by G. S. Beard
Given under our hands and the Seal of the Office of Admiralty this eighteenth day of May 1793 in the Thirty-Third year of His Majesty’s Reign.
At the bottom left was a heading entitled ‘Seniority’, under which was written ‘14 December 1792’, the date on which he had been promoted by Captain Barber to acting lieutenant. That date determined which lieutenant was more senior on each ship.
Reaching over to the table again he picked up the remaining two folded pieces of paper. The first – his passing certificate – he placed on the bed without looking at it, while the second, the wax seal already broken, he unfolded and read through once more to make sure he had forgotten no detail.
HMS Fortitude,
Gibraltar Bay.
Lieutenant Fury,
Report on board HMS Fortitude at eight o’clock on the morning of the 5th. Bring your dunnage and report your arrival to the officer of the watch. We will be weighing on the 6th.
Yr servant,
Wm Young, Captain.
He had been slightly disappointed when he had found out that he was being appointed to a seventy-four, but after some reflection he was gradually coming round to the idea. Certainly his quarters were likely to be much more comfortable than what he was used to in a crowded frigate.
He slowly refolded the note and lay back on the bed. The 5th was tomorrow, and all he could think about was getting back to sea again, and a chance to repay the French for the death of his uncle …
‘Aye aye!’ the oarsman bellowed in response to the ship’s hail, after a quick glance at Fury.
The boat was approaching one of the big two-deckers anchored in Gibraltar Bay, Fury studying her lines as she grew nearer. The gilded writing on her stern had just passed from view, along with the two rows of ornate windows plastered across just above her name – Fortitude. Both rows of gun ports were open to let in as much breeze as possible between decks. The boat scraped against her side while the oarsman hooked on.
Fury fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a couple of coins and thrust them into the hand of the nearest man.
‘Thankee sir!’ he said gratefully, staring down at them in his leathery palm.
‘Wait alongside while I organise some men to hoist my chest on board,’ Fury ordered, straightening his new coat and pushing his hat further down on to his head as he got up and moved towards the ship’s entry ladder.
‘Aye sir!’ the man replied as Fury leaped, his hands gratefully grasping the rope hanging down on either side of the battens.
Reaching the deck, he looked around him in surprise at how much bigger she was than the Amazon. The main difference, though, was the poop deck, a separate smaller deck right aft above the quarterdeck, only present on third rates and above. The captain’s quarters were directly underneath the poop, so that on leaving his cabin he would be immediately on the quarterdeck with the wheel in front of him. Much more convenient than a frigate, where his cabin was underneath the quarterdeck on the upper deck.
Looking skywards, Fury could see that his daily trips aloft would be much more demanding here with the extra height of the masts. Dragging his gaze away, he straightened his sword and stepped forward to salute what he assumed to be the officer of the deck, a man in his mid twenties with sandy hair and tanned features.
‘Lieutenant Fury, reporting on board as ordered sir,’ he said, touching the brim of his hat.
‘Welcome aboard Mr Fury. My name’s Dullerbury.’
Fury took the proffered hand.
‘May I have some men to help hoist my chest on board?’
‘Of course,’ Dullerbury replied, turning to where a group of seamen were busy reeving some rope. ‘Gooseman! Take some men and get the lieutenant’s chest up from the boat. Then have it taken down to his cabin.’
‘Aye aye sir!’ Gooseman replied, at once nudging his companions to follow him.
‘So you’re the new lieutenant eh?’ Dullerbury said, turning back to Fury. ‘What’s the date of your commission?’
‘14 December last year. How about you?’ Fury asked.
‘16 May ’91,’ Dullerbury answered. ‘You’re the junior. Then me, Parker, Oldroyd and Ross, the first.’
‘I see,’ mused Fury, more to himself than anyone. He hadn’t of course expected anything else than to be the junior, this being his first real commission.
A thud behind him told him that his chest had just arrived on board.
‘This is your first time on a seventy-four is it, Mr Fury?’
‘Yes sir,’ Fury replied, turning back to Dullerbury. ‘Where will I be berthing?’
‘Officers’ cabins are in the wardroom on the upper deck. Your cabin is the foremost on the starboard side. Follow these men and they’ll take you there. I’ll let the captain know you’re on board. No doubt he’ll call for you when he’s ready to see you.’
Fury touched his hat again, the compliment being returned by Dullerbury, before he turned and followed the two seamen who were now carrying his sea chest forward to the hatchway leading below. Penetrating the gloom of the upper deck, Fury looked at the guns as they moved further aft, eighteen-pounders by the looks of them and much larger than those on the Amazon. A quick count revealed fourteen ports a side – twenty-eight eighteen-pounders on the upper deck, while down below would be the lower gun deck, carrying the massive thirty-two-pounders.
Looking aft past the upper part of the main capstan he could see the rows of flimsy cabins down each side of the ship stretching away to the stern, where the wide stern windows along with the hanging lanterns cast some light down in the wardroom. A long table stretching down the middle of the rows of cabins was obviously where the officers dined, it being occupied at this moment by a group of men enjoying their breakfast, the babbling of voices becoming louder as they approached. The men carrying his chest walked straight to his empty cabin, leaving the chest within and knuckling their foreheads as they hurriedly left. Fury turned to the table where the conversation had now all but died away.
‘You must be our fifth,’ came a voice from among the diners.
‘I am indeed. My name’s Fury – John Fury.’
‘Fury eh? With a name like that you must be a fire-eater!’ came a retort.
‘Take no notice of him,’ someone else joined in, rising from the table and proffering an outstretched hand, which Fury took. ‘My name’s Ross, first lieutenant. Allow me to make the introductions.’
Ross looked around the table, indicating with his hand each man in turn as he presented them. Even after the introductions, the names were still a blur – Fury had never been good with names – only a vague recollection that the men sat there consisted of the second and third lieutenants, a marine captain, the master, the purser, the surgeon and, of course, the first lieutenant.
‘Would you care to join us for breakfast?’ asked one man – the marine officer, judging by his uniform.
‘No – no thank you. I have already eaten. I think I’ll get settled and take a look around her.’
He touched his hat and entered his cabin, the space almost entirely dominated by the large black eighteen-pounder trussed up against the ship’s side. A quick struggle to place his sea chest underneath his cot was all the effort needed to settle in, and he left the room barely five minutes after entering, acknowledging the glances of the still-eating officers as he left.
His visit to Lord Hood in the Victory aside, this was his first time on board a line-of-battle ship, and he wanted to completely familiarise himself with her as early as possible, deciding to start on the lowest deck and work his way up.
He started on the orlop deck – he did not think it necessary to look into the main hold and cable tiers – passing through the surgeon’s and purser’s cabins, and the various storerooms down below. Then it was up to the lower gun deck where the men were just finishing their breakfast, removing mess tables and utensils as they hurried back to continue the day’s work, giving Fury a chance to inspect some of those great thirty-two-pounders. The lower
parts of the jeer capstan and the main capstan were down here also, the upper part being on the deck above allowing more men to operate the capstan at the same time but on different decks.
As he finished inspecting one of the guns, he became aware of a seaman hovering nearby, no doubt waiting for Fury to leave so he could finish clearing away. Fury straightened up and turned to make his way aft, but was interrupted by the seaman.
‘Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but welcome aboard.’
‘Clark!’
Fury stood looking at him in shock for a moment as the recognition sunk in.
‘It’s good to see you, sir.’
‘And you. How do you come to be on Fortitude?’
‘I was transferred from the Amazon when the new captain brought his own crew over. I was lucky enough to be posted here, and a right fine ship she is, too.’
Since saving Fury’s life in the Indian Ocean, he had been an ever-present companion, and Fury wondered for a moment if it was luck or whether Clark had somehow contrived to get posted here deliberately. He dismissed the thought immediately; it would be impossible for a common seaman to have any influence in his posting. Nevertheless it was nice to see a friendly face. The keen sense of loneliness he had felt since the death of his uncle was softened slightly with the knowledge that Clark was aboard.
‘She looks a fine ship indeed. Are there any other Amazons aboard?’
‘Aye sir. Thomas and Cooke, and Crouder.’
All three of them had taken part in the night-time cutting out of the Earl of Mornington, and Fury’s spirits rose further at the news that they were here.
‘Excellent! I look forward to seeing them. No doubt you have work to do, Clark, so I’ll not detain you any longer.’
‘Aye aye sir.’
Clark knuckled his forehead, his face still creased in a huge grin, and moved off. Fury smiled as he watched him go, and then started to make his way aft to the gunroom.
The gunner and all the midshipmen berthed here, and it was much darker than the wardroom above, as expected with no stern windows this far down. A group of four midshipmen were standing in a huddle next to the gunroom table. Fury turned quietly to leave, reluctant to disturb the young men during their leisure time.
‘Admit it, Francis. You’re nothing but a coward!’
The sentence was delivered with venom, and made Fury pause. He turned towards the voice.
‘You’re not fit to wear the uniform!’
The speaker was a midshipman of about Fury’s height, but probably a little younger. The object of his tirade was another midshipman, much smaller and even younger still.
‘How long have you been aboard? Over two years, and you’re still a disgrace to your profession. You’ll never make a seaman.’
The older midshipman persisted with his insults, and even from where he was standing Fury could see the younger boy clench his fists down by his side. Fury stepped forward to intervene, still unseen by the group of boys, but he was too late to stop the younger of the protagonists charge at his adversary. He caught him head first round the midriff and they both tumbled to the deck. There was a brief struggle while the larger boy recovered from the surprise of the attack, and then his greater size and strength began to tell. He was already on top of his opponent, raining down a flurry of punches on the smaller boy’s face by the time Fury pushed his way through the two startled midshipmen who were watching the fight with glee.
‘Avast there!’
There was no mistaking the authority in Fury’s voice as he shouted the command, and the fighting stopped immediately, both midshipmen looking up at him, startled.
‘On your feet, both of you,’ Fury demanded. ‘Up!’
They may not have recognised Fury, but they all recognised his lieutenant’s uniform. They both got to their feet in silence. The younger boy had blood running freely from his nose.
‘We were just playing, sir,’ the older boy offered.
‘Nonsense!’ Fury snapped. ‘I heard everything. I do not know what the disagreement is about, and I have no wish to know. You are supposed to be shipmates – whatever differences you have should be put aside. Believe me, you will get more than enough fighting when we meet the French, so I suggest you wait until then.’
‘Aye aye sir,’ they both replied in unison.
‘Good. Now, in the meantime, there is plenty of work to be getting on with.’ He pointed at the older boy. ‘What is your name?’
‘Midshipman Goddard, sir.’
‘Very well, Mr Goddard. The purser is down below checking on all the stores. You may go and join him and help him out. I’ll be seeing him later mark you, so I’ll know if you don’t show.’
The boy’s face fell at that news, and he nodded resignedly. ‘Aye aye sir.’
‘Off you go then.’
His smaller opponent, the blood still covering his nose and top lip, grinned surreptitiously at his messmate’s punishment, as Goddard saluted and trudged off. Fury turned to him.
‘What is your name?’
‘Midshipman Francis, sir.’
‘Do you require the surgeon, Mr Francis?’
‘No sir. It’s nothing.’
Francis fingered his nose and top lip gingerly, the flow of blood now stopped. Fury was tempted to ask what the fracas was all about, but resisted – it was none of his business.
‘Get yourself cleaned up then. You can give me a tour of the rest of the ship.’
In spite of the fact that Fury was impressed with the young man’s spirit in standing up for himself in the face of a much larger opponent, he didn’t want him to get off with no punishment. He was satisfied by the look of disappointment on the young boy’s face.
‘Aye aye sir.’
Fury watched while Francis moved away to clean up his face. The other two midshipmen who had witnessed the fight fidgeted nervously as they stood there, each trying to avoid catching Fury’s eye. Francis returned presently, and Fury gestured for him to lead the way.
‘I’ve seen enough down here, Mr Francis, so perhaps you can lead us to the upper deck.’
‘Aye aye sir.’
They reached the upper deck, passing quickly forward from the wardroom, past the waist where the rigging showed up black against the sky, on to the galley just abaft the foremast, and then out for a look at the beakhead bulkhead, the enormous bowsprit rising above it. Francis was completely silent as they continued the tour, contenting himself with one- or two-word answers to all of Fury’s comments.
Finally they made their way up on to the focsle to catch the morning breeze, moving aft past the galley chimney and the beautifully crafted belfry at the break of the focsle, picking their way through the men scattered about holystoning the deck, polishing brass work or overhauling rigging. They moved in silence along the starboard gangway at the side of the waist and on to the quarterdeck, Fury acknowledging Dullerbury’s greeting as he looked aft to the captain’s quarters, the wheel and binnacle sitting just in front. Eighteen nine-pounders he had counted up here – twelve on the quarterdeck and six forward on the focsle, completing her armament.
Fury turned to Francis as they stood on the quarterdeck, determined to bring the young man out of himself a little.
‘How long have you been in the service, Mr Francis?’
‘Two years sir.’
‘And you enjoy it?’
There was a small pause before Francis replied, just long enough to suggest that Francis was not being entirely honest.
‘Yes sir.’
Have you seen any action?’
‘No sir.’
Francis was an extremely shy young man, that much was obvious from his curt responses. Perhaps that was why he was bullied by his messmates. Fury had been lucky enough to get on well with all his messmates on board the Amazon as a midshipman, possibly due to their similar ages. If Francis was the youngest of the Fortitude’s midshipmen, he would be the natural choice for bullies such as Midshipman Goddard.
‘No doubt y
ou will soon enough.’
Fury could detect no hint of fear in Francis’ face at that thought. Whatever else he was, he was not a coward.
‘Very well, Mr Francis, you may go,’ Fury relented, aware that his attempt at opening Francis up a little had been a complete failure.
‘Thank you sir.’
Francis saluted with a look of relief on his face and hurried off, while Fury resolved to try again with the boy at a later date. He watched him disappear down the quarterdeck ladder and then turned his attention back to the quarterdeck, with the raised poop deck situated right aft.
He could see no guns up on the poop deck, and had already decided against going up there – he was not sure whether it was reserved just for the captain.
‘Passing the word for Lieutenant Fury!’
The deep-throated shout emanating from the captain’s quarters reached him at once on the quarterdeck. He hurried aft, glad that he was so close for his first summons from the captain. The sentry announced him as he passed through the sleeping cabin and into the captain’s day cabin, where Captain Young was standing with his back to him looking out of the stern windows.
‘Lieutenant Fury, reporting as ordered sir,’ he said, prompting Young to turn round and study him.
The first thing Fury noticed was his eyes – he could almost feel them boring into him as he stood there. He was slightly shorter than Fury, and was probably in his early forties, judging by the faint lines which marked his face around the eyes and mouth. His black hair was tied back tightly in a queue, tinged with the odd fleck of grey and receding slightly.
‘Welcome aboard Mr Fury,’ Young began. ‘I understand this is only your second ship, and your first ship of the line?’
‘Yes sir,’ Fury replied – he did not know what else to say to that.
‘You will find her different to handle after a frigate I can assure you, but you will see for yourself in due course.’
‘Yes sir,’ he replied again.
