HMS Diamond (24 page)

      
Smith saw the attackers raise their muskets again apparently awaiting the command to fire. He stood up. If he was going to die, he would die like an officer—standing and in command. He closed his eyes and heard the volley go off. To his astonishment, however, he didn’t sense the impact of musket balls into his boat, or his men or, for that matter, himself. He opened his eyes and saw that his attackers had turned around and were firing back at the shoreline, which is where that last volley had apparently originated. The marines from the boat joined in and now it was the attackers who were caught in a crossfire with the added disadvantage of not being able to move very quickly because they were standing in hip deep water.

      
Consistent fire was now coming from both the shore and from the marines, and the attackers had enough. They broke. It was every man for himself as they tried rushing back into shallower water so they could make an escape along the beach.

      
Within five minutes the firing ceased. Within 10 minutes a man appeared alongside the boat being carried on the shoulders of two of his comrades so he would not get wet.

      
"Captain Smith, I assume," he said in heavily accented English.

      
"Yes, I am Smith. But who the devil are
you
?"

      
"I am de Frotté. We were supposed to meet,
mon ami
. I am sorry we were delayed, however. I hope it was not an inconvenience."

***

      
All boats were now in use ferrying supplies from the
Diamond
to the beach where they were stockpiled. A steady stream of wagons seemed to materialize out of nowhere to haul the supplies from the beach. Their supernumerary passenger, the chevalier de la Fruglaye, transferred in the second boat. The man had not said five words in the brief time he had been on board, and his mysterious silence continued. With neither a wave nor a spoken good-bye, he landed on the beach, met with two Chouan officers and disappeared into the darkness.

      
Once the supply transfer system had been established, Smith, de Frotté and one of his lieutenants retired to Smith’s cabin to sample some of the wine de Frotté had brought along as a gift to Smith. Just as the first bottle was cracked open, Walker appeared. Smith invited him to sit down.

      
"Lucas, what’s the butcher’s bill for tonight?"

      
"Two dead. Two wounded but will recover, and the usual scrapes and bruises."

      
"I am sorry. I seem to have forgotten my manners. Lucas, may I present Monsieur... I am sorry, Monsieur de Frotté, but I don’t know your full name."

      
"Louis de Frotté.
General
Louis de Frotté, that is. At your service captain." Nodding at the man sitting quietly next to him, "May I present Jacques-Jean-Marie-François Boudin, the comte de Tromelin, one of my ablest lieutenants. At the request of the Admiralty, I will be leaving François with you to serve as a liaison between not only my group but all the Royalist groups along this coast." Tromelin lowered his head in a short bow but remained silent.

      
"Monsieur... ah... General. This is Dr. Lucas Walker our ship’s surgeon and my particular friend."

      
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Doctor."

      
"General de Frotté, what the devil happened back there on that beach?" Smith inquired.

      
"Obviously, you were ambushed."

      
"Yes, but how did they know we were coming? And how were you ‘delayed,’ as you put it earlier."

      
"I received word from London several days ago that you were on your way. So, I made arrangement for the transport of the supplies and made my way to the beach to arrive at the appointed time. Unfortunately, about a mile from the location we too we ambushed. Fortunately that collection of Parisian shopkeepers they call officers these days had no idea how to do an ambush properly. They paid for it, but they did delay us.

      
"What I want to know is why you came in if the people on the beach did not have the correct reply to your password."

      
"But they did," Smith responded. "They knew the correct reply."

      
No one said a word for a long moment, until de Frotté finally broke the silence. "Monsieur, it saddens me to say this but it would seem they have a source within your Admiralty. I was given the password sequence verbally by my English manager, and I can assure you I shared it with no one."

      
"But that means..." Walker began.

      
"Exactly, monsieur. Who knows what other plans are being leaked out of the Admiralty Building, eh?"

      
All three men were quiet again, lost in the enormity of de Frotté’s statement. Finally, Smith spoke up.

      
"General, I’ve been informed you have some information for me."

      
De Frotté looked over at Walker then back at Smith.

      
"It’s all right. He can be trusted."

      
"Then I can tell you some things but not, I fear, everything you were hoping to hear. I do know, however, who is doing this. The ship is called the
Vengeur
; and she is a lugger captained by a Joseph Rivers."

      
"Joseph Rivers? You mean he’s..."

      
"Yes, monsieur. He is English. Joseph Rivers is, of course, not his real name. The real Joseph Rivers was a pirate who lived 100 years ago, or so. But, even though his name is false, he
is
English and his skills are very real.

      
"And you say he is attacking huge merchantmen in nothing but a lugger?

      
"Yes."

      
"How?"

      
"That is the part I do not know—no one does, at least no one that I’ve been able to locate. It is probably the closest held secret in all of France, and they are very well organized."

      
"But how does he know when the gold is being shipped and which ship is going to be carrying it?"

      
"When you find out who gave away your mission tonight, captain, I think you will have the answer to both of your questions."

***

      
The shorter man never tired of looking at the Great Pagoda. It was 163 feet high and 49 feet wide at the lowest of the ten octagonal rings. Each ring was slightly shorter and with less diameter than the one beneath so the tower seemed to soar into the sky. To add an oriental influence, each story had a projecting Chinese-style roof that was covered with red ceramic tiles and adorned with large dragons. But the Great Pagoda was just one of the delights that made Kew Gardens his favorite place in all of London. In his opinion, its restoration was one of the very few things "that blockhead" George III had done right.

      
After several minutes of speechless adoration, the man turned to the tall, rail thin, man standing uncomfortably at his side, "I must be getting back. Walk me to the Lion Gate."

      
On a Thursday afternoon the garden was nearly deserted which was just the way the shorter man wanted it. Even though he was unstylishly dressed completely in black, he was obviously a gentleman of significant means. His companion looked more like a slightly shabby tradesman with a preposterous tall black hat on his head. It was all right to be seen conversing with tradesmen; but it better not happen too frequently or for too long or one’s social standing would certainly suffer. Finally, he spoke again in a low icy voice. "So tell me. What in damnation happened?"

      
"I don’t know, sir," the other man nervously replied. "The reports are rather garbled. They came into shore and Smith was in the boat, just as you predicted. The ambush was sprung; and it was going perfectly. It would have been only a matter of minutes before they would have finished them off. Then, out of no where, de Frotté and his Chouans appeared."

      
"What do you mean, ‘out of no where,’ you idiot? I specifically told you to set up a blocking force to keep them from arriving."

      
"They did, sir, but... ah... well, they were not successful."

      
"Led by one of your people, I assume."

      
"Yes, sir, but he’s no longer with us."

      
"That better mean he’s no longer on this planet, or you will be the next to join him."

      
"Yes, sir. I took care of it myself."

      
They continued walking in silence. Just as they arrived at the gate, the shorter man spoke again. "All right, then we’ll try once more. I’ll make the arrangements, but this time it better not fail. Smith
must
be stopped before he can do us any serious damage. Do you understand me?"

      
He did not wait for an answer, but turned and exited the park. The tall man saw him approach a waiting coach, the door held open by a footman. He continued to gaze as it swung closed and admired the elaborate gilt work surrounding the seal on the door. It was the seal of the Board of Admiralty.

***

      
There is not a captain in the Royal Navy that relishes convoy duty and Smith was no exception. It was a classic case of having responsibility without authority. You were responsible for the safety and security of the convoy, yet you had no real authority over the ships that sailed in it. They were civilian merchantmen. You could beg, plead, threaten, or cajole, but you could not really
order
them to do anything. What could you do if they ignored your orders? Court martial them? Fire a shot into them? Relieve the captain of his command?

      
Certainly, when you got to port you could file a complaint with the owners of the most egregious ships, and maybe six months later their captains might get notes saying they were bad boys. But, that does you little good at the moment.

      
"It’s Commodore Smith, I’ll be bound." Walker chirped as he and Lord Howell joined Smith on the quarterdeck.

      
Smith was glad to see the two. Shortly after receiving orders to escort the next gold shipment, he received a letter saying that Lord Howell would be accompanying him. Given all the interviews he had done with the captains and sailing masters of previous gold convoys, he probably knew more about the problem than anyone else. He was an intense man, solidly built, slightly balding and with none of the middle-age paunch that characterized so many of his age. His only downside, in Smith’s eyes, was that he was clearly a politician and he never completely trusted politicians. Still, he needed all the help he could get, so his presence was welcome.

      
"How goes the fleet, commodore."

      
"Very funny, Lucas." Smith replied as he turned to drift slowly aft toward the taffrail. It was a place where the three could talk freely without the crew overhearing.

      
"You look concerned."

      
"I am," Smith replied. "See that fifth ship from the front of the larboard line? That’s the ship with the gold on it. The
Judith Marie
out of Newhaven."

      
"Newhaven? Why a ship from there? I thought this was a London-based convoy. London to Lisbon"

      
"It’s still going to Lisbon; but they’re trying to out-fox whoever is doing this. All of the previous missing ships took on their gold cargo in London and sailed from there. This time they transported the gold to Newhaven and shipped it."

      
"How are your charges doing?"

      
"Oh, the usual nonsense when you’re herding mules. There are 12 ships: two East Indiamen, six brigs and two sloops. Now I ask you, how hard can it be for 12 ships to stay in two lines and an equal distance apart?"

      
"Twelve ships plus the
Liberty
and the
Aristocrat
," Howell prompted.

      
"Who are they? Walker asked.

      
"They’ll be joining us tomorrow. The
Liberty
is a 14-gun brig and the
Aristocrat
is an armed lugger," Smith replied. "When they arrive I’ll halt the convoy and visit each ship to give final instructions to the captains."

      
Walker thought that was odd. Why not have all the captains come to the
Diamond
for the meeting instead of going to each individually? But, he had another more important question.

      
"What I don’t understand is, if this shipment of gold is so important, why didn’t the Admiralty send a ship larger than the
Diamond
? No offense, Sidney."

      
"It’s quite simple," said Howell. "This shipment is supposed to be a secret. If we detached a ship of the line, assuming one could even be found, it would be like advertising the convoy’s importance. Never mind privateers. That would draw the attention of an entire French fleet."