Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

Then, a dispatch officer ran back and forth on the ship, loudly transmitting the captain’s orders: “British fleet spotted at two o’clock direction, distance 2 nautical miles. There are 5 merchant ships, 2 cruisers, and 2 escort ships!”

Maderno’s heart immediately tightened.

Cruisers were fifth-level warships, usually equipped with 44 cannons.

But on their side, they only had the “Distant View,” the “Seagull Wings,” and the “Big Tidal Wave,” three escort ships. They only carried a mere 21 guns apiece.

If a battle were to occur, there was utterly no chance for their side to win.

Logically, the captain should immediately order to evade at this moment. But the current course of their formation was clearly heading straight toward the British fleet.

He sighed deeply inwardly: Jesus, I just narrowly escaped death at the English Channel, please don’t let me die here in the Mediterranean…

Half a minute later, the sound of urgent drumbeats resounded on the “Distant View.” This was the battle alarm.

Clearly, the enemy ships had also spotted the French warships and began slowly turning westward, presenting their left flank toward the “Distant View.” At this moment, a west wind was blowing across the sea, a textbook maneuver for seizing the advantageous windward position.

Meanwhile, the merchant ships sailed straight south to flee, positioning the British warships between themselves and the French fleet.

“Increase boiler pressure!”

The captain’s voice came from the speaking tube, followed by the same shout from the officer in the engine room: “Increase boiler pressure! More coal!”

Thick black smoke belched from the chimneys of the three French steam frigates in successive order, and their speed suddenly surged as though they were in the mighty Atlantic rather than the calm Mediterranean Sea.

The British warships were visibly astonished and frantically scrambled to accelerate their formation adjustments.

Meanwhile, the two oar-and-sail escort ships moved toward the easternmost side, intending to veil the merchant ships from view.

The “Seagull Wings” raised a series of signal flags—it was the flagship of the formation, responsible for commanding the other two ships in combat.

The three steam battleships immediately began to veer, causing loud “crunching” noises in their boilers, evidently running at full power output.

Their sterns trailed narrow white streaks as they cut across the sea at an incredible speed, circling toward the British fleet’s easternmost side.

The British warships promptly followed suit, moving southeast, maintaining a single-file line, aiming their broadside cannons at the French escort ships.

The British fleet commander, though somewhat surprised at the enemy ships’ speed, remained unshaken internally.

He knew the combat capability of those small escort ships on the opposing side very well. As long as they entered the range of his cannons, the battle would end within ten minutes—typically, one 44-gun cruiser was sufficient to sink two escort ships, even when faced with three it could hold its own.

With two cruisers on his side, plus two escort ships assisting, he felt assured.

What puzzled him, however, was the seemingly insane behavior of the French crew recklessly rushing toward a fight!

He even began to suspect whether a large French fleet was lying in ambush nearby.

But he soon chuckled at himself mockingly.

The main force of the French Mediterranean Fleet had been blockaded by Lord Samuel Hood at the Port of Toulon; how could there possibly be any ambush?

The second officer beside him turned his head and said, “Lieutenant Colonel Hicks, the enemy fleet is now 800 yards away.”

According to British Navy regulations, a distance of 350 yards was considered the optimal range for opening fire.

With the current high speed of the French ships, even if they began turning immediately, they would inevitably plunge into the range of the British battle line’s cannons.

Unhurriedly, he raised his hand: “Prepare to fire.”

“Yes, Commander, sir!”

The cannon hatches on the British ships swung open, revealing rows of black-barreled cannons protruding outward.

Lieutenant Colonel Hicks raised his hand, readying himself to cover his ears—first volleys were usually deafening, though by the subsequent rounds, one’s ears would be numbed.

Suddenly, he looked out the porthole, eyes widening in shock.

He saw the French ships, now less than 600 yards away, suddenly veer sharply to the right, executing an utterly mind-bogglingly efficient turn, leaving his battle line behind on the port side.

The three smoke-billowing ships, due to their abrupt maneuvering, tilted drastically, their hulls forming almost a 60-degree angle with the sea surface!

Now heading southwest, they were even sailing in a semi-upwind direction, yet their speed remarkably remained unyieldingly high.

Relying on his rich sea battle experience, Hicks instantly calculated that at this rate, the French frigates would pass by his battle line’s rear within a few minutes.

And once they circled behind, they’d directly face the merchant ships…

A twitch pulled at the corner of his eye as he urgently commanded, “Turn left, quickly! Left by 1.5 compass points! Forget the formation. Fire! Fire at once!”

At this moment, the two sides were approximately 550 yards apart, technically within the extreme range of the cannons, though accuracy would undoubtedly be poor.

“Yes, Commander, sir!”

Lieutenant Colonel Hicks stared fixedly at the rapidly approaching French ships behind his left flank, silently praying in his mind: “God, let at least a few shots hit them!”

The hulls of the British cruisers groaned as they struggled to make sharp turns, but their speed still lagged far behind that of the French ships.

The two oar-and-sail escort ships managed to turn themselves around, firing volleys from their port-side 18-pound cannons, shrouding the surrounding sea in thick white smoke.

Massive splashes erupted around the French warships, but given the immense distance and high-speed target, delivering a direct hit would practically require divine intervention.

The French ships refrained from counterfire, instead focusing solely on “making their escape,” and as the British cruisers aimed their broadsides toward them, the trailing “Distant View” slipped past the western side of the British formation, presenting only its stern to the enemy.

The British cruisers roared with their 32-pound cannons, but the shells lacked strength, plunging harmlessly into the sea dozens of yards away from the French ships.

Hicks quickly raised his telescope toward the south, seeing his own merchant ships having scarcely made it 1 nautical mile away.

With the exaggerated speed of those French ships, they’d catch up in no more than ten minutes.

Turning to the second officer, he bellowed: “Send the ‘Beacon’ and the ‘Dragonfly’ to chase them! Stall the Frenchmen at all costs!”

The two British oar-and-sail ships promptly turned around, their rowers heaving desperately under the encouragement of overseers wielding whips.

Finally, after several minutes of acceleration, they barely managed to match the speed of the French ships.

Maderno held tightly to the mast, fixing his eyes on the increasingly closer British merchant ships before glancing back at the distant British warships. An inexplicable sense of freedom washed over him, like a seabird soaring unrestrained.

The prey lay ahead, waiting to be captured, while all turbulence and strife had been cast far, far behind.

Freedom, release, savoring the moment.

The British merchant ships soon realized the danger, scattering in different directions to avoid being caught in a single sweep.

Seven or eight minutes later, the “Distant View” caught up to a merchant ship marked “Long-tailed Stingray” on its bow, quickly aligning alongside it.

A grating sound reached Maderno’s ears as the wheels of the ship’s cannon platform rolled into place.

The next moment, fierce flashes of fire erupted sequentially from the bow to the stern’s gun deck.

The merchant ship, just 200 yards away, shuddered violently, its midsection and sterncastle splintering into countless wooden fragments that scattered into the air like dust.

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