Lieutenant Fury

by G. S. Beard

Fury would have liked to find out what damage, if any, the enemy ship had suffered as a result of the detonation. It would all depend on how close she was to the boat when it blew, but of course there was no way of knowing that.

  ‘You may dismiss the watch below Mr Francis, and see that the men get something to eat and a tot.’

  Fury did not hear Francis’ reply of ‘Aye aye sir’, as the mention of food had suddenly reminded him of his dinner invitation to his passengers. The invitation had been made primarily as an act of cool confidence in front of the ladies at a time when it looked in all probability like they would be captured. Now, not for the first time, he silently cursed himself for his loose tongue as he tried to think of a way of retreating from the engagement. He would gain little pleasure from Sophie’s company, surrounded as they would be by others, all demanding his attention.

  He racked his brain hard to find an honourable way out of the engagement, but could think of nothing. Finally, with a sigh, he accepted his obligation and turned to Clark, standing nearby.

  ‘Clark!’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Do any of the men know how to cook?’

  ‘Cook, sir?’ Clark replied, startled.

  ‘Yes, cook.’

  ‘Don’t rightly know sir.’

  ‘Well enquire amongst them, and if there aren’t any, pick the two with the most potential.’

  Clark saluted and hurried off, still with a puzzled look on his face. Fury could not blame him; a mere half an hour ago they had been in danger of capture, and now here he was trying to organise a dinner party. In ten minutes Clark was back, with Perrin and McSherry following behind, somewhat reluctantly it appeared to Fury.

  ‘They’re both convicted poachers sir,’ Clark explained. ‘If they can catch ’em, they must know how to cook ’em.’

  ‘Thank you Clark,’ Fury replied, turning to the two men. ‘Poachers eh?’

  ‘No sir,’ Perrin protested. ‘I worn’t guilty sir.’

  ‘No? Then how did you get convicted?’

  ‘They caught me with the birds on me, sir, and I just happened to be carrying a gun.’

  ‘Innocent eh?’ Fury stifled a grin. ‘Well, never mind about that. I shall be entertaining our passengers in my cabin, so we shall need some food. What do we have on board?’

  ‘Salt beef and pork sir,’ McSherry answered. ‘Pease. A little ship’s biscuit, and maybe a morsel of cheese stowed away.’

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘Water sir.’

  ‘Water? You want me to serve water at a dinner party?’

  ‘We ain’t got nothing else, sir.’

  Fury let out a large sigh – this was going to be a complete disaster. ‘Very well. Put some beef and pork in to boil, enough for seven people, along with some pease. Get whatever cheese you can find and serve it with the biscuit once we have finished our meal.’

  ‘And the drink, sir?’ Perrin prompted.

  ‘We don’t have a choice do we? Unless you can turn water into wine.’

  ‘Not tried it sir. How is it done?’

  Fury looked at him sharply to see if he was being mocked, but Perrin’s face was a picture of innocence. ‘Never mind. Just get the water.’

  The two of them saluted and left Fury alone to think about what else needed organising. He caught sight of Francis by the tiller, surreptitiously trying to listen to what was being said.

  ‘Mr Francis!’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Have our passengers brought up from below, and have five extra chairs placed around the desk in my cabin. Is there a tablecloth on board?’

  ‘A tablecloth sir? Haven’t seen one, I don’t think.’

  ‘Very well, we’ll have to manage without. With no other officers available to stand a watch, I’m afraid I cannot spare you to join us for dinner Mr Francis. You have my apologies.’

  Francis didn’t look overly disappointed. ‘I understand, sir.’

  ‘Carry on.’

  Fury paced the deck in the darkness as the Renard thrashed her way along to the north, and it wasn’t long before his peace and quiet was interrupted by the arrival back on deck of his passengers.

  ‘We have escaped?’ de Lissey asked, rather stupidly in Fury’s opinion.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  ‘Excellent! Well done Lieutenant.’

  ‘Dinner will hopefully be served soon. In the meantime I think a little fresh air would be desirable, if that is agreeable to everybody.’

  He received nods in response, and so they settled down to wait on deck in the darkness while the food was prepared. Fury had hoped to get the chance to speak with Sophie, but she was already deep in conversation with de Lissey’s wife over by the main shrouds. Instead he had to content himself with making small talk with de Lissey and Gourrier. Both men had much in common, each having had to live in hiding because of their aristocratic background, but Fury could not relate to either, and so he remained in silence mostly and listened, while contriving to sneak the occasional glance over towards Sophie.

  Finally, to Fury’s relief, the flow of talk was interrupted by Francis.

  ‘I believe the food is nearly ready, sir.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Fury turned to his companions and raised his voice so the ladies across the other side of the deck could hear him. ‘Shall we make our way down to the cabin? Dinner will be served shortly.’

  He led them down the ladder and aft to his cabin, where his desk had been cleared and seven chairs were now arranged at intervals around it. The guests would have no legroom, and the size of the desk meant that it would be very cramped, but it was the best Fury could do. They each picked a chair at random and, at Fury’s behest, seated themselves. Perrin and McSherry soon entered carrying a combination of cutlery and crockery, and this was distributed amongst them. De Lissey got to his feet.

  ‘If you will excuse me for a moment, Lieutenant, I have forgotten something.’

  He hurried out of the cabin, while the conversation ebbed and flowed around the table. McSherry came in carrying a wine bottle, and Fury’s heart lifted. They had found some! He made his way to Fury and stooped down to whisper in his ear.

  ‘Shall I pour the drinks sir?’

  ‘You found some wine then?’ Fury grinned back at him, being careful not to let his voice be heard over the din of conversation around the table.

  ‘No sir,’ McSherry whispered. ‘It’s water. We found the empty bottle ’tween decks and thought it would look better using it to serve the water. Add a touch of class, if you like, sir.’

  Fury’s heart sank. Not only would they be drinking water, but his guests would also have their hopes raised first by the sight of the wine bottle. It must have been left over from their first day at Toulon, when Gooseman and the other idlers had managed to get at the liquor while Fury was visiting Admiral Hood on board the Victory.

  ‘Oh, very well,’ he replied, bracing himself for the inevitable humiliation. McSherry snatched up Fury’s cup and straightened himself as far as the low deck beams would allow. De Lissey walked in at that moment carrying three bottles.

  ‘My apologies, Lieutenant, for my lack of manners,’ he stated. ‘As you have so kindly provided the food, it is only fitting that I should provide the wine. Lord Hood kindly gifted me these and I would be grateful if you would accept them instead of using your own stock.’

  McSherry was hovering with the bottle half tilted over the cup, and Fury quickly seized the cup back from his hand.

  ‘With pleasure, sir.’ He half turned to McSherry, standing motionless. ‘Get that bottle out of here!’

  McSherry hurried out of the cabin with the wine bottle of water, while de Lissey placed his three bottles on the table. He barely had time to seat himself before Perrin entered carrying platefuls of boiled meat with generous side portions of pease. Fury looked at his guests with an apologetic smile as the plates were passed around, but his guests seemed pleased enough.

  ‘Have one of those wine bottles opened, if you please
Perrin.’

  Fury’s guests were already beginning to tackle their boiled beef and pork as Perrin disappeared with one of the bottles. It was lucky that the meat had not been too long in the casks, so that it could be eaten with relatively little chewing, enabling the conversation to continue unabated. The cups were filled with wine while they ate and the alcohol helped Fury’s nerves, so that he almost began to enjoy himself. He could not help glancing frequently over at Sophie across the table to the right, catching her eye on more than one occasion and smiling through mouthfuls of pease.

  De Lissey and Gourrier were evidently continuing their conversation from up on deck in quick French, but the rest of the table seemed content to eat in silence. Fury’s plateful was finished by the time he heard his name mentioned.

  ‘Eh? I’m sorry?’

  ‘I was asking, Lieutenant,’ Sophie repeated, ‘what your plans are when we reach England.’

  Fury looked around the table but the other guests seemed oblivious to Sophie’s question.

  ‘I must deliver Lord Hood’s despatches to the Admiralty in London, then I shall go home to visit my mother.’

  ‘When will you rejoin your ship?’

  ‘I have been discharged from my ship, so I shall have to apply for another post.’ He took a mouthful of wine as McSherry and Perrin entered the cabin again carrying trays of ship’s biscuit with a small amount of cheese.

  ‘So you will be visiting Portsmouth regularly?’ Sophie asked, as the biscuit and cheese was passed around the table and the cups were topped up with wine.

  ‘Yes, I would think so. I would be honoured to give you a tour of the town, should you be available when I visit.’

  ‘That is most kind of you, thank you, Lieutenant.’

  They smiled at each other, and Fury was so engrossed that he was only aware of his name being mentioned after it was repeated a second time. He looked across at de Lissey.

  ‘I’m sorry, Your Grace?’

  ‘The Comte and I,’ de Lissey repeated, indicating Sophie’s father next to him whose red face betrayed his enjoyment of the wine, ‘were discussing how long we think it will take to defeat the Republican tyrants currently in power and restore the Bourbons to their true position.’

  Fury reluctantly turned his attention away from Sophie and tried to focus his mind on the question. His belief was that it may take ten years, possibly even longer judging by the Republican display of soldiering and siege warfare that he had witnessed in Toulon, and his honesty seemed to shock de Lissey and Gourrier. He gave his reasoning and listened to their views, and the discussion soon concentrated on the best strategy to be adopted to win the war in the shortest possible time. In the end they accepted his view that Europe did not have a land army to compete with the Republican army at present, and so the only way to force them into surrender would be through naval blockade, essentially strangling their economy and starving them out.

  He looked around the table to see that the rest of the passengers were listening in on his explanation intently, and he became suddenly worried that the dinner party had degenerated into a council of war. The cheese was long gone, but Fury noticed the biscuit had hardly been touched. The last wine bottle was empty and Fury’s head was telling him that he had drunk too much. De Lissey’s wife tried to stifle a yawn, but it was noticed by her husband.

  ‘Come dear, it is late. I think it is time we turned in.’ De Lissey pushed his chair back and got slightly unsteadily to his feet, holding his hand out to Fury. ‘I must thank you, Lieutenant, for your hospitality. When we reach England I hope you will allow me to return the compliment.’

  Fury rose and shook his hand, and the rest of his guests followed suit, saying their farewells as they filed out of the cabin. He would have liked to talk more with Sophie, but she was ushered out by her father, leaving Fury alone with Perrin and McSherry. They began to clear the table and Fury suddenly realised how tired he was himself; the day’s tension had taken a lot out of him.

  It was twenty minutes by the time everything was cleared and he had the cabin to himself at last. As he climbed into his cot, he reflected with satisfaction that the dinner had not been the complete disaster he had anticipated, but nevertheless he had learnt his lesson: he would issue no more idiotic invitations during moments of danger in an attempt to impress. He would guard his tongue in future.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The trade winds, blowing steadily across the Atlantic from the west, ensured that Renard spent a whole day beating out of the Bay of Biscay before finally being able to lay a course of north and thrash along with the wind abeam towards the entrance to the English Channel.

  They weathered Ushant, at the westernmost tip of northern France, two days later, the grey low-lying rock and breaking surf showing faint through the light mist that hung like a blanket over everything.

  A course of east-north-east then brought them through the mouth of the Channel with the wind on their larboard quarter, until at last the lookout reported land on their larboard bow just after two bells in the afternoon watch.

  The shout brought everyone up on deck in a flash. The men, Fury included, looked on in eager anticipation at England once again, while the de Lisseys and Gourriers looked on in curiosity at what was to be their new home.

  Midshipman Francis came scrambling down the larboard fore shrouds from aloft, where Fury had sent him when the initial sighting had been made. There was an excited grin on his face as he came to a halt in front of Fury and touched his hat before making his report.

  ‘It’s the Isle of Wight sir, definitely. I can see the Eddystone lighthouse on the point.’

  Fury felt a slight pang of nostalgia well up within him as Francis made his report. The Isle of Wight had been his last sight of England as the Amazon had made her way out of Spithead on her way to India, and that had been over two years ago, when he was no more than a boy. Now here he was returning in command of his own vessel – albeit temporarily – with his mother no more than forty miles away from Portsmouth.

  ‘Very good Mr Francis,’ said Fury at last in response to his report. ‘Call all hands – we shall shorten sail soon.’

  ‘Aye aye sir,’ replied Francis eagerly, turning away to bellow ‘All hands! All hands!’. The crew of Renard, already all on deck, hurried to their stations amidst a buzz of excited chatter.

  ‘Silence!’ roared Fury. ‘This is still a king’s ship!’

  The noise died away immediately as the men recalled themselves back to their duty with no little effort. Fury regretted the severity of his outburst at once, realising that it was more down to his frustration at the uncertainty of his own future, now that their arrival back home was guaranteed.

  He made an effort to calm himself and walked over to de Lissey, staring at the low smudge of grey which represented his first sight of England. His wife and two sons were standing next to him, following his gaze while clutching on to the hammock nettings to support themselves against the little brig’s sharper pitching as she met the shorter, steeper waves of the English Channel, so very different after the long Atlantic swell they had been used to.

  ‘The Isle of Wight, Your Grace. You will be able to see the Eddystone lighthouse soon.’

  The interruption startled de Lissey from his reverie. In a moment of curious insight, Fury guessed that, although de Lissey’s eyes had been on the south coast of England, his mind had been in his own homeland, thinking of places that he might never see again.

  ‘Indeed?’ de Lissey replied, recovering himself from his thoughts admirably.

  ‘Yes. Portsmouth is just beyond – we should be at anchor by nightfall, all being well, so that you may leave at first light in the morning.’

  Fury snatched a glance at Sophie, still staring at the distant land. She seemed to sense him, and she looked at him and gave him a smile. He turned to her father.

  ‘I shall take you and Sophie ashore tomorrow also. I shall need to travel to London, but I will arrange lodgings for you befor
e I leave. I have a small amount of money, which should be sufficient for you until you find your feet.’

  ‘We could not possibly accept your money, Lieutenant.’

  ‘It is merely a loan, sir,’ Fury assured him. ‘You can pay me back once you are settled.’

  There was a pause as Gourrier considered the offer, before finally relenting. ‘Very well, Lieutenant. But it is just a loan. I shall repay you with interest.’

  Fury nodded in agreement. ‘Of course.’ He bowed and moved away to find some solitude as Renard slowly made her way up Channel.

  Standing at the fore chains in silence, his mind wandered back to his childhood in Swampton. He did not notice the men rushing about the deck to their allotted stations, nor did he notice the sound and movement of Renard under his feet. He was oblivious, engrossed in memories of home and childhood, sunshine and rolling fields. Another life.

  It was only when Midshipman Francis gently touched his arm thirty minutes later, to inform him they were ready to come about, that Fury shook off the memories and turned his attention to the task of bringing them safely through St Helen’s road to their anchorage at Spithead.

  The next day broke cold and misty, so misty in fact that the shore was hardly visible from the upper deck of Renard as she swung gently to her anchor at Spithead.

  Fury had been awake for most of the night, unable to sleep with the knowledge that not one mile away was Portsmouth, and beyond that the rest of England, a sight he had not seen for over two years.

  He was fully dressed by the time the first rays of light from the rising sun began to permeate the low cloud cover overhead. He had also had his morning shave – a task necessary almost every day now – by the dim light of the lantern hanging in his cabin, so that the man stepping on to Renard’s deck a short time later looked every inch an officer in His Britannic Majesty’s Navy.

  Shortly after breakfast at eight o’clock de Lissey came on deck to report himself and his family ready for departure. Sophie and her father were also already on deck, waiting.

  ‘Mr Francis, have the longboat hoisted out at once, if you please,’ Fury ordered, stepping down to his cabin to retrieve the despatches from Admiral Hood which it was now his duty to deliver to the Admiralty as soon as possible.