by Ted Bell
Nick knew that Churchill’s final words that happy evening beneath the glowing candles of Hawke Castle would remain with them, and sustain them, always. Perhaps one day life on Greybeard Island would again be filled with white sails flying over the blue sea and the sunlit days he had always known. Now, the blackest clouds were gathering around their small island. But they would weather it, they would soldier on, no matter how terrible the storm might be.
Young Nicholas McIver knew all this just as surely as he knew his own name. He could see it all in Winston Churchill’s brightly shining eyes … the promise of victory.
“On this tiny island, and on every English isle,” Churchill said finally, his voice soaring up into the high vaulted corners of the room, “and on every plot of earth called Britain, our enemies will find that England shall never bow down, never, for she beats with one heart. A stout, strong, unstoppable heart that shall never cease, shall always endure, shall never give in!”
EPILOGUE
· 4 October 1805 ·
H. M. S. MERLIN, AT SEA
My Lord Hawke,
Knowing there’d be scarce time to personally bid your lordship decent farewell, amidst the tumult of a twenty-one-gun salute, much less properly thank each of you for your magnificent and heroic efforts, I ducked down here to my cabin to pen this brief message before your departure.
First, let me say that I’ll rest easy tonight, knowing that the infernal machine is now in the proper hands. You have seen how powerful it is, and it is all too easy to imagine the disastrous effect should both of these globes fall into the wrong hands. We thrashed old Bill well and good today, but I’ve no doubt he’ll be back. I urge all of you to maintain a constant vigil against his vile trickery. He may well lay low for a spell, but I can assure you, we’ve not seen the last of him.
My real reason for writing this, however, concerns my dear relative Nicholas. You can well imagine how proud I was of his efforts aboard Merlin, which resulted in the saving of our good ship and crew. Had it not been for him, surely Captain Blood would have sunk us and thus succeeded in his efforts to prevent us from warning Nelson of the Spanish plot to trap his fleet. Had Blood succeeded, England would just as surely have lost this war in which so many of our brave countrymen have perished.
In light of this, it is my very strong opinion that Nicholas McIver’s brave actions should not go officially unnoticed and unrewarded. To that end, I have sent an urgent message ahead to London via a fast packet boat. The message is for Lord Nelson and in it I recommend that young Nicholas be awarded the Silver Cross of St. George, which is our nation’s highest honor for bravery at sea. If he agrees, Lord Nelson himself would personally bestow the medal upon Nicholas.
Therefore, if it is at all possible, I should like to invite you and Gunner and Nicholas to attend my meeting with Nelson two days hence, at ten o’clock in the morning, in Lord Nelson’s offices in the palace of St. James, just across the lane from St. James’s Park, London.
Until then, I remain forever in your debt, sir, and hope that this small tribute will in some way address my boundless appreciation for your every kindness and splendid character. I remain, Your dutiful servant,
Capt. Nicholas McIver
The morning sun dappled the worn hardwood floor beneath Nick’s nervously swinging feet, and through the open window came the buzzing of late summer bees and the sound of larks singing cheerily in the lilac trees across the road in St. James’s Park.
Suddenly, a beautifully carved walnut door opened inward and an elderly naval officer in a white powdered wig, standing ramrod straight and wearing a fine coat ablaze with countless decorations, entered the sunlit space of the palace reception hall. He saw a small boy in a tattered blue midshipman’s coat about two sizes too large, sitting on the small hard bench between two men. All three were oddly dressed, the attaché thought, but he knew Lord Nelson was expecting them, and the appointments secretary had made a special effort to squeeze them into the morning’s hectic schedule. Lord Nelson, after all, was scheduled to sail on the evening tide.
He paused at the door, his hand on the massive bronze knob.
“Master Nicholas McIver?” he said, looking at them.
Nick took a deep breath and looked at Gunner. For some reason, Nick found that he was trembling and that the palms of his hands were sticky with sweat. He rubbed them on his trousers and stood.
“I am Nicholas McIver.”
“Splendid! Another one, only smaller! Admiral Lord Nelson will see you now,” the officer said, bowing, with a kindly smile in Nick’s direction. He stepped aside and waited for the boy to enter.
“That silver cross will look a wonder there on yer poor old blue coat, Nicky,” Gunner said, and Nick saw that Gunner’s beautiful old sea blue eyes were brimming with proud tears.
“Are you quite ready to meet Admiral Lord Nelson, Nicholas?” Lord Hawke said, placing a firm hand on Nick’s shoulder. “This is an event which I quite suspect you shall remember the rest of your life.”
Nick looked down at his own hands and saw that despite his efforts to calm himself, they were still shaking terribly. He clenched both fists and smiled up at Hawke, summoning every ounce of his courage.
“Yes, thank you, I believe that I am quite ready. And, yes, I shall always remember it, sir.”
And so saying, Nick and his two friends strode past the kindly old gentleman with so many, many medals on his chest and into the vast sunlit hall where Nick’s hero waited. The door closed behind them.
Nelson the Strong, Nelson the Brave, Nelson the Lord of the Sea.
As usual, it helped.
The room was a long carpeted gallery, with shafts of golden light from the tall windows alternating with shafts of darkness stretching off into the distance. Nick was unsure how to proceed when Captain McIver rushed forward through the shadows to embrace him.
“Ah, you’ve made it, lad! Good, good! I’ve been fretting all morning! I promised him you were coming, you know. Hawke. Gunner. Your presence gives me joy. Come, let me introduce you to Admiral Lord Nelson.”
His hero was standing by the window. The sunlight fell across his head and shoulders. He was looking down, Nick noticed, studying a small lark perched on a branch of lilac lazily brushed by a summer’s breeze against the lower window. He was not tall, Nick saw, little taller than he himself, and he leaned against the glass with the empty sleeve where his right arm had been. His hair was coarse, and stiff, so white for his young years that there was no need of powder; and only one eye was bright, the other having been dimmed by a flying clod of earth at Cape St. Vincent.
He looked quite peaceful, Nick thought, on this sunny morning in October, with the cheerful larks serenading him at his window. Nick left Gunner and Lord Hawke standing with the captain and walked slowly to the window where Nelson stood. Nick was trying to record the moment, not just with his eyes, but with every atom of his being. And trying, but unable, not to perform a painful mental subtraction.
Nick carried the terrible knowledge that Horatio Nelson, having gained his forty-seventh year, had now only seventeen days to live. Having achieved the greatest naval victory in English history, Nelson would be felled by a French sharpshooter at Trafalgar on board his flagship Victory in exactly seventeen days.
“Sir?” Nick said.
“Yes?” Nelson asked, turning to look.
“I believe, sir, you are expecting me. Nicholas McIver?”
“The young hero of the Merlin, are you not?” Nelson said, turning to fix Nick with his one-eyed stare.
“Yes, I mean, aye, sir.”Seventeen—
“What do you have to say for yourself, Nicholas?”
“Only that I—that I have nothing to say, sir.”… seventeen days.
“Nothing, eh? Good! There is an old saying, ‘Great talkers do the least, we see.’ I too am a quiet man, and glory in being so.” As Nelson took a small blue leather box from his pocket and opened it, Nick thought of Churchill’s after-dinner speech a
t Hawke Castle. Some were men of words and deeds, he thought, his heart tripping as the sun caught the silver cross pinned to the dark blue silk.
“Can you remove it from the silk? I am but a poor left-handed admiral, you see.”
Nick, his fingers trembling, pulled the small cross from its case and handed it to Nelson. “Let me help you with that, sir,” Nick said. It’s going to be Trafalgar, sir, please don’t—
“Thank you, lad. Still you’ve saved the fleet from disaster this day! I should think that’s quite enough help for one morning. This medal is for heroism at sea,” Nelson said, pinning the silver cross on the breast of Nick’s tattered blue jacket. “Are you a hero, Nicholas McIver?”
“Why, why, sir, I have no idea!” Nick said, his heart beating wildly, avoiding Nelson’s eyes and looking down at the sun glinting on the simple cross. A French sharpshooter, sir, he’ll be hanging in the rigging and—
“A hero is merely a man never afraid of being called to heaven because he is certain he has done his duty, Nicholas,” Nelson said and turned back to the window. An awkward silence ensued, and Nick was quite unsure as to what he should now say or do.
He turned to go.
“Well, thank you, s-sir,” Nick stammered. “It’s been, been the greatest honor of my life, your lordship. I wish you every success in battle, sir, and I—I hope—hope—”It’s your jacket with the sun glinting on the four bright medals, sir! That’s how the sharpshooter will know who you—Nick turned to walk away, unable to continue, tears pouring down his cheeks.
“Nicholas?” Nelson said, his face still turned to the lark singing in the lilac bushes.
“Sir?” Nick stopped and turned to look back at the man by the window, the image blurry with hot, stinging tears.
“By my lights,” Nelson said quietly, “you are a hero.”
POSTSCRIPT
Less than two months after Winston Churchill’s after-dinner speech at Hawke Castle, Nazi Panzer divisions rolled into Poland. Three days later, Great Britain declared war on Germany. In May of 1940, Winston Churchill was named Prime Minister.
On June 28 of the following year, German Luftwaffe squadrons attacked the English islands of Jersey and Guernsey. On July 1, 1940, the governor of the Channel Islands surrendered to the Luftwaffe at the JerseyAerodrome. It was the first and only time in history that English soil had been occupied by a conquering German army.
The Channel Islands were to remain under oppressive German occupation and control for almost four years, until shortly after D-Day, June 6, 1944.
On one of the four islands, the one called Greybeard, a small pocket of resistance fighters engaged in constant disruption and daring feats of sabotage against the Nazi invaders for the duration of the war.
But that, of course, is another story.
Go Fish!
1. What genre would you label Nick of lime? Why? Could it belong to more than one genre?
2. Why do you think author Ted Bell uses multiple points-of-view to tell Nick’s story? What storytelling advantages does an author gain by using more than one viewpoint?
3. Why might Nick’s father have decided to disobey government rules and report on German activity? Should he have been punished for his actions? Why, or why not? Under what circumstances might disobeying government rules be acceptable?
4. During difficult times, Nick and Kate often use instinct, rather than academic learning or logic, to survive. How effective is this survival approach? If you were in the same situations, what approaches would you use and why?
5. From your understanding of time, how accurate arc Hobbes and Lord Hawke’s explanations of it? In what ways might their explanations be inaccurate? What aspects of time do you think we now know most about and least about?
6. Lord Hawke tells Nick and Gunner ”We are about to venture into the past, gentlemen. In so doing, we incur an enormous responsibility to history.” (p. 175) What does he mean by this? What might happen if someone traveled through time irresponsibly? What might happen if someone responsible, and with the best intentions, drastically changed history?
7. Are evil people like Nazi U-boat captain Von Kreig and pirate Billy Blood always crazy? Why, or why not? How do you define ”evil”? How does someone become evil?
8. In what ways is spying, like that done by the Nazis and by Angus Mclntire, moral, and how might it be immoral? What distinguishes a moral spy from an immoral one? Under what circumstances is spying the right thing to do?
9. Winston Churchill and Lord Nelson are characters in Nick of Time, but they also are two historically important men. How do people like them become historically important? Have these people truly shaped history more than others, or are they simply more well-known?
10. Considering the book’s descriptions of ship boys’ tasks during Lord Nelson’s time, how have children’s roles during warfare changed since then? In what ways has this change been beneficial to our society, and in what ways has it been detrimental? What do you think children’s proper roles during war should be?
11. Do you think Nick of Time’s sea warfare depictions are realistic or idealized? Why? What do you imagine present-day sea warfare is like? Would you ever choose to become a sailor on a military ship? Why, or why not?
12. What is your definition of a hero? How is your definition similar to and different from Nick’s? Who are your heroes? What traits do they have or what actions have they taken that make them heroic?
GO FISH
* * *
QUESTIONS FOR THE AUTHOR
* * *
TED BELL
What did you want to be when you grew up?
First an architect, then a writer.
When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
When I read Dick and Jane in the first grade.
What’s your first childhood memory?
Falling out of a second-story window after climbing out of my crib and landing in a rosebush.
What’s your most embarrassing childhood memory?
Getting kicked out of the Cub Scouts because I threw my den mother’s kid in the pool. (He was chasing me with a knife.)
What’s your favorite childhood memory?
Dinners at the 21 Club in New York City with my grandfather and my honorary godfather, Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, the World War I ace.
As a young person, who did you look up to most?
My father, who was my first hero, a bomber pilot in World War II who won the distinguished flying cross.
What was your worst subject in school?
Mathematics. Hated it.
What was your best subject in school?
English, loved it.
What was your first job?
Working in a bank. I lasted one year, then I moved to Italy to write a novel. Very F. Scott Fitzgerald.
How did you celebrate publishing your first book?
My wife, Page Lee, and I took the first copy, still wrapped, to lunch at our favorite restaurant and opened it for champagne and dessert.
Where do you write your books?
In my office in Florida, looking at a small cove where fish jump and blue herons fly. In Colorado, looking up Independence Pass in the Rockies.
Where do you find inspiration for your writing?
In a lifetime of reading every kind of literature and in my daily observations of how things work.
Which of your characters is most like you?
The best ones.
When you finish a book, who reads it first?
My wife, who is a great editor. Also a great source of ideas when I’m stuck.
Are you a morning person or a night owl?
Up and writing by the crack of ten.
What’s your idea of the best meal ever?
Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding on Christmas Eve.
Which do you like better: cats or dogs?
The one that barks.
What do you value most in your friends?
A sense of irony and humor.
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Where do you go for peace and quiet?
A swim in the ocean.
What makes you laugh out loud?
Anything written by P. G. Wodehouse.
What’s your favorite song?
“What a Wonderful World” sung by Louis Armstrong.
Who is your favorite fictional character?
Huckleberry Finn.
What are you most afraid of?
Fear itself.
What time of year do you like best?
Springtime.
What’s your favorite TV show?
The Lone Ranger.
If you were stranded on a desert island, who would you want for company?
Groucho Marx, Mark Twain, and Anita Ekberg.
If you could travel in time, where would you go?
An English country house in the 1930s or Paris and the south of France in the 1920s.
What’s the best advice you have ever received about writing?
Robert Downey, Sr. told me, “Put someone in a great big hurry and put a lot of interesting obstacles in their way.”
What do you want readers to remember about your books?
The time spent lost inside the story.
What would you do if you ever stopped writing?
Read more.
What do you like best about yourself?
That I never grew up.
What is your worst habit?
I’m sorry, what was the question again?
What do you consider to be your greatest accomplishment?
Fulfilling my childhood dream.
Where in the world do you feel most at home?
