by G. S. Beard
He could see it almost instantly, which meant that the masthead lookout must have been asleep for the last fifteen minutes. No doubt the captain would see to it that he was punished later.
He dragged his mind from such trivialities and studied the strange sail. She was by far the largest ship they had sighted so far on their cruise, and from what he could see she had only one mast, rigged fore and aft, probably one of the local Mediterranean craft used to sail short distances from port to port along the coast. She now found herself in a great deal of danger with the Fortitude bearing down on her, cutting off her escape to seaward and trapping her against the coast.
‘Deck there! She looks like a tartane sir!’
Fury looked at her again. He had never actually seen a tartane except in drawings, but he knew it was a very common craft in the Mediterranean, both for merchantmen and even pirates. Now that he looked more closely he could see she had two masts, the fore being raked forward considerably. Each mast had a large lateen sail attached to a curved yard, and she was currently trying desperately to skim along the coast and get far enough ahead to be able to gain sea room. It was obvious however that the Fortitude, thrashing along under full sail towards the south coast of France with the wind almost abeam, would easily cut her off.
It was hopeless for her, her commander must see that. Even close into the shore where the Fortitude could not go she would still be in range of their guns, one broadside of which would be enough to destroy her completely. The coast was no more than a mile ahead, the tartane with her distinctive curved hull now visible to the naked eye.
‘Mr Parker,’ Captain Young shouted, ‘have the larboard guns on the upper deck loaded and run out!’
Parker acknowledged with a wave, shouting at the men on deck to harry the relevant gun crews to their stations. The fact that Young had not thought it necessary to beat to quarters was an indication of how insignificant the tartane was – the upper deck eighteen-pounders would be quite sufficient. It also allowed Fury to remain on deck and watch the rest of the chase.
‘Deck there! There’s a bay a mile ahead sir!’
Fury tried to bring up a mental picture of the coastline in this region from his studying of the charts over the past weeks. He could recall only one bay in this area, with the town of Sète on the eastern side covered by a single battery of twenty-four-pounders, which had fired at them on their journey west. The tartane was hurrying for the protection of those twenty-four-pounders now, knowing that was her only chance of survival.
A rumbling of gun trucks transmitted itself through the deck planking as Parker had the guns run out ready, but Fury could see the tartane would make it into the bay before the Fortitude was within range.
‘Come two points to starboard,’ Young muttered to the helmsman, bringing the Fortitude round to a course less acute with the shore. ‘Shorten sail to topsails only if you please, Mr Ross,’ Young continued, prompting the first lieutenant to snatch up a speaking trumpet and bellow the order for all hands.
Within a few minutes the crew were at their stations and the first lieutenant was giving the orders which sent them hauling on sheets, buntlines and clew lines to bring the billowing canvas of the topgallants and the courses up to the yard above, while the topmen quickly laid out along the yard to fasten the sails securely with the gaskets. Another order to the men on the focsle sent them slowly releasing the jib downhaul, the jib gradually coming down to be secured in the netting above the jib boom.
Almost without effort the Fortitude was now under topsails only, her speed slowed and the movement of the hull transmitting itself up through Fury’s legs as he swayed easily with the pitch and roll.
Looking forward he could see the tartane had reached the bay, easing her helm over and heading for the eastern side under the protection of the battery which Fury could now see standing there, stark and clear against the grey horizon beyond. A flash appeared as he watched, the dull clap reaching his ears a second later swiftly followed by another and then another. Fury could hear no sound of the passing shots, and a quick glance aloft showed that no damage had been sustained. More followed, Fury this time seeing splashes in the sea about fifty yards ahead marking where the shot had landed.
They were just out of range of the battery over there, and Young obviously thought it prudent to keep it that way.
‘Port your helm,’ he ordered the quartermaster, the order being relayed to the helmsman who began running the spokes of the wheel through his fingers in response.
Fury watched as the Fortitude came slowly round until she was running parallel to the shore, running across the mouth of the bay. A muttered command from Young steadied the ship on that course before he moved forward to the quarterdeck rail overlooking the waist.
‘Mr Parker!’ he shouted down, waiting for Parker’s head to appear before continuing. ‘You may try the range as we pass.’
‘Aye aye sir!’ Parker replied.
The tartane had begun to anchor now, over on the eastern side of the bay and close in with the shore, protected from seaward by the battery. Fury was confused as to why Young wanted to fire at her – they would have to sail in closer to be within range, which would in turn place them within range of the shore battery. Fury doubted very much whether the risk was worth taking.
The first gun banged out below as they began to fire, Fury immediately whipping his telescope to his eye to look for the fall of the shot. He thought he could see a fountain of water shoot up a good 300 yards short of the tartane, but he could not be sure at that distance.
‘Well out of range sir,’ commented Ross to his captain, both standing there glass to eye as the Fortitude finally reached the eastern end of the bay and the last gun below was fired.
‘Put the helm down,’ Young ordered the helmsman, glass still to his eye towards the shore. ‘Have the foreyard braced round if you please, Mr Ross.’
The Fortitude slowly began to swing back in towards the shore as Ross barked out the orders which sent the men hauling at the braces to swing the foretopsail yard round the other way.
‘Keep her at that,’ Young snapped at the helmsman, as the distant coast showed up beyond the Fortitude’s jib boom. They were stationary now, just out of range of the shore battery with the backed foretopsail counteracting the forward thrust of the main and mizzen topsails.
‘Mr Parker!’
That was the captain hailing down to the upper deck again.
‘You may run in and secure the guns! Mr Ross,’ he turned to the first lieutenant, ‘I would like to see all the lieutenants in my cabin in ten minutes, along with Captain Williams.’
‘Aye aye sir,’ Ross replied.
Young left the quarterdeck, prompting the men within earshot to begin speculating what the captain was planning. Fury supposed he could only be contemplating a cutting-out attack on the tartane, although he could not quite see why they would need the marine captain, Williams, along. Whatever was planned, he was desperate to be involved. Anything to relieve the monotony of the last few weeks and get the heart pumping again.
Ten minutes later he was standing in the captain’s cabin along with the other lieutenants and the marine officer, everyone seated except for Fury and Williams.
‘This is what I intend,’ the captain began, sitting back in his chair behind the desk and looking round at the faces opposite him. ‘We shall get underway again shortly and head south-east. Once we are out of sight of land we shall heave to and wait for dark. We shall then proceed back here where two boats – the launch under Lieutenant Ross and the cutter under Lieutenant Fury – will land with a detachment of marines under Captain Williams and storm the battery, destroying all the guns and igniting the powder magazine. At the same time Lieutenant Dullerbury will take the gig and cut out the tartane before she can get away. Unfortunately she is too small to be purchased into the service, so there is little point in us taking her; she will have to be destroyed. The crew can be let ashore before she is set ablaze. Any questions?’
He glanced around at the officers but no one said a word. It was all relatively simple. Young was presumably hoping that the sight of the Fortitude bearing away would convince the garrison at the battery that they had given up and carried on their journey, making them relaxed and complacent. Whether they would believe the Fortitude had given up so easily, Fury was not so sure.
‘Very well then,’ Young continued, interrupting Fury’s thoughts, ‘you may each pick your own men and see that they are told off and fully equipped before we arrive back. That is all.’ He turned to the first lieutenant. ‘Mr Ross, I’ll trouble you to get us under way now. Lay in a course of south-east.’
‘Aye aye sir,’ Ross replied as the officers all left the cabin, Fury’s heart already beginning to beat harder at the prospect of action once again.
Lieutenant Ross loomed up out of the darkness in front of Fury as he stood silently on the Fortitude’s quarterdeck.
‘All ready Mr Fury?’ he said softly.
‘All ready sir,’ Fury replied.
‘Very well then, get them down into the cutter.’
‘Aye aye sir.’
Fury turned and hissed a quick order to the men standing behind him, all ready with cutlasses and pistols. They immediately began quietly filing down into the waiting cutter below, fastened against the ship’s side by the painter attached to the boat’s bow.
Fury had made a point of picking all the ex-Amazons on board Fortitude – Clark, Thomas, Cooke and Crouder – among his crew. He had fought side by side with these men before, and their presence gave him confidence. The remainder of his cutter’s crew was made up by men from his own division, whom he judged to be steady and reliable.
The small number of marines were now making their way down the Fortitude’s side, and Fury tried to take a look at his watch while he waited, but could not quite make out the hands in the darkness. It was probably some time after midnight. It had been about four hours since darkness had fallen and the captain had been able to order the Fortitude to set a course back for the bay, boats already in the water and towing astern to avoid the necessity of hoisting them out once they arrived – noise would carry on such a still night as this.
A man had been placed at the masthead with a night glass, and on sighting the battery Captain Young had ordered the ship hove to, and the seamen and marines chosen for the task ahead had been assembled and told off.
Fury looked over the side to see that his cutter was now filled with men – seamen at the oars and marines sitting in-between, unloaded muskets pointing upwards. He heard Ross mutter a quick order to his own men which sent them hurrying down into the launch below, leaving only the officers left on deck.
‘Remember Mr Fury, absolute silence from now on. Let’s go, gentlemen.’
Williams and Fury both acknowledged, Fury slightly annoyed with Ross for reminding him of such an obvious fact like he was some young midshipman on his first action.
Fury went down first, eager to be away from the cloying attentions of the first lieutenant, if only for a short time. It took merely a moment to reach the bottom of the Fortitude’s side, and a small leap from there found him in amongst the crew of the cutter, the faces of the ex-Amazons all beaming at him in anticipation. He stifled his own grin and picked his way aft to settle himself in the stern sheets next to the tiller, the feel of the cool solid oak of the tiller bar strangely comforting as he gripped it. He caught sight of Midshipman Francis’ face next to him, the boy’s nervousness all too apparent. This was to be his first taste of action, and Fury knew that if he came through this unscathed, his self-confidence would soar.
‘Shove off!’ he ordered, the boat quickly drifting away from the Fortitude’s side as they waited for Ross and Williams to get down into the launch and begin.
‘Give way all,’ he hissed, once he could see the launch out ahead and surging forward. They crossed the Fortitude’s stern as they lay a course for the shore about a mile away from the shore battery.
Hopefully Lieutenant Dullerbury, who had set off half an hour earlier in the gig to get into position, would be ready as soon as they stormed the battery. It had been agreed that they would not rely on a specific time for the attack, but that Dullerbury would merely wait, only attacking the tartane once the fighting on shore became obvious. If he timed it right they should take her before her crew had a chance to weigh anchor and slip out of the bay.
Fury’s eyes were hurting now as he peered forward into the darkness to keep the stern of the launch in sight. They were lucky it was a calm night with not much of a sea running so that the men had a relatively easy pull of it. The only noises he could hear were the occasional small splashes of water as the oar blades left and re-entered the swell, the soft grunts of the oarsmen as they pulled, and the low groaning of the muffled oars moving in the rowlocks. Certainly nothing that would carry a mile and alert the garrison.
They must be nearing the shore soon, Fury thought, as he saw what he thought was the darker loom of the coastline up ahead. Fury turned his ear forward, listening intently. Yes! A faint hissing sound. Looking forward beyond the launch ahead he saw a strip of white, and it took him some moments to realise that it was a low beach, the hissing sound of the surf on the sand growing louder as they approached. Five minutes later and the familiar scraping sound told him that the cutter had grounded on the sloping beach, the seamen immediately leaping out to haul the boat sufficiently further in for the marines to disembark safely.
Once emptied, the boats were hauled higher up on to the cold sand and the seamen and marines were quietly assembled. Leaving a seaman each in charge of the two boats, the men set off up the beach, picking their way among scattered rocks as they headed inland before finally coming to grass, with what looked like a wide track running through it, parallel to the coast. It was probably the only road along the coast, used to travel between one village and another and to send supplies to the various garrisons, Fury thought, as the men were stopped and Ross reiterated in a hoarse whisper the need for complete silence, backing it up with the threat of a flogging for any man that made a sound before he gave the order. One more curt command sent them trudging westward along the track, the men travelling two abreast with Fury and Ross at the head of the column. Captain Williams and his sergeant led the column of marines bringing up the rear.
The occasional low curse as an ankle turned on loose stones was all that could be heard as they moved forward steadily, so that in less than half an hour a dark shape out in front, only just discernible against the night sky, heralded their arrival at the battery.
‘Pass the word along to stop,’ whispered Ross to the seamen behind him, Ross and Fury themselves taking a few more paces forward to ensure no one clattered into them in the darkness.
It was inevitable that there would be some collisions as the men stopped, so Fury was not surprised when the clash of steel on steel drifted forward, betraying at least one clumsy man who had walked into the man in front.
‘Wait here,’ Ross whispered tersely, before moving forward silently until he was swallowed up in the gloom.
Captain Williams was soon up next to Fury, having left his sergeant in charge of the marines. Together they waited. Five minutes or more must have passed and Fury began to feel uneasy. A noise somewhere ahead in the darkness had his pistol out and his palms sweating. A moment later Ross appeared at last, taking a few moments to catch his breath before he began to tell Fury and Williams what he had seen.
‘This path carries on for about another fifty yards, then splits in two. The path to the right probably leads to Sète and any other towns and villages hereabouts. The path to the left leads up to the battery, which is on a slight rise. I could not see any sentries around – they most probably think they’re perfectly safe with the thick wooden door bolted shut. God knows how long it’ll take our axe men to get through the door, so you, Mr Fury, will lead the seamen round the other side and scale the wall with grapnels as soon as you hear us begin. Understood
?’
‘Aye sir,’ Fury replied.
‘Captain Williams, your marines will remain with me at the entrance and enter as soon as the door is down.’
‘Yes sir,’ replied Williams.
‘Very well. Rejoin your men and have them load their muskets now. Then we will begin.’
Williams strode back to his men, Fury and Ross giving him enough time to get back and have his men load their weapons, before ordering them forward once again.
They reached the fork in the road in no time and from there it began to slope up towards the battery, now black and imposing against the starry sky. Either side of the road was low brush and the men were stopped once again by Ross.
‘Mr Fury, take all the seamen except for the axe men and approach the battery from the left. I will give you time to get in position before we attack. I will lead the marines over from the right. Carry on.’
‘Aye aye sir. Good luck!’ Fury replied, moving back through the ranks of seamen whispering the plan and moving them over to the left.
He had sixteen men in all, including Francis, now standing in the brush at the side of the road, leaving two remaining seamen standing behind Ross with axes. He gave a curt order and started to pick his way about thirty yards over to the left, well away from the road so that any sleepy sentry would have little chance of spotting them. Francis was keeping close by Fury on his left, and Fury could sense someone else just on his right shoulder, and knew without looking it would be Clark. He could hear the rest of the men behind him rustling through the brush and no doubt muttering curses to themselves as the bushes tore at their trousers and legs.
He began to lead them forward now towards the battery, standing to their right. It was only a gentle slope but by the time they were halfway there the men were breathing hard – it was difficult to get used to walking on land again after so long at sea. With fifty yards to go he instinctively began to crouch a little as he moved forward, the pistols in his waistband digging into his stomach as he went. Thirty yards left and he was expecting a shout of alarm at any moment, but none came as he reached the flat of the rise and bounded silently over to the wall of the battery, planting his back against the cool stone as he looked up. A quick count revealed that all the men were with him still, standing flat against the wall and waiting for the order to begin.
