by Tom Grundner
Hood, who had been called a madman and worse for advocating this very same strategy at the Battle of the Capes, had his vindication. Whatever was to happen in the West Indies, it was now perfectly clear that England might not have lost America if Graves had only heeded his advice.
On the French ship, however, Walker wasn’t thinking about that. He turned to the quarterdeck where he saw Captain De Monteclerc standing next to the wheel. His face was a deep red and his fingers were white from clutching his telescope. He too could hear the laughter.
During the next few days, things were a standoff at sea, but were not going so well ashore. Hood had picked up some 1400 troops in Antigua and he landed them to help the beleaguered British garrison on Brimstone Hill. Unfortunately, it was not enough. De Grasse had previously landed over 8000 troops and the sheer weight of numbers eventually took its toll. On February 13th the garrison, half starved and nearly out of powder, surrendered, and control of St. Kitts turned over to the French.
This was a serious development. Once the garrison fell the French could now bring its land-based cannons to bear on the British fleet. They would be trapped between De Grasse on one side and the French shore batteries on the other.
It was time for Hood’s third surprise.
* * *
“Ahoy the boat,” came the challenge.
“Aye, aye,” came the reply; and with that brief exchange, an important question had been asked and answered. “We see you coming alongside. Is there anyone important on your boat that we should know about, like another captain?” “No, there isn’t,” the boat replied. “Just routine business.”
The gig pulled up to the side of the Tisiphone and a midshipman in the bow grabbed on to a side chain with a hook to temporarily hold the boat to the ship. A lieutenant, standing in the sternsheets, called up. “May I speak to your captain, please?” he asked.
A moment later, the captain appeared over the side. “I am Captain Saumarez.”
“Good day, sir. Admiral Hood sends his compliments and requests you send over a lieutenant or senior midshipman from your ship. He should arrive no later than two bells on the first dog watch; and he should bring with him a good pocket watch.”
Saumarez was taken aback. This was the strangest request he had ever heard. “Certainly, but may I ask the reason?”
“I don’t know, sir. Another and I are tasked with passing this message to each ship in the fleet.”
“Very well. Carry on.”
The midshipman released his hook and the mysterious boat began stroking to the next ship in line.
* * *
The Barfleur’s bell was struck twice. It was two bells into the first dogwatch, but everyone had arrived at least fifteen minutes before that. Gathered on the main deck of the Barfleur were 22 officers, about a third of which were senior midshipmen like Hanover, all nervously standing around wondering what on earth was going on.
As the ringing faded away Admiral Hood appeared with his flag captain John Inglefield.
“All right then gentlemen, let me have your attention,” Captain Inglefield called out. “The Admiral would like a word with you.”
“Thank you, John. I won’t detain you long, gentlemen.
“You sir, could you tell me the exact time.” He pointed to a senior lieutenant who was obviously startled.
Pulling out his watch, “I have five minutes past five o’clock, sir.”
“And you, sir, what do you have?” he asked, pointing to another.
“Sir, I have two minutes before the hour.”
“As I thought,” the Admiral said. “All right, I will ask each of you to regulate your watch according to mine. On my mark, it will be three minutes past the hour.
“Ready... MARK!”
“All right then, I have one other thing. I have sealed orders for each of you to take back to your captain. My clerk will distribute them,” and he toddled off leaving a completely mystified group in his wake. Before too much speculation could begin, the Admiral’s clerk started calling off ships names and handing out packets.
“Alfred... Belliqueux... Invincible... Monarch... Centaur...”
* * *
“I don’t know what else to tell you sir,” Hanover reported. “He asked us to synchronize our watches with his and to take that packet back to you. The meeting was shorter than the row over.”
“Very well, Mr. Hanover. That will be all.” Captain Saumarez broke the seal on the packet just as Hanover was leaving his cabin.
Three minutes later a marine came running up to Hanover, saluted, and said: “Sir, the captain would like to see you immediately.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes, sir. I am supposed to escort you.”
Hanover arrived in Captain Saumarez’s cabin and saw that he was still seated at his desk, Hood’s letter open in front of him.
“Mr. Hanover, I’ll trouble you for your pocket watch, if you please.”
“My watch, sir?” He asked as he fumbled in his waistcoat.
“Yes, your watch. Right now it is the single most valuable object we have on this ship.”
* * *
It was a repeat of the night before, “Dupe’s Day” the men called it, when they fooled the French fleet into giving up Frigate Bay. Captain Saumarez was again pacing back and forth on the quarterdeck; only this time he had eyes only for Hanover’s watch. Even more puzzling, his behavior had become as strange as the Admiral’s.
First, he had taken possession of Hanover’s pocket watch; then, not an hour ago, he sent a boat crew out to hang a lantern on the ship’s anchor buoy; then he ordered the ship to a silent general quarters—which Hanover had never seen before—then he stationed two men with axes near the hawse-hole where the anchor cable left the ship.
He finally walked over to the starboard side of the quarterdeck, looked once more at Hanover’s pocket watch, dropped his arm and hissed: “Now, Mr. Calvin, but be quiet about it.”
Hanover could hear the muffled sound of axes cutting through thick hemp rope, followed by the word being passed from up forward: “Anchor’s cut away, sir.”
Saumarez then hissed a series of commands to get the foretopsail dropped and sheeted home.
The Tisiphone and every other ship in the British fleet simultaneously began to move, slowly at first, gradually picking up speed until they were soon well clear of St. Kitts.
De Grasse arose the following morning before first light and came on deck. He looked first at the set of his ship’s sails, then to the sky to see if he could get any hint of the weather for the day, then he peered into the darkness for the trapped British ships.
As the light eventually increased, he realized the anchorage was empty.
* * *
The Formidable and her squadron arrived in Barbados on February 19th. On board was Admiral George Brydges Rodney, considered the best fighting admiral in the Royal Navy.
Rodney came from an ancient family. Sir Richard Rodeney fought with Richard the Lion-Heart and distinguished himself at the Battle of Acre. For five hundred years, the family estates at Stoke Rodeney in Somersetshire had been handed down in unbroken succession. His godfather was none other than King George I.
This kind of family background can breed men of dissipation as easily as it can breed men of steel; and, to look at Rodney, you would think the former had occurred. He was a tall, slim, almost frail looking man with the thin nose, sharp chin and piercing eyes of an aristocrat. He moved with graceful ease in the highest social circles; and, in the days of fancy lace for men, Rodney was among the most elegant. He was always perfectly dressed, fastidious, and loved the courtly comment and courteous phrase. In short, by all superficial accounts, he was a “dandy.”
If you truly believed that of him, however, you did so at your peril. When the time came for sunlight to flash on cold steel, the supercilious dandy disappeared. Underneath was a tough, highly skilled warrior that would have done his ancestor, Sir Richard, proud.
At the time
of the Battle of the Capes, Admiral Rodney was 62 years old and in comfortable retirement. England had been rocked by news of Cornwallis’ defeat at Yorktown. That it, in effect, had been caused by a British defeat at sea made it even worse. People might not have known exactly why the battle was lost, but they did know that it wouldn’t have happened if Rodney had been there.
De Grasse was loose in the West Indies; and, with no one to stop him; England could lose every one of its possessions there. Finally, at the direct request of the king, the old warhorse dug out his sword, dusted off his uniform, and went off in search of De Grasse.
After a lightning quick transit of the Atlantic (a mere five weeks), Rodney looked for Hood at Barbados. Failing there, he set off for St. Kitts and eventually found him in Antigua. One look at Hood’s ships, however, and Rodney knew they would not be taking on De Grasse any time soon. He took his fleet, now numbering 36 ships, off to the careenage at St. Lucia for repairs.
Rodney knew how to squeeze the last drop of work out of a dockyard; but, even so, his fleet was laid up from February through March in patching and mending. Some ships needed repairs. Others needed complete restoration; and, had they been back in England, a few would have simply been sold to a wreaking company. Rodney did not have that luxury, and each ship was run through the yard.
* * *
Captain Saumarez was dressed in his finest uniform, as he stood on the deck of the Formidable waiting to meet with the Admiral. He had no idea why he was being summoned; he couldn’t think of anything he had done wrong; but he was nervous nonetheless.
Eventually a young lieutenant came along to escort him to Rodney’s quarters. They were the most spacious he had ever seen, but then again the Formidable was the largest ship he had ever been on. Rodney was looking out the stern windows of his cabin when Saumarez arrived.
“Ah, there you are, captain,” Rodney began. He shook hands and invited him to sit down. Saumarez took a seat in front of the admiral’s huge oak desk.
“A glass of port, perhaps, captain? It’s an exceptionally good year.”
“No, sir, thank you. I am fine.”
“I won’t keep you long but I wanted to give you these two packets. The first is routine business for your ship including, by the way, a list of prisoners held. We just exchanged lists with the frogs this morning.
“The second is more important. It’s a package of dispatches.” He shoved a sealed leather pouch across the table toward him. “They need to get back to the Admiralty as soon as possible. I am afraid I am going to have to dispatch you and the Tisiphone to get them there.
As the implications of his statement sank home, Saumarez looked at the package as if the Admiral had offered him a rat that had just died of the plague. He was only twenty-five years old. He was a good captain, a fighting captain; and now, with the fleet about to fight for its very life, he was not going to be allowed to stay. His heart sank.
“Sir?” His face had gone pale and he was fighting to keep a tremor out of his voice. “Sir, is there not some other ship that could possibly do this?”
“I am afraid there isn’t, captain. We had no idea your ship would be joining us until you arrived. All the other ships have been assigned places and duties in the line of battle. Yours is the only one we can cut loose without changing all that around.”
Rodney saw the disappointment in his eyes. “I am sorry, Saumarez. I know you’re a good captain and I’d love to have you around during the coming fight. In a lot of ways you remind me of me when I was your age. But, I can’t. These dispatches really must go through.
“If it’s any consolation, you should know that I am not the only admiral who knows of your talents. Your day will come, son. Trust me. Your day will come.”
Saumarez was disconsolate as he reached the gangway to go back to his ship. He couldn’t leave right away, however, because another gig was pulling up to the Formidable.
“Ahoy the boat,” went the challenge.
“Russell,” came the reply. It meant that the captain of the Russell was arriving and proper honors should be observed.
Saumarez had known the Russell’s captain, Tom MacArthur, since they were midshipmen together aboard the old Seahorse. He was strong as an ox, smart as a whip and had a wicked sense of humor that bordered on the perverse. As he climbed onboard ship, however, he could see that MacArthur looked as bad as Saumarez felt.
“Jim,” MacArthur exclaimed, pumping his hand with an oversized paw. “I knew the Tisiphone had joined us, but what are you doing here? Cultivating the admiral?”
“Well, I was here. I am being sent back to England with some damn dispatches.”
“Really? That’s terrific!”
“I am glad you find it entertaining. I do not.”
“No, I am serious.” Mac’s voice lowered to avoid anyone else from hearing what he was about to say.
“Look, Jim, I’ve been having some... I don’t know what you’d call it... some ‘spells’ lately. The quack surgeon on board my ship thinks it’s my heart; and, well, I think he might be right. He says the only thing I can do is get back to London and see some specialists. That’s why I am here. I am going to ask Rodney for leave to go back.”
“My Lord, Tom, I am really sorry to hear that.”
“Yes, well, I am sure they’ll have me fixed up in no time. But, meanwhile, don’t go back to your ship just yet, all right?”
It was the longest 15 minutes in Saumarez’s memory. Finally, that same young lieutenant came by to escort him again to see the Admiral.
“Saumarez, I understand you’ve heard about Captain MacArthur’s medical condition?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well enough. If you would be so kind as to give over the dispatch case to Captain MacArthur, I will have my clerk cut some new orders. I am placing you as captain of the Russell and MacArthur as captain of the Tisiphone.”
Rodney gave a short smile. “I assume that will meet with your approval?”
Saumarez was at a loss for words. In the span of seconds, he had gone from commanding a frigate to commanding a 74-gun ship of the line. “Yes, sir. I... I don’t know what to...”
“Just fight your ship well, Saumarez. That’s all the thanks I need.”
“Now, both of you get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”
* * *
Captain Saumarez was still dressed in his finest uniform and waiting near the gangway when he summoned Susan Whitney and Midshipman Hanover on deck.
“Ah, there you are. I suppose you’ve both heard the news about my getting command of the Russell. I have to go over there now for a preliminary visit, then go see the admiral again; but, before I go, I wanted to speak to you.” As he said this, he was pulling them aside and out of hearing range of the other men standing about.
“I am afraid I have some good news and some bad. In this morning’s dispatch, I received a list of the British officers and men who are being held by the French. The two sides exchanged lists just this morning. I know you’re worried about your friends Lieutenant Smith and Mr. Walker. I wanted to tell you that they are both still alive and well, but they are being held aboard the Diadem. The Badger was captured 10 days ago.”
Hanover looked at Saumarez with relief. Susan looked stricken.
“Thank you, sir,” Hanover finally replied. “It’s good of you to inform us.”
“Yes, well, I must be going.”
“Sir, may I ask what is happening. Do you know when we might be getting underway?” It was actually an inappropriate question coming from a midshipman. But, midshipman or not, Hanover was still “Prince William” under that humble uniform and that bought him some occasional leeway, whether he wanted it or not.
“I don’t know myself,” Saumarez replied. “I do know that the Admiral is concerned about De Grasse’s strength but no one can figure out a way to get into his anchorage to find out.” Saumarez paused for a second. “Actually, getting in to the anchorage is no problem, we’ve just never figured a
way to get anyone out again.
“Well, I must go. It won’t do to keep my new command waiting, you know.” And, he started to walk back to the gangway.
Susan’s mind was working in overdrive. “Captain,” she said, grabbing him by the arm and leading him out of earshot. “What if I had a plan to get the intelligence the admiral needs? Would you present it to the admiral?”