Lieutenant Fury

by G. S. Beard

That done, he rushed back up the steps to join the men on the ramparts. Peering over the top he could clearly see many more men within fifty yards of the fort, sheltering behind anything they could to avoid being hit by the ragged volley fire, before firing their own weapons and moving forward in skirmish order.

  Now, looking beyond them, Fury could discern the main body of the troops further back, breasting the last of the spurs crossing the valley floor. These men were walking calmly forward in a great mass, making no attempt to run or find shelter. They were marching four abreast in a long column, all wearing the blue jackets of Republican infantry with the distinctive red piping at the cuffs and collars, and white cross belts. Fury estimated there to be at least 600 of them, probably comprising one battalion. The faint sound of singing reached his ears a moment later, carried by the wind from the approaching troops as they lustily recited Republican songs while they marched.

  ‘Sergeant Hawkins!’ he shouted, making himself heard above the myriad of other noises.

  ‘Sir?’ Hawkins replied, moving out of the line of men where he had been firing.

  ‘You will take half your men and all the seamen and quit the fort, taking up a defensive position a hundred yards down the valley to provide covering fire as the rest of the troops evacuate. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ Hawkins shouted back, turning away to address orders to his corporal.

  After only a moment, half the troops of the 69th began filing hurriedly down the steps led by Hawkins, followed also by the seamen. Fury and forty or so others were now left to defend the fort.

  Fury picked up a musket which was leaning against the wall, quickly aimed down the ravine and fired. The soldiers left behind under the command of the corporal were firing briskly and with an efficiency which impressed Fury, understandable considering the amount of drill they had been through recently. He gave Hawkins and his men as much time as he dared to get into position down the valley. Finally, prompted by the fact that he had no other musket to fire, and unwilling to use the two pistols stuck in his belt at this stage – they would be nearly useless at this range – he decided that he could put off their final retreat no longer.

  ‘You will remain here and keep up your fire until I tell you to retreat.’

  The corporal nodded and Fury rushed down the steps towards the entrance. Looking out of the doors he could see Hawkins and the rest of the men still hurrying down the valley to find favourable positions from which to provide cover.

  Giving them no more notice, he stooped over the end of the slow match and began fumbling with flint and steel. He got a spark quickly and within seconds the match was spluttering away, Fury waiting to make sure it was fully ignited before turning his attention to the ramparts.

  ‘Corporal Jackson!’ he shouted. The musket fire drowned out his shout and it took another bellow to attract the attention of Jackson. ‘Come off now!’ he shouted, beckoning with his arm lest his voice could not be fully heard.

  Jackson nodded, and a moment later the remainder of the men were scrambling down the steps.

  Fury remained by the entrance, ushering them out of the fort and down the valley as they passed him, before taking one last look at the ground to ensure the slow match was adequately hidden by the scattered earth.

  Satisfied there was nothing more he could do, he set out at a run after the others, happily throwing aside any pretence of a dignified, controlled retreat as he thought of the coming explosion.

  He was three quarters of the way to his own troops before he became conscious of the first sounds of musket fire behind him, the whistling of the balls through the air and the occasional flick up of dirt showing how close they were. A moment later the sound of louder musketry – from in front of him this time – told of Hawkins and his men providing covering fire.

  He reached them, finally, out of breath, looking round for the first time to see the advance party of Republicans at the fort’s entrance, kneeling and firing down the valley at them.

  ‘Sergeant Hawkins – you will take your men a further hundred yards down the valley while the corporal and his men cover you. When you are prepared, we will then retreat in your wake.’

  Hawkins gathered together his portion of men and they set off hurriedly while Corporal Jackson and the remainder of the men took shelter and began firing.

  It looked for a while like the Republicans were of a mind to keep following them, to harry their retreat or possibly attack them before they could get within the relative safety of the city walls. Two well-trained volleys from Jackson and his men, however, which accounted for eight or nine of the enemy from what Fury could see, changed their mind. They seemed content to consolidate their position at the fort, the sound of singing springing up again as they celebrated their victory.

  How long had it been since he had set the charges? The question nagged at him while he waited for Hawkins and his men to get in position.

  ‘That is sufficient Corporal, lets make our retreat at the double.’

  Fury led the men at the run down towards where he could see the rest of the 69th dug in, muskets at the ready.

  ‘We’ll stay here for a few moments, Sergeant,’ he said as he reached them, slightly out of breath. ‘Take some shelter lads!’ he shouted to the men around him.

  Finding a perch behind a large rock with the steep slope of the ravine wall to his left, he stared down the valley at the fort, over 200 yards away. Many of the Republicans were there now, swarming about the entrance and in the courtyard, while the remonstrations of one of the officers sent a body of men down towards them.

  He began to feel uncomfortable now – surely five minutes had passed. If they had discovered it then Fury and his men were waiting here for nothing, while every second the Republican troops came nearer. The anxiety within his breast grew alarmingly, and he half turned to give the order to recommence the retreat when a loud explosion erupted, the earth trembling beneath them at the force.

  The sound, even from this distance, was ear-piercing. Fury turned in time to see a huge flash of white, followed by a small pause, before the fort was blown apart by the force of the blast, masonry and debris shooting up into the air as black smoke began appearing. A moment of apparent calm proceeded before the debris – some pieces as large as a house – came raining down. A piece nearly as large as a twelve-pounder gun landed with a thud ten yards in front of where Fury was crouched, swiftly followed by small stone-sized fragments raining down all around them, landing on heads and bodies but causing no serious injury among his men.

  As for the Republicans, there could be no chance for those within the fort or nearby, while those who had been advancing towards them suffered terribly from the downfall of debris. Many dead bodies covered the ground and others screamed in terrible agony. Those lucky enough to have survived unscathed were retreating back to what was left of the fort, unwilling to carry on fighting after what they had just witnessed.

  As for the fort, its position was hidden by a large pall of black smoke and Fury was certain it was completely destroyed, so much so that he rose and gave the order to Sergeant Hawkins to set the men off at the march without waiting for the smoke to clear to see the results of his work.

  He led the way in silence as quickly as his legs would take him without breaking into a disordered run, which he knew would be disastrous. Once the thudding in his head had subsided, his ears began ringing, probably from the sound of the blast, and he contrived to ignore the sensation by studying their surroundings.

  They had reached the end of the valley now and Fury could see the river Neuve through the gathering dusk. He led his men across it and on to the road beyond, turning them south until the mountainous peaks on either side dropped away to the flat expanses of land running east and west.

  It was almost completely dark now, making navigation difficult, but Fury’s memory told him that he need only follow the road as it swung eastward and he would eventually reach the crossroads, where a right turn would take them dir
ectly into the walled defences of Toulon.

  He held his hand up as a signal to silence the chatter of the Fortitudes behind him. Something had caught his attention over the sound of the men’s voices, carried by the wind. He craned his head forward as though that would help him hear better, but it proved unnecessary as the sound grew louder. Republican singing. He recognised it immediately, having only just heard it back at the fort, but it took him a moment to pinpoint its westerly origin. It got steadily louder as he listened, and by the sound of it was from a large body of troops, certainly more than he had at his disposal. Was that a light to the west, bobbing up and down and moving towards them?

  ‘Lads! We’ll start out at the trot. Follow me and keep in your ranks!’

  He waited while word was passed to those troops at the rear of the column, before setting off down the road to the east at a brisk jog, the clash and jangle of equipment behind telling him that his troops were following closely. Somewhere over to the right, unseen in the darkness, was the marshy ground leading to the water of the inner road. Had Sophie and her father managed to escape the city and get to the rendezvous point amongst that marshland? He would find out within the next hour. Until then he could only hope.

  It took another thirty minutes to reach the crossroads where the hospital was situated. The sounds of Republican singing had long since faded, but nevertheless Fury’s anxiety had been increasing constantly as they made their way along the road without seeing any other retreating troops. Were they the last to leave? Had they already been cut off by the attacking Republicans? It was about 500 yards from the hospital to the Royal Gate through which they would enter Toulon, and in the darkness he could only just make out the time from his pocket watch – a little before eight o’clock in the evening.

  As he placed his watch back in his pocket a cannonading started from over on the right in the direction of the batteries of Malbousquet and Missiessi, overlooking the inner road. He could hear the flight of the balls through the air and, even at this distance, the crashes as they landed on the town and the dockyard. The realisation that the Republicans had taken those batteries came as somewhat of a shock. The implications dawned on him: they would not only be able to fire upon the town and dockyard, but also upon the ships in the inner road and basins. The knowledge that they had already fired upon the town suggested that it was still held by the British, so they had time.

  Amongst the sound of cannonading, Fury could now hear the distinctive noise of small-arms fire. Over to the west he saw flashes in the darkness as muskets were fired. Were those the same troops they had narrowly avoided on their way back from Fort Pomet? Presumably the Republicans were attempting to breach the defensive wall adjacent to the dockyard. That made it even more imperative that Fury get his men to the Royal Gate as quickly as possible, so he set out on the last stretch of the journey at a brisk pace.

  The high wall surrounding Toulon loomed up out of the darkness in front of them, the Royal Gate firmly closed. Fury fought against the panic which threatened to overwhelm him.

  A musket shot sounded from close at hand, Fury taking a moment to realise it had come from above, behind the wall surrounding the city.

  ‘Identify yourself!’

  The shout pierced the night air and Fury, looking up, fancied he could see a face peering over the top of the wall.

  ‘I am Lieutenant Fury, commander of the garrison at Fort Pomet. I was ordered to evacuate immediately and return to the city!’

  The relief was coursing through Fury now that he knew that the Royal Gate was still being manned.

  ‘Very well, I’ll have the guards let you in, but be damned quick about it. Half the Republican army is advancing on our position.’

  Fury heard shouted orders from behind the wall, swiftly followed by the creaking of timber as the heavy doors of the Royal Gate swung slowly open. Fury stood at the side of the road, ushering his men across the small bridge which spanned the moat surrounding the city.

  When all his men were past, Fury ran across the bridge and through the doors, the raised muskets of the guard within proving that they were taking no chances. The same officer who had challenged them from the wall approached.

  ‘You may make your way across the city to the Italian Gate in the north-eastern quarter,’ he suggested. ‘The fleet has boats waiting off Fort La Malgue to embark the troops.’

  Fury turned to Sergeant Hawkins. ‘Very well, Sergeant. You may lead your men to Fort La Malgue for embarkation.’

  ‘Yes sir.’ Hawkins paused. ‘And you sir?’

  ‘I have made my own arrangements for escape. I will be sure to return Private Fisk to you as soon as the opportunity arises.’

  Hawkins saluted and began bellowing orders to his troops. Fury turned to his own men.

  ‘Follow me lads. Stay close together and keep your muskets ready.’

  Fury struck out to the west through the dockyard and towards the inner basin, following the wall to ensure he did not lose his way. The sound of cannon fire was a constant companion, occasionally accompanied by a loud crash as the ball landed within earshot among the dockyard.

  Men were moving about in every direction, more so as they approached the general magazine overlooking the quayside in front of the new arsenal. Many were obviously sailors, with the occasional officer’s uniform interspersed, but there were also soldiers rushing to and fro to defend different parts of the wall from attack.

  Fury eyed them all suspiciously and made sure of keeping his men in good order, but no one bothered them. The cannon fire was growing louder now, intermingled with the smaller popping of musket fire, but nevertheless Fury could feel his confidence returning as they neared the quayside, and hopefully Sophie.

  To his men’s obvious surprise, Fury did not stop at the quayside, but continued on past the gun wharf and out along the stone jetty comprising the western side of the inner basin of the new arsenal. Four French ships of the line were secured bow first against the jetty to their left, but Fury was uninterested in them. The narrow tidal moat surrounding the city and the dockyard had now reached the juncture of the moat and inner harbour itself, and there was a fifty-yard expanse of that water now separating them from the mainland, which began as marsh. Fury could see from the water that the tide was on the ebb, but the moat would still be deep.

  Quickly they reached the corner of the jetty, where the coast jutted out slightly to within twenty yards of the stone quay they were on. Fury stopped and stared into the darkness towards the shore. Nothing.

  ‘Sophie! Sophie!’

  His heart began to sink as his shouts were greeted with silence. He tried again, but still nothing. He peered anxiously into the darkness at the shore, hoping to see something, anything. His men were shuffling their feet nervously behind him, and Fury knew he could not risk their safety any further because of his own selfish needs.

  ‘Come on,’ he growled, beginning to make his way back to the quayside, frequently staring back at the shore in the hope of catching a glimpse of some movement. Was she merely late, or had something happened to her in the confusion?

  Fury led them to the water’s edge, immediately in front of the general magazine, almost exactly where he had disembarked over two months previously with his Fortitudes. He looked at his watch to see that it was still only half-past eight. They still had half an hour before Francis was due to meet him with the boat. Did he have time to look around for Sophie? He couldn’t just leave her at the mercy of the Republicans, but what were the chances of him finding her now?

  A voice startled him from the stygian gloom of some stone steps leading down to the water, prompting several of the men to bring their muskets to bear. Private Fisk hurriedly made himself known to them.

  ‘The boat is over ’ere sir,’ he whispered.

  ‘Well done Fisk,’ Fury said quietly, going down to the water’s edge. A sharp whistle from Fisk – obviously a prearranged signal – brought the boat gliding out of the darkness to the quayside, a man at t
he bow manning the swivel in case they were the enemy.

  ‘Welcome back sir,’ hissed Midshipman Francis as he jumped on to the stone steps next to Fury.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Francis,’ Fury replied, taking the proffered hand. ‘Where is Renard?’

  ‘I was obliged to anchor her over to the east in the outer road sir, under the guns of Fort La Malgue which is still in our hands. The Neapolitans broke and ran at the first sign of attack, leaving the Republicans Malbousquet and Missiessi with which to sweep the inner road.’

  ‘I see. And what about the Fortitude?’

  ‘She was badly damaged off Corsica sir, during an engagement with a Mortello tower. Lord Hood ordered her to Gibraltar for a full refit.’

  Fury groaned, wondering if he would ever get to rejoin his ship. He turned to Clark.

  ‘Very well Clark, get them aboard.’

  Clark saluted and Fury, eager for more news, turned back to Francis.

  ‘Do you know what the situation is elsewhere?’

  ‘Not really sir, I haven’t had much communication from the shore or the fleet recently. The ships in the outer road have been taking refugees on board as far as I can make out sir, but what with me only having a few men, I decided against it for the time being. There was a lot of fighting over there’ – pointing behind him – ‘near Balaguier and l’Eguillette, but I don’t know any more than that. We were not fired upon by them as we entered the inner road at any events, although it may have been just too dark for them to see us.’

  ‘All ready sir,’ hissed Clark from the bows, a subtle reminder to them that this was not the place to stand talking.

  Fury looked at the boat, ready at the quayside with the men now all on board, and he knew he could not go. He would never be able to forgive himself if he left now without any attempt to find her.

  ‘Get them back to Renard, Mr Francis. I have something to take care of, so I shall make my own way back.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I have business in the town.’

  ‘But sir, entering the town now on your own in a British uniform would not be safe.’