HMS Diamond (32 page)

      
As harbors go, Le Havre was not great because the silting problem continued down the centuries. It had some deep anchorage points, to be sure, but it also had strips of shifting sand at its entrance that made coming and going hazardous. But its importance did not rest on the harbor. The walled city of Le Havre also had a huge, virtually impregnable, fortress located right next to it and that kept the
Diamond
a respectful distance away.

      
For the hundredth time Smith scanned the shoreline, looking at the walled city, looking at the fort, looking at the stone and timber houses, looking at the old cathedral in the middle of town; but, most of all, he was looking at the
Vengeur
.

      
She was anchored right behind the Amtar Bank, a spit of sandy land that was near the Le Havre side of the mouth of the river. Smith could see her clearly through his glass, riding easily at anchor, protected by a 10-gun shore battery and glistening like a jewel that was just out of reach. He could see her crew going about their daily chores, and even watch as they looked up from time to time to study him back. He imagined they were mocking his impotence.

      
There was simply no way for the
Diamond
to get to her. No way at all... unless...

      
Smith turned to the midshipman of the watch. "Pass the word. I want all officers plus Mr. Wilkie, Mr. Walker, Monsieur de Tromelin and marine Sergeant Harris in my quarters in 10 minutes."

      
The group assembled in record time. Smith was behind his desk looking at a chart of the harbor and smiling like a Cheshire cat. The rest of the group was seated where possible or standing and trying to look as relaxed in the low ceilinged room. He looked up, saw that everyone was there plus one more, the uninvited Lord Howell. He decided not to make an issue of it.

      
"Thank you all for arriving so quickly.

      
You all know why we’re here in Le Havre. You can look over the rail and see the
Vengeur
as clearly as I. You also know the
Diamond
can’t do a damn thing because we can’t get to her.

      
"But, it occurred to me that
she
can’t do a damn thing either. As long as the
Diamond
is here, she can’t come out. She has to sit there like a duck. The difference is that we have the ability to pluck a few of her feathers. Tonight, as soon as the tide turns, we’re going after the
Vengeur
and finish her off once and for all.

      
"Gather around and take a look at this chart."

***

      
"Ding-ding! Ding-ding!" The ship’s bell echoed off into the pitch-black night. It was four bells into the mid-watch and Smith had his men assembled on the main deck. Most had a look of casual indifference on their faces, but it was feigned. No one going into battle, especially a night attack, is without worry. It has ever been that way; and it always will. When the action starts they each know they will do their duty; they have seen enough fighting in the past to know that. But, in the back of each mind is the question: Have I seen sunlight for the last time? That was the question that was being masked by the huddled conversations and quiet jokes.

      
"We are going in four boats," Smith told them, once he had their attention. "I will command the first boat, Lt. Sandsbury the second, Lt. Knight the third, and Midshipman Wright the fourth. Lt. Pearson you have command of the
Diamond
in my absence.

      
"We will proceed to opposite ends of the Amtar Bank. Boats one and two will go around the west end and board across the
Vengeur’s
stern. Boats three and four will proceed around the east end of the bank and go over the Vengeur’s larboard side.

      
"I don’t need to tell you, this approach must be done in total silence. Get in position then wait for my shout before boarding. We
must
take them by surprise if this is going to work.

      
"Any questions?"

      
Sergeant Harris was in charge of the marines with Lt. Carter still mending, and he spoke first. "Where do ya want the marines, sir?"

      
"Spread them out on each of the boats, but I want you and three of your best men with me. As soon as we get on board, we’re going straight for the officer’s quarters. I want them neutralized before they know what hit them.

      
"Walker, you’re with me too. Monsieur de Tromelin, you’re in boat four with Mr. Wright." Hours earlier Tromelin had spoken with Smith and insisted that because he was the best swordsman on board and the only Frenchman, honor dictated that he share the danger of the attack. Smith didn’t argue the point. Nor did he argue when Walker simply said, "I am going." They had shared enough danger together that Smith actually wanted him by his side. But he drew the line when Susan Whitney showed up on deck in pantaloons, with two flintlock sea service pistols in her belt and an expectant look on her face. She relented only when Smith pointed out that she and Walker were the only two experienced medical people on board and it wouldn’t be fair to the men if something happened to both of them.

      
Almost all the men had climbed down into the boats when Smith spied Lord Howell walking up, armed with a sword and pistol.

      
"May I ask your intentions, my Lord?"

      
"I am going with you."

      
"You most certainly are not," Smith snapped back.

      
Lord Howell was not accustomed to hearing the word "no" spoken in his direction, so this voyage had been a real trial for him. At first his face bristled with indignation, then unaccountably it softened.

      
"Look, Captain Smith," he said softly. "I know we’ve had our differences, and I still do not agree with some of your decisions. But I am both an Englishman and a
man
, sir. I can not stand idly by while my countrymen go into harm’s way before my very eyes."

      
Smith looked dubious. "Can you handle yourself?"

      
"I dare say I am the best swordsman on board, captain. Trained by the best. I am even better than Tromelin, although I doubt if he would ever admit it."

      
This was not the response he expected out of Howell when he initially told him no. Smith paused for a few seconds.

      
"Please, Sidney." It was the first time Howell had ever called him by his first name. "Let me go, just this once."

      
"All right," Smith finally decided. "Boat two. But don’t go getting yourself killed or I’ll kill you a second time myself when they haul your carcass back here."

      
Smith smiled and so did Howell. "I won’t, captain. You can depend on it. I won’t."

      
A thick cloud cover hid the moon, the remnants of the storm Smith had been cursing for so many days. There was a soft on-shore breeze and the water had only a light chop. The four boats under muffled oars proceeded toward the
Vengeur
.

***

      
Their timing was nearly perfect. The slight glow of the
Vengeur’s
small number of lights was enough for Smith to see that the first of the boats was approaching their position on the larboard side just as his two boats approached theirs at the stern. The
Vengeur
had a long sleek black hull, and her main deck was not very high off the water. Several rope ladders with small grappling hooks on the ends were rolled out and quietly affixed to the
Vengeur
. Smith climbed up the ladder closest to him and peered through a scupper.

      
All was quiet. He could see two men on deck, supposedly on watch, but in fact sitting down with a barrel between them playing cards on its top. At that moment he saw the flicker of Wright’s head appearing for an instant over the fo’c’sle, then dropping down again. He knew all was in place.

      
He quietly slid his sword out of its sheath, took one deep breath to calm himself, than another to shout...

      
"
Diamond
! Attack! Attack!
Diamond
!"

      
With that he scrambled up the remaining rungs of the rope ladder and tumbled onto the deck. Sergeant Harris was right behind him and three marines were behind the Sergeant. Men were pouring over the side from both the bow and the stern, all screaming "
Diamond
!" at the top of their lungs.

      
Smith heard a pistol go off from somewhere forward. He couldn’t tell if it was one of his men who fired or one of theirs.

      
"Marines! To me! To me!" He screamed, and flung open a door to what had to be either the captain’s cabin or the wardroom. He barged through with four red coats at his back and saw four officers in various states of undress, trying to simultaneously wake up and load their pistols. Smith and the Sergeant pointed their swords at them as the marines leveled their muskets.

      
In perfect French Smith said: "That will be all, gentlemen. Put down your pistols. Your ship is ours now."

      
The men reluctantly complied. Smith pointed his sword at the closest man.

      
"Now, you sir. Where is your captain?"

      
"You think I would tell you?" And the man spit in Smith’s direction.

      
Sergeant Harris could not understand what was being said, but the spit spoke volumes in a clear international language. He stepped forward and smashed the man across the face with the butt of his musket, breaking the man’s jaw along with several teeth. The man dropped to the deck, conscious but whimpering with pain.

      
Smith turned his sword toward a second man. "Perhaps,
you
would consider being a bit more cooperative?"

      
The man looked down at his colleague and quickly said: "On deck. I think he’s on deck. He was just about to check on the watch when you... when you..."

      
Smith called over his shoulder as he ran back on deck. "Sergeant, secure those men then join me."

      
He arrived on deck to see that he was a bit premature in saying that the ship was his. Things were still very much in doubt. The
Vengeur’s
crew reacted to the attack more quickly than he had anticipated and fighting was going on in two knots of men—one in the bow and the other directly in front of him on the quarterdeck.

      
He looked around wildly for the skinny man with the strange black hat who had saluted him so arrogantly in Herqui. He was easy enough to spot. He was in the middle of the quarterdeck fight, trying to rally his men. Smith pushed his way into the melee, trying to get to him.

      
Rivers had just dispatched one of the
Diamond’s
seaman with a very neat sidestep move. The seaman had come in with a frontal attack. Rivers blocked the man’s blade with his rapier, moved one step to his left, and stabbed the man in his now exposed side with a 12-inch knife he carried in his other hand. It was all done very, very, fast and Smith could see he was no amateur with a blade.

      
Hugh Hayes was carving a swath through the
Vengeur’s
crew with a huge Scottish claymore sword that he carried. Where he had gotten it and how he had learned to use it, Smith had no idea. But Hayes was now moving toward Rivers and Smith knew, claymore or not, Hayes was no match.

      
"Hayes! No! He’s mine." Smith shouted above the tumult. Hayes glanced over, shrugged, and looked for another victim. Smith stepped in front of Rivers.

      
For an instant Smith tried to think of something clever to say now that his enemy was finally before him; but nothing came to mind. He could feel Rivers’ cold stare boring into him and saw a slight smile form on his lips. All further thoughts were banished, however, as River’s came to
en garde
.

      
In many ways the two men were evenly matched; not only in size and skill but, more importantly, in the weapon they carried. In an age in which most gentlemen fought with the smaller, lighter, smallsword, they both had the unfashionable but even more deadly rapier.

      
Their blades were perfectly straight and about three feet long. Each was an inch thick at the handle and tapered gracefully to a razor sharp tip. Unlike the sea service cutlass, the rapier was not designed for hacking. It was a single-handed thrusting weapon and it performed that task beautifully. If you knew how to use it, it was an elegant, graceful and effective killing machine.

      
Smith and Rivers studied each other for a moment with their swords poised at middle guard. Rivers began contemptuously tapping Smith’s sword blade with his while staying far enough away that Smith could not reach him with a thrust. He was trying to goad Smith into attacking.