by G. S. Beard
‘Very well Mr Francis,’ he muttered, ‘those passengers who wish to regain the deck may do so now.’
He had no doubt that the cramped, musty atmosphere down below would be exacerbating their seasickness. The brisk December weather would do them good, he thought, as he began to make his way below, knowing that all the pleasure he derived from being on deck would soon evaporate once they were up there.
‘Inform me immediately the flagship signals,’ was all he said as he passed Francis on the way to the hatchway leading to the cabin below.
It was in the day cabin, sitting at the desk finishing off his report to the admiral, that he first became aware of a commotion outside the door. Some moments later there was a tap on the door and in response to Fury’s curt ‘Enter!’, an apologetic-looking seaman came in followed by one of the French passengers, slightly hidden by the bulk of the seaman who was a good six feet and bent sharply to avoid hitting his head on the deck beams.
‘Beggin’ yer pardon sir,’ the seaman began, knuckling his forehead, ‘but this gennelman here insisted on seein’ yer. I tried ter tell ’im you was busy sir, but he wouldn’t take no fer an answer. Says it’s most important. Just say the word sir, an I’ll truss ’im up nice an tight and stick ’im in the hold.’
Fury shook his head.
‘That won’t be necessary.’
It briefly crossed his mind that the man might be intending some mischief, but with over twenty of his men aboard and his uncle’s two pistols sitting in front of him on the desk, he dismissed the thought.
‘Very well Johnson, you may go.’
The seaman knuckled his forehead once more and left the cabin, but not before shooting a fierce glance at the Frenchman that would have terrified most men. The man looked completely oblivious to Johnson’s hostility as he stepped further forward into the cabin to present Fury with his first full view of him.
He was about fifty, with a look and an air about him, now that Fury had time to study him closely, of someone who was used to getting his own way. Judging by the fact that he needed only to bend his head, and not his back, to avoid the deck beams, he could not have been more than five feet five inches tall, his once black hair now mostly grey and tied back tightly in a queue. His face was grave, understandable after recent events, but the deep brown eyes still looked sharp and attentive like a hawk’s, a comparison which was made all the more fitting by his high cheekbones and thin jutting nose.
‘I am sorry to interrupt your work, Capitaine.’
The man spoke such perfect English that Fury thought at first he must be an Englishman. Fury held out his arm towards the chair opposite his desk.
‘Pray take a seat sir,’ he offered.
The man accepted with a small bow and settled himself comfortably in the chair before Fury continued.
‘Whom have I the pleasure of addressing sir?’
‘My name is Antoine Gaspart de Lissey.’
‘A pleasure, Monsieur de Lissey,’ Fury said, ‘and I am Lieutenant Fury, in temporary command of Renard. How may I be of service to you sir?’
‘I wish to arrange an interview with your admiral,’ de Lissey replied. He said it so quietly and matter-of-factly that it took Fury a moment to register what he wanted.
‘Do you indeed!’
‘I do sir,’ de Lissey replied calmly, as if he had every expectation of being obeyed.
‘I must inform you sir,’ Fury began, ‘that Admiral Hood is an extremely busy man. He does not have time to see every French refugee who desires it.’
He sat back, fully expecting this to be the end of the argument.
‘But I insist sir,’ de Lissey replied calmly.
‘You insist sir?’ Fury repeated incredulously. ‘I will have you know sir, that there is only one man on board this ship who can insist on anything, and he insists that you mention no more about this nonsense!’
‘Does my name mean nothing to you sir?’ de Lissey asked, going off on another tack completely.
Fury paused for a moment, muttering the name to himself in case it was familiar.
‘I regret sir, that it does not,’ he replied at length. ‘Should it?’
‘Perhaps not. I have been using it for months now, since to use my proper title would have certainly caused my own death and that of my family.’
Fury waited for him to continue but he did not, prompting him to encourage him further.
‘And your title is?’
‘I am the Duc d’Avigne.’
Fury had still not heard of the man, even if he was telling the truth.
‘May I ask then sir,’ Fury began, ‘why you wish to see the admiral?’
He was not sure how to address a French duke – if he was indeed genuine – but the simple ‘sir’ seemed to suffice.
‘I wish to claim the protection of His Britannic Majesty King George,’ de Lissey explained. ‘The admiral will no doubt be able to arrange immediate passage to, and refuge in, England, for myself and my family.’
‘I see,’ Fury replied. ‘Your family are on board sir?’
‘They are. We were fortunate enough to find anonymity after my estates were seized. We had been living in Toulon for some time when your fleet arrived, and we were among the fortunate few to escape when the city was evacuated. We have made ourselves as comfortable as possible at the front of the ship.’
‘Very well,’ Fury relented. ‘If the admiral desires my presence on board the flagship then you may accompany me. In the meantime I will speak to one of my men and have you and your family moved into one of the other cabins aft, for more comfort and privacy. That is as much as I can do for the moment sir.’
‘Very well,’ de Lissey agreed, standing up to take his leave. ‘I thank you Lieutenant, for your courtesy.’
With a stiff bow he turned and left the cabin. Fury paused only long enough to ensure the desk was locked, with the pistols inside, before following him out and making his way up the main hatchway to the deck above.
Midshipman Francis was standing over by the starboard fore chains with some of the men, checking the lanyards securing the lower shrouds to the channels for any signs of chafe.
‘Mr Francis, a word if you please.’
Francis touched his hat and followed him over to the larboard side of the deck.
‘It would seem,’ Fury began, ‘that among our guests on board we have the Duc d’Avigne and his family.’
Fury could see from the boy’s raised eyebrows that the title had its effect.
‘Please be so kind,’ he continued, ‘as to move the gentleman in question, and his family, into the cabins on the starboard side, and have the men help with their belongings.’
‘Aye aye sir,’ Francis replied.
‘Mark you Mr Francis, this information is between you and I. I would like to keep it that way for the time being.’
‘I understand sir.’
‘Very well then. The gentleman in question is down below just forrard of the foremast, with white breeches and a thick green velvet jacket. You will address him as Monsieur de Lissey in front of the other passengers to avoid any embarrassment.’
Francis touched his hat once more and walked aft towards the main hatchway, shouting to a number of the men to join him as he went.
Fury looked over at the rest of the fleet, sitting there at anchor in the grey choppy waters of the bay wondering how long it would be before Admiral Hood made up his mind what his next move would be.
Chapter Twenty
Fury looked up as a knock on the cabin door heralded the arrival of Midshipman Francis.
‘The flagship’s signalling sir. All captains to repair on board.’
‘Very well Mr Francis. Hoist the acknowledgement and have the boat’s crew ready.’
‘Aye aye sir,’ Francis replied, turning to slip out of the cabin.
‘And Mr Francis!’ Fury called after him.
The small head craned back round the rim of the door.
‘Sir?’
‘Aye aye sir.’
The door closed after him and Fury reached into the desk drawer, pulling out his full written report of events since Hood placed him in command of Fort Pomet. He quickly rose from behind the desk, walked over to the settee, and picked up his hat and sword. He took a moment to check his appearance in the small mirror hanging on the bulkhead. Satisfied, he left the small cabin.
By the time he had reached the deck, his sword was clipped on and his hat was firmly shoved atop his head. Francis was there on deck, nervously making conversation with de Lissey. One look over the side confirmed that the men were already down in the boat alongside, waiting.
‘You have the deck Mr Francis,’ Fury said formally, turning to the young midshipman and returning his salute. ‘Monsieur de Lissey – after you sir.’
He beckoned the Frenchman towards the entry port but the man stood fast.
‘No Capitaine, after you.’
Fury realised de Lissey was attempting to be polite in letting him go first, unaware that it was the custom of the navy for the captain to be last down the side.
‘I must go last sir,’ he insisted.
‘Very well,’ de Lissey replied, beginning to make his way down the little brig’s side.
Fury watched him go with a wry smile on his face – de Lissey was lucky there was barely seven feet to climb down, he thought, the way he was struggling.
He had made it now, falling into the boat in somewhat of a heap. Fury followed him down, waited for the boat to rise on the choppy sea, and jumped in, making his way to the stern sheets to take the tiller.
The painter and stern fast were cast off and a gruff order of ‘Shove off! Out oars! Give way all!’ sent the boat dancing away from the brig as the men gave a lusty pull. A little port helm brought the bow round to point at the bulk of HMS Victory, massive even at a distance of two cables’ lengths. Other boats could be seen pulling for the flagship as their captains tried to outdo each other in promptness.
It took fifteen minutes of heavy rowing against the waves before they were up to her, the men gaining a small pause for rest as they waited for another gig – fresh from delivering her captain aboard – to cast off so they could come alongside.
Fury managed to scramble out of the boat and up the Victory’s side before de Lissey had even managed to stand up. Fury watched him again from the Victory’s entry port as he tentatively moved to the battens, holding on to the oarsmen’s shoulders for balance, before heaving himself up and scrambling aboard with a surprising nimbleness considering his descent down the side of Renard.
Fury turned inboard once the man was safely next to him, and found the now familiar face of the flag captain, Knight, in front of him.
‘Lieutenant Fury sir, in command of HMS Fortitude’s prize, the Renard.’
‘Welcome aboard Mr Fury,’ Knight replied, turning slightly to de Lissey. ‘And who is this gentleman?’
Fury hastily made the introductions, introducing de Lissey as the Duc d’Avigne.
‘The gentleman made himself known to me yesterday,’ Fury explained, ‘and expressed a wish to see His Lordship.’
Knight seemed satisfied by the explanation and turned to lead them towards the admiral’s quarters.
‘It would perhaps be best,’ Captain Knight explained, ‘If His Grace were to wait in the admiral’s dining compartment until His Lordship has completed his briefing.’
De Lissey bowed slightly and followed Knight into the room, from which the flag captain returned after a brief period and closed the door. Fury then followed him into the admiral’s day cabin, now bustling with an array of lofty post captains from throughout the fleet. He recognised some of them, in spite of his relatively short time in the Mediterranean; Captain Nelson of the Agamemnon, Foley of the St George and Linzee of the Alcide. Fury promptly found himself the most inconspicuous corner of the room and stayed there so as not to attract too much attention.
Presently Lord Hood entered, whereupon the buzz of conversation died down as he took his usual seat behind his desk, the light through the great stern windows behind him casting him in shadow.
‘Gentlemen,’ he began, ‘after the recent unfortunate events at Toulon I have decided to occupy the fleet in the reduction of Corsica. There is absolutely no value in continuing the blockade of Toulon. Those ships of the French fleet which we did not take or destroy are in no fit condition to take the sea, even if there were seamen enough in Toulon to man them. Corsica has numerous fine ports and would make an excellent base of operations for the fleet.’
There was a short murmur of conversation as the officers in the room digested this information, before Hood continued.
‘We shall begin with Calvi and then proceed to Bastia. I shall brief you all further when we arrive at our destination. I have no doubt of our success in these operations.’
Hood was interrupted at this point by Captain Nelson.
‘What about the refugees within the fleet, My Lord?’
‘I was coming to that presently,’ Hood replied. ‘All the refugees taken by the fleet will be transferred to every transport we have available and will be taken to Gibraltar immediately. A number of the frigates among the French fleet which were found seaworthy enough were brought out for that purpose. Are there any further questions?’
He looked round the room as if to dare anyone to raise a question. No one took up the challenge.
‘Very well then. We shall weigh at dawn tomorrow. Could Captain Keene and lieutenants Stephenson, Lycett, Allan, Cousins, Wood and Fury please remain behind. The rest of you gentlemen are dismissed.’
There was a general scraping of chairs as the captains of the fleet took their leave. With the last of them gone, the room was quiet once more, and Fury looked around at his companions. They were all lieutenants from the various ships of the fleet who had been commandeered to command prizes and transports, like himself. The only exception wore the uniform of a captain, the one epaulette on his left shoulder showing he was a captain with less than three years’ seniority. He must be Captain Keene, mused Fury, looking at his huge bulk and flame-red hair.
Lord Hood broke the silence at last.
‘Gentlemen, you will weigh anchor tomorrow immediately after the fleet, and set course for Gibraltar. Captain Keene will be your escort in the Lowestoft. My clerk will be in shortly. Please supply him with details of how many refugees you can take in addition to your current number. I will then arrange for those others throughout the fleet to be distributed to you accordingly before nightfall. You will be reprovisioned for the short journey tomorrow morning. Are there any questions gentlemen?’
Again there was silence.
‘Very well then, I shall send my clerk in presently.’
With that, he swept round the desk and out of the cabin door, prompting the room to explode into conversation. A short time later the admiral’s clerk entered, a small balding man with spectacles on the end of his nose who reminded Fury of a weasel.
It did not take long for each officer to go through which ship they commanded and how many more refugees they could take on board. Fury was the last of these, and he reluctantly accepted another ten passengers.
He got up to leave, resolving that he would first have to seek out de Lissey – he could not very well leave him behind with his family on board Renard. He was saved from the task by the entrance of Captain Knight.
‘Ah Mr Fury! His Lordship would like a word with you in the dining cabin. Follow me please.’
Fury followed him through into the dining cabin, where seated at the table were Lord Hood and de Lissey, deep in conversation.
‘Lieutenant Fury sir,’ Knight announced as they entered.
‘Come in Mr Fury – take a seat.’
Fury took the proffered chair as Knight quietly slipped out of the room.
‘His Grace, the Duc d’Avigne, has bee
n telling me how well he and his family have been treated on board the Renard, Fury.’
After his first meeting with de Lissey yesterday, Fury found this hard to believe.
‘Indeed sir?’ he replied non-committally, trying to detect any trace of sarcasm in Hood’s voice. The old admiral merely returned his stare with not the slightest hint of either humour or admonishment.
‘As you are probably aware Mr Fury, His Grace is eager to travel to England with his family, to live until such a time as he may safely return to his home and estates.’
‘So I understood,’ Fury responded cautiously, beginning to wonder why His Lordship should feel the need to tell him all this.
‘Unfortunately, the Lowestoft is only going as far as Gibraltar, and I cannot currently spare any other frigates from the fleet for His Grace and his family to take passage in. He has, however, expressed a willingness to travel home in Renard, in spite of the potential dangers of capture.’
‘I am flattered, My Lord,’ Fury mumbled, his heart sinking at the thought of being a babysitter to a nobleman and his family.
‘Excellent, then that is settled,’ Hood continued. ‘You will also carry my despatches home, which you will personally deliver to Their Lordships at the Admiralty immediately upon your arrival. I have agreed to furnish His Grace with letters of introduction which will enable him to settle in England as quickly as possible. I will send across written orders this afternoon in confirmation, along with the despatches you are to take. Do you have any questions?’
‘We are extremely short-handed, My Lord. Only about thirty men, mostly the prize crew from the Fortitude when we captured her. If it came to a fight …’
Fury was hoping that the knowledge of how short-handed they were would persuade Lord Hood to choose another ship for the task. He was disappointed.