The Midshipman Prince (35 page)

      
Snapping the telescope shut he ordered: “Helm, take station behind the
Glorieux
.” And, after firing off a series of sail orders, he turned to Walker and Smith; “We’ll soon see what happens when your Admiral Hood tempts fate twice.”

      
The French fleet was headed south and struggling to get into some kind of battle order. The British fleet was on an opposite course, to windward, running with foresails and topsails and angling in on the French. It would be a classic larboard to larboard, single file, ship-of-the-line versus ship-of-the-line, battle. Or, so the French thought.

      
Suddenly the
Barfleur
ran down the “Close with the enemy” signal hoist and ran up another series of flags; flags that every ship in the column had been waiting for. The entire fleet, as one, dropped every bit of sail they had, including studding sails, sheered off from the French, and started racing north toward Frigate Bay. It was the very maneuver that Admiral Hood had urged on Admiral Graves at the Battle of the Capes, and which Graves had rejected.

      
For a moment, the French were confused, and then it dawned on them that they had been duped. By pretending flight, Hood had drawn them out of their anchorage; by pretending fight, he had frozen them in position long enough to blow past them. And with that sea room advantage, Hood might well beat them back to Frigate Bay and seize the anchorage for himself.

      
De Grasse instantly realized what Hood had done and was furious with himself for being taken in. That fury, however, quickly transformed itself into action; and the French fleet swung around in a long laborious curve and gave chase.

      
Walker and Smith had to stifle themselves and each other to keep from cheering. They were concerned, and rightly so, that they would be sent below, perhaps under armed guard, if they offered up so much as a peep. Instead, they did their best to remain invisible by positioning themselves well out of eyeshot and earshot of Captain De Monteclerc.

      
Smith was leaning against the bulwark just aft of the fo’c’sle. He had picked up a telescope that some officer or lookout had carelessly left adrift and was looking through it.

      
“The French van has almost caught up with the British rear and they’re about ready to open fire. I can see St. Kitts not too far in the distance.”

      
“Let me see,” said Walker, who took the telescope.

      
“Correction, the French
have
opened up. I can see muzzle flashes.” Walker closed the glass and turned around to see Smith with a huge smile on his face.

      
“Is there something about this that you find amusing?”

      
Smith could contain himself no longer and the smile turned into laughter. “Yes, Hood, that old fox. He simply thinks of everything.”

      
“What are you talking about?”

      
“Hood hid a stinger in the tail. Look at the British rear. See those last three ships?”

      
“Yes. So what?”

      
“They are the
Bedford
, the
Resolution
, and the
Canada
. The
Bedford
is captained by Edmund Affleck, the
Resolution
by Lord Robert Manners, and the
Canada
by good old ‘Billy-go-tight’ otherwise known as William Cornwallis, brother of the general. If there were ever three captains you
don’t
want to mess with, it’s those three.”

      
The leading ships of the French van were expecting to exchange a desultory broadside or two with the British rear while they flew past them and moved up the line. What they did not expect was to run into a buzz saw.

      
Three captains of the same mind had so superbly drilled their men that it was if they were one huge enormously deadly three-part ship. Suddenly chain shot was flying at French masts, 42, 32 and 24 pound balls were gouging holes in the ships sides, and the rate of fire was unbelievable. They were easily producing three rounds for every two coming from the French side; and, it didn’t let up.

      
Round after round, volley after volley, was poured into the astonished French ships. As guns became dismounted and masts began to tip at odd angles, the French were forced to slow down. That was all Hood needed.

      
While De Grasse was trying to figure out what the devil was going on with the British rear, Hood had spun his center and van around in a tight turn that placed them across the mouth of Frigate Bay. But, instead of having them turn back to engage the French line that was coming up, he sprung his second surprise. He ordered all ships to immediately back their sails, drop anchors, and come to a halt.

      
In effect, Hood had created a wooden wall that stretched across Frigate Bay—a wall that bristled with more armament than was held by any castle. It was, for all practical purposes, impregnable. The French could not go around its left flank because the shoreline was there. It could not attack the middle without facing a hornet’s nest of gunfire from anchored, stable, platforms. They could not go around the right flank because, again, the Frigate Bay shoreline was there. And, besides, the wind was coming from the wrong direction to do any of that.
 

      
The
Bedford
,
Resolution,
and
Canada
finally took their places on the wooden wall and anchored. To his credit, however, De Grasse did not quit.

      
The French twice sailed up the line of British war ships firing away, but it was to no avail. The British, freed from the labor of having to handle sails, could give all their attention to firing guns. Eventually the gunfire stopped and the two fleets just looked at each other in silence.

      
“Astonishing,” Walker said. “Simply astonishing.”

      
“Quiet,” Smith hissed. “Listen.”

      
Walker strained his ears and heard the sound, but couldn’t quite identify what it was. He listened some more.

      
“What is it?” He finally asked.

      
“Laughter,” replied Smith.

      
Sure enough, arising from deck to deck of first one ship then spreading to another, and another, was laughter. Joyous, side-splitting, back-pounding, laughter. The men whose pride had been stung at the Capes and, before that, Grenada and Martinique, had now humiliated that same foe in return. Old seamen felt young again and, that night, many a yarn was told about the old days when Anson would capture a whole fleet, or Hawke would descend out of nowhere like his namesake bird.

      
Hood, who had been called a madman and worse for advocating this very same strategy at the Battle of the Capes, had his vindication. Whatever was to happen in the West Indies, it was now perfectly clear that England might not have lost America if Graves had only heeded his advice.

      
On the French ship, however, Walker wasn’t thinking about that. He turned to the quarterdeck where he saw Captain De Monteclerc standing next to the wheel. His face was a deep red and his fingers were white from clutching his telescope. He too could hear the laughter.

      
During the next few days, things were a standoff at sea, but were not going so well ashore. Hood had picked up some 1400 troops in Antigua and he landed them to help the beleaguered British garrison on Brimstone Hill. Unfortunately, it was not enough. De Grasse had previously landed over 8000 troops and the sheer weight of numbers eventually took its toll. On February 13th the garrison, half starved and nearly out of powder, surrendered, and control of St. Kitts turned over to the French.

      
This was a serious development. Once the garrison fell the French could now bring its land-based cannons to bear on the British fleet. They would be trapped between De Grasse on one side and the French shore batteries on the other.

      
It was time for Hood’s third surprise.

* * *

      
“Ahoy the boat,” came the challenge.

      
“Aye, aye,” came the reply; and with that brief exchange, an important question had been asked and answered. “We see you coming alongside. Is there anyone important on your boat that we should know about, like another captain?” “No, there isn’t,” the boat replied. “Just routine business.”

      
The gig pulled up to the side of the
Tisiphone
and a midshipman in the bow grabbed on to a side chain with a hook to temporarily hold the boat to the ship. A lieutenant, standing in the sternsheets, called up. “May I speak to your captain, please?” he asked.

      
A moment later, the captain appeared over the side. “I am Captain Saumarez.”

      
“Good day, sir. Admiral Hood sends his compliments and requests you send over a lieutenant or senior midshipman from your ship. He should arrive no later than two bells on the first dog watch; and he should bring with him a good pocket watch.”

      
Saumarez was taken aback. This was the strangest request he had ever heard. “Certainly, but may I ask the reason?”

      
“I don’t know, sir. Another and I are tasked with passing this message to each ship in the fleet.”

      
“Very well. Carry on.”

      
The midshipman released his hook and the mysterious boat began stroking to the next ship in line.

* * *

      
The
Barfleur’s
bell was struck twice. It was two bells into the first dogwatch, but everyone had arrived at least fifteen minutes before that. Gathered on the main deck of the
Barfleur
were 22 officers, about a third of which were senior midshipmen like Hanover, all nervously standing around wondering what on earth was going on.

      
As the ringing faded away Admiral Hood appeared with his flag captain John Inglefield.

      
“All right then gentlemen, let me have your attention,” Captain Inglefield called out. “The Admiral would like a word with you.”

      
“Thank you, John. I won’t detain you long, gentlemen.

      
“You sir, could you tell me the exact time.” He pointed to a senior lieutenant who was obviously startled.

      
Pulling out his watch, “I have five minutes past five o’clock, sir.”

      
“And you, sir, what do you have?” he asked, pointing to another.

      
“Sir, I have two minutes before the hour.”

      
“As I thought,” the Admiral said. “All right, I will ask each of you to regulate your watch according to mine. On my mark, it will be three minutes past the hour.

      
“Ready... MARK!”

      
“All right then, I have one other thing. I have sealed orders for each of you to take back to your captain. My clerk will distribute them,” and he toddled off leaving a completely mystified group in his wake. Before too much speculation could begin, the Admiral’s clerk started calling off ships names and handing out packets.

      
“
Alfred
...
Belliqueux... Invincible... Monarch...
Centaur
...”

* * *

      
“I don’t know what else to tell you sir,” Hanover reported. “He asked us to synchronize our watches with his and to take that packet back to you. The meeting was shorter than the row over.”

      
“Very well, Mr. Hanover. That will be all.” Captain Saumarez broke the seal on the packet just as Hanover was leaving his cabin.

      
Three minutes later a marine came running up to Hanover, saluted, and said: “Sir, the captain would like to see you immediately.”

      
“Immediately?”