Life was easier then. There were not so many inspections and rigorous laws. William had always realized that the important member of the family was his brother George who was destined to be King. Once he had left the nursery it could not be the same again.

They met now and then and George was unfailingly kind to his young brother. If William were in any difficulty he knew he only had to go to George.

When William was in his thirteenth year the King became very concerned. Nothing was going right. The trouble between England and the American colonies was working towards a climax. Burgoyne’s defeat at Saratoga had raised a storm in Parliament. The impossible was happening. The English were being beaten by the American Colonists, and there were rumours that France was sending aid to the rebels. The King conferred with his Prime Minister, Lord North. It was a question of ‘Conciliate or fight on’. Lord North wanted to resign, but the King would not let him; he wanted to show himself a true ruler and he believed that the best way of doing this was to preserve a stubborn resistance. He was anxious and uncertain and determined not to show it; and his mind was torn between events at home and abroad.

The Prince of Wales was sixteen and chafing against his lack of liberty. There were rumours of his sentimental attachments to women. There had actually been a scandal at Kew where he had been meeting a maid of honour in the gardens and had seduced her – aided and abetted by his brother Frederick, and possibly William.

The Prince of Wales was contaminating his brothers.

‘We shall find we have a family of libertines,’ the King declared to the Queen. ‘Something will have to be done. Frederick has a will of his own. It’s William I fear for. Besides, he’s so young, but he’s constantly in their company. Why shouldn’t William go to sea?’

‘In due course,’ said the Queen placidly.

‘Who said anything about due course, eh? I mean now. Let him learn to be a sailor before George makes a knave of him.’

The Queen was horrified. ‘William is thirteen,’ she reminded the King.

‘I am aware of his age, but other boys go to sea at thirteen. It’s the right age. There’s no reason why he should be any different from anyone else.’

‘He… he’s only a child.’

‘Hm,’ replied the King not unkindly. She was a mother and wanted to keep them all children for ever. ‘Just the time. Thirteen. Right age for a midshipman.’

‘Midshipman!’

‘You don’t think he can be an admiral right away, do you? He’s going to start as a midshipman and he’ll work his way up. It’ll be a hard life, but hardship never hurt anyone. That brother of his has had everything too easy.’

‘He has often been somewhat severely caned,’ the Queen reminded him with some resentment.

‘And that has prevented his being worse than he is, you may depend upon it. It will do William a power of good. I shall go down to Portsmouth myself and see the Commissioner there.’

‘I would beg you to consider his age.’

‘Stuff,’ said the King; and added as though he had had a brilliant idea: ‘And nonsense.’

‘Thirteen years old and a Prince…’

‘Old enough, and princes have their duty more than ordinary men.’

The Queen knew that once the King had made up his mind nothing would make him shift it, for one of his most persistent characteristics was his obstinacy. She was alarmed for William who, although disciplined, had enjoyed the luxuries of a royal existence. How would he fare as a sailor – for the King intended him to have no privileges. It was to be part of the rigorous training, the discipline, the hardening process.

My poor William! thought the Queen.

When William heard the news he was horrified.

He wanted to be a sailor, yes – but not yet. And when he had dreamed of going to sea it was as an admiral – at least a captain – not a midshipman.

He went at once to see his brother.

George was writing a letter to one of his sisters’ ladies-in-waiting. He greatly enjoyed writing letters for he had a way with a pen and he wept as he wrote of his emotions and undying affection for the lady.

He laid down his pen in concern at the sight of William’s face.

‘You haven’t heard, then, George, that they’re sending me to sea?’

‘Oh yes, but not for years.’

‘Soon. Our father has gone to Portsmouth to get it all arranged and I’m to go off at once.’

‘It’s madness,’ cried George. William felt better. One could rely on George.

‘But our father is determined.’

‘Our father is an ass, William,’ said George sadly. ‘Here am I a man… and treated like a boy. But no matter. You are in a worse plight. Sent to sea! How can that be? You’re not old enough to command.’

‘I’m to go as a midshipman.’

‘How dare he! My brother… a midshipman.’

‘I’ve been studying geometry for months and I’m to go… so he says. He doesn’t want me here.’

‘He’s afraid I’ll contaminate you. It’s time he saw what a fool he is. Everyone laughs at him. The Royal Button Maker! Farmer George! Are they names for a king? Stab me, William, if I were King you would not be forced to do anything unless you had a mind for it.’

‘I know, George, but you’re not King. He is. And he’s our father and he says I’m to go to sea.’

The brothers regarded each other sadly. They both knew they had to obey their King and father. As yet, thought George rebelliously. But although he might rage about the restrictions which hemmed him in the problem was William’s. Poor William, to be sent to sea like a common sailor.

What could he do to comfort him?

‘You’ll have leaves,’ he said. ‘And you can’t treat a sailor as a child. If he wants you to live like other people he’ll have to give you some freedom, won’t he? I’ll tell you what, William, when you are on leave we’ll meet. We’ll disguise ourselves. We’ll go to Ranelagh… We’ll enjoy life.’

George could always comfort him. Listening, William tried to think ahead to those leaves for only by doing so could he forget temporarily what had to come first.

It was characteristic of the King that he should be much happier arranging the departure of William than he was managing state affairs. In his family he was the complete despot; in the country he was plagued by his ministers. So energetically he personally set about the preparations for William’s departure.

He himself had gone to Portsmouth to see Sir Samuel Hood, the Commissioner of the Dockyard, and had taken the opportunity to meet Rear-Admiral Robert Digby with whom William was to sail.

‘Now,’ said the King, ‘no concessions, eh? He’s to be with the others… treated like the others. Make a man of him.’

Rear-Admiral Digby said that His Majesty’s orders would be carried out.

‘If he does wrong, he’s to be punished. Never believed in sparing the punishment. Bad for them. He’ll be with the others… eat with the others… live with the others. That’s understood?’

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.