Lieutenant Fury

by G. S. Beard

  ‘Very well, when you reach Gibraltar I shall make sure you get another twenty seaman to complete your complement,’ Hood offered. ‘They can be taken from the transports. I shall have orders drafted up for Captain Keene to that effect. Anything else, Lieutenant?’

  ‘My ship sir, the Fortitude. How am I to rejoin her?’

  Judging by the length of time it took Hood to answer, it was a question which he had not previously considered. He spoke at last.

  ‘She is currently refitting at Gibraltar, as you know. I shall write to Captain Young to inform him that I am discharging you from her complement. Upon your arrival at the Admiralty you will have to apply for another appointment.’

  Fury’s bottom jaw dropped at that news – not only did he have to take this man and his aristocratic family back to England, but he was also to lose his employment in the process. He glanced up to see Lord Hood looking at him in anticipation, having presumably just asked a question.

  ‘You have your dunnage with you?’ Hood repeated.

  ‘Yes, My Lord,’ Fury stammered.

  ‘Good, then I will send orders to Captain Young informing him. Captain Keene can deliver these once the convoy has safely arrived in Gibraltar.’

  ‘Yes, My Lord.’

  ‘Very well then, I think that concludes our business.’

  Fury rose out of his chair, quickly followed by both Hood and de Lissey.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next morning broke crisp and clear, with a thin layer of frost covering Renard’s rigging and decks. The breeze was light but icy cold and seemed to blow right through the men whose duty kept them upon the deck.

  Fury stood on deck and watched as the fleet weighed anchor and stood out of the bay led by the Victory, surprisingly graceful for a vessel her size. Progress was slow as he watched the column of vessels – under full sail to try and catch as much of the breeze as possible – tack in succession to the eastward as soon as they had gained enough sea room.

  At first light this morning they had hoisted sufficient provisions on board to feed their passengers for the short journey to Gibraltar. Fury looked at his watch as the last of the ships cleared the mouth of the bay and was surprised to find it was nearly eleven o’clock now. One more quick glance around the bay showed the only vessels remaining were the transports, now packed full with all the refugees from Toulon whom the fleet had been able to rescue, along with the escorting frigate, HMS Lowestoft, under Captain Keene. The prearranged signal for weighing anchor was now flying from her mast, and Fury watched her topsails unfold as the gaskets were untied and the men on deck hauled on the sheets.

  ‘Mr Francis!’ he shouted, waiting until the young midshipman had bounded across the deck to him before continuing. ‘Prepare to weigh anchor.’

  Francis acknowledged and repeated the instructions to the men, waiting at their stations around the deck.

  As soon as the Lowestoft had glided past them on her way out, Fury had the anchor hove up, the men on the focsle busy with the cat and fish tackle as the topsails were loosed and sheeted home, sending Renard gliding forward in the Lowestoft’s wake.

  By one o’clock all the transports had cleared the bay and had all plain sail set to keep up with the Lowestoft out ahead. Once dinner was finished, Fury reluctantly consented to allow those passengers who wished to go up on deck for fresh air after having been kept down below all day as Renard sailed.

  As the first of the passengers were coming up the main hatchway, Fury made his way below to the relative peace of his cabin, telling Francis on the way to keep a sharp lookout for any signals from the Lowestoft.

  He was barely settled behind the desk when there was a knock on the door. In response to his shout the door opened and Sophie poked her head round the frame.

  ‘Come in,’ Fury beckoned. ‘Please, take a seat.’

  Sophie settled herself in the chair opposite Fury’s desk with a smile. ‘I haven’t had a chance to thank you properly for rescuing us. My father and I owe you our lives.’

  Fury waved away her thanks in embarrassment, and tried to make light of his efforts.

  ‘It was the only way I could think of getting to see you again.’

  She smiled again at that. ‘My father worries constantly about the future and about me. At least we can now look forward without fear for our lives. I don’t know how we can repay you.’

  ‘Seeing you safe is repayment enough. I know the future is uncertain for you, but I can assure you I will see that you are taken care of. I would consider it an honour.’

  Another knock on the door interrupted Fury and saved him from saying too much. Perrin half entered with an apologetic look on his face.

  ‘Sorry to bother you sir, but Mr Francis sends his compliments, and the Lowestoft is signalling.’

  ‘Very well, I shall be up presently.’

  Perrin nodded and quietly slipped out, while Fury turned back to Sophie.

  ‘I am sorry. I have my duty to attend to.’

  ‘Of course. I should be getting back to my father, to make sure he is not getting up to any mischief.’

  Fury escorted her out and hurried up on deck, where Lowestoft was flying the signal for all transports to make all sail they could carry. Renard was a sufficiently swift sailer to keep up with the other transports without the need to increase her current spread of canvas, so after half an hour Fury returned below to his cabin, hoping fervently that Captain Keene in the Lowestoft was not the kind of captain who felt it necessary to make signals every ten minutes.

  As luck would have it, very few signals were made by the Lowestoft during the whole of the passage south-westward to Gibraltar. Not another vessel was sighted until Europa Point was spied fine on the starboard bow, four bells in the forenoon watch on the sixth day out. The precipitous rock could very soon be seen from the deck with the naked eye as the convoy of transports approached, so that the whole of the starboard side of Renard was filled with the craning necks of Royalist refugees, eager to catch a first glimpse of the landmark which towered high above the town where many of them would no doubt make their home.

  An exasperated Fury paced the larboard side from the tiller to the mainmast and back, trying to keep as far away from them as possible while ignoring the incessant chatter and conversation in garbled French which the sighting had provoked.

  ‘Mr Francis!’ he shouted, his patience exhausted at last. ‘Have our passengers escorted below. They are not to be allowed back on deck until we are swinging at our anchor in Gibraltar Bay. Is that understood?’

  Francis acknowledged hastily. He knew Fury’s moods well enough by now to recognise the need for caution when those dark brown eyebrows came together in a frown.

  Fury watched the refugees shepherded below, his mood temporarily lifted by the knowledge that his passengers would not have the pleasure of seeing the Rock of Gibraltar in all its beauty as Renard rounded Europa Point and stood north into the magnificent bay.

  Fury himself could spare little enough time for the view, concentrating his efforts on their approach to the bay in the wake of their escort. They followed the Lowestoft right up to the New Mole along with the rest of the makeshift squadron, the salutes ringing out around the bay as they glided in.

  Fury kept a careful eye on the Lowestoft up ahead, watching for the first sign of her head coming up into the wind. He saw it at last, quickly turning to the helmsman and ordering the tiller put over so that by the time the topsails had been furled and the bower anchor dropped, Renard was making a slow stern board a little under two cables from her.

  ‘Have the boats lowered away!’ he shouted, anxious to be rid of his passengers as quickly as possible.

  The boats were lowered alongside in no time, ready to ship the first of the refugees ashore. Fury could already see the boats from the other transports beginning the slow pull to the quayside. As the first of his own passengers began their awkward descent down the low side of Renard into the waiting boats, Fury felt his mood lift for
the first time in days.

  ‘Two boats shoving off from the jetty sir,’ Perrin reported, as Fury paced the deck of Renard the following morning under a weak wintry sun.

  A quick pause to glance over to starboard confirmed that it would be another fifteen minutes before the boats reached them, and so Fury continued his pacing, anxious lest one small pause might give de Lissey and his family the opportunity of inviting him over to where they stood by the fore chains.

  The transfer of his other passengers had been completed late yesterday evening, and this morning had been taken up with reprovisioning the ship from the hoys for their journey home. Only de Lissey and family, along with Sophie and her father, remained. Fury had not gained official permission to transport Sophie and her father all the way to England, but he did not wish to abandon them in Gibraltar. He was confident that Gourrier’s title of Comte de Chabeuil would save him from any official admonishment should the authorities become aware of it.

  ‘Boats approaching sir,’ Perrin repeated ten minutes later, interrupting Fury’s thoughts. He walked over to the starboard bulwark to peer down into the approaching boats.

  As he had been expecting, the boats were full of men taken from the other transports, promised to him now that they had reached Gibraltar. They would be very useful for the voyage back to England, more to man the guns and beat off a boarding attempt by any privateers than to help handle Renard. Hood obviously attached some importance to de Lissey and his family.

  The first boat hooked on and a callow-faced youth appeared on deck in an ill-fitting midshipman’s coat, dirk at his hip. It only took him a moment to spy out Fury’s uniform and make his way across to him.

  ‘Midshipman Fleck sir, from the Lowestoft. Captain Keene sent me across with the men you were promised. Twenty of ’em sir.’

  ‘Get ’em up on deck then,’ Fury replied impatiently.

  Fleck shouted down to the first boat, and they boarded Renard with their dunnage slung over their shoulders.

  Some moments passed while the second boat hooked on and the rest of the men came on deck.

  ‘Please convey my thanks to Captain Keene, and inform him I will be sailing immediately,’ Fury said to Midshipman Fleck, walking him over to the entry port.

  ‘Aye aye sir,’ Fleck replied, making his way down the brig’s side into the waiting boat. The first boat had already begun the pull back to the jetty.

  Fury stood there for a moment watching until the second boat unhooked from the side and began to row away, then turned inboard to face the large group of seamen who were standing waiting.

  He could see de Lissey, with his wife and two sons, looking aft from the forechains with mild curiosity on their faces, and he was aware that everyone was expecting him to make some kind of speech to welcome the new men on board. Every new captain reading himself in on board a new ship with a new crew was expected to say at least a few words to the men, but this was not his ship and these were not his men.

  ‘Mr Francis!’ he barked. ‘Take the men below and have ’em sling their hammocks. Divide the new men into two watches and assign them duties. Then set ’em to work. I want every yard of rigging checked, blocks greased, decks scrubbed and sails inspected before we sail.’

  ‘Aye aye sir!’ Francis piped, as Fury strode to the main hatchway to go below.

  ‘Oh and Mr Francis,’ he called, hovering with one foot over the companion ladder. ‘I’ll expect a list of each watch and every man’s station by four bells.’

  ‘Aye aye sir.’

  Francis looked slightly crestfallen at the thought of having to sit down and draw up a watch and station bill for the new men, but Fury was unsympathetic. It would do him good, Fury thought, as he entered his cabin and made for the desk, throwing his coat on to the settee.

  He sat and wrote up his journal, the stuffiness in the cabin oppressive, even in the winter. Mr Francis’ arrival with the newly drawn-up watch bill deprived him of the chance to dive up on deck into the fresh air, and so it was nearly half-past one in the afternoon when he finally rose.

  ‘The decks have been scrubbed sir,’ Francis reported as he reached the deck, ‘the blocks have been greased, and the men are still checking over the sails and rigging.’

  ‘Very well Mr Francis,’ Fury replied. ‘The men can finish that once we are under way. If you would be so kind as to call the men to their stations, we will weigh anchor.’

  ‘Aye aye sir.’

  Francis turned round and bellowed to the men around the decks, sending them rushing about in apparent confusion. Fury watched as the bars were rigged to the capstan, and the messenger cable was brought up and taken round the capstan barrel before being led forward and attached to the thick anchor cable.

  ‘Heave away!’ called Francis, after a nod from Fury.

  The men threw their weight on to the capstan bars and began walking slowly round, causing Renard to be pulled in against her cable.

  Fury suddenly noticed de Lissey and his family forward by the cathead watching the events in fascination, and he cursed himself for forgetting to send them below.

  ‘At short stay sir,’ called the man forward near de Lissey, peering over the bow to where the cable dropped away into the murky depths of Gibraltar Bay.

  A few minutes later and the call of ‘Up and down’ resonated from the same man, Renard now being directly over her anchor.

  ‘Keep at it lads!’ Fury called, as the men’s progress slowed momentarily as they fought to release the anchor flukes from the seabed.

  Finally the call of ‘Anchors aweigh’ came from the man forward and the men were able to heave much easier as the anchor came rising up to the surface.

  ‘Let fall the topsails!’ Fury bellowed, as soon as the anchor was free.

  The men rushed aloft and scampered out along the topsail yards, untying the gaskets and sending the canvas flapping down as the men on deck hauled on sheets.

  ‘Steady at the braces there. Handsomely now!’ he bellowed, as the yards swung slowly round.

  A loud clapping overhead from the fore and main topsails told that the yards had passed the eye of the wind, and seconds later they began to fill, sending Renard surging forward through the sheltered waters of the bay.

  The anchor was catted and fished while they glided out of the bay, finally meeting the choppier waters of the Mediterranean as they entered the strait and turned westward, with the wind steady at north by east.

  Fury stood by the starboard main chains, watching as the coast of southern Spain slipped lazily past. He was finally going home, to England. After more than two long years he would see his homeland again, and the thought of it brought a smile to his weather-beaten face. He wondered what his mother would make of him when he finally arrived back. He was barely the same person now. The transformation he had undergone surprised even him when he took the time to contemplate it.

  He shuddered at the memory of some of the sights he had seen during that time, sights which would have hardened the toughest children. And now there was Sophie too. How would she and her father settle in England? Would they be accepted without discrimination, or would they feel trapped and persecuted? Fury was not even sure if his lieutenant’s pay would be enough to sustain them until they could get on their feet. It would have to be, he decided; Sophie was his responsibility now, no matter what society thought. His smile was long gone as he stared at the bare hills of the Spanish mainland as they passed, acutely aware that he had much to think about.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Sail ho!’

  The shout came down from the lookout perched high up at the fore topmast head as Renard made her way north with a brisk westerly wind. Fury was attempting to get a clear noon sight with his sextant, de Lissey standing next to him having expressed an interest in the art of navigation.

  Fury looked up, glad of the distraction – he had been struggling to get an accurate sight amid the distant haze clouding the horizon, with the grey overcast sky frequently hiding th
e sun.

  ‘Where away?’

  ‘About five points off the larboard bow sir, heading eastward!’

  ‘Keep an eye on her and let me know how she steers!’ Fury shot back, turning to de Lissey to make his apologies.

  ‘There will no doubt be another opportunity for you to observe the noon sight, Your Grace,’ Fury told him. ‘Now if you will excuse me sir, I must attend to my duties.’

  He touched his hat and hurried to the main hatchway leading to the deck below and his cabin. Throwing his sextant on the settee without another thought, he clipped on his sword, grabbed his telescope and made his way back up on deck.

  He was surprised to find de Lissey’s wife and two sons now standing with de Lissey by the nettings, having heard the shouted report from the lookout, but Fury could afford to spare them little more than a glance as he stared aloft once again to address the lookout.

  ‘How does she bear now?’ he shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth to help his voice carry.

  ‘Still five poten tons lighter. For the fifteen minutesints off the larboard bow sir – wait – she’s altered course sir – towards us!’

  Fury tried to betray no emotion at the news, and thought hard for a moment. Whoever she was, she had obviously just spotted Renard and had moved to intercept her. That suggested she was a vessel of war, or at least of some force. Normally he would be confident that she was a British frigate or sloop cruising the area, but the fact that the vessel had originally been heading east, towards the Bay of Biscay, suggested she was a Frenchman.

  Certainly any British ship with no specific business there would try to avoid getting caught in the Bay of Biscay, where a strong westerly wind often meant being caught on a dangerous lee shore. If he was right, then the chances are she was probably a privateer on a short cruise, hoping to snap up a prize or two before dashing back to the safety of port. In that case she would be heavily manned at least, if not heavily armed too.

  He was well aware of his duty in a situation such as this. Carrying the admiral’s despatches concerning the fall of Toulon last month, and transporting an important family back to England, his course of action could not be more clear – bear away now into the Bay of Biscay and keep their distance until nightfall would guarantee their safety.