HMS Diamond (25 page)

      
Walker and Smith laughed. "But I have a question of my own. How do you communicate with all these ships?" Lord Howell asked.

      
"That’s what my meetings tomorrow will be about," Smith replied. Each captain will be given a sheet called Instructions for Convoys. It lists all of the signals. For example, if I run up a French ensign it means the sternmost vessels are to make all the sail they can. A Dutch flag means all captains are to come on board my ship. A Danish flag means the fleet is to tack, a yellow flag with a red cross means they are to wear, and so on."

      
"So why do you look so distressed?"

      
"The problem is getting them to actually do what I so clearly signal them to do."

      
"There’s a reason why the captain called them ‘mules.’" Walker added. "Sometimes it seems they disobey orders just for the sake of disobeying orders."

      
"It’s even more than that, Lucas. For example, look at that mess out there. One watch ago they were in an approximation of two parallel lines all heading in the same direction. Now look at them. It looks like an American square dance. They’re all over the ocean."

      
"Then why do they do it?"

      
"Part of it is as you said. I think they disobey orders because they know they can. The other part is that night is falling."

      
"What’s that got to do with anything?"

      
"It’ll be dark soon and merchantmen are not like navy ships. They don’t have enough confidence in each other to maintain a formation in the dark. So, almost universally, about this time of the day they start spreading out all over the place; and, as soon as the sun goes down, they shorten sail and slow down. There is nothing I or any other navy captain can say that will keep them from doing it.

      
"The problem is that it leaves the convoy terribly vulnerable when the sun comes up again. How the devil can I protect them from a first-light attack if they are miles from each other, and even more miles away from me? So, we spend all morning rounding them up. Sail together for a few hours in the afternoon, and then the cycle starts all over again.

      
About this time Lieutenant Pine came over with some business or another for the captain and Lord Howell and Walker retired to the wardroom for their evening meal. The captain would, as usual, eat late and by himself.

***

      
"And you, Mr. Padgett, where do you suspect we are located?"

      
The last thing the midshipman wanted was to be called on by the ship’s master. It was the daily noon sighting. All midshipmen and master’s mates had to report to the aft end of the quarterdeck, take a sighting on the sun, get a mark on the ships clock, and work out their longitude and latitude. Everyone except maybe William Knight, the senior midshipman, dreaded the ordeal; and the only reason he didn’t dread it was because he almost always got it right.

      
"Mr. Padgett? Are you deaf as well as dumb?"

      
"No, sir." Padgett squirmed and ran a finger under his collar. "I make us at 48°48’ N and 2°13’ E."

      
"Do you? Then let me compliment you, sir, on your improved navigation. Yesterday you had us somewhere in central Moscow and today we are merely in the outskirts of Paris. Pray, look over the side of the ship, Mr. Padgett. Do you wish any shore leave to savor some of the Parisian delights before you?"

      
Overhearing the conversation from near the helm, Lieutenant Sandsbury laughed. He had only recently passed his examination for lieutenant, and the memory of his struggles with navigation was still fresh in his mind. Wilkie shot Sandsbury a warning glance. Technically Sandsbury outranked Wilkie, but that was only on paper. In practice, woe betide a third lieutenant who crosses a ship’s master, especially one as old and experienced as Wilkie.

      
"And you, Mr. Wright? Can you place our beleaguered hull at least on a body of water somewhere?"

      
"Sir, I make us at 46°36’ N and 8°13’ E."

      
Wilkie glanced down at his own calculations. "Right you are, Mr. Wright. We are crossing the Bay of Biscay. Now tell me, how far are we from London?"

      
Wright bent over his chalk slate and started scribbling. In a moment he looked up. "498 miles, as the crow flies, sir."

      
"And how many miles have we made good since our noon sighting yesterday?"

      
"Approximately 175 miles."

      
"Approximately, Mr. Wright? The word ‘approximately’ should never appear on a navigator’s lips. Being
approximately
near a rock or a shoal could get you and your men
approximately
killed."

      
"174.2 miles, sir."

      
"Average speed?"

      
"7.26 knots."

      
"Very good. Exceptional, in fact. If we had a classroom I would move you to the head of it. As for the rest of you, there aren’t enough dunce caps in Scotland to go around. Now let’s go through it again..."

      
Sandsbury, as officer of the watch, moved from the vicinity of the helm to the windward side of the quarterdeck. If the captain was not on deck, he had that privilege. If the captain showed up, however, he would discreetly move to the leeward side leaving the windward side to him.

      
He was not standing there more than a few minutes when, in fact, the captain did appear, but no move was needed. He came up the starboard ladder with Lord Howell.

      
"Lord Howell, I am telling you it will work. All that is needed is for someone such as you to present it to the Board of Admiralty. Here, let me show you." Smith moved to the binnacle box underneath the ships compass, opened it, rummaged for a moment, and pulled out a chart. Flattening it against the top of the compass housing he stabbed his finger at it.

      
"Here is the entrance to the Seine River at Le Havre. It runs all the way to Paris. We place an army on each side of the river and both advance along the Seine toward their capitol. But the key to the operation is the river itself. On it we place a flotilla of navy ships which carry the food supplies, powder, shot, cartridges, baggage—everything the two armies will need."

      
"My dear captain, what happens if either army—or both—get attacked?

      
"Then the ships and their gunboat escorts can provide covering fire to assist them. If worst comes to worst, they can always fall back to the floating fortresses of the ships themselves, and furthermore..."

      
Sandsbury soon felt self-conscious about his eavesdropping and started pacing again, this time to the leeward side of the quarterdeck. For perhaps the tenth time this watch he pulled out his telescope, adjusted it to the correct focal length, and started systematically scanning the convoy of ships. He started with the lead ship in the larboard column. Nothing unusual there. Then the second ship. Again, nothing unusual, although he mentally noted that he would have trimmed the sails differently had he been their captain.

      
His gaze moved to the third ship. A French lugger was sailing next to it, probably trying to sell them some vegetables or fresh meat. The fourth ship looked fine. Everything seemed quiet with the fifth ship, which also had a commercial lugger along side. But just as he was about to swing over to the sixth and final ship in that column, something caught his eye. It was a flash of light.

      
It was probably just a reflection of the sun on the choppy waters; and he started to swing the telescope away when he saw it again. It was a just a flicker, definitely from the main deck of the fifth ship, like the sun’s reflection off of a flashing sword.

      
He steadied the telescope on a shroud and looked again. No more flashes, but he saw a man running across the deck as if in some kind of distress. He tried to make out what the man was doing but, just as quickly, he was gone. It was all very strange and probably had a logical explanation, but he was a newly minted young lieutenant and couldn’t quite imagine what that explanation might be. The real question was: Should he tell the captain about it?

      
Sandsbury approached the captain and Lord Howell with trepidation.

      
"But, my Lord, don’t you see? Even if the plan were not completely successful, it would still cut off the main supply route to Paris."

      
Smith noticed Sandsbury out of the corner of his eye. "Yes, lieutenant. What is it?"

      
"Sir, I was just scanning the convoy and... I am not sure... but I think I noticed something unusual on one of the ships."

      
"What did you see?"

      
"Just some unusual crew movement and some flashes... almost like sword play was going on."

      
"Sword play, you say?" Lord Howell laughed. "How long have you been a lieutenant, son."

      
"About six months, sir."

      
"And how long have you been on watch in this sun?"

      
"Nearly four hours, sir."

      
"Then may I respectfully submit, one or the other of those factors is the origin of your sword play."

      
It was Smith’s turn to laugh. "It reminds me of the first time I had the watch as a young lieutenant. I roused the captain on deck because I was sure I had spotted land. It was nothing more than a low-hanging storm cloud on the horizon."

      
Smith turned to put the chart back in the binnacle box and, as an after-thought, asked: "What ship was it?"

      
"Fifth ship, larboard column. I believe it’s the
Judith Marie
."

      
Sandsbury was startled when Smith quickly slammed the drawer shut and spun around. "Show me."

      
The three walked quickly over to the leeward rail of the quarterdeck. Sandsbury handed Smith the telescope and pointed out the ship. "Just there, sir."

      
Smith studied the ship carefully.

      
"What do you see?" Lord Howell asked.

      
"Nothing," Smith replied while continuing to study the ship. "There’s a commercial lugger alongside, but she’s pulling away now. Everything looks completely normal to me on both the lugger and the
Judith Marie
.

      
"Well, then, there you have it."

      
"Yes. Yes, I suppose so." Turning to Sandsbury and handing the telescope back.

      
"I am sorry for troubling you sir." Sandsbury said with the color rising in his face.

      
"Don’t be. You did exactly the right thing. If you are ever on watch... and I mean
ever
... and you see something suspicious or something you don’t understand, I want you to immediately call Mr. Wilkie, Mr. Pine or myself. Do you understand?"

      
"Yes, sir."

      
"I would rather have a thousand low-hanging storm clouds than run into one piece of very real land."

Chapter Eight

      
"LOOKOUTS aloft!" And with that command the first act of the morning drama of a British Navy vessel began.

      
Every ship in the Royal Navy began the day the same way—at general quarters with guns loaded and a crew that was ready to fight. Far better to have your ship prepared than to find the sun shining on an enemy vessel that had approached in the dead of night and was ready to blow you out of the water.

      
Horace Pine had the deck. Normally, as the first lieutenant, he would not have to stand watches. But the
Diamond
was small, had few officers, and he didn’t mind. He looked forward to the day when he would have his own command; and toward that day he was eager to acquire as much sea experience as he could.

      
Standing watch with him was Midshipman John Wesley Wright. Wright was 26 years old, which is positively geriatric for a midshipman. But, the quiet, intelligent, sophisticated young man got a late start in the Navy and had an interrupted service.

      
He was born and raised in Minorca where his father, a former British merchant captain, owned a small shipping company. His grandfather and his great grandfather were... well, truth be known, they were smugglers. More specifically, they were Romney Marsh "owlers," the best smugglers in the world; and Wright grew up on stories of the Groombridge and Hawkhurst gangs, and the Deal Boatmen.