the steamers had discharged their present loads.
After a number of delays, the British convoy weighed anchor on the morning of 7th September, with the intention of joining up with the French and Turkish ships at the agreed rendezvous, forty miles N.W. of Cape Tarkan, the most westerly point on the Crimean peninsula. By ten thirty the ships of the convoy took up their respective stations and, in compact order, four cables’ lengths separating each vessel from her next ahead and astern and the same distance between each of the six lines, put to sea. They made an impressive sight, Phillip thought, surveying the spectacle from Agamemnon’s poop, pride and excitement dispelling his weariness. The sun rose in a blue and cloudless sky, the contrary wind which had been responsible for the long delay dropped and, on board the transports, bands played and soldiers in their scarlet uniforms lined the decks, cheering as the steamers took them in tow.
Of the Russians there was no sign but the 27 men-of-war composing the French and Turkish Fleets—in which the bulk of their troops were carried—were sighted on the morning of 8th, in company with Admiral Dundas’s battle squadron, some thirty miles south of Serpent’s Island. The British convoy had no sooner joined up with them than a signal from Admiral Hamelin requested Lord Raglan and Admiral Dundas to board the Ville de Paris for a conference with Marshal St Arnaud, the French Commander-in-Chief. After this had been answered, the conference was transferred to the Caradoc—the small, 2-gun dispatch steamer in which Lord Raglan was travelling—and Admiral Lyons, Admiral Bruat, Sir George Brown, and General Canrobert also invited to attend.
“I do not like it,” Sir Edmund Lyons said uneasily, as he waited for his barge to be called away. “A conference at this stage of the proceedings can only mean delay … and delay is the one thing we cannot afford.”
When he returned to Agamemnon some hours later, he was unusually glum and despondent. “The French want to change our landing place,” he told the officers who clustered about him. “Now, at the eleventh hour, when all was settled and agreed before we left Varna! Colonel Trochu, representing the Marshal—who is apparently too ill to leave his ship—is in favour of disembarking at Kaffa which, gentlemen, is tantamount to putting off the attack on Sebastopol until next year.”
There were shocked murmurs and Captain Mends asked incredulously, “But surely, Admiral, Lord Raglan did not agree?”
“Indeed he did not,” Admiral Lyons assured him vehemently. “Neither did Admiral Bruat or our own Commander-in-Chief … although the second thoughts regarding Katcha are said to have originated with the Admirals. I asked ’Which Admirals?’ but, as might be expected, no one could tell me.” He sighed, in bitter frustration. “After hours of fruitless discussion, the final decision as to where the disembarkation will take place has been left in Lord Raglan’s hands and, before making his decision, his lordship intends to examine the coast for himself. Tomorrow morning, gentlemen, Agamemnon will sail in company with Primauget, carrying the French commanders, and Caradoc, carrying our own, for the purpose of selecting a landing place. It means a delay which may well prove disastrous, should the weather change but …” He spread his hands in a resigned gesture of helplessness and, turning abruptly on his heel, made for his cabin.
After a momentary hesitation, Captain Mends followed him.
It took almost three days to reach agreement on a site for the landing of the invasion force. While the rest of the vast convoy remained at anchor to await Lord Raglan’s final decision, Caradoc sailed, with the Allied military and naval commanders on board, to make a reconnaissance of the Crimean coast. With Agamemnon standing off shore to protect her from molestation, the little dispatch steamer ventured close in to Sebastopol itself. Her appearance attracted no attention from the Russians and indeed, Phillip was later told by one of her officers, it seemed to go unnoticed, although she was near enough to hear the ringing of the church bells and to see quite clearly the Russian line-of-battle ships at anchor in the harbour. Having surveyed the coast first to the south and then to the north, from Balaclava to Eupatoria, Caradoc rejoined the Fleet on the morning of Monday, 11th September. The signal to weigh and set course for the Crimea came at noon, from which it was assumed that the British military commander had made his decision.
Sir Edmund Lyons, although he appeared to have recovered from his earlier depression, was evidently still uneasy when he returned to his flagship from the Caradoc. Dictating orders to his Secretary and to Phillip who, with his Flag-Lieutenant, was assisting him, the Admiral paused, a worried frown drawing his brows together.
“The landing is to be made—subject of course, to Marshal St Arnaud’s acquiescence—on the beach at the Old Fort in Kalamita Bay, in latitude 45° north,” he said slowly. “This, in Lord Raglan’s opinion, is the most eligible spot for the disembarkation of the Army. His lordship is also of the opinion that Eupatoria, which lies twenty miles to the north and is defenceless, should be occupied prior to the main landing. Of course, I have no criticism of his choice, save for its distance from our objective and the fact that water is likely to be in short supply ashore. The beach at the Old Fort is in no danger from dominating hills—for which reason his lordship rejected my suggestion for landing at the mouth of the Katcha. In addition, there is deep water close inshore, so that our naval guns can cover the landing but …” he stifled a sigh and turned to his Secretary. “Let me see the map, Mr Cleeve, if you please.”
Frederick Cleeve spread it out in front of him and still frowning, the Admiral indicated the place chosen for the landing. “This is what worries me, gentlemen. From where our invasion force is to be set ashore, four rivers will have to be crossed before the attack on Sebastopol can be launched. The Bulganak here, the Alma, the Katcha, and the Balbec …” he stabbed each name on the map. “Each offers a natural line of defence to the enemy, each is dominated by adjacent hills, and we have observed a large enemy encampment in the valley of the Alma …” He talked on, his tone unusually bitter, and his listeners exchanged anxious glances with each other as the truth of his words sank in.
Finally, with a tired gesture, Admiral Lyons thrust the map away from him. “Our task is to set the Army ashore,” he observed. “And to support and supply it from the sea, as well as to evacuate any casualties it may suffer during the march on Sebastopol. This task we shall
perform, so … let us concentrate on what that will entail, shall we, gentlemen? Captain Mends drew up a plan for disembarking the expedition before we left Varna … you have it there, Mr Cleeve, have you not?”
“The plan is here, sir,” Cleeve assured him.
“Then write out the necessary orders from that and see that they are delivered in writing, as soon as we drop anchor at the point of disembarkation. I want every boat in the Fleet utilised and, when laden, they are to form line abreast by signal and advance in that order to the beach. About seven thousand men will thus be landed simultaneously and guns will be landed with the first contingent … in case the enemy opposes the landing. Captain Dacres of Sanspareil will command the beach, assisted by Commander Heath of Niger and Commander Powell of Vesuvius.” The Admiral rose, smiling from one to the other of his small staff. “You may have to lose yet another night’s sleep over this but I want it done, gentlemen. When we anchor, I will arrange for Commander Heath to give you his assistance and I shall place Lieutenant Johnson in command of the first line of boats.” He added warmly, his hand on Cleeve’s shoulder, “You have worked magnificently, all of you, and I shall not forget what you have done.”
But, in spite of their efforts, the disembarkation was delayed. The convoy anchored off the ancient Ottoman town of Eupatoria on 13th September, instead of proceeding to the landing place. On orders from Admiral Dundas the ships remained at anchor until Retribution and Vesuvius had negotiated the surrender of the town and a strong detachment of Marines, under the command of Captain Brock, was landed from Sidon to occupy it. Trojan, with two French steam frigates, was dispatched to reconnoitre the Russian encampment at the mouth of the Alma, and Phillip was conscious of an unexpected lump in his throat as he watched her departure.
Next morning at first light, to the intense relief of Admiral Lyons, the convoy again got under way and, led by Agamemnon, anchored off the Old Fort in Kalamita Bay two hours later. The weather continued fair and—although the covering force of line-of-battle ships anchored two miles off-shore, so that their boats took some time to arrive alongside the transports—the disembarkation was begun with the boats of the convoy and its escort. No enemy disputed the landing … a few Cossacks, keeping well out of range, observed what was going on but that was all. Once more the organising genius and energy of Admiral Lyons and his Flag-Captain were responsible for the speed and smoothness with which the operation was conducted. The boats of the Fleet plied ceaselessly to and fro between the ships and the shore and, by sunset, the whole of the infantry had been landed, together with a proportion of the horses and upwards of a dozen guns.
