Odyssey - 2. Chapter 2

April 7, 1797

For all of his exalted titles, Captain the Honorable Sir George Granger, Knight of the Bath, stood in the bowels of his ship, HMS Bacchante, looking most ungentlemanly. Granger was wearing trousers and a shirt, and if one overlooked the excellent cut of that shirt, and the high quality of the cloth of the trousers, one could almost be persuaded that he was an ordinary seaman. He was standing with his heel on the keel of his ship, looking up through the waist, as the first of Bacchante’s iron water tanks was lowered into her hold.

“I’ve rigged some wooden runners to support the tanks, sir,” Morton said helpfully. Morton was Bacchante’s carpenter, a man who had already impressed Granger with his knowledge of his trade, and with his willingness to be innovative. Like most in his field, he was older, probably in his late 30s, and a bit grizzled, but Granger didn’t care about that, he cared about the man’s abilities, and so far, those had been quite good. “That will give the bilge water some room to flow around the tanks, and it will give us some room to get under them if we need to.”

“That’s excellent,” Granger observed. The first tank came down and was fitted into its place, with its twin soon following, which was fitted onto the other side of the ship. The bottom of each iron tank was curved, custom made to match the shape of Bacchante’s hull, while the top of the tank was flat. Granger worked with Morton, watching their fit, until he was satisfied with the placement of this first pair of tanks. There were several other tanks that would follow, fitting next to these two, and creating a continuous level base on which to place their other stores. Granger worked with Morton until the fourth pair of tanks had been fitted, then, satisfied that Morton had things well in hand, he went up on deck to attend to other matters.

Granger had experimented with iron water tanks on board his prior ship, Belvidera, and had been impressed with the results. He’d written a report to the Admiralty on them, a report which would probably be disregarded, but Granger didn’t really worry about that. As long as their lordships let him continue to use them, and to experiment with them, he’d be content. On board Belvidera, they’d used the tanks much as they’d used barrels, and that had been satisfactory, but Meurice, Belvidera’s master, and Morton, had developed a further modification that could really be considered transformatory. These fitted tanks would allow the stowage of other stores on top of them, and by creating a flat surface, there would be no need to ship iron shingles as ballast. The iron shingles had created a sound bed to stack barrels and stores in a curved hull, but with a flat hull, they weren’t necessary.

Granger expected that they’d notice the lack of those iron shingles when they went to clean out the bilges, because the shingles had become quite vile after only a short period of time. To clean them, parties would have to be sent down to scoop up and wash them out, and anything to do with the bilges, where all of the waste that wasn’t thrown overboard would ultimately congregate, was most unpleasant. Now, the bilge water would flow freely into the well, where it could be pumped out, and they would be able to do a better job of keeping the ship clean. Granger believed, as did his ship’s surgeon, Dr. Jackson, that foul odors could carry the ill humors that caused disease. He tended to use his nose to sniff out potential health hazards. This should eliminate one of them.

Granger moved about the deck, checking on various aspects of his ship. Bacchante was a large frigate, although not as big as some of the monstrously huge frigates Britain, France, and now the Americans were building. France had produced the Pomone, of over 40 guns, armed with 24-pounders on her main deck. Britain had responded with the Endymion, of similar size, while the Americans, with their United States and Constitution, had built ships just as big. Bacchante wasn’t in that class, but she was still large. She was armed with 38 guns, with 18-pounders on her main deck. In that, she was similar to Granger’s prior command, Belvidera. But Belvidera was only rated for 32 guns, and that meant that Bacchante carried six extra 18-pounders on her main deck. She was much bigger than Belvidera. At 150 feet in length, she was 20 feet longer than Belvidera. In addition, Bacchante was five feet wider, with a beam of almost 40 feet.

Granger arrived on Bacchante’s quarterdeck and began to pace, appreciating her longer deck that gave him a longer stretch to walk. This new ship had now firmly wormed her way into his heart. He laughed at himself, but internally, of course, where no one could see, amused at the way he could so rapidly fall in love with a new command. He’d agonized when he’d left his first command, the sloop Intrepid, until he’d taken command of his last ship, the frigate Belvidera. Then he’d agonized just as much over losing Belvidera, only to forget the sadness now that he had command of Bacchante. He wondered briefly if he treated men the same way he treated ships: loving the one that he was currently involved with, and forgetting the rest. Granger was distracted from that thought by a new arrival on board. As Bacchante was tied up to the dock, and as there was a gangway attached to her, comings and goings were relatively common, but this man wore the uniform of a naval lieutenant, and Bacchante didn’t have any of those. Yet.

That had been a source of friction between Granger and the First Lord of the Admiralty, Earl Spencer. They’d sent him three lieutenants, all older and wizened men, and he’d sent them all back to Spencer. The first two had been so boorish Granger had found the thought of travelling to the Indies and back with them to be annoying in the extreme. The third had the feel of a martinet, someone who would relish a flogging, and Granger had little use for that kind of officer either. Spencer had been incensed, but Granger had gotten a pledge from him to allow him to select his officers and crew for just that reason. All three men had come from naval families, and all three men were well connected as a result. But Granger had a reputation for action and for prize money, and that made a post to his ship a coveted assignment. He wasn’t going to waste that on mediocre talent, just to placate an admiral or two. Cavendish had told him four days earlier that he’d be working on guiding his search for officers, so Granger hoped this new man was more consistent with what he was looking for.

He watched as this new officer came on board and spoke to the marine guarding the entry port, and saw the marine gesture in his direction. As rough as Granger looked in his work clothes, the poor man would have difficulty picking Granger out. The lieutenant was very tall, probably one of the tallest officers Granger had encountered in the Navy, at well over six feet. His body was well formed, not too stout and not too lanky, and did not seem to be gangling in the way that some tall people were. The man nodded cheerfully and strode toward Granger confidently. “Good morning, Sir George. I’m Garrett Weston.” He had a round face that was made even rounder when he smiled, but that wasn’t the thing that was most impressive about him. The thing that stood out the most was his voice, which was very deep and melodic. It was very engaging.

“Good morning to you, Mr. Weston,” Granger said cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

“Sir, I am to be posted to Bacchante as one of your lieutenants, assuming that meets with your approval,” Weston said, and seemed slightly confused.

Granger chuckled. “His Lordship is a bit gun shy, having sent three other lieutenants over, only to have me send them back to him.”

“I don’t understand, sir,” Weston said, confused.

“I am ordered to take Bacchante to the Indies. I explained to His Lordship that if I were to travel to the ends of the earth and back, I wanted to be able to choose my own officers. While it is most unusual, His Lordship granted my request, and has been vexed with me ever since.”

Weston chuckled at that. “I suspect he would be, sir.” He cleared his throat. “I hope you’ll give me a chance. I’ve wanted to serve with you since I first made lieutenant, back in 1795. That was before you even had Belvidera, when you’d first travelled to the Indies.”

“I fear you have me at a disadvantage, since I know little about you,” Granger said. “Come join me for a glass and you can tell me more.” He led Weston below to his cabin, and noted how aptly he lowered his head to avoid smashing it against the deck beams overhead. Granger wondered how many times he’d had to hit his head before he learned that lesson. He had to walk slightly stooped over, and Granger wondered that he didn’t maintain that posture when he was topside. Granger had configured his cabin differently this time, with an actual entry area leaving enough room for a small cot to the side for Winkler. Once they passed through those doors, the whole great cabin sprawled before them. On either side of the entry room was a separate room, one for his sleeping quarters, and another that would serve as his office. It was much as Granger’s prior cabins had been, in that it was painted in his family colors, Bridgemont blue and Lammert yellow, with deep Wilton carpets to match. The largest item in the room was the beautiful mahogany dining table, with a matching hutch off to the side to stow Granger’s china, crystal, and silver. Another piece of matching furniture served as his bar, and it was there that he headed, grabbing a decanter of red wine and pouring a glass for himself and for Weston.

Weston’s light green eyes flitted around the cabin, taking it all in without being obtrusive. There were paintings on the bulkhead of his family, as well as some artwork that Granger had purchased in Italy with the help of His Majesty’s ambassador to Naples, Sir William Hamilton. He led Weston to a seating area in one of the quarter galleries, with comfortable leather chairs, and gestured for him to sit down. “I served in the East Indies, sir, aboard the Illustrious with Captain Howard. I was posted lieutenant while I was there, and was on board when you battled Floreal.”

“Captain Howard’s courage saved us that day,” Granger said, remembering how Admiral Wilcox had thrown Belvidera into the battle unsupported, and Howard had defied his orders to come to their rescue. The Wilcoxes were an old naval family, and had developed a particular antipathy to Granger. They’d tried, through their vast network of naval friends, to cause him problems since he was a young midshipman. To date, they had not yet managed to derail Granger’s success.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but he said it was your courage that inspired him.”

Granger nodded, but moved beyond that, since his sense of modesty asserted itself and he dodged Weston’s praise. “And in what ship did you serve after that?”

“I was on board the Electra, and we captured a merchant brig, sir. I brought her home, and then found myself without a ship. I reported to the Admiralty, hoping to find a new posting, and His Lordship sent me here.” Weston was calm, but beneath that smooth surface, there seemed to be an enthusiastic and happy person.

“Tell me about your relationship with the crew,” Granger said.

“Sir?” Weston asked nervously.

“I was wondering if the crew generally listens to you.”

“My size tends to focus their attention, sir,” he said with a grin.

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Granger chuckled, and then got serious. “I ask for this reason. While I’m not opposed to flogging or other punishments if they are necessary, I won’t stomach officers who make a habit of it.”

“Sir, that’s one of the reasons I want to serve with you. Men look to you for leadership, and the lash isn’t really needed.”

“Do you have any friends at court?” Granger asked.

“No sir, and not many in the Navy, not beyond Captain Howard,” Weston said a little morosely.

“That actually serves you in good stead this time, Lieutenant,” Granger said, confusing the young man.

“Sir?”

“Not many influential people want their sons or protégés sent to the Indies, so that makes you lucky.”

“It’s finally served me well, sir,” he said with a grin.

“Do you have any musical talent?” Granger asked.

“I can sing rather well, sir,” he said, and blushed slightly.

“If I am to be sent around the world, I want to minimize my boredom,” Granger said in his most charming mode.

“I promise to be as entertaining as I possibly can, sir,” Weston said. Granger eyed this lieutenant with a new eye, wondering if there was some sort of subliminal message buried in that statement.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Weston,” Granger said.

“Thank you, sir,” Weston said, his huge grin making his round face almost oblong.

Granger sent Weston below to work with Morton on the tanks, so he’d know how they operated, and resumed his own position on deck. Weston seemed like a nice enough chap. Granger had just acquired his first of three lieutenants. He wondered what the other two would be like. Weston was a relatively new lieutenant, so it was unlikely he’d end up as first lieutenant. Still, he’d be a welcome addition to Bacchante’s wardroom.

April 9, 1797

“Sir George, there is a royal messenger to see you,” Cheevers said, interrupting Granger’s breakfast. Cheevers was Granger’s butler at his London townhome in Portland Place. He was younger than most butlers, and quite handsome.

“Indeed? Send him in,” Granger instructed. A royal messenger was certainly a rare visitor; an Admiralty messenger would have been much less surprising. Granger wondered if this would be a summons from the King, the Prince of Wales, or the Duke of Clarence. He fancied that it could even be from Gloucester, but decided it probably wasn’t.

The man who entered was no mere messenger; he wore the garb of a herald. “Sir George Granger,” the man said, more than asked.

Granger stood up and bowed slightly, an acknowledgement of the man’s office, not the man. “I am at your service.”

He handed Granger a rolled up piece of parchment, then explained what it was. “Sir George, you are commanded to appear before His Majesty and His Majesty’s Privy Council on Thursday, April 13, 1797, at eleven o’clock in the morning.”

Granger took the parchment and hid his puzzlement. “Thank you. I will attend His Majesty as he has commanded me.” The herald bowed, and left, while Granger opened the document and eyed it carefully. It said no more than the herald had outlined. “Cheevers, please have the carriage brought around.”

“Yes, Sir George,” the butler acknowledged. Granger looked at his uniform, his second-best one with its double-breasted jacket, and decided it was adequate for his first call of the morning.

He finished his breakfast, then strode to the front hall, and so organized was his household that the carriage arrived just as the footman opened his front door for him. “If you need me, I will be first at Bridgemont House, then on the ship,” Granger told Cheevers.

“Yes, Sir George,” Cheevers acknowledged. Granger descended his front steps and ascended into the carriage, pausing only to tell his coachman his destination. It was a short ride to Grosvenor Square, where Granger alit and entered the home in which he’d spent much of his life.

“Welcome home, Sir George,” Franklin said. Franklin was his parents’ butler, and Granger had known him since he was a child.

“It is good to see you, Franklin. Is my father at home?”

“He is taking breakfast with the Countess,” Franklin said, and led him into the dining room.

His mother saw him first. “George! How marvelous to see you!” The Countess of Bridgemont gave her son a formal but warm greeting.

“It is good to see you as well, Mother,” Granger said. “You appear to be in good health.”

“Some time taking the waters at Bath has helped my joints, which ache prodigiously at times.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” he said politely. Granger greeted his father a little more affectionately. “And you have been well?”

“I have, George,” the Earl of Bridgemont said. “Please join us.”

Granger sat at the table with him and handed his father the notice he’d just received. “This was delivered to me by a herald.”

The Earl read it and smiled, then handed it to his wife, who smiled as well. “This is good news,” the Countess said.

“What does it mean?” Granger asked his parents.

“I would suspect that you are going to be advanced to the peerage,” the Earl said to his son, the pride in his voice and expression obvious. Granger just stared at him, stunned.

“Surely not,” Granger said. Officers in the navy were rarely honored with a peerage before they made flag rank.

“It could perhaps be an admonishment, but that is most unlikely. His Majesty seems to be genuinely fond of you,” the Earl said. “He told me that he enjoyed having you at Windsor.” Granger opted not to share with his father that he found his time at Windsor to be so tedious as to be torturous.

“It is unheard of for men to be made peers before they reach flag rank,” Granger objected. The jealousy this would arouse in the service could create real problems for him. There were admirals who would fancy they were deserving of honors like this, given to a mere captain. He may find himself consigned to the absolute worst fleet assignments. Then again, Granger rationalized, he wouldn’t be with the fleet for quite some time, if ever.

“George, most officers do not have your lineage,” the Countess said gently but firmly. Granger’s parents looked at him sternly, reminding him that they considered such marks of favor as theirs by right, due to their position in society. Granger pondered that, and could see their point. Most officers in the navy came from the gentry class, or were the sons of naval families. A peerage for people of that social order would be a spectacular achievement, one very few actually attained. For Granger, a true aristocrat, such an honor after a solid history of service to the Crown was more of a probability than a possibility.

Another thought crossed Granger’s mind. “Or perhaps it is a way of compensating me for overlooking Caroline’s affair with Prince William.” He’d said that in a grumpy way, and if it were true, that would erase any pleasure he got from such a reward.

“Now George, if we were to disregard the role of indiscretions in creating peerages, the House of Lords would most likely be empty,” the Earl said cheerfully. He was truly elated at this honor for his son, if that was indeed at the core of the message, and found his son’s lack of enthusiasm to be a bit of a wet blanket on an otherwise happy event. “That alone would not have done it, but it would have been a help.”

“That detracts from the honor, nonetheless,” Granger persisted.

His father eyed him with irritation, his patience with his seemingly ungrateful son nearing an end. “It is not that your wife let Gloucester seduce her that may have gotten you a peerage. Rather, it is the way you handled it, like the perfect gentleman, which may have been a factor. That is what I was saying.”

“Oh,” Granger said lamely.

“I have seen the process, and how it works. There are multiple factors. Some will be political. Some will be personal, as we have just discussed. Much will be based on your connections, and ours. But the last part of the equation, your own service to the Crown, must be there. It is that which you must focus on,” the Earl said.

“I’m sorry, Father. I should be excited, but instead I see the uncharted rocks and reefs lurking beneath the surface. Perhaps I have been too long at sea,” Granger opined.

“That sounds much like politics,” the Earl said cheerfully. “Perhaps joining His Majesty’s navy is a good training ground for Parliament.”

“I suspect that is true if one is attached to a fleet,” Granger agreed.

“I will make some discreet inquiries,” the Earl said. “If I learn anything, I will contact you. Where will you be?”

“I am planning to be aboard my ship today, and then I had planned to go visit my crew at the Abbey.”

“The Abbey?” the Earl asked.

“The land you deeded me near Norwood included an old Abbey. We are refurbishing it so my men have a place to stay when they are ashore. It was a wonderful gift, Father. I must thank you again for your generosity. It will make finding a crew much easier.”

“Well now that is capital,” the Earl said, pleased that his gift was of more value than just generating rents.

“I should visit Caroline at Brentwood and tell her of this message,” Granger said, thinking out loud.

“You must not bring her to the meeting,” the Earl admonished.

“Of course not, Father,” Granger agreed. The King was still most angry with Caroline. He took his leave of his parents, and then went to his ship.

After greeting Weston and touring the ship to check on their progress, Granger went up to the quarterdeck and began to pace, pondering this latest development. A peer of the realm? That had always been a possibility for him, but he hadn’t anticipated that he’d actually earn a title; he assumed that if he got one, it would be inherited. For that to have happened, his father, and both of his brothers would have to die childless. He was more than happy to avoid losing them, and not have an extra appendage attached to his name. But to earn one in his own right was really remarkable. Caroline would be pleased.

His thoughts turned to her, and he realized that this would probably be more important to her than to Granger himself. This may be a way for her to repair her damaged reputation, and to rededicate herself to managing their affairs. She’d been banished to Brentwood by the King while she was pregnant, so she would lose much of her standing in London as a result of her absence. When she returned this fall, she’d return as the wife of a peer in his own right. It would be a marked increase in status. Of course, that led to the reason for her pregnancy in the first place, and the possible connection of the award of his peerage to his wife’s infidelity. Granger began to get petulant again, and pondered refusing such a reward that came from his wife’s vagina as surely as his three children had. He forced such thoughts from his mind, knowing that he’d never do such a thing.

He allowed his mind to wander, to explore the possibilities positively and negatively. It was possible that this was much ado about nothing, and that his meeting with the Privy Council was for some other purpose. Perhaps they wanted more clarification on the Battle of St. Vincent. Perhaps they wanted to talk to him about some other issue. What if they wanted information on The Brotherhood? That thought chilled him to the bone, because if they asked him, he would have to lie, and that would mean surrendering his honor. He may as well be dead. Here he had been, glowing over the possibility that they may give him a title, when in fact it may be that he was going to find himself completely disgraced instead. He let that sink in for a bit, and then discounted it. The Duke of Clarence was on the Privy Council, and he would have said something if his summons revolved around the Brotherhood.

Granger wondered if they would make him merely a baronet. That was pretty unlikely, especially since it would have no real impact on him. He was already Sir George Granger, due to his knighthood. Then he’d be Sir George Granger, because he was a baronet. They’d probably make him a baron, but a baron of what? Brentwood was too big to be a barony, so it would have to be something smaller. He remembered the land his father had given him on the Isle of Wight, and that included the barony of Ryde. Maybe that was the plan. He wasn’t sure he fancied being called Lord Ryde.

And that was the other issue. If he were to be given a peerage, how would he want to be addressed? His father used the title name of his estate, Bridgemont, as did most peers. Some, though, used their names. Spencer did that, or his ancestors had. Granger liked his name. He decided he’d rather be Lord Granger than Lord Ryde, or Lord Somethingelse.

“Begging you pardon, sir,” Weston was saying, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes?” Granger asked, coming out of his daze.

“There’s a man here to see you. He’s trying to join the crew, but he’s missing his left hand.” They’d put up recruiting posters yesterday, and had begun to get volunteers. Most captains got ulcers trying to man their ships, but Bacchante had already gotten 20 volunteers, all prime seamen. The signing bonus was undoubtedly a lure, but Granger’s reputation for running a fair ship, and even more importantly, his history of prize money earnings, had made serving on Bacchante one of the most attractive gigs a sailor could get.

“Send him aft,” Granger ordered.

An older seaman approached him respectfully, while Weston stood off to the side, watching. “I’m Fletcher, sir,” he said humbly. “I’ve come to ask to join your crew.” The man was probably in his thirties, and had all the markings of a sailor. From his pigtails to his bulging muscles, to his tattoos and the way he walked, he had the look of a man of the sea.

“Well, Fletcher,” Granger said gently, “it’s quite the compliment you do me by volunteering. I can see from your tattoos, and your walk, that you’re a sailor.”

“That I am, sir,” he said, grinning.

“You know of the rigors of shipboard life, then,” Granger said. “You’re missing your hand.” He saw the man’s expression sink. “That’s a handicap. Tell me how you can overcome that.”

“Sir, I know that I don’t have my hand, but when I affix my hook to it, it’s better for splicing and reefing than me hand ever was.” He pulled his hook out and screwed it in, and demonstrated to Granger how he used it. “I’ve been on tropical service, sir, and I was in a whaler for a time in the South Seas. If that’s where you’re headed, I may be of some help there.”

Granger smiled. A man like this, skilled and determined, but missing an appendage, would be worth two landsmen. “I’m not sure if that’s where we’ll end up, Fletcher, but wherever it is, I’m sure you’ll do more than pull your weight. Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, sir,” he beamed. Weston had been standing there, witnessing the whole exchange. He gave Granger an appraising look, impressed that his captain would take a chance on a man like this, and led the man off.

The day wore on, as Granger continued to prepare Bacchante to leave the dock. They’d be warping her away from her berth and out into the Thames next week. He was about to leave the ship and head back to Portland Place when a familiar looking figure boarded the ship. Granger grinned, even as James Robey saluted the quarterdeck, and greeted him warmly.

“Mr. Robey. What a pleasure to see you again. You appear to have recovered from your illness.”

“It is good to see you again as well, Sir George,” Robey said respectfully, even as he shook Granger’s hand. “I’m fit and well.”

“And what brings you out here to visit me today?” Granger asked, being quite charming.

“I’ve been ordered to join your ship, sir, if that meets with your approval.” Granger eyed this man with whom he had not always had the best relationship. They had been rivals, both of them vying for the love of John Travers. Robey had been his first lieutenant on Aurore, and then had transferred to Belvidera at Granger’s insistence when Robey’s relationship with Travers had become strained. He was an excellent officer, though not the best navigator, and had proven himself to Granger during his time aboard Belvidera.

“You are aware that we are to be sent to the Indies,” Granger cautioned.

“I’m quite willing to join you wherever you go, sir,” Robey said with a smile. He was a handsome man, with basic characteristics quite similar to Granger’s. He was of above average height, with blond hair and blue eyes, and a very engaging smile.

“You will be most welcome, Mr. Robey. We only have one other lieutenant aboard, but I fancy you are senior to him.” Granger looked to one of the men on watch. “Pass the word for Mr. Weston.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. It took little time for Weston to arrive.

“Mr. Weston, this is Mr. Robey. He served with me aboard Belvidera, and has been posted to Bacchante. I believe he is your senior.”

“Welcome aboard, sir,” Weston said to Robey cheerfully. They compared the dates of their commissions, and indeed, Robey was the senior. This could be an awkward moment, when lieutenants vied for their spot in the pecking order, which was based solely on seniority, but in this case, Weston seemed to be unaffected.

“Gentlemen, I will leave you to sort things out. I am heading home for the day, and will be engaged ashore tomorrow and possibly the next day. Send a messenger to me at Portland Place if I am needed.”

“Aye aye sir,” they chimed, almost in unison.

Granger left Bacchante behind and headed home, where the first thing he did was sink into the sumptuous baths, washing off the grime of the day and relaxing his muscles. What had started out as an ordinary day had ended up with him finding another lieutenant for his ship, and being slated to appear before the Privy Council in short order. Granger stretched out, letting the water seep into every crevice of his body, and decided that it had been a good day.