Floating Madhouse Page 12

  Almost his mother’s words. With truth in them too; even as a child he’d been aware that George was more obviously English than he was himself. Like a litter of puppies of diverse parentage – this in fact had been George’s simile, ‘One comes out this way, the other that way. No choice in the matter – eh?’ George had actually been commiserating with him, Michael had realized, saying in effect, ‘Bad luck, old chap, but never mind, we can’t all be four-square British!’

  Back to the Injhavino memory, though – on the day he’d been leaving, Anna Feodorovna, obviously prompted by Tasha, had come out with the same invitation: ‘Yalta next summer, Micky? Could you?’

  The thought was nagging him as the division steamed up towards the town of Vigo. Nagging and depressing: even in terms of physical reaction – a sick feeling, and sweat – really, panicking… The fear – real enough, a contingency that seemed entirely possible – was that if there was war now he might well lose her: to Zakharov if Zakharov survived – Prince Igor would see to that – but otherwise to some other Russian – a rich one, naturally.

  Could be the old swine might even find her one she’d like?And in circumstances entirely changed by war – as they might well be…

  You wouldn’t blame her. Couldn’t.

  The colliers were there – five of them, at anchor and displaying their Hamburg-Amerika Line house-flags; Narumov expressing satisfaction that it wouldn’t be necessary – yet – to use the coal that was in the Anadyr and the Malay. Rojhestvensky led his battleships past them, to anchor in clear water where there’d be room enough for the Germans presently to move up and berth alongside.

  Closer to the town two warships were lying: Michael put his glasses on them quickly. He didn’t say anything to Narumov, but the larger of the two was British. Cruiser – Monmouth class, he thought. Technically, an ‘armoured cruiser’: about ten thousand tons with a dozen or so 6-inch guns in turrets and barbettes, and a speed of – well, better than twenty knots.

  The other, much smaller, was Spanish.

  Roar of Suvarov’s cable rushing out… He was thinking that if he was allowed – or required – to land here, he’d wear civvies; and do his best not to run into some fellow RN officer whom he might know. Primarily to avoid the need for explanations, but also not to arouse Russian suspicions of a surreptitious rendezvous, passing intelligence to the Japanese.

  What intelligence, heaven knew. One knew about Russian paranoia now, that was all.

  ‘This boat’s coming to us I believe, Mikhail Ivan’ich.’

  Narumov was pointing at a steam cutter which had what looked like port officials in its stern; while below them here on the starboard side of the quarterdeck a white-jacketed bosun was chivvying a party of bluejackets into getting the gangway down. Michman von Kursel joining them now. In the wardroom last night von Kursel had mentioned that he spoke a little Spanish and hoped it might come in useful, especially if there were to be any welcoming celebrations ashore at which the admiral might like to have an interpreter at his side. He’d added, winking at Golovnin, that the Spanish girls tended to be raving beauties. Looking back towards the town and the British cruiser then, Michael saw two other cutters on their way, with men in uniform in them: black uniforms and peculiar headgear. Police? The nearer boat was meanwhile still lying off, waiting for the gangway. He was wondering whether he might not re-draft his letter, find some way to word it that would not seem to be taking it for granted she’d turn her back on her country and rush to his side no matter what.

  9

  On Suvarov’s bridge the port officials had told Rojhestvensky, with the port commandant’s compliments and apologies, that the Russian ships might remain here for twenty-four hours, but in accordance with international conventions concerning belligerents in neutral harbours, not one hour longer. Nor could there be any embarkation or transfer between ships of stores or fuel; under no circumstances would coaling be permitted. Two Spanish harbour policemen were being put on board each of the ships to ensure that these regulations were observed.

  Rojhestvensky, flushed with anger, had pointed with his telescope at the Anadyr and the Malay, both of which were flying the Russian ensign: those were Russian ships carrying Russian coal – Cardiff coal, to be precise, but paid for with Russian roubles: how the devil could these battleships be prevented from filling their bunkers with coal that was their own? Alternatively, how could they sail in twenty-four hours – or for that matter twenty-four days – without coal to drive them?

  The Spaniards expressed regret: those were the orders as passed from Madrid to the port commandant. There was nothing to be said or done about it. Beyond those unfortunate restrictions, of course, as the admiral must know, Russians were always welcome guests in Spain. It was hoped that their stay here would be a congenial one; and if there was any way in which it could be made more so…

  They’d trooped down to their cutter and pushed off. Rojhestvensky pointed at the two policemen in their funny hats, and shouted at a warrant officer to take them below and give them what they wanted: ‘See how much the swine can hold!’ In other words, get them drunk. Then to Torpedo Lieutenant Leontiev: ‘Signal the German colliers to come alongside. One to each battleship, the fifth can suckle the transports. Coaling is not to be commenced however until further orders. But turning to Ignatzius – ‘once they’re alongside, I want armed sentries on the securing hawsers. Pass this order to the others too: sentries are authorized to shoot if necessary.’ To Clapier de Colongue then: ‘You and I will call on this commandant after we’ve had lunch. Have a message sent ashore to that effect.’

  ‘That the commander-in-chief of his Russian Majesty’s Second Pacific Squadron hopes to have the honour of—’

  ‘– of twisting his arm until he screams! Put it any way you like. We’ve no consulate here, have we?’

  ‘No, sir, but the French have, and in certain ports including this one we have a reciprocal agreement—’

  ‘Good. I want lunch served as soon as possible.’

  Within minutes the colliers were shortening-in their cables and weighing anchor; by the time Nick Sollogub was describing Rojhestvensky’s interview with the officials to Michael and others in the wardroom, a berthing-party up top was taking the first collier’s lines and securing her alongside. Sollogub telling Michael, ‘I have to admit that Boyarin Zenovy was marvellous. One could see he was practically exploding with fury, but perfectly self-controlled. By his standards, anyway. Though what’ll happen now…’

  What had happened already? Michael was wondering. So far one had nothing to go on, except for the Spaniards’ uncompromising manner. Meanwhile a steam pinnace had been launched, using the main derrick, and after it had fired-up its boiler von Kursel was sent inshore in it with the admiral’s message to the commandant – in writing, Clapier de Colongue having a command of most European languages – and taking also some sacks of mail, amongst which were Michael’s and Narumov’s letters, in the charge of a petty officer steward to whom paymaster Guryenko had entrusted a sum of pesetas for the purchase of Spanish stamps. Von Kursel’s orders from the chief of staff were to wait for a reply from the commandant, and to bring the steward back with any mail that might have been waiting here for this and/or other ships. He’d seen to all that, and was back on board – joining them in the wardroom now and accepting the glass of vodka that Michael offered him.

  ‘No mail for us, eh?’

  ‘Nothing. Health, Mikhail Ivan’ich!’ Tossing it back, then shaking his head. ‘Because we were never supposed to be calling here, I suppose. My God, that English lot – the armoured cruiser, I mean. I made a note of its name, not sure how you’d pronounce it—’

  ‘Let me see?’

  ‘Here.’ He’d printed it in capitals but with the ‘N’ reversed: LAИCASTER.

  Michael nodded. He’d been right, she was one of the Monmouths. Off-hand he couldn’t think of anyone he knew who was serving in her. Von Kursel telling them all, ‘You’d think we were monkeys – or
wild beasts of some kind – the way they gawped at us when we were passing the ship, then at the landing-place where others were hanging about.’

  Trafilin shrugged: ‘Such is fame… What we should do, though, is give these dogs a run ashore. Flagmansky’d love it – weeks since he’s seen a tree.’

  ‘What about the admiral’s visit to this fellow?’

  ‘The commandant will be honoured to receive him, and is notifying the French consul that his Excellency will be requesting facilities for telegraphing to St Petersburg.’

  ‘That’s fine, then.’ Sventorjhetsky stubbed out a cigarette. ‘Petersburg will surely make the Spaniards change their tune. Look, I’m ready for lunch now…’

  Michael had added to his letter:

  Re-reading this, I can see I may have expressed myself badly. I want you to know I fully realize that if war comes now neither you nor your mother would be inclined to leave Russia – especially to come to England, if we had become your country’s enemy – which God forbid. All I can do is implore you, my darling, first, to come as soon as you and Anna Feodorovna can bear to leave, and second, to take whatever steps you can in the meantime to avoid your father’s machinations. Another thing – if war comes and mails are interrupted, don’t doubt that I will be trying to write, as well as longing for letters from you, and living every single day and night with you in my heart. I love you, Tasha…

  That was as good as on its way to her now. But he was uneasy about it again, wasn’t sure he hadn’t overdone the valedictory angle – as if one knew war was coming, and was too phlegmatically prepared to accept a long separation.

  Which he was not. The very thought of it – and of Prince Igor up to his tricks… ‘Hey, where did this come from?’

  Champagne…

  Sollogub explained, ‘If the news, when it reaches us, is as bad as it may be, chances are we’ll be losing you. So while we still can drink together…’

  * * *

  The admiral and his chief of staff, and for some reason Selyeznov, went ashore in the pinnace at about two o’clock and were received with a military guard and band. Part of this ceremonial was visible to those with telescopes and binoculars in the flagship’s superstructure: and it was taking place under the very noses of the British in that cruiser, Narumov pointed out. How would they react to that?

  ‘With interest, I’d imagine.’ Michael had shrugged. ‘As I’ve said before, we are not your enemies.’

  ‘May become so at any minute, however!’

  ‘Let’s pray not.’

  He was praying not. For his own good reasons as expressed in the letter to Tasha. Which, if the war-clouds had vanished by the time she got it, she’d dismiss as fussing about nothing. She herself being anything but fussy.

  Girl of action, he thought, longingly. Of sudden passions and compensating calms. Beauty far more than skin deep. Bit of a harum-scarum, really, despite her noble birth. An exquisite harum-scarum!

  It was evening, the light beginning to fade and shoreside colours change, when the pinnace was reported to be coming out from shore and most off-duty officers went up on deck to witness the admiral’s return. There’d been speculation that the Spaniards would have given them a skinful – toasts to each other’s monarchs and so forth – but although Rojhestvensky was flushed and bright-eyed and by the look of him in high spirits, there was no sign of unsteadiness in any of them. They had newspapers on board, and a stack of others had been dumped at the head of the gangway.

  Flag Captain Ignatzius, receiving his admiral at the gangway’s head, asked matter-of-factly, ‘Start coaling, Excellency?’

  ‘Not yet.’ A bark of mirth, and waving a rolled newspaper, ‘Hell’s breaking loose all over the world – thanks to these newspaper swine and the damned English throwing their weight about – confound them…’

  Selyeznov told Michael that they’d been courteously received, but that the news-coverage and foreign reactions certainly were alarming – although the admiral seemed to be treating it all with contempt. From the commandant’s reception – where toasts had been drunk, accompanying warm expressions of friendship, and gratitude for Rojhestvensky’s assurance that he wouldn’t for a moment consider fuelling his ships until the commandant received Madrid’s instructions to permit it – they’d trooped along to the consulate of France, where facilities were provided for the despatch and receipt of telegrams to and from St Petersburg. Selyeznov had no details, had not been shown the several long telegrams, but Clapier de Colongue had told him the general naval staff were backing Rojhestvensky, accepting that in all the circumstances his actions had been fully justified, in line with his responsibility as commander-in-chief for ensuring the squadron’s safety; and he – the admiral – had remarked to de Colongue that they’d ‘soon have it squared away, all this hysteria’. Although the newspapers, French and German as well as British, were uncompromising in their view that war was inevitable, their only doubt being whether France and Germany would remain neutral. London had demanded, apparently, that Rojhestvensky himself and the captains of all the ships that had been involved should be tried by courts-martial, and that the battleships should return immediately to Reval. A leading German paper expressed the view that the admirals and captains ‘must be permanently in an abnormal state of mind’, and this carefully worded allegation was echoed in an English cartoon showing a sodden-looking Russian admiral on his knees with one arm up clinging to his ship’s rail, the other hand clutching a bottle, a litter of empties on the deck around him. While the Daily Express’s three-day-old front-page offering had been:

  BRITISH SHIPS FIRED ON BY RUSSIAN FLEET

  EXTRAORDINARY OUTRAGE IN THE NORTH SEA

  HULL FISHING STEAMERS RAKED BY THE BALTIC

  FLEET WITH SHOT AND SHELL WITHOUT WARNING

  One Trawler Sunk, another Missing, and others Damaged with Loss of Life –- Many Wounded – Amazing Action apparently Due to Fear of Attack by Japanese – Riddled Fleet Returns to Hull with its Dead –– Statements by Eye-witnesses of the Attack – Baltic Fleet now in British Waters. Killed: Capt. Geo. H. Smith and John Leggatt. Wounded: About 30 men.

  Michael translated this and the detailed account which followed for the benefit of Narumov and several others. He did not show them the drunken admiral cartoon, although Ignatzius later came across it and laughed so uncontrollably and for so long that Nyedozorov came hurrying from the other end of the wardroom thinking he was having an apoplectic fit. By and large, though, the fact that hostility and derision were general and world-wide was received with shocked surprise.

  Vladimirsky, for instance: ‘This is the blackest day in the whole of my naval service…’

  And Sollogub, white-faced: ‘It’s not good, is it, Mikhail Ivan’ich? To my mind the worst aspect of all, oddly enough, is that one can understand the calumnies!’

  It began to look worse next morning, when Selyeznov came along to the wardroom to give Michael a piece of information which he’d forgotten to mention the day before. It was that in expressing gratification at Rojhestvensky’s abiding by Madrid’s rules on fuelling, the port commandant had added rather slyly that it was probably a wise decision since there was now a squadron of British cruisers at anchor in the Pontevedra estuary.

  ‘Pontevedra?’

  ‘An inlet about ten miles north of here. I had a look at it on the chart.’

  ‘They’d be our former shadowers, I dare say.’

  They were outside the wardroom, which was on the main deck – one down from the open-air upper deck. Selyeznov had beckoned to Michael to come out to hear this, since while it was his brief from de Colongue to keep Michael informed, especially of British moves, this wasn’t an item for general consumption in the prevailing atmosphere of uncertainty. Michael offered, ‘They’re probably only here for show. Satisfy parliament, press and public that our government’s on its toes.’

  ‘Or to ensure we turn back to Reval. For that we might even be permitted to coal. But – strictly between oursel
ves, Mikhail Ivan’ich—’

  Bugle-call.

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘All hands to muster on the upper deck. The admiral was, I know, intending to address us. There was a boat from shore at first light with despatches of some kind. Perhaps we’ll have some questions answered now.’

  He could hear the crew pounding up from their messdecks. They’d pack the quarterdeck, while Rojhestvensky would make his way aft along the main deck and go up the ladderway right aft. Michael, with several others now including Narumov and Sollogub, headed for an internal ladderway leading up into the after superstructure; to the signal deck up there, from where one would be looking down on the crowd of about eight hundred officers and men – ship’s company normally seven hundred and fifty, but with the admiral’s staff embarked, plus extra cooks and stewards, slightly over eight hundred, the paymaster had told him.