Midshipman Graham and the Battle of Abukir

by James Boschert

  Later, when dusk was falling, Major Bromley came aboard to report. After saluting Sir Sidney, who turned away from moodily contemplating the peninsula to greet him, he opened his mouth to begin his report, but Sidney took him by the arm and guided him below to his day cabin.

  “You look done in, Major. Have a drink and tell me how it is going over there.”

  “The disaster continues unabated, Sir,” Major Bromley said with cough. His face was streaked with grime and sweat and his uniform was in tatters. “There is absolutely no discipline whatsoever. It is very distressing to witness, but there is very little we can do. We bring casks of water to them, whereupon they fight and tear at each other to get at them. I took some men ashore to try and put a stop to it, but they either ignored us or they tore at us with their bare hands.” He gestured at the state of his uniform.

  “We had to get back into the boats or be torn limb from limb, Sir! They smashed the casks without even attempting to open them with care and conserve the precious water. It was spilled out and wasted almost before it has come ashore! The maniacs then fought over the empty casks trying swim out to our boats on the staves! We could not take every one, and we had to leave because if we had stayed we would have been swamped and drowned along with them. Not long after that the French realized what we were up to and began to fire upon us.”

  Sir Sidney had already heard some of this information from Lt Bowles, who had interrogated the midshipmen. The shaken young men had been dismissed with instructions to go below for a rest. Even so, he listened quietly to what the major had to say. Everything was of importance, if he was to salvage anything from this debacle.

  The agitated major continued after taking a gulp of the sherry. “It didn’t take the French long to figure out what we were doing, so they lined up some of their longer ranged guns just for the purpose of shooting at our boats. They also ran some of the lighter ones using grape onto the beaches. It meant that we had to run the gauntlet of their guns to arrive at the chaos on the shores!” He shook his head again.

  Sidney observed Bromley in silence as he took a long sip of his sherry, then replaced the glass on the desk with a shaking hand. “I have never seen the like, Sir… and never want to again.”

  “How many of them are there in the fort right now?” Sidney asked.

  “I would estimate there are five thousand men crammed into that place, which if my memory serves me rightly is now commanded by Mustafa Pasha’s son. I rather doubt that he has any control over the situation, Sir.”

  “Why don’t they evacuate most of them, I wonder,” Sir Sidney mused. “They will probably have to surrender. Boney isn’t going to leave them in control of the fort. Would a detachment of marines make any difference?” he asked.

  “It might, but the discipline is so bad that I would fear for their safety if it deteriorates much further.”

  Sidney pondered this for a few long moments while he stared out at the darkening sea through the open casement window. The routine sounds of a ship full of men drifted in, combined with the thump of the guns on the peninsula. The contrast struck him as ironic: the normal sounds of life on shipboard; and only two and a half miles away men were dying in their hundreds, terrified and panic-stricken, with little chance of rescue. He scowled; he had to do something, even if it proved futile. He could not simply watch the disaster come to its inevitable conclusion without doing something. He turned back to the major.

  “Ask Colonel Douglas to attend me, Major. I don’t want you to go next time, but make very sure that whoever does go is well aware of the situation and knows how to signal our boats to come and collect them if it goes badly.”

  Major Bromley stood up and saluted. “Yes, Sir. I will ask the Colonel to come immediately.”

  “Thank you, Major. Get some rest.”

  Sidney waited until the major had left and then called out to the Marine outside his door to find Captain Williams and have him report to the cabin.

  Williams arrived on the heels of the colonel. “Gentlemen, please be seated, I am in need of your help.” They sat up and paid attention.

  “Colonel, I want you to send two boats of marines to the shoreline. Pick the men carefully and have an officer lead them. I know it is but a salve, and mainly for my own pained pride, but I want to be seen by our allies as trying to help even at this forlorn moment.”

  “Yes, Sir. I can arrange it, we can send them over during the darkness.”

  “We need to have a couple of boats standing by to take them off if things get perilous for their safety, but I need to know from our own people what is happening in that fort, Colonel. A detachment of marines might help stiffen their resolve; you never know.”

  When the colonel had left Sidney turned to Williams. “Now is a chance for you to test your skill with languages, John. I need a spy out there to tell me what is going on.”

  “That would be interesting, Sir. What exactly am I going to be looking for?”

  “To be quite honest, I am not sure as yet, but I know one thing: even after that disastrous march back from Acre there is still a deadly sting to the French army. We need more intelligence about their morale and the general condition of the occupying forces. We will have to wait out this bloodbath, but then I want to put you ashore and see what is what over there. I feel blind at present.”

  *****

  Days passed and the conditions in the fort deteriorated, as the French bombarded the walls and interior with mortars and artillery day and night. The bodies were piled alongside the mounds of rubble. Men began to die from thirst or dysentery from drinking fouled water or even sea water. The British continued to try to bring fresh water but, as Major Bromley had pointed out, little of it made it to the men inside. The men were crowed into the dark stone passages and against the thick walls, crouching in corners, praying or crying at their fate. Almost none could be persuaded to man the parapet and defend the fortress. Before very long the British Marines had to be evacuated, for they became the target of the madness all around them.

  The Colonel reported to Sir Sidney what had transpired.

  “The bombardment is highly effective, Sir. The French captured a treasure trove of riches from the Pasha, including all the guns the Turks had, along with all their powder and shot. Many of the guns were ours, loaned to the Turks. They seem intent upon reducing the fort to rubble, and they have the wherewithal to do so, using our own equipment to accomplish the task.

  “I went ashore myself with the marines and can attest to the fact that the conditions in the fort are truly terrible. They are living on top of one another, and on top of the dead, as they have nowhere to put them other than to toss them over the walls into the sea. They have no food and very little water, which they have squandered every time we have tried to provide it.”

  He sighed and wiped a filthy hand over his grimy face. “We established some form of order for bringing supplies in, but not enough to help the situation very much. Although we managed to evacuate almost a thousand of the Turks, it became too dangerous for us to remain. I fear cannibalism is already rampant in some of the darker corners, and men are going mad from drinking sea water.”

  “It is clear that we cannot continue to supply them from the ships. That means we have to find some spring or source to fill our own casks on shore,” Sidney reflected.

  “I see what you mean, Sir. There is, according to our own crude maps, the possibility of a spring to the east of the French positions which the French might not be guarding, but I don’t know if that is really the case. Perhaps we should investigate before we send too many boats?”

  “Good idea, send Captain Williams in; I’ll talk to him.”

  John Williams appeared with Lt Bowles in tow, both looking curious. Sir Sidney beckoned them over to look out of the starboard after window that gave them a view of the distant land and the peninsula. He pointed to the shoreline to the west.

  “I need you to do a couple of things for me, John. We are running short of fresh wat
er, or will be very soon if we have to keep resupplying the Turks in the fort and even their own ships, which came woefully undersupplied. I want to know if there is a water source of some kind to the east of the French positions. There are tributaries from the Nile all over the map in this region. I’m sending some boats to look for water that we can obtain without letting the French know. You can go ashore at the same time and take stock of the situation on land. Perhaps even look into Alexandria?”

  “I have contacts within the city so yes I can see what I can do, Sir.” Captain Williams nodded assent.

  “A couple of boats, Sir?” Lt Bowles asked. “We have two which have just arrived back from the fort. Midshipman Graham was put in charge of one of them and I have Midshipman Tewksby with the other.”

  ‘How are the young men holding up?” Sidney asked.

  “Pretty well, I think, Sir. The first day was a shocker but now they know better how to handle the situation. We’ve had no casualties today, despite the French trying to shoot at them.”

  “Good, then give them their orders. They are to look for water to the east of the peninsula, well away from the French lines. There is lake of some sort over there but it could just be tidal. I want a safe fresh water outlet that we can tap into, and while they are at it they are to observe whether there are any French patrols along that strip of land. I would send the small ships, but not even the ketch can get close enough to see if there is anything useful, and a ship prowling so close to shore would draw the French like fleas to a dog. The boats will be less conspicuous.”

  “I agree, Sir. We’ll go this evening just before sunset so that there is less chance of being spotted,” Captain Williams replied.

  “I’ll notify the men, Sir,” Lt Bowles said, and they departed.

  Chapter 18

  The Duel

  That evening, a good two hours before sunset, two jolly boats left the Tigre and joined the other boats plying back and forth between the British ships and the fort. Although the traffic was much reduced there were still casks of water and food being ferried, and the boats often as not returned to the ships with wounded or sick from the hell of the fort.

  The two boats commanded by the midshipmen continued in an easterly direction, leaving the fleet and the peninsula behind as they took a bearing on the nub of land that lay to the northeast. The sea was calm out here, so they made good progress for a couple of miles before Williams gave the order to approach the land. He was dressed in Fellaheen clothing: a collarless, long sleeved and skirted robe of light brown cotton and sandals on his feet. It was his intent to land and make contact with some of the locals and then try for Alexandria. later he intended to disappear into the hinterland and do some reconnaissance. Alexandria was his objective on this mission however.

  “By my reckoning and the old maps, there is a small lake just inshore in line with our approach. If we can find an inlet we can mark it for future visits, and hopefully the French won’t notice,” he told Duncan.

  “How will you manage on shore, Sir?” Duncan asked him, eyeing the dirty robe and the ragged turban.

  “Don’t worry about me. You have to make sure we don’t get caught landing, so keep all noise to a minimum.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Duncan murmured.

  He had discussed an idea with Tewksby before their departure. When Williams was well on his way the two of them were going to walk into the sand dunes and settle their point of honor.

  Tewksby had been horrified by the suggestion, his skinny features contorted with a mixture of fear and incredulity, but Duncan had persisted. “All we have to do is walk ahead of the boats, on the pretext that we will be looking for a good place to take on water, and when we are far enough away we can engage.”

  “You’re mad!”

  “Don’t forget to bring your sword.”

  “We’ll never get away with this!”

  “First blood and then it’s done.”

  He had left the cramped quarters for the deck after that. The smell of Tewksby’s fear was oppressive.

  The low-lying land loomed as the boats approached with care. The sandy bottom was only a few feet below, which meant that a man had to be in the bows keeping an eye open for submerged banks. Duncan and Williams focused on the shoreline, looking for any signs of activity which would abort the operation before they even landed.

  At one point they did indeed observe dust rising behind the sand dunes of the shore. They stopped rowing until Williams stood up and waved them on. “I imagine it was a squadron of cavalry on their way to the French encampment,” he said, and pointed to their right. Duncan glanced that way towards the continuing siege.

  The sound of the guns was like the low mutter of a storm. Somehow the flash of their muzzles was brighter in the glow of the setting sun, now below the horizon of the peninsula. The remaining rays of the sun threw the small fort into sharp relief. While Duncan could not make out any figures, the repetitive thud of the French guns and the flashes reminded him that there was a terrible reckoning still taking place on Abukir.

  They were now coming to the beach and all eyes were intently scrutinizing the shoreline for any danger. Off to his right Duncan noticed a tidal inlet, and he pointed. The coxswain immediately steered them in that direction. If they could get into the inlet they would be less conspicuous to any French patrols.

  “Be careful here,” Williams admonished Duncan. “I do believe the Frenchies would have patrols out but they might be further inland and not as far out as this. I’ll take my chances with that. You focus on the fresh water. Just make sure you are here within two days at the same time.”

  “Right, Sir,” Duncan whispered back.

  They pulled into the inlet to find that water was moving out towards the sea, so the men had to row hard to make progress, but eventually they were moving into calmer waters. The estuary was wide but shallow at the throat, but even in the dimming light Duncan could see that further inland the water deepened.

  When they had rowed another fifty yards into the inlet and were well out of sight of the beaches on either side, Williams indicated that they should land. Armed men disembarked quietly into the thigh-deep water and drew the boat up onto the beach. Williams jumped out onto the white sand and with barely a wave headed due south towards the scrub and small trees that grew in clumps all around the area. About a mile away Duncan could just make out a grove of palm trees which seemed to be the direction Williams was headed. It wasn’t long before he was out of sight and Duncan turned his attention back to his present surroundings.

  “It’s clean water flowing out to sea, Sir,” one of the men whispered. He had taken a cup to the water and sipped it warily. “Smells fine and tastes fine, Sir,” said another.

  Duncan nodded, this then was a tiny tributary of the Nile, he guessed. His heart was beginning to pump harder and faster, for he had the duel on his mind. He waved the other boat in and Tewksby jumped ashore. Duncan could tell he too was tense and nervous.

  “You men fill those casks with water from here. Myself and Mr Tewksbury are going to reconnoiter,” he told the coxswain of his boat. “Keep the noise down, men,” he admonished them, when he heard a careless splash from the other boat.

  “Sure you don’t want an escort, Sir?” Bosun’s Mate Chauncey asked, indicating the armed men all around.

  Tewksby was about to answer but Duncan forestalled him.

  “No. No, that’s all right, Chan. We are only going as far as those palm trees to see if there is any habitation,” Duncan lied. “Come along, Tewks,” he said to the other midshipman, and drew his sword. “Just in case,” he explained to Chauncey, who was eyeing the blade with a speculative look. Duncan led the way up over the sand bank, then followed the shoreline using the palm trees as his compass.

  They were fully out of sight in a dip of the dunes, half surrounded by the scrubby trees and bushes, when Duncan heard Tewksby rushing up behind him. It disturbed his already tense senses to a state of alarm. He spun around and with an
exclamation dove out of the way. Only just in time, as Tewksby had rushed up on him and was about to spit him with a savage lunge at his midriff that, a moment before, would have been pierced his back.

  “You bastard!” Duncan snarled. His surprise was quickly overcome by his instinct to survive and his mounting outrage. “Couldn’t even wait, eh?” He backed away to find better purchase for his feet in the soft sand.

  “You are a pain in my buttocks, you Scottish pudding!” Tewksbury said, barely keeping his voice down, and their swords snapped together with a sharp clink of steel.

  They went at it clumsily for a couple of seconds as Duncan found his pace and Tewksby thrashed at him with his weapon. Neither was an expert by any standards, but this was a grudge match and Tewksby, having overcome his initial fears, was committed and savagely determined to finish off his arch enemy.

  “Scot, you useless pork rind,” Duncan ground out as he ducked a wild swipe from his opponent. He lunged and Tewksby only just managed to parry, then stumbled backwards and turned to run up the slope. Duncan followed, stabbing at Tewksby’s buttocks with crude lunges. “Turn and fight or I’ll stab you in the arse!” he hissed, and stabbed again at the white trousers just ahead of him, missing by a fraction.

  “Erk!” grunted Tewksby and turned, slashing wildly with his sword and advancing on Duncan. “I’ll, I’ll kill you!” he threatened, as he slashed away.

  “Call that sword skill? You couldn’t fight your way out of a wet papyrus sack!” Duncan taunted his opponent, who went for Duncan's face with a slash of his sword , the wind of which made Duncan wince. He lunged hard to force Tewksby to keep his distance.

  “Take that, toad!” Duncan whispered fiercely. “And that! And that!” he lunged again, but Tewksby fought back desperately, trying to prevent being overwhelmed. His sword slammed Duncan’s away on one occasion and he nearly managed with a swipe to cut Duncan in the leg.