HMS Diamond (10 page)

      
The clerk finally seemed to make up his mind.

      
"Sorry for askin’, sir. But, we been told ter be extra careful wif medical gear. There’s them what would like ter get into sum medical supplies for their own porposes... if ya kna wot I mean."

      
"That’s all right. I quite understand," Walker placated the man and then continued. "What I need is a complete medical and surgical kit. We got underway in such a rush that there was no time for me to ship mine aboard. All I have is my travel kit."

      
The clerk thought for a moment as if trying to decide something. "I fin’ I can ‘elp ya out in grand style, doctor," he announced triumphantly.

      
The clerk disappeared into the warehouse and came back a few minutes later struggling with the weight of a massive wooden box.

      
"I been savin’ this for the right bloke ter come along, sir. It’s British made, I think. The chuffin’ frogs must ‘ave captured it somewheres."

      
Walker could not hide his astonishment at the object before him. It was a large trunk made of beautifully finished oak with large ornate brass carrying handles on each end, and brass protective plates on each corner. On top were three delicately hand-carved seashells, the shells on the left and right were raised above the wood surface, and the one in the middle was recessed; yet all three were absolutely identical designs. It was a masterpiece of carpentry.

      
Walker opened it up and found a piece of paper on top. It was, to his surprise, an advertisement and contradicted the clerk’s opinion that the kit was British made. It was not. Walker felt a shiver go down his spine when he realized it was
American
.

      
The paper read:

Thomas Ritter, M.D.

104 Cherry Street

New York

Four doors above Oliver

      
Having put up some thousands of ships’ medical chests, Dr. Ritter ventures to say that for neatness of style, the excellent quality of the medicines, and for the care taken for the preservation of perishable articles, he is exceeded by no one in this country. In the replenishment of Medicine Chests, he is strictly careful to put up only such quantities as may be needed, never crowding the chest in order to enhance the amount of the bill.

      
He put the paper aside and saw that there were two smaller boxes perfectly fitted inside the chest. He took out the first and opened it. On the bottom half, encased in red velvet, were five surgical knives of varying length, four picks, a pair of tweezers and a lancet. On the top half, also embedded in velvet, were a small metacarpal saw, two sizes of drills for trepanning holes in skull bones and a set of spreaders for holding wounds open while he worked. The second box was similar to the first except, on the bottom half, it held a large amputation saw, two chisels and a hammer. On top was a tourniquet and a variety of pliers—some needle nose, some with stubby ends, some looking like wire cutters. They were used for picking out bone fragments during an amputation.

      
In short, it was everything 18th century medicine could provide him for neurosurgery, general amputation and orthopedics. But his surprise at this windfall was minor compared to his astonishment when he looked further into the chest. Inside was row after row of apothecary bottles, but he was confused as to how to access them. It was then that he saw two latches on the interior of the box. Releasing them, the front of the chest swung down to become a small writing table and the chest became a virtual apothecary shop.

      
Normally a ship’s surgeon would put to sea with 17 or 18 medications. Here were six rows of six bottles or canisters on each side of the chest—72 items in all. Sure, Walker knew that a lot of them didn’t work; but some of them did—and surprisingly well. With this pharmacopoeia, he could systematically explore and investigate which were which.

      
But the biggest thing was not the beauty of the cabinetry, nor the quality of the surgical instruments, nor the comprehensiveness of the pharmaceuticals. For Walker, the biggest thing was that it was from
America
. It was from New York, a city that he absolutely hated; and yet he felt a wave of emotion sweep over him that he didn’t expect.

      
As he put the chest back together, he paused for a moment, rubbing the carved seashells on the lid. He thought to himself, "So where have you been, old girl; and how did you get here? You were once in New York. I know that. On Cherry Street, it says... near the intersection with Oliver. I’ve been to New York, you know. Was I ever near Cherry and Oliver?"

      
Walker’s caressing of the seashells was interrupted by Susan’s voice.

      
"Lucas? Are you there? The man asked you if this was what you had in mind?

      
"Yes. Yes, it’s perfect. How much do you want for it?"

      
The clerk had in mind two and a half pounds, if he ever found a buyer, which is what the other chests were going for. But this sod really seemed interested and looked like he could afford more.

      
"Fiv’ pounds," the clerk quickly replied, knowing he could pocket at least two pounds off the deal for himself.

      
Walker was shocked once more. In London you couldn’t touch a medical chest like this for under £100—and that’s assuming you could even find one of this quality.

      
"I think that’s fair," Walker announced trying to keep his voice level. "You will deliver it to the ship?"

      
"Yus, sir. This afternoon. I’ll clock to it meself."

      
Walker paid the clerk and even gave him a one-pound tip, which made the clerk truly delighted with his three-pound windfall. It was the equivalent of two and a half months wages for him as an able seaman.

      
Walker looked back once at his new treasure and left the warehouse as giddy as a schoolchild.

***

      
The two left the warehouse, turned right to walk along the quay for a few hundred yards, then turned right again to go up the Rue d’Alger. This was the street of the merchants and normally the nerve center of the city. Today, however, there was tension in the air.

      
On one hand were the Royalist residents coming down to the docks to gush over the Republican ships they had captured so easily. For them, it was a holiday and they contributed an air of celebration. They almost pranced as they walked with their white Bourbon cockades in their hats or bonnets.

      
On the other hand were the French seamen and Republican residents. They walked about scowling and contributed a mood of depression. Most pointedly, they did
not
have a Royalist cockade in their hats. These were the ones Walker was the most worried about as he could hear their mumbled comments as they walked past, and see them spit on the sidewalk in front of him and Susan as they approached. The Republicans were unarmed, that’s true; but Walker, as the male, was de facto in charge of security for the two of them. He didn’t relish coming across a group of drunken French ex-seamen who felt the need to avenge some blurry concept of "honor" using his head as the vehicle.

      
Between the two groups were the convict laborers who seemed to be everywhere. Dressed in filthy rags with irons on their legs, these men had a look of desperation on their faces. They truly could care less who won this little stand-off except as it might pertain to getting them their freedom.

      
All the shops were open. The smells of the restaurants filled the air. Somewhere in the distance a military band had struck-up a gay tune; but Walker didn’t like it. Not one bit.

      
Coming out of what seemed to Walker like the 100th shoe store, Susan stopped for a second, tilted her head and said: "Inge? Inge? Is that you?"

      
A lady, her maid loaded down with boxes and bags trailing behind, had just passed them in the opposite direction. She stopped walking and turned around.

      
"Susan Whitney! What on EARTH are you doing here?"

      
"We were taking a small holiday in Constantinople when we heard that war had been declared, so we... that is, Sir Sidney Smith and... My goodness! How COULD I be so remiss? Lady Fuhrmann, let me introduce my particular friend, Dr. Lucas Walker."

      
Lucas took Lady Fuhrmann’s hand and mumbled some polite obeisance.

      
"Lady Fuhrmann is a Maiden in Waiting with me, Lucas, and a good friend."

      
Walker cast an appreciative eye over this new acquaintance. She was about the same height and build as Susan, with brown hair cut shorter than was fashionable at the time but with a peculiar set to her lips that Walker found amazingly alluring.

      
"Anyway," Susan said turning back to Lady Fuhrmann, "we heard that war had broken out so naturally Sir Sidney and Lucas simply HAD to go find it. You know how men are. They’re like moths to a flame the moment a gun goes off. And here we are reporting for duty, as it were.

      
"But what about you? What brings you to Toulon?"

      
"Oh, we’ve had a winter place here for years. But, with all this revolutionary nonsense, I decided to come out, close the house up and send a few things back. I had no idea the Republicans would choose just this moment to pretend they had an army."

      
The two sauntered away, arm in arm, chattering as if they were long-lost sisters. There was nothing for it. Walker gave a quick smile and a nod to Fuhrmann’s disheveled maid and fell in line behind.

      
Three hat, four dress and two pastry shops later, the two were ready to say goodbye.

      
"Susan, you simply MUST come to dinner tonight. I simply will not hear of you dining on some dreadful ship. We have a small place on the Rue Bastide. About seven, then?"

      
"That would be wonderful. We would be delighted." Susan’s use of the word "we" was not lost on Walker.

      
The two began to make their way back to the ship, Walker now as burdened with packages as the Fuhrmann maid.

      
"Would you care to explain what
that
was all about?"

      
"I told you. That was, Inge, my friend from Court. She’s from Hanover—some kind of distant cousin to King George."

      
"That’s not what I meant," Walker replied somewhat angrily. He then did a passable imitation of Susan’s voice: "‘Oh, you know how men are. They’re like moths to a flame the moment a gun goes off.’ Are you kidding me? You’ve eaten more smoke than half the gunners in the fleet. And dinner? Tonight? I suppose I’ll have to get into some kind of monkey suit, right?"

      
"Now, Lucas, don’t be that way. That’s just the way they talk. Besides, Inge Fuhrmann is about the only friend I have in Court. She’s the only one that..." Susan broke off.

      
"What?" Walker encouraged.

      
Susan said nothing, so Walker repeated: "What were you about to say?"

      
"Well, she’s the only one that doesn’t look down on me because I wasn’t high-born like the rest of them," Susan blurted out in an embarrassed rush.

      
That comment took Walker completely by surprise. He had never thought about what it must be like for Susan to suddenly become a member of the social aristocracy, not because of bloodlines but simply because the King said so.

      
After a moment, he replied: "Then if she’s a friend of yours, she’s a friend of mine too." He shifted some packages and put his arm on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Let us go to dinner tonight, Lady Whitney. At seven, I believe?"

      
And they strolled back to the ship.

***

      
If Walker had been dismayed by the strange activity at the shipyard administration building, Smith was even more astonished at the activity surrounding the
Victory
. Clustered along the ship’s starboard side were the gigs from what seemed like every warship in Toulon. The crews, dressed in uniforms ranging from gaudy to subtle, depending on the taste of their captain, sat patiently at their oars waiting for their turn to pull up to the side of the ship. Eventually, it was Smith’s turn.

      
"Boat ahoy!" came the call from the
Victory’s
deck.

      
"
Swallow
!" came the reply from Smith’s boat, which seemed to cause some confusion. The traditional challenge had been made and the reply, "
Swallow
," indicated that the captain of a ship by that name was aboard the gig. But, they had never heard of the ship. An officer’s head appeared over the bulkhead.