HMS Valiant - 23. Chapter 23

November, 1799

HMS Valiant

“Land ho!” came the shout from the foretop. It was a remarkably pleasant morning, as if to make up for the storms they’d endured. The wind was weak, barely providing enough power to propel Valiant, while the seas were so smooth they looked like glass. The only deterrent was the slight chill in the air, but it wasn’t enough to take away from what was a beautiful sunrise. Granger thought the sun rose more quickly than it usually did, even as he watched it glimmer off of Valiant’s brasswork and gold leaf.

“I think I will indulge in some exercise,” Granger said to Eastwyck, the officer of the watch. He didn’t hear Eastwyck’s acknowledgement, so focused was he on seeing this land the lookouts had spotted. Based on their sightings yesterday, he was almost certain it would be Minorca. He hooked his glass onto his waist and climbed up to the foretop. “And what do we have here, Jenkins?”

Most lookouts tended to be younger men, with eyes that were sharper and keener, and Jenkins was no exception. “Looks to be Minorca, my lord.”

“Let us hope you are right, or we have gone hopelessly off course,” Granger joked, getting a chuckle from Jenkins. It took Granger little time to deduce that it was, indeed, Minorca they were approaching. He grabbed a backstay and slid back to the deck. Weston was there now, either because Eastwyck sent for him, or because he had heard the lookout’s hail. “We seem to have arrived at Minorca.”

“Excellent, my lord,” Weston said.

Granger almost sniffed at the wind, trying to discern if it would freshen; and using his considerable experience in the Mediterranean, he came to the deduction that it would not. “I fear we will be becalmed before we can enter Port Mahon.”

“Perhaps we can get close enough to warp her in, my lord,” Weston said optimistically.

Granger gauged the distances skeptically. It was unlikely they’d get Valiant into harbor without completely exhausting her crew. Valiant was a tub to haul around when being towed. They were much closer to the land now, so he took his glass out and surveyed the shore. They were off the northeast part of the island, and as Granger studied the shore, he spotted the fabulous spring he had visited before. A smile broke out across his face as he recalled his outing there with Travers some years back, and at the prospect of drinking some of that wonderfully clear water. “Helm, two points to starboard.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said. Valiant pointed her nose away from Port Mahon and toward the shore.

“Mr. Weston, we will anchor shortly, and take advantage of the lack of wind to replenish our water.”

“My lord?” Weston asked, curiously.

“There is a beautiful spring on this island, one that has some of the purest water I have encountered. It is just beyond this beach. We will fill our tanks there.”

“That would be a welcome change from the water we have been drinking,” Weston said, grimacing. They’d been drinking the swill they’d taken aboard in Lisbon, water that was almost impossible to tolerate. It was yet another reason to dislike Lisbon, and the Portuguese.

“I will go ashore with the watering party, and if I can locate a beast to ride into town, I will avail myself of that opportunity. If not, I will have my gig take me into Port Mahon,” Granger said. “You will sail Valiant into port after watering is complete.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said, but it seemed as if his spirits had been boosted a bit. Granger realized that was due to his delegation of getting Valiant into port, which was normally a captain’s exclusive prerogative. It was yet another reminder that it was a good idea to show confidence in his officers when they warranted it.

“It has been a while since I have been here, but on my last visit, I discovered an excellent tailor. You may want to alert the officers that they will have an opportunity to update their wardrobes, if they have such a need.”

“I will pass that on, my lord,” Weston said. Granger gave Weston the name of the tailor, and told him where the man had been located.

They crawled toward the shore, taking advantage of the last of the dying breeze, until they were as close as Granger dared to take them. Weston probably thought it was much too close, as Granger could feel the tension emanating from him. He was probably remembering how Bacchante had been tossed ashore and foundered. That memory threatened to destroy Granger’s good mood, but even if it had not, the arrival of Lady Elgin would have. “I would like a boat to take me ashore,” she said, almost an order.

“Let go!” Granger ordered, acting as if Lady Elgin had said nothing to him.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said. A few seconds later, they heard the splash of the anchor, and then Granger gave the order to take in their sails.

“Pass the word for Lord Elgin,” Granger said when he had finished anchoring Valiant. It was humorous to see her stand there, slowly boiling at being ignored. She had largely stayed to herself for the past few days, and that had made the voyage just that much more pleasant.

Granger stood there, ignoring Lady Elgin and infuriating her in the process, until Lord Elgin arrived on deck, looking annoyed at having to deal with his petulant wife. “You sent for me, Granger?”

“We do not have an adequate wind to make port, so we will avail ourselves of this opportunity to take on water. I am going ashore with the watering party, and I will make arrangements to land you and your party as soon as is practical,” Granger said.

“I’ll go with you,” Lady Elgin said.

“I would recommend that Her Ladyship remain below, or safely ensconced on the poop deck. The ship is quite busy when taking on water,” Granger said to Elgin.

“We appreciate your efforts to land us as soon as possible,” Elgin said gallantly.

“He will just go ashore and slaughter my reputation before I even arrive,” she spat.

“I fear that your reputation has preceded you to the degree that no effort is required on my part to tarnish it,” Granger said to her coolly. “Mr. Weston!”

“My lord?”

“The passengers will not leave this ship without my express orders,” Granger said.

“Aye aye, my lord.” Lady Elgin fumed at them, and then stomped below. Elgin followed her, pausing to look back at Granger and give him a slight smile.

“Have the boats lowered. I will go ashore with the launch and a party of men to prepare for watering, while you ready the casks.”

“Aye aye, my lord.” Granger went below so Winkler could help him into one of his better uniforms, then returned on deck to find his gig waiting for him, loaded down with men to begin preparing to water the ship. Eastwyck was there, in charge of the men, as was Meurice.

“I am surprised, albeit pleasantly, to find you here, Mr. Meurice,” Granger said. It was usually not the job of the ship’s master to go ashore with watering parties.

“I am glad you are pleased, my lord,” Meurice said with a smile. “I wanted to see if we could possibly use our hoses and pumps to make the process easier.”

“An excellent idea,” Granger said. “If it is consistent with your duties, I would like to ask you to perform a favor for me.”

“Of course, my lord,” Meurice said automatically.

“I would like you to inquire as to the fate of the refugees from Toulon we left here when we sailed Commerce de Marseilles back to England,” Granger said. “I am curious to know how they fared, and if there is anything else we can to do help them out.” When Granger had led the émigré fleet back to England, he’s stopped in Minorca and landed any French citizens who wanted to remain here, in the Mediterranean. Meurice had been one of the French lieutenants aboard Commerce de Marseilles, so he knew the émigrés. Granger had left them with a sizeable amount of money from his purse to help make their transition easier. That had been almost seven years ago. It seemed only natural to assess how that decision had turned out.

“I will be happy to do that, my lord, and I suspect there will be some of those people who will want to see Your Lordship,” Meurice said.

“Let me know what you discover, and we will see if it merits such a meeting,” Granger said, unwilling to commit without knowing what had happened to the refugees.

The boat approached the shore, but with Minorca in British hands, there was no need for caution. Still, Granger noted there was a squad of marines in the gig, but they were mostly there to prevent any interference from curious locals. The gig ground into the sandy beach, compelling them to jump out just before they were ashore. Granger waded up the beautiful beach, with the sea water coming up to the bottom of his breeches. He paused for just a few minutes to get his bearings, and to let the water drip off his stockings, while Travers had the boat pulled farther up the beach.

“A lovely island, my lord,” Eastwyck said.

“Indeed, it is,” Granger agreed. He led them up a short path and found the spring that he had so enjoyed before. He walked up to the edge of it and knelt down, cupping his hands to scoop up the cold liquid. It froze his fingers, but as soon as he tasted it, Granger forgot all about that. The water was heavenly. “Have a drink, lads,” he said, indulging the watering party. And so they all huddled around the edge of the spring, sating their thirst. They would drink their fill, but no sooner would they stop drinking, then they’d start again, such was the impact of their salty diets.

Granger’s idyllic time by the spring was interrupted by the sound of horses, and of men’s voices. He stood up and looked to the path, the one that led to town, just as two mounted officers in impeccable red uniforms appeared, followed by a squad of twenty mounted dragoons. “Drop your weapons!” a man in a captain’s uniform ordered them rudely.

Granger raised an eyebrow, and despite his irritation, he maintained his normal, calm demeanor. He looked at Eastwyck, and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear him. “Mr. Eastwyck, does my uniform appear to be in order? I am concerned that it is missing epaulettes.”

Eastwyck smiled at him. “Both of your epaulettes are affixed as they should be, and I would note, my lord, that they glitter quite splendidly in the morning sunlight.”

“What is the meaning of this incursion?” the captain demanded, and with that, he had managed to anger Granger. Such a lack of disrespect would have aroused his ire anyway, but having dealt with Lady Elgin these past weeks, he was perhaps more sensitive as a result.

Granger focused his blue eyes onto the captain with an intensity that made the man almost recoil. “I am Viscount Granger, Baron of Ryde, Knight of the Most Honorable Order of the Bath, Governor and Constable of Windsor Castle, Colonel of His Majesty’s Marines, and holder of the Collar of the Order of His Most Catholic Majesty Charles III, currently commanding His Britannic Majesty’s frigate Valiant,” he announced, much as if he were a chamberlain. “You address me as ‘my lord’.”

“That does not explain your presence here,” the captain said. Granger said nothing, waiting until he added ‘my lord’.

“I would recommend, Captain, that you and your fellow officer dismount and introduce yourselves,” Granger said coldly. “I am unclear as to what circumstances would permit you to be not only rude, but insubordinate to me.” Eastwyck stood next to him, while Meurice was busying surveying the spring and the route to the beach.

The two of them grudgingly dismounted. “Captain Lucius O’Brian, of His Majesty’s 89^th foot,” he said brusquely. “This is Lieutenant Mulligan.” Granger stood there, waiting until O’Brian added the obligatory ‘my lord’ to his introduction.

“This is Lieutenant Eastwyck,” Granger said, then focused on Mulligan. “We are taking advantage of this spring to bring fresh water aboard.”

“This spring has been set aside for the use of the 89^th Regiment, my lord,” O’Brian said.

“It seems, Captain, that the 89^th is going to share its precious resource. Lieutenant Mulligan, you will remain here with your men, under Mr. Eastwyck’s orders, and help facilitate the watering process. Captain, you will escort me to see the governor, and after that, I will meet with your Colonel to discover why such rudeness and blatant insubordination are tolerated in His Majesty’s 89^th Regiment.”

“These men are not under your orders, my lord,” O’Brian said pompously.

“Let us see if they are as stupid as you, and choose to defy my orders,” Granger said coldly, then looked at Mulligan.

“Yes, my lord,” Mulligan said. He was sufficiently cowed to agree meekly. “With your permission, I will designate a party of five men to escort you.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Granger said pleasantly.

“My pleasure, my lord,” Mulligan said courteously, then glanced nervously at his irate captain. Mulligan gave orders for the men who were staying to dismount and tether their horses.

Granger took the reins of Mulligan’s horse and pulled himself onto the beast. “Continue with the watering, Mr. Eastwyck. I will expect you to inform me of any incidents of non-cooperative behavior.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Eastwyck said.

Granger nodded to the corporal in charge of his escort, and started back up the path before O’Brian could even re-mount his horse. Granger knew this route well, as he had traveled it often, although the last time he had been a mere lieutenant. When he got to the road, he spurred Mulligan’s horse into a full cantor, savoring the feeling of riding, and riding at a relatively fast speed. His enjoyment was further enhanced by the fact that the smiling dragoons with him seemed to enjoy it just as much, and even more pleasurable since O’Brian had to hurry to try and catch up with them.

Granger let his anger at the man go and tried to discern his motives. Granger knew that he was a powerful man in his own right, and with the backing of his family, he was a force to be reckoned with. The 89^th regiment was commanded by Colonel Lord Blayney, an Irish peer who had distinguished himself during the recent troubles in Ireland. This regiment had earned the nickname “Blayney’s Bloodhounds,” for the relentless way they had hunted down and prosecuted the Irish rebels. While those were some nice laurels, Blayney was not a man of notable influence, and it stood to reason that any of his officers would be even more devoid of connections. It was incomprehensible that O’Brian would anger him for no apparent reason, especially if he did not have his own powerful forces to defend his interests. His ruminations about O’Brian were cut short when they arrived in Port Mahon.

“Colonel Blayney is in the fort, my lord,” O’Brian said in a much nicer tone than he’d used before. Presumably arriving in town had brought civilization back to his demeanor. But there was no reason for Granger to call on Blayney, who was Granger’s subordinate by any definition of rank. The suggestion was merely a further snub to Granger.

Granger ignored O’Brian and rode instead to the Governor’s Residence. He pulled up his horse and turned to address the dragoons. “Thank you for the escort.” He then turned to O’Brian. “You are dismissed, Captain,” Granger said curtly. Granger dismounted and strode confidently up to the house where a footman was waiting, already holding the door open for him. A secretary of sorts greeted him. “I would be obliged if you would inform Sir Charles that Lord Granger is here to see him.”

“Of course, my lord,” the man said politely, just as he was supposed to. He returned after just enough time had elapsed for him to inform the governor that Granger had arrived, and ushered Granger into Stuart’s office.

“It is a pleasure to welcome you to Minorca, my lord,” Stuart said affably. He looked to be about fifty years old, and while time had obviously ravaged his body, his back was still ramrod straight, and he had the regal bearing one would expect of a soldier of his extensive experience.

“The pleasure is most assuredly mine, Your Excellency,” Granger responded.

“You seem to have dropped from the heavens, as it were,” Stuart noted. “Do you not have a ship?”

“We were becalmed north of Port Mahon, so I opted to anchor and avail myself of an opportunity to take on water, while I went ahead to call on Your Excellency.”

“You were able to find a horse to ride into town?” he asked.

“Rather, I was accosted and treated most rudely by one of Lord Blayney’s officers, an issue which I will take up with him directly, assuming that meets with Your Excellency’s approval.” Stuart’s expression got more dour, but Granger did not know if that was because he was annoyed with Blayney, or because he was annoyed that Granger had problems.

“Perhaps you can explain it to me at dinner. I would be obliged if you would join me, my lord.”

“It would be my pleasure, sir. While we are alone, there are two matters I would like to discuss with you.”

“Go on,” Stuart said cautiously.

“The first is merely to deliver this letter from your brother,” Granger said, pulling out the sealed letter and handing it to Stuart. “When I learned that I was most likely going to be in Minorca, I volunteered to carry any correspondence Lord Bute wished to send to you.” Having a reliable messenger to carry private correspondence was quite a gift, and Stuart responded accordingly.

“Thank you for this,” Stuart said, then put the letter aside. “My brother spoke of your time at the Alhambra.”

“It was a relief and a pleasure to find him there. It is not easy to navigate the vagaries of the Spanish Court,” Granger joked.

“Yet according to him, you did just that, and quite masterfully,” Stuart said, grinning.

“That is kind of Lord Bute to say,” Granger said somewhat modestly.

“You said there were two things,” Stuart prompted.

“Yes, Your Excellency. I am conveying Lord and Lady Elgin to Constantinople, where Lord Elgin is to take up the post of His Majesty’s ambassador to the Porte. Lord Elgin is a cultured and educated man, while his wife can only be described as a shrew.”

“I have heard as much,” Stuart said with dread.

“I wanted to warn Your Excellency before the Elgins and their party disembarked. Your renowned hospitality may have compelled you to offer them lodgings in your residence, and I would certainly not want to tell Your Excellency how to conduct your affairs, but you may find Lady Elgin’s company to be most unpleasant.”

“Thank you for the fair warning,” he said. “I am sure there are adequate lodgings to be found for them in town.”

“I am confident you will be even more appreciative after you have spent time with Lady Elgin,” Granger joked, getting a chuckle from Stuart.

“Undoubtedly,” Stuart agreed. Dinner was announced shortly after that, which prompted them to move into the dining room, where Granger found an excellent meal waiting for him.

Their dinner conversation was easy and pleasant, the conversation of two men who are relaxed and talking about general affairs. Granger was quite relieved by that, as he hadn’t really known what to expect from Stuart. Stuart was known to be a difficult man to deal with, but ironically enough, he seemed to get along with his naval brethren better than his fellow army officers. The only naval officer he’d had an argument with was Lord Hood, though, and he’d gotten into difficulties with Hood because Hood had taken the side of Sir Gilbert Elliot over some controversy during the occupation of Corsica. Granger recalled that Hood admonished Stuart for supporting the Corsicans more than Sir Gilbert, and that had created no small amount of bad blood between them. So on the one hand, Granger was known to be a friend of Stuart’s brother, Lord Bute, and that should hold Granger in good stead with Stuart. On the other hand, Granger was known to be one of Hood’s protégés, and had even had Hood serve as one of Granger’s supporting peers when he’d made his debut into the House of Lords. Granger was also known to be a friend of Sir Gilbert, another possible mark against him in Stuart’s mind. Granger had been apprehensive about meeting him, because Stuart’s attitude toward him could have gone either way, so Granger was glad to see it had fallen on the side of friendliness.

They had just finished dining when Blayney arrived, neatly saving the governor the effort of providing him with sustenance. Blayney was a handsome man, probably in his late 20s, with dark brown hair and an interesting nose, one that seemed as if it were originally designed to be pointy, but was instead rounded at the tip. “Allow me to introduce Lord Blayney to you, my lord,” Stuart said, and then turned to Blayney. “This is Lord Granger.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Colonel,” Granger said in his courtly way.

Blayney’s eyes were fiery, as if they reflected the anger inside of him, but he responded courteously enough. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Captain.”

“His Lordship was just about to explain to me the encounter he experienced when landing on Minorca,” Stuart said, giving Blayney an unpleasant look.

“Captain O’Brian has met with me, and explained that you chose to water your ship at a spring set aside for my regiment, and that you compelled my men to assist your men with the labors of watering,” Blayney said, directing that statement to Granger.

“I am wondering, Colonel, why that particular watering hole has been reserved exclusively for your regiment, and why, even if that were the case, it would be inappropriate for us to utilize it for watering the Valiant?” Granger asked acidly.

“I was not aware that there was a spring on this island reserved specifically for your regiment,” Stuart intervened, looking at Blayney sharply.

“My officers expressed a concern that they have a source of water that was immune from tampering, sir,” Blayney responded. “I did not think it was of sufficient importance to trouble you with it.”

“Yet it was of sufficient importance for Captain O’Brian to take it upon himself to ban Lord Granger from using it?” Stuart asked. Blayney appeared to be stymied by that rationale.

“I was not aware that the local citizenry was suspect of sabotaging your forces, sir,” Granger said to Stuart, in a tone that suggested he was commiserating with him.

“Neither was I,” Stuart said, and now he was getting angry, letting his renowned temper get a bit worked up. Granger turned his attention back to Blayney.

“If that was the case, Colonel, such that you felt nervous about what the locals would do, would it not have made sense to have a sentry posted to guard that resource?” Granger asked.

“I would submit that the fact you were discovered by a squad of dragoons would suggest that there was indeed security at the spring,” Blayney said.

“I would suspect that Valiant would have been sighted well before we reached that cove, and that our boats heading to the shore would have been even more visible,” Granger said. “Your men were clearly guarding from an external threat, and not an internal one.”

“A threat is a threat,” Blayney said.

“I am wondering why Captain O’Brian was so concerned about parties of men landing there,” Granger mused. Neither Stuart nor Blayney seemed to think much of his observation, but Granger was fairly sure he had figured out why O’Brian was indeed so focused on that beach.

“I am sure he was focused on guarding the stream,” Blayney said.

“I am not,” Granger said, deftly redirecting the topic of discussion. “Allow me to share an event that happened to me in Elba.”

“And how is that relevant?” Blayney asked.

Granger just raised an eyebrow to challenge him, and then continued with his story. “I attended a fleet event hosted by Sir Horatio Nelson, and brought along a lieutenant and a midshipman. During the feast, the midshipman got into an altercation with one of his counterparts, creating an unpleasant scene.”

“I suspect that was not a little embarrassing,” Stuart said, as if to encourage Granger.

“It was indeed, Your Excellency,” Granger responded politely. “I had to explain to that young gentleman that his behavior not only reflected negatively on him, but also on my ship, and on me.”

“Young gentlemen can sometimes be tempestuous,” Stuart said.

“They can be, Your Excellency,” Granger agreed, then turned on Blayney. He had been speaking politely up until this point, but now his expression changed, and his tone became firm. It would be difficult to visualize a more pronounced transition. “When I landed, Captain O’Brian was pointedly rude to me, refusing to acknowledge my rank in His Majesty’s Navy, and my rank as a peer of the realm.”

“I’m sure he meant no disrespect,” Blayney said, beating a hasty retreat in the face of Granger’s attack.

“In fact, he did,” Granger countered. “And as was the case with my young gentleman, Captain O’Brian’s insubordination reflects dishonorably not only on him, but also on you, Colonel, and perhaps even more importantly, on His Majesty’s 89^th regiment. It makes it appear that you have no control over your men, and that you have not instilled the proper discipline one would expect. It makes you look ineffective, Colonel. So you may posture to me all that you want, but the end result is to make you look as if you cannot command your regiment.”

“The 89^th served with distinction in Ireland,” Blayney countered, and he was so mad now he was almost apoplectic.

“I would ask you to walk over to that window and gaze outside,” Granger said curtly. “I think that it will not take much for you to deduce that we are not in Ireland.”

Before Blayney could really lose his composure, Stuart intervened. “We will discuss this matter later, and review the discipline of your regiment,” he said to Blayney. It was ironic that a man who was renowned for his hot temper would step in to squelch Blayney’s.

“Yes, sir,” Blayney said. There was an uncomfortable silence, until Blayney realized he had been dismissed, and took his leave with as much grace as possible.

“I’m sorry about your welcome,” Stuart said to Granger affably. “I think the rest of your visit will turn out better.”

“I must thank you, Your Excellency,” Granger said. “Both for your reassurances and for the marvelous dinner I have just enjoyed.”

“It was my pleasure on both counts,” he said, clearly meaning for their interview to be over.

“I would like to intrude upon Your Excellency with one more question before I return to my ship,” Granger said. Stuart nodded to tell him to go on. “Is smuggling a problem on Minorca?”

“I am sure that it happens, but I am not aware that it is a large problem,” Stuart said.

“I think that may be why Captain O’Brian is so intent on keeping that spring off limits,” Granger said. “The beach adjacent to it would be ideal for landing such goods surreptitiously.”

“That is a bold accusation to make, Granger,” Stuart said, even as he contemplated the possibility.

“I am of a mind to test my theory, Your Excellency, assuming such a duty would meet with your approval.” If there was indeed a smuggling operation in place, it was possible that Stuart was involved in it. Granger recalled the arrangement O’Hara had sanctioned at Gibraltar. He was giving Stuart the opportunity to keep Granger from interfering. All he had to do was tell Granger he would handle the matter, and Granger would leave it alone, but Stuart didn’t do that.

Stuart nodded. “I will be interested to hear what, if anything, you discover.” Granger bowed in a courtly way and took his leave of the governor. He found a fresh mount, along with the same five dragoons, waiting to escort him back to the spring.

It was a short ride back to the spring, where Granger found the watering well underway. “Welcome back, my lord,” Eastwyck said. “We should be finished within the next few hours. Lieutenant Mulligan and his men have been very helpful.”

“That is good to hear,” Granger said, then addressed Mulligan. “Thank you for the loan of your horse.”

“It was my pleasure, my lord,” Mulligan said pleasantly.

“I will transit back to Valiant aboard that boat,” Granger said, gesturing to where the launch was preparing to return, with casks full of water.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Eastwyck said. Granger was quiet on the way back, even as a plan hatched in his mind.