The Midshipman Prince Read online

  The Jagers were from Hesse-Kassel and were recruited from among the gamekeepers and foresters of the area. These men had lived their lives in the woods; and, coupled with being crack shots, this made them extremely useful as light infantry and reconnaissance units.

  “Look, over there,” the prince pointed out. “See those men with the green coats and brown pants. Those are the Jagers.

  “Want to know their ranks? There are two officers, one sergeant and seven enlisted.”

  “How can you know that from this distance, Your Highness?” They all looked the same to Smith.

  “Simple. Look at the feathers in their hats. If the feather is all white, the person is an officer. If it is white with a red tip, he’s a sergeant; and if the feather is green, the person is an enlisted man.

  “Terrific fighters, those men. It’s said they can knock the eye out of a squirrel at 300 paces with those new rifles they’re carrying. They cost us a fortune, make no mistake; but the Jagers and their rifles have paid for themselves a dozen times over.”

  They passed through the close-in town defenses and crossed the second defensive line at Redoubt #9 with a friendly wave toward the soldiers stationed there. The redoubt itself was nothing more than a large circular trench with the earth piled on a mound on the inside. Sticking out of the mound and hanging over the ditch was a series of sharpened logs. To take the redoubt the opposing force would have to lose valuable time overcoming those sharpened logs in the teeth of an enemy firing down on them. Redoubts #9 and #10 were designed to anchor the British left flank and Walker could see no easy way of defeating them.

  About a mile later, the three turned off the main road and up a long drive to a neat white frame, two-story, building. It was nearly dusk but the house staff saw them coming and were lined up outside to greet them in typical English manor fashion. A black groom led the horses away and the housekeeper showed them into the parlor, poured them each a glass of a spectacularly good Cabernet Sauvignon, and left several bottles.

  Walker, the ex-alcoholic, looked very uncomfortable and slightly agitated. He demanded that the servant remove his wine glass and produce a pitcher of lemon-drink, which was quickly done.

  The three sat around the parlor table looking down at the green felt in awkward silence.

  Smith finally spoke first. “Your Highness, would you like...”

  Walker rolled his eyes. The prince caught it.

  “Right, Walker. I quite agree.”

  “Look, Smith, I am a midshipman in His Majesty’s Navy. As such, I do not use my title. You are a lieutenant and you are senior to me, so how about we dispense with the ‘Your Highness’ and ‘Your Lordship.’”

  “Certainly, Your...” Smith began, and then corrected himself.

  Silence.

  “All right then,” the prince broke the lengthy pause. “If you two are going to be my rescuers, perhaps I should know a bit more about you, what?

  “Lieutenant, could we begin with you?”

  Smith started as the prince topped off his and Smith’s glass with some more wine and Walker’s with some more lemon-drink. He provided an abbreviated version of the story he told Walker several days earlier, omitting the parts about his father’s character, but mentioning his resignation because of the Sackville Scandal. The prince asked several pertinent but not unkind questions about the affair and let it go.

  Next up was Walker, and the prince started pouring another round of drinks.

  “Well,” he began. “I am an officer in the United States Navy.” The prince shot upright, looked at Smith who, in turned, looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. After a few seconds, however, the prince smiled.

  “Oh, very good, Mr. Walker,” he said laughing. “That’s a good one.”

  Walker was not smiling. Smith looked stricken.

  “All right. Maybe I am not an officer, but I am an American—no matter what some people might think of the legitimacy of that claim.”

  Walker then launched into his story of his shipwreck, rescue by the Richmond and of his being pressed into British service.

  “Your Lordship,” Smith interjected. “I must point out that, despite his protestations, in the recent engagement Mr. Walker was singled out with distinction for his medical efforts on behalf of our men and officers.”

  “I see.” Prince William mused. “But tell me, Mr. Walker... Lucas... If you feel so strongly about your nationality, if you have such patriotism and devotion to the rebel cause, why are you not out there with General Washington fighting for that cause?”

  Walker again looked uncomfortable and it took him some time to reply. “As of a few years ago, I was the youngest Professor of Natural Philosophy in the history of Harvard College... and I was a good one.” Walker looked up sharply, almost defiantly, as if to emphasize the latter point. “And then, I don’t know, but it all went wrong.

  “Part of it, I think, was my disillusion with higher education... the phoniness of it all, the rampant intellectual dishonesty. And then... something else happened. Anyway, to shorten my story, I had long had a problem with drinking; but now I started drinking with a vengeance. Within a year I was bounced out of Harvard after a rather embarrassing incident, then kicked out of the College of New Jersey, then... well, let’s just say things went even further downhill from there.

  “I knew I had to stop drinking or it would be the end of me. So, I did.”

  Walker paused for a long moment and breathed a mirthless laugh as he thought, So, I did.’ My God, that phrase makes it sound like it was so easy—like snuffing out a candle. It wasn’t. It was as close to hell as I expect to encounter prior to my arrival there—but by God in heaven, I did it.

  “Shortly after that, I heard that a new college had been formed called the College of Charleston, so I was on my way to South Carolina when that double-damned storm hit.

  “And, believe it or not, at one point I did try to volunteer for the army. I showed up, dead drunk, and generously offered my services. Needless to say, they were politely declined.” Walker smiled briefly, “More specifically, some burley Sergeant physically threw me out of the tent.”

  Walker sat back in his chair. “So, as you can see... I don’t belong in Washington’s army, and I don’t belong in King George’s. In fact, I don’t belong anywhere, at any time, for any purpose. But, however poor an example I might be, I am an American.” And Walker took a big sip from his lemon drink.

  He watched the prince’s expression go from alarm, to perplexity, to amazement.

  No, Walker decided. He wouldn’t advertise it, but if he were ever asked about his background again, he would stick with the story as it happened and let the chips fall where they may. With luck, maybe people would simply view him as a harmless old drunk and let him be. Ah, there was Smith, he thought, right on cue.

  “I am sure that story sounds a good-deal more extreme than is warranted. I must point out that when we picked him up he had a severe gash that might cause him to exaggerate...”

  “It was just a scratch,” corrected Walker.

  “...a severe gash,” Smith repeated glaring daggers at Walker, “over his left eye. You can still see the scar there. But, I can assure you, my friend here is a most capable individual.”

  “Yes,” the prince replied. “I am sure. And I hope for the speediest of recoveries from your... ah... injuries, Mr. Walker.”

  “Oh, I am quite recovered,” Walker said smugly. “But thank you anyway.”

  Another silence while the prince poured another round.

  “What about you?” Walker finally asked. “Tell us about yourself. I don’t even know your name. William Henry something.”

  The prince laughed. “‘William Henry Something’ is about as good as anything. You see, technically, I don’t have a last name. Officially, I am The Prince William Henry, Duke of Clarence and St. Andrew’s, Defender of the Faith, etc. etc. But when I joined the navy, they needed a last name to put on the rolls. My father is of the German House of H
anover, so that became my official navy name: William Henry Hanover.”

  “Why the navy?”

  “I am the third son and you know how it goes. The first son inherits, the second goes into the military, and the third goes into the clergy. Well, the clergy certainly wasn’t going to happen in my case, so I moved up a rung to the military instead. I vastly preferred the navy to the army; and, for once, someone actually listened to what I wanted, so I was enrolled as a midshipman.

  Hanover was starting to feel the effects of the wine and of a very long day. “I love it, gentleman, I truly do.”

  “Love what?” Smith asked.

  “The navy.”

  “This is because you have a penchant for bad food, perhaps?” Walker asked.

  “No, I am perfectly serious.” Hanover paused to think about what he was going to say next and whether he should say it. The wine he had consumed decided the matter for him. “Do you understand that the sea does not give a tinker’s-damn that I am the son of His August Majesty King George III? It simply could not care less.

  “When I am on watch the wind and rain is just as cold for me as it is for everyone else. The sea tosses me about, just like it does everyone else. The wind blows when, where and how it wants, not the way I want. And, if the ship sank, my drowning would be just the same as that of the lowest cabin boy.”

  “Am I missing something here? I am still looking for the benefits of going to sea.”

  “I just stated them. You need to have grown up a royal to know what I am talking about, Walker. Everything, and I mean everything, in your life is planned to the last detail. Where you go, when you go there, whom you’ll see, and what you’ll say has all been choreographed weeks in advance.

  “You’ll not credit the extent to which the sea gives me a sense of freedom. Whether I rise or fall is up to me—and only me. I can be a man, or at least find out if I am a man, on my own merits. Hell, back in London, there are people who would sell their soul for the ‘honor’ of wiping my ass once a day so I wouldn’t have to do it myself. ‘Yes, indeed, Madam. I am the Lord High Keeper of the Royal Toilet Paper. My job is to make sure the prince need never make an ass of himself again.’”

  Hanover erupted into a contagious laughter at his own joke that even had Walker going.

  “No, thanks. I am a midshipman. I am still learning. In a few years, I’ll be eligible to take the lieutenant’s exam and if I pass or not, I’ll have no one to blame but myself. I like that, gentlemen. I truly do.”

  “But what about... I mean, aren’t you in line for the throne or something?”

  “Oh, no! My father was thoughtful enough to provide an heir and a spare ahead of me. My brother George is Prince of Wales; he will inherit. Next is my brother Frederick, the Duke of York and the spare. Then, there is me. As the spare, Fred’s job is to sit around and make sure George still has a pulse each morning. I am the one who actually gets to have a life.

  “How about you two? Any brothers or sisters?”

  Smith nodded and told him about his two brothers Charles and John Spencer. Walker replied “Two older brothers, Lawrence and Kenneth; and a sister with the fancy name, Victoria Alexandrina. We used to tease her unmercifully about that.”

  “Really? Her name is Victoria Alexandrina?” asked Hanover. “My younger brother Edward swears that if he ever has a girl-child he is going to name her Alexandrina Victoria. What a coincidence!”

  Walker was leaning on the back two legs of his chair, feeling warm and good. He was idly mulling over Hanover’s last remark about “Victoria Alexandrina” versus “Alexandrina Victoria” when an idle thought appeared in the back of his head.

  “I wonder.” Walker mused out loud. “If Edward’s future daughter ever became Queen, would she be Queen Alexandrina, or Queen Victoria?

  Hanover laughed. “Let’s hope that never happens. In order for that to occur, I would have to be both dead and childless. Let’s see, I would be King William... the fourth, I believe. Yes, King William IV.”

  With that, William raised his glass. “Gentlemen, a toast: Here’s to King William IV and Queen Victoria... May England never come to such a sorry state of affairs.”

  After the toast, all three men lapsed into a dreamy silence, lost in their own thoughts. Smith was contemplating how he would tell his father that he had been in the presence of royalty. William was thinking with distaste about his probable return to England. And Walker was thinking about William.

  William IV? he thought. Who knows? That half-snockered kid across the table from me might someday be the damn King of England—that is if we can get him to safety. And what happens if we don’t? Let’s see... no William IV and God knows what he will do or not do during his reign... and if there was no William IV would there ever be a Queen Victoria? I wonder, he thought to himself, if we really are playing with history here.

  “Lucas?” Smith inquired. Walker looked up to see both men watching him carefully. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am just fine.

  “I think we should be getting to bed soon, gentlemen. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  And with varying mumbled assents, the three men headed upstairs to their rooms.

  * * *

  Perhaps it was the effect of the wine but all three wound-up sleeping-in on a perfectly gorgeous Virginia morning. The prince’s trunks had arrived late the previous night and were still in the wagon. After a leisurely breakfast, the three mounted up and, with the wagon trailing, began a journey of less than a mile to the rendezvous point where Wormley Creek emptied into the York River.

  As they got close to the headland overlooking the juncture, Smith trotted on ahead. When Hanover and Walker caught up to him, they saw him kneeling next to his horse, sitting back on his legs, staring out to sea.

  Walker and Hanover joined him at the cliff edge and looked out at the magnificent blue of the Chesapeake to their left, and the blueish-green of the mighty Atlantic to their right. In the foreground was the HMS Richmond riding tall and proud at anchor. To her left was HMS Iris looking equally splendid; and between them and the ocean was... the entire French fleet. They had beaten the British back to the Chesapeake.

  The three men stood by helplessly as the events of the day unfolded. Within a half-hour a frigate detached itself from the French line, positioned itself about 300 yards in front of the Richmond and fired a single gun on the starboard side. It was a challenge to come out and fight. Fight who? Smith thought. The whole damn French fleet?

  Within the hour, they could see movement aboard the Richmond as two of the largest boats were lowered over the side. The boats were loaded with the ships’ women and children and were rowed by the most elderly seamen. These were the people who would be least likely to survive what could be years in a French prison.

  After the boats were well away and could no longer be considered part of the Richmond, Captain Hudson walked to the base of the mizzenmast and personally lowered the colors. There were tears in Smith’s eyes and, truth be told, even a little misting in Walker’s, as she surrendered.

  They stayed to watch French officers come on board both the Richmond and the Iris and accept the swords of both captains.

  They stayed to watch the French boarding parties come over to herd the men below deck under guard, and substitute officers and men of their own to run the ship.

  They stayed to watch the two refugee boats from the Richmond and one from the Iris draw near, then pass by Wormley Creek, on their way to the Yorktown docks.

  And then they could watch no more.

  * * *

  No one said much as they ate an evening meal that the Moore House staff had hastily assembled. It was dark out and the only sounds that could be heard were the chirping of the night insects outside and the muted clink of cutlery inside.

  The staff cleared away the dishes and brought out a large bottle of sherry and another pitcher of Walker’s lemon-drink. Glasses were poured, but still nothing was said.

>   Walker felt rather than heard someone sit down in the chair next to him. He looked up from contemplating his glass to see Susan Whitney sitting there, her hands folded in front of her as if she had been at the table the whole time.

  “Susan?” Walker could hardly believe his eyes. “What the hell are...”

  “Lieutenant Smith, are you going to hog that sherry all night or are you going to offer a lady a drink?”

  Smith scrambled to get another glass from the credenza. “What are you doing here?”