Looking at the man, Harry said, “You look exhausted. You should rest.”
“I can’t rest until we’re clear of all this,” he said, gesturing to the French ships in pursuit.
“Well then at least take yourself below decks in case they start firing on us again. I don’t want to have gone to all this trouble just to have a French cannonball end your career before you can report back to London.”
“Yes, Captain,” Sinclair said, smiling.
Over the next several hours, Harry changed course a number of times to take advantage of the wind and increase his distance from the pursuing French ships. Even though he was no longer in French waters, the French ships continued their pursuit to keep Harry’s passenger from reaching England.
Shortly after noon, Harry saw two additional French ships approaching from starboard and larboard, trying to cut him off and trap him. He watched their courses carefully, judged the direction of the wind, and decided on a strategy. He ordered the quartermaster to steer toward the starboard ship and make it look like he planned to engage it. He then ordered Hardcastle to load both the larboard and starboard batteries with chain shot, but to run out only the larboard battery.
Harry knew the French ship would see the larboard battery run out and assume Harry planned to attack from that direction. Harry watched as the starboard ship changed course to put it in the best position to fire on Harry’s ship. The ship approaching from larboard adjusted its course slightly to put it in position to attack Harry from the rear.
Just before the larboard battery should have opened fire, Harry ordered the ship to turn hard to larboard and sail directly between the two French ships in front of him. The sailing master had the rigging adjusted to tack the ship to larboard as Harry directed. The gun crews ran out the starboard battery, and when the Winchelsea reached the perfect firing position, Harry ordered both batteries to open fire. Acrid smoke covered the quarterdeck for a moment, but it soon dissipated.
As he sailed past the two French ships, he watched as their foremasts cracked and fell into the water. Harry’s cannons had split the masts just below the lowest yardarm, forcing both ships to break off the pursuit.
As Harry looked behind him, the French ships pursuing him had to change course to keep from running into the two ships he had just damaged, allowing him to increase his distance from them.
The lookout on top of the mainmast shouted that he spotted sails off the larboard bow, and when Harry looked through his telescope, he saw that they bore the pennants of his squadron. The French ships saw the other English ships approaching and broke off the pursuit.
“Mr. Hardcastle, raise the squadron pennant and the colors, if you please,” Harry ordered his second-in-command.
“Yes, Captain!” Hardcastle replied before turning and ordering the English flag raised.
Harry’s squadron escorted the Winchelsea to Portsmouth. When Sinclair disembarked, he shook Harry’s hand. “That was excellent sailing, Captain Hastings. I appreciate all you did for me, and I hope I wasn’t too much of an inconvenience. The information I obtained may well help determine whether William remains as our king, or James returns to the throne.”
“What happens after you deliver your information?” Harry asked.
“I change my appearance and head back to France,” Sinclair replied. “Someone has to keep an eye on Louis and James so our king knows what his enemies are doing.”
As Sinclair left the ship, Harry wondered what it must be like to pretend to be someone else for a mission vital to England’s interests.
Balance Of Power
The noise in the great hall of St. James Palace faded as the crowd moved through the massive oak doors into the corridor that led to the courtyard. The ambassadors who represented the major European powers walked quickly to their coaches, which were waiting to take them to the ships that would return them to their masters. The coaches for the English dignitaries pulled up to the palace entrance once the ambassadors had left.
Stewards and servants quietly entered and left the hall from their hidden posts. The chairs, wine flagons, serving platters, quills and inkwells strewn around the hall were taken away with as little noise as possible. Soon all that remained in the room from the meeting that had just ended was a large round table in the center with a brightly colored map on it. A well-dressed nobleman stood at the window watching the procession of carriages and escort horses leaving the palace. A tall, tired man sat on the great chair on the dais across the room, looking down at the freshly signed papers he held in his hand.
“Have they all left yet?” the man on the dais asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the nobleman at the window replied, turning to face his king.
King William III of England and Ireland held up the papers in his hands. “I didn’t think we’d have to go through this again so soon, Daniel.”
“No one could foresee Duke Joseph of Bavaria dying of smallpox so soon after the last treaty was signed,” Daniel Finch, the Earl of Nottingham and the Secretary of State for England, said as he walked toward the round table in the center of the hall. “The First Partition Treaty should have settled the issue of Spain for at least another generation.”
“And will the Second Partition Treaty help prevent another war?” the king asked as he unclasped and pushed off his crimson robes-of-state, stepped down off the dais, and walked toward the round table. He stopped across the table from his most trusted advisor.
The earl looked at his king thoughtfully for a moment. The king was a tall, handsome man with dark, shoulder-length hair and piercing eyes that could intimidate the strongest man when the king was angry. The earl noted that the king seemed older and more tired than usual, and he was grateful that the new treaty was signed so the king could get some well-deserved rest.
The large banner hanging behind the throne, with the king’s coat of arms embroidered with gold and colored threads, fluttered slightly behind the king. A draft of chilly late-March air blew through the upper vaults of the chamber, causing the candlelight to dance. It was only because of his friendship with the king that he answered plainly.
“No, Sire. You’ve said it yourself a number of times: Louis of France is ambitious, and Charles of Spain wants a different fate for his kingdom than to be split between the Holy Roman Emperor and France. Your father-in-law and brother-in-law live like kings in Louis’ court and plot with the French to reclaim the throne. You have no friends in France to help curb Louis’ desire for more land, more power, and an end to Protestantism once and for all. You read the report from the spy back in October, and so did I. War is inevitable. It’s just a matter of when – and what will trigger it.”
The king nodded. He set down the papers that he had been holding and looked at the map on the table. To the east, there lay Europe and Africa. To the west lay the Americas. The map had the European and colonial holdings of each of the major powers grouped by color, which made the problem all the more evident. A precarious balance of power existed in Europe, and William III was determined that the balance be maintained.
Charles II, the invalid King of Spain, grew weaker by the day. He had no children to inherit his throne when he died, and that worried the other European rulers. His two closest relatives were Louis XIV of France, from the house of Bourbon, and Leopold I, the Holy Roman Emperor. William III and the rest of the Protestant rulers were determined that Spain wouldn’t pass to either of these relatives.
In October 1698, William and Louis had signed the First Treaty of Partition at The Hague to establish a plan for the division of Spain and its territories upon the death of Charles. Duke Joseph of Bavaria would become Charles’ heir and the next King of Spain, but the other Spanish territories would