HMS Diamond (13 page)

      
"You there," he said to one of several concerned seaman standing around watching. "You’re from the
Britannia
are you not?"

      
"Aye sir, ah’m."

      
Walker shoved the bottle of Laudanum and the glass in his hands. "You’re now my acting surgeon’s mate. Give the captain another dose of this liquid at each bell. In between times, watch his eyes for signs of pain. If you see those signs—or if you even think you see them—give him some more.

      
The startled young seaman looked down at the bottle then back up at Walker. "Will ‘is liquid cure ‘im, sir?"

      
"No. In fact, it will kill him," Walker snapped, paused for a moment, the said more softly. "There is no hope for your captain, son. None whatsoever. What that liquid will do is remove the pain from his dying. Unfortunately, in those doses it will also cause him to die sooner. But, it’s what the captain would have wanted, don’t you think?" Walker looked at the seaman hoping for some confirmation—for some assurance that he was doing the right thing. The seaman said nothing. He just looked at his captain on the table.

      
"If that were you on the table, isn’t it what
you
would want?"

      
That put the situation into terms the seaman could understand. "Aye, sir. Ah’m sure it is."

      
Walker headed for the ladder leading to the upper deck, his fury growing with each step. Just as he got there, he spotted the bosun and unloaded all his pent-up frustration on him.

      
"Bosun! Damn your eyes! Did I not tell you to fetch Lady Whitney and send her down to the cockpit? Was there something unclear about that? Do I have to do everything? Or do you think maybe that an order from the ship’s surgeon is something you can safely ignore until you can get around to it?"

      
The bosun turned white at this dressing down from such an unexpected quarter. "Nar, sor. But Lady Whitney’s not aboard."

Chapter Five

      
WALKER wasn’t sure he had heard the bosun right. "Not aboard? What do you mean?"

      
"Jus’ that, sor. She left the ship just after you an’ the captain left tuh go ashore."

      
"Jesus! Why the hell didn’t you stop her?"

      
"Stap hor, sir? Why... no, on a’count she’s
Lady
Whitney."

      
That stopped Walker in his tracks. He had completely forgotten about the vast divide that separated the classes in 18th Century England. A common seaman would have no more tried to stop "Lady" Whitney then he would have taken a poke at an admiral. It simply would never have entered his mind. The thing was Susan knew that too, which made him all the more furious with her.

      
Walker regained the main deck and stormed up to Smith. "Sidney, did..." Suddenly he was aware of the number of seaman standing around nearby listening and he instantly changed his tone.

      
"Captain, were you aware that Lady Whitney is not onboard this ship and that..."

      
Walker never got a chance to finish his sentence. With a sound that was more felt than heard the
Iris
blew up. One thousand barrels of powder ignited nearly simultaneously, disintegrating the ship and sending bits of debris raining down for a half-mile in all directions. The concussion of the blast was so great that both sides stopped firing for several minutes as thunderstruck soldiers and seaman tried to sort out what had just happened.

      
"The Spanish," Smith finally said. "Those imbeciles. I told them to
sink
the damn ship, not burn her!"

      
"Sidney, Susan is gone. She went ashore I think to..."

      
Smith spun around in anger. "Lucas, I heard you the first time. I know she’s gone; but there’s nothing that can be done about that right now. We have to get our rear guard and as many of those poor bastard townsfolk as possible out of there. And you... didn’t I see a line of wounded and burned men heading down below? Don’t you think you owe them a little something?"

      
Walker said nothing. His face was red with an anger that was equal to Smith’s. He just turned and walked away.

      
"Lucas?" Smith called out.

      
"What!" Walker snapped.

      
"She’ll be alright, Lucas. She’s a tough bird... and resourceful. We’ll go after her later."

      
Walker knew Smith was right about Susan but that still did not make him feel any better about the situation. And, he was right about his patients. There were people that needed him, needed him badly and needed him right now. That takes priority.

***

      
Fortunately, most of the wounds Walker saw were minor burns. About the most serious case was a seaman who somehow got shot through both hands with the same bullet. The ball had gone clear through; and he was able to remove the bone fragments and sew the hands up without difficulty. No amputations were necessary and Captain Hare died—pain free—about a half-hour after his return.

      
He was making a final check of each of his patients when he heard the sound of the anchor coming up. Emerging on deck, he found Smith again next to the tiller studying the shoreline through his telescope.

      
"What do you make out, captain?" He asked formally.

      
"That stretch of beach over there. The dragoons along with some marines from the
Victory
are holding down the evacuation point. We have orders to go in and help with the evacuation but I don’t like what I am seeing one bit." He handed the telescope to Walker.

      
Walker could see the blue coats of the 12th mixed with the red-coated Marines in a disorderly line that was frantically trying to hold back a sea of humanity. The
Swallow
had only two boats and both of them were launched to join the dozens that were already on the scene. Smith went over the side to get into one of the boats. Without comment or permission, Walker got into the other and no one challenged him.

      
As they drew near the shore, it became clear that the situation was even worse than either man had imagined. The soldiers had given up pushing the crowd back with their rifle butts and now had their bayonets facing the crowd. Every few minutes a few people were let through the cordon to get into a boat that had pulled up, but that only seemed to incite those that remained.

      
The scene was both chaotic and dangerous. Men, women, children, old people, young people, whole families and groups of servants were pushing and shoving, trying to find a way to get past the soldiers and into a boat. There were shouts, tears and curses. One man was on his knees begging a soldier to be let through. Another was waving fists full of money. Several women had their blouses open and their breasts exposed to try to curry favor. And many children, some of them infants, were being held up by tearful parents; begging that at least their child be taken away even if they could not go.

      
The first of the
Swallow’s
boats, the one with Smith in it, beached itself, took on a consignment of people and started to pull away. It was at that moment—the worst possible moment—that the worse possible thing happened.

      
From some where behind the crowd a shot rang out. Whether it was from a Republican advance patrol or from a Royalist exercising his rage, no one ever knew. But it was all that was needed to move the mass of people from being a disorderly crowd, to a mob that cared for nothing except its own survival.

      
The line of soldiers was broken and people rushed the boats that were on the beach. When these became overwhelmed, they started wading out to the boats that were just off shore. Men and women scratched and tore at each other to get onto a boat. Others seeking their place pulled off people that were already onboard. Many were drowned when still others, climbing over the top of them forced their heads underwater and kept them there until their struggling ceased.

      
British seamen fought back, beating people with their oars, trying to keep their boats from being swamped. Officers struck back, at first with the flat of their swords then, in desperation, with their points. It was to no avail. It was a scene taken directly from the gates of hell.

      
Both Walker and Smith tried valiantly to get as many people into their respective boats as possible; then fought equally valiantly to stave off the additional people that tried to get in. They made five trips that night, each more soul-wrenching than the last.

      
Finally, the recall signal was given. The Royal Navy ships had taken on about 15,000 people, as many as they could possibly hold, and it was time to stop the evacuation. The 7,000 or so remaining on shore ceased their struggles and went totally silent when they saw the British boats were not coming back. They just stood there silently looking at the ships as they each realized that they had been condemned to death.

***

      
Walker and Smith dropped off their last load of refugees and headed back to the
Swallow
with minor bruises on their bodies and permanent scars on their souls. They boarded the ship, proceeded to Smith’s cabin, went to the liquor cabinet where Smith poured himself a large cup of the strongest fluid he could find. For Walker he prepared a cup of greatly watered-down wine, the strongest drink he would take. With their hands still shaking, they flopped down on chairs, said nothing to each other and drank.

      
It was Walker who finally broke the silence. "So, what’s going to happen now?"

      
"Now, we leave. Hood is going to take the fleet and the refugees back to Gibraltar."

      
"Does that ‘we’ include the
Swallow
?"

      
"Eventually, yes."

      
Walker was too exhausted to fight with Smith. He simply said in a low, quiet, tired voice: "Sidney, I am not going to leave here without Susan. I will ask of you only one thing. Before you set sail, detail a boat to take me ashore. That’s all I ask."

      
"And I will ask only one thing of you; that someday you actually listen to me when I talk.

      
"You asked me if the
Swallow
was going back to Gibraltar. I said: eventually, yes. But perhaps you didn’t hear the word ‘eventually.’ Or, perhaps you’re unsure of it’s meaning. Or, maybe...

      
Walker slammed his cup down on the table causing the single candle near its edge to quiver. "Sidney, stop toying with me. What are you saying?"

      
"I am saying the fleet is going back to Gibraltar. Hood has assigned two frigates to lay back and keep an eye on Toulon harbor for a few days to see if the French try to get some of those remaining ships underway. I volunteered the
Swallow
to serve as a close-in support ship to the frigates."

      
"Which means..."

      
"Which means the
Swallow
will be in these waters for the next three nights. So, if you are so dead set on going off after Susan, be my guest.

      
"In a few hours I’ll put you ashore. Each night for the next three nights, at precisely midnight, I will arrange to be off Cape Cepet. You have three days to locate Susan and be at that rendezvous.

      
"How will you locate me?"

      
"You signal me with two lanterns, one above the other. When I see that, I’ll reply with three lanterns in a horizontal row and send a boat to your location. And Lucas..."

      
Walker waited for Smith to continue.

      
"After the third night, I
have
to go. If I disobey a direct order to rescue two personal friends—my career is over. Please, Lucas. Don’t make me have to choose between my life’s work and my friends."

      
"Sidney, I don’t know what to say."

      
"Don’t say anything. Go get some sleep; you’re going to need it. We’ll insert you just before dawn.

      
"Oh yes, one more thing."

      
"What’s that?"

      
"For God’s sake, Lucas, find her!"

***

      
Walker landed at the dockyard just as false dawn was emerging. There was an eerie silence about the place that was made even more somber by his knowledge of the countless hopes and dreams that had been crushed here only a few hours earlier. He moved down the quay. The sky was rapidly becoming brighter and he was more able to see the smoldering remains of buildings and ships on all sides of him. The acrid smell of smoke stung his nostrils and he found himself walking even faster over the littered ground to be rid of this place.