The Midshipman Prince (2 page)

      
Walker knew he needed to find some rope, something—anything—to tie himself down. He grabbed the rail again as the ship’s stern lifted up the side of an especially large wave and started to slide down its face; but this time things were different.

      
One nail, on one board, which had been pounded in crooked and bent over, gave way. This popped out its neighbor, which took with it the next board that only had one nail in it to begin with. Because the boards had not been properly steam curved, they sprang outward opening up the leading edge of a copper sheet. This sheet opened up several more poorly nailed boards, which sprung open more copper sheeting. In a matter of seconds, a ten-foot section of the starboard bow had opened-up like a zipper. Boards and sheeting that were supposed to keep water out, had formed themselves into a huge scoop that was funneling tons of water into the ship.

      
The merchantman started her long slide down the face of the wave, and then abruptly shuddered to a stop like a child’s sled hitting a snow bank. She paused for a few seconds, and slipped the rest of the way down cocked at a funny angle.

      
The captain spun around to the helmsmen. “What have you done, you fools!”

      
The quartermaster who had charge of the helm screamed back into the storm. “Nothing, sir. We did nothing. Everything was going fine until she suddenly... It wasn’t us, sir!”

      
But the captain had more to worry about at the moment. The ship was now broadside to the waves and another monster was preparing to break over them. The green beast slammed into the ship like a giant sledgehammer, snapping both the main and the mizzenmasts with cracking sounds that sounded like small cannon blasts. When the wave cleared, Walker could see the masts bent over at crazy angles, still supported by a few shrouds and stays. Worse, Walker looked over at the helm and saw that it was gone. The helm, binnacle, helmsmen, and captain were nowhere to be seen. The first mate was picking himself up and moving his lips and jaw as if shouting, but no sound was coming out.

      
The next wave came down harder than the previous one, only this time after heeling way over on her side; the ship did not completely right herself. She had taken on so much water from the hole in her bow that she could not swing back. She just stayed laid over on her side. That made the third wave a killer.

      
The third wave slapped the ship 20 feet sideways and finished tearing open the hull on a line running from the starboard hawsepipe to near the foremast. The lurch was so violent that it threw Walker into the water. When he surfaced, he could see the ship rapidly going down by the bow. All he could think about was the crew and passengers who were trapped below. Every hatch except the storm hatch that he had gone through earlier had been firmly battened down to keep the ship watertight. That same water-tightness was now locking nearly 75 people below decks on a ship that was sinking. Walker thought he could hear them pounding and clawing at the hatch covers to get out. He couldn’t hear them of course—not in that storm—but it was something he would nevertheless have nightmares about for the rest of his life.

      
Walker was a reasonably good swimmer, but it was not long before the weight of his waterlogged clothing began wearing him down. Just as he was about to give up, he spotted a spar floating in the water not far away. It must have been one of the spare mainmast spars they kept stowed on deck and was a good 16 inches around at its thickest point. With his last remaining strength, he paddled over, swung himself up, and laid on it with an arm and a leg dangling on each side. In that position, he passed the night. The storm seemed to accept the death of the merchantman as appropriate tribute, and soon after began to die down.

      
Walker did not think about his fear. He did not think about the nasty bump he had on his head. He did not think about his incredibly bad luck. He thought about one thing and one thing only—how utterly and completely
alone
he was.

* * *

      
This day began like any other for the men of the HMS
Richmond
; all hands were at battle stations. It was like that on every underway ship in the navy. They had gone to full battle readiness just in case the light of dawn should find them staring into the gun ports of an enemy ship. It was better to greet the sunrise with loaded guns and an alert ship’s company then be sorry. That the
Richmond
had the previous night come through one of the worst storms of the year mattered not at all.

      
“On deck there. Foremast here. All clear!”

      
“On deck there. Mizzenmast here. All...”

      
“On deck!” The mainmast lookout cut in. “Man overboard! Man overboard!”

      
Captain Charles Hudson spun around and walked to the stern taffrail. The ship’s Master, John Rooney, had already turned aft and was looking out over the water. Rooney yelled back to the mainmast lookout, “Where away?”

      
“Two points off the starboard bow, Sir.” Then added, “And about 150 yards out.”

      
“The starboard bow,” Rooney muttered. “How could there be a man in the water off the bow?” They were miles from land and there were no other ships anywhere in the area.

      
The two hurried to the starboard rail of the quarterdeck. Rooney tried to shield his eyes from the glare with his hand while the captain popped open his telescope and adjusted it to the correct focal point for his eyes.

      
“There’d better be something out there or I’ll have that lookout’s balls for breakfast,” Rooney growled.

      
“I’ll be damned,” said Hudson looking hard through his eyepiece.

      
“Helm come about directly into the wind,” he called to the helmsman who was on the deck below them and immediately in front of the quarterdeck. “Mr. Rooney, take in those tops’ils.”

      
What Hudson had ordered was the equivalent of slamming the brakes on the ship. They were cruising along on topsails, but by turning directly into the wind, the sails would be taken aback. Instead of pushing the ship along from behind, the wind would be in front, pushing the sails back into the masts and stopping the ship like a giant invisible hand.

      
“Mr. Rooney, now sway out a boat and have a detail go fetch that poor bastard in.”

      
While Rooney was shouting orders to the Bosun of the Watch, Hudson picked up the megaphone that was hanging on the quarterdeck rail.

      
“Fore and main. Away aloft! Trice up and layout,” he called and the ratlines leading to the fore and main topmasts were suddenly teeming with men scrambling up them. He waited a minute as the men sidestepped out on the yardarms and took in the stunsail booms to get them out of the way. He then lowered the megaphone pointing it to the main deck.

      
“Loose the topsail sheets,” he ordered and several groups of men grabbed lines that held the topsails taught and loosened them from the belaying pins to which they were tied.

      
Pointing the megaphone to the masts again, “Take-in topsails.” And the men on the yardarms started to grab handfuls of canvas sailcloth, pulling the two sails up and securing them in a loose bunting.

      
The ship was now at a dead stop.

* * *

      
Walker awoke from an exhausted nap to feel sunlight scratching at his eyes. His head ached; his shoulder felt as if a sledgehammer had hit it; but, worst of all, he was hopelessly confused.

      
In a rush, the events of the previous night came back to him and he sat up to look around. He expected to see the death warrant of an empty ocean. Instead, he saw the most beautiful thing he could imagine. A few hundred yards away was a ship lowering a boat. Unable to trust his eyes, he sat up on the spar, started waving his arms and yelling. He was surprised when his yell came out as a mere croak.

      
“HERE!! OVER HERE!” His voice cracked as he waved his arms while trying to stay upright on his perch. He kicked his feet to try to propel himself higher so that he would be more visible.

      
“HEY!! HERE!!” He knew that they had seen him, but he continued to wave his hands anyway as if, by stopping, they might somehow go away.

      
Strong hands grabbed him and hauled him into the boat. After a minute of catching his breath, he looked up to see a young man staring into his face with a look of concern. He was a little younger than Walker and had on a British naval uniform.

      
“Are you all right?” The young man asked.

      
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. But do you have... do you have some water.”

      
The young officer nodded to a seaman who opened a small water butt that was carried in the boat. He gave Walker a cup, which he eagerly drank, coughing as he did so. Then another.

      
“Now, who the devil are you.”

      
“I am Lucas Walker. I am... I was a passenger on the ship
Mary Louise
. It went down in the storm last night.”

      
“You went down?” The officer’s head shot up to look around and he could begin to pick out bits of debris floating in the vicinity but no other people. “But where are...”

      
“Everyone went down with the ship. It happened so fast they... they never had a chance. I think I am the only survivor.”

      
The man just nodded slowly, looked around one more time, and muttered, “I’ll be damned.”

      
By this time, they had arrived at the ship, and a rope boarding ladder was dropped. Walker pulled himself up and soon found himself on the main deck of the vessel, dripping wet, facing two men who were obviously in charge and a small crowd of seamen.

      
“I am Captain Charles Hudson of His Britannic Majesty’s Frigate,
Richmond
. This is John Rooney, the ship’s Master. Do you speak English?”

      
Walker looked up and saw a man in his mid-thirties in a blue jacket with gold-lace, two large gold tasseled epaulettes on his shoulders, faded light blue breeches, and a cocked hat placed sideways on his head. He was handsome in a boyish sort of way, except for his eyes. His eyes were a penetrating green and suggested there was some steel behind his youngish good looks. “Yes, more or less,” Walker replied with a limp smile.

      
“Good. Then who the devil are you and what are you doing bobbing around the middle of the ocean?”

      
“As I explained to your... to him,” nodding over at the young man who had now joined them, “I am Lucas Walker. I was a passenger on a merchantman called the
Mary Louise
. It went down last night with all hands... except me.”

      
The captain said nothing but looked shocked, although he covered it up better than the young man had.
 

      
“What is your nationality, Mr. Walker, and where were you bound?”

      
That, Walker knew, was a loaded question. Healthy young Americans were, likely as not, to be pressed into the British navy if they were anywhere near shorthanded—and the ships were always shorthanded. Making matters worse, Walker was exhausted and not thinking clearly. If he had been, he would never have blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

      
“I am an American,” he paused, and then went on quickly. “I am a military officer and claim protection as a prisoner under the Articles of War.” Walker was smugly proud of himself. He had just foiled any attempt Hudson might make to press him.

      
“And what type of officer are you, sir? What branch of the military? What unit?”

      
For some reason Walker was not expecting to be pressed on the matter. He looked quickly around and blurted out, “I am a naval officer. I was on my way to join my ship at... Well, I am sorry sir, but I am not at liberty to give you my ship’s location.”

      
Walker was getting into this game. He was surprised at how clever his answers were, and he should have left it at that. Unfortunately, all too often that simple ability was not in his nature. He decided to press on with his bravado.