by V. A. Stuart
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Aslam put in apologetically. “I have omitted to tell you that Najib Bey believes that it would be dangerous to take any of the redcoats with you. Sailors, he considers, would be better able to accustom themselves to the great height of these mountains, for it is in the nature of their work on board ship that they must climb aloft to tend the sails.”
He was probably right, Phillip thought, but before he could say so Aslam went on, “The Bey asks that you permit the redcoats to take the places of the men of his garrison whom he will send with you. The fort is undermanned, sir—all who could be spared from its defence have gone with Serfir Pasha. He asks that your honour will give him also some of the new rifles you mentioned to him and that your Marines will give instructions in their use to his redifs.”
“He would seem to have an ulterior motive in not wanting your Marines to accompany me, Mr Roberts,” Phillip said, his mouth twitching with suppressed amusement. “But I fancy I had better accede to his request, don’t you? It is not an unreasonable one, in the circumstances.” Receiving Roberts’s nod of assent, he raised his voice, “Very well, Mr Aslam, you may remain here. And tell the Bey, if you will, that I’m quite agreeable to leaving him reinforcements and that he shall have some of the new rifles. The rest I propose to deliver to Serfir Pasha.”
Through the now beaming interpreter, he settled various other minor details, including the provision of sheepskin clothing for his party, and then he made the formal request that messengers should be sent to inform all other chiefs in the area of the arrival of Mustapha Pasha, to which Najib readily agreed.
“The Bey says,” Aslam informed him, “that it would be advisable for your honour to send for Mohammed Emin Bey, who is at Soukoum Kaleh. He is—”
“I know who he is,” Phillip returned. Again he glanced at Roberts, whose nod of agreement was emphatic.
“Emin Bey is the most influential of all the Circassian chiefs, sir—he is Schamyl’s naib, and—”
“And you know him personally, do you not?”
“Yes, sir.” Roberts’s voice was devoid of emotion but his blue eyes, as they met Phillip’s, were suddenly bright. “I repaired the gun emplacements for him at Soukoum and constructed a blockhouse and earthworks, after the enemy destroyed the fortifications. But, sir, I—”
“Well, Mr Roberts? Would you not be the best messenger I could send to Emin Bey, in the circumstances? I propose to despatch the ship to pick him up and bring him here—it will save time, since obviously the journey overland would take longer. You should be back here as soon as I am, if not before.”
Roberts drew in his breath sharply. “I thought you’d want me with you, sir, and—”
“Mr Roberts, you are a Marine, a red-coated Marine,” Phillip reminded him smilingly. “Unlike my bluejackets, you do not climb aloft to tend the sails, do you?”
“No, sir. But shall I not be required to command my men, when they’re relieving the garrison of the fort?”
“The fort has a most efficient commander, I fancy—in any case, your sergeant is surely quite capable of instructing the Bey’s redifs in the use of the Minié rifle, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir, of course. He is a very good N.C.O. and—”
“Then you will go to Soukoum, if you please, Mr Roberts,” Phillip ordered formally. “My instructions from the Admiral are on board—read them before you land, so that you will know exactly what information you are to give Emin Bey.”
“Yes, indeed I will, most gladly, sir.” Roberts’s voice was not quite steady. “Thank you, sir.”
“You will not have more than a few hours in Soukoum,” Phillip pointed out dryly. “So make the most of your time there, after you have spoken to Emin Bey. Now you had better detail your sergeant and six men for duty in the fort and march them up there, with a half dozen rifles. I shall return on board, to select my party and hand over command to the First Lieutenant. Carry on, Mr Roberts.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Roberts saluted smartly and turned on his heel.
As he was being rowed out to the Huntress, Phillip gave careful thought to the choice of the three men who would accompany him. Grey’s was the first name to come into his head but the young mate was gunnery officer and, in view of the possibility of an attack on Anapa, he decided that Grey— and with him O’Leary—might best employ their time in exercising the guns’ crews. It was essential that the Huntress’s fire should be accurately directed at military targets . . . Cochrane, then? As Second Lieutenant, Cochrane had his watch-keeping duties, of course, but Grey now took a watch, as did the master, so . . . Cochrane was the best choice. He was fit and agile, cool headed and completely trustworthy and, in addition, he spoke French.
As to men, the choice was almost unlimited. They were all good men, but the ones he took would have to be selected for their physical strength and stamina, since they would have to carry the case of rifles and the ammunition, which ruled out Higgins and half a dozen more, including his coxswain. Gunner’s Mate Thompson was the biggest man in the ship’s company and he, like Cochrane and O’Leary, had come from the Trojan . . . it had been he who had carried Martin Fox back to the ship, when he had received his fatal wound at Eupatoria. The best topman he had was a lad called Blythe, rated AB, who had been an Aberdeen trawler-hand but . . . Phillip hesitated, considering the merits of several others. He was still undecided when, after a preliminary exchange of hails, his boat came alongside the Huntress and the bowman deftly hooked on to the starboard chains.
“Wait for me, if you please, Mr Grey,” he instructed. “I shall be going ashore again in about fifteen minutes. While you’re waiting, have slings rove to enable the case of Minié cartridges to be carried, would you? Better have it hoisted aboard and work on deck—I want those slings to stand up to rough handling.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Grey acknowledged. “And the rifles, sir?”
Again Phillip hesitated. The rifles were heavy and would make an awkward load but if he had them removed from their case and doled them out between the Circassians and his own men, they could be carried with much less effort.
“Break them out, Mr Grey, and make sure that they’re correctly assembled and that each has a sling.”
“Right, sir.” Both Grey and the midshipman who was with him watched, their eyes bright with curiosity, as their commander swung himself through the entry port. Phillip resisted the temptation to tell them what was afoot, since he could take neither with his shore party and, in any case, they would know soon enough. Graham met him at the entry port and, at his suggestion, followed him to his cabin. As he changed, he gave his brother a brief account of the arrangements he had made with Najib Bey and explained what he intended to do.
“I thought I’d take Anthony Cochrane and Gunner’s Mate Thompson with me—if you can do without them when you take the ship to Soukoum Kaleh,” he added. “The Bey was most insistent that I should bring only men who are fit and accustomed to heights. This, in his view, ruled out the Marines—for whom he then revealed that he had other plans . . .” Graham smiled, when he enlarged on these.
“The cunning old devil! Obviously he likes the idea of British redcoats pacing the battlements, armed with Minié rifles. He’s not expecting to be attacked, is he?”
“I don’t think so. What about Cochrane, Graham? Can you do without him?”
“Yes, of course I can. And Thompson’s an excellent choice— but didn’t you say you wanted three men? Who is the third?”
“I’d thought of Blythe but I haven’t made up my mind. Who do you suggest?”
Graham considered the question. “You know you’ll break O’Leary’s heart if you don’t take him?”
“He couldn’t manage with that leg of his.” Phillip pulled a thick, fisherman’s knit jersey over his head and his voice was momentarily muffled. “These mountains are pretty rough going, according to young Roberts.”
“And what about that leg of yours, my dear Phillip?” Graham asked. His tone was deli
berately light but the expression on his face was concerned. “Will it stand up to rough going, you suppose?”
“My leg gives me no trouble now. It has healed perfectly,” Phillip assured him. He donned a watch-coat, the oldest he possessed, and buttoned it with an air of finality. “My orders are to make contact with Serfir Pasha in person and to get him here in time to meet the Turkish commander—what’s his name? Mustapha Pasha, who should arrive on or before the eighteenth of this month. It is, admittedly, unfortunate that the darned fellow has taken to the mountains but, since he has, I must go after him. There’s no time to wait till he returns of his own free will, is there?”
“I would gladly go in your place,” Graham offered.
“It’s good of you, but no.” Phillip laid a hand affectionately on his brother’s shoulder. “You’ve had no more experience of mountaineering than I have and I can’t leave anyone else in command of the ship.”
Graham nodded regretfully. “Very good. Shall I warn Cochrane that he’s to go with you?”
“Yes, if you please,” Phillip assented. “And Gunner’s Mate Thompson and, I suppose Blythe—unless you have a better suggestion?”
“There’s Erikson,” Graham reminded him. “The Norwegian . . . he’s rated AB. An intelligent and well-educated lad, in the Lancaster gun’s crew. I fancy he may have done some mountain climbing. Shall I find out?”
“Higgins can do that—you see Cochrane. We’re supposed to be leaving in less than half an hour—Higgins, are you there?” The steward appeared in response to his shout and Phillip sent him in search of the two seamen. “They’ll want the warmest clothing they’ve got and boots . . . and we’d better take rations for three days—no, four, to be on the safe side. See to it, will you, please? And find out if Erikson has done any mountaineering—if he has, we’ll take him.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The steward departed on his errand and, left alone, Phillip took his orders from the locked drawer in which he had placed them and, after re-reading Captain Jones’s report with more attention than he had previously given to it, laid all the papers in his personal log book and returned them to the drawer. The key he put in his pocket to give to Graham. His pistol was also in the drawer but he left it there—a Minié rifle would, he decided, be of more use to him and he would take his Dollond. Ten minutes later, he was in the quarter-boat, on his way back to the wooden fish-quay, with Cochrane beside him.
CHAPTER THREE
In spite of Najib Bey’s insistence that they must make an early start, Phillip and Anthony Cochrane, with the two selected men from the Huntress—Gunner’s Mate Thompson and the wiry, fair-haired Norwegian able-seaman, Einar Erikson —were left cooling their heels on the quay for nearly half an hour. Then, to Phillip’s relief, half a dozen Circassians made their appearance, bringing with them four baggage ponies and the promised sheepskin coats. By the time the case of ammunition had been strapped on to one of the ponies and a Minié rifle doled out to each man, six or seven more came from the fort accompanied by Roberts, who announced cheerfully that Dafir was also about to follow him.
“They’ve given my men excellent quarters, sir,” the Marine officer added. “And they’re hitting it off very well with the Circassian redifs. I’ve left Aslam to interpret for them for the time being—the Bey says he’ll send him down the coast tomorrow with the Admiral’s message. And he asked me to tell you, sir, that he thinks it probable that Mustapha Pasha will call at Redoute Kaleh himself, on his way here, because the garrison is Turkish and commanded by one of his officers.”
Phillip thanked him and sent him back to the ship in Grey’s boat, with instructions to Graham that he could leave for Soukoum whenever he was ready. To his annoyance, there was still no sign of Dafir and the Huntress had weighed anchor before the Bey’s handsome young son came trotting unhurriedly to join him, mounted on a sturdy pony. The boy smiled but showed no sign of contrition, simply turned his pony’s shaggy head in the direction of the distant mountains and, with a casual wave of the hand, invited the waiting men to follow him.
The cluster of wooden and stone-built houses and the bronze-domed mosque which constituted the town of Ghelenjik were soon left behind, Dafir—the only member of the party of seventeen who was mounted—setting a brisk pace. At first the going was comparatively easy and Phillip enjoyed the climb over a series of lush grassy slopes, the sun warm on his back and the scent of roses and jasmine borne to him on the gentle breeze. By noon they were walking through pleasant woodland, following the course of a shallow stream, beside which wild flowers and flowering shrubs of every description grew in delightful profusion. The Circassians, on reaching the stream, paused only to quench their thirst with a few mouthfuls of the clear, cool water and then plodded purposefully on, munching what appeared to be black bread and shallots, which, they took from their pouches and ate as they climbed. Quite soon the light green leaves of oak and elm, which had afforded them shade, gave place to the darker green of fir and pine, as the course of the stream became rocky and the path they were following steeper. It was also a good deal colder and Phillip was not surprised when, topping a rise, he found himself walking in snow. It was crisp and dry and they continued to make good progress, the mounted figure of their guide always a considerable distance ahead, leading them diagonally across a deep fold in the ground, from which nothing could be seen save a ridge of overhanging rock above them.
“Don’t they ever call a halt, sir?” Anthony Cochrane asked ruefully and Phillip, needing all his breath for the ascent, shrugged in answer. When they emerged on to the top of the ridge, the awe-inspiring sight of a precipitous peak, shrouded in snow, met their gaze, its summit hidden in cloud. To the left, a tree-grown crevice appeared to circle what they could see of the peak and, when Dafir turned his pony towards it, Cochrane exclaimed in dismay. “For heaven’s sake! Do you suppose we’re going up there, sir?”
Phillip halted to draw breath and, drawing level with him, Erikson said reassuringly, “It is not so bad as it looks, sir.” He shaded his eyes with his hand, taking stock. “No, it is not,” he added. “There is a path, do you see, sir?”
Glad of the respite, Phillip took out his Dollond. There was a path, he saw, where the Norwegian seaman had indicated— a narrow, twisting track made, he could only suppose, by mountain goats. “Can they get the ponies up that?” he asked incredulously. “It doesn’t look much more than a foot wide.”
Erikson smiled. He was in his element, sure-footed and confident and completely at home in these surroundings, Phillip noted with approval and was thankful that Graham had suggested him as the fourth member of their party. Like Cochrane and himself, Gunner’s Mate Thompson, though he plodded resolutely on, was stumbling frequently now and becoming short of breath. He said nothing as he, too, halted to stare upwards, but the expression on his weather-beaten face was more than a little anxious.
“It will be more than a foot wide,” Erikson said quietly. “Distances are deceptive in the mountains—that ravine is farther away than you would imagine. We shall be fortunate if we are able to reach the foot of it before nightfall.”
His forecast proved correct. When darkness fell, the party was still some way from the ravine and the four naval members of it, who had dropped behind, were compelled to cover the last quarter of a mile in almost total blackness, guided by the small glow of the fire the Circassians had kindled when they halted. Dafir, Phillip saw, when they joined him at last, had chosen a deep cave as his camp site, protected from the wind by piled rocks close to the entrance—an obviously man-made barrier, which suggested that he had been there before. Inside the floor of the cave was dry and there was a plentiful supply of firewood, neatly stacked at its far end, from which the men replenished their fire. By its flickering light, the Bey’s son indicated, by signs, that they should seat themselves and they did so thankfully, holding their chilled hands to the blaze with murmured exclamations of approval. A pot of water was already boiling on it and when Thompson, who was carrying the
British party’s rations, started to unpack his haversack, Dafir shook his head forcefully. One of his men, who had been squatting by the tethered baggage ponies, returned to the firelight with a haunch of meat which he deftly impaled on a spit, fashioned from a branch of green firewood, and suspended over the flames.
“Goat, one presumes,” Cochrane observed, without relish but, as the meat sizzled and crackled on its crude spit, emitting a most appetizing odour, his expression changed. “You know, sir,” he told Phillip gravely, “This mountain air gives one the very deuce of an appetite. I believe, after all, that goat may have a decided advantage over our stewed salt junk.”
“I fancy it may,” Phillip agreed, with equal gravity. He had eaten nothing since breakfast and, when the meat was cooked, he accepted a liberal portion, sliced off with the cook’s long, curved dagger. Following the example of their hosts, the British party ate with their fingers, washing the meal down with strong and very sweet Turkish coffee and, when it was over, Dafir posted a guard at the cave entrance, rolled himself in his sheepskin mantle and lay down. The rest of his men did the same and Cochrane looked enquiringly at Phillip.
“Watch and watch, sir?” he asked. “Or won’t that be necessary?”
“I don’t think it will be necessary, Mr Cochrane,” Phillip answered. “These Circassians seem to know what they’re about and we’re in their hands. For our own sakes, in view of the climb facing us tomorrow morning, I fancy we had best get all the sleep we can.” As Dafir had done, he drew his sheepskin coat closely about him and stretched out on the rocky ground, to fall asleep almost instantly.
The Circassians were early astir the following morning, taking a frugal breakfast of their coarse black bread with goats’-milk cheese and some sparing sips of ice-cold water from the stream with which to wash this down. The naval party had, perforce, to dispense with the steaming cocoa or coffee they normally drank, since the fire had been allowed to go out and, to all four of them—Phillip included—the stream water was a poor substitute, their dry rations unpalatable. They left the cave soon after daylight and, as Erikson had guessed he would, Dafir led them to a rough track which zig-zagged up the steep side of the ravine and then vanished into the grey, early morning mist shrouding the peak. It was very cold and the track slippery but, Phillip noticed with astonishment, although the opposite side of the ravine was thickly covered with snow, that on which they were making their ascent was virtually clear, save for a few odd patches.
