Master and Commander - 18. Chapter 18

December 28, 1794

“Gentlemen, the King,” Lennox said, raising his glass at Granger's table. The others, all of Intrepid's officers except the reliable Wilson who had the watch, were arrayed around Granger's dining room table, cramped quarters for all of them, enjoying the last of Granger's delicacies. Lefavre had gone all out for this dinner, and it was truly fabulous, but Granger was sobered by the knowledge that for the rest of the voyage home he'd have to subsist on pretty much the same food his men ate. Salt beef or pork, months in a cask, made as edible as Lefavre could manage. Biscuit infested with weevils, where tapping the hard piece of bread gently brought some, but not all of them out. And of course, split pea soup, the best dish of all. He put that out of his mind and opted to live for the moment, to enjoy their celebration.

He let the wine flow freely, letting his officers indulge themselves, even though this was running low too. They'd made a brief stop in St. Helena and refilled their water casks, but other than that Granger had driven Intrepid forward with the energy of a demon, determined to get home, as if their arrival in London would close the chapter on their voyage to India. He remembered when he first heard he was going to India he'd thought he'd be gone for at least a year, yet it appeared they'd be back in nine months.

Calvert swayed a little bit in his seat, having drunk almost too much to stay upright. Their eyes met and he steadied himself, and then smiled at Granger. Granger thought about what was to come later, when they were alone in his cot, naked and linked, and smiled back. Calvert had become part of him, and he'd become part of Calvert.

“Sir, begging your pardon sir, but when will we reach London?” asked Fitzwilliam, slurring his words.

“I expect we'll arrive around the middle of January,” Granger said indulgently.

“We could have planned this better,” Humphreys groused playfully. “Getting home in the dead of winter.”

“I'd rather have winter cold than that damned heat,” Carslake groused.

“You just wait until you're older and your bones ache. Then you'll learn to love the warmth of the Indies,” Barney said, sounding like a decrepit old man when he was nothing of the sort.

“Will they pay us off sir?” Lennox asked. He was asking if they would pay the crew and officers off and scatter them to the fleet.

“Why Mr. Lennox? Are you hoping to secure a better position? A better ship, perhaps?” Granger teased.

“No sir. There is no better ship. I like it here,” he said sincerely.

“I'll drink to that,” Humphreys said. “To the Intrepid!”

“To the Intrepid!” they all said, and raised their glasses to toast their ship, and themselves.

“Well gentlemen, the navy has a way of severing ships companies and sending them in different directions, but I have found that the friends I have made in this service are the best friends I have, so no matter where we go, we must always remember these times,” Granger said, waxing philosophically. “Besides, promotion almost requires that people move on.”

They all looked at him, none of them seeming to want to leave, even if it meant a promotion. It was very heartwarming, and it almost brought tears to his eyes. “I'm happy right here,” Calvert said, seemingly speaking for all of them.

“As am I,” Jackson said. “There's probably going to be a very angry father or two waiting for me when I land.” They all laughed at that.

“You will be safe aboard Intrepid, should you opt not to venture out,” Granger said. “We'll all go ashore significantly richer. We've accumulated a good amount of prize money.”

“Will they pay us for Rattlesnake sir?” Carslake asked.

“I'm not sure,” Granger said honestly. “The case will probably spend so much time in the admiralty courts it will settle when we're all ready to retire.” They laughed at that too.

“Between that brig we captured and our share of Emeraude, I expect my purse to be much fatter,” Andrews said.

“We still have two more weeks,” Humphreys said. “Maybe we can catch a fat merchantman on his way home.”

“We shall see,” Granger said. “I feel that now is a good time to share some news with you, news that I have kept to myself.” Now he had their attention. “When we were in Tenerife, the Viceroy gave us a reward, a chest of gold coins. I estimate its value at about 10,000 pounds. In addition, we were voted an award of 8000 pounds by the East India Company, 1000 pounds for each schooner we destroyed.”

They stared at him, their mouths open, stunned. “18,000 pounds sir?” Carslake asked.

“That is correct,” he said. That would make even the lieutenants rich men, not rich like the people at court, but rich enough to buy a small manor house on some acreage and live a comfortable country life, if they so choose. “So when we get home, you must all watch out for the schemers who would separate you from your money.” They all nodded, yet some of them would fall victim to the con men anyway.

There was a knock at the door, followed by Gatling's entry. He looked scared to death, bursting in on this dinner of all the officers, any one of which would strike him with awe. “Mr. Wilson's respects sir, and we have sighted a sail.”

“Thank you Gatling,” Granger said. “Well gentlemen, that should serve to end dinner.” He calmly got up and strolled out of his cabin, the others following closely. He made sure to keep his pace deliberate, even though his emotions told him to run up on deck.

“Where is this sail Mr. Wilson?” Granger asked.

“Off the starboard bow sir,” he said. Granger picked up his glass and aimed it off toward the advancing ship. He could barely see her topsails from the deck.

“Masthead! What do you make of that sail?” Granger called. They had the wind at their back, so he had the advantage. If she was a large ship, he could escape. If she was smaller, he could attack.

“Looks like a frigate sir!” he said. “French by the look of her.”

“Beat to quarters Mr. Calvert,” Granger ordered. Well, they'd battled a frigate before and won, if they had to do it again, the result would be the same, Granger told himself, battling his insecurities.

‘Hearts of Oak’ burst from the drums, rousing the off-duty watch and turning the ship into a beehive of activity. “Show our colors Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Granger ordered, and the union flag soared up the mast.

“She's hoisting her colors now sir. She's English!” Fitzwilliam said. Granger took his glass and studied the other ship and smiled.

“You may dismiss the hands Mr. Calvert. That is the Aurore,” Granger said. The seas were relatively calm for this time of year; calm enough for a boat in any event. “Have my gig ready to swing out.” He'd make the trip even if it was a storm. He looked over at Calvert and felt incredibly guilty. Here he was, confronted by both of the men in his life, both of the men he loved. One was here, loyal and steadfast; the other was over there with his own lover.

Intrepid closed with Aurore until they were only a cable's length apart, and then both ships hove to. Granger was already in his gig, so there was no need for Travers to order him to come over. Granger could barely contain himself as the gig danced over the waves, making the short trip to Aurore seem like an eternity. But then they were there, hooked onto the chains, and Granger was climbing aboard the ship he'd once commanded, the sideboys and bosun's whistle welcoming him on board.

He saluted the quarterdeck and there was Travers, his eyes twinkling in suppressed delight, all of his feelings, all of his love surging forward. Granger felt himself smiling involuntarily, so happy he was at seeing Travers. He looked the same, maybe a bit more weathered, but the same handsome face with his “Dutch” nose, the same strong body, and the same muscular calves bulging out of his stockings.

He stepped forward to greet Granger. “George! What a great surprise! Come below, have a glass,” he said. Granger looked over and saw Robey looking at him nervously.

“It is good to see you too Mr. Robey,” Granger said cheerfully, forcing himself to be polite and make this uncomfortable meeting less tense.

“Thank you sir. It is good to see you as well,” he said, lying. Oh well, Granger thought, it was to be expected. He followed Travers to his cabin, and then as soon as the door was closed Travers turned and grabbed him, pulling him to him, kissing him passionately. Granger melted into him, remembering his body, his strong masculinity, his dominance.

He dragged Granger into his sleeping cabin and pushed him into the bed, spooning up behind him, his hands all over Granger's body, on his chest, on his hard dick, and then on his ass. He pulled Granger's breeches down and grabbed the lanolin to lube his thick cock. They didn't spend time with foreplay, because time was something they didn't have. Granger felt Travers' body move up to him, felt his cock at the entrance to his hole, demanding entry. Granger relaxed into him, relishing this brief time together, how right this felt.

“God, I have missed you so much,” Travers said, almost sobbing. “I needed this so bad, needed to be with you.”

“I missed you too, more than you know,” Granger said. Then he let himself go, let his body express his feelings, surrendering himself completely to Travers. He felt Travers' big dick plunging in and out of him, making him feel not only the physical joys of sex, but the emotional joys of love. But they were too worked up for this to last long, and they knew they didn't have much time, so they worked to reach orgasm quickly and together, a massive explosion of love and fluids.

They lay in the cot, panting, enjoying the denouement. “I got your letters and they sounded so sad. I was so worried that you wouldn't believe me when I told you that my heart was still yours,” Travers said.

“It took me a while to work through it,” Granger said honestly. “But we will be separated much of the time, it is inevitable. There will be other men. It won't change how I feel about you.”

“Is there another man?”

“Yes,” Granger said simply.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes,” Granger said, being completely honest.

“Do you love me more?” Travers asked with a cheeky grin.

“Yes,” Granger said, even though he wasn't sure he meant it. He loved them both. Travers kissed him again, the love that they shared transmitted through their lips and tongues. “So will Robey hate me now?”

“He will be hurt and sad, and I will have to deal with that, but he understands, or at least he says he does,” Travers said. They got dressed and headed back to Travers' main cabin and sat down to share a glass of wine, and news.

“Are you just returning from India?” Travers asked.

“We are. So many stories to tell, but they will have to wait for a later time,” Granger said. “You undoubtedly have more news than I.”

“I do, and not all of it is good,” he said sadly. Granger looked at him wide-eyed then, terror flowing through his veins. “Caroline and William are just fine,” Travers said hastily. “Caroline has become hugely fat.”

“Fat? I don't see her as fat,” Granger said, oblivious to what Travers was telling him.

“Well by the time you get back, she may be thin again. She is expecting another child. You are certainly fertile,” Travers said. Granger beamed at that. Another child. Maybe another son? Or a daughter! Then he sobered himself.

“What is the bad news? What are you not telling me?” Granger demanded.

“Michel caught the pox. He didn't make it,” Travers said gently. “Maybe it was a strain he wasn't use to. He fought like a tiger, but it took him in the end.” Granger felt a tear fall down his cheek. He was about to chide himself for it, but sometimes you are allowed to cry. Michel was his adopted son, and losing a child is devastating. “I'm so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Granger said, fighting back his sorrow. “Tell me some other news so I may put this out of my head for a bit.”

Travers nodded. “There's a new First Lord, Lord Spencer.”

“I know him well. He's a Whig, and he frequents Carlton House,” Granger said. “What's a Whig doing as First Lord?”

“You'll have to ask your father. That's high politics,” Travers said. “We are headed back to the Mediterranean. We have Corsica now, but it cost Nelson his eye. It looks as if the French are recovering from Toulon. Their fleet is more active.”

“Still no match for ours. How is Lord Hood?” Granger asked, remembering his favorite admiral, and his friend.

“He is back in London. He was recalled in October. Supposedly there was some mix-up with the Admiralty and they ordered him home,” Travers said glumly. There was a knock on the door and Robey entered.

“I'm sorry to interrupt sir, but the seas are getting up,” he said.

“Then I must go. It was good to see you,” Granger said to Travers. “And to see you Mr. Robey. I hope you are still my friend?”

Robey grinned. He was incredibly cute, truly irresistible. “Of course sir. It is an honor I am proud of.”

“A good voyage to both of you then,” Granger said bloodlessly, his calm demeanor hiding the surging emotions he buried inside. He descended into his boat and noted that the seas were indeed rougher, that Robey wasn't simply trying to get rid of him. So rough, in fact, that he was thoroughly soaked by the time he returned to Intrepid, soaked by the frigid waters of the Atlantic in December.

Granger boarded Intrepid and headed aft. “You may square away Mr. Calvert,” he said. Calvert looked at him, worried. “I'll be below.” Winkler was waiting for him, waiting to rid him of his wet clothes and replace them with dry ones. Winkler knew as much about Granger's moods as anyone; it was impossible for Granger to bury the grief from him.

“Michel died of the pox,” he said simply.

“I'm sorry sir,” Winkler said. “Here, you'll need your oilskins on deck. It's looking to work into a real squall.” He wrapped Granger lovingly, like a mother, and then Granger went back up on deck, letting the strong wind and salty spray hide his tears.

“We'll take in the topsails Mr. Calvert,” Granger said. “And a reef in the mains, if you please.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. He looked at Granger, concerned, but Granger just stared back, his eyes like steel, until Calvert went off to obey his orders. Then Granger began to pace, back and forth across the deck, processing this almost mystical encounter with Travers.

Michel. Such a sharp boy, with so much promise, tragically ripped away from them by a cursed disease. It almost made Granger guilty for using fever as an excuse for keeping Calvert on board. The three cases of ‘fever’ had turned out to be nothing more than a minor illness. Caroline was pregnant again, and due to give birth soon. He'd lost one child, but would presumably get another. The vagaries and ruthlessness of life were tortuous.

Then there was his encounter with Travers. His skin still tingled, thinking about it. It was exciting, exhilarating, and confusing. He truly loved Travers, but that inevitably made him glance over at the binnacle where Calvert stood like a statue. His love for Travers didn't diminish his feelings for Calvert at all. He'd sensed the same thing from Travers when they were together, and that was somehow restorative.

How different the two of them were! Travers, so mature and masculine, always in charge, a dominance that demanded love while politely asking for it at the same time. Calvert, so young and playful, so fun and energetic, so willing to do whatever it took to make Granger happy. He reached the end of his length and turned to pace back, catching Calvert's eyes. He saw worry and concern in them.

Humphreys appeared on deck to take over the watch. “Mr. Humphreys, I'm going below,” Granger said. “If the wind increases, we'll take in another reef.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. He heard the thump of shoes behind him as someone followed him below and knew it was Calvert. Granger headed to his cabin and opened the door, then turned to Calvert and motioned him in. Calvert gave him a weak smile.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“News from home,” Granger said. “My ward, the son I adopted last year, died of smallpox.”

“I'm so sorry,” he said sincerely. Granger nodded.

“There was good news as well. Caroline is with child again, and due to give birth soon.”

Calvert smiled. “That is wonderful news. Caroline is a lovely lady.” It was interesting that Calvert seemed to have none of the qualms about Caroline that Travers had.

“There's also a new First Lord. Earl Spencer has taken over from Chatham,” Granger said.

“You were very close with Chatham, weren't you? Isn't this bad news for you?” he asked.

“Lord Spencer is actually a closer friend of the family than Chatham, and I've known him for years. It helps, but it's also a tough go if you make errors. Then it's not just the failure you feel, it's the disappointment in their eyes,” Granger said.

“That was him wasn't it?” Calvert asked.

“What are you talking about?” Granger asked.

“You told me there was another man that you loved. That was him, on Aurore,” Calvert said.

“What makes you say that?” Granger asked, not wanting to sound evasive, but wanting to know if he'd given off any signs.

“I could tell by the look on your face when you left, and when you saw each other on the Aurore,” Calvert said sadly.

“You were watching me through your glass?” Granger asked, even though he wasn't surprised. He would have done the same thing. Calvert nodded. “Yes, that was him.”

“Do you still love him?” he asked.

“Yes. I used to feel very conflicted about it, torn between him and you and Caroline, but I'm not anymore,” Granger said, even though that wasn't entirely true.

“What do you mean you're not conflicted about it?” Calvert asked, irritated.

“I realize that I have room in my heart for more than one person, and all three of you are different. Caroline most of all, since she has a vagina,” Granger said with a grin that got a similar response from Calvert. “I'm sorry Francis. I worry that this will hurt you, but I need to be honest with you.”

“So what happens when the war is over and I'm standing in the room with you and him, what will you do?” he asked earnestly.

“Have a threesome,” Granger said deadpan, getting a laugh from Calvert.

“This voyage home has been like paradise for me,” Calvert said. “Just being with you on this ship, it felt like time stopped.”

Granger smiled and thought about it. He was right. “It was idyllic. I love you, I love being with you.”

“You know what I'm going to do when we get to London?” Calvert asked.

“No, what?” Granger asked, as he was expected to.

“I'm going to track down Arthur Teasdale and fuck his brains out, just to thank him for helping me meet you.”

Granger laughed hard at that. “That's probably the best present you could give him.” He felt Intrepid's motion, and his instincts told him the squall was turning into a gale. “No time for fun now. I have to go up on deck.” He stood up and grabbed his oilskins and his tarpaulin.

“I'll come up and help,” Calvert offered.

“No, get some rest, then you can give me a break later on,” Granger said.

His head rose above the deck just in time to see a wall of water heading for him, splashing him directly in the face and thoroughly soaking him. A few of the seamen saw him and tried to hide their grins, but it was pretty funny, and dashed bad luck. He smiled at them and shook his head, giving them permission to release their grins.

“Wind's picking up sir!” Humphreys yelled. The waves were massive, like only the North Atlantic could produce in winter. He saw a wall of water coming at them, then break over the ship, dousing them from stem to stern. A few more waves like that and Intrepid might broach to.

“We'll heave to,” Granger yelled. “Then we'll batten down the hatches.” That would help keep the water below to a minimum, although that minimum would still require a lot of work on the pumps.

“Hands to the braces!” he yelled into his speaking trumpet. The men struggled on the heaving deck, holding their lines like the experienced seamen that they were. Granger watched the waves, waiting for just the right moment. “Helm, bring her into the wind,” he ordered. The man responded briskly, turning the wheel over. Intrepid responded willingly like she always did. A sweeter handling ship Granger could not imagine. She turned while Humphreys trimmed the braces, and then settled down to ride out the storm.

January 1, 1795

“Happy New Year sir!” Humphreys shouted as Granger came on deck. Granger had allowed himself a few precious hours of sleep, if only to rest his weary bones and muscles. The gale had blown up on them, and if anything had only increased its intensity, turning into a storm so strong that for the first time since he'd commanded Intrepid, the concept of foundering actually seemed like a possibility. But he had underestimated his little ship and her durability, and she'd battled the seas with a determination matched only by her crew.

“Storm seems to be easing,” Granger said.

“Aye sir. Jesus, look at the size of that wave,” Humphreys said, pointing at a monster heading right toward them. Intrepid took it on her bow, rising up to meet it, the angle of her deck bordering on the obscene, until the wave lifted her no more and crashed along her deck. Her flush deck, and hatch covers, had saved her from shipping a goodly amount of water on that one.

“I think we'll wait until the seas moderate, and then we'll get her underway,” Granger said, mindful that he was tasked with reaching London as soon as he could.

“Aye aye sir,” Humphreys said. So they waited and watched apprehensively as each mountain of water barreled toward them. Finally, late in the afternoon, the seas had moderated enough for Intrepid to once again turn her nose toward England. Granger stayed on deck until he felt hunger and fatigue overwhelm him, and then he retreated down to his cabin to submit to Winkler's welcome ministrations. Stripping him of his wet clothes, drying him, feeding him, and tucking him into his cot.

But even now, exhausted and worn out, sleep would not fully come to him. Visions of Michel, his happy face, his bold personality, the joy he'd shown when Granger had adopted him and taken him back to England, those visions flooded his brain. He thought that maybe there would come a time when he would see them and smile, and not feel this grief, this burden that struck him when he was alone, but that time was not now. So he lay there in his bed, nurturing his pain, making it worse, until his body finally surrendered it's consciousness to sleep.

Something very unpleasant was trying to interrupt his thoughts. “Sir, sir!” he heard. Winkler's voice. He waged a monstrous battle in his mind; on one side was his body, the physical body, which demanded to be left alone to sleep. On the other side was his mind, full of notions of responsibility and duty. “Sir!” came the urgent voice again, lending reinforcements to the forces of his mind, until he felt himself emerging from the slumber he had just so recently found.

“What is it?” he asked petulantly.

“I'm sorry to wake you sir, but the seas have moderated and Mr. Calvert wants to shake out a reef.”

“Very well, I'll come,” Granger said. He put on his clothes, damp ones, everything was damp, and let Winkler bundle him up like a package, then made his way back up to the deck.

“I'm sorry to disturb you sir, but the weather has moderated enough that I thought we might take a reef or two out of the mainsail.”

Granger looked at his surroundings, pitch black for now, but his seaman's instincts were acute, and he could sense the easing motion of Intrepid and feel the wind hitting his cheek with much less force. “I think you are right Mr. Calvert. Make it so.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Granger stood there, swaying on the deck, watching the men fight the canvas so far above the deck, waiting until the deed was done.

“She seems to be handling it just fine, sir” Calvert said.

“She does. You are anxious like everyone else to get home?”

“No sir,” Calvert said. “I meant it when I told you I'd rather just sail around the world in this little ship with you.”

Granger smiled at him, and decided that sailing around with Calvert was just about the best thing he could imagine too.

January 18, 1795

Granger paced his quarterdeck in a vile mood. He wasn't the only one; the whole crew was tired and irritable. They were in the English Channel, hove to yet again, while another storm pounded them. Only this storm was worse than the others, not because of its magnitude, but because they were forced to heave to and the winds and current were forcing them up the Channel. They'd caught sight of land this morning, only it wasn't Margate off the larboard bow like they hoped. No, it was the Dutch coast off the starboard bow. They'd passed London, and now they'd have to wait for the winds to moderate and then tack back toward the city. It would be a long and grueling trip if these winds prevailed, and this time of year they were likely to.

“Bloody hell,” Humphreys said, and then quickly added, “sir.”

“Is anyone familiar enough with the Dutch coast to know where we are?” Granger asked of the deck in general. The wind howled around him, freezing and loud, forcing him to yell to be heard.

“Begging your pardon sir, but I think that may be Middleburg,” said one of the Bosun's mates, referring to a town on the shoreline.

“How certain are you?” Granger demanded.

“Well sir, I'm not sure, but I think that's what it is,” he said, quavering before his captain.

“Very well. See if you can confirm our position. I'll be below,” he said. He stomped off, too irritated to worry that it looked bad. Everyone was angry; to not be was simply unthinkable. He pulled out his chart and studied it carefully. If they were near Middleburg, that would put them almost due east of London. That would require some work to get to port, but not nearly as bad as if they went further up channel. Granger resolved to get sail on Intrepid, even if it cost a spar.

He arrived on the deck and found his resolve faltering. The wind and seas were quite strong, certainly beyond what he'd normally subject Intrepid to. He stood there, evaluating the situation with a bias that frustrated him. He wanted to be home, to see Caroline and William, to fulfill his mission and deliver his dispatches. Yet the professional seaman in him told him that to risk his ship, to drive her toward London in such a sea was risky, foolhardy even.

He was interrupted in his reverie by a sailor standing in front of him, saluting. “Begging your pardon sir, but I couldn't make myself heard from the main top. There's a sail off the starboard bow, maybe eight cables off.”

“What is she?” Granger asked.

“Looks to be a fishing boat sir,” he said. He looked worried, worried for the fishing boat, as well he should be. Ships like that had no business being out in this sea. Now Granger had an even bigger dilemma. He could expose more canvas and increase their leeway and save the fishing boat, or at least her crew, but that would put him farther still from London. He wanted to stomp his foot, to vent his rage, but that wasn't consonant with his dignity.

“Mr. Calvert, shake out a reef in the mainsail,” Granger ordered. “Mr. Carslake, there's a fishing boat over there we're going to help, if she needs it.”

They nodded their assent. Talking was difficult with these winds; anything was difficult in these winds. He watched the topmen grudgingly climb the masts, hanging on for dear life as they worked the clews to release the reef and show more sail, and then slide back down onto the deck to go below where the only warmth would be the body heat generated by their colleagues.

They were drifting faster now, much faster, and closing on the fishing boat. She seemed to be holding her own, surprisingly enough. She was a Dutch craft, which may explain that: Dutchmen were some of the best sailors in the world. He took his glass and trained it on her. The men aboard seemed oblivious to the little sloop drifting down to them until Intrepid was almost upon them. Once they saw Intrepid they began waving their hands and arms dramatically, and pulled their lugsail to, allowing Intrepid to drift closer without slamming into her.

Granger watched them get closer and closer until only half a cable's length separated them. There was a typical small crew, three to five men, working to keep their boat on station and afloat, when another man emerged from below. Dressed elegantly, he looked completely out of place on the fishing boat. They began to gesture wildly, pointing at the man, and at the Intrepid.

“Mr. Calvert, they want us to take their passenger aboard. See if you can devise a way to make that happen. Perhaps a Bosun's chair, strung from the main yard?”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said dubiously. This was no mean feat, transferring a man from a very unstable platform to another unstable platform, with the wind blowing fiercely around them. But ‘I cannot’ was not in the Royal Navy lexicon, so Calvert and Farrel put themselves to work on the problem while all the while the ships closed. Granger watched them rigging the chair, the men at the end of the yard working as quickly as they could, although the fear of falling into the freezing, churning water below must be sobering. Finally it was rigged, and the swing went out, flailing wildly in the wind.

Granger studied the passenger, saw him show no fear, no apprehension as they strapped him into this contraption that seemed sure to cause his death. Granger had helped rescue another man from a boat like this in the Mediterranean, only that fishing boat was nearly sunk, and they'd been lucky just to get the crew off. As the swing pulled up and hoisted the man up, and then ropes pulled him aboard, Granger wondered who this man might be. Last time they'd saved the Comte d'Artois, a son of France, brother to the current King in exile.

The chair was lowered slowly, bringing him gently to the deck. Men rushed forward to release him and guide him aft to the quarterdeck. The fishing boat immediately veered off and headed for home, miraculously avoiding being swamped as she set course.

“Keep us hove to, Mr. Calvert,” Granger ordered, then turned to their passenger. “Please come below,” Granger yelled. The man nodded and followed Granger down to his cabin. “I apologize for not greeting you on deck, but the noise makes talking difficult. I am Commander George Granger, of His Britannic Majesty's ship Intrepid.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you Commander. I must thank you for my rescue. I am William, Prince of Orange and Nassau-Dietz, Stadtholder of the Dutch Republic.” Holy shit, thought Granger. Here, in his cabin, was the Dutch head of state.