HMS Diamond (16 page)

      
Walker looked at Susan, who just shook her head as if to say: "Don’t ask any more." So, he didn’t, although there was a lot more he would have liked to ask. He had seen this same thing emerge out of Prince William at Yorktown. These people could be unbelievably cruel and callous one minute, and equally generous the next. They could act like fops nearly their whole lives, then step forth with extraordinarily courage when needed—and for no other reason than their honor demanded it.

      
At just that moment they heard horses galloping by about 100 yards to the east of their position. After they were sure they were gone, they continued their walk, thankful that cloudbanks veiled what little moonlight there was.

      
By 11:30 they had reached the beach and set-up their signaling system. Inge was to kneel in front of Susan and hold her lantern in front of her chest. Susan, who was standing, was to hold hers at about shoulder level and directly above Inge’s lamp. Walker was to stand behind them with his greatcoat open and wrapped around the two of them. He would try to blanket the lights so they could only be seen forward.

      
It worked.

      
At exactly 12:00 midnight by Lucas’ pocket watch, they lit the lanterns. At 12:05, three horizontal lanterns from the
Swallow
answered; and by 12:45 they were being rowed through the surf in Sidney’s one remaining and somewhat leaky boat.

Chapter Six

      
THE clip-clop of the horse’s hooves and the smell of the padded leather interior hardly made an impression on Sidney Smith as his carriage took him across Westminster Bridge. On the far bank to his left were the white towers of the House of Commons and looming behind it was Westminster Abbey sporting its two newly built towers. To the right he could see the white Portland stone of the Banqueting House and to the right of that something new. It was a curious black spire some three stories high and the home of a steam engine, of all things. It was used to pump water at the York Buildings Water Works. Smith made a mental note to stop by and investigate it at some point. "Someday those steam engines might have a use aboard ship," he thought. "I can’t imagine how, but maybe I should have a look anyway."

      
It was early February and the previous night London had been covered with a fresh layer of snow. You had to look hard, however, to see any of its original pristine whiteness. Within hours of falling it had become dingy and speckled with soot as thousands of morning coal fires were lit to warm bedrooms and cook breakfasts. By 9:00 the sky would be black from the smoke of those fires.

      
Despite the disadvantages, Smith loved London. He loved the excitement. There were miles of glass-windowed shops stuffed with merchandise from all over the world, bustling docks, busy streets, hundreds of taverns and alehouses and even more coffee shops. Church spires rose high into the sky all over town, and houses were built everywhere with upper stories that hung perilously over the streets. If you wanted fish, you went to Billingsgate. Covent Garden was the place for vegetables, Leadenhall for meat and leather, Smithfield for livestock and Bear Key for grain and meal. Every commodity, legal and illegal, had a home somewhere in the city.

      
The streets were a constant blur of activity. On almost any given lane you could see servants running errands, wealthy passengers being carried in sedans, country squires in for a visit, and distracted tradesmen making their way through clouds of pickpockets, prostitutes and beggars. There were doctors, lawyers, booksellers, captains of industry, captains of ships, milk-women, knife grinders, and footmen hanging on for dear life as their carriage rounded a corner. All would be conducting their respective business amid orphan boys gambling on street corners and the cacophony of the vendors’ cries.

      
"Two yards long and two yards strong, ha’penny a piece," cried two girls selling lace. "Cherries here. Round and sound, five pence a pound. Cherries here." cried a small boy. "Chairs to mend, chairs to mend. Rush or cane bottomed chairs to mend. If I had the money that I could spend, I never would cry old chairs to mend. Chairs to mend," shouted an elderly man. And high overhead was the soprano of a young girl chanting: "Two a penny, four a penny—sweet damask rose! Two a penny, four a penny—sweet damask rose!"

      
The carriage turned right on Parliament Street. Between Charles and Downing streets he looked for the small grocery shop run by his old friend, Ignatius Sancho, but it was no where to be seen. Ignatius was a black man, literally born on a slave ship, who not only became a respected businessman, but also wrote some of London’s best music and plays. They say he was the first black man in the history of England to vote, and famous literary and artistic people were forever stopping by his store. Alas, he died a few years ago and his storefront must have closed as well; but he was a good man and Sidney had enjoyed the few times he had talked with him.

      
Parliament Street widens just past Downing Street and becomes Whitehall. To his right was the King’s Privy Garden. To the left was the Horseguards Parade Ground with St. James Park beyond that. A few blocks later the driver swung to his left, passed through an elaborately screened gate and came to the end of his journey—the Admiralty Building.

      
Made of yellow brick and forming three sides of a hollow square, the building itself was not all that distinguished. It sat at the far end of a large cobbled courtyard, with four columns fronting the main doors. He entered into a large square entrance hall with vaulted corridors running off to the left and right. On the left wall was a fireplace surrounded by heavily padded leather chairs with hoods to protect the person from drafts. High overhead was a six-sided candelabrum with a three-anchor crest on each face and a crown perched high on top.

      
The Board of Admiralty had one of the biggest budgets of any government department and one of the smallest bureaucracies. The First Lord of the Admiralty, who was usually a politician and sometimes a naval officer, headed it. Under him were three junior naval lords: the First Sea Lord who handled all correspondence, the Second Sea Lord who dealt with the sub-boards such as the Navy and Victualling boards, and the Third Sea Lord who handled the appointments of officers. For all its power it also had one of the smallest staffs. It consisted of two secretaries plus a private secretary to the First Lord, about 25 clerks, five messengers, a porter, four watchmen, a translator, a gardener, and Mrs. Colburn who was the cleaning lady.

      
Smith’s first concern was to get the attention of the Greeting Clerk. In this building admirals were a dime a dozen, so the staff was summarily un-impressed with the young captain who presented before them.

      
"I am Captain Sir Sidney Smith," he said while handing the clerk his card. "I have an appointment with the First Lord."

      
"If you would be so kind as to wait for a moment, Captain Smythe, while I see if Lord Spencer will see you now." The clerk paused as if seeing what Smith would do. Smith knew what he was waiting for—a tip, some would call it a bribe. Smith would not pay it. The First Lord invited him here and he didn’t see any reason why he should have to bribe someone to meet with him.

      
"That’s fine," Smith said. "And that’s Smith. Captain Smith, not Smythe, if you please."

      
"Yes, sir! I am so sorry." The clerk intoned in a voice that made it clear he wasn’t sorry about anything.

      
At this point Smith was shown through the second door on the left, just past the main door, and into the notorious "waiting room." Any officer having business before the Admiralty had to wait... and wait... and wait. It was the rare officer that did not have an unpleasant memory of this room.

      
Smith took one of the two remaining chairs and looked around at the collection of officers, young and old, lieutenants to admirals that occupied the room with him. Which ones were desperately trying to obtain a ship after years on the beach? Which ones were seeking favors for past glories, real or imagined? Which were applying hopefully for sinecures for themselves or a family member? There was no way of knowing. All that Smith knew for sure was that they would all have to wait.

      
He wasn’t sure why the First Lord had ordered this meeting. He didn’t think he was in trouble, but he forced his mind to go back over recent events to be sure.

      
The morning after he picked-up Walker, Whitney and Lady Fuhrmann from the beach, the
Swallow
and the two frigates left Toulon to catch up with the fleet in Gibraltar. Upon arrival, Smith was almost immediately summoned aboard the flagship. Hood looked tired, shaken, and seemed to have aged considerably as a result of the Toulon experience. He complemented Smith, however, and said his was the only honor to be taken from the affair. He also told him he had been selected to carry the dispatch—the official account of the conflict—back to Whitehall. This was indeed an honor; it was only too bad the dispatch was an account of a disaster and not a victory.

      
Smith knew he had to fess up to Hood with regard to the rescue of Lady Fuhrmann and relayed Walker’s account of what happened to the Royalists after the Revolutionaries came into town. Hood’s reactions went from alarm over Lady Fuhrmann, to a kind of profound despair over the massacres that followed. Hood sagged in his chair and told him to come back the following day to pick up the dispatch.

      
The voyage was uneventful. They arrived on January 15th and the four of them hired a coach from Portsmouth to London where, amid an emotional farewell, Walker and Whitney said good-bye to Lady Fuhrmann. Smith reported in to the Admiralty, handed over the dispatch, and retired to his own quarters in town. A few weeks later he was mysteriously ordered to report back.

      
Within a matter of only two hours—lightning fast by Admiralty standards—his name was called.

***

      
Smith was shown into the room that was the heart of the Board of Admiralty, the Board Room. From this room came decisions that literally shaped the world. Wars were begun and ended, whole Fleets sailed or were recalled, and thousands of people lived or died as a result of the decisions made here.

      
The room itself was quite striking. It was rectangular, completely paneled in dark wood, with three large windows along one side that looked out on to a Horseguards stable. The ceiling was decorated with gilded rose emblems. The huge fireplace was framed in a mottled brown marble that carried the carved coat of arms of Charles II. Above the fireplace, where a portrait or a painting would normally be found, was a series of rollers that could be pulled down displaying maps of various places around the world.

      
In one corner was a tall grandfather clock, made in 1700 by Langley Bradley, the man who did the clock for St. Paul’s Cathedral. But the one item that completely riveted Smith’s attention was on the opposite wall. It looked at first like a large clock, until one noticed that instead of hours it displayed the points of the compass. The pointer on it was in slight but almost constant motion, as it was linked through a complicated series of rods to a wind vane on the roof of the building. The device was superimposed over a map of northern Europe and Britain and its purpose was deadly serious. When the wind was coming out of the west, the British fleet could sail, but the French could not. When the wind was coming out of the east, the French could sail but the British could not.

      
Seated at the far end of a long mahogany table was The Right Honorable Sir George John Spencer, 2nd Earl Spencer, who was First Lord of the Admiralty. He was not a naval officer; in fact, as far as Smith knew, he had never even been on board a ship. He was a Whig politician, which perhaps was fitting in that the First Lord was also a cabinet-level position in the government. Despite being a political appointee, however, Spenser had a reputation as being an even-tempered and competent First Lord. He took the position seriously and took every opportunity to learn as much as he could about military matters in general and the navy in particular. Nevertheless, all career military men have a deeply ingrained suspicion of politicians; and Smith was no different.

      
"Ah, Captain Smith. How good of you to come at such short notice. Please be seated." Spencer indicated a chair to his right at the end of the table.

      
"May I offer you a little something? Perhaps a glass of brandy against this miserable weather?"

      
"No, my Lord. But, thank you anyway."

      
"Very well then let me come right to the point, Captain." Spencer glanced down at some papers in front of him. "I must first congratulate you on your feat at Toulon. It says here your raid burned or sunk 10 ships of the line, two frigates and two corvettes, not to mention several warehouses and supply depots."

      
"Yes, sir. That’s true."

      
"You know, if you had done that with a fleet you would be a national hero right now. It would be hailed as our greatest victory at sea since the Spanish Armada. But that’s not happening is it?"