by Jean Plaidy
There was Lady Charlotte Finch with her own house and her own little garden, the Queen’s house and the house where the children were lodged.
It was an orderly life. They must be up early for the King believed in early rising; they must retire early too. The Queen herself superintended their baths which took place every morning at six. She and the King had a habit of looking in now and then during mealtimes so that the children were never sure when they were coming. The Queen sometimes looked on during lesson times, and their father worked out their curriculum.
That was how it was until William was eight years old and then his world was shattered. The Prince of Wales and his brother Frederick were to have a separate establishment as they were considered too old to be with the younger children. A governor was appointed for them and a new household, and William remained behind in the nursery.
Life was easier then. There were not so many inspections and rigorous laws. William had always realized that the important member of the family was his brother George who was destined to be King. Once he had left the nursery it could not be the same again.
They met now and then and George was unfailingly kind to his young brother. If William were in any difficulty he knew he only had to go to George.
When William was in his thirteenth year the King became very concerned. Nothing was going right. The trouble between England and the American colonies was working towards a climax. Burgoyne’s defeat at Saratoga had raised a storm in Parliament. The impossible was happening. The English were being beaten by the American Colonists, and there were rumours that France was sending aid to the rebels. The King conferred with his Prime Minister, Lord North. It was a question of ‘Conciliate or fight on’. Lord North wanted to resign, but the King would not let him; he wanted to show himself a true ruler and he believed that the best way of doing this was to preserve a stubborn resistance. He was anxious and uncertain and determined not to show it; and his mind was torn between events at home and abroad.
The Prince of Wales was sixteen and chafing against his lack of liberty. There were rumours of his sentimental attachments to women. There had actually been a scandal at Kew where he had been meeting a maid of honour in the gardens and had seduced her – aided and abetted by his brother Frederick, and possibly William.
The Prince of Wales was contaminating his brothers.
‘We shall find we have a family of libertines,’ the King declared to the Queen. ‘Something will have to be done. Frederick has a will of his own. It’s William I fear for. Besides, he’s so young, but he’s constantly in their company. Why shouldn’t William go to sea?’
‘In due course,’ said the Queen placidly.
‘Who said anything about due course, eh? I mean now. Let him learn to be a sailor before George makes a knave of him.’
The Queen was horrified. ‘William is thirteen,’ she reminded the King.
‘I am aware of his age, but other boys go to sea at thirteen. It’s the right age. There’s no reason why he should be any different from anyone else.’
‘He… he’s only a child.’
‘Hm,’ replied the King not unkindly. She was a mother and wanted to keep them all children for ever. ‘Just the time. Thirteen. Right age for a midshipman.’
‘Midshipman!’
‘You don’t think he can be an admiral right away, do you? He’s going to start as a midshipman and he’ll work his way up. It’ll be a hard life, but hardship never hurt anyone. That brother of his has had everything too easy.’
‘He has often been somewhat severely caned,’ the Queen reminded him with some resentment.
‘And that has prevented his being worse than he is, you may depend upon it. It will do William a power of good. I shall go down to Portsmouth myself and see the Commissioner there.’
‘I would beg you to consider his age.’
‘Stuff,’ said the King; and added as though he had had a brilliant idea: ‘And nonsense.’
‘Thirteen years old and a Prince…’
‘Old enough, and princes have their duty more than ordinary men.’
The Queen knew that once the King had made up his mind nothing would make him shift it, for one of his most persistent characteristics was his obstinacy. She was alarmed for William who, although disciplined, had enjoyed the luxuries of a royal existence. How would he fare as a sailor – for the King intended him to have no privileges. It was to be part of the rigorous training, the discipline, the hardening process.
My poor William! thought the Queen.
When William heard the news he was horrified.
He wanted to be a sailor, yes – but not yet. And when he had dreamed of going to sea it was as an admiral – at least a captain – not a midshipman.
He went at once to see his brother.
George was writing a letter to one of his sisters’ ladies-in-waiting. He greatly enjoyed writing letters for he had a way with a pen and he wept as he wrote of his emotions and undying affection for the lady.
He laid down his pen in concern at the sight of William’s face.
‘You haven’t heard, then, George, that they’re sending me to sea?’
‘Oh yes, but not for years.’
‘Soon. Our father has gone to Portsmouth to get it all arranged and I’m to go off at once.’
‘It’s madness,’ cried George. William felt better. One could rely on George.
‘But our father is determined.’
‘Our father is an ass, William,’ said George sadly. ‘Here am I a man… and treated like a boy. But no matter. You are in a worse plight. Sent to sea! How can that be? You’re not old enough to command.’
‘I’m to go as a midshipman.’
‘How dare he! My brother… a midshipman.’
‘I’ve been studying geometry for months and I’m to go… so he says. He doesn’t want me here.’
‘He’s afraid I’ll contaminate you. It’s time he saw what a fool he is. Everyone laughs at him. The Royal Button Maker! Farmer George! Are they names for a king? Stab me, William, if I were King you would not be forced to do anything unless you had a mind for it.’
‘I know, George, but you’re not King. He is. And he’s our father and he says I’m to go to sea.’
The brothers regarded each other sadly. They both knew they had to obey their King and father. As yet, thought George rebelliously. But although he might rage about the restrictions which hemmed him in the problem was William’s. Poor William, to be sent to sea like a common sailor.
What could he do to comfort him?
‘You’ll have leaves,’ he said. ‘And you can’t treat a sailor as a child. If he wants you to live like other people he’ll have to give you some freedom, won’t he? I’ll tell you what, William, when you are on leave we’ll meet. We’ll disguise ourselves. We’ll go to Ranelagh… We’ll enjoy life.’
George could always comfort him. Listening, William tried to think ahead to those leaves for only by doing so could he forget temporarily what had to come first.
It was characteristic of the King that he should be much happier arranging the departure of William than he was managing state affairs. In his family he was the complete despot; in the country he was plagued by his ministers. So energetically he personally set about the preparations for William’s departure.
He himself had gone to Portsmouth to see Sir Samuel Hood, the Commissioner of the Dockyard, and had taken the opportunity to meet Rear-Admiral Robert Digby with whom William was to sail.
‘Now,’ said the King, ‘no concessions, eh? He’s to be with the others… treated like the others. Make a man of him.’
Rear-Admiral Digby said that His Majesty’s orders would be carried out.
‘If he does wrong, he’s to be punished. Never believed in sparing the punishment. Bad for them. He’ll be with the others… eat with the others… live with the others. That’s understood?’
The Rear-Admiral understood perfectly.
‘He’s a bit wild,’ said the Ki
ng. ‘Brothers!’
Growing used to the King’s staccato methods of conversation, Digby grasped that he was referring to the wildness of the Prince of Wales and Duke of York of whom there had been certain rumours.
‘Life at sea. Good for the lad. He’s a good boy. Don’t want him spoilt. Now what’s he to bring, eh?’
Digby asked if His Majesty would care for a list of Prince William’s requirements to be sent for His Majesty’s secretary.
The King’s eyes bulged slightly. ‘Secretary! No. He’s my son. I want to see that he comes as he should. I’ll have the list now.’
Digby was somewhat surprised at such unkingly methods. He was, however, not so conversant with the sartorial requirements of his midshipmen as the King supposed; he would have the list compiled, he said, and it should be handed to His Majesty before he left Portsmouth.
‘Very good. Very good. I think you’ll like the boy. Cheerful lad. Always had a feeling for the sea. Right stuff for a sailor. Good boy, but… brothers.’
Rear-Admiral Digby said he understood; and was extremely grateful to His Majesty for giving him his instructions in person.
It was the night before William was to leave for Portsmouth and the family were gathered together to say good-bye to him. The King, the Queen, seven brothers and four sisters – the only exception being Baby Sophia who was too young to appear. The Queen was tearful and as resentful as she dared be. She thought it was very wrong of the King to send his young son away like this. Who ever heard of such nonsense? A boy not yet fourteen and a Prince, to be sent to live with common sailors. She was thankful it was not George who was going. That she could not have borne. He was so sensitive, so fastidious. Fortunately William was more amenable, slower, dull when compared with George and so might be able to adjust himself better, but it was a shameful indignity all the same. She often felt resentful against the King. When she had come to England from Mecklenburg-Strelitz she had thought she was going to rule with him as Queen; but quickly she discovered that the only decisions she was allowed to make was what embroidery her daughters should do and who should walk the dogs. Even her children’s diet had been arranged by the King. And now her son William – against her wishes – was to be sent away to live among common sailors! There were times when she hated her husband. And she sometimes thought of that strange illness of his which had occurred twelve years before when he had frightened her so thoroughly. It had been a fever but something more than that. Once when in conference with his ministers his face had become very red and he burst into tears. That had been very odd – but only she knew of the alarming manner in which he had rambled on when they had been alone together. ‘They’re all against me,’ he had said. ‘Everyone in the cabinet is against me.’ And he would go on saying it until she had wanted to scream to him to stop.
‘I am insulted by the people,’ he had cried. ‘I can’t sleep for thinking of them and my ministers. They hate me. They won’t let me alone.’
And so on in such a strain that she had feared he was losing his mind. He had feared it too. ‘Sometimes,’ he said to her, ‘I fear I’m going mad. There should be a Regency Bill. George is too young…’ George had been three years old at the time. ‘A Regency Bill… a Regency Bill…’
And at that time he had developed that urgent repetitive manner of speaking which had stayed with him; and often she was reminded of that terrible time when she, a newcomer to England at that time with a three-year-old George, a two-year-old Frederick and William on the way but not yet arrived, had wondered what her fate would be if her husband went mad.
He had recovered; but such an illness left its scars and often she asked herself: Is he going mad again?
And this notion of sending young William to sea seemed a form of madness.
William sat at the supper table next to his father in the place of honour so that the King might talk to him and give him advice, which he did incessantly.
‘I’ve sent off a hair trunk, my boy, with two chests and two cots done up in a mat. You’ll settle in. You’ll soon be telling us that there’s no life like that of a sailor. Yes, a hair trunk…’
George looked at Frederick and said slyly: ‘Papa, how many hair trunks?’
The King’s white eyebrows shot up and his blue protuberant eyes regarded his eldest son. The young fellow always seemed to him too arrogant and he resented that air of languid elegance about him.
Frederick suppressed a guffaw and their mother trembled while the others looked on in admiration of the Prince of Wales who dared mock their father.
‘A hair trunk, I said.’
‘I see, Papa, I thought there were several.’
‘One hair trunk,’ said the King, ‘two chests and two cots done up in one mat.’
‘William is lucky to have Your Majesty nurse him like a… like a… nursemaid.’
‘H’m,’ said the King, never sure of George, suspecting that he was trying to be insolent but determined not to have friction with his eldest son on the eve of William’s departure.
He turned his attention to William. ‘I shall give you a Bible before you go. Read it every day.’
‘Yes, Papa.’
‘You are about, my dear boy, to leave your home and to enter into a profession in which, I will not hide from you, you will be obliged to undergo many hardships and be surrounded by danger. You understand, eh, what? Your first duty is to your superior officers. If you are going to command you must first learn to obey; and you should not think that your rank absolves you from any menial task which may be demanded of you. Don’t think that because you are the son of a king you will be treated differently from officers of the same rank. The same discipline and routine will be yours. You will not be known as a prince but as a common sailor. Understand?’
The Prince of Wales shuddered and put a hand over his eyes as though to conceal his emotion; the Queen frowned; but the King was rambling on, having said what he had prepared himself to say and now repeating it.
William was almost glad when the party broke up.
‘Retire early,’ said the King. ‘A good night’s sleep. You’ll need all your wits about you tomorrow.’
George embraced his brother with tears in his eyes. George wept easily and effectively.
‘Don’t forget, William,’ he said. ‘You’ll soon be home. Then we’ll enjoy life… together.’
George could offer more comfort than the King with all his homilies and the Queen with all her fears.
Midshipman Guelph
THE NEXT MORNING William left for Portsmouth to join the Prince George at Spithead, a vessel of ninety-eight guns under the command of Rear-Admiral Digby. He was dressed in plain blue jacket, sailor’s trousers and a low crowned hat. The Prince of Wales suppressed a shudder as he looked at his brother for he did not wish William to know how humiliating he considered it even to wear such clothes.
Final farewells were said and William trying not to cry set off in the company of Mr Majendie, his tutor, who, in spite of the King’s determination to make the Prince live as an ordinary midshipman, must accompany him to give his daily lessons. Although the boy was to be a sailor he must not be uneducated; and as he was not yet fourteen it could not be said that his education was complete. It was only when he was jogging along those country roads in his unfamiliar garments that he was overcome by the strangeness of everything and he felt this was indeed the most wretched moment of his life. He yearned for the old nursery days with George in command; he longed to be anywhere but on the way to join the Prince George. The only comfort was in the name, but even that only reminded him of his beloved brother.
Still, as George had said, he was not the most imaginative of them and this did enable him not to dwell too much on what the future might be but to wait and see what it was like; and he kept telling himself he had always wanted to go to sea.
He tried to think of great battles with himself directing actions from his flagship. Admiral Prince William… but he was supposed to forget he was
a prince, of course.
Arrived at Spithead there was no welcome for him. Instructions had been that he was to be treated like any midshipman. He was not without courage and as he descended the ladder into the steerage he felt a lifting of his spirits. After all, this was adventure such as George himself had never had; and he thought of those leaves when he would tell his brothers all about this and they would listen enthralled because it was something they had never experienced. He must act like a king’s son although he must never remind anyone that he was.
He looked about him; what an airless place. Surely the King with his passion for fresh air would never have agreed to his sleeping in such quarters.
This was where midshipmen slept, ate and spent their leisure he supposed. He could not imagine anything less like the royal apartments at Kew, St James’s, Windsor or Buckingham House.
Peering into the gloom he made out a table covered with a stained table-cloth; he wrinkled his nose with disgust at the odour of cooking grease and onions, and wondered what was the horrible smell which dominated everything else and discovered later that it came from the bilge water.
How was he going to eat in such a place, sleep in that narrow berth? How could he live here in between leaves? Going to sea was not what he had thought it would be. He had dreamed of commanding from his flagship, winning great victories – not living in quarters like these. Then with a start he realized he was not alone in this dark place. He was surrounded by silent watchers.
There were other boys down here all wearing the same kind of jacket and trousers and low crowned hats. They were staring at him.
Seeing that he was aware of them, one crept forward and peered into his face. William knew at once that they were conscious of his identity and did not like him the better for it. He knew too that they would have been told: Treat him as one of yourselves. That is the wish of the King.
He thought of George and wondered what he would have done in such circumstances. But George would have refused to wear these clothes in the first place; he would have come here in velvet coat and diamond shoe buckles and no one would have dared look at George as these boys were looking at him now.