Chapter Eighteen.
State of Affairs in the beginning of 1855—Murray in Command of the Giaour—Shelling Sebastopol by Night—Tom finds matter for serious Thought—The Tornado chases a Russian Steamer—Attack on a Fort—Another Steamer sighted—Friend or Foe?—Proves to be the Giaour—The Flash appears—The Fort stormed.
The fearful Christmas of 1854 was over, and of the troops, which in gallant array had left England, more than one-half had died or been disabled by the shot of the enemy or the still more deadly pestilence. Sufferings, such as an English army had never before been called upon to endure, had been borne with fortitude. The siege, notwithstanding, had been carried on, and now reinforcements, and clothing, and stores, and provisions were arriving in the camp of the allies. Affairs looked brighter than they had done for many a day; the fleet, notwithstanding the battering some of the ships had received at the opening of the bombardment, was in as efficient a state as ever. It had rendered good service at Eupatoria in assisting the Turks to defend the place against a powerful force of Russians, which had been driven back with great loss. The naval brigade had been doing good service on shore, not only in the batteries, but by laying down a railway from Balaclava to the Chersonese, by which the transport of heavy guns, ammunition, and stores was greatly facilitated.
The Tornado had not been idle, though, in consequence of the straining her engines had received during the storm, she had been compelled to remain some time at Constantinople, to have them set to rights. Once more she was steaming across the waters of the Black Sea, with another vessel of similar size in company.
“The Giaour will beat us if we can’t get up more steam,” observed Jack to his first lieutenant, who was walking the deck with him.
“We have on our full power, and are doing our utmost,” answered Higson; “the Giaour’s engines are new, and we must make up our minds, I suspect, to let Commander Murray get ahead of us.”
“I am always happy to follow wherever he leads,” said Jack; “if there is work to be done, he’ll find out the way to do it.”
The Giaour was coming up slowly on the Tornado’s quarter, gaining foot after foot but never losing an inch, so that at length she was abreast of her; both vessels were steering for Sebastopol. The land was soon afterwards made, and, as they approached, the admiral’s flag was seen flying at the masthead of the Royal Albert, a magnificent three-decker of a hundred and thirty guns, to which Sir Edmund Lyons had shifted it from the Agamemnon. She, and several other English and French line-of-battle ships, lay across the entrance of the harbour, effectually preventing any of the enemy’s ships from getting out.
“The admiral is speaking to us and the Giaour” said Tom, who was acting as signal-midshipman.
“Let’s see what he is saying,” said Jack, looking at the signal-book; “it’s ‘Keep under weigh’ and ‘Commanders to repair on board the admiral’s ship.’ We are to be sent somewhere together, I hope.”