Until the Colours Fade (55 page)

Although Tom had visited the Naval Brigade’s camp on the day after his conversation with Magnus, he had not found Charles; and, not wishing to prepare him for their meeting, had left no message. On the day Sir James Crawford’s squadron sailed, Tom had returned once more to learn that Charles was down at
Balaclava
and unlikely to return until evening; but Captain
Crawford
, he had been assured, would be on duty in the ‘Right Attack’ the following morning. On this second visit to the camp, Tom had called on Commodore Lushington – one of the officers on his list – and had arranged two sittings. He had already managed to get provisional dates out of Generals Pennefather and Estcourt, and felt pleased with this progress. If he satisfied Estcourt and Airey, he would be better placed to approach Lord Raglan’s A.D.C. While not enabling him to forget his coming encounter with Charles, making these plans had done something to reduce Tom’s anxiety.

On the morning when Tom first visited the batteries, the icily penetrating wind, which had been howling for two days, had dropped considerably and the clouds seemed higher, but the ground was still frozen hard and occasional sharp gusts from the north brought sudden showers of hail. There was no firing
anywhere
along the line and the men in the Naval Brigade’s batteries sat crouched listlessly behind traverses or huddled together for warmth in the larger of the two bomb-proofs.

A bluejacket led Tom into a shallow trench behind the battery and asked him to wait there, while he ducked down between two posts into a low oblong hole cut into the side of the hill and banked up on each side with sandbags. Less than a minute later his guide reappeared and told Tom that Captain Crawford would see him. As Tom entered, an officer was leaving, and Charles did not acknowledge the presence of his new visitor until the old had departed. The shelter was dark and smelt of damp earth, stale sweat and cigar smoke. By the light of two candles Tom made out thick timbers supporting the earth above, and a crude turf ledge along one wall, covered with sacking. Charles did not get up from his camp-stool on the far side of a small table.

‘A pity, Mr Strickland,’ he said, pointing to a chair, ‘a pity you
should see us so idle – a little activity makes better pictures, I daresay?’

‘Magnus told you I would come?’

‘He did.’ Tom saw the hatred in Charles’s brisk smile. ‘Briefed you well, has he, Strickland?’

‘I’m here under no obligation,’ replied Tom, glancing towards the door to emphasise his point, noting as he did so the effort of control Charles needed to stop himself arguing.

‘I’ll not interrupt your piece.’

When Tom had finished his account of what had happened at Orta-Köy, he read the same hatred in Charles’s face – hatred mixed with contempt for the upstart who had sullied the purity he had once prized in Helen.

‘But why stop there?’ snapped Charles. ‘Having willingly seen you once – why not again?’

‘She did not see me willingly.’

‘You carried her from the Embassy by force?’

‘I threatened to call there in person unless she agreed to meet me. She came to avoid scandal, not to cause it.’

‘And why pray did that convenient blackmail not compel her again?’

‘I wanted to see her once more – something you denied me in England.’

‘Forgive my lack of consideration.’ Charles rested his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands. ‘It’s a strange story, Strickland. You come three thousand miles to spare
yourself
the temptation of seeing a woman – yet when you discover your honourable attempt has proved a sad error, what do you do? Take the first ship home? Sail at once for the war?’ He cast up his eyes at the roof timbers. ‘Quite the reverse. Suddenly all the
inconvenience
and expense you put yourself to count for nothing and you actually seek out the very person you had taken such extravagant precautions to avoid.’

‘Chance can change the strongest resolution.’

‘Chance be damned, sir. You knew quite well she was in Turkey and came specially to see her.’

‘There’s little point, but I’ll tell you what happened. There’d been a ball at the Embassy. A number of people at my hotel were invited. That’s how I found out she was still there. Do you want to know the date and the name of the man who told me?’

Charles sighed deeply and stared for some seconds at the ammunition returns on the table. He looked suddenly tired and apathetic. At last he murmured:

‘I accept your word. After all you came, and I never thought you would…. To tell the truth I don’t think I care. You don’t matter any more. Everything changes. I’ve other things to
concern
me.’ He got up and put on his greatcoat. ‘A sad and sordid liaison.’ He looked past Tom at the shafts of light admitted by the sacking curtain at the door. ‘You should have come last week, Mr Strickland. You could have painted men dying. Did you see the “artists’ impressions” of Inkerman? Colonel So-
and-So
planting the colours on the parapet – that sort of thing … as though they were trees. Too bad most of the line-regiments hadn’t time to get theirs out of their cases. Watch us from Cathcart’s Hill when we attack the Quarries. You should be quite safe there. You won’t see much; not at dawn with the mist and the smoke. But you’ll use your imagination, I daresay.’

‘I suppose you could arrange a better view for me?’

‘My dear Strickland, a thousand men are going to die. You wouldn’t want to be one of them. You stay on the hill.’

‘You’d like me killed, wouldn’t you, Crawford?’

‘With so many dying, one more death wouldn’t break my heart. Magnus ever tell you he was with the pickets at Inkerman? Russell and Kinglake went forward at the Alma. You please yourself, Strickland.’

‘I don’t care what you think of me.’

Charles looked up from the beaten earth floor and smiled.

‘I’m sure you don’t. I knew from the start you’d never think of putting yourself in danger. That’s why I taunted you; no risk of having you on my conscience. If you see some blue coats with the red, we’ll be the ladder parties – to bridge the ditch. Don’t draw too many ladders though. Perhaps three or four will get as far as the works.’ He lifted the sacking. ‘Goodbye, Strickland.’

‘Didn’t you hear me? I said I didn’t care what you think. I wouldn’t risk a button on my coat to gain your good opinion.’ Tom walked towards Charles; his heart was beating fast but his head felt quite clear. ‘That’s why I’ll come. You’ll go because you have to … your duty, your honour, this code and that…. I’ll go for nothing. So who’s the hero, Crawford?’

Charles stepped away from the door.

‘Don’t be a fool.’

‘You thought you’d humiliate me … have me crawl away feeling a coward. Either that or you want me killed. If I knew which I’d do the opposite, but I don’t know, and you won’t tell me. So I’m pleasing myself instead.’

‘You’re trembling, Strickland.’

‘I’m scared. Aren’t you?’

‘I’ve learned to live with it. Habit takes the edge off
everything.
You’ve had your gesture. Now go.’

‘If you don’t send me word where to go, I’ll find out
somewhere
else. I want to see Colonel So-and-So planting his colours and the blue coats among the red.’

Minutes later Tom was breathing the sharp fresh air in the trench. Like an angry child, he thought, as he started back towards the camps – like a child. But he did not care; it made no difference at all. Afterwards, he said, I shall have nothing to
regret
. Afterwards I will be free of them all; free of their valour, their two-faced honour, and their miserable pride. Yes,
afterwards
.

At five in the morning the twenty-seven ships of Sir James Crawford’s squadron lay at anchor in the Sea of Azov three miles off the town of Genichesk. The Admiral’s final conference was over now, and all the commanders ready to leave the flagship for their own vessels. Having shaken each one by the hand, Sir James returned to the quarter-deck utterly drained by the hour he had just spent inspiring confidence and concealing his
personal
doubts from his officers. Above him, between the tall
swaying
masts, bright stars seemed to hang suspended like jewels in the spidery web of topping-lifts and halyards. Already, almost two hours before dawn, a slight glow of light was discernible to the east. Soon the stars would begin to pale. The squadron was to attack at sunrise.

With his glass Sir James could make out an insignificant
looking
break in the long line of coastal sandhills. This narrow
opening
separated the northern shores of the Crimean peninsula from the Russian mainland. Through these straits lay a hundred miles of shallow water and marshes, crossed ten miles inland by the Tchongar Bridge. The size and number of the batteries
commanding
the straits bore witness to the bridge’s strategic
importance
. Just north of the sandhills was the town of Genichesk, defended by a garrison estimated at two battalions.

Immediately after anchoring, Sir James had sent two cutters inshore to sound the approaches to the narrow channel. The news their crews had brought back had been bad. Although there was no boom obstructing the entrance, the water was not deep enough for the steam-frigates to stand in closer than two
thousand
yards. The squadron’s six shallow-draught gunboats would therefore have to destroy the batteries without significant
assistance
from the larger ships. If they failed, the marines following in their open boats would never get through to the bridge; before leaving the straits, every single launch and pinnace would be smashed to matchwood. He had thought of using the gunboats themselves as transports, but the vulnerability of their
magazines
had ruled this out. With a total marine force of six hundred men, he could not afford to lose many before the landings. In forcing the straits, he expected at least two of the gunboats to be
sunk or crippled. Because the whole operation depended on their success against the batteries, Sir James intended before the action started to transfer his flag to H.M.S.
Hesperus,
the
gunboat
which would lead in the flotilla.

Apart from silencing the batteries, one other objective would have to be achieved to avoid disaster: the town’s garrison must be prevented from marching to the defence of the bridge until after the marines were well on their way to it. Loath though Sir James had been to contemplate splitting his small landing force, a diversionary attack on the northern side of the town seemed the only way to pin down the garrison. This attack would therefore begin the action, Sir James’s hope being that it would not only occupy the garrison, but also give the main attack on the straits an element of surprise.

At the end of the middle watch the admiral went below and sat down at the small table in his cabin.
Sampson,
his temporary flagship, was a very different vessel to
Retribution
, having but a single gun-deck and no admiral’s quarters. Sir James was occupying the captain’s cabin which was half-filled by a 32-pounder – an indispensable part of the steam-frigate’s broadside.

In front of Sir James lay the pages he had written to Helen earlier that afternoon.

He folded the paper slowly and sealed the envelope. During the voyage across the Sea of Azov he had also written to each of his children. Only in his letter to Charles had he admitted his strong premonition that he would die.

In an hour’s time a single blue light at
Sampson
’s fore would set in train the embarkation of the first party of marines. Though exhausted Sir James felt the strange lucidity often
produced
in him for a few hours after tiredness had passed a certain pitch. In the stillness the thump of the look-out’s footsteps on the poop overhead seemed very loud. He imagined the boats’ crews
pulling silently for the shore; thrum mats round the looms of the oars to deaden the sound they made against the thole-pins.

And after the long quietness of the night, such unimaginable noise – the air screaming and hurtling in the straits.

*

Shortly after dawn the ships had steamed in and anchored less than a mile off-shore. Half an hour after the boats had landed the marine diversionary force, Magnus, and the officers crowded together on
Curlew
’s quarter-deck, heard the first splutter of musketry from the land; at first isolated shots and then a regular muted rattle. Just above the horizon a ridge of cloud was
beginning
to glow, its edges scalloped with gold. The sun was rising, but the western sky above Genichesk was still dark, and the low hills behind the town, black with touches of silver and grey. Soon came some deeper crashes – the field guns were going into action. Moments later the wind brought the thin notes of bugles, and more distinctly the clanging of church bells. The enemy was mustering his forces.

‘Deck there!’ Magnus heard a midshipman call from the
main-top
. ‘Flagship signalling.’

A string of black dots, like beads on a thread, raced up
Sampson
’s signal halyards. As the flags were broken out,
telescopes
were raised to read the signal before it was hauled down. Hoist followed hoist; twenty-two in all. Already ships were
acknowledging
, and within minutes launches were being slung out and lowered from the squadron’s largest ships. The second party of marines was embarking.

The sky was growing lighter by the minute and through his glass Magnus could clearly see the white cross-straps and scarlet coats of the marines mustering on the frigates’ upper decks. Next he noticed a gig being lowered from the davits over the flagship’s mizzen channel, and above the noise of the waves he could just catch the squealing of blocks as she went down fast and met the water with a flat splash. Men were now swarming down the rope netting on the steam-frigates’ leeward sides and clambering into the tossing launches and pinnaces. Looking again to see what had happened to the gig, he saw that she was now making for the six gunboats riding at anchor ten cables south of the main
squadron
.

Magnus was about to ask Commander Hislop whether any changes had been made to the written instructions, when the
signals
lieutenant shouted:

‘Flagship again, sir. Tugs and steamers to weigh at once.’ He paused waiting for the next hoist. ‘Our number, sir. Follow in steamers and pick up survivors if launches hit. That’s it, sir.
Instruction
seventeen.’

As the hands on
Curlew
’s forecastle leapt to the capstan bars to heave in the cable, Magnus saw the gig reach one of the
gunboats
. He asked her name.

‘Hesperus
,’ replied the quartermaster who had been talking earnestly to the Master. Magnus recalled from the General Orders that
Hesperus
was the name of the ship detailed to lead through the straits.

Ten minutes later the gunboats were steaming in line astern of
Hesperus
bearing down on the entrance to the straits. The firing from the shore had become louder and almost continuous. Two rockets rose steeply into the sky from the direction of the
fighting
, and hung for a moment before falling earthwards. The marines were unable to hold their position and were being forced to retire. The diversion seemed to have failed. Magnus studied
Hesperus
again through his glass and saw a single black dot rise to her mizzen truck and break out there. The flag looked like a small St George’s Cross. Within minutes the gunboats would be in range of the shore-batteries.

‘What’s that signal?’ he asked Hislop, who was conning the helmsman as Curlew steamed to her new station.

‘I don’t see one,’ replied Hislop, studying
Hesperus
with his glass.

‘At the mizzen.’

Hislop lowered his telescope.

‘That sir, is your father’s flag.’

*

Sir James had gone forward to get a better view of the entrance, and already with the naked eye could make out the white line of surf where the waves were breaking against the southern spit. On the northern side he saw the first two batteries: one a
substantial
stone fort with a single row of casemates, the other an earthwork raised up on a tumulus-like mound – mounting
between
them he supposed a dozen guns. Above the tumulus a red flag was flying from a tall staff. Further inland was a windmill, its sails turning rapidly. The sun was shining now, casting long shadows from the rigging across the deck, but bringing no
discernible
warmth. The breeze still cut through the seams of his coat like a knife.

On both sides of the straits, strips of lighter coloured water, brown or yellowish grey, betrayed the positions of shoals. For ten minutes the leadsman had been swinging his line in the chains; Sir James listening tensely to his shouts.

‘By the mark two,’ came the next call.

Barely six cables back the depth had been five fathoms; if it shelved any more they would have to reduce speed; the thought of having to kedge off a shoal within enemy gun-shot was
spine-chilling.

‘By the deep one and half one.’

Sir James turned to
Hesperus
’s captain, Commander
Seymour
.

‘Be ready to hoist “Reduce to five knots”, Mr Seymour.’

Seymour repeated the command to the quartermaster’s mate who ran aft with it. Another five minutes and they would be in action. With a bow pivot, two 68-pounders on metal slides
amidships,
and two truck 24-pounders astern, Gleaner Class
gunboats
mounted heavier ordnance than any other
shallow-draught
vessels in commission. Sir James doubted whether many of the batteries would contain pieces larger than 24-pounders. In the narrows, where the channel was no more than a hundred yards across, they would be engaging at point-blank range. If the gunboats were still afloat, no battery, earth or stone, would
survive
double-shotted 68-pounders at such proximity. But with magazines only partially protected by water tanks, and no more than a token forecastle above the shell room, Sir James was very doubtful that all six gunboats would reach the narrows. If a ship went down in the main channel it would be the end for those astern.

‘By the mark two,’ shouted the leadsman.

‘That’s better, sir,’ murmured Seymour, with obvious relief.

Sir James nodded. Seymour’s habit of raising his right hand to his cocked hat – an apparently nervous gesture – irritated the
admiral
terribly because of his own ragged nerves.

‘For God’s sake, man, take that thing off or leave it alone.’

Seymour tossed it away towards the rail and explained that he had been afraid it would blow off. Normally he wore one of the new flat peaked caps, but with his admiral aboard had borrowed his First Lieutenant’s full-dress hat; unfortunately the
lieutenant
’s head was smaller than his own. Sir James smiled and was glad of an excuse to do so.

Sir James was gazing aft at the five gunboats keeping perfect station a cable’s length apart in line astern, when the fort opened
fire. He swung round his glass to count the puffs of smoke.

‘Five guns, sir,’ said Seymour.

The shots fell six cables wide, throwing up tall waterspouts.

‘Keep watching in case a gun fires late.’

‘Aye aye, sir.’ Seymour tried to remain silent, but failed. ‘Pretty jumpy I’d say to fire so early, sir.’

Seeing Seymour’s fresh and eager face, and remembering his own unlimited confidence before his gruesome blooding at
Navarino
, Sir James felt a wave of sadness.

‘Let’s hope so.’

‘Will you give the order to fire, sir?’

‘Your ship, Mr Seymour.’

Seymour saluted with a smile and loped down the companion to the gun-deck, where he moved quickly from gun to gun having a word with each No. 1. A mile out to sea Sir James could see the tugs steaming in with the launches and pinnaces in tow; in each of these dozen boats would be thirty-five marines – only a
handful
would live if the gunboats did not destroy the majority of the batteries. The guns in the fort roared out again – their shots this time sending up plumes of green water fifty yards ahead of
Hesperus.

In spite of his earlier determination to let Seymour have
absolute
control over the ship, Sir James was on the point of shouting to him not to fire until directly opposite the casemates, when the deck leapt under his feet and the air was filled with shrieking fragments of wood and metal. A shot had carried away
Hesperus’s
bowsprit like a match, snapping the bob-stay and chain guys as if they were threads, knocking out the port knighthead, and ripping up the forward deck planking like the staves of an old barrel. As the forestay parted with a whipping twang and the jib halyards and downhaul flew free, the foremast swayed but did not fall. The pivot gun had been tilted from its circular mountings and was now pointing drunkenly into the water. The next salvo ripped through the rigging, splintering the
mizzen-gaff
, and bringing the spanker-boom crashing to the deck a few feet from Sir James. In a daze he watched Seymour coolly wait another thirty seconds until every one of the starboard guns bore on the fort. Then at seventy-five yards he gave the order. As
Hesperus
’s 68-pounders hurtled back along their slides, the whole ship seemed flung over onto her beam as if capsizing. Being used to line-of-battle ships, the force of the recoil
astounded
Sir James. His eyes streaming with the fumes of burning saltpetre and sulphur, he could see nothing through the thick
white smoke.