HMS Diamond (9 page)

      
"I tell you, my friends, I myself talked to that sea captain from Marseilles. He told me there are only two kinds of people in France these days—those that are drunk with power and those that live with terror permanently etched on their faces.

      
"And, the guillotine. The damned guillotine! It’s everywhere. Even the tiniest village has one set-up in the public square—usually with a jaunty red cap perched on top showing that it belongs to the ‘sons of freedom.’"

      
Tarnow paused as his eyes narrowed. "Freedom!" He spat the word out. "Some freedom. If you are a royalist—off with your head. If you disagree with a governmental policy—off with your head. If someone owes you money, he can turn you in as a ‘sympathizer’ and off with your head. Day in. Day out. Week in. Week out. The swish of the guillotine blade is heard all over France. I tell you, it’s like blood has become a drug for them."

      
The room was silent for a long moment. Only the sounds of the
Swallow
wallowing alongside the
Sedana
could be heard. Susan finally broke the stillness.

      
"What happened after Marseilles fell?"

      
"They moved on to Toulon. The last I heard, the Republican Army had Toulon surrounded, and Hood had moved his fleet there. Just as I was leaving Naples, your Keptin Nelson—do you know him, by the way?"

      
"We know of each other," Smith replied, but said no more.

      
"Well, your Keptin Nelson had just arrived to try to talk Queen Maria Carolina into sending some troops to the aid of Toulon."

      
"Will she?" Walker asked.

      
"I don’t know. She’s almost as flighty as her worthless husband. Still, she
is
the sister of Marie Antoinette and she knows what happened there. It does not take one of your Oxford Dons to figure out what would happen to her and her kingdom if the French army continued past Toulon and down the Italian peninsula.

      
"That’s about all I know."

      
Smith looked at Walker, then at Whitney, and saw the assent to his unspoken question in their eyes. He said in a low voice, almost to himself, "Then it is to Toulon that we must go."

      
Small talk resumed for the next half-hour until Smith finally made his apologies and the four walked out onto the main deck. Just as they were about to go over the side to the waiting boat from the
Swallow
, a steward came up and handed Captain Tarnow a package wrapped in brown paper.

      
"Keptin Smith, a small gift for you as a token of my esteem."

      
Smith expressed his thanks and scrambled over the ship’s side. As they were being rowed back Smith opened the package, looked in, took out a note and read it.

      
"What is it?" Susan asked.

      
"It’s a regulation Navy-issue white flag with a note that says: ‘Try this next time. It’s a bit more dignified than what you have been using.’"

Chapter Four

      
TOULON harbor is shaped roughly like an hourglass so that it is actually two harbors in one. The inner harbor, known as the Petite Rade, was wide but not long, with excellent anchorages. In the northeast corner was the town of Toulon along with its extensive naval base, and behind the town was Mount Faron. The inner harbor narrowed in the southeast corner, however, to offer an exit only 500 yards wide. On one side of the opening was Fort l’Eguillette and just down from that, Fort Balaguier. On the other side of the passage was a battery known as La Grosse Tour, but it was the two forts that dominated the anchorages.

      
Passing through that narrow straight, the waters opened up into the much larger outer harbor, known to the locals as the Grande Rade, which opened up to the sea. Wide and deep, the outer harbor’s anchorage was not as good as the inner; but it made up for it by providing the one thing all sea captains cherished—sea room.

      
The
Swallow
rounded Cape Sepet and picked up a soldier’s wind from the southwest. Spreading her fore and main sails like the wings of a great bird, she set a course for the inner harbor. No one—not Smith, not Whitney, nor any member of the crew—was prepared for the sight that lay before them. Twenty-one British ships of the line lay anchored in the outer harbor. Another twenty-four major ships, French ships, were in the Petite Rade. Frigates, corvettes and sloops of war were lying about like two-a-penny child’s toys, and the water was alive with small boats scurrying around like water beetles.

      
The
Swallow
shot through the opening, known as the gullet, and into the inner harbor. She immediately came hard a’starboard and swung north on a reach that would take them to the city jetties. The
Swallow
was a civilian ship, so no one on the admiral’s flagship bothered to signal as to where it should anchor. Smith initially assumed he would have to anchor in either the inner or outer harbor and go ashore by boat; but in the Mediterranean it was customary to moor ships either bow or stern to a quay. From there, no boat would be needed as you could simply step off your ship right on to the dock.

      
Smith eyeballed the lines of ships already tied up to the quay and spotted an opening between a merchantman and a French corvette. At the last moment, he dropped his mainsail, threw the tiller over hard and spun the ship around like a ballet dancer so that the remaining foresail was now facing directly into the wind. The ship had stopped on a dime, her stern neatly pointed toward the quay. It was a maneuver that could only have been done with a xebec and Smith could not resist the opportunity to show off.

      
"Bosun, secure the sails. Then get a boat over and tow us the rest of the way into the slip, if you please," Smith said smugly and walked off the quarterdeck as if this was the way he always entered port.

***

      
About an hour later, Walker and Whitney were strolling along the quay toward the naval base. The admiral’s broad pennant was flying on the mainmast of the
Victory
, so Smith had gone over to the flagship to report in. They were in no particular hurry, which allowed them finally to appreciate some of the beauty that was all around them.

      
Toulon was nestled in a small valley with hills on three sides and the bay on the fourth. In the background, the greens of summer were being replaced by brown patches of various hues. Vineyards, forests, farms, pastures and olive groves all vied with one another for a tenuous place on the hillsides, each contributing its own palette of colors. Overhead broken clouds added drama by letting in selected shafts of light, as if God were stage-managing the scene and he especially wanted to highlight this forest here and that pasture there.

      
Behind them, that same sunlight leant a similar drama to the sea. The ocean was not just blue; it was a rich cobalt blue. The sails of the ships were not dull gray; they were the kind of white that you expect to find only in a romantic artist’s portrait of a ship. And between sea and sky, the sunlight was making every ripple on the water sparkle as if it were part of a field of priceless diamonds.

      
It would have been a perfect Mediterranean day except for the occasional THUMP of cannon fire in the hills.

      
The three turned off the quay and marched through the gates of the formerly French-held naval base. There were no guards to challenge their progress. There was no need. Toulon and all it contained was now in British hands. While Susan was looking at some items at a nearby sidewalk stall, Walker ducked into the port’s administration building to ask directions to the naval warehouse.

      
"Did you get the directions? Susan asked.

      
"Yes." And he said nothing more.

      
"What’s going on, Lucas? I know that look."

      
"I am not sure, but something’s not right. Oh, everything seems normal on the surface, but I accidentally took a wrong turn in there and found myself in the back working area. The place was alive with clerks."

      
"So, what’s so unusual about that?"

      
"They were packing, Susan. Swarming all over the place, stuffing everything they could into boxes and crates. I don’t know what’s going on; maybe Sidney will learn more from Hood."

      
"Meanwhile, where are we going?"

      
"We’re going to the naval warehouse and see if I can buy some medical supplies and instruments. I didn’t know I was going to be pressed back into military duty when I began this little vacation of ours; and, as you know, the Admiralty does not supply us physicians with medicines or equipment. We have to buy our own."

      
"Stop belly-aching. The Admiralty reimburses you doesn’t it?"

      
"Certainly, about a shilling on the pound... eventually."

      
"That’s fine. I’ll be there to make sure you buy what you need, as opposed to what you
think
you need; then I am going shopping for myself."

      
"I noticed," Walker quickly replied, "that the latter part of that sentence was spoken with the kind of glee that can only be found in a woman who was born to shop."

      
"That’s true," Susan countered. "And now all I need is a husband who was born to pay bills." It was a joke, of course; at least about the money. With the lifetime stipend and estate she received from King George she would never again want for anything financially. How much she was joking about the "husband" part was another matter, and Walker was well aware of the difference.

      
The supply warehouse was teeming with activity. It wasn’t often that an entire depot, not to mention twenty-four ships of the line, fell into British hands all at once and it was open season on supplies. Out in the bay seamen were swarming over the French ships removing guns, powder, shot, anchors, cables, sails, food, clothing... anything that could be of use to their ships. A similar frenzy of acquisition was occurring at the warehouse although the organizational level there was a bit higher.

      
The city fathers of Toulon had decided that the warehouse was their property. While they had no use for its contents, still, the goods contained therein would be sold to the Royal Navy, not simply pillaged. Admiral Hood agreed and, diplomat that he was, managed to stop short of asking where the money would be going.

      
Hood did manage to elicit one concession, however. He insisted that Royal Navy pursers and seamen operate the warehouse and conduct the sales. This was to make sure that the ships got the right items for their needs, he argued. In fact, what it did was to insure that the goods got sold at laughable prices.

      
It took a moment for Walker and Susan to adjust their eyes to the darker confines of the warehouse. When they did, they saw a cavernous building stuffed to the ceiling with maritime supplies of all description. To one side several piles were growing as runners made their way back and forth filling orders. In front, several counters had been set up, each with a line of men in front of it. Several lines seemed to contain only seamen. Several others looked to be the turf of warrant officers, and another group was clearly for officers. Walker joined the officer line because it seemed like it was getting better service, although technically he was only a warrant officer.

      
"May I ‘elp ya, sir?" The clerk intoned.

      
"Yes, I am Dr. Lucas Walker off of HMS..." he stopped for a split second. The
Swallow
was not HMS anything. She was not even a Royal Navy ship. She was privately owned and it suddenly occurred to him, he shouldn’t even be in here.

      
"I am off the
Swallow
." He said without lying. "I was wondering if our French cousins were good enough to leave us any medical supplies?"

      
"Ya’re a surgeon, ‘re ya?" The clerk asked cocking his head and scratching his beard in doubt.

      
"No, sir. I am a
physician
." Walker replied trying to sound as haughty as he could. He was a "real" doctor, as the men would put it; and they would feel lucky to serve aboard any ship that had one. They were unaware that most of the universities with medical programs had no particular graduation requirements, and a few didn’t even require you to attend any classes.

      
"I am DR. Walker," he continued.

      
"Never ‘eard of the swalla." The man intoned in a high nasal voice.

      
"She’s newly acquired; and we just got in this morning." Walker was not lying on either point. The
Swallow
was newly acquired; it’s just she had not been acquired by the Royal Navy. Not yet anyway.