On the morning of the 12th, Johnstone, who spoke Swedish fluently, learned from the friendly farmer that the mail had arrived, and was to be sent to the fort that night. Great caution was to be observed, the farmer added, as it was known to the Russians that someone from the British fleet had landed. At dark, therefore, the two took up their position at a convenient spot and awaited the coming of the mail-bags. In due course they heard the grating of a boat’s keel on the beach. A few Russian words of command were given, and then sounded the tramp of feet on the road that led up to the military station.
THE ESCORT CAME SWINGING UP THE ROAD WITHOUT A SUSPICION OF DANGER.—[Page 53.]
The lieutenant and his companion were ready at the instant. A hasty glance at their weapons satisfied them that these were in order, and moving a bit nearer to the roadway they waited until the escort approached.
In the dim light they perceived that the Russian soldiers in charge of the bags numbered five. It was heavy odds, but the prize was great. They could not dream of drawing back. The escort came swinging up the road without a suspicion of danger, and just as they passed the spot where a clump of bushes provided secure shelter out leapt the two Englishmen with cutlass and revolver.
The cold steel did the work effectively; a pistol shot would have raised the alarm. Three of the soldiers were cut down in the surprise attack, while the remaining two yielded themselves prisoners to these redoubtable assailants. As quickly as possible prisoners and mail-bags were hurried to the water’s edge, where a boat lay in readiness for them.
In half an hour’s time the despatches were being examined in the captain’s cabin on board the Arrogant, their contents proving to be of the utmost importance. Bythesea had captured the details of certain extensive operations planned against the Baltic fleet of the Allies and the army in the South. Such a service was worthy of the highest honour, and both the lieutenant and Stoker Johnstone received the Cross for Valour for that desperate night’s work.
Down in the South, in the Sea of Azov, which the map shows us to lie just north of the Black Sea, our Bluejackets were doing splendid service in the latter months of 1855. The towns of Genitchesk and Taganrog were shelled with great loss to the Russians, but as they moved their stores farther inland the occasion arose for individual expeditions which aimed at destroying these. The story of the fleet’s operations in this quarter, therefore, resolves itself into a relation of the several attempts, successful and otherwise, to harass the enemy in this way.
That the task of setting fire to the store buildings was attended with tremendous risk was proved over and over again. One or two daring spirits, including a French captain, were caught and shot by Cossack patrols. But there are always men to be found ready—nay, anxious—to undertake enterprises of so desperate a nature.
Wellington had the renowned scout, Major Colquhoun Grant (whose adventures in the Peninsula teem with romance), doing wonderful “intelligence” work for him; and to come to more recent times, we may call to mind Lord Kitchener’s daring journey through the Soudan in 1884, disguised as an Arab, for the purpose of learning what were the intentions of the various tribes with regard to Egypt.