“Low blow, bastard!” Duncan raised his voice and renewed his attack. Finally he managed by sheer chance to cut Tewksby on the upper left arm.
“Ah hah! Got you! First blood!” he exclaimed exultantly and stepped back. As far as he was concerned the fight was over.
“Ow, Ouch, Ow!” Tewksby cried out, more in surprise than in pain, and held up his arm staring at the blood beginning to stain the sleeve of his jacket. He clutched at it theatrically. You… you could have killed me!” he cried.
“Honor satisfied.” Duncan announced grandly and was about to slide his sword into his scabbard when he realized that Tewksby had other ideas.
Forgetting completely where he was and the danger, he shouted, “I’ll kill you for that, you swine!” and charged at Duncan, who retreated under the flurry of wild blows from Tewksby’s sword. Duncan’s blood was up now and he was angry. “No honor with you, is there, Tewk?” he called at his rival, whose eyes were narrowed with hate.
“Not necessary for a peasant like you!” Tewksby slashed at him again. Their blades rang out in the descending dusk as the two boys danced about, tossing out insults and performing a wild jig on the sand while trying to dismember one another.
They were thus engaged when the French arrived.
*****
Sergeant Émile and his section had been on an evening patrol. They were no longer needed at the fort. where the siege continued unabated. Captain Clément and his company had been pulled back and had rested for a day before being given clean-up duties and patrol work. Preferring patrol work to the grisly business of burials, Émile had volunteered his section for a coastal patrol. His men agreed with this idea, as did his commander, who told him to go as far as the fresh water lake near the beach and then report back.
The patrol up to this point had been uneventful, which was just how they liked it. No lurking Turks bent on massacre, torture and looting, no packs of feral dogs that barked incessantly nor crocodiles. The men, accustomed to forced marches, enjoyed the loitering and relaxed walk that took them along the dirt track just behind the dunes out of sight of the beach itself. They had poked their heads over the top of the sand dunes to look out to sea on one occasion and seen a couple of what they too to be fishing boats ahead of them, then had then moved on. But now Private Poupard held up his hand for silence. The men stopped and became instantly alert. “I hear something,” he said. “Over there!” he pointed.
“What is it?” Sergeant Émile demanded.
“You won’t believe this, Sergeant, but it sounded like… swords?”
Sergeant Émile trusted his men’s instincts, and their sense of hearing even iff somewhat impaired by the din of the battle by now. “Come on! Hurry! We need to find out what it is. Half cock the muskets.” The men instantly became a cohesive unit, their eyes and ears alert for anything in the gloom, their muskets at the ready and set at the half cock.
They hurried off the road towards the sound of the clashing steel, which seemed to be growing in intensity. They breasted a rise and saw before them, about eighty yards away and on a bare space half surrounded by shrubs and trees, two figures going at it with swords.
At that moment the fighter facing the soldiers noticed them too and, shouting in alarm, turned and ran away. The one with his back to the French broke off from what appeared to be a duel of sorts and turned, gaping at the oncoming French.
*****
“Its the Froggies! Run!” Tewksby yelped.
Duncan at first didn’t believe his opponent, thinking it was some treacherous ploy to distract him, but then Tewksby turned and scampered away in the direction of the boats.
“Come back here, you coward!” Duncan called, but then he decided to see what Tewksby had really seen. He whirled to gape at the oncoming soldiers and his blood ran cold. “Oh God! Oh Bugger! Oh fuck! Run!” he called out unnecessarily, and turned back to run for the boats. Tewksby had already vanished into the trees. “Bugger me!” exclaimed Duncan, amazed at his former opponent’s alacrity, then he too began to run as hard as his legs could carry him, his arms flailing with the effort.
There was a shout from the oncoming soldiers, “Aretez vous!” followed by a loud bang, and a ball whistled overhead.
Duncan fled for the bushes and reached them just as he heard another shout and a volley of musket fire. Fortunately he tripped and tumbled face forward to the sand as several balls twitched the branches of the shrubs and small trees just where his head and shoulders had been, showering him with broken twigs.
Fearful but also annoyed, he hauled his pistol out of his belt, cocked it and pointed it in the general direction of the French and pulled the trigger. The flint snapped down on the pan, there was a small flash, and the weapon bucked in his hand as it discharged with a loud bang followed by a puff of smoke. His reward was a shout of surprise but he didn’t wait to find out what damage he might have done. He rolled clumsily over to his left and took off in another direction in an attempt to throw the soldiers off his trail.
As he blundered away, trying to make as little noise as possible in the gloom, he heard the French reach the border of the trees and stop. They appeared to be discussing their options, and rather than abandoning the pursuit they seemed to be intent on something they’d found. Duncan stopped and listened. Then he realized that he had lost his hat. It wasn’t so much the hat itself as the cost of a new one that would be exacted by the purser if he should ever be lucky enough to return to his ship that made him curse under his breath with chagrin. He thought he heard the words “Chapeau de marine,” being spoken by the French soldiers. They had clearly found it. Soon they would be after him again.
Then the sound of shouts could be heard coming from another direction. That of the boats. Although he could not hear what was being said he could quite clearly make out the high-pitched voice of Tewksby, and then more shouts.
Duncan heard the French rapidly move off in the direction of the boats, making no attempt to hide their own noise as they rushed towards the entrance of the estuary. He sat down to contemplate his situation. He was cut off from the boats, Tewksby had seen to that, the bastard; now he was in enemy territory with nowhere to hide!
Chapter 19
A Skirmish
The first sign of trouble the men at the boats became aware of was the sound of a musket being discharged only a few hundred yards south of their position, followed by the popping sound of a pistol going off. Men looked at one another in alarm. Where were the two young officers? They had gone in that direction about twenty minutes ago.
The sailors were instantly on the alert and, at a signal from Bosun’s Mate Chauncey, both boats were pushed hurriedly and furtively back out into deeper water. Then men on the boats who had weapons fingered their muskets and stared south into the gathering darkness, apprehensively waiting for their junior officers to reappear. They were all startled to behold Midshipman Tewksby stumbling alone over the west bank, shouting.
“The French are coming! Push off at once!” he yelled as he splashed into the water and tried to get aboard one of the boats. One of the seamen helped him clamber over the thwart by seizing his belt and hauling him over the side, to drop him in an undignified heap at the bottom of the boat.
“Jesus, why don’t you tell everyone where we are?” muttered one of the agitated men in a hoarse whisper. “Damned boy officers!”
“Enough of that!” snapped Chauncey. “I’ll take names the next one speaks out of turn.”
“Pull out, pull out and get us out of here!” Tewksby gasped as he sat up in the boat.
“What about Mr Graham, Sir?” The bosun’s mate demanded.
“They... they got him,” Tewksby mumbled.
“But Sir! Are you sure?” Chauncey persisted.
“Get going at once! That’s an order! They are right behind me!” Tewksby shouted at him, sounding panicked.
His jaw tight with anger at having to abandon the young Scots Midshipman to his fate, Chauncey called an order and the rowe
rs bent to their work. Other men stood in the center of the boat with their muskets pointed back at the diminishing shoreline.
Midshipman Tewksby had been right: figures quickly materialized from out of the bush and lined up on the white beach. The sailors could hear shouted orders and then the flash and bang of muskets. Balls whistled overhead or threshed into the water nearby, encouraging the rowers to pull for their lives.
“Give them a taste of our own,” the Bosun’s Mate told the musketeers. He didn’t even ask permission of the young Midshipman seated nearby. There was something fishy about this whole thing. It was no secret that he and the Scot were not on good terms.
The men on the boats fired with a will but it was now too dark to tell if they had hit anything. The darkness and the distance were not any help. There was another volley from the French in reply with no damage, and by then the boats were out to sea for the long pull back to the ships of the fleet.
After the firing had stopped and the boats had vanished into the night, Corporal Émile assembled his men. “Any injuries?” he demanded.
“No, Corporal. But that fellow back there missed me by a hair,” Claude complained.
“What were the Roast Beef doing here?” they asked themselves, the name being the unflattering term the French used for British soldiers.
“My money is on fresh water. That’s why the boats were here. That hat you are holding, Sergeant, is a naval hat, and I’m sure I saw casks in the middle of each of the boats,” Claude said.
“That doesn’t explain the sword play,” Émile growled. “I’ll recognize the last one to run away anywhere. I’ve a good memory for faces. He is a carrot head and has a face as pale as snow.”
“Perhaps he was so scared he went white when he saw us,” Philipe snickered. “We might have just surprised them at practicing,” he added.
“What I saw didn’t look very much like a practice bout,” François replied with a laugh.
“I agree, from what I saw those two were hard at it,” Émile agreed. “Anyway, it’s back to the road and camp. We are miles from camp and need to get back there before some fellaheen decide we are fair game and chase us instead,” he told his men. “Reload en route.”
They regained the road and marched off in silence towards the sound of the guns. Émile was going to report that the British were desperate for water and were sniffing around for it. The Roast Beef would find the French waiting for them the next time they tried.
*****
Duncan sat on the sand and tried to comprehend his situation. “Just my kind of luck!” he lamented as he thought about the utter stupidity of the improvised duel. But then he smiled to himself. It had given him enormous satisfaction to pink Tewksby. That alone, he decided, had made it worth while. “Wish I’d got him in the bum!”
he consoled himself, though he realized that he was in a serious pickle now. He had heard the French soldiers and their noisy engagement with the boats and then they strode they strode off to the road still talking among themselves and marched away.
One thing he was sure of, and that was that by morning they would be back and the area would be swarming with French soldiers, as it must have been clear to them that the British were looking for fresh water. He could not remain here for any length of time. Inwardly he cursed Tewksby for his cowardly behavior, but by the sound of it the sailors had made off without too much trouble, even though there had been some shooting. He hoped there had been no casualties. Where was he to go now? In his British naval uniform it could not be very long before he was picked up by a roving patrol.
With a sigh he stood up and brushed off the sand from his pants, then emptied more from his shoes. He tried to get his bearings. Staring up at the blaze of stars in the sky he found the north star and decided that the palm trees had been due south. That was the general direction Captain Williams had taken, he remembered. He set off, using the stars as his guidance, and after some false starts arrived on the track recently used by the French patrol. In the gloom he could see its pale white stripe going in both directions.
Slowly the night settled in, bringing with it a chorus of frog calls that became louder and louder, the deep boom of the bullfrogs answered by the high pitched squeaks of the tree frogs. Duncan gave up all attempts to be quiet; he could barely hear himself moving with all the noise.
He sweated uncomfortably as he pushed his way past thorny bushes and stumbled over tussocks of sharp-bladed grass. His stocking were rent and torn, and his shoes once again full of sand. He hopped about on one leg as he emptied out one shoe after the other while trying to stay alert. He ruefully contemplated his ruined socks but consoled himself with the thought that he was owed a pair by Tewksby. He shivered. While he had been on the move it had been warm enough, but now the desert cold was seeping across the dark land and he didn’t have his coat, just his light uniform jacket.
The road appeared to be completely deserted, which was some comfort, and furthermore he could just make out the dark silhouette of the copse of palm trees about half a mile further south. He was just congratulating himself on his navigational skills when he became aware that he was not alone and that someone was watching him. He drew his sword and turned slowly. A figure emerged from the path he had just left to join the road. It was pointing a small pistol at him.
“Is that you, Midshipman Graham?” The tone of Captain Williams’s voice was wary and incredulous.
Duncan gulped with relief. His heart was beating furiously. He put up his sword and relaxed.
“Yes, Sir, it’s me.” Next would come the difficult explanations, he guessed wearily.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Williams demanded. “Where’s your hat?”
“Well, Sir. It’s… erm… a long story. I lost the hat, Sir. I think the Frenchies got it.”
“Hmm, in that case you are fortunate that your hat is all you lost, if the shooting I heard is any indication. Well then, we have to get out of here and be a long way away before dawn. You can tell me all about it while we are doing so. Were you and that other Midshipman sparring? I heard the sound of blades. The boats are gone, I suppose?”
Duncan decided not to answer the question about the sparring. “The French arrived and chased them off. I was… er… stranded and couldn’t get to the boats in time, so I made off until the French left, Sir.”
“I was in those trees over there,” Williams pointed to the palms, “when I heard the noise of what sounded like blades, and I was not far away when I heard the shooting. Not long after that I saw the French heading back towards the peninsula. Then I heard someone blundering about in the bushes and decided to investigate.”
“I think they will be back, Sir,” Duncan said.
Captain Williams sounded annoyed. “You may bet on it. We won’t be making a rendezvous with our own people here any more.”
In the darkness he went silent as though considering something. Finally he said, “You are going to stand out like a sore thumb with that uniform, hat or no hat. We’ll have to find some other clothing. Come along.”
He led the way towards the palm trees with Duncan stumbling along behind him. It amazed Duncan how easily Williams moved in the darkness. Despite the bright mantle of stars above he still could not manage to walk as quietly as his the captain and kept blundering into low bushes, which tried to trip him up or raked his face with their spiteful thorns.
They arrived at the grove within a short time and approached it with caution.
“I have only just left the hut over there, but it always pays to be careful,” Williams whispered as they crouched in the shadow of a tree and studied the tiny flat-roofed mud hut ahead of them. It stood on the shore of the lake that fed into the estuary and was surrounded by shrubs and other palms that, Duncan realized, made it almost invisible from the road even in daytime. There was a very small boat lying on the shore. His hopes rose a little. Perhaps they could take that boat! But Captain Williams dispelled that idea soon enough.
As th
ough he had read Duncan’s mind he said, “The house is safe; the occupants fled when the French came barging through. It’s deserted now and yes, I checked the boat; it has a hole in it the size of a man’s head. It’s no use to us. Come along now, there are still bits and pieces of clothing in the hut. We will leave just before dawn for Alexandria.”
They arrived at the hut without incident whereupon Williams pushed open the cracked and split wooden door and entered the dark interior.
“Come in Graham. Don’t want you to be seen outside by anyone.” he said.
Duncan sidled into the darkness and the rude door was closed behind him. Williams struck a flint and lit a small oil lamp,” Lucky I found this before dark came or we would be unable to see anything. As it is I don’t want to keep it on for long. Some fellaheen might still be in the area and the last thing we need is anyone investigating at this moment,” he remarked.“Best thing to do is to settle down ad get some rest, he added and then pointed to a crude truckle bed in the corner. ‘You can sleep there and we’ll work on a disguise at first light.”
Graham nodded reluctantly. “Aye Aye Sir and went over to sit down on the bed.
The lamp was blown out. “Good night,” came the terse comment from Captain Williams. Duncan tentatively laid down on the bed among the rags.
“Dear God what have I gotten myself into?” he thought to himself before sleep overtook him.
Graham heard the whine of mosquitos even before he felt them bite, but even the deafening noise of the frogs croaking and singing in the marshes could not stop him from eventually falling asleep.
*****
Tewksby and his two boats arrived alongside the Tigre late that night. After being challenged by the Royal Marines on guard duty he clambered aboard with the help of a crewman. He then touched his hat to the quarter deck and faced up to Lt Bowles. The lieutenant was shocked at his appearance and by the news, so he took him down to see Sir Sidney immediately.
Midshipman Graham and the Battle of Abukir Page 15