Goddess of the Green Room: (Georgian Series) (17 page)

The Rear-Admiral understood perfectly.

‘He’s a bit wild,’ said the King. ‘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.

‘Have you come to sail with us?’ called a voice from a berth, and a cloud of evil-smelling tobacco came from the same direction.

‘I have,’ said William.

‘You have, have you,’ was the comment. ‘And what’s your name?’

‘I am entered as Prince William Henry,’ said William, ‘but my father’s name is Guelph.’

‘Guelph, is it? We are not to bow three times every time we see you, you know.’

William laughed. ‘Why should anyone bow three times?’ he asked. ‘You must call me William Guelph, for I am now nothing more than a sailor like you. Which is my berth?’

There had always been something natural about William; his fellow midshipmen sensed it now. They had been expecting a swaggering arrogant young coxcomb whom they had determined to put in his place since the orders had gone round that he was to be treated like the rest of them.

But how could they put William in his place when he had already put himself there?

‘I’ll show you,’ said the young man who had asked the questions, leaping from his berth and coming up to William. ‘What do you think of it, eh? It’s not St James’s Palace, you know, and it’s not Windsor Castle.’

William laughed – a rather fresh innocent laugh. He had always had an ability to make friends which his brothers lacked. His was so natural and at heart modest.

The atmosphere changed suddenly. William’s shipmates had decided that although they had a king’s son among them he was not very different from themselves.

A few days after his arrival the
Prince George
set sail for Torbay and from there went to join the Channel Fleet, the immediate task of which was to prevent the French fleet joining up with that of Spain. This, however, the British fleet failed to accomplish and the combined ships of France and Spain sailed boldly up the Channel as far as Plymouth causing consternation all along the south-west coast of England. The Spanish and French commanders stood on their decks looking through their binoculars at the land and deciding that it would soon be theirs. When they saw the wooded hills of Devon and the rich red soil their eyes glittered greedily, but when they saw too the guns trained on them and heard that Sir Charles Hardy, who commanded the British fleet, was on his way they lost heart and retreated.

William had believed that he was about to see his first action and was surprised on arriving at Plymouth to find that the enemies had fled. The
Prince George
docked there and William was given a brief leave of absence. His parents wished him to set out for Windsor without delay.

William was delighted although not as eager as he had thought he would be. After a few weeks at sea he had quickly adjusted himself to a midshipman’s life and he found it not as restricting as the schoolrooms of Kew. He had become a man; he listened to men’s talk; he had already engaged in fisticuffs after an argument with one of the midshipmen.

‘If you were not the King’s son,’ he had been told, ‘I’d teach you better manners.’

‘Don’t let that be a hindrance,’ William had retorted.

But his adversary had said it would not be fair for he was older and stronger; but William would not take that for an answer, and they had fought and William had not come out of the fray too badly. The rest of the company liked him because he did not seek special advantages. They forgot half the time who he was and as they knew him as Guelph he seemed exactly like one of them.

Now he was on his way to Windsor and when he arrived he was told that Their Majesties wished to see him without delay.

There were tears in the King’s eyes as he embraced him.

‘I’ve had good reports,’ he said. ‘Digby tells me you’ve done well. Good lad. Glad to hear it. Must remember to set an example.’