HMS Diamond (23 page)

      
"In other words, captain, at some point the piper must be paid, not with paper, but with cold hard coin. That means at some point actual gold must be transferred from one bank vault to another."

      
"I understand."

      
"No, quite frankly, you don’t. Francis?"

      
Lord Moira now spoke for the first time. "You see, captain, that gold is shipped to our various creditor banks by sea; and those shipments are among the most closely guarded secrets in the Kingdom. Indeed, even the captain of the ship doesn’t know he is carrying that cargo until after his ship is well under way."

      
Smith was still confused. "May I ask what this has to do with the
Diamond
?"

      
Moira looked over to Spencer, who simply nodded.

      
"What I am about to tell you may be repeated to no one. I say, no one! You may inform those aboard this ship who have a need to know, but only after you are out of sight of land. Is that clear?"

      
Smith sat up straighter in his chair. "Yes, sir."

      
"Those shipments are going missing, captain."

      
"Missing?"

      
"Yes, missing, as in lost, stolen, strayed. What’s worse, we have no idea how it’s being done. They just vanish into thin air. The next thing we know the ships will be located drifting miles from where they were last seen, or piled up on some rocks. The ships will be untouched and in perfect condition—except the crew and the chests of gold will be gone.

      
"Lord Howell, you’re our expert, perhaps you could provide some additional detail."

      
Howell cleared his throat. "I have spent the last month or so interviewing many of the captains and masters of the other ships—both Royal Navy and merchant. Their stories are in remarkable agreement. They will be sailing in convoy in perfect order... well, as good an order as you can get merchant ships to hold, and all will be perfectly normal. They will rig for night sailing, again everything perfectly normal; and the following morning the treasure ship will be gone. There will have been no flashes of musket or gun fire, no unusual sounds, nothing. The ship will simply not be there.

      
"Then, a few weeks later, the ship will turn-up again. As Lord Moira said, we will find it adrift on the open sea or piled on a shoal or some rocks, probably a function of having been cast adrift. Upon boarding, we will find the ship completely intact. No signs of struggle, no bloodstains, no musket ball holes. Indeed, all weapons will still be in their racks. Furthermore, the cargo, often quite valuable cargo, will be untouched. The only thing missing will be the gold chests and the crew. Even more mysterious, the ship’s boats will still be secured in their cradles; so where could they have gone and how could they have gotten there?"

      
"Perhaps the temptation was too great. Could it have been the work of the captain and crew?" Asked Smith.

      
"If it only happened once, I might suspect that. But we have lost three shipments in a row, the most recent one just last week."

      
Lord Moira interrupted, his coal-black eyes boring into Smith’s. "Let me put it perhaps a bit more directly, captain. If we can not solve this problem the war will be lost."

      
Smith’s mind was racing. "The war lost? How could this possibly..." and it dawned on him. If the banks could not redeem those British promissory notes, they would not be accepted. If they were not accepted, then entire industries that depended on materials from overseas would fold. Included among those industries was the Royal Navy itself. Ships could not be built or repaired without a constant influx of Baltic timber, tar, flax and hemp. There was salt from Poland, wheat from Belgium, copper and iron ore from Sweden—the list was endless.

      
Moira was silent for a moment watching the color drain from Smith’s face, and then he cocked his head to the side and said, "Gentlemen, I think maybe now he understands."

      
Spencer chimed in again. "Smith, your mission is to find out how this is happening and put a stop to it."

      
Smith finally managed to speak. "Put a stop to it? What would you like me to do?"

      
"As a first step I want you to get some information for us. Are you familiar with the Chouan Army?"

      
"No sir. I’ve never heard of it."

      
"Well, it’s very real and doing the French a lot of damage.

      
"As you know, this revolution of theirs has some singularly nasty characteristics. You saw some of them at Toulon. But, beyond that, they are not only anti-royalist they are anti-Catholic, and that does not sit well with a large part of their population. In western France this has boiled over into armed insurrection, especially in the La Vendée region. They’ve formed an army called
Armée catholique et royale
, otherwise known as the Chouans."

      
"Chouans?"

      
"Yes. It comes from the nickname of their leader, Jean Cottereau, who is known as Jean Chouan because he is apparently quite good at mimicking the call of the
chat-huant
, the screech owl.

      
"In any event, we’ve been quietly supporting the Chouan efforts—muskets, cannons, food, clothing and even counterfeit money which not only gives them something to spend but plays havoc with the French economy. But, unfortunately, there have been some reverses. The Republicans sent General Hoche to the Vendee to crush the Chouans, which he has done. He forced them to sign a peace settlement all right, but not everyone went along with it. A sizeable number have formed into an underground group that is harassing the French at every turn. More importantly they are, far and away, the best spies we have in all of France.

      
Spencer now re-joined the discussion. "They need to be re-supplied, captain; and it will be your job to re-supply them. I’ll have your orders cut by tomorrow and the supplies delivered by the day after. You will proceed to the place indicated in your orders, make contact with the Chouans, and deliver the supplies. You will also meet with a man by the name of de Frotté. We have received word that he has information for us concerning this shipment problem. Find out what he has to say and proceed back here immediately. Is that clear?"

      
"Yes, sir. Quite."

      
"Excellent. That will be all."

      
Smith was being dismissed like a servant from his own great cabin. In any other situation this would have been an intolerable affront and he felt a touch of anger swelling. It was cut short, however, by remembering that this ship was not his. In effect it belonged to the First Lord and Smith was here because the First Lord allowed him to be here, and that made all the difference.

      
A few minutes later, Spencer appeared on the quarterdeck and walked Smith to the aft rail. "There is one more thing, captain. I didn’t want to mention it back in the cabin because... well, because the others did not have a need to know. On your trip you will be taking with you a passenger by the name of de la Fruglaye. He will be staying with the Chouans. You will also be picking up a passenger but I can’t tell you his name."

      
"This is because I do not have the need to know?"

      
"No, it’s because
I
have no need to know."

***

      
It was not the best situation for staging a rendezvous but it would have to do. The sea was calm enough and the weather was unseasonably mild. But there was a three-quarter moon and the cloud cover was sporadic. This meant you could be in pitch darkness one moment and illuminated like a stage play the next. When you are the only floating object on a large body of water, that’s not a very comforting thought.

      
The
Diamond
had four boats: a 32-foot two-masted pinnace, a 26-foot single-masted launch, a 24-foot two-masted cutter, and a smaller 18-foot single-masted cutter known as the "jolly boat." Smith elected to use the jolly boat to make initial contact, and then he could use the larger boats to offload supplies.

      
Smith checked the sky for the hundredth time that night. The moon was again behind a cloudbank as the jolly boat pushed off from the
Diamond
. The boat’s single mast had been removed and it had been fitted with muffled oars so their approach would be as quiet as possible. Smith was in the sternsheets and Lt. Pine was at the tiller holding a compass. Eight seamen manned the oars and four armed marines sat along the boat’s midline. A light signal had been exchanged with the beach and held long enough to get a bearing.

      
"What course, sir?" Pine asked as he settled next to the tiller.

      
"Based on our last bearing on that beach signal, come to east-southeast," Smith replied.

      
"East-southeast, aye."

      
The sea was calm and the two men sat in silence as the crew began the slow rhythmic stroke that would carry them through the next hour. About halfway to the beach the wind kicked up, sending spray over the bow, wetting down everyone. The beach, however, was bathed in soft moonlight and for all the turbulence swirling around the small boat, the area near the beach looked fairly tranquil. Finally, Pine spoke up in a voice that would only carry as far as Smith’s ears.

      
"Sir, earlier tonight I was speaking with a crewman who says he’s familiar with these waters. He says there are sandbanks all over the place along this shore."

      
"I am aware of that Lieutenant. But I am sure the Chouans would not signal us in to someplace where we would ground ourselves. I mean, they need those supplies do they not?

      
"Yes, sir. I suppose you’re right." And both men settled in for the remaining journey to the shore.

      
As they drew closer the clouds lifted long enough for Smith to get his bearings. "There, Mr. Pine. Do you see that church spire just off the larboard bow? That’s the landmark I was looking for. Steer for it, if you please."

      
As they got closer to shore Smith could see a group of men on the beach. He stood up, cupped his hands and called in French: "Ahoy the beach!"

      
"Ahoy the boat," came the reply followed by: "Password?"

      
"
Chat-huant,"
Smith replied.

      
"
Et liberté
," came the reply.

      
"That’s it. That’s the correct reply. Lieutenant, steer directly for those men."

      
Just as he said it the jolly boat slammed into a sandbank and Smith toppled forward. That tumble, however, was the only thing that saved his life as at that exact moment, a volley of musket fire erupted from the shoreline peppering the helpless craft.

***

      
"Jesus! It’s a trap!" Pine shouted. He automatically threw the tiller over as if to get the boat out of there, but it was a useless gesture. The boat was hard aground and all was chaos.

      
Two of the crew had been hit, one with a ball in his shoulder and the other with a ball in his forehead. The surf was pushing the boat further on to the shelf, while the crew was furiously backstroking trying to get the boat off. The corporal in charge of the marines was bawling orders trying to get a return fire going; but they were in a terrible position, facing the enemy in a single file line rather than in line abreast where they could maximize their fire.

      
Smith picked himself up and looked around, trying to make sense of the situation. He ordered four of the men over the side to see if they could push the boat off the bank. No luck. He was about to order them back in when another volley erupted from shore. One of the men in the water and one marine were hit.

      
The moon slid out from behind a cloud bank illuminating the shoreline again sending chills up Smith’s spine. The group on shore had on French Republican uniforms. They were now spread out and wading into the water to catch the boat in a crossfire. Once they were in position, Smith knew the game was up. They could stand there all night and blast away until the boat crew was dead or until they surrendered—assuming they were interested in accepting a surrender.

      
At last the attackers were in position. They had formed a rough semi-circle around the boat and the return marine fire was having little effect. The attackers were smart enough to stay well spread out. They knew the marines with smooth bore muskets would be hard pressed to actually hit anything they were aiming at. The musket was designed for shooting into groups of people where, if you aimed at one man and hit someone two men over, it was just as good. The attackers were spread out and nearly invulnerable. The men in the boat, on the other hand, were the kind of massed group for which the musket was designed.