Northern Exposure - 61. Chapter 61

May 23, 1801

HMS Calliope

The Baltic Sea

“My lord, that was a wonderful dinner,” Captain Hamond said as they strode out of Granger’s cabin and onto Calliope’s quarterdeck.

“I could not agree more, Captain,” Granger said. St. Helens had quizzed Granger and Daventry over breakfast and decided that he had enough information from them. He had given his blessing for them to leave, but they would only be able to escape from this place after dinner. Granger had decided to invite Hamond to join him for that meal, since Daventry was preoccupied on Blanche tending to St. Helens. Granger had truly enjoyed Hamond, who was an accomplished captain and seaman, and spending time alone with him had given Granger and him a chance to share sea experiences. It was yet one more thing bringing Granger back to this world that he knew so well, and away from the Russian Court. He noticed that today his thoughts had only rarely wandered to Alexander, as opposed to the obsession he’d had upon his return to the fleet. “I wish you a safe voyage.”

“And a safe voyage to you as well, my lord,” Hamond said, then shook Granger’s hand and went promptly over the side into Granger’s gig, with the bosuns mates’ whistles twittering.

“Mr. Eaton, I’ll have the anchor hove short,” Granger ordered. “Topsails, Mr. Douglas.” He was being very optimistic that Daventry would be able to escape as soon as Hamond arrived, but he was hoping that signs of Calliope getting ready to sail would encourage both of his fellow peers to make haste. He was sure that would have an impact on Daventry but was less convinced it would have any meaning to St. Helens.

“Anchor’s hove short, my lord,” Eaton called from the foc’sl. Granger studied the flapping topsails as Douglas trimmed them to catch the wind.

“We just have to wait for Lord Daventry’s return, and then we can get on our way,” Granger said to Douglas. Douglas smiled at his captain’s energy and desire to get underway, a distinct contrast to the prior captain, who was more relaxed about tackling missions.

“We can only hope he hurries, my lord,” Douglas said, showing the same impatience Granger had just exhibited.

Granger watched as Hamond returned to Blanche and smiled as he immediately gave the same orders for his ship that Granger had given aboard Calliope. Both ships were poised, with their hulls pulled up so they were directly over their anchors and straining from the force of the wind on the sails, just waiting to be released from the plodding diplomats.

“Gig’s putting off from Blanche, my lord,” the lookout called unnecessarily. Daventry must have left as soon as he could. Granger opted to wait until Daventry returned to get underway, since they would have to wear ship, and he did not want to accidentally smash into his gig. Granger smiled as Blanche immediately hoisted her anchor and began to make way. She was sailing with the easterly wind, so all she had to do was trim her sails to be on course.

As soon as Granger saw Daventry’s head rise over the rails, he gave the order: “Weigh anchor, Mr. Eaton.”

“You appear to be in a dashed hurry today,” Daventry said with annoyance, observing all the activity on the quarterdeck. Jacobs had pushed the gig’s crew to row energetically, which was probably what Daventry was referring to.

“I think that if we are to wait for two diplomats to decide the time is right to stop talking, we should end up in this spot in the Baltic until we had run out of stores,” Granger said.

“You can blame St. Helens for that,” Daventry replied gruffly, but Granger had already tuned him out. He stood by the rail, with Daventry next to him, waiting for the anchor to finally leave the sea floor. He was glad of Blanche’s departure, for that meant he did not have to worry about her when maneuvering. When the anchor freed itself, Calliope sprang forward, as if she was a thoroughbred racehorse suddenly freed.

“Anchors aweigh, my lord!” Eaton reported, even though that was obvious.

“Wear ship, Mr. Douglas, and lay us on the starboard tack,” Granger ordered. He stood by watching as his lieutenant expertly handled that relatively simple maneuver.

“Course east nor’east, my lord,” Douglas said, indicating that he had completed the maneuver.

“That was well done, Mr. Douglas,” Granger said. “Pipe the hands to quarters. We’ll drill them at the guns.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Douglas said. Granger noticed the subtly disappointed looks of his crew as they went to stations. Gun drill was not popular because it was a lot of work and it wasn’t readily rewarding since they couldn’t actually fire the guns. Their opinions mattered not at all to Granger: he wanted to know whether the ship was ready to go toe to toe with a French or Swedish frigate. The results of the gun drill were not heartening. Calliope was so slow at handling her guns it was possible that a French frigate would even be faster. Her performance was a disgrace.

“Mr. Douglas, you may dismiss the hands, and secure the ship,” Granger said. “That was a truly horrible display of gunnery. We will have two hours of drill in the morning and two in the afternoon until I am satisfied.”

Douglas stared at him first in horror at Granger’s pronouncement, then in surprise, for that was a very onerous schedule. “Aye aye, my lord.”

“You may tell the men that as soon as they improve, the sooner we may trim back our drills,” Granger said, since he knew the men at the quarterdeck carronades would be able to hear him.

“I will pass that on, my lord,” he said, then gave orders to end the drill.

“Not what you are used to?” Daventry asked with a wry grin.

“I fear that if we were in combat this afternoon, we would be hard-pressed,” Granger said, although even he knew that was a bit pessimistic.

“Smythe was evidently not one for working at the guns,” Daventry observed.

“I had feared this would be the case, as my perception is that Smythe viewed this almost as a personal yacht,” Granger said more quietly so only Daventry could hear.

“One usually does not have to worry about the rapidity of one’s broadsides when one is sailing one’s yacht,” Daventry noted wryly, making both of them laugh.

“Indeed,” Granger said.

“We are finally on our way home,” Daventry said. “At first I did not want to leave, but now I am so anxious I am wont to will this ship to fly.”

“I fear that while your brain is quite large, it is not strong enough to lift a frigate and send her airborne to England,” Granger responded pleasantly.

“I do not know why you underestimate me,” Daventry said with a sniff, making Granger laugh.

“While you are doing your utmost to accomplish that feat, I will focus on more conventional ways of getting home,” Granger said.

“It is a good thing that we spent the time that we did with St. Helens,” Daventry observed. “I identified most of the key players at the Imperial Court for him, and for those I did not know much about, you were able to fill the void.”

“It made for a long meeting last night,” Granger noted. They’d had to recall all the people they knew, and then jot down descriptions for St. Helens, only that was not adequate. He then asked them to enhance their descriptions, causing him to add copious notes to their writing. After all the activity of the past few days, it had been all Granger could do to focus on the task.

“Yes, but I think that St. Helens will still be more prepared than the French ambassador who arrived before him,” Daventry said. “He has also taken your advice regarding the Tsar to heart.”

“I am glad,” Granger said. “No good will come from pressuring His Imperial Majesty.”

“I agree, but it will fall upon us to convince Mr. Addington and his cabinet that we have given St. Helens sound advice,” Daventry observed. That was an unpleasant thought: when he finally got home he’d have to spend a considerable amount of time in London meeting with His Majesty’s ministers. There was a bit of commotion behind them as a sailor hauled up a very large fish. “Perhaps that will be our dinner.”

“Perhaps,” Granger said, smiling. He had set a team of men who claimed a certain level of fishing experience to attempt to catch the unfortunate beasts that lived underneath Calliope and had so far reaped a substantial haul. Hopefully that would help to augment the stores that were left for him, his officers, and the crew. “I am hoping we will find Visby brimming with items to buy.”

“One can hope,” Daventry said.

It was a beautiful, sunny day, with Calliope clawing her way into the wind heading almost to Stockholm. They were thus going largely out of their way, but Granger had needed to make an offing and get far enough north to clear the last of the underwater obstructions off Finland. Now that he had done that, it was time to change course to a more southerly route to guide Calliope into Visby.

Granger could have opted to wear ship, which would have given up some small bit of ground, but he opted to tack the ship because he was anxious to see how she did in stays with her trim adjusted. “Mr. Douglas, call the watch. Prepare to tack the ship.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Douglas said, and within seconds bosun’s whistles began to blow, summoning the men to stations.

“Hands to the braces, Mr. Douglas,” Granger ordered. Carson was near him, probably questioning every move Granger made, but Granger ignored him and just imagined himself back in Belvidera.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Douglas said.

“Ready about!” Granger ordered, then studied the deck and the rigging to ensure everyone was in their proper place. “Helm’s alee!”

“Helm’s alee,” the quartermaster acknowledged as Calliope began her larboard turn. Granger gauged her movement as she smoothly came into the wind, hoping he’d timed the maneuver correctly. If he had miscalculated, Calliope would end up all aback, and his reputation among his officers and crew would be slaughtered. “Raise tacks and sheets!”

“Aye aye, my lord,” the captains of the mast called back.

Slowly Calliope turned her head past the eye of the wind. “Mainsail haul!” Granger ordered. He continued to guide Calliope through the maneuver until she was smoothly on the larboard tack, at which point he turned the ship back over to Douglas.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but she was right handy in stays,” Carson noted. That was his way of admitting that he’d been wrong. Granger opted to be gracious and not rub it in.

“Indeed she was,” Granger said. Despite her additional length, he thought that she was handier even than Belvidera. He wondered if that was due to the heavier scantlings Belvidera had, and that maybe that made her heavier and bulkier than Calliope. “I think that when we return to the fleet, we will be able to hold our heads up with pride.” He had said that loud enough so the seamen would hear as well.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Douglas agreed.

“Even I could see that was very well done,” Daventry opined.

“She is a Forfait-designed frigate, and just needed an adjustment to her trim,” Granger said with a smile. He was conscious that his ability to turn Calliope from a poor-handling ship into a true stallion of the seas had garnered him good will with the crew and more especially with his officers. “Now let us see how fast she is.”

“My lord?” Douglas asked.

“I’ll have the courses and topgallants on her,” Granger ordered. Douglas began belting out orders to execute Granger’s directive, while Carson and the other officers looked a bit dubious. It was possible that the extra sails would merely add to their leeway, but Granger was more interested in getting to know his new command.

As the sails first billowed in the wind and then began to draw, it was as if Calliope truly leaped to life, surging ahead. “She is quite fast,” Daventry noted.

“She flies,” Granger replied, grinning. “Helm, a point to larboard,” Granger ordered, taking her a bit more away from the wind. Calliope tore through the water, making over eight knots, which was excellent for a ship sailing close-hauled. And so the day continued, with Granger making constant changes to Calliope’s sails in a bid to get to know her that much better. It was a tired George Granger who ultimately collapsed into his cot, contented with his ship and his crew.

May 25, 1801

HMS Calliope

The Baltic Sea off Visby

“Almost dawn, my lord,” Carson said. Of all the officers, his transformation had been the most pronounced. He’d gone from begrudging Granger this command to being a dedicated supporter. If Granger was less modest, he would acknowledge that the man merely responded to his considerable leadership abilities.

“Thank you, Mr. Carson,” Granger replied amicably. “Mr. Douglas, see that there is a white flag above our union flag at the main mast.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said, and began making sure that happened.

“Mr. Eaton, clear away the forward bowchaser and prepare to fire a single shot,” Granger said. “It should not be loaded.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Eaton said with a smile.

Ever so slowly, or so it seemed, the sun began to rise until dawn was upon them. He heard the trumpets and drums began to beat as the Swedes woke up to find a British frigate hove to at the entrance to their port, well within range of their batteries. “Fire, Mr. Eaton.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said, with the last few words being drowned out by the sound of the 9-pounder firing.

There was a puff of smoke from the Swedish battery, followed first by the sound, then by the whirring noise of a cannon ball as it sailed between Calliope’s main and mizzen masts. “Hold your fire,” Granger cautioned.

The officers and crew were not a little astonished at being fired upon when Granger had made it seem as if they’d be welcomed with open arms, but he was confident that the authorities would honor his request for parley. “They do not seem to like you, George,” Daventry quipped, making those who heard him chuckle.

“That is truly something I cannot understand,” Granger replied vapidly, “as I am universally popular.”

“Flag’s coming down from the fort!” came the shout from the foretop.

“They are surrendering?” Daventry asked playfully.

“I think that with the improvements we have seen in our gun drill, they are wise to take such an action,” Granger replied in the same tone.

“Swedish colors under a flag of truce, my lord,” shouted the maintop lookout. The Swedes fired a gun, this one unloaded, to signify that the parley was in effect.

“Lugger’s approaching, my lord,” called the foretop lookout.

Granger peered through his glass at the lugger and saw the Mayor of Visby, a Mr. Backstromm, sitting quite erect in the rear of the boat. He was a short rotund man with an equally round face. He was usually a happy person, and Granger was used to seeing him with a smile pasted on his face, but today he wore a very irritated expression. Granger was fortunate that this man spoke English, as that would make conversation that much easier. “Mr. Douglas, we will need a salute of 11 guns to honor the mayor of this city,” Granger said.

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said, and went off to make sure that was ready.

Amid the twittering of the bosun’s pipes, Backstromm hauled his large bulk aboard. He looked as if he were ready to explode, so angry was he, until he was disarmed first by the first gun of the salute in his honor, and secondly when he looked at the quarterdeck and saw Granger. “My lord!” he exclaimed, his face transformed from fierce to beaming. “We did not expect to see you! Welcome!”

Granger strode forward and shook the man’s hand warmly. “Thank you, Mr. Backstromm. I have acquired a new ship since we last met, so I can understand why you would be surprised to find me in command.”

“I must apologize for welcoming you with a round shot between your masts,” he said sincerely.

Granger laughed. “I would indeed call that a warm welcome,” he said. “Please allow me to introduce you to my officers and to my distinguished passenger, Lord Daventry.” Granger made the round of introductions, then led Backstromm back to his cabin.

“Sadly, you missed the governor, my lord,” Backstromm said. “He returned to Stockholm last month.”

“That is most unfortunate,” Granger said sincerely. He had met Backstromm and was on good terms with him, but he was not Governor von Rajalan. He had been looking forward to that man’s insights, plus he was a man that Granger implicitly trusted. “Did he take his aide with him?”

“Indeed he did,” Backstromm said. That was yet more bad news, but it was more from a carnal perspective. Granger had to avoid thinking of van Galen’s supple ass lest he give himself a visible erection. “We received directives to prohibit any British shipping from entering Visby which is why you were fired on.”

“That is indeed a sad state of affairs, since I feel a strong link to this city, especially since it is where we buried Mr. Cochrane,” Granger said.

“My lord, surely you must realize such rules do not apply to you,” Backstromm said with a smile. “If it became known I was rude and turned you away, I fear I would face a revolution from my citizens.” Daventry gave Granger an appraising look.

“As an aristocrat, I would be most unhappy if I were to cause a revolution,” Granger joked.

“I hope you will allow us to conduct you into the harbor and welcome you ashore,” he said hastily. “I have been accumulating mail for you and have been unclear as to how I was going to get it to you.”

“I am glad to have solved that dilemma, and will be equally glad to read my correspondence,” Granger said. “Would you mind if I offered my men shore leave as I did before, in groups of no more than fifty men at a time?”

“Of course not,” he said, with a considerable amount of bonhomie. “I am also hoping I will be able to welcome you to dinner this afternoon, and you as well, Lord Daventry. Perhaps you will also invite a few of your officers to join us as well.”

“We would be delighted,” Granger said, answering for his friend and the as yet to be selected officers. “If it meets with your approval, I had planned to stay here for three days. I had also planned to send my purser ashore to acquire additional stores, if that is possible.”

“You are welcome to stay for as long as you want, but I fear if you were to remain anchored beyond three days, I may get an unpleasant communique from Karlskrona, so I appreciate your consideration,” Backstromm said with a smile. “We will be glad to assist your purser.”

“Excellent,” Granger said. He stood up, ending their interview, and escorted Backstromm back to his boat.

“We can send a pilot to guide you in, my lord,” Backstromm offered.

“I feel as if I know this harbor as if it were the Thames,” Granger said with a smile. “I am confident I can find my anchorage without inconveniencing your port authorities.”

“Then I will greet your lordship when you have anchored and come ashore,” Backstromm said, then went over the side. His lugger cast off and headed to the shore, while Granger prepared to con Calliope into the harbor.

“Square away, Mr Douglas,” Granger ordered, and began to con Calliope into the protected harbor of Visby. Carter looked on nervously, since there was no pilot, but the course was easy, and Granger merely anchored Calliope in the same spot Valiant had occupied. After he gave orders to drop the anchor, he summoned his officers to the quarterdeck.

“That was quite an impressive display, George,” Daventry commented.

“I spent some days in this port waiting to sail to track you down, and I made good use of my time,” Granger joked, choosing to attribute Daventry’s comment to his ability to anchor Calliope in Visby harbor without running aground. Seeing his officers assembled, he used that as an excuse to dodge Daventry’s praise. “We will be here for three days. During that time, I would like to provide shore leave for the men who have not found themselves on the list of infractors.”

His officers to a man stared at him, not a little stunned. They were sure that the men would desert, and that Calliope would end up with a skeleton crew of only those who had faced punishment in the past. Granger paused to see which of them was brave enough to voice that concern and was not surprised that it was Fitzgerald. “My lord, won’t the men desert?”

“I am glad you raised that point, Mr. Fitzgerald,” Granger said pleasantly. “There will be a few things to prevent them from doing so. First, we will make it clear that other men from their mess will not be allowed to go on leave until their messmates return.” For most seamen, their messmates were their family aboard ship. To betray their shipmates in such a manner was anathema to them, and if they ultimately did return, it would make their continued life aboard Calliope a living hell.

“I can see how that would be a deterrent, my lord, but is it enough?” Douglas asked.

“I think a more potent preventer is the fact that Visby is an island,” Granger noted, making them chuckle. “It is possible they could attempt to stow away aboard a merchant, but I think that the authorities will assist us to the point that our losses to desertion should be minimal.”

“I see your point, my lord,” Douglas said with a smile.

“We will allow men ashore in parties of 50, to return the next morning. Captain Pitcairn, the men will most likely congregate in that section of town,” Granger said, pointing to the active but shabby settlement close to the port. That was where the bars and whorehouses were located. “I want you to make sure you post a squad there to see that there are no problems.”

Pitcairn was taken aback by that. “My lord, surely the shore authorities will resent our presence.”

“I think, Captain, that instead they will appreciate it,” Granger said. “Your men are there to prevent problems, and to the degree that they are successful, their efforts will be lauded by the constables.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said skeptically.

“Mr. Creevy,” Granger said, to attract the attention of the purser.

“My lord?” the man asked curiously.

“I have told the mayor you will be going ashore to acquire stores,” Granger said. “I would expect you to augment our stocks of vegetables, and if you can find any oranges or limes or other anti-scorbutics, they would be most welcome.”

“Those may be costly this early in the year, my lord,” he said nervously.

“I will make up any additional costs from my own pocket,” Granger said, truly stunning the man. “I would also ask that you consult with my chief steward, who will acquaint you with any personal stores I need.”

“It will be my pleasure, my lord,” he said, in a much better frame of mind. Granger spent a few more minutes explaining his expectations for provisions, then dismissed them.

He and Daventry returned to his cabin to find Winkler waiting for him. “We will be ashore, but back this evening,” Granger informed him.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Winkler said, but seemed nervous.

“What is it, Winkler?” Granger demanded, in no mood to waste time beating around the bush.

“My lord, most of these men have not been lucky in the way of prize money, and their pay is in arrears,” Winkler said.

“You are telling me the men have no money?” Granger asked in surprise. He had been lucky with prize money, so his former crews were able to pay for their amusements ashore.

“Yes, my lord,” Winkler said.

“Then you will tap into my purse and provide them with a few pieces of silver so they can enjoy their leave,” Granger said.

“I will contribute to that as well,” Daventry offered.

“Please make sure the men know that Lord Daventry is a co-contributor so they think a bit more highly of him,” Granger joked.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Winkler said, smiling. Daventry and Granger returned to the quarterdeck and waited as his gig was readied.

“I daresay the men who are unable to participate in shore leave will rethink their errant ways,” Daventry said loudly enough that the officers and men around them would hear.

“As I explained to my officers, there are more ways to encourage men than flogging,” Granger noted wryly. It dawned on Granger that he was supposed to take an officer ashore with him. His eyes took in his three lieutenants and ultimately settled on Fitzgerald for the sole reason that Fitzgerald was the brightest and most pleasant. “Mr. Fitzgerald, you will accompany me ashore.”

Douglas and Eaton looked relieved, as they probably did not relish traipsing around town with their captain. Douglas, especially, was still trying to grow into his role as First Lieutenant and would be happy to have some time without Granger around to get a better grasp on organizing Calliope to his standards. “I would be honored, my lord,” Fitzgerald said.

“You may pick one of the midshipmen to join us as well,” Granger said. “We may need a messenger.”

“I think Mr. Anson will be happy to accompany us, my lord,” Fitzgerald said, getting a mildly horrified look from the handsome young midshipman. Anson was assigned to Fitzgerald’s division, so that Fitzgerald chose him didn’t surprise Granger. The fact that he was the best turned out of the three also would have presumably influenced his decision. Granger noted that he had already had his hair cropped, presumably to emulate his new captain, and his thick blond locks looked splendid with the new hairstyle.

“As he is the most presentable of our young gentlemen, I think that is an excellent choice,” Granger said, sending a message to Parker and Colston that they would be wise to polish their shoes and tie their cravats with a bit more effort.

As he went over the side, he saw the first group of men getting ready to board the launch for shore leave. When they were some 100 feet from the ship, he heard loud cheering. “The men appear to be quite enthusiastic about shore leave, my lord,” Fitzgerald commented.

“Lord Daventry and I contributed a few coins to each of them to ensure they enjoyed their outing,” Granger said. “I suspect that is the result of the cheering more than the leave itself.”

“Money is such a crass motivator,” Daventry replied waspishly, making them laugh, all except Fitzgerald, who stared at Granger with wide-eyed hero worship.