Guns to the Far East Page 3

  She was no less anxious about her daughter Lavinia, who was married to an officer of the Queen’s 32nd. The regiment had moved from Cawnpore to Lucknow and, although Lavinia’s last letter had been written from Cawnpore, she wrote that she and her husband were expecting to follow the rest within a week or so. Tom had gone down with an attack of fever—not serious, she hastened to add, but somewhat debilitating—so they had remained with the regiment’s invalids until he should recover sufficiently to return to duty. “In any case, dearest Mamma” the letter had ended, “you need not worry about us. General Wheeler is making preparations for the defence of this station and two large buildings—one of them a hospital— are in readiness, with an entrenchment being constructed round them. They are close to the Allahabad road, and, should it become necessary, all the Europeans are to gather within the entrenchment, with our men and the gunners and reinforcements we are expecting from Allahabad to guard against a surprise attack. The Maharajah of Bithur, whose people call him the Nana Sahib (it means ‘grandfather’)—a most civilised man and a close friend of General and Lady Wheeler—has promised the aid of his troops should the sepoys here become disaffected.

  “So we are in no danger, even if we have to stay here—and Tom doesn’t think we shall. Sir Henry Lawrence wants the whole regiment in Lucknow and I, of course, would like to be there in time for the happy event we are expecting at the end of July, especially if Harriet should decide to join us, as Jemmy is urging her to …”

  Tom and Lavinia had, as yet, no children but Lavinia had mentioned—almost casually in an earlier letter—the “happy event” they were expecting and Augusta Hazard added a prayer for them on this account. Giving birth to a baby in India could be fraught with difficulties but both Cawnpore and Lucknow were large stations, with European hospitals staffed by experienced civil and military surgeons. It was foolish to worry. Lavinia had urged her not to; she was a strong and healthy girl and Tom, of course, was the most devoted of husbands and could be relied upon to look after her.

  There had been telegraphic reports, received via Lucknow and Agra, that Cawnpore was under attack by mutineers but, as yet, no official confirmation and all the newspapers had stressed the speed with which reinforcements were being rushed up country by road, river, and the partially completed railway from Calcutta. One entire regiment of the Company’s European Fusiliers had been sent to augment the Cawnpore garrison and—after what was described as “restoring order” in Benares—had already entered Allahabad. If what Lavinia had written about General Wheeler’s preparations for the defence of the station were true, then surely they would have little difficulty in holding out until the Fusiliers reached them? In any case, both Lavinia and Harriet were probably in Lucknow by this time, Lady Hazard told herself—in Lucknow, with a British regiment and under the care of that wise and widely respected man, Sir Henry Lawrence. They … the Admiral gave vent to a smothered exclamation.

  “Good Gad! Held up in Allahabad, you say? Held up by what, for heaven’s sake?”

  Startled out of her reverie, his wife turned to look at him in mute question, the colour draining from her cheeks as Lord George Melgund answered, in a flat, expressionless voice, “By cholera and another threatened mutiny, I understand. But Colonel Neill and his Fusiliers will deal with it and press on to Cawnpore, have no fear. Indeed I—” He broke off in mid-sentence, recalled to Augusta Hazard’s presence by the little gasp of dismay which escaped her. “My dear Lady Hazard, you must not let anything I’ve said upset you,” he offered apologetically. “This affair in India will fizzle out as soon as General Barnard recaptures Delhi—and that, I’m assured on the best authority, could be any day now.”

  “Yes,” Augusta Hazard agreed faintly, “so the papers tell us repeatedly and I … I try to believe it but …” She bit her lower lip feeling it tremble.

  The Admiral was unexpectedly silent, his hand closing about hers, and Lord George went on, “There have been a great many panic telegraph messages but none from Cawnpore itself. The wires are down, so communication is cut off for the time being. We don’t even know for certain that the garrison is under attack. Half the panic reports have proved to be false— this one probably will be, too. The natives are said to cut the telegraph wires wherever they can in order to make bracelets for their womenfolk.” He talked on, deliberately making light of it, Lady Hazard sensed and added, as the carriage bowled into Cornwall Gardens, “As to the sinking of the Raleigh, dear Lady Hazard, Commodore Keppel must—as you will know better than I—stand trial by court martial for the loss of his ship. But it will be the merest formality. Keppel’s a fine seaman, with a reputation second to none, and he not only saved all his people, he saved his guns and most of his stores as well. He’s bound to be exonerated and his officers with him, including your son Phillip. The talk about Keppel’s being recalled is just talk … and political talk, most of it, I’m sorry to say. Certain people are jealous of his influence. But all that will change when a full report of the recent action at Fatshan Creek reaches the Admiralty. Keppel covered himself with glory on that occasion, I’m led to believe—they won’t dare to recall him.”

  “No. No, of course not,” Augusta Hazard echoed politely but somewhat at a loss. She had not heard the earlier part of Lord George’s conversation with her husband and had no idea why he should imagine that there was any likelihood of Commodore Keppel’s recall … and, until now, she had known nothing about his part in the actions in the Canton River. His part and—she drew in her breath sharply. Perhaps also Phillip’s. The Admiral, however, had evidently followed every word, for he said gruffly, “The First Lord doesn’t like Henry Keppel. Some difference of opinion over his C.B. award, if I remember rightly—Sir Charles Wood refused to put his name forward for a K.C.B.. which, in my view, he’d thoroughly earned as Commander of the Naval Brigade at Sebastopol. Keppel’s a proud fellow and he wanted to refuse the lesser honour. They had words over it, strong words, and Wood isn’t the man to forget a slight.”

  Lord George chuckled with what appeared to be great delight. “Well, he’ll have to now, I fancy. May even have to eat his words!” The carriage drew up outside the door of the Hazards’ modest residence but he refused Lady Hazard’s invitation to join them for a glass of Madeira. “I must press on, to my regret, dear Lady Hazard … I’ve an engagement for luncheon.” Top hat in hand, he bowed them farewell, brushing aside the Admiral’s thanks. “I’m glad to have been of service and it has been a very great pleasure to see and talk to you both. I see too little of old friends these days, far too little. Good day to you, Admiral … your servant, Lady Hazard. I trust you will soon receive good news of all your absent children.”

  The luxurious carriage moved on across the square and the Admiral smiled a trifle uncertainly at his wife. “A very good fellow, Melgund—but he talks too much.”

  Augusta Hazard did not return his smile. “He seems to be extremely well informed—much better than we are.”

  “In his job, he has to be—but he doesn’t know it all, not by a long chalk. As he admitted himself, m’dear, a great many of these telegraphic reports are dictated by panic, especially the ones from India. You mustn’t believe all he said or let it upset you.”

  “No.” Feeling tears come to prick at her eyes, Augusta Hazard made a brave attempt to hide them. Head averted, she offered her arm. “It’s not knowing that I find hard to bear, George. Not knowing what the girls are doing or even where they are with any certainty. The mails take so long. I ought to be used to it by now, I suppose—letters took long enough from the Crimea, heaven knows. But now I—”

  “Neither of us is getting any younger, m’dear.” The Admiral gently patted the hand he held. “It’s harder to bear as one begins to feel the weight of one’s years. But Graham will give us firsthand news—the Lady Wellesley should be in the Hoogly River by this time. He’ll make enquiries about the girls in Calcutta and he’ll write as soon as he can. He’ll know we’re anxious.” He released her arm and
gave a resounding pull on the door bell.

  It was answered by their youngest daughter, Lucy, a pretty, blue-eyed seventeen-year-old, who was the apple of her father’s eye. She was flushed with excitement and hugged them both enthusiastically as they entered the hall.

  “Oh, Mamma, Papa, I’ve been longing for you to come back,” she announced breathlessly. “There’s a letter … look, on the hall table! It came just after you left for the Park and I’ve been burning to open it.”

  “A letter?” The Admiral peered short-sightedly at the little gate-legged table which stood in the centre of the entrance hall. “From Hattie or Lavinia? Or”—remembering his remarks a few moments earlier—“is it from Graham?”

  Lucy shook her head. “No, from Phillip. Oh, please, Papa, read it aloud to us, will you not, before we have our luncheon?”

  “Very well,” her father agreed. “If your Mamma does not mind?” Receiving a nod of assent, he beamed, and went to pick up the letter. Augusta Hazard followed him, some of the tension draining out of her, and all three of them ascended the stairs to the second floor, where the Admiral had his sanctum.

  Settled in his favourite chair, his spectacles perched comfortably on his long, high-bridged nose and a glass of the excellent Madeira he had offered Lord George Melgund in his hand, he started to read. The letter began with enquiries as to their health and well-being and then continued: “By this time, no doubt, you will have heard of the loss of our beautiful Raleigh which—needless to tell you, Father—has broken Commodore Keppel’s heart. It was no fault of his or, indeed, of any of her people—the culprit was a rock, uncharted and, as we afterwards ascertained, lying nine feet beneath the water, shaped like a sugarloaf and the top so small that a boat’s anchor could not lie on it.

  “We sailed from Singapore with a supply of shot and shell for conveyance to Hong Kong, having to beat up the coast against the monsoon—a weary business for the first few days of our passage. But on 14th April, a fine breeze was blowing and we were running close-hauled with land and islands all round us and Hong Kong barely 30 miles distant … and it was then that she struck. I was on deck and thought at first she had struck some heavy floating timber. Her bow lifted but it did not deaden her way—she heaved and passed on, and I heard the leadsman calling ‘By the mark, seven!’ Then came a report from the lower deck that daylight could be seen through a fifteen-foot rent in the ship’s side.

  “We beat to quarters and the first order was to sound the well— the carpenter reported ten feet of water. Rigging the pumps was a matter of minutes; I never saw men turn to their work in grander fashion. Off came their frocks; they stripped to flannels and hove round with a will but the water steadily gained on us. Keppel decided to try to ground the ship in shoal water. The wind was easterly and every sort of sail was improvised, even to setting the sails of boats hanging at the davits, and the Commodore himself took charge of the conning of the ship.

  “Then one of our large chain pumps broke down. Just at that moment, a ship was reported at anchor off Macao and, with a glass, I made her out to be a frigate flying the French Admiral’s flag. Keppel—this was typical of his splendid spirit—ordered me to lower the fore-royal, hoist the French flag, and fire a salute. Our foremost maindeck guns had been run aft to prevent the ship settling forward but they were already loaded, in preparation for saluting our own Flag, and most of our after-ports had more than one muzzle protruding. A boat was seen coming from the French ship but there was nothing to show that we were in distress apart from our ensign at the peak, hoisted Union Jack downwards, and this was hidden from the Frenchman by our studding sails. A few minutes after firing our salute, our poor Raleigh grounded on the mudbank between Roko and Typa Islands and the officer commanding the boat, learning what had occurred, returned at once to his ship, the Virginie, to inform his Admiral.

  “Rear-Admiral Guérin came in person to offer us any help we needed. Keppel received him at the gangway and the Frenchman embraced him, exclaiming again and again, ‘A British frigate saluting the French flag while she is sinking … c’est magnifique!’ If we had been French, we could not have been given more kindly assistance. Keppel landed marines to clear the nearest island of Chinese and then, with the assistance of our allies, we put most of the ship’s company ashore, with their hammocks and bags, stores, and the ship’s sails. The Commodore remained, on an improvised bridge set up before the mizzenmast and over the wheel, with a small guard of seamen and marines throughout the night, and sent our First Lieutenant, Jim Goodenough, to Hong Kong in the French gunboat Catinat, to report to Admiral Seymour.

  “The after part of the lower deck was still dry up to nine o’clock, so that most of us were able to get to our cabins to salvage our clothes and personal possessions, but after that, the ship settled considerably and at 5 a.m., when it was still dark, we were called upon to man the boats and land. The Frenchman sent us boats at daylight and helped us all that day to get stores and provisions ashore. Admiral Seymour sent the Bittern to our assistance and came himself on 16th, the Nankin and Inflexible standing by as we hoisted our guns out and loaded them into lighters sent from Hong Kong.

  “The poor Commodore was, as I told you, heartbroken. He only left the ship when all hope for her had to be abandoned and, even then, he insisted on dismantling her, hoisting out lower masts with the aid of our spars only … quite a task, as you well know, Father! I think he hoped, if we cleared her even to the ballast, that it might be possible to refloat her but, I regret to say, the Admiral has decided against it.

  “Keppel, and the Master, Mr Williams, are to be tried by court martial early in June but the verdict, of course, is a foregone conclusion, since no blame can be attached to either of them. In the meantime, preparations are being made for an attack on the Chinese Fleet, which we hope will not be long delayed. It will be a boat attack, since all the war junks are dispersed up rivers and creeks, and Keppel, as senior Commodore, has been made senior officer in the Canton River and second-in-command of the Fleet. His broad pennant was hoisted on board the old Alligator—you will remember her in ’42, Father—now a hospital ship and, after ten days of hard work and exposure on our desert island, the rest of us followed him to Hong Kong.

  “I am fortunate in being appointed temporarily to the river steamer Hong Kong, in which Keppel plans to lead the attack. She is useful, being of fair speed and very light draught. She is armed with a long thirty-two-pounder, and a few brass guns and rocket-tubes are being put into her—the latter splendid weapons with which to deal with the bamboo stockades we shall encounter up river. With me are Jim Goodenough, Prince Victor Hohenlohe, and three of the Raleigh’s mids, Scott, Montagu, and Keppel’s nephew, Harry Stephenson. And, by a happy coincidence, a young gentleman named Lightfoot, who was with me briefly in the Huntress until, if you remember, he broke his leg in a fall from the rigging. He is now a husky sixteen-year-old and bears no sign of his injury. The other Raleigh officers are divided between ships of the fleet and the Macao Fort but we shall all be reunited when we rendezvous off the Bogue Forts … Keppel has promised us command of our own Raleigh men and boats and will, being the man he is, keep his word whatever contrary plans the Admiral may have made!

  “I must close now, as the mail is leaving this forenoon, but will write again as soon as I can to keep you informed of our doings and, God willing, to send you news of our victory over the China Fleet …”

  The Admiral’s voice faded into silence and Lucy exclaimed eagerly, “They were victorious, weren’t they, Papa?”

  “Yes, child,” her father confirmed. He smiled and quoted, still smiling, “And ’twas a famous victory as I don’t doubt time will prove. But”—he removed his glasses and, meeting his wife’s anxious gaze, permitted himself a sigh—“what good will come of it against a nation like the Chinese remains to be seen, alas. We shall have to wait for the arrival of the official mail to tell us. However, let us drink to it … and to Phillip and his gallant comrades!” He raised his glass o
f Madeira.

  Lady Hazard followed suit. “To Phillip!” she whispered softly. “May God preserve him in victory or defeat …”

  CHAPTER ONE

  In the cramped cabin of the old frigate HMS Alligator, serving as depot flagship for the Canton River Fleet, Commodore the Honourable Henry Keppel issued final orders to his divisional Commanders. Initially he read from a paper in his hand, prefaced by the information that he was quoting from the General Order of Battle sent out under the hand of the Commander-in-Chief, Rear-Admiral Sir Michael Seymour.

  “Having determined on attacking the junk fleet above Hyacinth Island, in the Fatshan Creek,” the Commodore read, “the whole of the ships’ boats, manned and armed, are to be ready at threethirty o’clock on Monday morning, June the first, the crews having previously breakfasted and been victualled for two days …” There was an eager lilt to his voice, Phillip Hazard heard with relief, as he went into details. Meeting the eye of his fellow Commander from the Raleigh, Edward Turnour, he grinned. It was good to see their gallant little Commodore in a happy and optimistic mood once more—the tragic loss of his beautiful sailing frigate had deeply distressed him, and, try as they might, his officers had despaired of bringing a smile back to his face. But it was there now, oddly and incongruously boyish among the greying red whiskers—at the prospect of action, Henry Keppel was, as always, in his element, and he had not earned the reputation of being the bravest officer in the British Navy for nothing.

  “The movement will commence,” Keppel went on, “by the Hornet, Haughty, and Coromandel—the last named flying the Commander-in-Chief’s flag—moving up to a berth as close to Hyacinth Island as depth of water will permit, and convenient for landing the seamen and Royal Marines told off for the attack on the fort and covering guns.”