This further news was kept from the Queen altogether, and that evening a sad party sat down in the Palace of St. James’s to pretend to play cards, while every ear was strained to catch the least sound which might be the precursor of the news of the King’s death. In basset and cribbage was that Christmas night passed by the Queen, while Sir Robert Walpole, the Dukes of Grafton, Newcastle, Montagu, Devonshire and Richmond, with Lord Hervey, talked of everything they could think of, but the King’s danger, or walked moodily up and down in the shadows.
But the next morning, the 26th, Sir Robert Walpole came to the Queen at nine o’clock and told her all. Then her fortitude gave way and she wept, but not for long. She dried her tears and expressed her intention of going to church—it was a Sunday. This resolve Sir Robert considered most injudicious as it would make the Queen an object of curiosity in public, which in her disturbed state was not desirable. It did not seem to strike this old heathen that she went there to pray, and even if it had, he would have been quite wrong, as the Queen’s own expressed reason was that she would not give up hope, and believe her husband drowned until it became a certainty. That her stopping away from Church would have been construed into an admission of the King’s death. However, all her doubts were ended during the service, as once more an express arrived from the King to tell her he was safe and sound, but had been terribly sea-sick. That after setting sail from Helvetsluis on the previous Monday morning at eight o’clock, he had with difficulty regained that port at three on the following afternoon.
The King blamed Sir Charles Wager for the whole business, and said the Admiral had hurried him on board against his will, whereas, in truth it was the King who was impatient, and who had said that unless the Admiral would sail, he would go over in a packet boat rather than endure Helvetsluis any longer.
“Be the weather what it may,” concluded the irascible little King, “I am not afraid.”
“I am,” laconically responded the Admiral.
George persisted.
“I want to see a storm,” continued the King, “and would rather be twelve hours in one than shut up twenty-four in Helvetsluis.”
“Twelve hours in a storm,” replied the rough and ready Admiral, “four hours would do your business for you.”
The Admiral refused to sail until the wind was fair, clinching the argument by remarking that though the King might make him go, “I,” concluded Sir Charles with satisfaction, “can make you come back again.”
And he did bring him back again, for which the King ought to have been eternally grateful to him, for it was only the splendid seamanship of the Admiral which saved him.