HMS Diamond (8 page)

      
The
Swallow
was lucky, however. She was sailing along with a nice "Meltemi" wind coming out of the northeast. The wind, which has its origins in the mountains north of Greece, brings with it a refreshing coolness that dispels the brutal heat of the Levant summer.

      
Several days later, Walker was standing at the larboard rail looking out at the crisp blue of the Mediterranean when Susan came up from behind and joined him.

      
"What are you thinking?" She asked.

      
"Nothing really," Walker replied, then paused. "Actually, that’s not true. I was thinking about home."

      
"What about it?"

      
"I don’t know. Where is it, for starters? Am I an American or not? What are my friends and family doing back in the states right now? Pleasant stuff like that."

      
"Well, you know what I’ve always told you. There are..."

      
"I know. There are things you can do something about and other things you can’t. This is one of the things you can’t, so make the best of it."

      
Neither said anything for a while; they just stared at the penetrating blue of the Mediterranean water and listened to the sounds of the ship working. Finally Susan spoke up. "I’ve been doing some thinking, too."

      
"About what?"

      
"Do you remember that old monk we met in Ephesus, the one with the birth mark on the side of his face?"

      
"Yeah, the crazy old man? Now, that’s a good question. I wonder what
he’s
doing now. Probably defrauding some group of tourists for his next meal."

      
"He didn’t defraud us out of anything."

      
"He didn’t have time; but I am sure he would have."

      
"I am not so sure at all."

      
The two remained quiet for a while, then Susan again broke the silence.

      
"Do you remember how he kept saying his name was John?"

      
"A lot of people are named John."

      
"Do you remember when he asked you if you believed in God’s hand? And do you remember how he gave his name just before we left?

      
"Yes. He suddenly became John two thousand and something. What about it?"

      
"That’s not what he said. He said he was John twenty-one, twenty."

      
"So what?"

      
"Those numbers. I thought maybe they might be a Bible verse, so I looked it up: John 21:20. Let me tell you what it says."

      
Susan produced a small, very rare and expensive New Testament Bible. She opened it to where she had a page marked and said: "Jesus and Peter are walking along with John following some distance behind. Peter sees him and... Oh, here, let me just read it to you.

      
21 Peter seeing him saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do?

      
22 Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Follow thou me.

      
23 Then went this saying abroad among the brethren, that that disciple should not die: yet Jesus said not unto him, He shall not die; but, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee?

      
"Susan, what are you saying? ‘ If I will that he tarry till I come...’ What’s that supposed mean? To the best of my knowledge Jesus has not come again, so are you saying the disciple John is still alive and that monk was
him
?"

      
Susan said nothing, just shrugged.

      
At this point Smith, who had been forward looking for chaffing on the main and fore sails, moved aft and walked over to where the two were standing.

      
"What’s this? Having a revival are we? Shall I inform those crank Wesleyans that they now have some competition?"

      
Susan said nothing. Walker looked at her and said, "Well, go ahead and tell him. I know you’re dying to do so."

      
So she did. She told Smith everything from the time they were nearing Ephesus and they met the old man, to the time the midshipman came riding up.

      
"So there you have it," said Walker. "You agree, he was a Bedlam candidate, right?"

      
"I don’t know," replied Smith.

      
Walker threw up his hands in frustration. "Not you too!"

      
"No, I am saying that I don’t know if any part of that is true or not, but..." And Smith was uncharacteristically at a loss for words for a moment. Finally, he blurted out.

      
"Lucas, haven’t you ever felt like you had an important calling in life? Like there was something, or some series of things, out there that you were meant to do. I mean, I have. I’ve felt that way since I was a child."

      
"Important things? Like what?"

      
"I’ve no idea. I don’t know what, or where, or how, but I feel it to the core of my being. Call it the hand of God. Call it whatever you like, but hasn’t that ever happened to you?

      
Walker started shaking his head and began to say something when a call was heard from the fo’c’sle: "Sail, ho!" Then repeated, "Sail ho!"

      
"Where away," Smith yelled back as he made a dash for the ladder leading up to the quarterdeck.

      
"Tree points off ‘ta starboard, sir."

      
Smith had gained the quarterdeck by now. Grabbing a telescope from a rack as he went past, he strode over to the starboard rail to try to make out the kind of ship that was on the horizon.

      
"Merchant." He mumbled under his breath. Then louder, "She’s running.

      
"Quartermaster, come two points to starboard! Bosun sound quarters and get those sails flared out for a chase."

      
By this time, Walker had arrived on the quarterdeck with Smith while Susan went below to set up a makeshift surgery.

      
"Why is she running from us?" Walker asked.

      
"I would too if I was unarmed or lightly armed and saw a xebec in these waters. I’d assume it was a pirate and fly."

      
"But we are unarmed."

      
"Yes, but he doesn’t know that."

      
Smith walked to the starboard rail and said: "We need some way to signal our peaceful intentions to him." Then he saw a seaman hurrying past the ship’s tiller on his way forward. "You there. Stop. Yes, you! What’s your name?"

      
"Miller, sir. Jonathon Miller."

      
"All right, Jonathon Miller, you are now my signal officer. Go see what this tub has for signal flags and report back."

      
Smith raised the telescope to his eyes and scoped the fleeing merchantman again. He was doing his level best to look "captain-like" while all manner of tumult was breaking loose on the main deck. Somehow, though, it didn’t seem nearly as disorganized as it did a few days ago when they left Pamucak.

      
Smith had divided the crew into two watches, and the watches had divided themselves into fo’c’sle men, top men and waisters. Technically, there were no "top men" on a Xebec because all sails were handled from on deck. Nevertheless, those crewmen who had once been among the elite topmen insisted on keeping the designation and served mostly to supervise the fo’c’sle men and waisters.

      
"Several minutes later Miller returned, knuckled his forehead in a kind of rough salute, and said, "Ahm sorry, sor. But this ‘ere barky got but two flags. One is th’ flag o’ the Sultan, ta other is the red flag of a corsair."

      
"It seems the
Swallow
was occasionally serving two masters," Walker remarked.

      
"We still need to signal that ship that we have no intention of hurting her. Miller, can you find a white flag of some kind?"

      
"Sor, unless you got somethin’ white in your cabin, there ain’t nothin’ else aboard ‘er."

      
"I’ve got an idea." Smith said something to Miller that Walker couldn’t quite hear and sent him off.

      
Walker had borrowed Smith’s telescope and was examining the merchantman when he heard a screech from below deck. "NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!!" A moment later, Susan appeared up the fore hatch with all sail set for the quarterdeck. Miller, completely flustered, was trailing behind.

      
"Sidney, either you or this seaman has lost his mind! He’s saying you want one of my petticoats to fly at the mainmast. Is that correct?"

      
"Now Susan, calm down. I only need to borrow it for a little while—just long enough to signal that merchantman we have no ill intent."

      
"And you’re going to do that by flashing some woman’s underwear at him?"

      
"Well, I need something white and..."

      
"Do you have any idea what one of those costs? And that doesn’t even get into finding the right size and..."

      
Susan went on like that for some time but eventually produced the unmentionable; and it was duly run up the mast. All work stopped as grizzled veterans and younkers alike stared up at the mainmast, their jaws slack.

      
Of greater importance, however, was that it worked. The merchantman hove to.

***

      
They were just putting the finishing touches on dinner when Walker noticed Susan looking closely at the china from which they had just eaten. The
Sadana
was a Russian merchant ship known as a "seeker." She had no fixed trade routes or itinerary; she simply went wherever she thought she could get a load to transport. Captain Georgiy Tarnow proved to be an affable host; full of jokes and stories—once he was convinced you weren’t going to blow him into fish food.

      
"Captain, I couldn’t help admiring this wonderful setting. Is this porcelain?" Susan picked up a coffee cup and looked closely at the brilliant scarlet and gold floral pattern that had been hand-painted over the cobalt blue underglaze.

      
"Please. You must call me ‘Georgiy.’ ‘Keptin’ is much too formal among friends, is it not? And, yes, it’s quite lovely, Lady Whitney. You have a good eye."

      
"It’s marvelous. May I ask where you obtained it? And please call me Susan."

      
Captain Tarnow produced a laugh that started deep in his belly and rippled upward to eventually echo off the walls. "Susan! Yes, Susan it is.

      
"I have barrels of those cups in the hold, along with saucers, plates, serving dishes, pitchers, everything. It’s what’s ballasting the ship, as a matter of fact. Oh, we have some spices on board—pepper, coriander, cardamom, nutmeg and such; but the main cargo is porcelain. Picked it up in Alexandria and I am returning with it to Naples."

      
"Lovely."

      
"And the funny thing is that the Chinee consider it to be junk—fit only for the tables of foreigners. Kind’a makes you wonder what their Sunday dishes look like, no?

      
"You say you are returning to Naples?" Smith asked. When were you last there?"

      
"About a month ago."

      
"Captain Tarnow... Georgiy... I very much need to locate the British fleet. Do you have any idea where they might be?"

      
"Oh, I know exactly where they are... at least I know where they were as of a month ago. A ship came in from Marseilles just before I left. But, surely, they could be anywhere by now."

      
"Where were they?"

      
"Toulon, but I wouldn’t recommend your going there."

      
"Why?"

      
Tarnow paused for a moment and grew deadly serious, the affable twinkle gone from his eyes. "Things are terrible there, Keptin. Terrible.

      
"You know about the so-called revolution in France. What you might not know is that not everyone is exactly in love with the idea. There’s massive resistance all over France but mostly in the west, northwest and especially in the south. In fact, Lyons, Marseilles and Toulon have openly defied the Jacobins and declared for the monarchy.

      
"Well, Robespierre wasn’t about to stand for that, so he sent his army down there. The royalists, not knowing what else to do, appealed to your King George for help. He sent Admiral Hood but he was too late; by the time he got to Marseilles, it had fallen.