But—should it rouse up..." He left the sentence unfinished.
Wilson sat quiet, pondering what he had heard, then smiled and signaled for more champagne. "What you say makes strong logic. It is just that what we are doing is so unusual. As a sailor, I am used to a different kind of life, one consisting of discipline and danger..."
"You shall find that you will need a good deal of both if we are to finish this voyage successfully," Sherman said.
"You are of course right, General. I shall put all doubts to one side and do my duty. For which I will need drawing and drafting materials."
"If I know our friend the Count," Fox said, "I am sure that he has laid in a stock for you. But you must not be seen making drawings."
"I am fully aware of that. I must look and remember, then draw my plans from memory. I have done this before, when working as a surveyor, and foresee no problems."
The warm June weather continued, even when they left the English Channel and entered the North Sea. Being small and fast, the Aurora managed to avoid being seen closely by any of the other ships plying these busy waters. The Americans sat on deck in their shirtsleeves, enjoying the sunshine as though on an ordinary holiday cruise, while Wilson honed his artistic skills making sketches of shipboard life and his fellow officers. The Count had indeed laid in an ample supply of drawing materials.
When they reached fifty-six degrees north latitude, Korzhenevski decided that they had sailed far enough in that direction and set a course due west for Scotland. The Russian flag was raised at the stern and the sailors scrubbed the decks and put a last polish on the brass while the officers enjoyed their luncheon. When they emerged on deck they were all dressed in full uniform and saluted one another smartly, clicking their heels with many a da, da.
It was midafternoon when they sighted the Scottish coast near Dundee. They altered course and coasted south easily while Korzhenevski looked at the shore through a brass telescope.
"Over there you will see the mouth of the Firth of Forth, with Edinburgh lying upstream. I have had many jolly times in that city with Scots friends, drinking far too much of their excellent whiskey." He focused on a group of white sails scudding out of the Firth. "It looks like a race—how smashing!" He issued quick orders and the yacht moved closer to shore.
"Not a race at all," he pronounced when the sailing ships were better seen. "Just cheery times in this salubrious weather—who is to blame them?"
As they slowly drew level and passed the smaller craft, there were friendly waves and an occasional distant cheer. Aurora answered with little toots of her whistle. One of the small sailing craft was now angled away from the others and heading out to sea in their direction. The Count focused his telescope on it, then lowered the scope and laughed aloud.
"By Jove, we are indeed in luck. She is crewed by an old shipmate from Greenwich, the Honorable Richard MacTavish."
The Aurora slowed and stopped, rolling easily in the light seas. The little yacht came close, the man at the tiller waving enthusiastically; then he called out.
"When I saw your flag with the two-headed eagle I couldn't believe it. It is you, isn't it, Count Iggy?"
"In the flesh, my dear Scotty. Do come aboard and have a glass of bubbly—does wonders for the tummy!"
The boarding ladder was thrown over the side as a line from the little yacht was hauled aboard. A moment later MacTavish was scrambling over the rail and pounding the Count on the back.
"You're a sight for sore eyes, Iggy. Where have you got to these last years?"
"Oh, just tootling about... you know." Korzhenevski sounded a bit bored and a little simple. "I say—shouldn't you bring your friends aboard as well?"
"Not friends, if truth be spoken," MacTavish said. "Just some locals I let crew."
"Well then, you must meet some fellow Russian officers who joined me for this little cruise."
MacTavish
Wilson sat quiet, pondering what he had heard, then smiled and signaled for more champagne. "What you say makes strong logic. It is just that what we are doing is so unusual. As a sailor, I am used to a different kind of life, one consisting of discipline and danger..."
"You shall find that you will need a good deal of both if we are to finish this voyage successfully," Sherman said.
"You are of course right, General. I shall put all doubts to one side and do my duty. For which I will need drawing and drafting materials."
"If I know our friend the Count," Fox said, "I am sure that he has laid in a stock for you. But you must not be seen making drawings."
"I am fully aware of that. I must look and remember, then draw my plans from memory. I have done this before, when working as a surveyor, and foresee no problems."
The warm June weather continued, even when they left the English Channel and entered the North Sea. Being small and fast, the Aurora managed to avoid being seen closely by any of the other ships plying these busy waters. The Americans sat on deck in their shirtsleeves, enjoying the sunshine as though on an ordinary holiday cruise, while Wilson honed his artistic skills making sketches of shipboard life and his fellow officers. The Count had indeed laid in an ample supply of drawing materials.
When they reached fifty-six degrees north latitude, Korzhenevski decided that they had sailed far enough in that direction and set a course due west for Scotland. The Russian flag was raised at the stern and the sailors scrubbed the decks and put a last polish on the brass while the officers enjoyed their luncheon. When they emerged on deck they were all dressed in full uniform and saluted one another smartly, clicking their heels with many a da, da.
It was midafternoon when they sighted the Scottish coast near Dundee. They altered course and coasted south easily while Korzhenevski looked at the shore through a brass telescope.
"Over there you will see the mouth of the Firth of Forth, with Edinburgh lying upstream. I have had many jolly times in that city with Scots friends, drinking far too much of their excellent whiskey." He focused on a group of white sails scudding out of the Firth. "It looks like a race—how smashing!" He issued quick orders and the yacht moved closer to shore.
"Not a race at all," he pronounced when the sailing ships were better seen. "Just cheery times in this salubrious weather—who is to blame them?"
As they slowly drew level and passed the smaller craft, there were friendly waves and an occasional distant cheer. Aurora answered with little toots of her whistle. One of the small sailing craft was now angled away from the others and heading out to sea in their direction. The Count focused his telescope on it, then lowered the scope and laughed aloud.
"By Jove, we are indeed in luck. She is crewed by an old shipmate from Greenwich, the Honorable Richard MacTavish."
The Aurora slowed and stopped, rolling easily in the light seas. The little yacht came close, the man at the tiller waving enthusiastically; then he called out.
"When I saw your flag with the two-headed eagle I couldn't believe it. It is you, isn't it, Count Iggy?"
"In the flesh, my dear Scotty. Do come aboard and have a glass of bubbly—does wonders for the tummy!"
The boarding ladder was thrown over the side as a line from the little yacht was hauled aboard. A moment later MacTavish was scrambling over the rail and pounding the Count on the back.
"You're a sight for sore eyes, Iggy. Where have you got to these last years?"
"Oh, just tootling about... you know." Korzhenevski sounded a bit bored and a little simple. "I say—shouldn't you bring your friends aboard as well?"
"Not friends, if truth be spoken," MacTavish said. "Just some locals I let crew."
"Well then, you must meet some fellow Russian officers who joined me for this little cruise."
MacTavish
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