The day after our night attack we were all very busy watching an unsuccessful assault of the Redan, and could plainly see with glasses a great deal of what was going on. For some long weeks we lay off Sebastopol, weighing our anchor only twice. On the first occasion we received sudden orders to get up steam, in company with other ships of the Fleet, and to start for some unknown destination. Many were the conjectures. Could it be a sudden attack on the forts of the town? Or were we off to some fresh destruction of the enemy’s positions? Suffice it to say, the Fleet was formed into one long line, and at first shaped a course directly towards the mouth of the harbour, and, on arriving within measurable distance of long shots, quickly turned along the coast in the direction of Eupatoria. All the marines were ordered to sit on the top of the boom boats and hammock nettings—in fact, to show their red coats in the most conspicuous manner;—and even the blue-jackets were dressed up in spare tunics and placed in conspicuous spots, thus affording a certain amount of merriment: the ruse being to mislead the Russians into thinking that we were bound with troops to the Alma.
We anchored that night off Eupatoria, returning to Sebastopol next day. Whether the Russians were taken in by our manœuvre, or they thought it a capital joke, we never knew. Nothing came of the emprise.
The second time we weighed, the ships were spread out across the mouth of the harbour. We slung our long-range 68-pounders on the fore-stay, and at an elevation of 45° fired occasional shots towards the batteries. I think that we did not do any harm: we could not quite range the batteries. On that occasion one of our small steamers went in pretty close under the land, to reconnoitre; and the Russian paddle frigate Vladamir was out of the harbour like a shot, and might have caught our vessel had not one or two other steamers gone to the rescue and driven the Russian off. At night we had to row careful guard round the ships. The Russians also had guard-boats; but we seldom came across them. How different it would be now, in the days of search-lights, steam launches, and torpedo boats! No fleet would dare to anchor off a harbour’s mouth for weeks together.
There was great excitement about this time over a person who professed to be able to steal in at night in a submerged canoe, drop an anchor when within a certain distance of the Russian ship, fire his submarine mine under her bows, and haul himself out by his cable. I believe he was a blue-jacket of the St. Jean D’Acre; but, somehow, the performance never came off.
At this time my uncle became very unwell, and had to be invalided. This was a matter of great regret to us all on board; for not only was he deservedly popular, but also we knew that, while under his command, our good ship would have been one of the first selected for any particular service.
He was always most kind and considerate to me; but in those days it was not a good thing for the skipper to have a near relation serving under him. That created a certain amount of suspicion, and at times made me feel that I might be thought the originator of some gossip that may have reached his ears. Having the run of his cabin was a great boon. On one occasion, having met with a nasty accident to my foot, I was laid up in a cot in his cabin for three weeks. I could never get into a pair of ready-mades afterwards.
CHAPTER V
PUNISHMENTS IN THE NAVY
The new Captain was a horrid speculation to us juniors. When it was announced that he was Sir Lewis Tobias Jones, dread ran through us. He was what we called a “taut hand”: an officer with a stern sense of duty, which was all he lived for on board ship. That was his reputation. We were agreeably surprised after a very short time. For myself, I had great admiration for his character, and none could question his great abilities. I was soon made his A.D.C., and got on swimmingly. I recollect his running foul of me only on one occasion; and no doubt I deserved it. It was a bitterly cold day, and (as is the custom when a ship is under canvas) the wretched middy of the watch had to walk the lee side of the deck. Unfortunately, the main trysail was set—the most draughty sail in the world, sending all its winds bang down your neck from one end of the quarter-deck to the other. I felt perished with cold, and in a moment of inadvertence put my poor little fingers into my pocket, to keep them warm. Now, the weather side is the sheltered side (it sounds illogical, but so it is); and no doubt Captain Jones did not realise my benumbed state, he being on the more sheltered side of the deck. Seeing my hands in my pockets on the sacred precincts of Her Majesty’s quarter-deck was beyond what he could bear. He called me up, therefore, and said, in rather a stentorian voice, “Pray, sir, who allowed you to keep your hands in your pockets on the quarter-deck? Go down immediately to the tailor on the half-deck Go below to the tailor, and tell him to unsew your pockets.”