The Midshipman Prince (12 page)

      
“But...”

      
“But, nothing. Look, Lucas, I think that basically you’re a good person; but, right now, you’re the most useless piece of dung I’ve ever seen.

      
“You were given a responsibility and you’ve run from it. You whine about what’s happened to you, but don’t give a damn about the people you’re harming.”

      
“Who am I harming?”

      
“Me, for one, because I have to do all the damn work you should be doing; but, more importantly, you’re hurting the men aboard the
Richmond
. They need to believe in you, Lucas. They need to believe that you’ll be there for them if they’re sick or injured. And what about those men below deck just now. Do you think
they
don’t need you?

      
“You’re a smart fellow. I saw the way you absorbed those medical books. You have skills. You could be of help. Instead, you’d rather wallow in self-pity. ‘Woe is me. I’ve been pressed. I therefore beg leave to be an utterly useless prick.’

      
“Yet, I don’t get the sense that you’re, by nature, that way. That’s what I don’t understand. You have ‘leader’ written all over you. I can see it in your eyes. Yet, you’ve chosen to be worthless. You’ve chosen to put your life on the ‘I can do nothing about it’ pile. And that, I am sorry, disgusts me.”

      
With that, Susan got up and disappeared down the forward gangway ladder.

      
Walker sat alone on the deck for nearly 20 minutes. No one knows what he thought about as, later on, he never talked about it. What we do know is this. He arrived on deck that day a 22 year old who was going on 18 years of age. When he finally stood up and followed Susan below, he was 22 going on 40.

* * *

      
Walker had no idea how long he had been asleep but, however long it was, it wasn’t enough.

      
“Meester Walker, Sir. Meester Walker. Time to geet up. De Captain wants to see you and Meester Smith.” Angelo, the wardroom steward, a native of the Windward Islands, was vigorously shaking him awake.

      
“Tell him I’ve died,” Walker replied and rolled over.

      
“No, you tol’ me to do dat last time and I got in trooble.” Angelo got Walker to sit up and swung him around, placing a cup of coffee in his hands. Walker never ceased to be amazed at Angelo’s ability to come up with real coffee beans for his coffee, as opposed to the burnt breadcrumbs and hot water that was otherwise called “coffee” on this ship.

      
With Angelo’s help, he managed to splash some water on his face and shave. As he dressed in the clothes Angelo laid out, he realized that his clothes—the clothes of an 18th Century gentleman—felt good, even if they were castoffs and loaners from the other ship’s officers. He drew the line at wearing what he called “culottes,” however. He had never liked them. Trousers had recently been introduced and they were the rage in London. That gave him all the excuse he needed to wear them.

      
The sunlight caused his eyes to water as he walked out on the main deck and looked out to sea. The French were still there. It had been two days since the Battle of the Capes and not much more had happened. The two fleets had continued east, warily eyeing each other but no one wanted to make the first move to renew the fighting. The
Shrewsbury
,
Intrepid
,
Montagu,
and
Princessa
were off station tagging along after the fleet as they underwent repairs. Admiral Drake, a descendent of the great Sir Francis Drake, shifted his flag from the
Princessa
to the
Alcide
and it was reported that Captain Robinson of the
Shrewsbury
had had his leg amputated below the knee. Captain Colpoys of the
Orpheus
took over for him. The
Terrible
was taking on so much water that Graves had ordered her burned and the
Ajax
was leaking badly. A pall of disappointment and despair hung over the ship’s company.

      
Walker proceeded to the captain’s cabin and found Smith already standing before the captain’s long table. Walker joined him.

      
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Walker,” the captain said jovially. It was the first time he had ever talked to him in a friendly voice and it startled Walker.
 

      
“First of all, I’ve received a report from the First Lieutenant of the
Shrewsbury
stating that you had worked tirelessly during your time onboard and may be credited with saving the lives of any number of their men—including that of their captain. For that, he sends his respects and gratitude and, to which, I add mine. You reflected very well on this ship.”

      
Walker didn’t know what to say. He remembered the time only as a blur—endless hours of cutting, and sewing, and removing musket balls, and wood fragments. He did not sleep and only took two breaks for water and a few ship’s biscuits. He was still working off the sleep deficit.

      
“Thank you, sir.”

      
I also received a message from Admiral Hood, although, I must admit, I am not quite sure what to make of it. It seems the
Richmond
has been selected for what the admiral describes as a ‘very important mission,’ which will require two dependable officers. I selected Smith and he selected you. Don’t ask me to provide the logic behind that choice, but there we have it.”

      
Walker looked over at Smith who smiled and gave a small, almost imperceptible, shrug.

      
“In any event, the admiral wishes to see the three of us this afternoon at four bells. Be on deck and ready to go 20 minutes before that.

* * *

      
The
Barfleur
was the largest wooden object Walker had ever seen up-close. She was 177 feet long and 50 feet wide. She mounted 90 guns on three decks, weighed almost 2000 tons and drew 21 feet. Everything about her was big—including the access ladder—which allowed the three of them to scramble up the side with little effort.

      
Admiral Hood’s stateroom was correspondingly large as well. The
Richmond
’s captain’s cabin, wardroom, and officer sleeping area would have fit in Hood’s meeting room alone. The room was tastefully appointed with fine furniture, hangings and lamps from the best London shops. Given that, Walker was startled when he looked down at a floor that was covered in plain canvas and painted in a black and white checkerboard pattern. It provided almost a comic contrast from the high quality furnishings.

      
Contrary to his reputation as a dour man of few words, Hood seemed positively gregarious.

      
“Captain Hudson! Good to see you again.”

      
“Good to see you too, admiral. May I present my First Lieutenant, William Sidney Smith; and our ship’s surgeon, Mr. Walker.”

      
“Good afternoon, gentleman. Please, be seated. I have a rather exceptional Madeira here if you would care for some.” Hood didn’t wait for an answer but walked over to a sideboard and poured four glasses. This gave Walker a chance to study him.

      
Hood was not a large man but, nevertheless, seemed to exude authority. He had a small almost frail build with a head that seemed too large for his body. Indeed, his head was his most striking feature.

      
At first Walker thought he was wearing a powdered wig but it turned out he was wrong. Hood had a full head of pure white hair that hung down in carefully coffered ringlets. His face bore a striking resemblance to the pictures he had seen of George Washington, except Hood’s nose was bigger and he had two shaggy, almost unruly, eyebrows.
 

      
Hood, returning with the wine glasses, broke Walker’s reverie.
 

      
“Gentlemen,” Hood began, “I’ll not detain you long; but there is an urgent matter that I must discuss with you. Before doing so, however, I must warn you that what I am about to tell you, and the mission you are about to perform, is of the utmost secrecy. Is that clear?”

      
Hood paused for a moment to look at each of them. His eyes were dead serious.

      
“As I am sure you know, Our Sovereign, George III, has nine sons. The third oldest of these is Prince William Henry. You might also know that, for the past several years, the prince has been enrolled as a midshipman in His Majesty’s Navy; and, truth be known, he has actually developed into quite a good one.

      
“What you might not know is that several months ago Prince William was sent to New York on a mission to raise the morale of the troops, not to mention the morale of the Tory population of the city who are sympathetic to us. Nothing quite like having a real-live prince at your gala ball to boost the spirits, what?

      
“Anyway, shortly after his arrival Washington moved his army from New Jersey to the outskirts of New York in an obvious move to lay siege to it. He knew the prince was there and at least one attempt was made to capture him, but it failed.

      
“It was therefore felt prudent to send the prince off to go build morale somewhere else, so he was sent to visit his ‘Uncle Cornwallis’ in Yorktown. What could go wrong there, right? Cornwallis had about a third of the British Army with him, and he had been rampaging through the southern colonies, almost unopposed, for months.”

      
Walker looked around. Smith seemed shocked, but Captain Hudson had visibly gone pale.

      
“But that means... I mean, sir, are you saying...” Hudson stuttered.

      
“Yes,” the admiral answered. “The prince is currently in Yorktown. Cornwallis is cut off on the landward end of the peninsula by some 22,000 rebel troops—6000 under Lafayette, 4000 French troops brought by De Grasse, 4000 more frogs from Rhode Island, and 8000 rebels that Washington moved down from New York. They have over 100 heavy guns dug in and pointed down Cornwallis’ throat. To combat this, Cornwallis has 6000 or 7000 exhausted troops and a handful of 6-pound cannon that I wouldn’t use for ceremonial purposes, let alone to fight. His only hope was that our fleet—that we—would control the seaward side so he could remain supplied and, if necessary, evacuate his troops. And, we failed.”

      
“But, sir,” Hudson began. “With all due respect to you and Admiral Graves, I am not sure we
have
failed. Certainly, we seemed to have lost the fight a few days ago, but that was only a skirmish. Even now, we could engage and still win.”

      
“Yesterday afternoon there was a meeting of Admiral Graves, Admiral Drake and myself—a rather heated one, I might add. Admiral Graves has determined that we suffered too many losses on that first day to engage the enemy again.”

      
“Then why don’t we pivot around and race the French back to the Chesapeake? I am sure our ships are faster than theirs. His fleet has been at sea a long time in the Caribbean. Their hulls must be completely covered with moss and barnacles, which would slow them down considerably. Let’s get back there first, form up at the mouth of the Chesapeake, and dare them to take the place away from us. No French fleet has ever sailed into a bay or harbor occupied by one of our fleets to fight us. Not once. And they won’t do it now.”

      
“You know, you might make a good admiral yet, Charles. Of course, you’re right; but Admiral Graves doesn’t see it that way. He believes De Grasse’s real objective is New York—never mind that Washington and most of his army is now here at Yorktown. He thinks as soon as we head to the Chesapeake, De Grasse will head north, land troops, and take the city. So we tag along and tag along, not retreating but not fighting either, until we see what he’s up to.”

      
Hood gave a tired sigh as if he couldn’t believe the stupidity of his senior officer, then added: “Meanwhile, you have a job to do.

      
“Here are your official orders.” Hood slid a sealed envelope across the table to Hudson. “You and the Frigate
Iris
are to detach yourself and make best possible speed back to the Yorktown peninsula. Upon arrival, the
Iris
is to go into the bay and destroy the French anchorage. It seems that in their haste to depart most of the French ships did not haul in their anchors. They put buoys on their anchor cables and just let the cables run out to be retrieved and reattached later. The
Iris
is going to destroy the buoys, which should cause a great deal of confusion on board the French ships when and if they come back. That confusion might come in handy at some point.