Odyssey - 18. Chapter 18

June, 1797

“Mr. Conway, have the young gentlemen completed their calculations yet?” Granger prompted. The midshipmen dared to shoot worried glances his way, even as they frantically tried to run the formulas that would yield that invaluable knowledge: Bacchante’s location. For Granger, it was no great secret at all, since he’d already taken his own sightings, but it was important that these midshipmen learn to be good navigators, so he left them to their calculations.

“They are almost finished, my lord,” Conway said, turning his own evil eye onto them. “Alright then, let’s see where you’ve got us.” Conway began to run through their work, and scowled at Gatling. “You’ve got us damn near up to Funchal, Mr. Gatling.”

“Yes, sir,” Gatling said. “According to my readings, it should be about 30 miles off the starboard bow.”

“You’re a good hundred miles off,” Conway snarled.

Granger normally didn’t interfere with his officers, but in this case, he opted to rescue Gatling. “Let me see your work, Mr. Gatling.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said, and handed his numbers to Granger.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Conway said. “I’ll have to work with the young men a bit more.”

“Perhaps you will have to work with all of us, Mr. Conway,” Granger said graciously. “Mr. Gatling’s numbers mirror my own.” They checked the calculations, and indeed, all of the midshipmen except Stamford had calculated their position to be just off Funchal.

“Someone must have tampered with my sextant, my lord,” Conway growled.

“Mr. Conway, we are all human, and thus condemned to err from time to time,” Granger said soothingly. “I will entertain the young gentlemen at dinner this afternoon to reward them for their efforts. Mr. Stamford, you will be on watch until you sharpen your mathematical skills.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” they all said, with Stamford looking a bit dejected.

“I don’t suppose we’ll be stopping in at Funchal, my lord?” Somers asked pleasantly. He’d been on the fringes of the conversation, shamelessly eavesdropping.

“I wouldn’t want to vouch for our reception there,” Granger joked.

“Why would we get a bad reception there, sir?” Kingsdale asked, and then seemed horrified that he’d even posed the question.

“Your curiosity is well-placed,” Granger said. “Funchal is Portuguese, and as such should be our ally, but we discovered a foul plot by the former viceroy and his cronies and caused a bit of discomfort on the island.”

Somers chuckled. “And made a sizeable amount of prize money for it too, my lord.”

“Indeed we did. Ask me about it again at supper, and I will tell you the story,” Granger said. “Mr. Conway, your suggestions for rigging the ship for storms were quite successful.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Conway said, using that compliment to work his way out of his bad mood, much as Granger had intended. Bacchante had been assaulted by storms for the past three days, and they’d used that opportunity to test their plans to help the ship endure rough seas. Battening down the hatches, and sealing off the waist with decking, had made an enormous difference. Granger noticed it personally, in that his carpets had remained relatively dry, a substantial achievement for even a large frigate like Bacchante in a storm.

Granger began to pace the deck, enjoying this nice weather. He was in an excellent mood, and there were several reasons for that. First of all, there was the immediate stimulation of having nice weather after days of storms and overcast skies, but that was but a small contributor. He was in command of a well-founded ship that was master of all she would intercept with the exception of a ship-of-the-line, in which case Bacchante was fast and maneuverable enough to give such a vessel a wide berth. He had orders that directed him away from the fleet on an extended cruise, giving him almost unheard of autonomy, with the freedom to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting Spaniards and Frenchmen as he went. The ship seemed to be content, much as a horse was when it found its most comfortable canter. Bacchante’s captain paced the deck, as contented as his ship, enjoying this pleasant respite. In the past, his time at sea had been exciting, adventurous, and wearing, and his periods at home had soothed his soul. That hadn’t happened this time. This time, his return to London had been chaotic and stressful, and had left him feeling more ungrounded than ever before. This time, he’d found his balance at sea, with this ship and his crew. Yet even those were not the main reasons he was so happy. The main reason stood some twenty feet or so away, attending to the executive functions of the ship as any good first lieutenant should. And Francis Calvert was an exceptional first lieutenant.

Granger bit back a smile. He was also an amazing lover. In a way that seemed to signify their almost perfect bond, they could unite physically and emotionally behind closed doors, and then emerge from that bliss into the public world of Bacchante and act as if there were nothing but a professional attachment. No lover had consistently ignited Granger physically as Calvert had, and no lover had managed to keep his attention, and keep him engaged, as Calvert had. Granger had always had multiple people, multiple relationships, in his life, but he found on this trip that with Calvert, he was happy. He didn’t pine away for Caroline or for Cavendish, he didn’t fantasize about Chartley. When he was with Calvert, he was with him, and that was enough. Calvert seemed just as entranced with him, only he wasn’t as stoic as Granger, so as he let himself get more involved in a relationship, he let his caution go. Yet with Granger, Calvert seemed to have found a balance, and was remarkably discreet. Granger paused to ponder why that was. When Calvert had had liaisons in his prior ships, they had come close to being boldly open. He tended to attribute it to their calming influence on each other, but if he were brutally honest, he would acknowledge that he set the tone, and established the boundaries, which Calvert dutifully embraced.

That led Granger to another epiphany. Granger had carried on relationships with his seniors and subordinates, always being discreet. Calvert wasn’t as sensitive as Granger about the attitudes of others. He wasn’t able to tell when people were looking at him, and when the rumors were starting to fly. He desperately needed the person he was with, the person who shared his bed, to act as that public opinion regulator. The problem for him was that when his relationship was with a subordinate, that was bound to cause some issues. Granger wondered what would happen when Calvert once again had his own command. When he was the senior officer, he seemed to lose himself in the situation. Calvert would either completely disregard the subordinate, or that man would be so in awe of Calvert and his power, that Calvert wouldn’t have that helpful regulator on his own emotions. On the other hand, Granger could see Calvert falling into a situation like Travers had briefly had with Robey, where guilt had compelled Travers to yield virtual control of his ship to Robey. He chided himself for being unfair to Calvert, for ascribing such a mortal weakness to him, but it was entirely possible that a subordinate that could maintain a discreet relationship with him would have to, at least in some ways, have the dominant hand in their relationship. If that was the case, and Calvert was to have other lovers in the Navy, the only real alternative was for him to find a subordinate who could exert enough influence over Calvert that he would maintain his decorum in public. Granger felt his good mood evaporating, changed by the demon of jealousy, as he thought about Calvert in another relationship, loving another man enough to give him that much control. He was interrupted from his disturbing thought trajectory when another figure joined his stride, a relatively bold maneuver. “I am sorry to intrude upon your walk, my lord,” Andrews said.

“Well since you have indeed intruded, why don’t you tell me what has prompted you to do so,” Granger said with a smile, happy again, and glad to have his mind derailed from the train of thought it was trying to embark upon.

“Quite so, my lord. I am wondering if you are planning to make a call in port before we go through the doldrums?”

Granger pondered that. The doldrums were the part of the ocean near the equator, where the winds were fluky at best. It was not unheard of for a ship to remain there, becalmed, for days or even weeks on end. It was vital to be well provisioned before venturing into those waters. “We have plenty of stores, by my calculations.”

“That is correct, my lord,” Andrews agreed.

“And our water should be holding up quite well, what with the iron tanks.”

“That is also true, my lord.”

“I am hard-pressed to see any reason for us to make port before we reach Brazil,” Granger noted.

“I would agree, my lord, but additional fruit is always useful, as are fresh stores.”

“Well, we will see how things go. If we need something, and an opportunity avails itself, perhaps we will call at Cape Verde.” The Cape Verde Islands were also a Portuguese possession, although Granger had never visited them before, which was somewhat surprising, since they straddled the route to India, and he’d made that trek several times before.

“Let us hope they do not have ties to the Portuguese in Madeira, my lord,” Andrews said, being uncharacteristically jovial.

“We can only hope,” Granger said. Andrews left him to his own thoughts after that, and so Granger occupied his mind with various ruminations until it was time to eat. Granger entertained his midshipmen at dinner and told them of his time at Funchal, and the prize they’d captured after they left. Granger wasn’t sure what impact his discovery had had on the Viceroy there, but he expected that it would have been pretty dire, especially with an outraged Britain there to see that justice was served. He hoped the Portuguese in Cape Verde and Brazil didn’t bear him ill will for those actions.

Granger strode out of his cabin and headed toward the stairs, feeling somewhat bloated after a rather expansive dinner. He’d dined alone today, enjoying some solitary time that was both refreshing and tortuous. Their cruise, for that was what it seemed like, had continued on much as before, a pleasant little interlude in the midst of a global war.

He began to climb the ladder up to the quarterdeck and was surprised to find a conflict brewing, but unsurprisingly, it involved Conway. Granger paused midway up the ladder to observe the situation, before he was sighted. Ever since that incident off Funchal, where the midshipmen had made him look bad by correctly discerning Bacchante’s location while Conway had not, he had become more difficult to deal with. He had taken to giving the midshipmen particularly unpleasant or annoying jobs, things that would have passed unnoticed in a ship with an inefficient first lieutenant, but Bacchante’s first lieutenant was anything but inefficient.

“Mr. Conway, as I have told you before, you have assigned Mr. Gatling to the foretop so often it is as if he is being mastheaded,” Calvert said evenly, his flashing eyes betraying the anger beneath that veneer.

“Mr. Calvert, I find it difficult to believe that you would have me labor over the amount of time a young gentleman spends aloft when it could jeopardize the safety of this ship,” Conway responded, in a way that bordered on disrespect. Gatling was known to have keen eyesight, so Conway was presumably referring to Gatling’s ability to spot a hazard, but in the middle of the Atlantic, finding an unknown hazard that would endanger Bacchante was so unlikely as to be almost impossible.

“You are incapable of remembering or assessing the duties you have assigned, Mr. Conway?” Calvert asked acidly.

“I did not mean to imply that, sir,” Conway said. “I merely didn’t think it was something I had to worry about.”

“When I tell you to worry about it, and you don’t, that borders on insubordination,” Calvert responded. Conway said nothing, which was disrespectful enough in and of itself.

Granger completed his climb up the ladder and emerged onto the quarterdeck and into the middle of the conflict. “Good afternoon, my lord,” Calvert said.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Calvert,” Granger said coolly. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to explain to me why two of my officers are having an argument on my quarterdeck?”

“Yes, my lord,” Calvert said nervously. “I have explained to Mr. Conway that he is not to give the midshipmen excessive watch keeping duties aloft, and he has chosen to disregard my orders.”

“I did not intentionally masthead the young gentleman, my lord,” Conway said, all but confirming that’s what he was doing. “I felt it was in my purview, and within my rights as master of this vessel, to direct the activities of the young gentlemen, whose education is in my care.”

Granger felt his anger and irritation growing with this man. “Mr. Conway, that is not the issue. Mr. Calvert gave you an order, which you knowingly disregarded. That is insubordination.”

“I meant no disrespect, my lord,” Conway said, abashed, only his tone seemed to be that of a person who had pushed too hard, too fast, not of someone who had made a genuine error.

“I think that you did,” Granger said. “You demanded that I flog a man last week for showing you a lack of courtesy, and I obliged you. Yet you turn around, and violate that same rule. Your credibility must surely be damaged.” Granger had really been angry about that flogging, but the man in question was something of a troublemaker, and he’d felt it important to uphold the authority of his officers, so he’d given the man a light sentence of a dozen lashes. It was only the second flogging they’d had since leaving Plymouth, a remarkably good record for a ship that was partially crewed by new men.

“I have been quite diligent in my efforts to conduct myself correctly as regards my fellow officers and the crew, my lord,” Conway said pompously. “I will endeavor to do better.”

“See that you do,” Granger snapped, the force of his words impacting Conway more than their meaning, so out of character were they. But Granger was very irritated with this man who was the only fly in his ointment, the only annoyance in an otherwise pleasant voyage, and he was more angered that these discussions were taking place on the quarterdeck, well within hearing range of the seamen on duty, who were eavesdropping while trying to appear that they weren’t. “In the meantime, we will remove the young gentlemen from your responsibilities, so you will have no reason to give them directives. That should solve our current problem.”

“My lord, how am I to instruct them?” Conway almost whined.

“Based on their ability to plot the position of this ship as well as you, I am worried that all you will do is teach them to adopt your attitudes toward me and my officers, and that is not an education worth having,” Granger said, lashing out at the man. “You may focus your attention on seeing that this ship’s course is prudent and safe, and on avoiding my future displeasure.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Conway said, then saluted and left the quarterdeck. To openly admonish an officer was a dangerous thing, but Granger felt Conway had given him no choice.

“I’m sorry about that, my lord,” Calvert said.

“Walk with me,” Granger ordered. He and Calvert began to walk, while the ship around them recovered from the drama of the confrontation and went back to normal, at least on the surface. “I received a note before we left Plymouth informing me that Mr. Conway has been recently in the employ of Sir Tobias Maidstone.”

Calvert paused in his stride to stare at Granger, his mouth agape, then quickly got his expression under control and resumed walking. “Do you think he means to create mischief aboard, my lord?”

“I think that is a distinct possibility,” Granger acknowledged. “I worry that we are seeing the beginnings of a plan to cause us problems.”

“Why now, my lord?”

“I think that once we passed by Funchal, we were effectively clear from any possible external authority. We’d left the Mediterranean fleet behind, and the chance that we’d intercept a convoy or some other large group of ships is remote. So now we are truly on our own, an ideal time to begin creating problems.” Granger had thought about this, pondered it carefully. His ability to bring action against Conway was limited in scope, since Conway was formally tied to the ship as her master. Granger could punish him, demote him, and could almost certainly destroy his career, but any more assertive action would require a court martial. He could give the man amazingly abusive duties, such as forcing him to spend half his time aloft, but Granger knew that kind of thing usually only made morale on board the whole ship bad. Besides, Conway hadn’t done anything to warrant severe action beyond the public admonishment Granger had already given him. The man was playing a dangerous game, but he was playing it carefully.

“What will you do, my lord?” Calvert asked, assessing the situation just as clearly as Granger had.

“I think that if he is here to be a nuisance, he is not worried about service in His Majesty’s navy, rather he is being provided for by Sir Tobias and plans to make his way there. So my reports of dissatisfaction with him should have no appreciable effect on him, or his attitude.” When Granger told the Admiralty about his displeasure with Conway, that would damn the man to a life on the beach, and almost assure him no further employment in the Navy.

“That would make sense, my lord,” Calvert agreed.

“So we must give him the chance to do better, while keeping an eye on him.”

“Do you think he will do better, my lord?” Calvert asked.

“I do not. I think he will push the issue until I will tolerate him no more. Then he will back off, to preclude me from taking severe actions. My intention today was to show him that he has very little leeway in that regard.”

“This would be a spectacularly wonderful voyage were it not for Conway and his machinations,” Calvert groused.

“I think it is still spectacularly wonderful,” Granger said quietly, allowing himself a slight leer at Calvert. His playful mood vanished as quickly as it arose, since they were on deck.

“Land ho!” shouted the lookout.

“I am going to get some exercise,” Granger announced, then grabbed his glass and strode to the fore shrouds and began to climb up to the foretop. He wasn’t as winded as he normally was, and wondered if that was due to all the exercise he was getting in bed. That would have made him laugh out loud, should such a thing be consistent with his stoic exterior.

Granger nodded briefly to the surprised lookout and trained his glass ahead, scanning the peaks that were so familiar. He grabbed a backstay and slid down to the deck with agility. “We are upon the Canary Islands,” he announced. “Alter course two points to larboard.”

“My lord?” Calvert asked. “We’re avoiding them, avoiding Tenerife?”

“We are, Mr. Calvert,” Granger said. “There are plans for the Mediterranean Fleet to make an attempt on the place, and I do not want our presence here to be perceived as being that of an advanced scouting force.”

“I am curious, my lord,” Weston interjected. That in itself was unusual, because the young lieutenant was a jovial and easygoing officer, but rarely voiced an opinion or questioned his orders. It was as if when Granger said it that was good enough for him. Such slavish loyalty generally bothered Granger, but with Weston, it seemed, well, slightly endearing.

“I will attempt to satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Weston,” Granger said pleasantly, to encourage him.

“What if there is a large force in Tenerife, my lord? Wouldn’t we be well-advised to warn Admiral Nelson?”

“Our orders do not provide us with the flexibility to return to Spain and inform him, in any event,” Granger said.

“I understand, my lord. Thank you for explaining it to me,” Weston said with his characteristic smile.

“Educating His Majesty’s lieutenants is one of my key duties, Mr. Weston,” Granger joked, getting a laugh from all of them.

“My lord, this would be considerably easier if you would be so kind as to stand still,” Winkler admonished him as he tried to tie Granger’s cravat. Even Winkler was irritable these days. It had been a week since Granger had his encounter with Conway, and the tension on board had grown considerably. Calvert had told him that it was present in the wardroom whenever Conway was there, but it had evidently spilled over onto the crew as well. Yesterday there had been a fight during supper, with two men squaring off with each other, and that had been followed by the inevitable flogging. Granger detested flogging, not because of some misplaced notions about the pain it caused. Life was painful: pain was something to be avoided, then endured. Granger truly cared about his men, and did his best to make their lives as pleasant as possible, but if a man deserved to be punished, Granger would see that justice was served. No, Granger detested flogging with a truly economic passion, because it damaged a man. Everything on Bacchante required manpower to operate. From harnessing the power of the sails, to hoisting up the stores, to swabbing the deck, everything ran on the brute force of men. To take a man and flog him so he could not do his duty was to impair the effectiveness of the ship, and it grated on Granger’s psyche.

“I did not realize that making your life easier was within the scope of my duties,” Granger responded pleasantly, determined not to let this negative malaise invade his own mind.

Winkler didn’t respond with some witticism, as he normally would have, but instead finished tying Granger’s knot. “May I speak to you candidly, my lord?”

Granger recognized that look, and that mood: it was the demeanor that Winkler got when he felt compelled to pass lower-deck knowledge onto his captain. “Of course.”

“There’s been some talk that Mr. Conway has been paying a group of men to stir up trouble, my lord.”

Granger stared at Winkler, shocked. “What kind of trouble?”

“The fight yesterday, my lord, between Davis and Ford. I heard that Ford was paid by Mr. Conway to start it.”

“Who is in this crowd in Mr. Conway’s employ?” Granger demanded.

“I don’t know who they are, my lord, other than Ford. I just thought you should know.”

Clearly that was all that Winkler knew on the topic. “Thank you, Winkler. It appears that I must do battle with the French, the Spaniards, and my own officers as well.”

“I am not the only one to have a huge burden to carry in life, my lord,” Winkler said, reverting to his normal, cheeky self. Granger shook his head and strode onto the deck. No sooner had he strode out of his cabin when he heard an urgent call, and then heard the stamp of boots as marines hurried below.

Granger went up to the quarterdeck as quickly as he could, without looking like he was hurrying. “What is going on?” Granger asked calmly of the quarterdeck in general.

“There was another fight below, my lord,” Calvert said, frowning. Conflicts like this were maddening to him, because they made him look inefficient and ineffective, even if they were not of his doing.

“Indeed?”

“Yes, my lord,” Robey said. He was the officer of the watch. “I dispatched the guard below to restore order.”

“Mr. Weston, go below and see that all those who were involved are brought up on deck,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said, and dashed below. The men liked Weston, and his size tended to focus their attention. He returned some fifteen minutes later, followed by seven men. “My lord, it seems that these men,” Weston said, gesturing at a group of five men, “started a fight with these two men.” Granger recognized the five men. They were men newly recruited in London, and they were members of Ford’s mess. The other two men were well-known to Granger, since they’d been with him as far back as Intrepid.

“We didn’t start the fight, my lord,” Todd objected. He was one of Ford’s messmates.

“Todd, you will remain silent unless I have asked you a question,” Granger snapped, and saw the man recoil, terrified. “Mr. Weston, put these five men in chains below.” Everyone gasped at that, since it was a pretty dire punishment. Most of the time shipboard fights or such would be handled immediately with a flogging. Granger’s actions suggested he was planning a more thorough investigation. “Keep them sequestered from each other.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said, then nodded at the marines, who pushed the men forward on their way to the hold below. Granger looked over and saw Conway pretending to be stoic, but the pose was not enough to hide his smug expression underneath.

“Pass the word for Mr. Gatling and Mr. Eastwyck,” Granger ordered. “My clerk as well.” He waited impatiently while the two midshipmen and his clerk were hurried up to the quarterdeck.

“You sent for us, my lord?” Gatling asked.

“There has been a fight below, Mr. Gatling. Mr. Weston can apprise you of what he discovered. I want you and Mr. Eastwyck to interview other members of the crew that witnessed the scene. Interview them individually, and make careful notes of their observations. My clerk will assist you.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” they chirped, and then went below.

The other officers, including Conway, joined Granger as he stood at the rail, staring forward at some unknown point, deep in thought. He allowed his mind to wrestle with the situation, and with the current scenario, and then emerged from his daze. “Do you have any orders for me, my lord?” Calvert asked.

“It is my intention to review the information Mr. Gatling and Mr. Eastwyck gather, and then I will decide how to proceed.”

“You’re not going to flog the miscreants, my lord?” Conway asked. It was all Granger could do not to lash out at the man, but he restrained himself.

“We have had two fights, this latest involving multiple men, in the space of one week, something that has never happened on this ship, or in my prior commands, before. That warrants an investigation, possibly a court martial.”

“A court martial, my lord?” Robey asked, truly surprised.

“That is the best way to get to the root cause of a problem like this, Mr. Robey,” Granger said, forcing his voice to remain even.

“Perhaps the men, especially the new hands, are just unruly, my lord. Perhaps we need to tighten up discipline,” Conway suggested. Granger turned to face him, focusing his steely blue eyes onto Conway’s. The only reason for Conway to be raising these issues was because he was nervous. If this was his scheme, he hadn’t expected a full-blown trial. He’d just expected a flogging, one that would negatively impact morale since the innocent would pay the same price as the guilty.

“Or perhaps there is more to what is going on here than appears, Mr. Conway,” Granger said acidly. “If that is the case, then the court martial may be broader in scope than we currently envision.” Conway wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions, so the fear that flashed across his face was transparent.

“Yes, my lord,” Conway finally stammered.

“Mr. Calvert, no one is to have contact with the accused men unless I approve it,” Granger ordered, getting a crisp acknowledgment of his order. “Mr. Conway, I expect we will sight the Cape Verde Islands today. You will situate yourself in the foretop and keep a sharp lookout for them.”

Conway stared at Granger blankly, then muttered an acknowledgment and climbed up to the foretop.