HMS Diamond (27 page)

      
"You may insist if you wish, my Lord, but
you
are not the captain of this ship. I am."

      
Standing up for the first time and facing Smith directly, Howell pounded his fist on the table and said in a loud voice, "Captain, in the name of the Admiralty, I
order
you to stay with the convoy! If you disobey this order, I swear to you, when I get back to London I will see you court martialed and hung for treason."

      
Smith slowly stood up, leaned over, placed his hands on the table, looked Lord Howell squarely in the eyes and quietly said, "No."

***

      
The sound of breaking glass seemed magnified in the quiet of the orlop deck. Walker spun around.

      
"Damn it, Susan. Would you please watch what the devil you’re doing!"

      
Susan Whitney was taken aback by Walker’s tone and in no mood to take any grief. "I am sorry Lucas, but it’s only a glass pitcher. Maybe if I didn’t have to wipe down every surface in this dispensary with vinegar every day—or worse, that damn acid solution—there would be fewer accidents."

      
"Then perhaps you should take a moment from your busy schedule to read Fracastoro. He’s convinced that infection is transmitted by little seed-like entities he calls ‘spores’ and that vinegar or a mild acid solution will kill them."

      
"Oh yes, the man’s a genius. He’s the one who has us treating every syphilitic seaman on board by injecting a load of mercury up his penis once a week. Maybe if you spent less time reading your books, you’d notice how blazingly effective
that
little cure is."

      
"Well, at least I know how to
read
!"

      
That was a low blow and Walker regretted saying it as soon as it left his mouth. Susan knew how to read. In fact, in addition to English she could read, write and speak French with amazing fluency—something Walker could do only with great effort, and then poorly. But, hers was not a traditional education. Born into grinding poverty, her mother insisted that she attend the Portsmouth Grammar School, a charity school run for poor children. "Someday you’ll be a lady," her mother told her as she would affix a rare and precious ribbon in her hair or on her dress, "and you’ll need to know the things they can teach you." Neither of them could have known that she would someday become a "Lady" by direct appointment of the King.

      
But, despite her accomplishments, Susan was never convinced that her education was a complete one. She was, without doubt, highly intelligent and had a kind of common sense that both Sidney Smith and Lucas Walker sometimes lacked. But, she was the product of a charity school and that was something she could never forget.

      
Walker saw the flash of hurt in her eyes and immediately felt ashamed. "I am sorry, Susan. I didn’t mean that."

      
"I am sorry too.

      
"Lucas, what’s got in to us?" she continued. "It’s like this whole ship is on pins and needles. Have you noticed that about the only thing we seem to be treating these days are bruises and contusions from supposed ‘falls’? Both you and I know those men have been fighting."

      
"I know. It’s been like that since Lord Howell and Sidney had their little tiff. Sidney is walking around with a look of confidence in his decision that borders on arrogance. And Howell is specializing in making life miserable for every member of this crew. A day is not complete without him threatening at least once to have my warrant as a naval surgeon revoked; and just yesterday I overheard him threaten a ship’s boy with a flogging, of all things, because his shoes weren’t properly polished.

      
"I tell you, this has got to stop. It’s wrecking the morale of this ship and..."

      
Just then a cry could be heard from topside. "On deck, there. Sail ho!"

      
Spotting a strange sail at sea was always a matter of serious interest to every member of the crew. When a sail was spotted, there were only two possibilities. Either it was friendly or it was not, and in these waters "not" was the more likely alternative. Within moments the ship was alive with men running to their battle stations.

      
Two loblolly boys materialized from nowhere and Susan began the process of converting the dispensary into an operating theater. She looked up at Walker: "I have things under control. Why don’t you go on deck and see what the ruckus is about? Then she added with a sly smile, "Besides, you’ll only be in the way here," and Walker knew that things were all right between them again.

      
Walker emerged onto the upper deck and climbed the larboard ladder onto the long quarterdeck. As expected, Smith, First Lieutenant Pine and John Wilkie were all on the starboard side with their telescopes, trying to gather information on the stranger. This allowed Walker to drift along the larboard tree rail and take up his favorite position at the aft end of the quarterdeck. From here he could see and hear just about everything but not be in the way or, for that matter, even noticed.

      
Smith called up to the main top, "Mr. Pearson, what can you make out?"

      
Pearson, the ship’s Second Lieutenant, steadied his telescope against the ratlines running up to the main topmast crosstrees and called back down. "She’s a man-o’-war, sir. French I think. Looks to be a 74 and... Yes, she just unfurled a French flag."

      
"Shall we run out our guns, captain?" Pine asked.

      
"No, wait just a moment.

      
"Mr. Pearson, is she headed toward us?"

      
"No, sir. She seems to be headed toward Brest."

      
Smith thought for a long moment. "Mr. Pine, I want those gun ports kept shut. And, run up a French flag if you please. The largest one we have. Then I want you to locate each officer and midshipman. Tell them to take their oldest uniform coat and convert it to look as much like a French naval uniform as they can. Finally, find the bosun and tell him to do the same thing with the ship. I want us to look like a French frigate with a shabbily dressed crew within the hour.

      
Pine was perplexed, even a little flustered, by these strange orders. "Sir, may I ask what you propose to do?"

      
"She’s obviously making for Brest and that’s where we want to go, Mr. Pine. So, we’re going in with her."

***

      
On the coast of Brittany the weather does not vary all that much during the course of the year. The winters are wetter than the summers, but the rainfall at any time of year is not very heavy. It’s just more frequent during the winter. All in all, it would make for fairly pleasant sailing if it were not for it’s changeability. That’s what drove sailors crazy. It could be clear skies and sunlight one minute, raining 20 minutes later, followed by clear skies 20 minutes after that.

      
The
Diamond
had indeed followed the French 74 toward the huge harbor at Brest, but the big ship had stopped and anchored just off the Camaret peninsula. The city and harbor of Brest were hidden behind a huge hook of land that almost completely enclosed the entrance to the harbor. It was one of the things that made the harbor a good one. An entire fleet could take shelter in it and be impervious to whatever was going on out on the Atlantic; but it was a mixed blessing. When the tide was flooding all you needed to do was place your ship at the entrance to the harbor and it would practically sweep you in. If it was ebbing, however, you paid hell to fight against it. The tide was now ebbing and the captain of the 74 decided to not fight that battle and anchored until morning. The
Diamond
found a spot between Pointe Saint-Mathieu and Pointe du Raz and did the same.

      
About 11:00 PM the crew was roused and set to work hauling in the anchor. Smith stationed the bosun in the foc’s’le with his arm pointing out the direction of the anchor cable so he could ride the ship up on the anchor as it was being hauled in. This made the process quicker, easier and, most importantly, quieter.

      
Steering by moonlight, Smith cut between two other ships and the Toulinguet rocks; and by 2:00 AM Smith had re-positioned the
Diamond
between the Bertheaume peninsula and Cameret Bay. Almost as an act of bravado, he placed her closer to the Bertheaume side under the guns of a fort that stood on the point. It was a dangerous location, but it was also the perfect one to see into the harbor at first light. In repositioning the
Diamond
he sailed past the French 74 and read the name on her stern as he went by. It was the
Le Caton
, and he gave a small start. He had seen her before but he couldn’t quite remember where. He had no time for recollection, however, as he had other things on his mind.

      
"Lookouts aloft! Lookouts aloft!" The order came from the quarterdeck and was being echoed around the ship by the bosun and his mates.

      
Moments earlier men had been rushing to morning quarters, but there was little for them to do as the guns, tampions in, were still loaded from the night before. The flurry of activity had subsided and now all was quiet. Smith was standing on the quarterdeck along with the ship’s master, John Wilkie and the officer of the watch, second lieutenant Richard Pearson.

      
"Mr. Pearson, I have the deck. I want you to go up to the main platform with a glass and tell me what you see."

      
"Aye, aye, sir." Pearson, a short compact man, showed surprising agility in scrambling up the ratlines to the platform. Balancing against the slight roll of the ship, he studied the harbor for several minutes then called back down.

      
"On deck there. Captain, I see 15 sail, all told, at anchor in the harbor... plus one lying with her fore and mizenmasts snapped." Pearson paused for a moment in his report. "It’s the
Judith Marie
, sir. They drove her aground on Petit-Menou point, probably on the Mingan Rock."

      
"Do you see any sign of our lugger?" Smith called back.

      
The young lieutenant took a final sweep with his telescope to be sure, and then replied, "No, sir. I don’t."

      
Smith tried to hide his disappointment but was not completely successful in doing so.

      
"Mr. Wilkie, get us out of this damnable channel and get me some sea room. Then set a course for Herqui." Looking up to the mainmast platform he called, "Mr. Pearson, you may stand down." As he glanced around he saw Lord Howell standing by the leeward rail glowering at him—condemning him with his eyes for his foolishness.

      
Under most conditions the
Artois
class frigate was as nimble as a ballerina, but this was not one of them. The tide was flowing into the harbor and the morning breeze was coming from the west toward the land. Coming about was not an impossible maneuver but it was awkward at best. The ship pulled up the light kedge anchor and made the turn, wallowing like a pig, and began the long process of working out of the bay against both wind and tide. The action was unusual enough that within 20 minutes it attracted attention.

      
"On deck thar!"

      
"Deck, aye!" Called back Lt. Pearson.

      
"Sor, there’s a signal flyin’ from that fort over on the point."

      
Smith raised his telescope. "Damnation! That’s a recognition signal." Turning to his officer of the watch, "Mr. Pearson, run up a French flag on the main mast. Let’s see if that’ll satisfy them."

      
It didn’t. Ten minutes later the lookout called again.

      
"On deck thar! Sor, we ‘ave a corvette over by Berfoome Bay. She’s shortened sail and is ‘eaded our way and signalin’ us. And that big 74 is underway too."

      
"Where is the 74 headed?"

      
"Toward us, sor. She’s looks ta be movin’ ter block our way."

      
The gravity of the situation now settled in on Smith and every member of the ship’s company. If need be the
Diamond
could take out the French corvette. But if she fired on the corvette, the 74 would get into the act and she could reduce the
Diamond
to kindling in a matter of minutes. Without knowing the proper response flags to the recognition challenge, there was no way out of the bay.

      
Smith said nothing. He slowly walked to the lee side of the quarterdeck then back again. Back and forth he walked as if trying to decide: should they fight it out and be sunk, or allow themselves to be taken? His decision finally came, but it came with the rush of insight that seemed to happen so often with him. One second nothing and the next a plan—nearly fully formed—would explode into his brain. The trigger this time was the fact that he suddenly remembered where he had seen the
Le Caton
before.