Northern Exposure - 66. Chapter 66

May 30, 1801

HMS Calliope

Off Karlskrona, Sweden

 

Everyone aboard was staring ahead at His Britannic Majesty’s Baltic fleet, some 12 ships of the line and assorted smaller vessels. It was hard to imagine a more majestic sight than that of these powerful battleships under almost full sail, confidently displaying their command of this body of water. Clear skies just added to the overall magnificence of the moment. “Flag to Calliope, captain to repair on board, my lord,” Colston said.

“Acknowledge, Mr. Colston,” Granger said. “It appears that Admiral Nelson has stricken his flag,” he commented to Douglas. This new admiral was a vice admiral of the blue, so the ships all flew blue ensigns, while Nelson was a vice-admiral of the white.

“Indeed, my lord,” Douglas said. “I’m wondering who replaced him.”

“I suspect I will find out shortly,” Granger said. The transformation in Douglas was remarkable, even more pronounced than that of Carson. They had sighted the fleet as soon as dawn broke. Granger had already changed into his best uniform so he had no need to go back to his cabin, thus he could merely focus on his ship. Granger knew that was important, as how he maneuvered Calliope as she joined the fleet would either recast her image or damn her as a cranky boat. Just as nerve-wracking was that if he failed, his reputation as an excellent seaman would be seriously diminished both with the fleet and aboard Calliope.

Yet despite his intention to focus, Granger found his eyes taking in his own ship instead. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, which was a distinct contrast from the fog they’d endured yesterday. He remembered what the Baltic had been like in the winter and decided that this weather had been paid for by that experience. He glanced up to the poop, where Daventry and Anson were leaning against the taffrail, chatting away in an animated fashion. Granger had mentioned his conversation with Anson to Daventry, who had immediately sent for the young midshipman. They had been almost inseparable after that, as both of them seemed to thrive on intellectually stimulating each other. It made Granger feel a bit boorish, as if he weren’t well-read enough to do that for Daventry, until he chided himself for thinking he had to thrive on academic topics to be a good traveling companion for his friend.

Granger pulled his mind back to the fleet as Calliope approached the St. George. The fleet was sailing south with the wind on its quarter, while Calliope headed toward them close-hauled. St. George was the fifth ship in the line, following Warrior, Defence, Saturn, and Ramillies, all stolid seventy-fours. He would have to wear ship, and it was important that he timed it right so Calliope ended up slightly ahead of the flagship. Granger waited until he was parallel to Saturn, then gave the order to put the helm down. Calliope swung sweetly to the larboard, away from the fleet, as if she were a top turning counterclockwise.

“Trim the braces,” Granger called, watching as the men forced Calliope’s topsails and courses to catch the wind. She surged ahead then, threatening to catch up to Saturn, but Granger quickly reefed the courses until they were running even next to Ramillies.

“That was well done, my lord,” Douglas said with a huge grin. He noticed similar smiles from the crewmen on the quarterdeck.

“That should show the fleet that our ship handling is no longer impaired,” Granger said with a smile, allowing himself a rare moment of cockiness. That one maneuver, executed flawlessly, would not only enhance Calliope’s reputation as a good boat, but his own as someone who could take a badly handling ship and turn her into a crack sailer. Granger was modest about many things, but he was quite proud of his seamanship, and thus permitted himself that modicum of gloating. “I will be aboard the flagship.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Douglas said.

Granger descended into his gig and gave the order to proceed. By positioning Calliope ahead of St. George, the gig’s crew was able to maneuver directly down to the flagship without scrambling to keep up with the fleet as it surged southerly. He looked back to see Douglas dropping Calliope back so she was aft of St. George, to make the return trip just as easy.

He climbed up the towering sides of St. George and hauled himself through the entry port. “Welcome aboard, my lord,” Hardy said, smiling broadly.

“It is good to see you, Hardy,” Granger said, shaking his hand.

“That was a decidedly different performance with Calliope than I am used to. Well done, my lord,” Hardy said.

Granger smiled broadly. “Thank you. We’ve made a few changes.”

“Things have changed around here a bit as well, my lord,” Hardy said.

“And who is our new admiral?” Granger asked.

“Sir Charles Pole, my lord,” Hardy said, slightly disappointed.

“I am glad to see that the Admiralty made such a good decision,” Granger observed. Granger knew Pole quite well and found him to be an excellent officer. They spoke frequently at Court, and Granger had worked with him to resolve the Spithead Mutiny.

“I completely agree with you, my lord, although I miss Admiral Nelson,” Hardy said. Hardy’s loyalty to Nelson was as strong as Granger had seen, but Pole and Nelson were friends, so that must have eased the blow a bit. Before Granger could further comment, they arrived at the admiral’s cabin and breezed past the marine guarding these nether regions.

Admiral Sir Charles Pole was standing to greet Granger, a friendly and respectful gesture on his part. Pole was in his mid-40s and was portly and balding. The extra fat he was carrying seemed to concentrate on his face, making his features quite full and round. “Welcome, my lord,” Pole said warmly. “This is my captain of the fleet, Henry Nicholls.” He introduced Granger to a tall and rather dour man.

“It is good to see you, Sir Charles,” Granger said to Pole, “And a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said to Nicholls.

“The pleasure is mine, my lord,” Nicholls said stiffly.

“I was told you would be joining us briefly, my lord,” Pole said. Granger was relieved that Pole was not planning to keep him with the fleet for an extended period of time.

“Yes, sir,” Granger said. “That is what Lord Nelson told me.”

“Well he’s gone, and has left me to finish things up and bring this fleet home, my lord,” Pole said. “But I will honor the spirit of his orders.”

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said, smiling broadly. “Is Lord Nelson alright?”

“He claimed to be feeling ill, my lord, but I personally suspect he was homesick,” Pole said. “Especially now that there’s not much excitement here in the Baltic.” Granger chuckled at that. As Pole was a good friend of Nelson’s, Granger knew the man hadn’t said that with malice.

“Perhaps the Swedish fleet will come out, and you will find yourself with a large battle, sir,” Granger joked.

“I think that is hardly likely, my lord,” Pole said.

“Sir, I have met the King of Sweden, and it is not impossible to think he would command such a thing,” Granger said, alluding to Gustaf’s insanity.

“Well, my lord, I am tasked to take this fleet home shortly, so even if he does, I fear he will be too late,” Pole said. He handed Granger an envelope that presumably contained orders, along with two other dispatch packets. “I prepared these so we could hurry you on your way.”

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said.

“I’ll tell you what they say, just for clarity,” Pole said. “You are ordered home but you must make a brief stop on your way.”

“Sir?” Granger asked, hiding his nervousness. He did not want to delay his return home.

“I need you to stop in Copenhagen on your way and deliver the envelope addressed to His Majesty’s envoy there, my lord,” Pole said. “After that, you may hurry home.”

“I will endeavor to spend a minimum of time in Copenhagen, with your permission, sir,” Granger said. He did not want to go back to the Danish capital, where he would undoubtedly have to call on the Crown Prince and engage with the Danish Court, but there was no helping it.

“I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to deliver the dispatches and escape quickly, my lord,” Pole said with a grin. “Nelson left aboard the brig Kite three days ago, so perhaps you will be able to catch him.”

“I will certainly try, sir,” Granger said.

“Then I will detain you no longer, my lord,” Pole said. “I will look forward to seeing you when I return to England with this fleet.”

“I will look forward to that, sir,” Granger said. He shook Pole’s hand cordially, walked with Hardy to the entry port, and descended into his gig for his quick return to Calliope.

“Mr. Douglas, take the reefs out of the courses and set the topgallants,” Granger ordered, as soon as the bosun’s whistle had stopped twittering.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Douglas said. The extra sail had an immediate effect, making Calliope almost jump and run like a stallion away from the fleet.”

Granger joined Daventry on the quarterdeck. “We are going home, but we are tasked to stop in Copenhagen and deliver dispatches first,” Granger said to Daventry.

“That will delay us,” Daventry said with a frown. He said nothing for a bit, letting the reality of the situation flow over him. It was entirely reasonable that a warship transiting past Copenhagen would be tasked to carry dispatches, especially since acquiring and disseminating information was one of the biggest headaches of a flag officer. “Let us pray for fair weather.”

 

June 8, 1801

HMS Calliope

Copenhagen Harbor, Denmark

 

Granger scanned the harbor and its environs, trying to imagine the pitched battle that had been fought here just a few months ago. The only traces to be seen were the burned-out hulks: Nelson had captured them and finding them to have no value, he had ordered them fired. Their carcasses sat there, an ugly reminder of the unfortunate battle.

“The signs of your regrettable attack, my lord,” Captain Sogaard said. He’d come aboard with the pilot to welcome them into the port, although welcome was hardly an apt description. The Danes had been very polite during his last visit, but after the battle their reception here was much cooler.

“I have often found that regrettable can result from necessary, Captain,” Granger observed acidly.

The pilot was even less friendly than Sogaard, so much that Granger wondered if he’d run Calliope aground just for spite. “Anchor there, my lord,” the pilot said.

Granger waited until they were at the selected spot, which was well within range of both the Trekroner battery and the Citadel. “Anchor!” Granger shouted to the focs’l, and heard the corresponding splash as Calliope’s main anchor dropped to the bottom of the harbor.

“My lords,” Sogaard said, “I would be obliged if you will remain aboard your vessel for the interim. I will notify your envoy that your lordships have arrived.” This was the height of bad manners, to ban Granger and Daventry from even going ashore, but Granger was not about to argue about it. Any difficulties he made might rebound against him and cause him to remain in harbor longer.

“We are happy to honor your request,” Granger said politely, which seemed to surprise the rude Captain. Granger took some time to thank the pilot and saw both of them off the ship while Douglas took care of ensuring the anchor held and of getting in Calliope’s sail.

“We are not so unpopular that the merchants will stay away,” Daventry said with an air of amusement. Bumboats were waiting to accost Calliope and sell her all sorts of wares.

“You will be busy, Mr. Creevy,” Granger said, smiling at his purser. “As we are destined to sail directly to Yarmouth from here, you should plan your purchases accordingly.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Creevy said. Granger stood there in his best uniform feeling somewhat ridiculous. He had expected a representative from His Britannic Majesty’s embassy here to arrive as soon as they anchored, but no one had materialized so he was irritated as a result. The Danes had conversely banned him for going ashore to call on these dilatory diplomats, so there was nothing to do but wait. He remained on deck for half an hour and decided that standing around waiting was negatively impacting his dignity, so he returned to his cabin. He had already broken his fast, and it was too early for dinner, so there was not even the option to use food to distract him.

Daventry retired to their cabin with him and joined Granger in the gallery, where they both shared a glass and stared out at the harbor. “Just as well that they didn’t invite us to visit. I don’t fancy a trip ashore,” he said.

“Neither do I,” Granger agreed. “I can almost feel the anger from the populace.”

“It is difficult to blame them,” Daventry said philosophically. “I would suspect that merely seeing one of His Britannic Majesty’s warships in harbor would cause their blood to boil.”

“Well that’s as may be, but I must deliver these dispatches and undoubtedly retrieve more before we leave,” Granger said.

“Someone will come out to meet us,” Daventry said. His confidence in his assertion seemed complete because that was the right and proper thing to happen.

“I fear that after visiting Lisbon I am less willing to trust in the diplomatic corps,” Granger said.

“Ah yes, your encounter with Walpole,” Daventry said with a chuckle. “Your report home on that was his undoing, the final straw. He was replaced last October by John Hookham Frere.”

“How do you know that?” Granger asked.

“Frere and I are friends,” Daventry said. “He was second wrangler at Cambridge, and is quite an intellectual, which is probably why you don’t know him.”

“That is probably true,” Granger said vapidly. He had grown used to Daventry’s playful jabs at him for not indulging in more intellectual pursuits. “I chose to pursue my musical interests instead.” Daventry was not musically inclined so that is why Granger had playfully ribbed him back.

“Sadly I am lacking any musical talent whatsoever,” Daventry observed. “I must say that I have enjoyed your bass clarinet and Mr. Anson’s skill with that Swedish contraption you bought him.”

“In any event, Frere can hardly be worse than Walpole,” Granger said, getting them back on topic.

“I think that he has the skills to perform his duties in Lisbon with good credit,” Daventry opined, getting a raised eyebrow from Granger for this all but glowing praise from his fellow peer.

“We will see how he copes with the Portuguese,” Granger said, with the scornful tone he usually used when referring to that nation.

They were interrupted by Boles, who stood in front of them carrying what looked like a letter. “My lord, this was passed to us by one of the boats alongside.” He handed the letter to Granger, who opened it, scanned it, then read it aloud to share it with Daventry.

 

My lord,

I am hopeful that you remember me from our journey to Copenhagen last year. I am writing to you, asking for your help, as I find myself in desperate straits. I served in the Battle of Copenhagen, but was censured for disobeying orders and drummed out of the navy. During the conflict, one of our batteries had surrendered to the forces of your Lord Nelson, yet I was ordered to lead my men to reboard her. I refused, unwilling to sacrifice my honor in such a blackguard fashion. I am most unfortunate that the Danes do not see things my way. I have no way to return to Norway, and I have no money or friends left.

I am hoping that you will be willing to give me passage away from here; it matters not where I go, as long as it is not Denmark. I am not sure how I will be able to repay such a favor, but if you grant it, I will make coming up with some way to return your favor my life’s purpose.

Hans van Hjelmeland.

 

Granger stood up and strode straight out of his cabin and onto the quarterdeck. “Do you know from which boat this letter came?” he asked, the quarterdeck in general.

“The scow on the larboard side, my lord,” Anson said. Granger strode over to the side and saw van Hjelmeland wave at him. Granger gestured that the boat was to close with them. He saw that van Hjelmeland seemed to be limping.

“Mr. Douglas, please see that a bosun’s chair is rigged. We are taking a passenger aboard,” Granger said.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Douglas said. He saw to that, then returned to Granger’s side.

“The man coming aboard was formerly a lieutenant in the Royal Danish navy. I have offered to provide him with transit, probably to England. I would be obliged if you would accommodate him in the wardroom.”

“Of course, my lord,” he said. Granger handed him the letter so he would know of the man’s circumstances. Before Douglas could see to van Hjelemland arrival, they were hailed by another boat, this one to the starboard.

“It appears that whereas we were all but ignored before, so we are suddenly quite popular,” Daventry observed.

“My lord, a diplomat of sorts appears to be arriving,” Colston said.

“Do not shove him overboard,” Granger replied with a smile.

“No, my lord,” Colston said, smiling back.

“I suspect he will need a bosun’s chair as well,” Granger said.

“Shall we rig another chair, my lord?” Douglas asked.

“The envoy did not meet us in a timely way, so he can wait his turn,” Granger said, getting a grin from Daventry and Douglas. “Bring Lieutenant van Hjelmeland aboard first.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Douglas said. Granger watched as the Norwegian lieutenant was hoisted up and lowered onto the deck.

“Welcome, Lieutenant,” Granger said cheerfully, and stepped forward to greet him.

“My lord, I do not know how to thank you,” he said, and gripped Granger’s hands like a man who is drowning would reach out to one who would save him. His appearance was quite ragged, and he seemingly had no chest with him. Granger was distracted by the site of blood on his uniform, on his right leg quite close to his groin.

“You are wounded,” Granger said. “Pass the word for the doctor!”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Douglas said, and did so.

“You must sit down,” Granger said to van Hjelmeland urgently.

“I will be fine, my lord,” he said, but Granger could see that he was having a difficult time of it.

“Mr. Douglas, would you detail a party to take Lieutenant van Hjelmeland to the cabin you have assigned him?” Granger asked politely.

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said, and summoned Fitzgerald to handle the wounded Norwegian.

“Where is that damned doctor?” Granger demanded.

“I am not sure, my lord,” Douglas said, and now he was as irritated as Granger. He dispatched Colston to attend to that, while the bosun’s chair swung up again, bringing this diplomat on board.

Daventry saw him before he reached the deck and sighed. “If you thought Walpole was bad, you will think him less so after talking with this man,” he said to Granger so only they could hear.

“Lovely,” Granger said, then turned to welcome this man who Daventry thought was troublesome. “Welcome aboard His Britannic Majesty’s frigate Calliope. I am Captain Lord Granger.”

“I am The Honorable Clayton Gordon,” he said stiffly and stood there. Granger said nothing, he just waited and stared at the man. After a full 30 seconds, the man grudgingly added “my lord” to his statement.

“And what can I do for you Mr. Gordon?” Granger asked.

Suddenly Gordon spotted van Hjelmeland as he was being helped below. “What is that man doing here?” he demanded.

“Lord Daventry,” Granger said, turning to his fellow peer. “I am wondering if there was some revolution in Great Britain since we left last fall.”

“The latest letters I received from Mr. Addington and Lord Hawkesbury indicated no such upheaval,” Daventry observed. “Although the way Mr. Gordon is treating you, it is certainly possible. It seems, though, that if such a thing happened, this new regime takes a dim view of good manners and social propriety.”

“Indeed,” Granger said, and they both glared at Gordon, who did not seem put off by their banter at all.

“I am directed by His Britannic Majesty’s ambassador in Copenhagen to give you these dispatches and retrieve any you have for me, then you are to leave this port as soon as possible and return to London,” Gordon declared.

Granger opted to laugh at him, then without saying anything, he returned to his cabin, retrieved his dispatches, and returned to the deck. He handed his packet to Gordon, and took the one the man offered to him. “You may convey to whoever is currently serving as His Britannic Majesty’s ambassador that he is not in a position to give me directives or orders,” Granger said firmly. “You may also convey to His Excellency that I will leave whenever I choose, and that he has no voice in whom I allow on board this vessel.”

“My lord, that man is persona non grata at the Danish Court,” Gordon said, suddenly being considerate, probably because he wanted something. “The Danish Government will be most vexed if you give him passage.”

“They have been vanquished by us, Mr. Gordon, and they are already vexed,” Granger said. “I am not worried about their reaction.”

“You will be very worried if they use their influence with the Russians to continue this conflict, my lord,” he said.

Granger and Daventry laughed at him. “I am quite confident that a treaty between Britain and Russia will be signed soon, if it hasn’t already been signed,” Granger said. “I think that you had best carry your dispatches back to His Excellency.”

He turned to leave and saw that the bosun’s chair was gone, as they were using the lines to haul cargo aboard. “I will need a chair,” Gordon said.

“I am afraid that we do not have one available, Mr. Gordon,” Granger said. “You will have to go over the side.”

“What if I fall?” he asked Granger.

“Then you will get wet,” Granger replied, then he, Daventry, and everyone on the quarterdeck laughed.

“As you wish,” Gordon sneered.

“Mr. Douglas, perhaps you would oblige me by having one of the men take those dispatches down into the boat,” Granger said. He wanted to ensure their dryness, at least.

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said. A topman took the dispatches and took them to the boat quickly, then they watched as Gordon lowered himself over the side.

“You were not incorrect,” Granger said to Daventry, making his fellow peer laugh. They heard a large splash and rushed to the side to see Gordon flailing around in the water. The boat’s crew hauled him aboard, while all the crewmen and officers laughed at Gordon.

Granger joined them until Colston arrived along with a marine, both of them holding up the inebriated doctor. “He wasn’t sober enough to walk, my lord,” Colston said apologetically.

“Doctor, you are drunk,” Granger said. The doctor merely laughed. “Mr. Douglas, you will see that the doctor is confined to his cabin and is given no alcohol. Whoever breaks that rule, be it officer or man, will spend time cleaning out the bilges.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said. They dragged the cackling doctor back to his quarters, but his presence was replaced by Fitzwilliam.

“My lord, Mr. van Hjelemland had a very severe leg wound,” Fitzwilliam said. “I am not sure how long it has been left untreated, but the wound seems unhealthy.” That was incredibly bad news, because when Fitzwilliam said unhealthy, he meant that it could possibly become gangrenous.

“Mr. Douglas, do what you can do get that pilot back,” Granger ordered. “We will sail as soon as he can guide us out of this place.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Douglas said.

“I must see the surgeon’s mate,” Granger said.

“My lord, begging your pardon, but I might be able to help,’ Anson said.

“Indeed?” Granger asked.

“Yes, my lord,” he said. “I have some books on wounds.”

“You may assist the surgeon’s mate,” Granger said. “Mr. Douglas, I would like Mr. Anson to focus on his patient. I would be obliged if you would remove him from his duties temporarily.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Douglas responded automatically. The same pilot returned, and having to con Calliope twice in one day seemed to push his moodiness to the limit, but they forebore his rudeness, and found themselves taking advantage of the lighter nights to speed north toward the Skagerrak. Only when Calliope was safely on her way did Granger leave the deck to check on van Hjelmeland.

He strode up to the wardroom and knocked, as was customary. “Enter!” he heard Douglas say. Other than Fitzwilliam who was on watch, the other officers were congregated around the dining table eating their supper. Granger walked in and saw them react to his presence and stand up quickly.

“Please gentlemen, be at ease,” Granger said affably. “I am sorry to interrupt you.”

“You are always welcome, my lord,” Douglas said affably. “Won’t you join us?” Granger smiled.

“I feel as if I am intruding,” he said, which was merely a polite way of excusing himself from barging in on their meal.

“We would be honored, my lord,” he said.

“Would you also be willing to entertain Lord Daventry?” Granger asked. “That will save my chef from extending effort on just one person.”

They laughed at that, and Douglas dispatched an attendant to get Daventry while Granger went in to check on their Norwegian. He walked in and found Anson and the surgeon’s mate studying his wound. “And how is our patient?” Granger asked.

“My lord,” Anson said, and abruptly stood up. Granger stared at the other man, trying to remember his name, but it completely escaped him.

“I’m Robard, my lord,” the man said.

“I am sorry that I temporarily forgot your name,” Granger apologized.

“That’s quite alright, my lord,” he said pleasantly. “I expect you’ve had to remember quite a few new faces since you took command.”

“Indeed,” Granger said, then looked at van Hjelmeland. He was lying on the cot completely naked, with his muscular torso exposed. His big dick hung over equally large balls, which made his frame look small in comparison. Then Granger saw his wound and gritted his teeth to avoid showing any expression. He had a huge open wound on his right leg. “What happened to you?” Granger asked van Hjelmeland gently.

“A cannon ball flew between my legs, my lord, as I was climbing over a parapet. It is lucky that I was in that position, otherwise it would have taken off my leg. It is equally lucky that it did not hit any higher,” he said, grinning.

“This much is true,” Granger said, and held his hand. “Mr. Anson and Robard will tend to you and help you recover.”

“I can tell by the looks in your eyes that recovery is not likely,” he said. “It is no matter, my lord. I am not sure what I have to live for anyway.”

“If your own country does not appreciate you, I am sure we can find a use for you,” Granger said, and patted his cheek. “And we will do our best to prove your pessimistic attitude wrong.”

“My lord, we will need to explore the wound a bit to make sure there are no foreign objects in it,” Anson said officiously. It was quite interesting to see him being more assertive now that he was dealing with something he felt more comfortable with.

“Do what you must,” Granger said, and left the cabin. He paused briefly to force himself to be positive and enjoy his dinner with his officers.