Lieutenant Fury

by G. S. Beard

The Fortitude made a slow stern board as the wind on the forward part of her sails pushed her back, another quick order from Ross sending the men scrambling aloft to furl those sails.

  When sufficient cable had been let out it was secured round the bitts on the upper deck with deck stoppers, attached to keep the cable secured and leaving the Fortitude at a standstill, gently snubbing at her anchor cable as she swung to wind and current.

  A quick look at his watch revealed that it was nearly midday, and the absence of any breakfast this morning meant Fury was now ravenous. He swung his glass eastward to try and take his mind away from his protesting stomach, but could see little there – his view was blocked by the masts, spars and rigging of a number of the British fleet which were anchored in his line of sight.

  Giving up, he looked at his watch again, willing the hands to turn faster. Just five minutes to go now before the noon meal, and so he snapped his telescope shut and started to make his way below. At the top of the companion ladder leading down to the upper deck he paused, sparing a glance at the van of the Spanish fleet – their allies – now weathering Cape Cepet and entering the outer road in the wake of the British fleet. He found it strange that he was feeling uneasy by their presence, not reassured as he surely should be.

  The flags of Great Britain and Spain waved promiscuously together as the two fleets swung to their anchors in the outer road of Toulon harbour.

  The day after they had entered and taken possession of the city, a reinforcement of 1,000 men disembarked from the Spanish fleet and dispersed among Elphinstone’s men to help man the many forts and redoubts surrounding it.

  News began circulating throughout the fleet thick and fast during the next day, the 30th, as the officers of Fortitude kept their men busy scrubbing, cleaning and repairing as if an admiral were inspecting.

  Lord Hood appointed Rear Admiral Goodall as governor of Toulon and its dependencies, while at the same time news reached the fleet that the Republican General Carteaux had occupied the village of Ollioulle, to the west of Toulon, with part of his army – some 750 men, a force of cavalry, and ten cannon. On his way past Marseilles his troops had supported an uprising from a Republican mob, resulting in the guillotine for thousands of men and women who were deemed to have participated in the Royalist plot to surrender the city. It was a blessing in disguise for Hood, Fury had thought, now having only Toulon to think about.

  That night, walking the quarterdeck to get some air, Fury could clearly hear ferocious gunfire to the west. The following day it was explained by Captain Young who, having returned from a visit to the flagship, informed his officers that Captain Elphinstone had marched out to the west at the head of 600 troops, English and Spanish, attacking Carteaux and his men and sending them fleeing from their posts, abandoning four of their cannon and a quantity of supplies.

  Nevertheless, the Republican numbers surrounding the city were growing, and Fury knew it was only a matter of time before their defences were tested to the limit.

  To ease the burden of occupation, Lord Hood decided that the remaining 5,000 disaffected seamen from the French fleet should be shipped out to prevent them from rising up against their captors, the least serviceable ships amongst the French fleet being selected for their journey.

  For days after that, the whole fleet remained at anchor. During this time Fury and the rest of the Fortitude’s officers were allowed the chance to go ashore and explore the city as a diversion from the inactivity suffered on board.

  The quayside at the dockyard was bustling as Fury stepped ashore. Stores and munitions were being transferred to and from the ships laying in the inner basins, the boats carrying the stores beetling back and forth across the calm waters. Fury turned away and directed his attention to the dockyard itself, swarming with soldiers, sailors and civilians alike. A gang of convicts was over to his left, helping to load crates down into a waiting boat, overseen by a small number of Spanish soldiers.

  Fury found it strange being on French soil in what were essentially peaceful surroundings, although he had made a point of wearing his sword. He picked his way through the throng away from the waterside and towards the many dockyard buildings which were scattered about the rear of the quay. He passed what looked like the rope walk – the building used to make and house the many fathoms of rope needed on a ship under sail – on his right as the crowds of people thinned and he approached the town of Toulon beyond. A number of soldiers were stationed at the gate in the stone archway cut into the wall surrounding the city, and Fury acknowledged their salute as he passed through.

  He fingered the hilt of his sword nervously as he passed along the first of the streets, the wide cobbled road flanked on each side by closely knit buildings at least three storeys high. His uniform gave him away instantly as a British naval officer, and he was aware of curious glances in his direction from those inhabitants of the city who were going about their business in the street, some with mild interest, some with scowls. Fury suddenly wished he had brought his pistols with him, and he had a momentary thought to return to the ship to avoid the possibility of a knife in his back from a Republican fanatic, but his stubbornness made him continue.

  The uniforms of the various coalition forces had long since disappeared now, and Fury could feel the loneliness and isolation bearing down upon him, but he was determined to see all he could of the city while he had the chance. A woman came out of a shop in front of him and tipped a bucket full of filthy water into the gutter. She glanced sideways at him as he approached, the frown on her brow deepening as she studied his uniform, before spitting in his path. Fury returned her stare with defiance but ignored the insult, merely carrying on down the street in grim silence.

  The streets melded into one another in a monotony of cobbles and tall stone buildings as the sun continued its slow rise to its zenith and Fury proceeded, the worry that he was lost slowly increasing as he went. Another shopkeeper sat perspiring freely in the noon sun outside his store, waiting for the custom to arrive, as Fury approached. He steeled himself for another insult of some kind, and was pleasantly surprised when he received a smile and a polite greeting instead. He returned the man’s smile and continued, the smile still lingering on his face as he approached two men standing in conversation at the side of the road. Fury stepped on to the cobbled road to pass them, seeing out of the corner of his eye one of them nudge his companion and point to Fury. He heard some muffled words coming from the men but they were in French, so he had no knowledge of the insult.

  He stopped suddenly as something hit him in the back of his leg, and he turned and looked down to see a half-eaten apple laying on the ground. Verbal insults were one thing, but he was not prepared to be physically assaulted by any man. Stooping down, he picked up the apple. He gulped hard as his heart began to beat faster with the adrenalin of possible action, and walked towards the two men, both of whom were now looking at Fury with open hostility. He stopped just in front of them and looked at each of them, holding the apple up. They continued to stare back in defiance.

  ‘Whose is this?’

  Fury was unsure whether the men spoke English, but his nod in the direction of the apple was a sufficient translation. Both men shrugged but neither answered.

  ‘Have you anything you wish to say to my face?’ Fury persisted. He was getting nowhere fast and was beginning to wish he had ignored the incident. Again both men stood looking at him in silence, and Fury was about to turn away in exasperation when one of the men opened his mouth.

  ‘You are not wanted here, English pig.’

  The words were said in English, but it took Fury a few seconds to understand, so thick was the man’s accent.

  ‘Maybe not by you, but our arrival has been welcomed by the majority of the city, by decent people who are sick of the Republican tyranny sweeping your country.’ Fury felt like a politician making a speech, but he could see immediately his words had no impact.

  ‘The traitors of this city will soon suffer their punishment
for such treason. Once our army has forced you out, they will have no one to protect them.’

  ‘Your army does not have the discipline to retake the city.’

  Fury was not nearly so confident on that point as he sounded, but he wanted to prick the man’s arrogance.

  ‘Bah! You will see, Rosbif. The city will be awash with the blood of traitors, and with your blood.’

  The man was becoming vehement, and Fury could see it was useless to argue further. He half turned to go, when the man stepped towards him with his fists clenched. Fury’s hand went instinctively to the hilt of his sword, and he half drew it out of its scabbard. The rasping sound of the steel as the sword was withdrawn stopped the man in his tracks. He looked down at the half-drawn sword, and then back up to Fury’s face. If he had any doubts about Fury’s willingness to use it, they evaporated as he looked at the grim set of Fury’s mouth, and the cold eyes. He contented himself with a final verbal threat.

  ‘Go back to your ship, pig, before you get a knife in your back.’

  Fury was in wholehearted agreement, and began backing away from the men, still facing them. When he was far enough away, he turned and began walking briskly, still able to feel the glare of the two men’s eyes on his back. Twenty yards further on was a small side street, and Fury turned into it gratefully, stopping once he was round the corner and waiting for a few seconds while his heartbeat slowed. Ducking down, he peered round the end of the building back down the road, where the two men had recommenced their discussion, apparently satisfied with their verbal abuse. Relieved, Fury hurried down the side street, eager to get back to the dockyard and some friendly faces. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword as he walked, aware that he was now off the main streets. A right turn at the end of the current road should take him back towards the dockyard, he decided, trying to bring up a mental picture of the city.

  ‘Aide!’

  The shout pierced the air somewhere up ahead. Fury had no idea what was said, but could sense the terror in the voice, a female voice.

  ‘Ai—’

  The shout was this time cut off halfway through, and prompted Fury to break into a run towards the source of the scream. Thirty yards further along, a small alleyway ran perpendicular to the side street, and Fury could see three men struggling with a woman who was writhing on the ground in a futile attempt to get away. They were tearing at her dress, evidently in an attempt to strip her, but she was fighting back furiously. Fury drew his sword as he ran towards them, the adrenalin pumping once again and the usual calmness engulfing him as it always did before physical action. The intensity of the struggle was such that none of the men heard him approach until Fury himself shouted out.

  ‘Avast there!’

  Each man swung round, startled. Fury was on them before they had a chance to respond, slashing his sword across the arm of the first man he came to. The man screamed as he looked at his blood-soaked arm but Fury was already past him, sending the hilt of his sword into the next man’s temple. The third man hesitated in front of Fury, but a wild slash of his sword towards the man’s stomach prompted him to turn and flee down the alleyway. Fury turned quickly with his sword at the ready, but the other two assailants were already running the other way down the alley, one clutching his arm and the other his face. Satisfied, Fury sheathed his sword and turned to look down at the woman, little more than a girl, still lying propped up against one of the buildings and sobbing hysterically. Fury knelt down close to her and held out his hand slowly.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  The girl continued her sobbing, so Fury repeated the question. He could see her make a concerted effort to pull herself together as she dried her eyes and looked at him.

  ‘You are English?’

  Fury was surprised at the quality of her English. She looked little more than a peasant girl, with a very poor quality dress which looked worn and faded; it was obvious that anybody attempting to rob her would receive very little for their efforts, and so rape was the only possible explanation. She was perhaps a year or two younger than Fury, and had large brown eyes and brown hair held up in a bunch, but it was the fullness of her lips which struck Fury most. Even in her current state he could see how beautiful she was.

  ‘Yes, Mademoiselle. You are safe now, I assure you. Are you hurt?’

  ‘No sir, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Good. Let us get you to your feet.’

  Fury gestured with his outstretched hand and she reached out with a trembling hand to grasp it. Fury pulled her up and waited while she straightened her dress and composed herself. She was only a few inches shorter than Fury himself.

  ‘I am Lieutenant John Fury, of the Fortitude, anchored in the outer road.’

  ‘Thank you for your assistance, Mr Fury. My name is Sophie Gourrier.’

  ‘Please call me John, Mademoiselle.’

  ‘Thank you John. I cannot believe my own stupidity; I was in such a hurry to get to the market before it closed, I took a short cut through this alley.’

  ‘You cannot blame yourself, Mademoiselle,’ Fury attempted to console her.

  ‘Pah! I even walked past my attackers on the street before coming down here,’ she continued, ignoring Fury’s efforts. ‘It did not occur to me that I would be in any danger, even in the city’s current state of disorder. Such arrogance!’

  ‘You are too hard on yourself. Everyone errs in judgement from time to time. Now, I think it is time we left, in case they return. Perhaps it would be wise if you allowed me to escort you home?’

  ‘I would be grateful, thank you.’

  She gave him a half smile and for the first time Fury could see the fullness of her beauty. He stood looking at her in awe for so long that she diverted her eyes down towards the ground, snapping Fury out of his trance.

  ‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to lead the way?’

  She looked up at him shyly and nodded. ‘Of course.’

  She turned in the direction which the third of her assailants had fled, and Fury fell into quiet step beside her. They walked on in silence, Fury feeling awkward and uncomfortable in her presence. He wondered whether she was opposed to the English occupation of the city, like many of her countrymen, or whether she was a Royalist. They turned left at the end of the alleyway on to what looked to Fury like a residential street, albeit narrow and somewhat run-down. Finally she broke the silence.

  ‘Will your ship be staying in the harbour for long, John?’

  ‘I do not know, Mademoiselle. We are under the command of Admiral Hood, and must follow his orders.’

  ‘I would be pleased if you would call me Sophie. Mademoiselle seems so formal.’

  ‘Thank you Mademoi— Sophie.’

  He smiled sideways at her and she looked up at his face, returning his smile and sending Fury’s heart racing. He swallowed hard to compose himself.

  ‘I must compliment you on your English, Sophie. It is excellent.’

  ‘Thank you. I had a tutor when I was younger, although I have not had much chance to use it recently.’

  ‘A tutor?’ Fury was astonished from her appearance that she had been able to afford a private tutor.

  ‘Yes, a tutor,’ Sophie replied indignantly, leaving Fury sufficiently ashamed of his startled exclamation. ‘My family has not always struggled as we do now,’ she continued. ‘Before the Revolution, we lived in a chateau, with a moderate estate managed by my father. He was a comte back then. Now he is nothing, hiding his identity for fear of the guillotine and scraping by with any menial job he can find.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear it.’ It was a pitiful attempt at consolation, and Fury knew it.

  They lapsed into silence again for five minutes or so. Fury was not used to female company and was finding it difficult making polite conversation.

  ‘May I ask how far it is to your house, Sophie?’

  ‘We are almost there.’

  She pointed up ahead and to the right, where another small alleyway crossed the street. Fury’s
heart sank at the realisation that they would soon have to part company. They crossed the road and entered the alleyway, Sophie stopping at the first doorway on the left and turning to look up at Fury.

  ‘Thank you, John. I am most grateful for your assistance.’

  Rubbish was strewn along the length of the alleyway, and the doorway which they were standing at looked in serious need of repair.

  ‘I am heartily glad I was passing,’ Fury replied in earnest. ‘Perhaps you would do me the favour of keeping to the main streets in future if you have to go out alone. The city is not safe at the moment, and it would set my mind at ease.’

  She smiled again at his show of concern. ‘I shall – you have my word on it.’

  They stood looking at each other in silence for a few seconds, Fury unsure of what to say, yet wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible.

  ‘I’m sorry, I must go. My father will be worried about me.’

  She held out her hand, still trembling slightly after her ordeal. Fury took it in his and gave a small bow.

  ‘Perhaps, erm, I could call upon you soon. To make sure you have fully recovered, that is.’

  Fury was not sure he would be able to get any more shore leave, even if the Fortitude was to remain at anchor, but he was unwilling to go without at least the possibility of seeing her again.

  ‘I would enjoy that very much, John. I can usually be found at home after four o’clock each day, if that would suit.’

  ‘That would suit very well.’

  There was another brief silence, Fury realising he was still holding her hand in his. He let go, his self-consciousness getting the better of him.

  ‘Take care, Mademoiselle.’

  She smiled a farewell and opened the door, Fury waiting until she had closed it behind her before turning round and making his way out of the alley. He looked up and made a mental note of the name of the street, then set off in the direction he judged the quayside to be, his mind still racing at the thought of her.

  He could only hope that the Fortitude would be at anchor for a while, so that he could return as soon as possible and see her again.