Odyssey - 10. Chapter 10

May 15, 1797

The past few days had been maddening, to say the least. Granger had been anxious to return to London, but instead, he’d ended up stuck here in Portsmouth, serving as something of an aide to Lord Howe. Granger liked and respected the old admiral, so working with him wasn’t a chore, but he was anxious to attend to his own responsibilities, especially to getting Bacchante ready for sea. Those concerns didn’t seem to weigh heavily on the minds of the Prime Minister, or of Lord Spencer, so it was with some internal resignation that Granger did his best to ease the workload placed on Howe.

Lord Howe

It seemed as if every time this whole crisis, this mutiny, was about to be resolved some new issue would come to the forefront to threaten to botch the resolution. There had been some anguish about the fate of the officers sent ashore. Some of the ships were adamant that the worst of them not be returned, while Spencer, as well as Howe, Bridport, Gardner, and the other admirals and captains, had been just as adamant that they be restored to their ships. The men were using this as their opportunity to get rid of some of the worst officers, as they saw it, while the Admiralty viewed it as a clear challenge to their prerogative to assign officers to ships as they saw fit. Once again, Spencer raised the dire specter of setting a precedent, and stuck to his guns, but only briefly. In the end, those officers who weren’t wanted by their men were assigned to different ships instead.

Granger was glad to have that issue settled, but was simultaneously filled with dread about what this would mean to him personally. Spencer had told him that he would select Granger’s remaining lieutenant, and promised that Granger would be pleased, but with this recent lot of discarded officers on the dock, would Spencer merely pick one of them to foist off on Granger? He’d labored with that until he could see no point in worrying about it, and returned to his original plan, that of hoping for the best while preparing to whine profusely if Spencer assigned him an idiot.

Granger and Howe had been in almost constant meetings with the Prime Minister or the delegates, and once again, just as the whole matter appeared about to slip into the annals of history, a new glitch was found. Evidently, the delegates felt that a new pardon from His Majesty was vital to end this whole matter, despite the fact that the King had already issued one. Their fear, evidently, was that the original pardon would not cover events subsequent to it being issued. Once again, the Culloden matter was raising its ugly head to bite the Admiralty. Granger had personally been incensed that the delegates would not accept his word of honor, or Howe’s, that no recriminations were planned. Pitt had taken it all in stride, much to Granger’s surprise. Granger decided that being surrounded by politicians and lawyers would make one more understanding when it came to demanding assurances against duplicity.

But the end result of this latest dilemma was that it had required another trip by Spencer to the Palace to get a new pardon signed, another document hastily churned out by the printers, and another hurried shipment of documents to Portsmouth. Now, finally, the thing was done, and over. All that remained was for the Royal Pardon to be presented to the men, so they could return to duty, and to fighting the French and Spanish instead of their own government.

Granger pulled himself out of his internal reverie as he walked down the stairs of this pleasant home that Howe had commandeered as his headquarters. There were enough rooms on the ground floor for meetings and work, while there were bedrooms upstairs for Granger, Howe, and Pitt. “Good morning, Granger,” Howe said in his friendly but formal way.

“Good morning, sir,” Granger said. It dawned on him that he had adopted the same tone and demeanor that he had with Hood when he was his flag lieutenant at Toulon. “What is on our agenda for the day?”

“We are to go from ship to ship and read the Royal Pardon to the men,” Howe observed.

“Every ship?” Granger asked.

“The ships of the line, and as many of the others as is practicable,” Howe noted. Granger nodded and gave Howe a sympathetic look. This would be a hard day for the old admiral. Climbing up the side of ships of the line was not an easy thing for a man of his age, and doing it fifteen or more times in one day would certainly tax his stamina. “They’ve got barges prepared to row us around, and Bridport has set up a band to play as we go as well. Should be quite the gala.”

“A festive time, sir,” Granger observed dourly, since neither of them was happy about this mutiny.

“So you say. Best grab your breakfast. The Prime Minister will be down shortly, and then we’ll be off.”

“Yes, sir,” Granger said. He focused on devouring a large breakfast, since he was unsure as to what kind of fare would be served for dinner, or if there would be any food at all.

After Pitt joined them, they took a carriage to the dock and boarded barges. Granger went with Howe, who was positioned in the back in a reclining position. “I look like a dowager,” Howe grumbled.

“Actually, sir, begging your pardon, but you remind me of how my wife was positioned, after she’d just given birth and was receiving visitors,” Granger teased.

“I’ve given birth to the end of a mutiny.”

Granger laughed. “It was a most arduous labor, sir.”

“If you made comments like that to Jervis, he’d probably shoot you,” Howe joked. They both laughed at that, then got more serious as they approached the flagship, the Royal George. Howe mounted the side and read the pardon aloud, and received in response the enthusiastic cheers of her crew.

And so it went, with Howe boarding every ship and reading the pardon, while he and Pitt were cheered as their barges made the procession through the fleet. By the end of the day, Granger was exhausted, but he was young and spry, whereas Howe was old and frail. The admiral had put his all into the gesture, and it showed. By the time they got his barge to the quay, he was too tired to even walk. Then, in an especially touching gesture, the delegates actually banded together and carried him back to the house where they were headquartered. Granger directed the staff to take him straight up to his bed for a good and well-deserved rest.

With Howe in bed, that left Granger and Pitt to dine alone. They were both charming men, used to the London social circle, so conversation flowed easily. It was pleasant, but Granger longed to retire to his room, if only to enjoy some precious moments of solitude.

“The men seemed happy today,” Pitt said, referring to the fleet.

“Indeed, Prime Minister,” Granger agreed. “I think that Lord Bridport should have no problems getting them to sea.”

“I am returning to London in the morning. I would like it if you would join me.”

“Certainly, sir,” Granger said. “I am most anxious to get back and to prepare my ship. We are to sail as soon as possible.”

“Ah yes, off to the Indies to drag your brother back. We still have to find a replacement for him.”

“I was under the impression that Sir Arthur Teasdale was to serve in that role, sir?” Granger asked.

“I understand you are one of Teasdale’s friends?” Pitt asked.

“I have that honor,” Granger said cautiously. Arthur tended to be a lightning rod for controversy, not the least because he was a known sodomite.

“Then you are probably aware of his erratic behavior of late?”

“He has not been himself,” Granger agreed.

Pitt raised an eyebrow, as if to note that was an understatement at best. “He seems to have recovered. I met with him a few days back and he was quite his old self. I am not sure what happened, or why he has recovered, but I am glad for it.” Granger wanted to tell Pitt that having a huge Swedish dick up his ass was what did it, but opted not to disclose that bit of information.

“I am glad as well, although I have not yet witnessed that personally,” Granger said, even though he had seen Arthur with his strength returned, albeit briefly, when he was with Cavendish.

“With Arthur restored to his normal self, it is imprudent to ship him halfway around the world,” Pitt said. He was alluding to Arthur’s political power, and to the fact that when he was in his right mind, it would be virtually impossible to force him to leave England.

“I don’t suppose that it would be possible to let Arthur remain in England, let Bertie remain in the Indies, and let me return to the Mediterranean?” Granger asked in a joking way which hid his sincerity.

Pitt smiled at him. “That would seem to be the best answer for the three of you, but it is not the preferred answer for everyone. You are aware that your brother does not always operate on the most ethical of scales.” They both paused to chuckle at that. “There has been some concern about his dealings in the former Dutch East Indies. The plan is to remove him so things can be set to rights, with more checks and balances in place, and then if he desires it, and it is consistent with the goals of His Majesty’s government and the Honorable East India Company, he can return.”

“My brother’s strengths and weaknesses are well-known to me personally, courtesy of my status as his younger brother,” Granger said, pouring on his charm, and making Pitt chuckle. “Do you know who his successor is to be?”

“I do not, but we will have someone ready for you by the time you sail.” Granger wondered how they would do that, since he hoped to be ready for sea within the next week or so, but he held his tongue. “In the meantime, we have bigger problems.”

“Sir?” Granger asked, confused.

“The mutiny,” Pitt told him.

“But we have just resolved that,” Granger insisted.

“You have not heard?” Pitt asked, his look of surprise causing Granger no small bit of discomfort.

“Heard what, sir?”

“The mutiny has spread to the Nore. The sailors seized control of the flagship, the Sandwich, three days ago.” Granger almost groaned. It had taken a month to resolve the Spithead affair. He wondered if he’d be delayed while the government resolved the issues at the Nore.

May 21, 1797

“Will you be going to the ship today, my lord?” Cheevers asked Granger as he handed him the morning papers.

“Yes,” Granger said, even as took the papers and began to read them. “Please alert the coachman that I’ll be leaving as soon as I’ve finished eating.”

“Yes, my lord,” Cheevers said dutifully.

Granger didn’t even hear him, for he’d already engrossed himself in the news of this latest mutiny, of the mutiny at the Nore. This mutiny had a much different flavor to it than the one at Spithead. For one thing, the ships were older at the Nore, and there wasn’t a unified base like there was at Spithead. The ships tended to be more scattered about. The main force for the North Sea, Admiral Duncan’s ships, was based out of Great Yarmouth. It was their job to watch the Dutch, and to keep them bottled up. The fleet at the Nore was largely there to control the environs of London, and to back up Duncan’s ships.

Because of its proximity to London, the mutiny at the Nore seemed to more vividly capture the imagination of the citizens of the capital. It wasn’t some disturbance in a southern port like Portsmouth or Plymouth; it was a mutiny at the mouth of the Thames. It was possible to ride out for the day and view the rebellious vessels, as if those ships would look different now that they were in the hands of the mutineers. The only real outward sign would be the red flag that they’d hoisted in lieu of the Union Jack.

But perhaps the biggest difference was the leadership of the mutiny. The delegates at Spithead were senior seamen or junior petty officers, men who knew what they were talking about when they objected to conditions aboard their ships. At the Nore, the mutineers were led by delegates who were little more than sea lawyers. There was no real, singular leader of the Spithead mutiny, but at the Nore, the delegates had appointed a president: Richard Parker. Parker was a disgruntled rogue. He’d served as a master’s mate, and even as an acting-lieutenant, until insubordination had resulted in him being reduced in rank and then discharged from the service in 1793. To escape from a debtors’ prison, he’d re-joined the fleet this year, and was now the leader of the mutiny. He gave the mutineers a public face.

Granger was inclined to write the whole mutiny off as a complete waste of time and resources. Had not the sailors at Spithead asked and received remedies to their most pressing issues? Weren’t the key issues resolved? What more could these men want? He was surprised to find the answer to his questions in the article in front of him. Yesterday, Parker had submitted their demands to the Admiralty. These consisted of eight articles. Granger scanned them and grimaced, knowing full well that Spencer would never agree to these demands.

The first article was not a problem, as it merely asked that the same concessions won at Spithead be applied to the fleet at the Nore. That would happen anyway. The third and the fifth articles dealt with paying the sailors more promptly, again, issues that Granger felt the Admiralty may have been willing to address. The second article provided that men be given leave when the ship arrived in port. That seemed to be an easy request, but it also ignored the problem of desertion, and that ships at sea were much more efficient than those in port. Granger could foresee problems with a policy change on that, in that ships that came into port for only a brief time would be hard pressed to be effective fighting units when they set sail again. But he could also see the fairness in it, and felt that on these four articles, it would be reasonable for the Admiralty to make concessions.

Then the articles got impossible to stomach. The fourth article decreed that if an officer was turned out of his ship by the men, he could not be reassigned to the ship without the consent of the ship’s company. This was tantamount to letting the men pick their own officers. Granger tended to agree with his brethren captains that such a provision would destroy discipline in the fleet, and everyone knew that discipline was vital to the functioning of the fleet and the survival of Britain. There was no way the Admiralty would agree to that. Discipline would presumably be further eroded by the eighth article, which proposed that the Articles of War be modified to reduce the penalties and offenses now listed. It would considerably weaken the code of laws and rules that the Navy operated under. And if that were not enough, the sixth article was in essence a pardon for any man who had deserted from the Navy before, but was now serving in it. That would let men basically jump from one ship to the next with impunity. These demands were absolutely untenable.

The seventh article also addressed pay, but pay as it related to prize money. As the system stood now, the bulk of any prize money went to the captain, while the seamen got a very small portion. Granger had personally benefited greatly from the existing system, and had earned a sizeable fortune with the prizes he’d captured. He wasn’t opposed to some modification to make things fairer for the common man. At the same time, he knew that his fellow officers would rail against such a concession, and that a wholesale change may cause a mutiny of sorts amongst the officers instead of the men.

Granger shook his head sadly at the paper, knowing that this mutiny would not be as easily resolved as Spithead, not that Spithead was easy. This would be much harder indeed. He managed to offer the required polite platitudes to Cheevers before heading to his coach, and was deep in thought for most of the ride to Bacchante. When he thought of her, he actually shuddered. The mutiny at the Nore had enveloped all the ships anchored there, and at Sheerness. How long before the mutineers attempted to persuade men from ships in the Thames such as Bacchante to join them? Would his crew defect to the mutiny? Would they be loyal to Granger, or seek solidarity with their brethren seamen?

He arrived at the dockyard and stood gazing at his ship. He had treated his men better than most captains, and he had led those that had come with him from Belvidera on a tour of duty filled with profit and glory. Would that be enough? Anchored as she was, adjacent to the dockyard, it took almost no time at all from when he disembarked from the coach to when he was able to board his command. He found Robey waiting there to greet him, with his characteristic smile. “Welcome aboard, my lord.”

“Thank you, Mr. Robey. I will want to see you and Mr. Weston in my cabin.” Even as he said this, his gaze took in the surroundings, and his instincts tried to read the mood of the men. They seemed content and busy, just as they’d been last time.

“Of course, my lord,” Robey said. He passed the word for Weston then followed Granger down to his cabin. Granger’s eyes flitted around the cabin, noting how his quarters had been decorated much as they had been on Belvidera. His beautiful furniture was there, along with a new carpet, while the walls had been painted in his prescribed family colors of Bridgemont Blue and Lammert Yellow. Portraits of his family had been tastefully interspersed with some of the more artistic pieces he’d acquired in the Mediterranean. He was biased, but it certainly was one of the nicer cabins he’d seen, even including those on ships of the line.

“You have a message from the Admiralty, my lord,” Robey said, handing him the paper. Robey watched Granger’s eyes narrow. “It arrived no more than a quarter of an hour ago. I was just about to courier it over to your home.”

“Thank you, Mr. Robey,” Granger said, softening his looks. He’d been about to lay into Robey for not sending these orders on promptly enough. This whole mutiny, both at the Nore and at Spithead, was undoing his normally calm demeanor. He vowed to rectify that at once. There was a knock on the door, and Weston entered, his huge frame stooped over as he came in and shook Granger’s hand.

“Welcome back, my lord,” he said cheerfully. Both he and Robey were so pleasant, it was difficult to be in a bad mood with them around.

“Thank you, Mr. Weston. Mr. Robey, perhaps you can pour us all a glass while I see what the Admiralty wants of me,” Granger said in a much happier tone. He scanned the note, a simple order for him to appear at 1:00pm. “I am to appear at the Admiralty at one o’clock,” he told them, even though it was none of their business.

“Best of luck, my lord,” Robey said, being slightly cheeky.

Granger smiled at him, then frowned. “I hope it is not another summons to immerse me in this latest mutiny. Have you gentlemen heard of the demands the men at the Nore have made?”

“We saw the article in the Times this morning, my lord,” Robey answered for both of them. “I daresay their lordships won’t go for it.”

“That, Mr. Robey, is most certainly an understatement,” Granger joked, getting a chuckle from them. “I wanted to know if you’d seen anything from the crew to suggest that they would be willing to join the mutineers.”

They both looked at Granger, amazed at the idea. “I can’t say that I have, my lord,” Weston said, speaking since Robey seemed so stunned by the statement. “We’ve got a good crew, a seasoned crew, and they’ve been in other ships. They know how lucky they are to be here.”

“Yet the pressure to show support to their fellow mutineers must be a powerful thing,” Granger mused, as much to himself as to them. “I think it is only a matter of time before those rogues attempt to include ships such as ours that are moored here, higher up the Thames.”

Now he really had their attention. “What should we do if a boat of delegates pulls up alongside, my lord?” Robey asked.

“Put a ball through the bottom of it,” Weston growled. “I beg your pardon, my lord.”

“I fear that I share your sympathies, Mr. Weston, but I am inclined to seek a more diplomatic solution.” That made them all chuckle. He pondered his choices, and made his decision. “I will speak to the men.”

“You will talk to them of this mutiny, my lord?” Weston asked, amazed.

“They already know about it, Mr. Weston,” Granger said, stating the obvious. “If I address it, they will have accurate information. If I don’t, they will be influenced by gossip and rumor.”

“When will you do this, my lord?” Robey asked.

“I have to change into my best clothes for his lordship, so as soon as I have done that and pondered my words, I will come up on deck, and we can summon the crew.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” they chimed in unison. They left his cabin, and their presence was replaced by Winkler.

“We have to make me look pretty, Winkler,” Granger joked. “I’m to see Lord Spencer right after I speak to the men.”

Winkler nodded and vanished but briefly, returning with Granger’s best uniform. He began to help Granger dress. “You will speak to them of the mutinies, my lord?”

“I think I should,” Granger said, unbending with Winkler. “Don’t you? What is the mood?”

“There was support for the boys at Spithead, my lord. There’s less for this group at the Nore. Some of the men came from ships there, and have no love for the crews or the officers.” So he had deserters in his own midst, Granger mused. He wasn’t surprised. “I think that if you explain things to them, my lord, it will make the difference.”

“Then I will do my best,” Granger said, smiling at Winkler. “So are you to sail around the world with me again, or are you going to trade that for domestic bliss here at home?”

“I’m going with you, my lord, if that meets with your approval,” Winkler said, but there was a sadness in his voice. Granger waited for him to go on, even though he could tell Winkler didn’t want to. “Jeffers is going to stay on land. He’s found himself a lady, and they’re hoping to set up shop at the Abbey, if that meets with your lordship’s approval.”

Granger eyed Winkler sympathetically. Jeffers had dumped him for a woman. “I am sorry. I know this must be painful.”

“Thank you,” Winkler said, and wiped away a tear.

Granger put his arm around him in an affectionate gesture. “I am glad that you will be with me. I have been dreading the thought of making this voyage without you.”

“I would be sad to miss it,” Winkler said, giving him a weak smile. Then, having shined Granger’s appearance to a luster that would be respectable even at Court, he left his captain to prepare his speech.

Granger emerged from below half an hour later, with the words he wanted to say etched into his brain. “Mr. Robey, please have the hands lay aft.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Robey said, and gave the order that set the bosuns pipes twittering. Granger watched the men come pouring up from below, or down from aloft, putting their work aside to see what their captain was going to say.

“Men!” Granger began loudly, and then reduced his volume. He was used to yelling when he addressed them, because that usually happened at sea, and there he had to contend with the competing noises of wind and sea. “I am sure you are all aware of the mutiny at Spithead, and I am glad that has been resolved. I am assuming that you are also aware that the men at the Nore, not to be outdone, have risen up as well.”

Granger watched them look at him, most of them stunned, and all of them amazed. Royal Navy captains rarely spoke of mutiny, as if it were a reminder that the real power, the brute power on a ship, lay with the sailors and marines. “The men at Spithead were honorable jacks, trying to make this a better service. While I don’t agree with how they did it, I think their demands were reasonable.” That was even more stunning to the men, in that Granger actually seemed to condone what the Spithead mutineers had done. “The men at the Nore are not doing that. They have issued a list of eight demands to the Admiralty, demands which I am confident that the Admiralty will refuse to agree to. I speak with some authority on this issue, since I was privy to many of the deliberations at Spithead.”

He paused, letting that sink in, and then moved on to the key part of his oration. “It is only a matter of time before the rogues at the Nore send boats up the river, seeking to include ships like ours in their cause.” He moved his hand to gesture toward two other newly built ships that were also completing. “I am not concerned with what Lancaster and Naiad do, but I am concerned about what Bacchante does. If that should happen, if boats from the mutineers should range alongside, it is my intention to send them packing. I would like to know that I do that with your support.”

As shocked as the men had been at Granger’s comments, what happened next was just as shocking to him. The men began to cheer, loudly and boisterously, for him, validating his words, and pledging to him that they would remain loyal to him, and to the King. When the cheering subsided, one of the men stepped forward, adopting a polite demeanor. It was Packard, a man who had been with Granger since his days on Intrepid. “My lord, I’ve been in the Navy almost 20 years, and I’ve never served a captain as brave and fair as you.” More cheers erupted, and Granger had to keep his eyes wide open to dry the tears that formed at that compliment. “We all feel some solidarity with the men who are trying to make things better, but we won’t betray you to support them.”

“Thank you, Packard, for your words, and for having the courage to speak them,” Granger said with a smile. “I am bidden to the Admiralty this afternoon, and it will give me great pride to tell his lordship that His Majesty’s frigate Bacchante is, and will remain, loyal to her sovereign.” That got more rousing cheers, and when they were done, Robey deftly dismissed the men.

“Boat ahoy!” one of the lookouts called.

“Guard boat!” came the response. Granger stood on deck, waiting to see what this latest visitor would bring. A nervous looking lieutenant pulled himself over the side and saluted the quarterdeck, even as he looked about the ship nervously. He seemed to pull himself together, and walked over to Granger. “My lord, I am Lieutenant Blake, tasked to row guard for the ships here at the dockyard.”

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Blake,” Granger said affably. “While you are always most welcome to visit, I am wondering what prompted your call on us today?”

Blake smiled at Granger’s politeness, and then frowned. “We heard the cheering aboard, my lord, and were concerned. Three cheers has become a standard signal for the beginning of a mutiny.”

Granger shot Blake that trademark smile of his, the one that tended to disarm the recipient. “That was just the opposite, Mr. Blake. That was the crew of His Majesty’s frigate Bacchante, pledging their loyalty to His Majesty. There will be no mutiny aboard this ship.” He’d said that proudly, and loud enough that the men around would hear him.

“That is good to know, my lord,” Blake said, smiling back. “Then I will take my leave of you.”

As soon as he was gone, Granger left the ship himself, and headed off to the Admiralty, full of dread at what Spencer would want of him this time. His carriage was mobbed as he disembarked, but he was getting used to that. He’d evidently gotten popular enough with the Admiralty that they dispatched marines to keep the mob away while he walked to the building. Granger paused to thank the Sergeant, doffed his hat to the crowd, then went in and signed the register.

Granger scanned the waiting room surreptitiously, looking for familiar faces but avoiding eye contact, lest it was a familiar face he did not want to talk to. In the end, he was unable to successfully survey the entire room, since he was led directly back to see the First Lord. “Ah Granger! Good to see you!”

Spencer’s cheerfulness made Granger even more nervous than before, if that were possible. “It is good to see you as well, sir,” Granger replied pleasantly, hiding those emotions. Spencer gestured for him to have a seat, and handed him a glass of wine.

“Got this wine from a French smuggler. It’s damned good. Makes me look forward to when this war is over.”

Granger chuckled. “I think that is what endeared me to Sir John Jervis in the first place, sir. We captured a French brig at St. Martin loaded with good wine, and I stocked his supply for him.”

Spencer laughed. “You must bring me some next time you do. And by the way, it is Lord St. Vincent now. Jervis has been advanced to the peerage, and is the Earl St. Vincent.” Granger marveled at that, at how Jervis was now of the same substantive rank as his own father. Granger had thought they might make him a Viscount, but didn’t think they’d award him an earldom.

“It is well-deserved, begging your pardon, sir.”

“I agree. But that’s not why I brought you here. I have enough on my plate with this latest damned mutiny,” Spencer growled, his pleasant demeanor vanishing when he mentioned it. “I don’t suppose you’d like to argue in their favor?”

Granger could have been offended at Spencer’s implication that his loyalties were questionable, but he chose to treat it as a joke. “I fear not, sir. These men appear to be a lot of sea lawyers, and their demands are largely unreasonable.”

“Largely?” Spencer challenged.

Granger chose his words carefully. “Those dealing with pay seemed reasonable to me, sir.”

“Buckner agrees with you,” Spencer said, referring to the admiral commanding at the Nore. “The rest of their demands would turn the fleet into a useless weapon.”

“Much as we have seen of the French fleet, sir,” Granger opined.

“Much like it,” Spencer agreed. “I don’t suppose you want to get embroiled in this one, too?”

“That would not be my first choice, sir,” Granger said, shooting off his smile.

“While I appreciated your help at Spithead, I do not plan to waste your energies or reputation with these ruffians.” Spencer paused to refill their glasses. “Is your ship ready for sea?”

“Yes, sir,” Granger said, forcing the pride from his voice. “My officers have worked wonders. While I would prefer a bit more time to address a few details, we could sail on the morning tide if you so ordered.”

“That is good work, Granger.” Granger forced back the proud grin that threatened to break out across his face. “Unfortunately, you’ve a bit of time to wait. The government has still to select a replacement for your brother.”

“They’re leaving it awfully close, sir. Wouldn’t someone need at least a bit of time to prepare?”

Spencer rolled his eyes in frustration. “One would think. In any event, whoever it is will probably be in a foul mood after being ripped up and sent halfway around the world with little notice. It is a good thing for you that person is only going to be a passenger.” In other words, Granger didn’t have to follow his orders.

“Most definitely, sir,” Granger agreed.

“I am certain that you have not heard this news, and it is sad news. Your former ship, the Intrepid, was lost off the coast of Canada.”

Granger’s mind reeled at that, so much that he wasn’t sure if he contained it inside, or if his expression showed. “Was there much loss of life, sir?”

“That is the good news. The entire crew, save two seamen, was rescued. It seems that there was an uncharted rock off Halifax, and Intrepid was ordered to sail for Antigua with all possible haste, necessitating a night departure. They had cleared the harbor, so the pilots were no longer in charge. Therefore, the burden of losing the ship landed on the shoulders of her captain.”

Her captain was Francis Calvert, one of the men who had captured a piece of Granger’s heart, a man Granger loved dearly. “And has there been a court martial, sir?”

“There was. It was a shoddy affair, which can only mean that Commander Calvert and Admiral Vandeput are not on the best of terms. They absolved Calvert of any negligence, but did it in a way designed to cast doubt on his abilities. It was an innocent verdict with a caveat that said he was probably guilty.”

“Do you think he was, sir?” Granger asked.

“No, I don’t. I think, as I said, that he is the victim of fleet politics. If he was cleared, Vandeput should have given him command of a similar vessel, and there was such a vessel in Halifax that needed a commander. Unfortunately, that command went to one of the admiral’s nephews instead.”

“I see, sir,” Granger said. So the practice of influence, which had served Granger so well, had all but destroyed Calvert’s career.

“He was sent back to England, and with the verdict as it is, it makes it hard for me to give him another ship without appearing to cut Vandeput off at the knees,” Spencer said. Granger marveled at how much the First Lord was unbending, at how much information he was revealing. “So I’m going to send him off to sea with you. You two made a superb team the last time, and I am hoping that happens again. In the mean time, assuming your voyage is a success, when he returns, I will see that he is taken care of.”

“Taken care of, sir?” Granger asked.

“That’s what I said,” Spencer snapped. “I think he is a good officer, and a good captain. He is taking a step back, here, reverting to the rank of lieutenant, when his skills and performance would have been more worthy of a step up.” In other words, if they did well on this voyage, Calvert may possibly make post rank.

“I understand, sir,” Granger said. “Thank you for explaining to me. I would be happy to have Lieutenant Calvert aboard Bacchante.”

“I thought you would think so. You see, Granger, not all of my surprises are unpleasant.”

Granger laughed, as he was meant to. “No, sir. Not all of them.”