The Midshipman Prince (28 page)

      
“But America is not the only thing going on. You might not have heard that the Spanish have recaptured Western Florida from us, Tobago was taken by the French, and Jamaica is about to fall if De Grasse has his way. Minorca in the Mediterranean has been under siege for the past seven months, Gibraltar is about to surrender; and, to top it off, a combined French-Spanish fleet is currently cruising around the entrance to the English Channel like they owned it.

      
“No, I suspect America will soon be put in the back kettle. But that’s all right, we’ll be back.”

      
“Why do you say that?”

      
“This American ‘independence’ is nonsense—just a stupid quarrel that’s gotten out of hand. Once the Americans taste what it means to be a truly independent nation—the complexity, the problems—they’ll come running back to us like lost children. They’re lead by a collection of wild-eyed madmen who can rant and rave to perfection, but can they govern? Never!

      
“Besides, we can always send some more troops over at any time and take it back if we need to.”

      
Walker had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything.

      
“What happened at the Bay of Biscay, sir?” Smith prodded.

      
Saumarez paused, and then looked off into the distance, “Oh my, what a day
that
was.

      
“You see, in the West Indies the frogs are running short of everything but yellow fever; and the arrival of De Grasse’s fleet hasn’t made that supply situation any better. In addition, they need more men if they want to take Jamaica from us. So, they put together a huge relief fleet that was being protected by nineteen ships of the line and I don’t know how many frigates and support ships. We set out to meet them, under Admiral Kempenfelt, with twelve ships of the line and only two frigates, ours being one of them.

      
“On December 12th we ran into light fog so the admiral sent us to scout ahead and see if we could locate the French. I am proud to say we did exactly that. As the fog got thicker, however, did ‘Old Kempy’ tell us to reduce sail? No, indeed. Instead, he re-positioned us in the fog—and how we kept from colliding with each other I’ll never know.

      
“Anyway, late morning the fog lifted and downwind from us was the French merchant fleet and
downwind from them
were the French warships. Kempenfelt had seen through the fog better than De Guichen, the French admiral, had seen in broad daylight. We could scarcely believe our eyes. We wore into a line abreast and went into… I don’t know how else to describe it… but we went into what amounted to a cavalry charge.

      
“It was unbelievable. I don’t think I’ll ever see anything like it again—fourteen ships of the line with every inch of canvas laid on and studdingsails lashed to the yards. I swear if we thought it would have given us an extra half-knot, we would have hung out the men’s laundry.

      
“We plowed pell-mell into that helpless merchant fleet like the Horse Guards on a drunken terror. Broadsides going off in all directions, ships surrendering all over the place, and the French warships, downwind, helpless to beat upwind in time to do anything about it. We captured twenty ships that day, lieutenant. Imagine! Fourteen British ships captured twenty merchant vessels—each loaded to the gunnels with supplies that Britain badly needed and which we did
not
want to see in the West Indies.

      
“In any event, I was then dispatched to bring the news to Admiral Hood. It wasn’t until I got to New York that I learned that in December he had already sailed for the Caribbean.”

      
“And here we are,” said Smith.

      
“And here we are,” replied Saumarez.

* * *

      
The four quickly fell into the routine of the
Tisiphone’s
day. This wasn’t hard because every British warship everywhere in the world shared that same routine and they were used to it.

      
Smith spent most of his time at his desk working on the report—a report that had to be just right because it would be the first notice of his name among the powers that be. Hayes and his crew blended into the ship’s company where, as experienced seamen, they were readily accepted.

      
Lucas Walker and Susan got to know the
Tisiphone’s
surgeon, Hiram Boult. Boult was a tall handsome man in his early 40’s with a ready smile and easy-going nature. He was an exception in the British Naval Medical Corps in that he was a fully qualified physician, sober most of the time, and genuinely cared about the health and well being of the seamen. What made him especially unusual was that he cared about more than just the men’s immediate aches and pains. He wanted to know about their health in the context of their life in the navy and in the context of the wives, loved ones and families they left behind. More than once Walker saw him writing letters home for seamen who were illiterate and who wanted to get word to their families. This made him a maverick with his peers; but it also helped to make him a ship favorite, and Susan and Lucas were immediately drawn to him.

      
Boult had a growing scurvy problem on his hands and Walker tried to help as much as he could. Both Whitney and Boult—not to mention Lucas himself—were astonished when out of kindness he gave some of the stricken men a bit of his precious personal lemon drink supply to ease their thirst and, within days they, and only they, got better. There couldn’t be a connection. It had to be just chance; but it was certainly a curious affair and Boult decided he would investigate it further.

      
Other than that, their duties under Dr. Boult were light, which gave the two a chance to genuinely relax for the first time in months. They spent hours on deck just appreciating the things around them; and the farther south the
Tisiphone
went, the more wonders there were to appreciate.

      
Walker had never seen flying fish before, yet there they were—schools of them leaping out of the water, fleeing from some threat. Occasionally a school would leave the water only to realize, too late, that a ship was occupying their intended landing zone. Occasionally a fish would land on deck through an open gun port to be picked-up by an eager seamen where, later, he would try to coax or bribe the cook into preparing it. They looked and tasted like herring, and having one land at your feet was considered a certain sign of good luck.

      
Overhead, were the huge white birds the men referred to as “Mother Carey’s Chickens”; Walker never did find out their proper name.

      
They were pure white, stately, and among the most graceful birds Walker had ever seen. They always seemed to be on some important errand, however. You could see them heading out to sea in the morning, flying on a direct line due east, and come back in the evening flying due west. What they did during the day no one could imagine because there was simply nothing out there in the direction they were going.
 

      
Then there were the occasional whales. Mammoth creatures, they would suddenly surface near the ship, blow water into the air and parallel the ships course for a while. They seemed to have no fear of the ship. If anything they seemed to be attracted by the ship’s size as if it were some long lost, but strangely silent, cousin.

      
However, everyone’s favorites, from ship’s boys to grizzled old seamen, were the dolphins that danced around the ship. They cavorted like children, seeming to play a game of who could cut across the bow of the ship the closest without touching. But what truly astonished everyone was their speed. The
Tisiphone
had to be making at least eight knots, yet the dolphins were dashing around her like she was at anchor in a sheltered cove.

      
Then, just as you found yourself entranced by the beauty and benevolence of the sea, you would be jerked back by the sight of a shark’s fin cutting the water; and the reality of life in and on the sea would be brought home. The sea was beautiful, no question of that. But, benevolent? No.

      
Those flying fish learned to fly because, without it, they would be eaten alive. Indeed, every living thing in the ocean was, in reality, potential dinner for something else—from plankton to whales. And, of all the creatures that do not belong there, the chief one is man.

      
Ask any sailor who has fallen overboard or had his ship shot out from under him. Ask anyone who, for any reason, has found themselves thrashing around alone in the ocean. Man has no natural business at sea. Ships are merely devices designed to temporarily keep a man from drowning.

* * *

      
The sun had dropped suddenly as it seems to do in the southern climates and a cooling early evening breeze was sweeping the deck. Walker and Susan were standing by the starboard rail marveling at the almost painfully beautiful colors of sunset.

      
“Lucas, tell me about your life before… you know, before you came here.”

      
Walker laughed. “There isn’t much to say, and certainly nothing worth hearing.”

      
“Tell me anyway.”

      
Lucas gave that request some thought. He had no particular inclination to tell anyone much about his past, but there was something different at work here. He could feel the bonds that had formed between himself and Susan and Sidney. It was almost as if they had become like brother and sister to him—in some ways not quite that, in other ways a whole lot more. All right, maybe Susan had a right to know.

      
“As I say, not much to tell. I was born in Boston. Well, actually, it was a place called Noddle Island, just across the bay from Boston. My mother was a Williams and her family had a large estate out there, so that’s where she went when she was pregnant with me. But I grew up in Boston.

      
“My father was an apothecary and he had a very successful shop on Hanover Street, right on the corner of Hanover and Union. We lived in a huge old house a few blocks away on Queen Street. That’s about it.”

      
“Come, come, Lucas. Tell me about your brothers and sister.”

      
“Two older brothers. The eldest started a firm that makes carriages; at least that’s what he did initially. The other is an itinerant salesman. My mother died when I was 12. My younger sister got married when she was 16 and now lives in a little New Hampshire settlement called Franklin. I was the one that was supposed to follow in my dad’s footsteps.”

      
“I am sorry to hear about your mother. Truly I am. My father also died and I still miss him... more than I can say.” The conversation paused for a moment.

      
“What was your childhood like?” Susan eventually continued.

      
“Oh, it was wonderful! One block to the west of us was a large park called Beacon Hill. Two blocks north was the Mill Pond over by Barton’s Point, and three blocks to the east were the main docks for the city.” Walker smiled as he went on, “My brothers and I would play army in the morning on Beacon Hill, go watch the ships unload at the docks, and play navy on the Mill Pond in the afternoon. I make an especially good pirate, by the way.”

      
It was Susan’s turn to smile.

      
“But the thing I remember the most was my dad’s apothecary shop. Just the exotic odors alone that came out of that place... I can smell them even now. The pungent odor of leopard’s bane and mimosa tree bark, mixing with the fragrance of Virginia spiderwort and scorpion grass—all clashing with the sharp tang of hartshorn and the spirits of wine that he used to distill them. You could walk in at any time and touch a root that came from far-off China, or a dried berry that came from South America. The place was magic. Simply magic.”

      
“So, why didn’t you become an apothecary?”

      
“My brother inherited the business.”

      
“Your brother? I thought you said you were supposed to follow your dad.”

      
“Not when your child is a sot.”

      
Susan said nothing for a moment. “You want to tell me?”

      
“You sure you want to hear?”