Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [556]
Because his sight was excellent, and he loved to be up there, he was often sent aloft to act as lookout.
One other circumstance had made him into a kind of mascot amongst the ship’s company. When he first stood in line with the other recruits and the master demanded his name, he answered:
“Wilson, sir.” Then he added, he did not know why, unless it was to remind himself of his home: “Of Christchurch.”
There was a roar of laughter.
“Damme,” cried the master, “not another one.” And so he learned that the ship contained a young midshipman, Robert Wilson, son of Sir Wykeham Wilson, whose estate lay just outside Christchurch. He gazed at the boy curiously – several years his junior, but an officer of course. He had only seen Sir Wykeham once or twice and never seen his son before. He was a tall, dark, good-looking young fellow who seemed to have an easy way both with the other midshipmen and the men. However, he did not suppose that the young gentleman would ever address a word to him, unless it was an order. He was surprised to be proved wrong. That very afternoon, the boy strode over to him.
“We Wilsons of Christchurch must stick together,” he said with a pleasant grin. And from that day, whenever the young midshipman was on duty and he was up aloft as the lookout, he would make a point of crying up: “What do you see, Wilson of Christchurch?” And this harmless, good-hearted joke somehow made his exile from home seem a little less bitter.
It was a happy ship. Though Captain Blackwood never addressed him personally, he was conscious of his kindly and professional rule at all times. “The men of the Euryalus eat well,” the men said. But once, when they had been long at sea and supplies were running low, an old seaman remarked to Peter: “Mark this, young Wilson: Blackwood sees to it his officers eat no better than we do when supplies are short. Not many do that.”
He was often lonely. But he did not despair. Every day when he got up, and again, when he went to sleep, he would finger the wedding ring on his little finger and murmur: “She’ll be there, when I get back.” It comforted him.
The frigate was kept continually busy. First they were employed off the coast of Ireland; then under Admiral Keith, watching the port of Boulogne.
“For God’s sake don’t fall asleep when you watch up there,” Robert Wilson said to him once in a serious tone. “If ever Boney gets his army out of there, you and I will never see Christchurch under English rule again.”
But it was in the summer of 1805 that events really began to move quickly.
The huge French fleet under Villeneuve was poised to strike, but first it had to try to shake off the British. Villeneuve got out to open sea; then he made a feint towards the West Indies. Nelson followed. Villeneuve doubled back. It was a game of cat and mouse. Nelson made for Gibraltar; Villeneuve went north towards the Channel but another British force, in an indecisive action, turned him back. Nelson returned to England. Where would Villeneuve go next?
The crisis was approaching. Back in England awaiting his instructions, Nelson was convinced that the French masterplan intended Villeneuve to come out into open sea, unite the French fleet, and then strike south at the Mediterranean, pinning down the allied forces in Italy while Napoleon made a mighty sweep across central Europe. He was correct. By late summer 1805 this was Napoleon’s plan. But first Villeneuve had to get out. Where was the French Admiral, and what would he do next?
On August 14 Villeneuve arrived in Cadiz, where Admiral Collingwood and his force were keeping watch.
“He can’t refit his ships there. There are no supplies,” Robert Wilson remarked. “He’ll have to come out into open sea soon. Keep your eyes peeled, Wilson of Christchurch.”
But the mission of the Euryalus