St. Vincent - 29. Chapter 29

February 13, 1797

Jervis’ fleet was sailing almost into the wind, as if they were trying to claw their way up to the Spaniards. Belvidera flew with the wind toward the English fleet, with the Spaniards coming along at a more leisurely pace behind her. Granger took a few moments to contrast the two fleets. The Spanish fleet, with crucifixes at the mastheads and bunting in the rigging, looked quite splendid, even though there was no bright sunlight to reflect the ornate gold leaf on their hulls. The British fleet, in contrast, looked positively utilitarian, with only their commission pendants (or flag officer’s flags) in the rigging. The Spanish looked as if they were going to a party, while the British ships looked as if they were going to a battle. Nelson was elated. “Jervis is just where he should be, between the Spanish and Cadiz. They have to get through him to reach shelter.”

“So will you transfer to Captain, or stay here and fight with us, sir,” Granger joked. Captain was Nelson’s ship, the ship he’d quitted to come aboard Belvidera. A 74-gun ship of the line, she would fight in this battle; unlike Belvidera, a mere frigate, which would not.

Nelson chuckled. “I’d not put it past you to take a place in the line,” he joked, referring to the line of battle, a place that only ships of the line dared to assume. “Besides, Miller will be missing me.”

Captain Miller, of the Captain, was one of Nelson’s loyal followers, and was rare in the Royal Navy in that he was Canadian. Granger found his more open and gregarious mannerisms to be refreshing, while he suspected that others found them to be a bit uncouth. “I suspect he will, sir, just as we will miss you when you return to Captain,” Granger said sincerely.

“Flag to Belvidera,” Gatling said, interrupting their moment of mutual admiration. “Commodore and Captain to repair on board!”

“It appears that Sir John wants to interview you as well, Granger,” Nelson said with a grin. Normally, a meeting with Jervis was not something to look forward to, but he would be in as good of spirits as Nelson was, or at least Granger hoped he would be. “We’d better take Mr. Roberts along as well.” He turned to address Sir Gilbert Elliot respectfully. “Sir Gilbert, had Sir John known of your presence on board, I am sure he would have signaled a request for you to join us as well. Perhaps you will accompany us?”

“With pleasure,” Sir Gilbert said.

“Mr. Clifton, please have my gig swayed out,” Granger ordered, since Roberts would be leaving the ship with Granger.

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton said, wondering what that meant: whether Roberts was leaving permanently and that would once again leave him in charge, or whether Roberts would return and take over yet again as first lieutenant. Granger dashed below to change into his best uniform, and then came on deck to manage the maneuvers as they re-joined the fleet.

The ships were much closer, and he could see the Culloden in the van quite clearly now. “Hands aloft, Mr. Clifton. Two reefs in the forecourse and the maincourse!”

“Aye aye sir!” he said, and gave the orders that sent the topmen aloft. Granger scrutinized the men, anxious lest there be a flaw in Belvidera’s sail drill in sight of the entire fleet, and Sir John. His worries were misplaced, as the men executed his orders seamlessly. Belvidera’s speed slowed appreciably. Now they were abreast Culloden, and Granger remembered to raise his hat to her captain, and receive a similar salute. They passed the Blenheim and the Prince George, hulking 98-gun three-deckers, the latter of which flew the flag of Rear Admiral Parker. Granger doffed his hat to them as well, even as he watched them wallow along after the Culloden. Those 98-gun ships were notoriously unmaneuverable, and even in the best of conditions, they made prodigious amounts of leeway. Those two behemoths were followed by the Orion and the Colossus, both 74s, which looked positively graceful compared to the three-deckers they were following. There were no cheers, no loud calls, no demonstrative displays from any of the ships, but Granger could see the look of grim determination and resolve which shielded the excitement of the officers on their decks. Major fleet actions were rare. The only action of significance since the war started in 1793 was the Channel fleet’s victory on the Glorious First of June, and that had been in 1794. The Mediterranean fleet, in contrast, had only had Hotham’s inept and inconclusive engagements to point to, and those were largely embarrassing wastes of opportunity. These officers were itching for a battle, desperate to lock horns with the enemy fleet. They were determined that this not be another wasted opportunity.

They were almost to Victory. Granger took a moment to study the old ship, with lines that somehow made even her massive size look elegant. Classed as a 100-gun ship of the line, it would be easy to assume that with a mere two more guns than a 98, she was much the same, but that was not the case. Longer and better balanced all around, the Victory was a much better and faster sailer than the smaller three-deckers. When he’d served on her with Hood, many of the officers said she handled as well as a 74. No one would say that about Blenheim. Granger pulled himself out of his internal analysis of the ships of the van. “Prepare to go about,” he ordered, and gauged his time carefully. Closer and closer they came to the huge ship of the line, until they were almost next to her before Granger gave the order to wear ship. Belvidera came around neatly, going from having the wind on her larboard quarter to her starboard bow in one slick maneuver. As she came around, showing the Victory her stern, her sails flapped powerlessly for only a moment, until Clifton had the yards braced. She seemed to hold in one place, suspended, as her bow pointed toward the Spanish fleet, but then the sails caught the wind again, and she surged forward, taking her place directly alongside the flagship.

“That was as nicely done as I have seen,” Nelson said, flattering Granger. Granger tried not to beam with pride. He knew they’d done well, but Nelson’s praise just made it that much more satisfying.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

“Gig’s alongside, sir,” Clifton prompted. He saw them over the side, Roberts, Granger, and Nelson, in that order, while Sir Gilbert was lowered in a bosun’s chair, the last one to enter the boat. They were lucky that the seas were not too high, making it a comfortable and brief ride to the Victory.

Captain Calder met them personally, and led them up to the quarterdeck. No one wanted to be below and miss anything, not with the entire Spanish fleet closing, so Jervis was receiving them up on deck instead of in his cabin. Victory’s quarterdeck was crowded with all of her officers, as well as the officers on Jervis’ staff. Granger saw Lennox over by the signals and flicked his eyes briefly; the only greeting time would allow them at that point.

“Welcome back!” Jervis said to Nelson with about as much affection as he allowed.

“Thank you, Sir John. We brought the Spanish fleet with us.”

“So I see,” Jervis said, smiling. “Perhaps they’re chasing you, Granger.”

“That’s quite possible, Sir John, in which case I should be in your good graces,” Granger joked.

“We’ll see if that’s enough,” Jervis growled good naturedly, then turned to Nelson. “I read your reports on the action with Sabina. That was good work.”

“Thank you, sir,” Nelson replied for all of them. “This is Lieutenant Roberts. He commanded the Sabina.”

“Excellent work, Mr. Roberts,” Jervis said. That was high praise from their tough commander-in-chief.

“Thank you, Sir John,” Roberts said, with a hint of nervousness.

“The Spaniards have broken into two divisions,” Jervis observed. “Damned convenient. We’ll take Langara’s division, and let the other one drift off to leeward. I expect we’ll have Langara diced up before the other division can turn around and get into the action.”

“You can thank Granger for your two divisions, Sir John,” Nelson said, grinning at Granger. “He sailed through the fleet last night and lobbed a few shells into their ships. Caused at least one collision, I daresay.”

“You wreak havoc wherever you go, eh Granger?” Jervis joked.

“It is my destiny, Sir John,” Granger replied cheekily.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but Admiral Langara isn’t in command anymore. Admiral Cordova is in charge,” Roberts interjected.

“What happened?” Jervis asked him.

“He was promoted, and sent to Madrid, sir,” Roberts said.

“So much the better,” Jervis said. “Langara is an old sage, and he would have known how to make the most of his resources.”

“Yes, sir,” Roberts agreed, his only real option.

“Mr. Roberts spent a considerable amount of time in Cartagena, Sir John,” Granger added. “He is familiar with the Spanish fleet.” Roberts gave Jervis a brief rundown of the Spanish vessels and what, if anything significant, he knew about them. Granger had to fight back his grin as he watched Nelson try to restrain himself and appear calm throughout the discussion, so anxious was he to get back to his ship and get ready for the battle.

“I expect you’ll want to get back to Captain,” Jervis said to Nelson, having finally extracted what he needed from Roberts. “Before you go, let me brief you. This is what I intend.” He led them to the side and gestured ahead at the oncoming Spanish fleet. “As Cordova’s fleet comes down, our ships will sail directly between these two divisions, allowing us to fire at them on both sides, while they can only fire on us from one. The smaller division will drift to leeward, while the wind pushes Cordova’s ships into ours, letting us complete their destruction before the lee division can save them.”

“A brilliant plan, Sir John,” Nelson said with fulsome praise.

“You’ll be at the back of the line, Nelson, but hopefully you’ll end up with a role in this battle.”

“Yes, sir,” Nelson said. “Then if you will permit me to leave, sir, I will have Granger take me to the Captain.”

“I would like to stay here, Sir John,” Sir Gilbert said unexpectedly.

“Sir Gilbert, that is impossible,” Jervis said politely but firmly. If Jervis’ demeanor toward Sir Gilbert was any indication, Sir Gilbert must be quite influential in London. “This ship is sailing into battle. Your life would be at risk. You have spent months in Italy, meeting with crowned heads and ministers, and to lose you would be to lose all of that information, but it would be an even bigger disaster to lose your skill in interpreting it. I fear they would flay me alive if I took you into this battle with me.” Granger paused to admire how tactfully Jervis had phrased his argument.

Sir Gilbert seemed irritated at this, showing himself to be a man of action, whereas Granger had only seen the diplomatic side. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Sir John. I would be willing to even serve a gun, if need be.”

Jervis laughed, a jovial laugh. “That is a most noble and brave offer, but I really must insist that you remain a spectator in this battle.” Jervis eyed Elliot carefully, divining the plan that was hatching in Elliot’s head, a plan that would take him with Nelson to the Captain instead.

“As you wish, Sir John,” Sir Gilbert acceded, and much too easily.

“Sir George,” Jervis said to Granger. “You are to be a spectator today as well. You will remain abreast Captain to relay my signals, and then when this action is over, you will convey Sir Gilbert and his staff, as well as my official messenger and reports, directly to London.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said, using every amount of willpower he could to keep from smiling. He was going to hopefully witness a major naval battle, and then he was going to convey the news home. He’d finally be able to return to England!

“Sir Gilbert, that will necessitate that you remain aboard Belvidera, so you are ready to depart immediately upon the conclusion of this battle,” Jervis said. Granger noted that Nelson had detected what Jervis was doing, but most of the other men hadn’t.

“Very well, Sir John,” Sir Gilbert said, finally yielding to the inevitable.

“We will see you when this is over,” Jervis said. He shook Nelson’s hand, and then turned to Granger. “Remember, you’re an observer. Don’t go locking horns with some Spanish three-decker. I don’t want to have to worry about getting you out of trouble.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said, and shook Jervis’ hand.

“Mr. Roberts, I would like you to accompany the commodore back to Captain,” Jervis said. “He’ll need an extra lieutenant for his prizes.” They laughed at that, at Jervis’ optimism. Roberts was positively ecstatic, not at leaving Belvidera, but at being offered a chance to participate in the actual battle. “That will leave you short a lieutenant, Granger.”

“Yes, sir,” Granger said, hiding his nervousness that Jervis would saddle him with some hideous appointment from the flagship. “We can manage just fine, though. At least until this action is over.”

Jervis nodded. Most lieutenants would jump at the chance to join a frigate, but Belvidera was no ordinary frigate. Granger’s record for action and for prize money made serving on her one of the plum assignments in the fleet. But no lieutenant would relish leaving his station on a ship of the line on the brink of a major battle. “So be it. Rejoin your ships, gentlemen.” They took their leave and headed back to Belvidera. As soon as they were safely aboard, Granger put the ship about and sailed down the line, taking in the sight of England’s steady wooden warriors as they sailed purposely toward the disorganized Spaniards.

Roberts went below to pack up his things, while a very nervous Gatling looked on. “Mr. Gatling, go below and help Mr. Roberts,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” Gatling said stoically, and went below.

“There’s a bit of hero worship there,” Nelson said.

“Aye sir. Mr. Gatling has been in Mr. Roberts’ division, and has become quite a fan of his.”

“Perhaps you can send him along with me, if the boy relishes a fight, that is.”

“I think he might like that, sir.” Granger passed the word for Gatling.

“Sir?” Gatling asked, confused, as he reappeared on the deck.

“The commodore has asked that you be allowed to join him on Captain. It seems your skill with signals has convinced him that you’d be just as good with a sword.”

“Yes, sir,” Gatling said with a grin. “Thank you, sir.”

“Go gather your gear as well,” Granger ordered. He had a feeling that neither one of them, Roberts or Gatling, would be returning to Belvidera. If they survived the battle, they’d be sent to take over a prize, if they were so lucky, or given some other task.

“Aye aye sir,” Gatling said. They both vanished, as did Nelson, leaving Granger largely to himself for a few precious moments. He reminisced about his time with Roberts, and how much the lieutenant had developed. Now he was ready for that next step, for his own command. Granger knew that Nelson would make that happen. It was Roberts’ time, and he deserved it. His mind switched to Gatling. Granger smiled as he thought back to when Gatling had first joined him. Granger had seen him grow from a young boy, into a young man. He was a young man to be proud of.

“Mr. Clifton, hands to the braces,” Granger ordered, as he pulled himself out of his fog. There was a gap in front of the Captain, a gap perfectly designed for Belvidera to slip through. Granger bided his time carefully, and then put the wheel down, shooting Belvidera right between Captain and the ship in front of her. He wondered if Miller was having a small heart attack at this maneuver, but Miller just waved at him from the quarterdeck as they passed. Once through the line and on the leeward side, Belvidera tacked into the wind and took up her position parallel to Captain.

The gig was still alongside, so all that remained was for Nelson, Roberts and Gatling to appear on deck. They did so, in reverse order.

“Thank you, sir, for everything,” Gatling said, trying not to let his eyes get all misty.

“I’m very proud of you,” Granger said. “You will be welcome here if chance brings you back.” Gatling nodded and then descended into the boat.

“I’ll echo that, sir. Thank you for all that you’ve done for me,” Roberts said.

“We have seen much together,” Granger said philosophically. “You’re ready. You’re an excellent officer, and you’ll make an excellent commander.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and then he was gone.

“Sorry to take your lieutenant away from you so soon,” Nelson said.

“I appreciate you giving him the chance for advancement, sir,” Granger said honestly. “And thank you for giving us the honor of flying your flag.”

“I can truly say that it has been my pleasure,” Nelson said. Then he too was gone. Granger watched the gig take him to Captain, and then watched it return with three fewer passengers.

“I would like to ask you a question, Sir George,” Colonel Drinkwater said, interrupting Granger’s melancholy musings.

“Certainly, Colonel.”

“I do not mean to offend you, but would we not be better positioned on one of the larger vessels?” He was referring to the thin sides and scantlings of Belvidera, compared to the much stouter ships of the line.

Granger smiled. “I am not offended at all. You are actually much safer here than on one of those ships.” He gestured at the battleships that thrashed along next to them.

“I don’t understand.” Kerry and Elliot both joined the conversation at that point.

“When the battle joins, it will be between the ships of the line. It is a convention that frigates do not get involved in the battle. While I wouldn’t like to test it this directly, we could presumably sail up next to the Santissima Trinidad herself and be unmolested unless we acted belligerently.”

“Indeed?” Sir Phillip asked.

“Yes. This is the time for the fleets to engage. We are mere spectators. Our role here is to relay signals, aid any ships that are disabled, and help with any prizes, all as directed by the admiral.” Granger thought it was amusing that the two army officers looked disappointed.

“So we are to do nothing but watch the battle?” Drinkwater asked.

“That is correct, Colonel,” Granger said affably. He excused himself and called down to the gun deck. “Mr. Brookstone!”

“Sir?” Brookstone asked as he hurried to answer his captain.

“As we are currently without a signals officer, and as we are not planning to fire our guns, I would be obliged if you would attend to the signals.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Brookstone was good with the signals, and as a relaying ship, getting them right would be important.

“Mr. Llewellyn, you may assist him,” Granger said, giving Llewellyn a lead on the job of being signals midshipman, a position that most midshipmen coveted.

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and set to work with Brookstone, pulling flags out of the lockers in readiness.

“Signal from flag, sir! General signal.” That meant it was for all ships in the fleet. “Form line of battle ahead and astern of Victory as most convenient.”

“Relay the signal,” Granger ordered. So Jervis was planning to fight a set-piece battle. The fleet was already in a line, so Jervis was simply defining that he intended them to fight in that order.

“This is so strange, Sir George,” Elliot said. “These ships seem so agile, yet when they sail toward each other to engage, they appear to be more like corks in the water.”

Granger laughed. “That is certainly truer of some of the ships, Your Excellency. Ships of the line make a lot of leeway. It makes them difficult to sail and maneuver, and it is difficult to close with an enemy that would prefer to avoid you.”

Brookstone’s voice interrupted their conversation. “Signal from flag, sir! General signal. Engage the enemy.” That signal was duly passed on and then it was followed by another one: “The Admiral intends to pass through the enemy lines.” That was dutifully relayed on as well, with Jervis’ strategy now locked in.

“Sir, the Culloden has engaged!” the lookouts called. Granger took his glass and aimed it at the lead ship just in time to see it belching its fire at the Spaniards. He watched as the line crept closer to the Spaniards, but the range was great, much greater than they would desire.

There was something wrong, something different, and it took Meurice to point it out to them. “Sir, the wind has shifted!” he alerted. The wind had veered toward them, and the Spanish responded. They sailed parallel to the British fleet, but on a course to breeze past them, at a distance much further than Jervis intended. Worse yet, they were rapidly passing the British van.

“What is happening now, Sir George?” Elliot asked.

“The wind has veered, and it is allowing the Spanish to speed past us at a distance. If we do not act quickly, it may be possible for them to escape.” Granger said this somberly, with tight lips. There were two moves open to Jervis. One was the conventional way, to tack his line in succession, while the other was completely unconventional, which would be to direct his ships to close and engage the enemy independently. Jervis was not the type of commander to embrace an unorthodox move, so the resulting decision was quite predictable. They all watched through their glasses as the fleet began to tack in succession, moving to chase after the Spanish. One by one, they reversed course. Granger watched the lee division of Spanish ships, which had been uninvolved in the battle up until now, trying to intervene. They attempted to break open the British line while they were tacking and vulnerable.

Culloden, Blenheim, Prince George and Orion had tacked just fine, but when Colossus came up, a lucky shot from the Spaniards took out her fore topmast. A collective sigh, albeit muffled, arose from Belvidera’s quarterdeck as they watched Colossus’ mast fall.

“I think the Don intends to rake her, sir,” Clifton called.

Granger interpreted that for the army officers without taking his eye from the glass. “They will try to take advantage of Colossus’ problem to cross her stern.” Just as such an attack seemed inevitable, Orion’s captain, Saumarez, came to the rescue. Granger watched, impressed, as Orion backed her sails and slowed her pace, falling back to cover Colossus, which was forced to wear rather than tack. Her maneuver thwarted the Spaniard’s attack, and undoubtedly saved the lives of many of Colossus’ men. This was the weapon that Jervis had built, this fine-tuned fleet, where the men and the ships supported each other.

Now it was Victory’s turn to tack, and once again the Spanish lee division tried again to interfere. Everyone on the quarterdeck of Belvidera was chattering in an animated fashion, but Granger didn’t even hear them, so engrossed was he in the battle. “They’re going to rake the Victory, sir!” Clifton pointed out, alarmed. The others shut up and watched the massive ship maneuver. Principe de Asturias had moved into position to rake the Victory, but Victory was too fast for her. Captain Grey had anticipated their move, and countered it.

“I think not, Mr. Clifton,” Granger observed with a smile. Instead of receiving the Principe de Asturias’ broadside directly into her bow, Victory had turned the tables and put the Principe de Asturias into a very tough position. She could either collide with the British flagship, or she could wear ship to avoid a collision. They watched as the Principe de Asturias took the latter course of action, and as she did, she presented her stern to the Victory. The dull rumble of the battle had sounded like a distant thunder up until that point, but as the Victory poured her broadside into the stern of the Principe de Asturias, it seemed to be just that much louder. Granger could almost imagine the Principe de Asturias leaping out of the water as the Victory’s balls slammed home.

“That is what you mean by raking, isn’t it Sir George?” Elliot asked.

“It is, Your Excellency,” Granger said with a grin. “And in this case, it is doubly effective.”

“Why is that?” the Colonel asked.

“That was the first time that Victory fired her larboard guns. Those guns were loaded carefully, probably with double shots and maybe even a dose of grape on top of that for good measure. They are being manned by fresh crews at the beginning of the battle. A more prepared broadside is hard to imagine.”

“I see,” the Colonel said.

“Look, sir!” The topman cried out, gesturing at the Principe de Asturias.

“What is happening, Sir George?” Elliot asked, following the lookout’s gesture.

“The Spanish lee division attempted to engage, but the Victory poured such a fire into the Principe de Asturias that she is leaving the battle, and taking her division with her, Your Excellency!” Granger said with enthusiasm.

“Then things are going quite well?”

“Yes, Your Excellency. It means that Sir John will get his wish, and will get to engage Cordova’s division without immediate interference from the other Spanish ships.”

“If they can engage them, sir,” Clifton said dourly, deflating the mood. All eyes turned back to Cordova’s ships, and Kerry accurately picked up on the change in the mood of all the naval officers.

“Admiral Cordova’s ships are taking advantage of the change in wind to range ahead of our ships. As we are tacking in succession, we will be even with the rear of their line.” Granger gestured to the lead Spanish ship. “As it stands now, those ships may just sail past us, out of range. That will turn this battle into a chase, where we will merely follow behind them, hoping to pick off a straggler.” Granger could not hide the disappointment in his voice.

“Is there nothing that can be done, Sir George?” Colonel Drinkwater asked.

“Sir, signal from the Flag! General Signal,” Brookstone said. “Take suitable stations for mutual support, and engage the enemy as coming up in succession.”

“Relay the signal, Mr. Brookstone,” Granger ordered. He wasn’t sure what good that signal would mean. It would almost appear to suggest that they consolidate their position. The lead British ships had tacked and were gaining on the Spanish rear. Was Jervis to be satisfied with picking off a few stragglers at the end? Is that what he was intending? England would be incensed. The entire Spanish fleet, sailing right into Jervis’ arms, and he let them get past him with the exchange of a few broadsides and maybe, if they were lucky, the capture of a laggard at the end of the line. Jervis would be unlikely to escape from this with his reputation unscathed, and would probably be removed from command. Granger remembered old Admiral Byng, and decided that the penalty might even be worse.

Granger looked across to the Captain, where Nelson was all but fuming on his quarterdeck. This must be maddening for him, to watch the Spaniards sail by, knowing that by the time he followed the other ships and tacked in line, they would be so far beyond him as to make his presence there useless.

“So this is how it ends, Sir George?” Sir Gilbert asked. “It’s over?”

Granger was just pondering his question, trying to decide how to put a more positive spin on things, when a lookout shouted excitedly from the main top. “Sir! Sir! Look at the Captain!”

All eyes turned to Nelson’s ship as she wore out of line, ponderously coming around to the larboard. “What’s happening?” Elliot asked excitedly.

“The commodore is breaking the formation and leaving the line. He has seen that the Spanish may just escape, so he’s going to slow them down a little bit, Your Excellency,” Granger said, grinning. Everyone was excited, the whole ship was buzzing with this news.

“If I am not mistaken, that is very unusual, Sir George,” Drinkwater observed.

“You are correct, Colonel. Naval doctrine, until recently, has decreed that ships will fight in line ahead, or in a line formation, sailing past the enemy and engaging fire. Commodore Nelson is throwing that out the window.”

“Won’t the admiral be a bit angry at that?” Elliot asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“The commodore’s action is in opposition to Admiral Jervis’ explicit orders, Your Excellency,” Granger agreed. “I think that he is interpreting them, rather than blindly obeying them.”

“He had better hope that Sir John is in a mood to be interpreted rather than to be obeyed,” Sir Gilbert observed wryly.

Granger smiled. “I suspect that crossed his mind, Your Excellency. Will you gentlemen excuse me for a moment?”

“Certainly, Sir George,” Elliot said.

Granger turned back to watch the Captain as she continued to make her turn. “Mr. Clifton! Back the main topsail!” Granger ordered. He wanted to give Captain plenty of room to wear ship, and did not want to risk colliding with her. Captain Miller saw his move and sailed across Belvidera’s bows, then wore again to sail down her larboard side.

The men were on deck, watching this ship sail into harm’s way, with normal British stoicism, but Granger decided that a little encouragement was in order. “Lads!” he called, raising his voice. “Let’s give the tars on Captain a cheer!” The men responded enthusiastically, running up the rigging and screaming their lungs out. Granger saw Nelson standing on his quarterdeck with Miller and Roberts and doffed his hat, then waved it, a little extra flair.

Nelson grabbed his speaking trumpet and hailed Belvidera. “If I die, Granger, try to explain this to Sir John. I know you can do it!”

“No explanations are required, sir, when one is victorious!” Granger said back, getting a laugh from Nelson.