by G. S. Beard
Another ball crashed into the Amazon’s side as he paced, and a moment later a man staggered against him, his face contorted in horror. Fury looked down to the man’s arm, the skin raised and swollen, and it took him a moment to realise that lodged underneath his skin was a long sliver of wood, probably about six inches long considering it seemed to stretch the entire length of his forearm. Even as Fury watched, the skin began to turn black as it bruised, and he quickly marched the man over to one of the hatchways leading down below, signalling the marine sentry stationed there to let the man pass.
‘Get yourself down below to the surgeon at once!’
The man looked at him blankly for a second, understandably still in shock, before pulling himself together and nodding, turning to go down the hatchway to where the surgeon and his mates would be at work just forward of the wardroom.
Fury walked over to one of the large scuttlebutts of water, trying to put out of his mind the thought of what agonies would await the wretched man once the surgeon began to cut and probe to extract the splinter. With only a mouthful of rum to soften the pain and a leather gag to bite down upon, he would most likely die on that table.
The water, although tepid and stale, was nevertheless refreshing as he thrust his head in and took a mouthful, the back of his throat seeming to burn more as he swallowed it.
He turned round to catch sight of Carlisle, hat in hand, shouting to his men to keep them going as he walked from gun to gun, assisted by the midshipmen running along the guns and jumping up and down in their excitement.
Fury walked over to a spot behind one of the forward guns and crouched down to get a view out of the gun port. There she was, still a hundred yards away and looking severely battered now along her hull and bulwarks, the occasional brief flash and roar followed by an eddy of smoke showing that she at least had some of her guns still in commission.
He was about to straighten up when he caught sight of a movement up high in her rigging. He quickly pushed his way forward through the gun crew who were busy reloading and thrust his head through the open gun port. As he did so he heard cheering on the deck above, and he quickly looked up at Thetis’ masthead in time to see the battered tricolour of France come slowly fluttering down. They had surrendered!
He turned inboard, the relief surging through him.
‘Cease fire! We have him lads!’
The men at the guns, most of whom would not even look out of the ports as they reloaded and fired, realised now that the fight was over. A ragged cheer erupted from the men along the upper deck as they stood up from their guns and congratulated their companions, more for emerging alive than for the actual victory.
Here was Lieutenant Carlisle now, hand outstretched as he approached. Fury shook it.
‘Well Mr Fury, that was a hard-fought victory!’
‘It certainly was sir. They put up a good fight.’
‘That they did,’ Carlisle agreed, looking round the deck. ‘Well, I’ll get these guns secured, you had better get up to the quarterdeck. No doubt there will be much work for us in the next few days.’
‘Aye aye sir,’ Fury replied, glad to be getting out of the choking atmosphere of the upper deck and hopeful that he may be allowed to go over with the boarding party and take possession of their new prize.
It took him only seconds to reach the top of the companion ladder leading up to the quarterdeck, squinting slightly at the bright sunlight as he looked around for the captain to receive his orders. There was the master, Mr Hoggarth, supervising the swinging out of one of the Amazon’s boats held on the booms over the waist, in preparation for going across to the Thetis. Lieutenant Douglas was over near the wheel with his back to him, his head bowed looking down at the deck. Fury hurried over to him, Douglas spinning round as he heard his voice.
‘Have you any orders for me sir?’
Douglas did not reply, but merely looked at Fury for a moment as though they had just lost the battle, not won it. A quick glance by Douglas behind him drew Fury’s gaze down towards the deck, where a pair of legs were sticking out of a bloody mess on the planking. Silk stockings and highly polished shoes with pinchbeck buckles. His family had never been rich – was all that Fury could think of as he looked down at what remained of the captain, his uncle.
Chapter Three
Fury woke up in his cot, lying there for a few moments looking round his tiny cabin, the black bulk of his tattered sea chest seemingly filling the whole room. Outside he could hear the sluicing of water as the Amazon limped to the southeast, with Thetis in company under the temporary command of Lieutenant Carlisle.
He still felt numb over the death of his uncle. He would have thought that his exposure to death over the last year would have steeled him against such grief, but it was not the case. When he had first seen his uncle’s body it had been necessary for him to fight back the tears. Barber had always been a hard man, and very aloof, and had almost never shown affection towards him, but he had been more than fair to Fury. He liked to think that, with no wife or family of his own, Barber had always thought of him as a son, and he hoped in the past year he had not proved a disappointment. Certainly, with no father of his own to look to for guidance, Fury had learnt a lot from the man since he had come aboard Amazon. Fury’s current rank of acting lieutenant was solely down to Barber and the opportunities he had given him. Now he had nobody, and even on a cramped frigate such as Amazon, he felt terribly lonely.
It had been another disappointment to him when Douglas, in temporary command of the Amazon, had chosen Lieutenant Carlisle to take possession of Thetis, leaving Fury to work himself to a standstill helping to get the Amazon back into some semblance of order. The prisoners, some 150 of them, had all been transferred over to the Amazon and were now under strict guard by armed marines down in the hold. Their original crew of somewhere near 300 showed how terribly they had suffered during the fight, compared to which the Amazon’s butcher’s bill of twenty-seven killed, including the captain, and thirty-four wounded, seemed relatively light.
Throughout the night and the whole of the next day the men had worked tirelessly plugging shot holes in the hulls of both vessels and repairing damaged rigging, and it was only once that had been completed that they had been able to get under way again. Yesterday had been spent driving south-eastward towards the entrance to the Strait of Gibraltar, where the east-going current had helped them to make a reasonable five knots. They were now no more than half a day away from Gibraltar, their destination, with Tarifa on the southern coast of Spain somewhere to the north-east, and the Barbary Coast of Africa to the south. Soon the strait would be narrowing down to about eight miles wide, according to the chart Fury had seen.
No doubt it had been the number of prisoners under guard and the state of the two ships which had prompted Lieutenant Douglas to head for Gibraltar instead of continuing their journey home to England. It was obviously the safest bet considering the former captain of Thetis had informed them that war had in fact been declared by France on Britain a few months ago, in February, and so there was also a chance of meeting further French ships if they continued north.
Fury was surprised to find that the news of war had not affected him in the slightest. With the loss of Barber, his only patron, there was every chance that he would be demoted back down to midshipman again, losing many months in seniority. Now they were at war, he could at least console himself with the knowledge that his opportunities for advancement would be greater.
‘Passing the word for Mr Fury!’
The faint shout reached him as he lay there and he quickly swung his legs out of the cot and jumped to the deck, hurriedly pulling on shirt, breeches, stockings and shoes, along with his old midshipman’s jacket, before leaving his flimsy cabin.
With the captain dead and Lieutenant Carlisle on Thetis, there could be only one man on board passing the word for him, and the knowledge of that brought with it the realisation that he was presently second in command of the Amazon, albeit onl
y temporarily.
He was at the top of the companion ladder on the upper deck now, the guns all housed and secured and looking impotent strapped up against the ship’s side. He turned aft to where the captain’s cabins were now re-erected, passing the marine sentry who briskly came to attention, slamming his musket butt on the planking and announcing in a voice that would have carried on deck in a gale of wind, ‘Mr Fury sir!’
Fury entered, his head instinctively cocked to one side as he stood to prevent it hitting the deck beams above. It was strange to see Lieutenant Douglas sitting behind the captain’s desk, working away at the paperwork needed to keep a ship of war afloat. He was looking up now, studying Fury’s face intently for a few moments before beckoning him to sit down in one of the chairs opposite. Through the stern windows Fury could see Thetis sailing along in their wake, about two cables’ lengths away.
‘How are you doing Mr Fury?’ Douglas asked softly, as if speaking to a child and not an officer in His Britannic Majesty’s Navy.
‘I am very well, thank you sir,’ Fury replied in a matter-of-fact tone. He had long since learned that superior officers had their own ways of approaching subjects, and it was best to let them get on with it until they got to the point.
‘I have taken the liberty,’ Douglas began, pointing to a number of items laid on the settee beneath the stern windows, ‘of getting together some of the captain’s personal belongings. As his next of kin you should take these and decide for yourself what to do with them.’
Fury studied the items. It was a paltry enough pile of belongings to represent a man’s whole life. A mahogany box which could only contain Captain Barber’s quadrant was sat in the middle of the pile. Next to this was a sword in its scabbard, the decoration adorning it identifying it as his dress sword. Barber would have been wearing his other sword when he was cut in two, and so there was no chance of Fury finding that now.
He could also see the plain mahogany box containing two pistols which the captain had always kept in his desk drawer – nothing fancy, but slightly more reliable than the average sea-service pistol, as well as more accurate, no doubt. Along with these was his personal telescope, various books on seamanship from Clark, Falconer and others, two little gold-plated watches, and a small amount of money.
‘Thank you sir,’ he said, shifting his gaze back from the pile of belongings to Lieutenant Douglas, still sitting there studying him intensely. Fury desperately wanted to ask the man about his own future, but could not bring himself to do it. ‘Will that be all sir, only I’ve got the forenoon watch?’ was all he found himself saying.
‘Not quite,’ Douglas replied, sitting back and seeming to relax slightly, as if he had just finished an unpleasant task and was now moving on to something more enjoyable. ‘I have been reading Captain Barber’s reports on events since first leaving England.’
A pause now, as if he expected Fury to say something, but Fury remained silent.
‘He mentions you very favourably on a number of occasions, as does Lieutenant Carlisle during your time on the Bedford and the Mornington. For my part, I have drafted my report regarding the capture of Thetis and you will also get full credit for your part in that. With this in mind, I am hopeful that the Admiralty will see fit to let you keep your current rank of acting lieutenant until such time arises as you can face a formal examining board.’
‘Thank you sir,’ he replied, but Douglas held up his hands in protest.
‘Do not thank me Mr Fury – a lieutenant is unlikely to hold much sway with Their Lordships at the Admiralty, but I will do my utmost for you. Besides, you are in your current position on merit, not favouritism. If I did not think you were ready for it I would see to it that you remained a midshipman until you were.’
‘I understand sir,’ Fury said. ‘Will that be all now sir?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Douglas replied, ‘you may go – and don’t forget to take the captain’s belongings to your cabin.’
‘Aye aye sir.’
Fury rose from the chair and went over to the settee.
He would have liked to ask Lieutenant Douglas for some assistance in carrying all the things, but he was already bent back down over his paperwork, so Fury resolved to carry it all himself. The sword and scabbard he fastened round his waist, while the watches were small enough to carry in his jacket pocket, along with the few coins there. The rest – pistols, telescope, quadrant and books – he merely had to pile on top of one another and carry carefully out of the cabin, thankful that there was not much of a sea running so he could keep his feet easily on the gently heaving deck as he slowly made his way below.
‘Stop!’
The seaman watching the sandglass snapped the order as soon as the last grain of sand had emptied itself into the bottom of the glass. The man next to him holding the log line immediately stopped the knotted line from running out any further and began to haul it in over the taffrail. Once the line was on board the knots were counted, while Fury stood nearby waiting.
‘Well?’
The seaman seemed to ignore him for a moment as he finished counting the number of knots which had reeled off the line.
‘Seven knots sir,’ he reported at last, reeling the log line back in so it could be stowed.
‘Very well,’ Fury replied, walking over to the binnacle and picking up the slate housed within to record the current speed they were making. A quick check of the compass card revealed they were heading a little south of east until they had weathered Tarifa, the southernmost tip of Spain, at which point they would begin to head approximately east by north for the run up to Gibraltar.
He looked up to check each of the sails were drawing well, more through force of habit than because he expected them to be drawing badly. Each and every man on the Amazon, including the quartermaster and helmsmen, were prime seamen, well trained and highly experienced. Not once had he ever had to utter a stern warning due to lack of concentration. Still, it was as well to check, if only to let them know they were still being monitored – it would ensure they kept sharp.
He began pacing the larboard side of the quarterdeck, hoping in time to catch a glimpse of the southern coast of Spain. He was beginning to wish he had left his jacket down in his cabin, for although the sky was filled with cloud and the fresh westerly wind was sweeping along the Amazon’s deck, the sun filtering through was quite warm.
‘Land ho!’
The shout came down from the foremast lookout.
‘Where away?’ Fury shouted back instantly.
‘Three points on the larboard bow sir!’ came the quick reply.
Fury looked around for the midshipman of the watch, finally catching sight of him forward on the focsle.
‘Mr Howard!’ he shouted to him, still somewhat uncomfortably. Even after five months of holding his rank as acting lieutenant, he still could not shake off the fact that they had all been ‘young gentlemen’ together. Giving orders to them always felt strange, especially now when he could be back to being a midshipman within the next day. ‘Take a glass and aloft with you. You may make your report when you come down.’
‘Aye aye sir!’ the boy piped, rushing to get a glass before ascending the foremast shrouds to join the lookout at the masthead.
Fury stamped about impatiently on the quarterdeck until at last Howard returned to make his report, just as Lieutenant Douglas arrived on deck.
‘Well Mr Howard?’ Fury prompted.
‘Land sir, now just abaft the beam. At first it just looked like a headland sir, but as it came abeam I saw water separating it from the rest of the coast, so it looks like an island sir!’
‘Very good Mr Howard, carry on,’ Douglas replied, turning to look at Fury.
‘Tarifa Island sir?’ Fury ventured.
Douglas nodded his agreement.
‘Aye, lay her on a course of east by north a half north please, Mr Fury. I shall be in my— the captain’s cabin, if you need me further.’
‘East by north a half north, aye
aye sir,’ Fury acknowledged as Douglas made his way back down below. ‘Quartermaster, lay her on a course of east by north a half north, if you please.’
The quartermaster acknowledged and relayed the order to the man at the wheel. The helmsman let a couple of spokes of the wheel through his fingers as he peered at the compass card. When he finally announced that the course was set, Fury took a look at his watch – his uncle’s watch – to see that it was ten o’clock in the morning. Putting the watch back in his pocket he began pacing again, head down and hands behind his back to pass the last two hours of his watch, at which time he would be relieved by the master.
Back and forward he went, seventeen paces to the taffrail, turn, and seventeen paces forward to the foremost quarterdeck six-pounder, the sweat gradually beginning to stick to the shirt under his jacket as he paced, the sound of the ship’s bell at half-hour intervals passing unnoticed as he became engrossed in his thoughts, completely losing track of time.
‘How are we going Mr Fury?’
The voice startled him and he looked up to see the master, Mr Hoggarth. It took him a moment to drag his mind into the present and give a sensible reply.
‘Seven knots by the last heave of the log, Mr Hoggarth. We sighted Tarifa some time ago and changed course to east by north a half north.’
He could still not get used to talking to the master on equal terms, or at least nearly equal. It was not long ago that Hoggarth had been teaching Midshipman Fury the art of navigation, and it didn’t help the fact that he looked old enough to be his grandfather. In fact Fury would not have been surprised if someone had told him the master was old shipmates with Anson or Boscawen, so old did he look.
‘This will be your first visit to Gibraltar will it not, Mr Fury?’
‘Indeed it will Mr Hoggarth. But not yours I’ll warrant!’
