The Midshipman Prince (34 page)

      
“I agree, but I remind you again I will not fight against our own.”

      
“Agreed. I would not expect you to. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

      
“Captain, one more question, if you will,” Cornwallis ventured. “Where exactly are we going?”

      
“I don’t suppose it will harm anything if you know. We’re going to meet Admiral De Grasse at Frigate Bay on the Island of St. Kitts.”

* * *

      
“Where?” Susan asked.

      
“Frigate Bay on the Island of St. Kitts,” Hanover repeated.

      
“Why are we going there?”

      
“I don’t know; I am just a midshipman, remember? But, for some reason, that’s where Admiral Hood thinks De Grasse is.”

      
The
Tisiphone
had been underway for two days before it finally found Hood’s fleet just off the island of Barbados. Captain Saumarez went over to deliver his good news about the Battle of Biscay Bay and returned with some bad news. No one had seen anything of the
Badger
.

      
Susan and Bill consoled themselves with the fact that this was not at all unusual. It was a big ocean and ships, even whole fleets of them, were easy to miss. The
Badger
was still probably stumbling around the islands somewhere looking for them.

      
They still hadn’t adjusted, however, to the appalling condition of Hood’s fleet. It was torn, tired and hungry; short of just about everything you could think of: food, gunpowder, sailcloth, rope, and spars—you name it. On the other hand, there was something they didn’t find—namely, despair and despondency.
 

      
De Grasse, at the Battle of the Capes, had humiliated this fleet. They not only had taken a serious physical pounding but worse, they had been outwitted. They knew General Cornwallis had surrendered and wondered if they were being blamed for it back home. They could be forgiven if some depression had set in; but, that’s not what Bill and Susan saw.

      
Admiral Hood was known throughout the Navy as one who did not suffer fools gladly. When the Royal Navy was shamed, Hood spoke with scathing condemnation of all and sundry responsible. He held back nothing. But all this changed when he found himself in command of the very fleet that had suffered this recent loss. Suddenly, as if by magic, his sarcasm was replaced by kindness and geniality. His cheerfulness pervaded the whole fleet to the point where the men were now ready to go anywhere and do anything for their new commander.

      
Their chance for revenge would not be long in coming.

* * *

      
St. Kitts lies about halfway between St. Eustatius and Nevis. It is said that Christopher Columbus named it thus because it looked like his patron saint. If so, then the real St. Kitt must have been a peculiar person, because most people describe the island as shaped like a bowling pin lying on its side, with the tip pointed slightly down and to the right.

      
Frigate Bay was on the western or leeward side of the island and should probably have quotation marks placed around the second word of its name. As a “bay,” it wasn’t much more than a slight indentation along an otherwise featureless shore. But, it had a long wide sandy beach that was currently being filled with men and supplies from De Grasse’s ships. The British had a small outpost on St. Kitts, and the French meant to take it.

      
“All right. I’ll admit it,” said Sidney Smith.

      
It was late afternoon and the two were on deck taking a break from their duties in the sick bay. Both wore white smocks that were stained with blood; and had the far-away looks of people who had gone beyond being tired.

      
“What’s that?” Walker asked.

      
“You were right. Working down there... I had no idea...”

      
“Sidney, someday you’re going to command one of these ships. I never will, but you will. I think you’re going to be a good captain; but you’ll be even better if you don’t forget what you’ve just seen.”

      
“Yes,” Sidney replied and turned to look out over Frigate Bay.

      
“So, how’s your French coming along?” Walker finally asked. “Are you remembering any of it?”

      
“Actually, I am surprised how much I remember although I sure as hell wish I had learned more. In addition, there’s a surgeon’s mate who wants to practice his English, so we get along just fine. Between him and the patients I talk to, I am learning quite a bit.”

      
“Such as?”

      
“Such as, since the Battle of the Capes, De Grasse has been down here picking off our possessions like he was gathering flowers for May Day. So far, we’ve lost Nevis, St. Eustatius, and St Lucia and, as you can see across the way, we’re about to lose St. Kitts. Next, he’s going to go after Barbados and from there he can roll up the entire British Leeward Isles. Just in case that’s not enough, apparently he and the Spaniards are planning to join forces to take Jamaica from us.”

      
“Jesus, we could lose the whole of the West Indies in the next month. Have you heard anything about Hood, or Graves?”

      
“Not really, although one seaman I was helping said he had a friend who heard that Hood has taken over from Graves and that Graves was sent home in disgrace after the fiasco off of Cape Henry.”

      
“A bit late for that.”

      
They were interrupted by a shout and a report from one of the lookouts.

      
“What’s he saying, Sidney?”

      
“He’s reporting sails coming around the tip of Nevis Island over there.”

      
It was no false alarm. Over the next hour, more and more sails began to appear. Ships. British ships. But instead of appearing like a proper war fleet, they were in a haphazard formation like a group of lax merchantmen.

      
Smith and Walker naturally gravitated toward the quarterdeck. If there was any information to be had, this was where they’d find it.

      
Captain De Monteclerc, telescope in hand, saw them coming.

      
“Look at that mess, lieutenant. Do you call that a fleet? It’s more like a collection of tubs manned by washer women.”

      
“I don’t know,” murmured Walker, “they look pretty good to me.”

      
De Monteclerc shot him a quelling glance but said nothing and looked back at Smith. “Why are they here? Tell me that. We’ve already beaten them once. Are they really so foolish as to think they can stop us from landing our troops? Or, maybe they’re just stupid. Maybe they didn’t even know we were here—that Admiral De Grasse himself was here—with his fleet.”

      
De Monteclerc paused for a minute then said quietly. “Yes, that’s it. Look at them.”

      
The British fleet had rounded the southern end of Nevis in a rag-tag fashion. Suddenly there were frantic signals being flashed from the flagship as if they had just seen the Frenchmen. Ships that had been cruising along on foresails and topsails now dropped all the canvas they had and came about.

      
“The fools,” De Monteclerc continued. “The absolute, blundering, fools. They’ve fallen into a trap and they think they can run. They’re too late for that, my friends. Way too late.

      
“Look there. The admiral is posting a signal: All ships to weigh anchor and pursue. We’ve got them, lieutenant. We’ve got them.”

      
And so, as evening fell, Hood and his ships fled. De Grasse hauled in his anchors, shook out his sheets, and hauled off to the south in pursuit.

* * *

      
Normally, the midwatch and the morning watch in these waters was a thing of beauty. This early both the sky and the sea were pitch black, and the only sound was of water playing along the sides of the ship and working the wooden planking. The trade winds were constant out of the southeast and tended to swirl around your body like they were caressing you. Overhead were more stars than the human mind could comprehend—some of them old friends from home, some of them strangers that had recently appeared over the horizon.

      
It was a time for quiet reflection. A time when you could both stand your duty and think about the things that were closest to your soul. Except that was not to be. For Midshipman Hanover, Susan Whitney and the rest of the men, it was a time of tension.

      
Captain Saumarez was on deck, pacing back and forth, alternately looking at his watch and at the tiny red stern light on the ship ahead of him. That light, like the one he had hung on the stern of the
Tisiphone
, was nothing more than a weather lantern with red glass placed in it. To the ship behind, it gave off a pinpoint of light—just enough so you knew where the other ship was located.

      
The thing about lights at sea at night is that they can be seen for huge distances, even small lights. The French could also see those stern lights, and the English knew it. Indeed, the English wanted them to... at least for the next 10 minutes or so.

      
“Helm, standby.”

      
Saumarez was still pacing, looking at his watch, looking out in the direction of the frigate posted several cables off his larboard beam, looking at the ship ahead of him, and then looking at his watch again. At precisely 60 minutes before first light, two white lanterns were raised to the top of the mainmast of the
Barfleur
, Admiral Hood’s flagship. Immediately, every frigate in the fleet repeated the signal. Immediately every red stern light on every English ship winked out; and, immediately, the entire line of ships began a slow, ominous, 180-degree turn.

CHAPTER NINE

      
DAWN seems to rise more quickly in tropical waters. One moment you’re surrounded by the gray half-light that precedes the sun’s fiery entrance. The next, there is a huge orange ball perched on the horizon; and a moment after that it seems the sun is already at full strength and boring into you.

      
The French do not follow the British tradition of standing their ships to general quarters to greet the dawn. For that reason Smith and Walker found themselves awakened by what sounded like chaos coming from above them. Emerging on deck, they found the French seamen were rushing to their battle stations but, even here, they differed from their British counterparts.

      
To the untrained eye, a call to general quarters in any navy looks like an overturned anthill. To the experienced mariner, however, it is more like a ballet. People will be rushing about, no question; but each was going to a preplanned place, to carry out well-practiced duties. If you looked closely, you’d see that there was really a minimum of fuss and a maximum of efficiency in their motions. The French quarters, however, did not leave Smith and Walker with that impression. There was far too much shouting; far too many orders being given, and way too much confusion.

      
Captain De Monteclerc was already on the quarterdeck getting a report as Walker and Smith hovered in the background.

      
“I don’t know what happened, captain,” said a visibly shaken young officer. “I was watching their red stern lights, just as I had been doing all night, when suddenly they winked out. I thought they were just getting ready for dawn a bit early. Then, when the light got better...” He pointed off the larboard bow, and there was the British fleet, in an orderly single file, coming directly back at them.

      
“So, they’ve decided to fight, have they?” De Monteclerc muttered as he examined the enemy through his telescope. “We’ll soon see if...” He shifted the telescope to the
Ville de Paris
, De Grasse’s flagship. “Yes, there, a signal from the flag: Form line of battle.”