HMS Belvidera - 1. Chapter 1

June 30, 1795

George Granger sat rigidly in the stern of his gig as it maneuvered down the Thames. The summer weather was heavenly, warm with a light breeze, but that wasn't really registering in Granger's mind. He sat on the thwart, straining his eyes to look ahead, to spot his new command. Of course, Granger didn't let the others see him straining, the seamen who sat on the thwarts staring back at him, or the others who sat aft next to him. His eyes scanned his gig, with its Bridgemont blue and Lammert yellow colors, and he felt a sense of loss flow over him. He'd lose this gig; he'd lose everything that was the Intrepid's. He thought of his little sloop and what a beautiful ship she was, and how much he'd accomplished in her. Granger felt so tied to her that the wrenching departure from her was almost enough to bring tears to his eyes. He decided it was inevitable that a man would fall in love with his first ship, and that that love would be intense and eternal. He felt a pang of anxiety too, hoping that her next commander would appreciate her like he did, that her next commander would take care of her like he did.

But like a man who leaves his old love for a new one, Granger felt his feelings of anguish fade, transitioning to feelings of excitement and joy as his new command finally came into view. There, swinging peacefully at her anchor was his ship: HMS Belvidera. He stared at her and smiled, for she was a work of art. Built in the shipyards of Toulon only three years ago, she represented the latest in French frigate design. Everyone knew that French ship designers were smarter than English ones, and French ships were invariably faster. Belvidera was longer than older frigates, designed with that new school of thought in mind, that longer was better. Longer ships were faster but less maneuverable, so presumably Belvidera would share those characteristics.

The only worry, the only variable, was the quality of construction. French ship construction was often inferior to British construction. French ships were built for speed, whereas British ships were built for durability. British ships had to spend long periods of time at sea, so they tended to be cavernous, with room for lots of stores. French ships didn't have the same need for endurance. But those standard concerns, about Belvidera's knees, scantlings, or cargo capacity weren't what he was most worried about. His concern was that she'd been finished in the throes of the Revolution, during the greatest upheaval France had ever known. Granger hoped her shipwrights had focused on her construction instead of on the politics of the time.

Even the location of her construction could have some bearing on that. Toulon revolted against the government in Paris in the early days of the war, and Granger had been there. Such a hotbed of political fervor could have easily distracted her builders. But her construction in Toulon had a bright side. French ships in Toulon were built of Adriatic Oak, more plentiful and better than the oak used to build French ships in Brest or Rochefort.

Granger turned to his side and smiled at his First Lieutenant, Francis Calvert. “She's a beautiful ship sir,” he said, smiling broadly. His handsome face came to life when he smiled, Granger thought, exposing his dimples, while the sun bounced off his brown hair, accenting the redness in it.

“Aye, that she is,” Granger agreed. “Take us around her, Jeffers,” he ordered his coxswain.

“Aye aye sir,” Jeffers said automatically.

“Boat ahoy!” came the hail from her deck as they got closer. Jeffers looked at Granger for approval before yelling back: “Belvidera!” If they'd had any doubts about who this new officer was, that hail settled it. The men on the Belvidera would know that their new lord and master was about to arrive.

Jeffers guided the boat around her bows, with her raked prow and her figurehead: a fierce woman staring boldly ahead. She was named for the Venetian noblewoman, the tragic heroine of Thomas Otway's play “Venice Preserv'd.” Granger found it interesting that they'd name a Royal Navy ship after a character in a play from the Restoration period, but it had a good ring to it. The carving of her made her seem fierce but shrewish. If any of the men missed their wives, he would point them toward her, Granger thought playfully. As they continued around her, Granger noticed how unremarkable her appearance was. Some frigate captains adorned their ships with gold leaf to spruce up her outward appearance, but Belvidera had no flourishes. That theme continued as they rounded her stern, a stern surprisingly free of ornamentation. She looked stark and unloved, with her paint worn off in several places, and dull in even more. That would change. Granger thought of all the prize money he'd accumulated. When they sailed in two weeks, Belvidera would be gleaming.

The boat hooked on and Granger leaped for the chains. He felt his hand slip on the damp ropes, but he was miraculously able to maintain his grip. How bad would that have looked, he thought, if he'd fallen back into the boat or worse, into the water, while arriving to take command? He put that thought aside and climbed up the Belvidera's side, a much longer climb than he was used to. Intrepid's freeboard was much lower. But like most modern frigates, Belvidera had been built to ride well above the water, with over seven feet separating her waterline from her main gun ports. That would be a Godsend if she had to fight in rough seas. Even a ship-of-the-line would have to keep her lower ports closed in a sea that would allow Belvidera to work and fire her main deck guns.

He climbed over the side and they were there to welcome him aboard in the time-honored tradition of the navy. Granger fought back a grin as he noticed the four sideboys. Up until today, as a mere commander, he'd only been accorded two. Now, as a captain, he got four. A nonsensical thing, he thought, but still he let his pride expand a little bit with this additional honor. Then he looked around the decks and his smile vanished as he took in the sights that greeted him.

The first thing he noticed, from a more macro level, was how much bigger Belvidera was than Intrepid. The deck was at least a third again wider, and her extra length was really apparent here on her quarterdeck. He looked at her sides, at the sturdy oak timbers that made up her planking. So much thicker than Intrepid's, he thought. But then, as he focused on the ship itself, not just her size, he found himself sinking into despair. The ship was dirty, and so were the men. Just like her outer appearance, Belvidera's insides looked woefully neglected. The whole environment was quite depressing.

Grafton came forward to greet him. “Welcome aboard sir,” he said.

“Thank you Mr. Grafton. This is Lieutenant Calvert. He will be assuming the duties of First Lieutenant,” Granger said. Calvert and Grafton exchanged brief greetings. “Please have the hands lay aft.”

“Aye aye sir,” Grafton said. The bosun's whistle blew and the men began to file up from below, lining up in the waist of the ship. Intrepid was flush-decked, so Granger had had no quarterdeck on which to stand and address the men. He did now, but the sight that greeted him was most disheartening. The mass of men were dirty, and they wore disparate clothing, presumably remnants of what they'd come aboard with. They were little more than rags. He studied their faces and the one overwhelming emotion he sensed was apathy.

Granger took out his orders and read through them: orders from the Admiralty to The Honorable George Granger, officially appointing him as Captain of the Belvidera. By reading these orders aloud to the ship's company, he had officially read himself in. He was now legally the captain of the ship, and he was now officially posted on the Captains list. From this point forward, promotion would only come with seniority. His name was permanently fixed in position on the list. All those above him were, and would remain his senior officers, while those that came later would always be his subordinates. Still, it was hard to celebrate when he looked at the men below him. He damned himself for not thinking ahead, for not preparing some motivating speech. Instead, he decided to speak from his heart.

“Men, I am aware of the abuse you have suffered. I am aware of the hardships you have endured. I am aware of the shame this ship bears. I do not offer you an easy lot, but I do pledge to be fair, and to do everything I can to make Belvidera the best frigate in His Majesty’s Navy.” If he'd said that on Intrepid, he'd have gotten cheers. Here, he only got apathetic looks.

He changed his tone. “Shortly you will all be stripped down, shaved, and de-loused. Then we'll rig the wash deck pump and you'll all bathe. You'll be issued cloth to make clothes, the clothes of sailors. Then we will scrub this ship until she gleams. Anyone who thinks of spitting on the deck, or worse, can expect to spend time scrubbing the bilges.” He'd gotten strange stares during the first part of his talk, but the second part had truly stunned them. Cleanliness was not a required virtue in the Royal Navy, but it was for Granger. “Once a week, we will rig the wash deck pump and you will all bathe again. You will see me and my officers out here as well. You are expected to keep yourselves as clean as the ship.” More stares. Granger turned to Grafton: “You may dismiss the hands.” The orders were given and the men shuffled off.

“Show me the ship, Mr. Grafton,” Granger ordered. Granger felt a bit sorry for the man. He was the only senior officer left from the prior group, a group that had left Belvidera's reputation stained. It would be easy for him to assume responsibility and guilt for all the problems that had happened. They toured the quarterdeck, with its 32-pounder carronades, and then went down to the gun deck with its 30 18-pounders. They were massive beasts that weighed over a ton each and took a crew of ten men to fight properly. Granger descended into the main deck, where the men slept. The stench was overwhelming, almost enough to make him vomit. He caught Calvert's eye. They had a lot of work to do here. They ended their tour in his large cabin.

The cabin was spacious: there was good reason they called it “the Great Cabin,” but the décor was that of a whorehouse. Not that Granger had ever been in one, but it was what he imagined one would look like. It was truly hideous, the scene of wild orgies, and the residue from the debauchery seemed to remain. He was loathe to spend any time there; he left almost immediately and headed up to the quarterdeck, thoroughly disgusted. “Mr. Calvert, we'll move up the Thames. I want to anchor off Woolwich.” That's where Intrepid was, and it would be infinitely easier to move things from one ship to the other if they were closer.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. The hands were called again, seemingly irritated at being disturbed a second time. Attitudes were going to change, Granger thought. They manned the yards with a lackadaisical air that made Granger think the ship was still in French hands. There was no music, no piper to help the men heave on the capstan to raise the anchor. He made a mental note to find a band for the ship. There was no drive or enthusiasm, no pride in their service or their ship. Instead, they toiled on grudgingly, and that showed. It took far too long to complete a simple evolution like heaving the anchor short.

“Loose topsails!” Granger shouted. In a slovenly fashion, the sails were set and the ship began to strain at her anchor, pushing forward, demanding to be released, until the men finally hauled the anchor up, and Belvidera finally broke free. It was strange sailing in a frigate after so much time on Intrepid. She seemed so much bigger, which she was, and so much more stable. Waves that would have jostled Intrepid had no impact on Belvidera whatsoever. But she handled sweetly, never missing a stay as she flew up river, aided by both the tide and the wind.

They finally reached Woolwich and the Belvidera anchored next to Intrepid. The contrast was so stark it was almost unbelievable. Intrepid, so bright and shiny, a happy warrior, and Belvidera, so sad and morose.

“Mr. Calvert, we will begin transferring men and personal effects over as soon as we have scrubbed the ship and the men. Please rig the wash deck pump.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. They rigged the pump, an old clunky thing that Granger would trade for the pumps he'd bought for Intrepid out of his own pocket. The first group of men stripped down nervously in front of their officers. Granger heard Calvert gasp. All of them had scars on their backs from where they'd been flogged, and they looked emaciated. He took out his speaking trumpet and walked over to the side.

“Mr. Carslake!”

“Sir?” he responded from Intrepid.

“I want Mr. Andrews sent over here at once with all of his spare material. Clear out the slop chest.”

“Aye aye sir!” he said. He turned back and watched the men and felt sorry for them. He thought about the stench from the bilges and hailed Carslake again, asking him to send over some hydrochloric acid and all the spare soap they had.

“We will have our hands full sir,” Calvert observed.

“I suspect that if we feed and clothe these men and provide them with leadership instead of abuse, they'll respond accordingly. In any event, we'll have plenty of time to achieve that goal,” Granger said. He'd been told he'd be sailing for the Far East, for India, and soon. He'd done that last year, and he was not looking forward to returning. Going to India meant leaving England and his family far behind for a long time, possibly over a year. It meant they would have to brave the tropical diseases that could decimate a European crew. And it meant that he would have to deal with his middle brother, Bertie. Handsome and charming, Bertie was completely lacking in morals or scruples.

Granger forced himself to go down to the brothel he called his cabin and made notes of all the things he'd have to change. In a word: everything. His servant Winkler came in and looked around with disdain. The first thing he did was open the stern windows to let the fresh air in to blow away the smells of the previous captain. There was a knock at the door and Andrews came in.

“Welcome, Mr. Andrews. You will be quite busy here,” Granger said. Andrews was the purser, and he was honest, something quite unusual in the navy.

“So it appears sir,” he said.

“I want you to distribute enough canvas and cloth for the men to make clothing for themselves. I will pay for that out of my own purse,” Granger said.

“Aye aye sir,” Andrews said. Any other purser would be stunned by such largesse, but Andrews had served with Granger throughout their last commission, so he understood how Granger worked.

“These men have been all but starved to death. I'll want you to go into town and buy them some fresh meat. Again, I am willing to pay for it.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said again.

“We are sailing in two weeks, so we have little enough time, but I think we must clear out all the stores and see which are good and which aren't. Based on the state of affairs in this ship, I cannot believe that much attention has been paid to the food.”

“Aye aye sir,” Andrews said, then saluted and left. Granger's cabin was directly beneath the quarterdeck, so when he walked out of his door he found himself on the gun deck, with the long rows of 18-pounders waiting patiently to serve their purpose. He strode up to the quarterdeck with resolve.

“Mr. Grafton, see that all the gunports are open. We need to air out the ship,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” Grafton said nervously. “They were closed before to try and prevent desertion.” Finding and keeping a crew was almost every captain's nightmare, but Granger had an edge in that regard. He'd gained a reputation, and that brought him public acclaim and recognition. That meant that when he was spotted by people, a friendly mob usually formed, something Granger detested. But it also meant that there were seamen who would make their way to find him and volunteer to join his crew, so manning his ship would not be a problem. Granger looked around the quarterdeck where parties of seamen were busy scrubbing down the decks.

“Mr. Grafton, if they desert, the press gangs will find them and they'll be posted to another ship. It is an honor to serve on Belvidera. We will have more than enough volunteers waiting to take their place. I'd rather have such men gone than to have them here. Open the ports.” Granger glanced sideways at the men. It is to them he was really talking.

“Aye aye sir,” Grafton said.

“We're going to hoist all the stores up and inspect them. While the stores are up I want the bilges cleaned thoroughly. We have some hydrochloric acid on board Intrepid, and it's on its way over, but we may need more from the dockyard. How infested is the ship, as far as rats go?” Granger asked. Would they have to make time to burn sulfur?

“I think you'll find her remarkably free of those pests, sir,” Grafton said. “They've been quite in demand as food.”

There was a man standing in front of him, wanting his attention. Lieutenant Chairs, the commander of the marines aboard. Belvidera had a compliment of some 50 of the red-coated fellows. “And what may I do for you Lieutenant?”

“Sir, you gave orders for all the men to strip and delouse. My marines are the only thing on this ship that are clean,” he objected.

“They will have to bathe regardless of whether they are marines or seamen, but I will not make you discard their uniforms unless they are infested,” Granger said. He stared at the man, stalling further arguments.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. And that was how it went all day, order after order, as they slowly transformed the crew of the Belvidera into a clean group of seamen, and the ship into a vessel worthy of being one of His Majesty's ships.

As the sun began to set, Granger fought with himself over the various forces that were pulling on him. On the one hand, he wanted to stay here on his ship and ensure that all was being taken care of. On the other, he needed to go home and spend time with his wife, with Caroline.

“Mr. Calvert, I'll be ashore. Please see that Mr. Andrews supplies these men with ample fresh food and vegetables and that we clean out the bilges and check the stores. I will be ashore tomorrow, but you may reach me at home,” Granger said formally.

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said automatically. Granger took his old gig to the shore and hired a hackney to Grosvenor Square. Caroline was happy to see him, as was his son William, a mere 15 months old but already crawling about.

“George! I'm so glad you're home. I didn't know if you'd be able to pull yourself away,” she said.

“I will have months to spend on Belvidera, and I only have a few weeks with you,” he said. “But she will be a challenge. I fear her previous captain did nothing but run her into decrepitude.”

“If anyone can transform her, you can George,” she said, getting a warm smile from Granger.

“When we set the men to bathing, there was hardly one of them that hadn't been flogged, and they look as if they've been starved half to death,” he told her sadly.

“Oh how horrible!” she said sincerely. That was one of the things that bound them together. At their base level, they both had kind hearts and a strong devotion to those who served them.

“We have our work cut out for us, but perhaps next week you would like to see her?” he offered. Intrepid had been so small, he hadn't wanted to take her out there. She'd have worried to death about him out on the seas in such a small ship. But Belvidera was big and strong. In addition, it had been the dead of winter and Caroline had just given birth last time he'd been in port, hardly the best time to go out on the river.

She positively beamed at that. “How wonderful that would be. It will make it easy to visualize you and where you are when I read your letters.”

“I am going to Court with my father tomorrow. Would you like to join me? You do not have to if you do not want to.” He didn't want her to feel pressured.

“And miss a chance to walk in on the arm of the handsomest and bravest officer in the navy? I will go. Perhaps your mother will come as well. Lady Jersey will certainly not be there.”

Granger laughed at that. “Surely their feud is more benign than that?” His mother and Lady Jersey, one of the women who ruled over the Prince of Wales, had a battle going on between them, one that was barely visible, with most of the sniping done behind each other's back.

“In truth, I think they secretly respect each other, but you know how women are. They end up fighting amongst themselves,” she said coquettishly.

“And whom do you fight with?” Granger asked.

“I am too unimportant to fight with anyone,” Caroline said with false modesty.

“I am the youngest post captain in a generation and you expect me to believe you are unimportant? If I were that stupid I would be in a French prison by now,” Granger joked.

“It is just possible you have earned your rank and rewards,” she said.

“And it is also possible that bullocks just flew over the house,” Granger teased.

“Perhaps we should go upstairs and make sure they did not,” she suggested. They went upstairs, but not to look for bullocks.

July 1, 1795

“The Right Honorable Earl and Countess of Bridgemont,” the chamberlain shouted in his booming voice.

“The Honorable Captain and Mrs. George Granger,” he said. Granger led his wife into St. James Palace, dutifully trailing after his parents. He followed them as they made their way directly to the throne to pay their respect to their sovereign: His Britannic Majesty King George III.

The Earl and Countess approached the King, the Earl bowing low and the Countess doing a curtsy with the ease and grace one expected of a person who lived in the orbit of the Court. They moved aside then, making way for their son and his wife. Granger bowed, mimicking his father, while Caroline curtsied with even more grace than the Countess, assuming that was possible.

“We are pleased to see our cousin the Earl and his family,” the King said.

“It is our honor to be here, Your Majesty,” the Earl said, speaking for them.

“We must congratulate you on your promotion, Captain,” the King said to Granger.

“Your Majesty is too kind,” Granger said respectfully.

“We understand that you were in America. Is it true that they detest us?” Granger couldn't tell if the King was referring to himself with the royal ‘we’ or to all Englishmen when he asked about whom Americans detested, but the scorn in his voice told Granger much of how he still felt toward the former colonies.

“My officers and I received a most warm welcome, Your Majesty,” Granger said. “Mr. Hammond took me to meet Mr. Alexander Hamilton, who was most earnest in representing his best wishes to Your Majesty.” The King nodded briefly. Clearly he'd heard of Hamilton before.

“We find these former colonists most puzzling,” the King said.

Granger smiled, the closest thing to a laugh he'd allow himself with the King. “I found them to be puzzling as well, Your Majesty. On the one hand, they disavow any aristocratic trappings, while on the other, myself and Lord Cavendish, one of my midshipmen, were in great demand socially due to our family backgrounds.”

The King actually chuckled. “We are pleased to have you home, even if for but a brief time.” That was the signal that the interview was over.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Granger said. They all bowed or curtsied and backed away from the throne, then joined the others who were gathered about.

Granger looked sideways at Caroline and could see her beaming with pride. It made him happy to be able to give her moments like this, moments where she could be proud and happy. The time the King took speaking with him was a mark of favor and garnered him some considering looks from the others. Granger smiled cynically, thinking that Caroline would use that to her own political advantage. He fought back those negative thoughts. They were in this together, he and Caroline, and they each had their strengths and their roles to play. If she ended up acquiring power and influence, it would only end up benefiting him.

He moved through the crowd of people, exchanging pleasantries until he saw other blue naval uniforms and headed for them. He found Lords Hood and Spencer, along with Sir Charles Middleton, another of the Lords Commissioner of the Admiralty, all clustered together. “My lords, Sir Charles,” Granger said, bowing politely.

“Granger,” Hood said. “You brought your better half with you. A pleasure ma'am.” He bowed to Caroline gallantly, and she responded with a slight curtsy.

“My lord,” she said.

“Lord Hood is the one who keeps me far away from you my dear,” Granger said, teasing Hood, who almost seemed speechless for a moment. Granger saw Spencer and Middleton try not to grin too broadly.

“Indeed my lord?” Caroline asked, feigning outrage.

Hood bounced back gamely. “I must apologize, ma'am. I just assumed that any lady who married Granger would be most appreciative to have him out of the country.” They all laughed at that. Caroline saw one of her mother's friends and took that opportunity to leave them.

“You trying to destroy me, Granger?” Hood growled. “Your wife is a fearsome politician.”

“Then we should be glad she is so fond of you, my lord,” Granger teased back. He'd been Hood's flag lieutenant in the Mediterranean and knew his moods well.

“You may get a reprieve Granger,” Spencer said. “I may be postponing your departure for a bit.”

“My lord?” Granger asked. He was about to discuss the monsoon season, but he realized that Spencer was just as aware as he was of the months when it was feasible to travel to India.

“There's some talk that the Spanish are negotiating their own separate peace with France much as Prussia has done. If that's the case and Spain is a neutral power then we'll want to have you carry that tidbit of news along with you.”

“Yes my lord,” Granger said.

Spencer eyed him carefully. “I have business next week, probably Thursday that will necessitate me taking a boat down to Chatham. I was of a mind to visit your vessel on my way.”

Granger caught himself before he gasped. “It would be an honor, my lord.” The First Lord, visiting Belvidera? Spencer never went aboard ships. Was this a sign of favor, or sign of a lack of confidence? Regardless, his plans to be ashore much of the time were now shelved. Granger, recognizing that they were through talking to him, bowed gallantly and moved through the crowd. He saw a familiar figure off to the side, as usual, and headed right over to him.

“Arthur!” Granger said jovially. The excitement on Arthur Teasdale's face when he saw him was priceless.

“George! How wonderful to see you! I heard you were back, and I had hoped to run into you!”

“I have been back for only a few days,” Granger said. “But I fear I will be quite busy.”

He felt a presence on his arm: Caroline. “Arthur,” she said. “You never come visit when George is gone.”

“I must beg your pardon ma'am,” he said, bowing to Caroline and smiling at her. He was flirting. If a known sodomite could flirt and charm his wife, why couldn't Calvert, Granger thought. “I will have to rectify that at once.”

“See that you do,” she ordered playfully, then turned her attention to Granger. “Your parents are ready to leave. They have offered to send the carriage back for us if you aren't ready to go yet.”

“I am ready,” Granger said, smiling. “It was good to see you Arthur. I am here but for a few weeks, so hopefully our paths will cross before I leave.”

“I hope so as well,” he said. Granger noticed how much less flirtatious he was when Caroline was around. He followed his parents and Caroline to the carriage.

“I fear I must return to Belvidera this afternoon,” Granger told Caroline. He saw her disappointment and hurried to forestall it. “Lord Spencer has told me he plans to visit the ship next week, on Thursday.”

Her eyes widened at that, as did his parents'. “That is quite an honor George,” the earl said.

“I'm not quite sure why he's doing it,” Granger said, more of a question.

“He's doing it to show confidence in you, and to see what you will have done with the ship in a short period of time,” the earl said sagely. Granger nodded at his father. The earl would know, or would find out if there was an ulterior motive.

“In any event, I must alert the officers and crew, and ensure that we are ready for him,” Granger said to Caroline. “Tomorrow, though, I will make sure we have time to go to Portland Place.”

“Right after you see the tailor,” Caroline chided.

“I need new uniforms?” Granger asked. He probably did, the ones he had were getting a bit worn, but he was worried they looked bad.

“The Admiralty has issued new instructions for uniforms. There are new regulations that were issued last month. I daresay George that you are terribly out of fashion,” Caroline teased.

“Well then, time for the tailor and Portland Place tomorrow,” he said cheerfully. “Wouldn't want to be unfashionable.” The carriage deposited Granger's family members at Bridgemont House, then took him to the jetty where he hired a boat to take him out to Belvidera. No time even to change into his working uniform, Granger thought. He placated himself by noting that his existing dress uniform was now out of fashion and all but useless anyway.

He sat in the sternsheets as the crew guided the boat down the river, taking advantage of the fading tide. He was paying rapt attention to everything around him, but doing so in a way that made it seem that he wasn't, a skill Granger had mastered during his time in the navy. As they came around the bend in the river and Belvidera came into view, he had a hard time maintaining that stoicism. Her beautiful lines, from her raked bow to her large stern windows, were truly the ultimate in naval architecture.

He remembered Intrepid then, and looked around to locate her, but apparently she'd already been moved into the docks for repair. He felt a sense of loss, as if he'd given up part of himself, but put that aside and focused on his new command. Calvert had done much in a few short days. He could see the activity on her decks as they hauled the stores out of the hold and cleaned out the bilges. He could see the putrid water flowing from her pumps even as they approached. They'd pour hydrochloric acid in, then clean water, and finally pump the dirty concoction out until they got the bowels of the ship tolerably clean. Based on the appearance of the water being pumped out, that may take a while, Granger thought. No wonder the ship smelled so horrible.

“Boat ahoy!” came the cry as they got closer.

Granger nodded to the boatman. “Belvidera!” he yelled. Their captain had returned. Granger smiled at the pandemonium on her deck, and he saw Calvert rushing to get the sideboys and bosun's mates in position for his arrival. The boat hooked onto the chains, Granger handed some coins to the boatman to pay for his passage, and then mounted the side.

“Welcome back sir,” Calvert said, positively beaming, and certainly glad to see him. Granger looked about the decks, amazed at what he'd achieved in such a short period of time. The filth was gone, replaced by the clean orderliness he was used to. The men wore clothes made from material he'd given them, but they'd done a good job of sewing and they looked like a real crew now. For some reason people seemed to forget that seamen were usually experts with a needle and thread. There was a cleanliness about the whole ship, including the crew, which felt so refreshing. It was as if Belvidera had wiped off the grime of her previous captain.

“We have made much progress sir,” Calvert said. “But there is much still to do. You were wise to check the stores. Fully half of the casks contained foul provisions.”

“I am sure you and Mr. Andrews can handle such matters,” Granger said. “We have bigger issues to deal with.”

“Sir?” Calvert asked. Grafton and Carslake had been on the fringes of their conversation, so he motioned them over as well.

“Lord Spencer plans to visit Belvidera next Thursday,” he said.

“The First Lord sir?” Carslake asked, more of a gasp. He saw the men within earshot freeze. News of this would be about the ship in minutes.

“Unless there is a new one appointed since this morning,” Granger said. “Please inform the other officers and the crew. I will be below if I am needed.” Granger descended the ladder to the main deck and into his cabin. He was pleased to see they were making progress on it as well. Winkler was supervising the painting, and if the stern windows weren't open the fumes would be overpowering.

“We didn't expect you back today sir,” he said, frustrated.

“I do try to think of new ways to torture you Winkler. Appearing out of thin air was my choice for today,” he teased.

“And as always sir, your choice was a good one,” Winkler said, being cheeky.

“The First Lord is visiting next Thursday,” he said. “My wife will also be out to see the ship, possibly before then.” Winkler just stared at him. “You have seen a ghost Winkler?”

“My own sir, begging your pardon, if we don't get this done,” he said. Granger laughed. Fortunately his office was not part of today's remodeling project, so he was able to retreat into that area and focus on the various reports, requests and plans that demanded his attention. It was a very tired and weary Captain George Granger who found his way back to Bridgemont House much later that evening. He caught himself thinking wistfully about how good it would be to be at sea again, then thought about how often he would wish to be home once he actually was at sea. He stood alone in front of the house and allowed himself to sigh, his favorite gesture of frustration, before heading inside to immerse himself in family life.