Lieutenant Fury

by G. S. Beard

  Fury slowly began to move along the wall, beckoning the men to follow him. They were walking back towards the sea now and a few seconds later Fury reached one of the corners of the battery, turning right along the wall that faced seaward. He stopped at what he estimated to be about halfway along and looked up, standing back from the wall slightly to get a better view. He could see that the top of the wall had squares cut into it at regular intervals. Those would be the embrasures, through which the guns would be run out to fire seaward. There would doubtless be more embrasures if he led his men round the next corner, along the side of the battery which covered the bay itself, but he judged that this was as good a place as any to attack from. Better in fact, since this wall would be directly behind the French soldiers as they defended Ross’ attack from the front.

  ‘Thomas, Cooke, Gooseman,’ he whispered softly.

  The three seamen, all holding the grapnels that would be used to scale the wall, crowded round him to listen.

  ‘Stand ready with your grapnels. We will begin as soon as we hear Lieutenant Ross attacking from the front, but wait for my order. Is that understood?’

  A nod from each man told him it was, and they moved away silently to give themselves more room when the time came to release the grapnels. They could only stand there and wait now, trying to listen intently for any signs of alarm or attack, Fury hoping that his thudding heart would not waken the sleeping garrison.

  Francis was still next to him, and Fury thought he could sense the boy trembling a little.

  ‘Mr Francis,’ he whispered. ‘When we attack, you will wait down here until the last of the men have scaled the wall before ascending. I want to make sure none of the men are tempted to hang back. Is that clear?’

  Fury thought he could detect a hint of relief in Francis’ reply.

  ‘Aye aye sir.’

  It was all nonsense, of course; Fury had no worries whatsoever about the men’s courage, or their eagerness to be at the enemy, but he wished to save Francis the ordeal of being one of the first over the top of the wall during his first ever action.

  The silence continued, disturbed only by the faint sound of the surf on the rocks below, and the occasional voice or laugh from within the fort. He was not sure how long they all stood there before they heard it: a faint thudding noise, quickly followed by another and then another before a cry rang out, sharp and piercing in the night air.

  He looked at the three men holding grapnels all waiting for his order, nodding to them.

  ‘Now’s the time lads!’

  All three men began swinging the lines with the grapnels attached to the end, trying to get a rhythm going before the throw. All the time, Fury was conscious of constant thuds as the axe men ploughed their axes into the wooden door at the front, more shouts reverberating from inside the battery as the garrison were awakened.

  Gooseman was the first to release his grapnel, Fury watching as it went flying upwards to hit the wall with a clang just below the top. Thomas was now releasing his grapnel and Fury watched as it cleared the top of the wall and disappeared beyond. Several strong tugs on the line confirmed that it was secure.

  ‘Give me that!’ snapped Fury, as he saw Thomas about to begin climbing. Thomas passed him the line sheepishly as the noise beyond the walls increased, a volley of shots ringing out, quickly followed by men screaming.

  That would be Williams and his marines, Fury thought, as he began hauling himself up the line, walking up with his feet against the wall. He was conscious of a man climbing to his left – obviously Cooke had got his grapnel secured – and he had some recollection of Gooseman having a second attempt as he climbed. He was near the top now, struggling for breath and feeling like his arms would snap as he grabbed the top of the parapet and hauled himself over, wearily rolling on top of the wall and dropping off to the platform just behind. He picked himself up and looked to his left where his other men were coming over, led by Clark.

  Along the platform at regular intervals were the guns, six of them along this wall. He wasted no further time up there, but started running towards the stone steps leading down to the courtyard, drawing his sword as he ran and shouting for his men to follow him. A quick glance as he bounded down the steps was enough to take in the scene below. Dead men were scattered about from the marines’ first volley as they burst in through the shattered door. The marines were following their volley with a bayonet charge at the now retreating Frenchmen.

  Fury reached the bottom of the steps with Clark to his left and Thomas to his right. The French in front of him were turning in astonishment at the sound of their shouts as they approached, Fury lunging with his sword at the first man in a blue uniform to meet him and sending him writhing to the floor with blood spouting from his stomach. He could sense Clark and Thomas on either side of him, swinging down with their cutlasses, and he could see more Frenchmen go down from the blows. One more wild slash downwards towards another man and it was suddenly all over, the remaining enemy throwing down their swords and pleading for quarter.

  The red uniforms of the marines were soon all around him, shepherding the prisoners away and collecting the weapons. Ross was now in front of him, grinning like a child.

  ‘Well done Mr Fury. That was nicely timed.’

  ‘Thank you sir,’ Fury replied, grinning back at him.

  ‘Set the men to work spiking the guns if you please,’ Ross continued, ‘I will see to the magazine.’

  ‘Aye aye sir.’

  Fury looked around for Steele, a stocky quarter gunner with rotten teeth who, if his memory served him correctly, was the last man he had seen carrying the tools needed to spike the guns. There he was on the rampart overlooking the bay with bag in hand. Fury made his way up and beckoned Steele to come over. He obliged, knuckling his forehead.

  ‘You know what you have to do?’ Fury asked.

  ‘Yes sir,’ Steele replied patiently.

  Fury could smell his breath and wondered how on earth his messmates could stand it day after day.

  ‘Very well, make a start, but see to it that you hammer the rods down securely before breaking off.’

  ‘Aye aye sir.’

  Steele moved over to the first gun and opened the small bag, taking out several metal spikes and a hammer. Picking up a spike, he inserted one end into the touch hole of the first gun and began hammering it down. Satisfied that the spike was down far enough, he then set the hammer to breaking off the remaining end of the spike which was protruding from the touch hole.

  Ordinarily it would take a trained gunner a couple of hours with his drill to make the gun serviceable once again, but along with the planned explosion of the magazine downstairs, it was unlikely in this case that they would ever be used again.

  Fury moved between two of the guns and peered out into the bay, just able to make out the darker outline of the tartane on the water, helped by the light of the moon. As far as he could recollect he had not heard a sound from her thus far, and he was not able to discern by looking at her whether or not Dullerbury had taken her, but the very fact that she was still there was a positive indication. Certainly her crew of ten or so would be unable to put up much resistance against the Fortitude’s boarding party.

  He turned round as Francis approached, grinning broadly, whether from relief or satisfaction Fury wasn’t sure.

  ‘Are all the men in the fort, Mr Francis?’

  ‘Aye sir. I had a job holding them back.’

  ‘Excellent. Well done. You may make your way below and help with the prisoners.’

  ‘Aye aye sir.’

  Francis moved away and Fury watched him, hoping that tonight’s experience would help him, even if he hadn’t actually had any action. It was enough for now that he had experienced the fear and the adrenalin prior to action, so that next time he would know what to expect and how to control his emotions.

  Steele had finished spiking the six guns on this side of the battery and he moved over to those overlooking the sea, Fury walk
ing along and inspecting each gun. He was just rising from inspecting the last of the six when a light caught his eye in the bay.

  He looked out, unsure at first as to whether or not his eyes were playing tricks on him. He saw it again, a small orange flicker from within the anchored tartane, growing noticeably as he looked, followed quickly by the appearance of smoke. In minutes her whole deck was ablaze, the flames sweeping up the masts and engulfing yards and sails. He could just make out a boat creeping out to sea like a beetle over the black water. That would be Dullerbury, heading back to the Fortitude after setting her ablaze.

  ‘All the guns ’ave been spiked sir.’

  The voice startled Fury and he swung round, his night vision all gone after staring at the flames for so long.

  ‘Very well. Get all the men down off the ramparts and mustered at the entrance.’

  ‘Aye aye sir,’ Steele acknowledged, hurrying off and beckoning to the two men who had been helping him to follow.

  Fury walked over to the side of the battery overlooking the sea to inspect the remaining six guns that Steele had spiked. The job took only a few minutes before he was hurrying down to the courtyard below, seeing a length of match snaking its way out of an open door in the ground as he looked around for Ross. That doorway must lead down to the magazine, he thought, little more than a cellar underneath the floor of the battery. Ross was obviously just finishing the preparations for igniting the magazine as Fury arrived.

  ‘All the guns have been spiked sir,’ Fury reported.

  ‘Excellent!’

  Ross turned round to where the prisoners were huddled under marine guard, supervised by Francis. He shouted out a torrent of French at them before ordering the guards, in English, to set them free. The men hurriedly ran out of the battery and fled down the road as quickly as they could.

  ‘Mr Fury,’ Ross began, turning back to him, ‘please make sure all the men are present and have them wait for me down at the fork in the road. I have cut a fuse which will give us ten minutes once it is ignited.’

  ‘Aye aye sir,’ Fury replied, moving over to where the men were waiting by the door, which was severely jagged and splintered, and hanging by one hinge.

  A quick count confirmed that everyone was present and so he turned to Captain Williams.

  ‘Mr Ross’ compliments, and he would be obliged if you would take the men down to where the road forks at the bottom of the slope. When you are there, fire one round and wait for myself and Mr Ross to join you.’

  Williams nodded and Fury turned to the men.

  ‘We shall be setting light to the magazine shortly and we will be retreating back to the boats in an orderly manner. Any man who panics and runs will be flogged tomorrow, I guarantee it!’

  The marine captain led the way out of the entrance, the men filing out after him so that it was a few minutes before Fury, staring down the slope after them, could no longer see them in the darkness. A short time later a single shot rang out in the distance.

  ‘All the men are in position sir.’

  Ross grunted his acknowledgement as he silently sank on to one knee and began struggling with flint and steel, trying to get a satisfactory spark. Fury saw him rise and could already hear the hiss and splutter of the lighted slow match as Ross made his way over to him.

  ‘Come along Mr Fury,’ he muttered, as he led the way out of the battery and started to run down the road with Fury following close behind.

  The incentive of getting away from an exploding magazine made the journey down much easier, so that it was a matter of moments before they reached the group of men waiting at the bottom. A curt order sent them all marching and stumbling along at a quick pace, Fury wishing there was enough light to see his watch so that he could tell how much time was left.

  The chances of one of the French soldiers running back and putting out the fuse crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. They had no idea how long the fuse had been set for, and besides, only a madman would run into a battery that was about to explode.

  Ten minutes must have passed by now, he thought, suddenly beginning to experience doubts. What if the fuse had gone out? What if it had been jerked out of the powder at some point?

  At that same moment the sky suddenly lit up, and a fraction of a second later an ear-splitting explosion reached them, everyone stopping and turning quickly as the initial flash of light from the explosion faded to reveal earth and stone being flung up high into the air. Luckily they were beyond the blast radius so none of the debris came near. Seconds later all that was left of the battery was a pall of smoke, grey against the black sky.

  ‘Carry on!’ Ross shouted.

  They reached the beach quickly, clambering into the waiting boats and shoving off, with Fury taking the tiller of the cutter once again as the men bent to their oars to send the boat surging against the weak tide. He could still see the vague outline of the launch up ahead, but it did not matter; it had been agreed that once the battery had been destroyed, Fortitude would display stern lights to allow the boats to find her again, and Fury could clearly see those lights ahead, not more than 200 yards now. If no explosion had been seen by four o’clock that morning, it was to be assumed that the attack had failed and the Fortitude would hoist her lights then, to let the returning boats see her.

  In no time they were passing under her stern and hooking on, Fury leaping out and hurrying up the battens which formed the ladder, helped by the ship’s tumblehome as he reached the quarterdeck.

  ‘Well done Mr Fury!’ Captain Young said as he saluted.

  Both Ross and Dullerbury were standing with him, satisfied looks on their faces.

  ‘I think we can call the operation a success,’ the captain continued, with a mastery of understatement. He turned to the master, Mr Potter, who was standing aft by the wheel. ‘Mr Potter, we’ll get underway again now. I think it would be wise to get some sea room. Then you may lay in a course back to Toulon.’

  ‘Aye aye sir.’

  ‘Gentlemen,’ the captain continued, turning back to them, ‘I think you deserve a little sleep now.’

  They all saluted, Fury following Ross and Dullerbury down below. That last order of Young’s to the master had dampened his spirits considerably. In a few days – a week at most – they would be back among the fleet, back among the monotony of close blockade.

  Chapter Seven

  Five days later, under a hot and humid mid-afternoon sun, the Fortitude found herself once again on blockade duty, this time beating back and forth off Marseilles. Occasionally she would poke her nose in a little too far for the French commander over at the battery on the eastern side of the harbour, prompting him to open fire just in case the Fortitude’s captain had misjudged the range and left his ship exposed. On every occasion however, the same result occurred – the shot would fall short, and a curt order by Captain Young would see the Fortitude wearing round to gain more sea room, only to beat back again later to repeat the whole process.

  Fury was ordered up to the masthead with his uncle’s telescope, to take a look into the harbour and see how many ships were anchored there and in what state they were. He was able to see only one frigate without her yards crossed amid the smaller craft, and that was why the British fleet under Hood was largely ignoring Marseilles in favour of Toulon, where the main French Mediterranean fleet were trapped.

  As he kept up his watch, he began to wonder why the battery over on the western shore did not open fire on them also. He cursed himself for his curiosity as he prepared to climb down, deciding that the commander of that battery was probably merely trying to save his powder and shot. On regaining the deck he reported his sightings to Captain Young immediately, and Young carefully wrote down his verbal report.

  They would be up to the main British fleet by tomorrow, and Young was obviously using this as a chance to gain more intelligence for Lord Hood regarding the harbour and the ships anchored there.

  Fury walked away from the captain, his job done, and look
ed around at the men going about their work. It was amazing to note the change in mood of the crew immediately after the destruction of the French battery and tartane off Sète. Even the men who had not taken part in the attack had found the excitement lifted their spirits. Now, the thought of months of blockade duty ahead was beginning to have its effect once more, not least on Fury himself.

  Although he enjoyed his new ship, he could not help wishing he were back in a frigate, away from the apron strings of a fleet. He had already seen how one small action could lift an entire crew, so the thought of blockade duty, wearing down both men and ship with no chance of action, appalled him. Trying to shake his mind free of such depressing thoughts, he stood by the hammock nettings looking out at the sea, the short steep waves turning into a frothy white as the wind whipped at the crests.

  The Fortitude had just finished tacking, his mind subconsciously registering the orders shouted by Ross which turned the Fortitude into the wind, crossing twelve points of the compass, before settling down on to her new tack to beat back closer to the harbour mouth.

  Over to the west he could see the sun was now beginning its slow descent towards the horizon, straining his eyes as he stared at it unconsciously for too long.

  ‘Deck there! Fore masthead lookout here!’

  Fury looked up, suddenly excited at the possibility of action – perhaps the lookout had spotted a ship to seaward, trying to slip past them into Marseilles harbour.

  ‘Deck here!’ Ross bellowed back from the quarterdeck, ‘What is it?’

  ‘Sail sir, comin’ out of the harbour near the western shore. Looks like a small lugger to me sir!’

  Fury immediately walked forward clutching his telescope, steadying himself by the starboard fore chains before resting the glass on the rigging and scanning the harbour. He could see her now, only a small vessel with a handful of crew, just passing underneath the guns of the battery which had not fired a shot. She was hauling her wind and heading out from the shallows of the coastline. Was she mad? On this course she would pass close to the Fortitude, but she could not possibly be contemplating that.