“Entrez, s’il vous plaît,” a man whispered, holding the door open for them. The carriage jolted into motion as soon as they were seated. Curtains covered the windows. They could not see out — neither could anyone look in. They sat in silence, jostled about as the carriage bumped over cobbles, then picked up speed on a smoother road.
The trip seemed to last forever as they moved swiftly through the dark city. They stopped just once and there was the murmur of voices outside. Afterward, the horses speeded up to a fast trot — until they stopped once again. This time the door was opened by a man holding a blacked-out lantern. He lifted the covering flap of the lantern just enough to reveal the carriage steps.
“If you will please come with me.”
They heard the sounds of lapping water and saw that they were at another dock. Granite steps led down from the ground level to a waiting boat. Six silent sailors manned it, oars rigidly upright. Their guide helped them into the stern, then cast off the painter and joined them. As soon as he was seated, he said something in a foreign, guttural tongue. The sailors lowered their oars smartly and rowed them out into the stream. There were lights on the small ship anchored a little ways out, and a uniformed officer waiting at the foot of the gangway to help them aboard. Their guide was out first.
“Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to follow me.”
He led them belowdecks to a large compartment that spanned the width of the small vessel. It was brightly lit by candles and lamps.
“Welcome aboard the Aurora,” he said. “I am Count Alexander Korzhenevski.” He turned to the puzzled naval commander and put out his hand. “These other gentlemen I know, but you, sir, are also very welcome here. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. And you are…?”
“Wilson, sir. Commander William Wilson.”
“Welcome aboard, Commander. Now, gentlemen, please. Remove your outer garments and join me in some champagne.”
A white-jacketed sailor instantly appeared with bubbling glasses on a tray. They drank and looked around at the luxuriously appointed compartment. Heavy red curtains covered the shining brass portholes. Oil paintings of naval scenes adorned the walls; the chairs were soft and comfortable. The door opened and a young Russian officer with a curling blond beard joined them, taking a glass of champagne, nodding and smiling.
“Gentleman,” the Count said. “May I introduce Lieutenant Simenov, our first engineer.”
“Bloody good!” Simenov said, shaking Fox’s hand industriously.
“Ah — you speak English, then?”
“Bloody good!”
“I’m afraid that is the be-all and the end-all of his English,” Korzhenevski explained. “But he is a bloody great engineer.”
“Now, if you please,” Commander Wilson said. “Will someone be so kind as to tell me just what is happening? I admit to being completely in the dark.”
“Of course,” Fox said. “It seems that the Count has been kind enough to put his steam yacht at our disposal. We shall sail aboard her, and it is our intent to visit as many British coastal defenses as we can. That is why I asked you to volunteer. I look to your drafting skills to chart these positions.”
“Good God! We’re to be spies! They’ll arrest us on sight—”
“Not quite,” the Count said. “I am well-known in naval quarters and my presence is quite acceptable. While you gentlemen will be my guests as… Russian officers.”
Wilson’s face was a study in blank bewilderment. This morning he had been a naval officer on an American warship. Now, a few short hours later, he was to be a Russian officer poking about the English shores. It all sounded very chancy — and very dangerous. He did not speak his doubts aloud since the others seemed quite happy to go along with the subterfuge. Instead he shrugged, emptied his glass, and held it out to be refilled.
“You must all be tired,” Korzhenevski said. “But I am afraid I must ask you to stay up for a short time longer.” He issued a command in Russian to one of the sailors, who saluted and left the room. A short time later he returned with two men who were carrying tape measures, chalk, and notebooks; obviously tailors. They quickly measured the three Americans, bowed, and left.
“That will be all for this evening, gentlemen,” Korzhenevski said. “Whenever you wish, you will be shown to your quarters. But perhaps, first, you would like to join me in a glass of cognac to seal this day’s momentous events.”
No one said no.
A VOYAGE FRAUGHT WITH DANGER
Soon after dawn a light tapping on the compartment door awoke
General Sherman. A moment later the door opened and a mess boy brought in a steaming cup of coffee and put it on the table by the bed. Close behind him came a sailor carrying a gleaming white uniform. He smiled and said something in Russian and laid it carefully across a chair. On top of it he placed a large, white uniform cap.
“I’m sure that you are right,” Sherman said, sitting up in bed and gratefully sipping the coffee.
“Da, da!” the sailor said, and left.
It was a handsome uniform, with ornate, gold-braided shoulder boards and two rows of impressive-looking medals across the chest. And it fit perfectly. When he joined the others in the wardroom, he saw that Fox was wearing an equally imposing uniform, as was the embarrassed-looking Wilson.
The Count entered and clapped his hands with delight. “Excellent! Let me welcome you gentlemen into the Russian navy. Your presence here does us great honor. Later, after we have broken our fast, I will explain some slight differences between our naval service and your own. You will discover that we salute in a different manner and do too much heel clicking, which will not be familiar to you. But first, General Sherman — might I ask you to remove your jacket. Admirable!” He clapped his hands and a sailor led in two men bearing a large container of water, bowls, and jars. Sherman sat rigid as they draped him with towels, wet his beard and hair, even his eyebrows, then combed in a jet-black dye. With a murmured apology one of them even tinted his eyelashes with mascara. It was all done very quickly, and they were finished even as the stewards carried in the breakfast dishes; then his beard was trimmed into a more Russian shape. He admired himself in a mirror as the barbers bowed deeply and backed from the compartment.