The Midshipman Prince (41 page)

      
There was a pause as the next ship in the French line, the
Diadem,
came up. The
Formidable
made ready to give her a taste of what they had just given the
Glorieux
. There was time, however. There was no rush. There was just simple brutal efficiency. On both sides of the battle men re-loaded their guns, while others tried to make temporary repairs, and still others began throwing bodies over the side, mostly dead but sometimes, by mistake, even those that were seriously wounded but still alive.

      
Admiral Rodney was pacing the quarterdeck with his flag captain, the gunnery expert, Sir Charles Douglas. Both were extremely pleased with how well Douglas’ gunnery reforms had worked out—especially with the performance of a new gun he had installed called the “carronade.” By the end of the day, the British seamen would christen it the “Smasher,” and the French the “Devil Gun.”

      
“Dashwood? Dashwood? Where the devil is that bloody midshipman,” Rodney groused. “I told him to go to my cabin and mix-up a lemon-squash for me and you’d think he went back to Barbados for it.”

      
Just then, Dashwood appeared on deck nervously stirring the Admiral’s drink with his midshipman’s dagger.

      
“Oh, for God’s sake Dashwood,” Rodney said with disgust. “That kind of thing is all very well for the midshipmen’s mess but... look here, drink that yourself, and just go get me a lemon to suck on.”

      
Rodney cringed thinking about all the places that knife has probably been as Dashwood fled from the quarterdeck. “Sir Douglas, I swear, the midshipmen we are producing today are...”

      
“Sir, what’s that? What the devil is she
doing
?” Douglas was pointing at the
Diadem
with his mouth literally hanging open.

      
For no apparent reason, the
Diadem
had gone out of control. She slewed first one way, than another, then went into a severe roll as her helm went over all the way to the stops and jammed there. This placed her into a turn to windward that should never have been made at that speed. With her bow now suddenly pointing into the wind, the sails slammed back against their respective masts and brought the ship to an immediate and unplanned halt.

      
The effect was predictable. The ships behind the
Diadem
scrambled to take emergency evasive action. Some were able to do it, and others were not; but the main effect was that a gaping hole now appeared in the French line as the
Glorieux
continued on her course and away from the
Diadem
. Douglas was the first to spot it and realize its implications. He turned to the Admiral.

      
“ Sir George, I give you joy of the victory!”

      
“Posh,” Rodney replied. “The day is not half won yet.”

      
“Sir, we have them. All we need to do is to take our ships through that gap and break their line! If we can cross over to the other side, we will then have them under fire from two directions.

      
“No,” said the admiral, “I will not break up
my
line to do that.”

      
Douglas could not believe what he was hearing. It was all so obvious to him. “Sir, I beg you, break the line!”

      
“I said no, captain.”

      
Douglas was beside himself. He looked at the French line, looked at Rodney, and then looked at the French line again.

      
“Sir, as captain of this vessel, I must protest. My duty is to fight her as effectively as I can and that duty tells me we MUST cut through their line.

      
“Helm, hard a’starboard!”

      
The helmsman started to comply when the Admiral shouted. “Helmsman, place your helm amidship.” And he complied.

      
“No, sir,” Douglas countered. “Helm to starboard.”

      
“Helm amidship, helmsman and may I remind you captain that I am commander-in-chief of this fleet.”

      
“And I, sir, am the captain of this ship.”

      
The helmsman, now in a state of terrified, frozen, immobility, kept the helm amidships.

      
The admiral and captain then separated; the former going aft, and the latter going forward. In the course of a couple of minutes or so, each turned and again met nearly on the same spot, when Sir Charles quietly and coolly again addressed the chief.

      
“Please, admiral, I beg you again. Just break the line, Sir George, and the day is yours.”

      
Rodney had cooled off somewhat by now. He hadn’t slept in two nights, and he was feeling every one of his 63 years. The admiral then said in a quick and hurried way, “Oh, very well, do as you like,” and immediately turned round, and walked into the after-cabin.

      
Douglas wasted no time. “Helm, hard to starboard!”

      
“Dash,” he said waiving at the midshipman. “Go below and warn each gun deck officer that we will soon be engaging on the larboard side.”

* * *

      
The word “chaos” doesn’t begin to describe the pandemonium that reigned on the
Diadem
. She had just taken a pasting from the
Hercules
and the
Resolution
, and the worst was yet to come in the form of the
Duke
, the
Formidable,
and the
Namur
. She had tremendous shot holes in her side, several below the waterline. The fore and mizzen masts were barely holding themselves upright because of snapped stays. The human carnage on the main and gun decks was unspeakable, and smoke filled the air making it nearly impossible to breathe, let alone see the enemy. This was
not
the time for the ship to loose steering.

      
Walker and Smith were slammed against the starboard bulkhead, and fell on top of each other in a heap. The
Diadem
had violently swayed first one way than another, when they heard the screech of complaining wood and metal as the rudder slammed all the way over to the larboard stops. This threw the ship into a violent roll as the bow turned sharply to the left.

      
The two scrambled up the orlop and then the gun deck stairwells as best they could, given the crazy angle of the ship. They emerged on deck just in time to hear the crack of sails snapping back against their respective masts. Anyone who hadn’t been knocked off their feet by the sudden starboard roll was now on the deck due to the ship’s sudden halt.

      
The helmsman was screaming, “The helm is not answering, sir! It’s not answering. It’s not me. The helm...” His voice was becoming higher pitched with each iteration of his defense.

      
The captain and several officers were trying to get men aloft to take in sails. A dozen commands were being screamed and, by the confused look of the men, not all were consistent with each other.

      
Suddenly, the captain stopped giving orders. He just stood there, open mouthed, looking aft. Walker and Smith followed his gaze; and it was like watching a slow motion train wreck.

      
The next ship in line behind the
Diadem
could do nothing. There was no force on heaven or earth that could have stopped her forward momentum. Slowly, almost gracefully, 25 feet of her bowsprit crashed through the windows of the captain’s cabin and lanced upward through the aft end of the quarterdeck. This kicked the
Diadem’s
stern around at the same time as the second ship’s foremast came down, draping the
Diadem’s
stern with heavy, but now useless, sails.

      
It was only a matter of minutes before the third ship piled into the second, and the fourth into the third. Four French ships of the line, in a massive wreck, all stuck together as if they were one ship, utterly unable to fight.

      
This was the target that presented itself to the
Formidable
as she altered course to position herself directly in front of the ruined ships.

* * *

      
Captain Douglas was looking aft, satisfied that the other ships in the column had taken his lead and followed him through the gap. When he heard his first lieutenant cry out: “Oh,
no
,” he spun around.

      
All firing had ceased. Indeed, all activity had ceased as officers and men stood in amazement. It was a sight none had ever seen before, and none would ever see again. Four massive ships of the line were slowly piling into each other; completely unable to avoid the catastrophe that was befalling them.

      
“Dashwood, go get the Admiral,” he said quietly.

      
By the time Rodney had returned on deck the fourth ship was just sliding into the pile and Douglas was already giving orders.

      
He pulled a midshipman runner over to him. “Tell all the gun deck officers, I want the starboard side guns to rake the
Glorieux’s
stern as we pass by. Then, I want all hands to shift over to man the larboard guns, load and await my commands.” The midshipman disappeared.

      
“Signal officer! Where’s my signal officer?

      
“I want you to signal the
Namur
to take station off our larboard quarter and be prepared to come to a stop. Then signal the
Duke
,” he was looking over the signal officer’s shoulder. “Never mind. Gardner’s figured it out. He’s already headed over there. Now,
go
.”

      
Douglas turned to Rodney who, by now, had taken it all in. “Is there anything else you think I should do, Admiral?”

      
Rodney stared over at the French ships, quiet for a moment, his hands behind his back, rocking on the balls of his feet.

      
“I take it we’re going to be shooting some fish over in yon barrel.”

      
“Yes, sir, we are.”

* * *

      
“Sidney, we’ve got to get out of here,” Walker said as he looked out at the British ships. “Any minute they’re going to...” But before he could complete his sentence the entire larboard side of the
Formidable
lit up, followed by the
Duke
and the
Namur
.

      
The three first-rates had formed a circle of death around the four disabled ships and were pouring in broadside after broadside. It was unbelievable carnage. Hideous. Ghastly. The British were so close that their gunners didn’t even have to aim and every ball would strike home. Even if the French ships had been undamaged before, they were in mortal danger now.

      
Walker looked around him. A small French boy was standing next to a gun clutching his powder charge like a security blanket and shivering with fear. The gun was upended and the crew dead, but this was his post and he didn't know what else to do or where else to go. It was as if he was patiently awaiting his world to somehow return to normal.

      
He felt, more than heard, the sound of round shot slamming into the
Diadem’s
hull. Two guns down a portion of the ship's side had collapsed. Where there were once two neat gun ports, there was now one ragged hole.

      
A man sat next to the hole looking inquiringly at his left hand, which was no longer there. Toward amidships, another man had lost his right leg from the knee down. He held the limb, shoe still attached, as he dragged himself across the deck hoping somehow to get below so he could get some help. The path of blood across the deck ended just before the hatch where he died.

      
“Sidney! We’ve
got
to get out of here!”

      
“Not a problem, mate. You hold up your hands; that’ll cease the gunfire. Then, we’ll just walk across the water to one of our ships and we’ll have a tot together while we enjoy the fireworks.”

      
“I am serious, damn it. We’ve got to go over the side and take our chances.”