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William Pitt arrived in the port of Plymouth on April 8th, a little after eleven in the morning.
His carriage, drawn by two fine horses with bright eyes and shining coats, stopped in front of a magnificent three-masted, three-decked warship, its hull painted red.
A young man hurried out of his seat, wrapped in a thick black coat, drenched as if he had been thrown into the sea. A heavy downpour beat down on the man, as it did on anyone who wasn't sheltered.
The coachman, his face grim, tucked his head into his shoulders like a tortoise, his broad hands still gripping the reins.
The boy circled the carriage, avoided a large puddle, and opened the heavy door on the left side, facing the grand ship. The politician grimaced at the dreadful weather, let out a small sigh, and stepped out. Just then, a violent gust of wind whipped his face, drenching him to the bone.
Despite the pain, which made him want to lie down and not move, he walked quickly toward the long wooden gangway connecting the great ship to the quay, cluttered with ropes, cannons, crates, and barrels.
Though he wasn't heavy, he felt the gangway bend slightly under his weight. The wood was slippery, but thankfully there were thick ridges at regular intervals to keep him from slipping.
When he reached the top, he was greeted by a few officers and soldiers, as somber as the sky.
"Welcome aboard the HMS Royal George, my lord. We were informed of your visit."
William Pitt reached into his coat and pulled out a signed letter.
"Then you know why I'm here," the man replied in a grating voice.
The small piece of paper immediately began to turn to mush the moment it was exposed to the rain, which was pouring down so heavily.
The deck of this immense ship, the pride of the Royal Navy, had been rendered slick by the long downpour and reflected the men and objects on it like a mirror.
The officer, in his forties, with a slightly crooked square jaw and eyes as gray as the sky and sea, nodded.
"Everything seems in order, my lord," he said, extending the letter back to the minister, who quickly tucked it away inside his coat. "I will lead you."
William Pitt said nothing and followed the man, keeping a reasonable distance between them. They were led to the rear of the ship, where more soldiers were positioned, armed to the teeth. Their fixed gaze made them seem less than human.
However, they moved to salute their officer and this guest, whom they only knew by name and reputation.
As William Pitt and the senior officer passed them, the soldiers dared to glance in their direction without turning their heads.
The visitor skirted the massive wheel, enormous like everything else on this monstrous, richly decorated ship, and passed through several doors that could rival the finest castles in Europe. The officer stepped aside in front of one of them and inclined his head slightly.
"Take all the time you need."
The politician, his face very serious, thanked the officer and entered the captain's quarters of the ship.
He found Admiral Edward Hawke seated at his desk, busy scribbling a few words on some paper, which had been brought to him in large quantities. He stopped as soon as he saw his visitor and stood up to greet him properly.
"Mr. Secretary of State, I did not expect this visit."
"Really?" replied William Pitt, pulling out a chair to sit across from the admiral. "You shouldn't be. I see I've interrupted your work. Do you have everything you need? Are you lacking anything?"
"Hmm, thank you, but nothing is denied me, except leaving this ship. I can also go out for some air whenever I want, as long as I request it. Of course, I'm never alone when I leave this room."
"I must tell you, sir, in all honesty, this situation is very painful. I'm doing everything in my power to help you, but my means are limited."
The admiral crossed his hands on his desk and stared at the minister, as if trying to read his thoughts.
"Honestly, sir, what do you think my chances are of surviving this trial? Sir Byng was executed for not doing everything possible to prevent the fall of Minorca. The charges against me are just as serious."
"But the fault does not lie solely with you. I'm certain you can defend yourself effectively. The failure at Ouessant is due to your subordinates disobeying your orders. In fact, I believe they're also on this ship?"
"Yes, my lord. They're on the lower deck. Like me, they're preparing their defense."
William Pitt did not respond immediately and looked away. Although they were aboard a warship, it was a beautiful space. Fine paintings hung on the walls, and even a harpsichord stood there.
"Do you play?" asked the minister, as if to change the subject.
"Of course, but I don't have the talent of our greatest musicians. At best, my level is passable. I've never had the knack, despite my tutors' efforts to instruct me. I suppose I don't have a musical ear."
"May I?" asked Pitt, gesturing humbly toward the large musical instrument.
"Do as you please," replied the naval officer with a certain weariness, aware that within a few months he would likely be shot for his failure to prevent the French squadron from leaving Brest.
Soon, a few light notes floated through the large cabin. The minister played quite skillfully, but there was no emotion in it. It was like reciting a speech without breathing any life into it. In other words, he merely pressed the right keys in the right order at the right time.
"You may not know," the minister Pitt resumed after a while, "but you have many friends in London. Ministers, officers, some of whom will be your judges, and the people."
"The people..." murmured the admiral with a hollow laugh. "Well, then I'm saved."
"You would be wrong to think that he has no power. I am proof of that."
"You, sir?" the admiral replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Do you believe His Majesty is pleased to have me in this position? The answer is no. So, why do you think I am still in this position? It's because I have the support of the people. His Majesty cannot ignore that and had to recall me shortly after dismissing me. Mr. Newcastle, who was also pushed aside, cannot be forgotten either. Why? Because he remains very influential in Parliament. A person's influence, wherever it comes from, is still influence. Gather enough influential people, and nothing is impossible."
"That didn't help Admiral Byng," sighed Hawke, leaning back in his chair. "He too had supporters."
"But not the people, because at that time Mr. Newcastle managed to manipulate public opinion to save his own neck. Remember, his head almost rolled after Minorca. The situation is very different today. Above all, we haven't lost any territory, only ships."
At these words, the admiral's face abruptly tightened.
"Only ships..." he repeated in a whisper before slowly lifting his face, his eyes darker than the abyss.
This surprised the minister, who stopped playing, his hands hovering above the ivory keys.
An oppressive silence fell between the two men. All that could be heard was the sound of rain beating against the large windows behind the officer.
His face suddenly turned red with anger, and he jumped out of his chair, scraping the gleaming floor with a sharp screech.
"Those were not just ships we lost that day! We lost countless men! Brave sailors loyal to the King and the Kingdom!"
It was only then that William Pitt realized his mistake. Slowly, he placed his long hands on his aching knees and, without flinching, faced the officer's fury.
"Very few could be rescued! You weren't there! You have no idea what it's like to watch your ships break on rocks, to see brave sailors fall into the water, crying for help! To you, they're just numbers, but for me, for us sailors, they are lives!"
"You're right," Pitt murmured. "I offer my sincerest apologies. I didn't mean to downplay your losses, to insult you, or insult the memory of those you lost at sea."
The admiral calmed down and sat back in his tall red-and-gold chair.
"Where are you in your work?"
"For now, I'm just noting everything I did that day, hour by hour, so I don't forget anything. I'm also writing down the names of all the people I will call to testify."
"Do you have many witnesses?"
"Oh, yes. All those who saw that I gave the order to avoid those damned rocks and those who saw those men ignore my orders."
William Pitt gently nodded, then asked the question that had been burning on his lips, likely the one he would find hardest to answer when the trial took place in a few weeks.
"Admiral, why didn't you attack the French when they returned to Brest? You could have also blocked them in that harbor, as initially planned."
Edward Hawke showed no emotion on his face. It was like looking at a lake lost in the mountains, isolated from everything, even the wind.
"Sir, what do you think my squadron looked like at that moment? We had just come out of a naval battle. My ship was the only one undamaged, simply because it had been too slow to reach the fight. The others were either in poor condition or sinking. Two of my ships were also overloaded with the survivors from the HMS Culloden, HMS Union, and HMS Resolution. Many of my ships had fallen back, and I needed time to regroup them. When I returned to Brest the next day, around six in the evening, there was no one left to lock in. All our enemies had fled, and I had no way of knowing in which direction. We searched for hours, circling Ouessant, since that's where we had faced them, but tensions were so high on the remaining ships that I had no choice but to return to Plymouth for urgent repairs and to file a report."
"Is that what you're going to tell the Admiralty?"
"It's the truth," the admiral retorted, frowning.
William Pitt closed his eyes as if trying to see the future and what would happen next.
In truth, he was very disappointed. He had hoped for a more significant reason to justify such a failure. These weren't bad reasons, but if he had been the admiral, he would have had no trouble making him the scapegoat.
When John Byng was arrested for cowardice and negligence after the disaster at Minorca, he had publicly spoken in his defense, as at that time, insufficient resources had been deployed to defend the island and its fort.
But this was different. Admiral Hawke had been entrusted with an exceptional ship and a squadron large enough not only to block the ships of that degenerate Louis XV but to destroy them all!
"I see," Pitt finally said. "From my perspective, you made a grave error in judgment, but you definitely don't deserve the death penalty. Like Admiral Byng. Unfortunately, your fate is in the hands of others, not mine. Please, do your best to defend your case. The Kingdom needs good and loyal officers. We cannot afford to shoot all our officers as soon as they fail. I will do my best to ensure the people demand your pardon BEFORE your sentence is pronounced. Be strong."
With that, the politician painfully rose from his seat and headed for the door.
Though he pretended to be fine, his joints, especially in his knees and feet, were hurting him. They were swollen, red, and hot. It was as if someone were pinching his nerves hard and pulling on them like drawing a bowstring.
"Are you finished, my lord?" asked the officer, who had been waiting near the helm. "Do you wish to go below to see Captains Speke, Geary, and Evans?"
William Pitt hesitated, for although he had traveled a long way to get here, he dreaded his reaction when he met the eyes of those miserable wretches who had ruined the entire operation. If it were up to him, he'd have them shot on the spot.
"Yes, this won't take long. I have only one question to ask them."
The officer gave the minister, ten years his senior but appearing much older, a strange look before guiding him to the lower level. The three men were forced to share a space equivalent to the one Hawke occupied alone.
Their prison wasn't bad either, but being three in such a confined space was quite uncomfortable for the officers. Like Hawke, the three captains were busy drafting their defense. They had no intention of being condemned without protest.
Even if they had made a mistake, technically, the blame should fall on their officer. Especially since the admiral's orders had come far too late. Additionally, the fault should also fall on those who had drawn the nautical charts they had used to navigate near Ouessant.
It was clear that mistakes had been made during the depth soundings and the marking of the rocks.
They were surprised to see the Secretary of State for the Southern Department. As soon as they saw him enter, the three men trembled.
It was as if the temperature in the large room had suddenly dropped several degrees. Moreover, there was a kind of pressure they hadn't expected from a mere politician.
All conversation and writing ceased the moment he stepped into the room. Their eyes scrutinized and analyzed every move of the old man who seemed ready to devour them alive.
"Gentlemen, I would like to wish you a good day, but you do not deserve it. In fact, you deserve nothing but to face the wrath of your peers and His Majesty. That said, you have been granted the right to defend yourselves. So, I'm listening: why did you ignore your superior's orders and decide to pursue the enemy among the rocks?"
"My lord, you are mistaken! This is an injustice!" declared Captain Evans passionately.
"Sir, that's not what happened! We would never have dared!"
"Exactly! We would never have done such a thing! We simply made an error in judgment! We thought we could trust our charts!"
"So, all this mess is the fault of the charts? Is it because of the charts that you refused to avoid those rocks as your admiral ordered?"
"I-I… My lord, that's not it! We couldn't obey that order because it came too late!"
"That's true, my lord! We were on the verge of entering this dangerous area when the admiral's orders reached us! If we had obeyed and turned around, we would have collided with the rocks surrounding us!"
"We really had no choice but to continue along the same path as the French ships! You must believe us!"
Pitt didn't flinch and looked at the three terrified men one by one.
"We will see about that when we analyze your movements. But expect terrible consequences if the Admiralty determines that you had time to turn. However, even if it is proven that you indeed couldn't follow Admiral Hawke's orders, there remains one question that may cost you your lives."
"W-what is it?"
"When you evacuated your ships—I'm referring to the HMS Culloden and the HMS Resolution—why didn't you set them on fire before leaving? Why did you leave them intact?"
"I… We… We didn't have time."
"No time… No time…" the minister murmured to himself, a mad glint burning in his eyes. "NO TIME?! YOU FOOLS! Because of you, those two ships fell into enemy hands! Soon we'll have to face them at sea! No time?! You should have blown up the powder reserve, even if it meant losing your lives!"
The politician's voice, thin as a twig, echoed through the entire room, reverberating across a good part of the warship with the power of a cannon shot.
"You are the shame of the Royal Navy," Pitt said with terrifying calm. "For your own sake, I hope all three of you are sentenced to death. If not, I will ensure the rest of your lives are miserable. Goodbye, gentlemen."