HMS Diamond (33 page)

      
Smith was having none of that, however, and took a big step back with his left foot. This moved his sword away from River’s and said, in effect, if you want an attack, you come to me. He did. He started forward but Smith unleashed a lunge with a speed that clearly surprised Rivers. He danced out of the way of Smith’s tip, and slashed at Smith with his left hand knife but caught nothing but air.

      
Both men now knew this was not going to be an easy fight.

      
They circled for a moment, then, unaccountably Rivers lowered the tip of his sword practically inviting Smith to attack his forearm. He did and it was a trap. As soon as Smith thrust for the exposed arm, Rivers snapped his sword up in second position—palm down, sword out straight at shoulder level—which knocked Smith’s sword aside and opened up his chest for a counter attack. The only thing that kept Smith from being skewered like a rabbit was a side step that was done before Smith even had time to consciously think of doing it.

      
The fight now settled down into a series of attacks, feints and counter attacks. Rivers was taller and had longer arms, which gave him a reach advantage. Smith did his best to stay out of his range while using his speed to dart in, launch assaults, and then move away. Complicating his attack was the fact that he had to be aware at all times of the location of the knife in River’s left hand.

      
Rivers was the first to loose patience.

      
He began a series of rapid, almost wild, charges with multiple arm-extension thrusts. Usually when an opponent does that it means he has lost discipline and his thrusts will have very little effect because they will be poorly done. Not so here. Rivers was staging a series of short attack combinations, each done perfectly and which seemed to flow from one to the other. It was masterful.

      
Smith kept parrying the thrusts as he retreated but he was being backed up against the larboard rail and was running out of room. Finally, in an act of desperation, Smith waited for Rivers to make his next thrust. He met it and curled his blade around River’s and counter thrust back toward the on-coming man. Instead of finding his chest, however, the tip of Smith’s sword slid down the length of River’s blade and lodged itself in the elaborate coiled steel knuckle guard that was protecting his fingers and hand. The violence of the two colliding attacks sent both swords flying and both men to the deck. On crashing into the hard oak surface, Rivers also lost his grip on the knife he was carrying.

      
Both men saw the knife skittering across the deck and both began a mad scramble to be the first to retrieve it. Neither was successful. The knife landed at the feet of Lord Howell who picked it up, slowly looked at the two men... and handed it to Rivers.

      
Smith could not fully comprehend what he had just seen. He opened his mouth but nothing coherent would emerge. Lord Howell just smiled and shook his head.

      
"Really, captain. You are as dense as the rest of them. You knew someone had to be tipping off this moron about those gold shipments; yet none of you—not Spenser, not Pitt and certainly not you—could figure out that it was me." He gave a high-pitched laugh, almost a giggle, and then continued.

      
"Actually, I should be grateful. Your stupidity has made me a very rich man, you know. But, alas, I think perhaps it’s time to enter the golden years of retirement. I am thinking a little place in the south of France might answer. What do you think, captain?"

      
Smith was still too stunned to saying anything. Finally Rivers broke the silence. Getting up on his knees, he grabbed Smith by his shirt with one hand and hefted the knife with the other. Turning to Howell he asked: "What do you want me to do with him?"

      
Howell had already started to walk toward the larboard bow where a group of men and one of the ship’s boats awaited. He stopped, turned around and said: "Why, kill him, of course."

      
The fighting was starting to die down now. Those privateers who weren’t already dead or severely wounded had gravitated toward the bow of the ship to form a protective cordon around Howell and the escape boat.

      
Cecile Durbin had just finished dispatching his last man when he looked around for Hayes and Pulley—to see if they needed any help. As he did so, he saw Rivers raise his knife with great deliberation and prepare to bring it down into Smith’s neck.

      
Durbin didn’t say a thing. There was no time. He dove at Rivers, his sword arm out-stretched, his body almost parallel to the deck. His sword entered River’s unprotected left side, traveling slightly upward and puncturing his left lung. Rivers fell to the side, retching blood.

      
Smith quickly got to his feet, recovered his sword and went forward to find Lord Howell. It was too late. Howell was standing behind a line of heavily armed men, watching one of his sailors cutting the anchor cable with an ax. As the line parted, he looked up and was surprised to see Smith still alive and looking on in helpless frustration. Glancing beyond Smith he could see the dying Rivers further down the deck.

      
"Captain, you seem to have more lives than a cat." Then he shrugged, "No matter.

      
"This is my little parting gift to you," he said, nodding at the severed cable. "The tide is coming in, there is no wind, and I’ve cut loose your anchor. You’re adrift, captain. Why, with a little luck, you’ll be halfway to Paris by morning.

      
"Ah well...
bon voyage
. I hate to cut and run like this but..." The play on words suddenly dawned on Howell and he was roaring with laughter as he and his men entered the escape boat. Smith could hear his voice as they slid out their oars and pulled away from the
Vengeur
.

      
"Cut and run... Do you see it? Cut the anchor cable and..."

      
Within a few minutes the overcast night had swallowed the small boat.

***

      
The storm had dissipated, but a cold grey sky still covered the morning sun. The remaining swells caused those with telescopes to sway slightly to keep their instruments steady; not that it would do any good. There was nothing to see.

      
Susan turned away from the rail and walked over to where Lieutenant Pearson was standing.

      
"Lieutenant, where
are
they? They should have been back hours ago."

      
"I have no idea, Lady Whitney. I have no idea." He paused for a moment then, seeing Susan’s concern, continued.

      
"I heard several shots about 3:00 AM, then nothing. But, I wouldn’t be worried. I am sure they carried the ship and they’re only waiting until dawn to sail her out."

      
Susan put down her telescope and looked sharply at the young officer. "Don’t patronize me, Lieutenant! I probably have more sea time under my belt than you do."

      
Pearson flushed. "My lady, I certainly would not..."

      
Susan cut him off. "You think they’re waiting for dawn to sail out of there? Sail how? Look at
your
sails, lieutenant. Look around you at the water. Do you see a breath of wind anywhere?"

      
Susan was right and Pearson knew it.

      
A few minutes later the foremast lookout called down. "On deck there!"

      
"Deck aye," Pearson replied.

      
"Sor, they’s a lugger comin’ out, but she’s... she looks like she’s bein’ towed."

      
Pearson and Whitney ran down the catwalk to the fo’c’sle and opened up their telescopes.

      
"I’ll be damned," Pearson muttered.

      
There was indeed a lugger being towed out of the harbor by four boats. It was the
Vengeur,
and it was the
Diamond’s
crew that was doing the towing.

      
Pearson raced back to the quarterdeck. "Pass the word. Gunner to the quarterdeck." A moment later the warrant officer appeared. Mr. Goodall, have your guns trained around the
Vengeur
. We’ve got to give them covering fire."

      
"They’re too far away, sir. Our 18-pounders will go out that far, but not with accuracy."

      
"I know, but train your guns anyway. As soon as they’re in effective range, cover them."

***

      
Smith’s life and the lives of Walker and Whitney were finally, unalterably, changed by a sleepy lookout at the fort.

      
The sun was up and the unnatural stillness of the pre-dawn had been broken. Another day was being announced across the city as the cries of street vendors were mixed with those of baying dogs and crowing cocks. The fort was resurrecting itself as well, as the next shift of guardsmen was forming up to relieve the current watch.

      
The young soldier still had a few minutes to kill, so he walked over to a nearby 24-pound cannon, propped his foot on the carriage and looked out on the harbor one last time. But what he saw puzzled him. There was a lugger being towed out of the harbor by four boats. It made no sense. True there was no wind, but why tow it out? Surely a wind would come up sooner or later; and, even if it didn’t, in a little while the tide would turn and literally sweep the ship out of the harbor.

      
"Sergeant, could I see you for a moment?"

***

      
The crew of the
Diamond
looked on helplessly as squads of armed soldiers set forth in small boats from the fort to intercept the
Vengeur
. Both the French and the British boats were stroking for all they were worth, but the Frenchmen didn’t have to haul a ship around with them.

      
Soon the
Vengeur
was surrounded and Smith called his boat crews back on board. A running small arms battle then ensued for about forty-five minutes; but in the end it was hopeless. A French corvette was being warped away from the pier and, as soon as it arrived, it would be all over. Smith called his crew together.

      
"Men, I..." For perhaps the first time in his life Sidney Smith was at a loss for words. "Men, I am sorry; but I’ve failed you. To continue to fight would be useless and many of you would die for no reason. I can’t have that on my conscience. So..." And again, speech seemed to depart. "So, I mean to surrender."

      
The men looked at each other. Each man knew that surrender or death were the only two possible outcomes; but still, it was hard to hear those words from the man who was their leader.

      
"We will be taken prisoner. We’ll spend a few weeks, maybe as much as a few months, in a French jail and then be exchanged for an equal number of French prisoners that our people have captured. All of us, that is, except one—Monsieur de Tromelin. If the frogs find out who he is, it will mean instant death. So here’s what I want you to do.

      
"From now on if anyone asks, François de Tromelin is John Bromley. He is a French-Canadian and he is my personal servant. Is everyone clear on that?" Smith looked around and noted the common assent.

      
"Good. Now I have one more thing to say." Smith paused for a long moment. "I want you to know that no captain has ever been more proud of his men than I am at this moment. You fought bravely and well. You fought like Englishmen. You..." And at this Smith could go no further.

      
Suddenly a voice called out. "For the captain! Three cheers and a tiger!"

      
The echo of the cheers had barely died out before the first of the French boats pulled along side to take custody of the prisoners.

***

      
Sir George Spencer had a headache. He didn’t have one when he started the day. In fact, he didn’t have one as recently as an hour ago; but he had one now. It was his third in five days. He propped his left elbow on the polished mahogany table, rubbed his forehead and thought about the cause of his discomfort: "Will I ever be free of this exasperating woman?"

      
There was not much he could do, however. She
was
Lady Whitney and he couldn’t just rush her out the door like she was some garrulous charwoman. He needed to hear her out. After all, he was partially the cause of her distress.

      
"Sir George, I have been running from one office, to another, to another, for three months! Three months, Sir! And I have yet to get a satisfactory explanation as to why nothing has been done to secure the exchange of the men captured at Le Havre. And that doesn’t get to the fact that they wouldn’t even be in this mess if it were not for that horrid Lord Howell—
who worked out of this office, I believe.
" Susan was on a roll.