Free The Midshipman Prince by Tom Grundner Page B

the upper deck catwalk Sidney Smith looked like a hen who knows the fox is somewhere, but is not quite sure where. He paced forward, then aft, looked up at the Richmond ’s signal hoists, then looked through his telescope to the flagships, then looked in his signal book, paced some more, looked at the signal hoists again, and so on. He was already a wreck and the battle hadn’t even started.
     
           Up on the quarterdeck Captain Hudson was the picture of casual indifference, standing on the starboard quarterdeck rail with his hands behind his back. He looked like he was out for a pleasure boat ride on the Thames. But then, he had to look that way. Nothing would cause the men to come undone quicker than a captain who showed worry or, God forbid, panic.
     
           Amidships on the quarterdeck, Rooney reflected the same casual indifference as the captain. Fortunately, as it was nearing noon, he had something to do in organizing the midshipmen and master’s mates to take the day’s noon position. Walker sensed that none of them had ever been happier to be looking through a sextant rather than looking out at the French fleet.
     
           By noon, the British fleet had sorted itself into the proper order and the frigates had all come back in and positioned themselves to serve their signal relay duties. The British battle line was divided into three divisions. The leading division, called the van, was commanded by Admiral Hood and consisted of six ships, plus the frigates Richmond and Santa Monica . Next in line was the center division commanded by Admiral Graves, who also had overall command, and his seven ships, including the massive 98-gun flagship, the London . Bringing up the rear was Admiral Drake’s division with his six ships.
     
           At 1:00 Smith sang out, “Signals from flag, sir. The signal for ‘Line ahead’ has been taken down. They’ve just run up...” Smith quickly consulted his codebook. “‘To all ships,’ ‘Form an east-west line,’ ‘Heading West by South,’ and ‘One cable separation.’” Graves had ordered the line to turn and head toward Cape Henry where he knew the French would have to come out.
     
           “What do you think, Mr. Rooney? Will the weather hold?”
     
           Rooney looked skyward and gave his usual noncommittal sniff when adjudging the weather. “It’ll get a bit squally, sir, but nothing that’ll affect us.” He held up the eyepiece to his telescope again. “What I am more worried about is the fact the tide is ebbing and the French are finally getting underway.”
     
           Within five seconds, every officer with a telescope had it to his eye to confirm Rooney’s observation. Within one minute, word of the French getting underway had transferred itself from the quarterdeck to the fo’c’sle at the other end of the ship. Within five minutes, every person aboard the ship from the mainmast lookout, to the man checking the water level in the bilge knew of it.
     
           “It looks like we’ll have the honor today,” Hudson said to Rooney. “Obviously Graves wants to pin each French ship between us and the land as they come out. They’ll have to run a gauntlet of our ships as they exit the Cape Henry gap and they’ll bloody-well run into our division first. It will be glorious, Mr. Rooney. Glorious!”
     
           The tension on the ship rose yet again as everyone who could steal a glance over the bulwark at the French, did. On the opposite side of the bay, the French were making a mess of it. Twenty-four major ships were trying to get underway at the same time. About a third were trying to rendezvous with their squadron leaders, another third were trying to force their way out any way they could, and the final third simply looked lost. The Pluton was about to run her jib booms into the Marseillais, who had just cut off the St. Esprit , who shouldn’t have been anywhere near either of them. It