HMS Valiant - 4. Chapter 4

May 23, 1799

HMS Valiant

Portsmouth, England

The water tanks had arrived early, before Treadway returned, so Granger was especially thankful that Andrews had gotten here with the men when he did. The two large tanks lay on the bottom of a lighter that the ironworkers had used to float them over. Lieutenant Garrett Weston stood on the quarterdeck, directing the men at the capstan. These men would provide the manpower to hoist the first water tank from the lighter, using the main mast as a modified crane. Granger was in the hold with Meurice and Hornblower, all three of them wearing work clothes, waiting with a party of men to position the tank as soon as it was lowered.

“Heave men!” Weston shouted, and the men began to turn the capstan in the same way they’d raise the anchor. Slowly the first tank rose up from the lighter and dangled above it, until it gained enough height to clear Valiant’s sides. Then it was swayed over and slowly lowered down into the hold.

“Hold there!” Granger ordered from the bowels, as he worked with Meurice to make sure the tank was in its correct position. “Lower away!” he said, satisfied, and they gently lowered the tank down the rest of the way until it rested against the supports Meurice and the carpenter, Morton, had rigged.

It took slightly less time for the second tank to be installed, and once it was finished, the lighter was hauled off, while Granger and his officers inspected the result.

“Your measurements were excellent, Mr. Meurice,” Granger said. “I think that the other tanks need a less convex curve, but these will work fine as we have braced them.”

“I agree, begging your pardon, my lord,” Meurice said. “With your permission, I will relay those changes to the ironworks and see how quickly I can persuade them to complete our job.”

“Quite so,” Granger said, and Meurice left, hurrying off to meet with the ironworkers.

“My lord, can you explain how these will work?” Hornblower asked.

“Of course, Mr. Hornblower,” Granger said with a smile. “We experimented with these on my prior ship, and found them to significantly increase the quality of our water, and the quality of onboard life.”

“Onboard life, my lord?” Hornblower asked.

Granger climbed on top of the tanks, and signaled Hornblower to do the same. “First of all, we have found that with iron tanks, water remains consumable for much longer. We discovered that when we first used them in Belvidera, but there we used them much like iron casks. In Bacchante, we fitted them as we have fitted these. They are shaped to contour with the hold, while their tops are flat. They have valves on top and bottom so the water can be pumped out, and you’ll notice this large hook, which allows us to remove them if we need to fill them outside the ship.”

Hornblower’s mind worked quickly, and he smiled broadly as he got it. “I see, my lord. With the flat surface, stores and other casks can be placed on top of them!”

“That is correct,” Granger said. “And that removes the need for iron chips as ballast. The bilge water flows more freely, and is more easily pumped out.” That was, to Granger’s mind, as much a benefit as having the water stay more drinkable. The bilges of a Royal Navy ship were probably one of the vilest places in the world. All the various fluids from man and animal sank to the bottom of the ship, creating a putrid liquid. This unpleasant concoction would flow among the iron chips of the ballast and become trapped there. Without the ballast, the nasty bilge water could flow freely into the bilge pump, where it could be removed.

“That would definitely make the ship more pleasant, my lord,” Hornblower agreed.

“Aye, more pleasant, and if my doctor is to be believed, more healthy.” Granger gestured along the length of the hold. “When all the tanks are fitted, it will create a solid floor.”

Hornblower’s mind appeared to be laboring mightily. “If you will permit me, my lord, I will run some calculations to see if that will affect Valiant’s center of gravity.”

“I would be obliged, Mr. Hornblower,” Granger said. Granger was quite adept at the math required to calculate his position at sea, but Hornblower’s skills seemed to extend far beyond that. Granger was more than happy to leave such calculations to him.

Their conversation was disturbed by the sound of music. It sounded distant, but by the time they arrived on deck and looked toward the entrance to the dockyard, they saw the unique red uniforms of soldiers as they marched in. The band stopped playing for a pause, even as the drums continued to pound out the beat. Granger heard the sergeants shouting: “To the left, slow march!” The troops wheeled to the left, turning down the road through the dockyard, while the band began to play “British Grenadiers.”

“Winkler, go grab my coat,” Granger snapped, suddenly feeling hopelessly underdressed in the face of these well-turned-out soldiers. Winkler scurried off to do as he ordered, while Weston and Hornblower dashed below to get their own uniform coats on.

The soldiers marched up to the ship, and the band stopped playing, even though the drums once again continued to beat. “Mark time!” shouted the sergeants, causing the men to march in place. “To the right, salute!” That brought a salute, which Granger acknowledged. Valiant’s seamen had stopped working and manned the side to watch this martial display. Granger was of a mind to drive them away, but then changed his mind. These men would be brothers in arms, and it would do them good to see their military comrades displaying their efficient marching drill. Finally Treadway halted the troops, who must be exhausted after marching yesterday, and billeting God knows where last night.

Treadway boarded the ship, while the band began to play again, this time “Hearts of Oak.” That prompted a cheer from the sailors, and got a few smiles from the soldiers. “My lord, the 56^th has arrived as ordered.”

“You may bring your men aboard, Major,” Granger said. “Although they are now marines.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Treadway said.

“Mr. Weston, detail petty officers to help the marines get themselves situated,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said.

“And I’ll tolerate no tricks or pranks,” Granger said severely and loudly, so the men nearby could hear.

“I’ll make sure the men are aware of your wishes, my lord,” Weston said. And so the marines came aboard, looking about at this strange place they would now call their home.

“Mr. Weston, I would be obliged if you would track down Mr. Andrews and ask him to prepare a feast tonight to celebrate the arrival of our marines,” Granger said loudly, and saw the seamen and marines alike grin at Granger’s generous gesture. Granger stood, aloof, on the quarterdeck, watching the soldiers come aboard. They had the look of veterans, of men who knew the art of war, but veterans who had been sidelined through no fault of their own. Granger fancied that he had never had such well-trained and experienced soldiers aboard his ship, serving as marines. Their spruce appearance was making him feel quite underdressed, despite his glittering dress coat.

“I apologize for arriving too late to assist with the tanks, my lord,” Treadway said, interrupting his thoughts.

“That is quite alright, Major. You did well to get here so quickly. I would ask that, once your men are settled in, you have them shed their splendid uniforms for some work duty. We have much to accomplish.”

“Shed their uniforms?” Treadway asked, horrified.

“Life is not always clean and pretty aboard a ship,” Granger noted. “If they are detached to work in the hold, or to do other tasks, they will unnecessarily damage their uniforms.”

“I understand, my lord,” Treadway said, “but I don’t know if the men have clothing that will serve.”

“Then we will make them some,” Granger said with a smile. “It is clear to me, Major, that your men are highly experienced and disciplined. I think they will be able to maintain both those traits with more casual clothing when needed.”

“I’m sure they will, my lord,” Treadway said with a smile.

“I would like to broach another topic with you,” Granger said. Treadway just looked at him. “In the past, I was able to arm a small squad of marines with rifled muskets for service in the tops during combat. Do you have any men who are good enough marksmen for such an assignment?”

“I do, my lord, but we do not have rifles. I fear we have spent what funds we have on instruments,” Treadway joked.

Granger laughed. “Our enemies will be awed by our band, but hardly defeated by it. I will pay for rifles, if you will locate and acquire them. I am envisioning a force of twenty men.”

“I would be happy to do that, my lord,” Treadway said happily.

“I will need you to work with me and the other officers on protocol for using powder and shot when they are aloft. Sails are quite flammable, and we would hardly enhance our prospects in battle if we lit ourselves on fire.”

Treadway chuckled. “I should think not, my lord.”

June 4, 1799

HMS Valiant

Portsmouth, England

Granger paced the deck of his ship, making mental notes of all the things they’d have to do to ready her for sea. They had made good progress thus far, but he was anxious to move the ship from the dock, lest he risk another unpleasant encounter with Sir Charles Saxton. The imperious old man had been out just yesterday to observe the last of the water tanks as they were hoisted into Valiant’s hold. He’d been skeptical at best about installing such a new-fangled thing in an experimental ship like Valiant, but Granger was covered by Spencer’s orders, and that had precluded Saxton from making any immediate trouble. Heaven only knew what he’d do when they rigged up their boat davits, so to remove him from the equation, Granger was determined to warp Valiant away from the docks.

“Half an hour until the tide turns, my lord,” Weston said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Very well. Prepare to get underway. We can use the courses to aid us as we warp her out of here.” It was a beautiful summer day, the perfect weather for such a task.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said. He began to rap out orders, and the activity brought Clifton and Eastwyck to the deck as well. Clifton had arrived the day after the marines, and had continued to impress Granger. He had shed his role as a courtier and assumed that of second lieutenant with ease, and had more than pulled his weight as they’d gotten Valiant ready for sea. Granger was impressed with how well he and Weston had gotten along, but then again, Weston was an affable chap, and was popular with everyone. Eastwyck had arrived just a few days ago, after his marriage and honeymoon. Granger had wondered how he would like marriage, since Eastwyck had seemed to prefer male to female company, but he had been happy in a serene kind of way since he joined the ship, which made Granger suspect that he was enjoying wedded life.

“Mr. Eastwyck, you have the cutter. Mr. Clifton, you have the launch. We’re warping Valiant out to Spithead, but we’re going to raise the courses to give you some assistance,” Granger said.

“We would be most appreciative, my lord,” Eastwyck said with a smile. Towing Valiant with ship’s boats would be an arduous process, even with some help from the ship’s own sails.

“Mr. Kingsdale, you will be ready to dip the flag as we pass our confederates,” Granger said.

“Of course, sir,” he answered. Granger paused to watch the young man stand by Valiant’s taffrail, for he was indeed a young man now, one who seemed markedly more developed with every passing day. Kingsdale had just returned from Ireland, where he’d gone to put his estate in order. Both Caroline and Granger’s father had spent time with him prior to his trip, explaining how to administer his holdings, and he’d taken that advice, along with a crew of men from the Abbey and his prize money from their last voyage, and had created quite a bit of upheaval in his native land. He’d sacked his estate manager and replaced him, and he’d stopped his relatives from leeching off his own holdings. His prize money had been sufficient to pay off the mortgages on his land, so he could hope for a better income from the properties in the future. Granger remembered what a shy, slight, insecure boy Kingsdale had been when he’d first joined Bacchante. His relatives and tenants must have been quite surprised by the confident young man who had returned from his global voyage.

He glanced over to where his other midshipman, Charles Molyneux, followed Clifton around like a lost puppy. Molyneux had just come aboard yesterday. He was the younger brother of the Earl of Sefton, one of the rakes Granger had run around with in London. Sefton had picked up the nickname of Lord Dashalong, due to his habit of driving madly through the streets of London in his four-horse carriage. Sefton was one of those people who seemed to create fun wherever he went, and reminded Granger of his middle brother, Bertie. Sefton’s younger brother did not seem to have similar traits, as he was a rather severe looking young man. Granger charitably ascribed his dour manner to his unfamiliarity with shipboard life, and hoped that Molyneux would ultimately become more interesting as he acclimated.

He was distracted from thinking of his third midshipman, who had not arrived yet, and forced to pay attention as they began their maneuver, first using the boats to turn Valiant about so she was facing the sea, and then using them to tug her out of her berth. Valiant was a huge tub of a ship to maneuver around in this manner, and even with men ashore with lines to help guide her, she responded slowly and grudgingly, as if she were a grumpy old dowager.

It was a harrowing few hours for all of them, as they worked to keep Valiant from colliding with the other craft around her. Once they were clear of the dockyard, Granger gave the orders for the main and fore courses to be let out, although considerably reefed. With the winds and the tides in her favor, Valiant crept forward under her own power. She was much easier to control and to guide in this manner, and the sweating boat crews were relieved to have their burden eased.

“Mr. Clifton! Mr. Eastwyck!” Granger called.

“My lord?” Clifton responded.

“We don’t need you to row us about, but I want you to stay in the water to help direct us. I don’t want to run afoul of the Ville de Paris,” Granger said, referring to Lord Bridport’s flagship. That got a predictable chuckle from the men.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Clifton answered. Valiant slowly passed by Gosport and entered the waters of Spithead, which were agreeably calm today. Granger noted that with the Channel Fleet at sea, the Ville de Paris was not anchored at Spithead, and the roadstead looked largely deserted. It was lucky for Kingsdale and his small party, otherwise they would have had quite the job just lowering and raising the ensign as they passed by the ships of the fleet.

“A point to starboard,” Granger said to the helmsman.

“We’re going to the Solent, my lord?” Weston asked, a very bold question on his part. It was not his place to question Granger’s orders, but he knew that Granger was a more forgiving captain in this regard, and was willing to explain himself in casual situations such as this one.

“Not quite that far, Mr. Weston. I am going to indulge myself and anchor the ship near my home off Cowes,” Granger said. “I have a plan to water the ship there, and hopefully acquire a fresher liquid than that available in town.”

“That would be most appreciated, my lord,” Weston said with a grimace. Watering in a town like Portsmouth meant getting water that was less than clean.

“Mr. Hornblower! Mr. Meurice!” Granger called. They were on the other side of the deck, and hurried to his side. “My house has a reservoir, as Mr. Hornblower has seen. I am of a mind to fill our tanks from that source.”

He watched their minds, the minds of engineers, first embrace his idea, and then grapple with the details. “It might be possible to rig a long canvas hose to funnel the water if we were close enough to the shore, my lord,” Hornblower suggested.

“If you will permit me, my lord, we can take the jolly boat and take soundings, and then derive a suitable anchorage. After that, we can then inspect the reservoir,” Meurice suggested.

“Very well,” Granger said. Men had to be dispatched to hoist out the jolly boat, and then to crew it. Granger was thankful that his recruiting efforts had been successful so far. He had managed to attract some fifty seamen, along with the hundred from the Abbey. Combined with the marines, that brought his total crew to two hundred twenty-five men, and while that was still a hundred men short of Valiant’s full complement, having a full complement in war was most unusual. Granger would be satisfied with an additional seventy-five men, while fifty would be sufficient to take Valiant to sea. He watched as the jolly boat hoisted its lugsail and seemed to jet off in front of her slow-moving mother ship.

“A point to starboard,” Granger instructed the helmsman. “Steer well clear of the Ryde sands.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said. Granger could sense the glasses from the ships at Spithead watching their maneuvers, and cringed at being so closely observed as he maneuvered his not-yet-completed ship gingerly toward the Isle of Wight. He cheered himself with the fact that with the Channel Fleet at sea, the anchorage was almost empty, so there were fewer eyes on him, and was almost ebullient at how much easier this was without having to dodge the ships of the fleet.

And so Valiant crawled along, heading toward a spot where the jolly boat sat waiting for her, indicating where she should anchor. The water must shoal considerably near his home, since it was a less than a cable’s length from the shore. “Awfully close in, my lord,” Weston noted nervously.

“Aye,” Granger agreed. “Prepare bow and stern anchors. I don’t want her tossed ashore in my own backyard.”

“Of course, my lord,” Weston said, smiling.

Granger watched as they approached the site where the jolly boat floated, gauging his timing. “Drop the anchor, Mr. Weston,” Granger said, and then added with a grin. “Try not to drop it into the jolly boat.”

Weston chuckled, even as he gave the order. The anchor splashed into the water, dousing Meurice and Hornblower, much to their chagrin and to the delight of everyone else. “It is bath day for Mr. Meurice and Mr. Hornblower, my lord,” Weston joked.

Granger laughed. “Evidently. Lower my gig, if you will. You can leave the cutter and launch in the water. We’ll need them for victualing.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said.

“Mr. Andrews,” Granger called, disturbing Andrews and Dr. Jackson as they conversed about something on the opposite side of the deck.

“My lord?”

“We are ready to take on the rest of our stores. You can coordinate that with Mr. Weston. Before you do, perhaps you can acquire some live beasts to feed us while we are in port.”

“Of course, my lord,” Andrews said. “And with your permission, I’ll go into town and converse with the baker.” Andrews gestured toward Ryde, which was much more convenient than Portsmouth. Andrews would probably get to know the local shopkeepers here quite well. Granger was glad to be able to help the local economy of this place from which his son drew his courtesy title.

“Excellent,” Granger said. “There is an area around the bend, away from the house, where you may slaughter and prepare meals if you see fit.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said.

They indulged in a feast that night, courtesy of Granger’s purse, and then on the next day, Valiant began the arduous job of taking on stores. It was not just victuals that were required, but all the other things that a warship needed to function effectively. There would be bosun’s stores, spare spars, extra copper sheets, not to mention shot and powder for the guns. And there were all the other little details that had to be attended to, such as gold leaf to spruce up Valiant’s outward appearance, and the completion of his own cabin. And finally there was the massive task of rigging the ship, one that had been only partially completed.

June 6, 1799

HMS Valiant

Spithead, England

“My lord, we are ready to begin,” Hornblower said. “Mr. Meurice is ashore.”

Granger, Weston, Clifton, and Treadway eyed the contraption that Meurice and Hornblower had rigged skeptically, but if it worked, watering would be incredibly easy, well worth the effort they’d expended to set this all up. “Please explain to us, Mr. Hornblower, exactly how this is supposed to work,” Granger said. He wanted to make sure there had been no fundamental changes to the design since he’d approved it, and he wanted the others to be aware of what they were going to do.

“Certainly, my lord,” Hornblower said. “These canvas hoses have been sewn together to create a long tube, if you will, that will carry the water from Your Lordship’s reservoir to the ship.”

“Why are there booms holding the hose above the water, Mr. Hornblower?” Weston asked.

“Sir, if we let the hose sink into the sea, it will disturb the flow of the water, which is pushed entirely by gravity, and it will contaminate the water with salt. The canvas may be permeable enough to let the seawater in,” Hornblower said. That explained why the hose ran along the dock, then was hoisted up over the cutter, his gig, and the jolly boat, then held up further by ropes from Valiant’s main mast.

“I see,” Weston said.

“With your permission, my lord, Mr. Meurice will open the valve at the reservoir,” Hornblower said. “In the same way that gravity forces water through your fountains, so should it force water through the hose.”

“Proceed, Mr. Hornblower,” Granger said. Hornblower walked to the side of the ship and waved a green flag. Meurice, ashore, waved a similar green flag in acknowledgment. And then they waited, the entire crew holding their breath, or so it seemed, as nothing appeared to be happening.

“My lord,” Clifton observed. “The hose appears to be thickening near the shore.” They turned their eyes to the dock and saw the hose undulate, as if it was a snake digesting a rat. Slowly the bulge made its way across the water until it arrived on Valiant, and cries from below told Granger that water was now flowing.

“I will supervise below, my lord,” Weston said, and hurried below to guide the men as they moved the hose from tank to tank as each was filled.

“I daresay this will drain Your Lordship’s reservoir,” Treadway said with his cheeky smile.

“I suspect you are right,” Granger said. “We shall have to pray for rain, lest I will not be able to indulge in a bath.”

“I have heard of these contraptions you have had installed here, and in London, my lord,” Treadway said.

“Perhaps you would like to come ashore and sample them?” Granger asked. He had been so focused on fitting Valiant out; he’d neglected to entertain his officers ashore.

“I would be honored, my lord,” Treadway said. “I would like to ask Your Lordship’s permission to take my riflemen ashore tomorrow. I was thinking that we could perhaps get in some practice, and if we are lucky, we could also shoot some fowl for dinner.”

“I will leave it to you to arrange, Mr. Treadway,” Granger said with a smile. “Try not to shoot my neighbors.”

“We will endeavor to only kill wild animals, my lord,” Treadway said with a chuckle.

“Winkler!” Granger called.

“My lord?”

“I would like to take my officers ashore tomorrow to indulge in dinner, and to enjoy the baths,” Granger said. “I’ll leave it to you to notify Lefavre.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Winkler said, with just a hint of reticence in his voice. Lefavre was grumpy at times, especially when Granger presented him with a challenge like a large dinner with little prior notice.

“Mr. Treadway, I will indulge your curiosity, as well as that of the other officers, tomorrow at dinner,” Granger said.

“I am honored to attend,” Treadway said, bowing politely. He was quite charming, and turning out to be a pleasant companion. Granger was reminded of Somers, the commander of his marines aboard Bacchante. Somers was now the Governor of Amboyna, in the East Indies.

“My lord,” one of the lookouts called. “It looks like the launch is returning, and she’s being followed by two lighters.”

Granger walked to the opposite side of the deck and scanned the bay for the boats. He saw clearly what the lookout had seen. The launch was quite full of men, and the lighters could only mean that their provisions were coming out to them. “Mr. Weston, how long until the watering is completed?” Granger called.

“We’re making fast progress, my lord, but I suspect it will take at least another six hours or so,” Weston said.

“You’re to have an additional challenge,” Granger said. “We’ve got the victualing lighters approaching.”

“We’ll work around them, my lord,” Weston said. “We’ve finished the forward tanks first, so we can begin stowing things there, begging your pardon, my lord.”

“Mr. Clifton, I will leave it to you to work with Mr. Andrews to store our supplies,” Granger said.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Clifton said. The launch came alongside first, and Eastwyck climbed up the side and landed on the deck, his face lit up with a huge grin.

“Welcome back, Mr. Eastwyck,” Granger said.

“Thank you, my lord,” he said. Others began to come aboard behind Eastwyck, but Granger focused on his lieutenant. “Major Treadway was right about the band, my lord. We set up on the hard, and recruited fifty able hands.”

Granger smiled. While he would still like an extra twenty-five to fifty men, Valiant was now able to go to sea. He could report to the Admiralty that he had manned his ship, no mean feat in these challenging times. “That was well done, Mr. Eastwyck. I will leave you to swear them in, and to see that they have a bath and are issued clothes from the slop chest.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said. He turned to execute his orders and bumped into a young lad who had been standing behind him, almost knocking him down.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” the lad said to Eastwyck. Eastwyck gave him a foul look, and then turned to face Granger.

“My lord, this is Mr. Jason Travers,” he said. “He said he had orders to join the ship.”

Granger stared at the young lad, and could not help but notice how similar some of his features were to those of his uncle, John Travers, the first man Granger had loved. He had dark brown hair, and the same distinctive nose that John had had; a nose with a pronounced bridge in it, one that Granger always ascribed to Dutchmen. Granger remembered how terrifying it was to join one’s first ship as a midshipman. He’d been ushered aboard his first ship, the Barracuda, by John Travers, who had led him in to see his first captain, Sir Evelyn Fellowes. He decided to try and ease the transition of John’s nephew onto his first ship. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Travers,” Granger said affably. “Join me.” He led the young man aft, into his cabin, as much to get him and the boy out of the hubbub as to speak with him.

“My father asked me to give you this letter, my lord,” he said nervously, and handed Granger an envelope. “Thank you for taking me aboard your ship.”

Granger smiled, trying to disarm him. “Have a seat.” He poured them both a glass of wine, and then joined Travers. “Did your father tell you that your uncle and I were shipmates?”

“Yes, my lord,” he said, smiling. “Your adventures together are the stuff of family legends.”

“Your uncle was my lieutenant when I first joined the Navy.” Granger spent a few minutes, describing his first experiences aboard the Barracuda, and it seemed to put the lad at ease. “I am assigning you to Mr. Eastwyck’s division, much as I was assigned to your uncle’s. If you follow orders, and try to learn how things work, this will not seem so foreign to you.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said. Granger asked about the lad’s parents, and relatives, then led him back out onto the deck.

“Mr. Eastwyck, I am assigning Mr. Travers to your division,” Granger said. “As you are currently busy, I will task him to assist Mr. Kingsdale.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Eastwyck said. Granger summoned Kingsdale, and sent Travers off with him. He wondered if this lad would prove to be as good a seaman, and as good an officer, as his uncle had been.