The Midshipman Prince (38 page)

* * *

      
There is no such thing as a ship—any ship, in any time—getting underway without seamen’s pulses quickening somewhat. This was doubly true for Walker. He stood on the deck of the
Diadem
not understanding a word that was being said around him, yet understanding everything that was going on.

      
He was standing on the equivalent of an 18-story wooden building placed on its side and moving through the ocean faster than he could run on land. The only sound was that of water rippling along the sides of a ship being propelled by wind—wind that had been blowing across these same waters for million of years.

      
And a second fleet of ships was underway looking for that same fight.

* * *

      
Admiral De Grasse sat alone at his desk in his spacious stateroom. Before him was a pile of orders, directives, correspondence and other miscellaneous paperwork that fell on his shoulders. The stern windows were wide open and a merciful breeze was drifting in, causing the lace curtains to billow and flap; but his mind was on neither the refreshing breeze nor the paperwork.
 

      
He pushed the papers away, unrolled a chart of the Caribbean, and studied it for perhaps the hundredth time. He was not really looking at the lines on the chart; he had those memorized. In his mind’s eye, he saw instead a way to humiliate and defeat the British.

      
He had linked up with the Spanish ships, 12 of them, bringing his total force to 45 ships of the line. More importantly, he had gotten to sea before the British and had at least several hours head start. He would go north following a chain of islands, all of which were owned by themselves or their allies, the Spanish. If need be there were any number of friendly ports along the way that he could duck in to. The Caribbean was no English Channel. As far as he was concerned, it was now a French lake.

      
He looked more intently at the chart. They would sail past Dominica, Desirade, Marie Galante, and a curious set of islands known as The Saints. He would fly past Guadeloupe, Montserrat, Nevis and St. Kitts. He would beat the British to Jamaica and offload his 15,000 troops.

      
To be sure, in time, the British would come up, huffing and puffing, and lash out blindly like they always do; but, by then, it would be too late. The troops would be on shore and Jamaica would be doomed to fall. He could then turn his attention to giving the British a thrashing such as they have never received. And
then
what would the English do? Would they go back to St. Lucia to lick their wounds? Would they try to beat back against the trade winds with our ships following along, savaging them the whole way?

      
He stood up, walked to the stern windows, and looked out at what ships he could see. That glance filled him with even more confidence. De Bougainville, commanding his van was one of the most accomplished men of his age as an author, circumnavigator, scientist, and soldier. De Vaudreuil, commanding the rear, was a magnificent sailor and came from an ancient Breton family known for their fighting skills. To be sure, Hood had wiggled off the hook at Frigate Bay; and he gave credit where credit was due, it was a clever move. But to what end? St. Kitts had nevertheless fallen along with its sister island, Nevis, and on his way back to Martinique, De Grasse had snapped up Montserrat. Where were the British when Dominica, St. Vincent, Grenada, and Tobago fell?

      
Now the great island of Jamaica lay in front of him. Spain wanted it; it was the price of their alliance. Whether they would get it after the French took it, however, was another matter. One thing was certain. It too would fall, just as had all the others; and with any luck, he would destroy the British fleet in the bargain.

      
He rocked back and forth on his heels, his arms behind his back. “I will see to it,” he muttered to an empty room. “I will see to it and there is nothing those British fools can do to stop me.”

CHAPTER TEN

      
IT was early in the morning of April 8th when the sentinel frigates flashed the news back to Rodney. The French fleet was out of Port Royal and headed north. He got the news at eight in the morning and within two hours the British fleet was underway in chase.

      
The wisdom of Rodney’s decision to careen and repair his ships now became evident. In addition to much needed repairs, each ship had received at least a cursory cleaning of its bottom. Scales, barnacles, and seaweed were roughly scraped off. It wasn’t as thorough a cleaning at they might have received in England, but it was enough to add several knots of speed to each ship; and that speed advantage was to prove critical.

      
The wind was blowing out of the east as it always does in that part of the Caribbean. All day the French sailed north. All day the British chased them. Day turned to night and the chase continued. There were times when sharp-eyed lookouts swore they could see sails ahead. Their veracity, however, wasn’t proven until the morning. At daybreak, French sails were visible from on deck; you didn’t need to go up to the masthead to see them.

      
If the British could see the French, the French could see the British and De Grasse was stunned. He, in no way, anticipated that the British would catch-up that fast.
So be it,
he thought.
Then let’s make our stand here.

      
The “here” De Grasse was referring to was the Saints’ Passage, a waterway to the north of Dominica. Dividing the channel, about 13 miles from Dominica and ten from Guadeloupe, was a cluster of islands that Columbus had discovered on All Saints’ Day and named them accordingly.

      
De Grasse’s first task was to divest himself of some 150 small merchant ships he had in a convoy. He ordered these into Guadeloupe. They would not be missed as far as he was concerned, as they carried no military supplies or troops, only merchant goods. Still, he had to detach two frigates to shield the convoy into port and this left him with 33 ships to fight the British 36.

* * *

      
“Blast and damnation!” Rodney’s voice carried across the deck as he pounded the quarterdeck rail. Turning to his flag captain, Sir Charles Douglas, he exclaimed. “Sir Charles, would you be so good as to explain to me how comes it that the French have all the luck and we have none!”

      
The British van under Hood had reached the French fleet just as it was entering the Saints Passage. True to form, Hood immediately attacked. Rodney was delighted until he looked around and saw, to his horror, that the rest of his fleet was dead in the water, becalmed in the lee of Dominica. His vastly outnumbered van would surely be chewed up and spit out by the French.

      
“Sir Charles, get those damn ships out of that lee before Hood loses his whole squadron. Send them a signal to put over small boats and tow themselves free if necessary.”

      
At this point, De Grasse made his first mistake. Instead of taking advantage of the situation by closing and demolishing the British van, he opened up at extreme range hoping to cripple his enemies aloft and thus stop the pursuit. In fact, he thought he had done so.

      
By late afternoon, the rest of the British fleet had caught enough wind to get out of the lee and join up with the van. Hood’s ships had been hit all right, but it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Rodney decided to heave to as if his fleet could go no farther and let De Grasse believe what he wanted to believe. Rodney was right. De Grasse thought the British were finally off his tail while Rodney lay in wait neither tired nor seriously hurt, but shamming.

      
The French lost one ship, the
Cato
, and that reduced De Grasse’s fleet to 32. Nevertheless, they continued on their way and, a half hour later, the British quietly followed.

* * *

      
The two fleets chased each other all that night and into the following day. On the night of the 10th, however, luck finally began to smile on the British.

      
In every navy, there are incompetent officers. Some never make it past midshipman. Some never make it past lieutenant. But, some make it all the way to captain of their own ship of the line. This was the case with Capitaine du Vaisseau De Gras-Preville, captain of the
Zele
. How he received his commission, let alone his own ship is unclear, but he was probably among the worst seamen in either navy—or very possibly any navy.

      
In the British system, such incompetence is often masked by the presence of “masters” on board. Every British ship has a captain, of course, but they also have a master who is a highly skilled and experienced seaman and is in charge of actually navigating and sailing the ship. It’s a holdover from the days before the British had a formal navy. The king would appropriate merchant ships, place guns on them, and send them off to war. The merchant captains demanded in return that they at least go along to sail the ship and they became the first masters. The captain tells the master where the ship will go and what it will do, and the master makes it happen. The French had no such system.

      
The French fleet was traveling along under all plain sail staying well ahead of the British. At one point, the fleet was ordered to tack to accommodate a shift in the wind. The
Zele
, sailing behind the
Jason
, completely mishandled her sails and ran into the
Jason’s
stern, seriously damaging her rudder. The Jason was able to make temporary repairs, but she was out of any fight.

      
De Grasse was down another ship.

      
When dawn broke the British were delighted to see that the
Zele
was straggling. No one could see the reason for it, but she was clearly vulnerable and Rodney made plans to take her.

      
De Grasse had to make a decision. If he continued to sail on, there was every reason to believe that he could still reach Jamaica before the British. Once there, his fleet, combined with Jamaican shore batteries, would be invulnerable.

      
But to do that he would have to sacrifice the
Zele
. As incompetent as she was, the
Zele
was still a French ship, and De Grasse was a man of honor. As evening fell, he backed a topsail on his flagship, the
Ville de Paris
, and went to her aid.

* * *

      
Rodney had hardly slept a wink since leaving St. Lucia to pursue the French. He subsisted on will power and by drinking endless pitchers of lemon squash, his favorite beverage. Throughout the night, he kept his eye on the French stern lanterns and slowly maneuvered his ships to be in the best possible position when dawn broke. When the sun finally rose, however, Rodney could not believe what he saw.

      
The last Rodney had seen of the
Ville de Paris
she was preparing to take the
Zele
in tow. Somehow, in some way quite unimaginable to Rodney, during the night the
Zele
had managed to collide with her rescuer the
Ville de Paris.
De Grasse’s flagship was relatively unhurt, but the
Zele
was a wreck. Her bowsprit was completely gone and with it the stays that held up the foremast. As a result, the foremast had come crashing down on her fo’c’sle. For all practical intents, the
Zele
was helpless and presented De Grasse with a dilemma.

      
Had he abandoned the
Zele
yesterday when she was lagging far behind, no one would have blamed him. After all, they were racing for Jamaica and possession of an entire major island was at stake. But now? Could he abandon her now that he had already circled back to her aid and the British were at hand?

      
No, he could not.

      
He signaled a frigate to tow the hapless
Zele
out of the way, hoisted signals for battle array to the remaining ships, and turned his fleet south to meet the British head-on.

* * *

      
The British were ready for this fight. More than ready, in fact. The previous three years had been frustrating ones. Defeat after defeat in the West Indies, capped off by the humiliation at the Chesapeake, had been a bitter pill for a proud navy to swallow. But, as frustrating as those years were, they were also years of preparation for this one crowning moment. The men were confident. The ships were in order; and, for the first time in anyone’s memory, the British actually had a numerical advantage.