Free The Midshipman Prince by Tom Grundner Page A

had hung still sticking out on either side of the ship. They were the next to go.
     
           “All right, starboard watch, stand by to rig in the booms.... Rig in... Aft lower boom... Top up... Now, ease away the fore guy and haul aft...”
     
           The ritual continued until both the starboard and larboard stuns’ls were in, and Rooney could finally bellow: “Starboard watch, carry on at general quarters.”
     
           It was a big ballet and Rooney was the chorus master calling out the steps. No one hurried. No one looked lost. Everyone knew exactly where and when they needed to be on stage and exactly what they would do when they got there. They had done it a hundred times before.
     
           During the middle of all this activity, Captain Hudson waved Smith over to his side.
     
           “Mr. Smith I want you to gather our three keenest lookouts. Give each a glass and assign each to watch a different squadron for signals. How well do you know the tactical signal book?”
     
           “I believe I have it memorized, sir. At least I should by now.”
     
           “Well, keep it with you anyway.”
     
           Hudson reached into a canvas bag that was riddled with brass grommets holding holes open. In the bottom of the bag, a heavy lead weight was sewn in place. This bag contained the ship’s codebooks. If the Richmond were ever taken—if it even looked like the Richmond might be taken—that bag, along with the codebooks, was to be tossed over the side. Failure to do so was simply the end of your career and every captain in the Royal Navy knew it.
     
           Hudson handed one copy of the codebook to Smith. “I am placing you in charge of the communications lookouts and the quartermasters who will be operating the signal flags. You will repeat to the other ships every signal you see, and I want you personally to keep me informed of every signal that comes in. Understood?”
     
           “Aye, aye, sir.”
     
           Walker heard the commotion and came up on deck. Looking around, he knew immediately what was happening and that he would probably be ordered below if he made himself conspicuous. The action was taking place to starboard so Hudson and Rooney were on the starboard side of the quarterdeck one level above him. Walker quietly slid along the larboard side of the main deck and positioned himself along the rail where he could see and hear almost everything, but not be easily seen himself.
     
           The ship was a study in casual nervousness. The men were at their stations, the guns had been rolled back from the gun ports and all the rammers, swabs and other paraphernalia were out of their storage lockers and in the hands of seamen. Shot was stacked in pyramids inside special holding trays next to the guns, tubs of water were at hand for swabbing out the guns after each firing, slow matches were lit and smoldering over the water tubs for use in firing the great beasts. The powder monkeys were standing by amidships with their first charge of powder in boxes between their feet. The decks all had a layer of sand and water spread on them—to provide the men’s feet with extra traction, said some—to stop any spilled powder from igniting, said others—to soak up the blood, said still others. The truth was that all three reasons were correct.
     
           It’s funny, Walker thought. The only people who don’t seem nervous are the powder monkeys. These boys, 10-12 years old, simply had no idea what was coming. Everyone else however...
     
           Walker looked around to see men studiously inspecting the roundness of shot, others testing over and over the sharpness of the cutlasses they were issued, others were lounging in various positions trying to make jokes with their shipmates, and still others sat on hatch combings or stood by the rails staring out to sea, quiet, lost in thought.
     
           Across from him on