by G. S. Beard
As the First Lord looked up at him, Fury was surprised to see how young he was. Perhaps not young, he corrected himself, but at least younger than the decrepit old admiral he had been imagining. His head still showed a full crop of hair, although silvery and thinning towards the front, with thick bushy black eyebrows over deep-set, hawk-like eyes.
‘Come in man, come in,’ he waved testily, beckoning Fury further into the office. ‘Take a seat.’
Fury obliged with a muttered ‘Thank you, My Lord’ and placed the despatches on his lap.
‘Now Lieutenant, I understand you bring despatches from Admiral Hood.’
‘Aye My Lord,’ Fury replied, handing over the despatches to the outstretched hand of Chatham.
‘Now pray, Lieutenant, why would you not let my porters deliver these?’
The tone of his voice was suddenly stern but Fury answered back immediately, confident he had fulfilled his orders to the letter.
‘Lord Hood implicitly ordered me to deliver the despatches to you in person, My Lord.’
A small pause ensued before Chatham’s features softened slightly.
‘Quite right Lieutenant, quite right.’ Another small pause. ‘I shall read through the despatches later. For the time being sir, you can give me a verbal account of the situation in the Mediterranean.’
‘Aye sir,’ Fury replied, pausing to sort his thoughts into some kind of order. ‘On the 17th Lord Hood judged it expedient to evacuate the fleet from Toulon. The besieging force of Republicans had been steadily growing and early on the 17th managed to take Fort Mulgrave, and subsequently l’Eguillette and Balaguier, covering the western shore. It was at that point Lord Hood ordered the evacuation of the troops, along with as many of the French fleet as could be safely brought out. Several thousand of the populace were also given protection by the fleet. Captain Sir Sydney Smith was employed in the task of burning the remainder of the French fleet still within the harbour. As far as my memory serves me only twelve French vessels survived the attempt, although the majority are in no way seaworthy.’
The Earl Of Chatham took the news with the stoicism of a true diplomat, merely nodding his head as Fury made his report.
‘I had been expecting this for some time,’ he muttered. ‘Do you know what Lord Hood’s plans are now?’
‘His Lordship held a briefing with the captains of the fleet and informed them of his plans to use the fleet in the reduction of Corsica.’
‘I see.’
The room was silent for a few moments while Chatham digested the news, before he raised his head.
‘Very well. Thank you Mr Fury, you have been most helpful. That will be all, I think.’
Fury paused before uttering his next sentence – it was not wise to raise unimportant matters with the First Lord of the Admiralty, but he knew his chances of a speedy reappointment may lie in the Earl of Chatham’s hands.
‘Excuse me My Lord, if I may … ?’
‘Well, what is it?’ Chatham asked.
‘I was given temporary command of a prize brig to deliver His Lordship’s despatches, which is currently anchored in Spithead. Lord Hood thought it best to terminate my current posting on board Fortitude. I am therefore currently on half pay and I would be glad of another appointment as soon as possible, My Lord.’
Chatham looked at him in silence, causing Fury to shift nervously in his chair. Nevertheless he returned Chatham’s gaze unflinchingly, waiting for the response which could decide his future. Finally it came.
‘Very well, I’ll be sure to bear your name in mind Mr Fury. Leave a contact address with one of the porters before you go.’
‘Aye My Lord, and thank you.’
He got to his feet and put his hat back on, touching the peak to the First Lord before turning on his heel and leaving the room.
It took only a moment to make his way back down the silent upper corridor, now completely deserted, before descending the stairs and approaching the nearest porter he could find. He was relieved to see that it was not the same man he had dealt with earlier, so the task of leaving an address for him – he gave his mother’s – passed away peacefully.
The coachman had pulled the carriage into the Admiralty courtyard, so that it was only a matter of three steps before he was standing with the door open shouting up to the driver to begin heading back to Portsmouth, thankful that he had been allowed the use of the port admiral’s post-chaise for the return leg.
The journey back was much the same, the coach stopping overnight in exactly the same village as on the way there. He had one night’s stay in Portsmouth at the Angel – he was not sure why he avoided the George Inn, but he did – during which time he called in to see Sophie and her father. Gourrier had not been successful in finding any work thus far, and so Fury had had to reach into his cash reserves once again to ensure they had enough for a further week’s accommodation.
Fury only had an hour before his coach left for Swampton, but he was determined to spend some time alone with Sophie before he went. Since arriving back in England and arranging lodgings for Sophie and her father, he had been struck by the extent of his responsibilities to her. He had been so intent on bringing her out of danger that he had not considered just how much she would have to rely on him to survive, at least in the short term. The weight of responsibility was almost tangible. That said, his feelings for her had, if anything, intensified since he had first met her, and so he entered into the task willingly.
They went for a short walk through the town and along the waterfront, in spite of the bitter coldness which was exacerbated by the wind blowing in from the exposed anchorage.
‘How long will you be gone?’ She turned to look at him, her cheeks red from the chill wind. Fury had been pointing out the different ships at anchor in the harbour, and the sudden change of subject took him by surprise.
‘A week at least. I cannot very well see my mother after more than two years and then leave her again after a day or so.’
‘And then you will return to Portsmouth?’
‘Yes.’ Although the Earl of Chatham had promised to send details of his next appointment to his mother’s address, Fury wanted to return and visit one of Portsmouth’s prize agents sooner rather than later so that his claim for prize money would not be forgotten. ‘Hopefully your father will have some success in finding work before then.’
‘I’m sure one of us will.’ She paused. ‘I hope we will not be a burden to you.’
He looked at her worried face and his heart warmed to her. ‘Of course not, you never have to worry on that score.’ He grasped her hand and squeezed it as if to reassure her further, and he received a smile in response. ‘Come on, let us get you back to your father. My coach will be leaving shortly.’
They turned away from the harbour and headed back into the town towards Sophie’s lodgings, arm in arm.
‘Will you tell your mother about me?’ Sophie asked, after a short period of silence.
Fury had been debating that very question on his journey back from London, and had still not decided what to do. It was nothing to do with embarrassment, but his mother had always struggled to earn enough to put food on the table for Fury and his brother, and he wasn’t sure how she would react if he told her he was now supporting Sophie and her father.
‘Yes, I think so,’ he lied, eager not to offend or worry her further.
They lapsed into another comfortable silence, each savouring the other’s company for these last few minutes. They reached Sophie’s lodgings and Fury left her at the front door, kissing her hand and promising to return soon. She had a tear in her eye as he turned away, and it took all his willpower to carry on walking without looking back.
It did not take long to reach the Angel, where his belongings were already packed, leaving only the paying of the bill to attend to before leaving for the coach.
His home of Swampton was in Hampshire, and was a mere forty miles from Portsmouth to the north. Even after such a long absence Fury knew
every inch of it. He was surprised at the nostalgia welling up within him as he stared at the countryside with the carriage rolling along, the frost finally disappearing under the pale weak sun to reveal the harsh greens and browns of an English winter landscape. Over two and a half years away, and he was finally going back to Swampton, back home.
Author’s Note
Any keen students of naval history who have read about Fury’s adventures at Toulon may have spotted inaccuracies in the events described. I offer my apologies for this. I have endeavoured to describe events as accurately as possible, but in certain cases artistic licence had to intervene.
For example, General O’Hara was not so lucky as to have men with the quickness of thought of Fury and Clark nearby, so that when he was shot during the attack on the Republican batteries at the end of November 1793, he was powerless to prevent his own capture.
I also had to bring forward the requisition of troops from the Grand Master of Malta for my own purposes. If I had adhered to the correct dates, then Fury would not have been around to take part in the gunboat battle with the Republican masked batteries, one of which, incidentally, was commanded by Bonaparte himself, at that time only a colonel of artillery.
Finally, I have to offer my apologies to Captain Hare, who commanded the boat which picked up Fury and Lieutenant Gore after they had successfully steered the fire ship into the inner basin. He was in fact on board the fire ship with Lieutenant Gore, risking their lives steering the blazing vessel into a position to reek maximum carnage, and although both men were badly burned, they were brought off safely.
Other events were, for the most part, as described. From my point of view, it was fortunate that the absence of HMS Fortitude from Toulon, occasioned by the damage she suffered during the attack on a Mortello tower in Corsica, allowed Fury the freedom to involve himself in many of the adventures surrounding the defence of that city. It also provided a realistic opportunity for him to return to England in temporary command of his own ship. It is now up to Their Lordships at the Admiralty to decide where his next adventures take him.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three