HMS Diamond (36 page)

***

      
At this point Walker was actually looking forward to prison. He was prepared to admit to being an arsonist, a spy and, if need be, the lost son of Louis XVI if it would get him out of the damned coach.

      
They had left Le Havre three days earlier and crossed the Seine River at Tancarville. That in itself was a problem as it took them several hours to find the barge master to take them across; and, when he was found, it took him another hour to sober up enough to do it. From there they proceeded to the town of Bourg-Achard where they spent the night. Because of the lengthy delay getting across the river they had only traveled about 35 or 40 miles that first day.

      
The second day wasn’t much better. After a lengthy stop at Bourgtheroulde, another stop at Le Neubourg where the coach driver visited with friends, and a broken wheel in-between, they only barely made it to Pacy-sur Eure by nightfall, a distance again of only about 40 miles. Walker did have to admit, though, that the scenery was beautiful. The entire day was spent passing through the green rolling hills and forests of Normandy. In many ways it reminded him of his trips as a child through central Massachusetts and it made him a bit home sick.

      
By the third day, Walker had enough. It wasn’t that the trip was unnecessarily long, which it was; or that the road was dusty and ill-kept, which it was. It was the coach itself.

      
As an instrument of torture, the fiendish device was worthy of the inquisitors of Torquemada.

      
The problem began many years earlier when a man by the name of Anne-Robert-Jacques Turgot became comptroller-general of the country. He immediately instituted a series of policies to try to rescue the nearly bankrupt Louis XVI. Included in this was a plan to sell the rights to various public functions, one of which he bought himself, namely, the right to transport people from one part of the kingdom to another.

      
Anything with four wheels or four legs was quickly brought into Turgot’s company, and the cheaper the better. These rickety conveyances quickly became known as "turgotines" to deride Turgot’s supposed service. It was in one of these turgotines that Walker, Smith and the others had just spent two insufferable days and were beginning a third.

      
The word "old" does not begin to describe the conveyance they were in. If it were human, it would be an arthritic, asthmatic, old man whose every halting step was punctuated with a groan, wheeze or sigh. Its original color was a mystery that would never be solved.

      
In theory it was a post-chaise, with large wheels in back and smaller ones in front. The coach was enclosed, but it was only large enough for two fat people or three skinny ones. It was no place for four healthy adult naval officers. The driver and their newly acquired passenger sat up front where all-day, every day, the teamster kept up a running dialog with the two horses, the man seated next to him and the four passengers—none of whom ever replied to his ramblings. In living memory the only improvement made to the coach was the addition of a large box in back where passenger luggage would normally be kept. This was where an armed guard sat. He had two functions; first, to keep a nominal eye on the prisoners; and second, as security for the mail and other valuables that were being shipped in the box.

      
As they were going through a particularly dense forest, Walker was examining the leather curtain next to him, trying to figure out a way to get it to roll down without shattering into a thousand brittle pieces. He caught what he thought was motion out of the corner of his eye; but when he looked again he could see nothing. He just assumed it was a deer.

      
The carriage descended a long slope into a valley at what amounted to, for it, break-neck speed. It then began the long slow pull up the other side. Again Walker saw motion, but this time there was no mistaking its origin. Four men with drawn swords and trailing a spare horse rode out of the woods in front of the carriage. Two of them seized the horse’s bridles, and two went to the back of the carriage where the guard was only now beginning to react. With no preamble, no words of warning, one of the men brought his sword down on the head of the guard who fell lifeless onto the dusty road. At the same time the passenger known as Laborde drew a dagger and stabbed the driver in the heart. It was all over in a matter of seconds.

      
Instinctively Smith and his companions reached for their swords—swords that were no longer there. They knew, however, that inside the coach was the worse possible place to be as it gave them no fighting room so they tumbled out. The horsemen quickly had them surrounded.

      
"Who the hell are they?" Couriol asked Laborde as he climbed down from the coach.

      
"I have no idea. They were there when I boarded this morning. This carriage was not supposed to have any passengers."

      
Turning to the four men Couriol asked, "Then who
are
you? Explain yourselves."

      
While two of the robbers made short work of breaking into the postal box, Smith weighed his options. He decided that it would be far better to tell the truth then to try to make up a story on the spur of the moment and be tripped-up at the first question. So he briefly explained that they were captured British naval officers being transported from Le Havre to Paris, then added, "...to be guillotined" in hopes this would elicit some sympathy from the brigands.

      
Couriol looked at them for a long moment, then started firing questions about the prison at Le Havre, asking them to describe the inside of the cells and some of the guards. Their answers, combined with their dress, convinced him that they were telling the truth.

      
The two men at the back of the coach finally finished their work and came back around to where Couriol was holding court.

      
"What should we do with these? Kill them?" One of them asked.

      
Couriol paused for a moment then said, "Yes, definitely. They can identify us."

      
With that decision the brigands dismounted and began advancing with their swords raised. Smith’s group instinctively formed themselves into a tight circle. They had no chance and they knew it; but they were determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible. Just as the robbers got within striking range, Couriol, who was standing behind the advancing killers, spoke up again.

      
"No, I’ve changed my mind. Don’t kill them yet. Tie their hands then head back to Paris. I’ll finish them off and catch up."

      
Whether they killed the men or not was all the same to the robbers. They shrugged, tied the men’s hands in front of them, remounted and left—leaving Smith and his companions by the side of a dusty road with a grimy antiquated carriage, two dead bodies and an insane highwayman who was about to raise the death toll to six.

      
Couriol watched his compatriots disappear over a rise about a quarter mile away, then turned to the group.

      
"Which of you is Captain Smith?"

      
"I am," Smith replied. "But how did you know..."

      
His question was cut short when Couriol raised his sword, pointed it at Smith’s throat, and moved toward him.

      
"Do you know what Napoleon calls you?"

      
"No."

      
"He calls you
Captaine de Brulot
... Captain Fireship. Neither he nor the Directory was very happy with your little vacation visit to Toulon, you know."

      
Smith was staring at the tip of the advancing sword. "Then I die an honored man."

      
"Maybe you do..." He paused for a moment, then said, "and maybe you don’t."

      
With that, Couriol sent his sword flashing downward, severing the rope that held Smith’s hands together. Before Smith’s brain could register what had happened, he slid the sword back into its sheath and stuck out his right hand.

      
"A pleasure to meet you, captain," he laughed while pumping the hand of the astonished Smith. Turning to the other three he began cutting their bonds as well.

      
"John... François... good to see you again."

      
"Good to see you, too, Jacque," said Wright. "How is Madelaine?"

      
"Ah, she is such a trial. One of these days I am going to ask her to marry me, just so I can enjoy 10 seconds of shocked silence.

      
"And you must be the good Dr. Walker," Couriol observed as he cut away Lucas’ ropes.

      
Walker was as dumbfounded as Smith. "I am." He said. Then looking around at Wright, then Tromelin and back again to Couriol, he said, "But may I ask what in the devil is going on here?"

      
"You may ask if you wish but there is no time for answers. We’ve got to get out of here before someone comes along and gets curious about two dead bodies lying in the road."

      
"Should we bury them? Walker asked.

      
"No, I want them to be discovered. I want people to think this was simply a routine hold-up, which actually it was. I don’t want them to even suspect it’s real purpose."

      
"Which was?"

      
"To have a little chat with Captain Smith.

      
"François, do you know the way to the rendezvous near Saint-Germain-en-Laye?"

      
Tromelin nodded. "Yes, it’s not all that far from here."

      
"Fine, I’ll meet you there tomorrow morning."

***

      
The Forest of Laye was a massive place, with nearly 100 square miles of oak and beech trees. Getting lost would have been easy; but Tromelin clearly knew where he was going and led the way. After stumbling around the unfamiliar hazards of a forest for several hours, Walker and Smith were tired, bruised and hungry. Walker was slightly behind Tromelin when he suddenly stopped, causing Smith to nearly collide with him.

      
"Would you look at that?" Walker said, staring off into the distance. "What
is
it?"

      
Tromelin decided the group needed a break anyway so he halted and explained. "That’s the palace of Saint-Germain-en-Laye. Spectacular isn’t it? I understand it was built in the mid-14th Century, but it was done on the foundation stones of an even older palace, so no one really knows how old this place is. It’s been a favorite retreat of every monarch from Charles V to our King Louis."

      
The castle had an irregular pentagonal shape. Its walls were made of pink brick and stone, which gave them an otherworldly effect in the late afternoon sun. Its roof was flat and ringed with an ornate railing that was punctuated every few yards with short square ornamental columns. To the north and east were some of the most beautiful gardens on the continent. There were gardens, within gardens, within gardens—with countless flowerbeds, carefully selected for color and fragrance. But perhaps the most striking feature was a stone terrace that ran from the northeast corner of the gardens for a distance of over a mile providing strollers with a commanding view of the Seine Valley and, in the distance, the faint outline of Paris.

      
After a few more minutes of sitting, admiring the palace and catching their breath, Tromelin decided it was time to move on.

***

      
The following morning broke clear and bright. The men were awakened not so much by the sun as by the noise radiating from the trees all around them. The quiet night chirping of crickets was replaced by the clatter of birds. There were jackdaws, crows, robins, wrens, finches, woodpeckers, owls, and even a buzzard or two—each adding its own peculiar screech, chirp, song or coo to the symphony.

      
Walker rested with his back against an oak tree and looked out on a clearing that lay before him. The tall grass waved gently in the breeze, butterflies could be seen flitting about fulfilling their primeval duties, and the earthy fragrance of the meadow seemed to him like a perfume. It would be a glorious day if it were not for the itchiness he felt as he imagined the countless bugs that must have crawled over him during the night. At length he brought up the question that was foremost on both his and Smith’s mind.

      
"Well gentlemen, we’re here, but where is ‘here’ and where are we going?"

      
"I am sorry Lucas," Wright replied "but we can’t tell you until..." Wright suddenly stopped talking and cocked his ear. "Did you hear that?"

      
"I didn’t hear anything. Just a few birds and an owl in the distance," Smith observed.

      
Tromelin suddenly cupped his hands around his mouth, made the call of an owl in reply, and Smith understood. Tromelin was replying to the call of a Chouan patrol.