HMS Valiant - 38. Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight

February 18, 1800

HMS Queen Charlotte

Malta

Granger walked into Lord Keith’s ornate and expansive cabin, smiling at the situation, but using that to throw his legendary charm at Lord Keith. Keith was clearly confused at the panoply of people in his quarters. Nelson was there, and Keith did not like him, so that had dictated that there would be tension by default. Peard looked quite composed, even though his ship was all but a jury-rigged wreck. Granger could sense the anguish buried beneath his façade. Peard’s one and only desire right now would be to take care of his ship. Berry was there, which would have been no great surprise, but Daventry certainly was an unusual visitor. And then Granger arrived, who must seem like some phantom messenger who appeared from time to time in unpredictable intervals.

“Welcome, Granger,” Keith said politely, and personally poured him a glass of wine.

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said.

“Lord Nelson was just explaining the recent action to me. I must offer all of you my accolades.”

“Thank you, sir,” Nelson replied, as the senior.

Granger gauged his timing so as not to interrupt either Keith or Nelson, and then addressed Peard. “Captain, it is good to see you again. I must commend you for the way you handled your ship. As a fellow frigate captain, I beheld your conduct with awe.”

Peard stared at him stunned, and then recovered. Granger never gave himself credit for being among Britain’s elite frigate captains, even if other captains placed him there. “Thank you for those kind words, my lord.”

“They are well-deserved,” Nelson said. “How is your ship?”

“Thanks to assistance from Valiant, we should have our rigging in serviceable order by the end of the day, tomorrow, my lord,” Peard said.

Keith was clearly irritated at having lost control of this interview. “You will report to me tomorrow and advise me of your status. I would prefer to keep you here with the fleet, if possible.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Peard said.

“And what are you doing out here, Daventry?” Keith asked.

“I was perpetually bored in London, so I opted to visit the lands of classical Greece,” Daventry said with his affected, foppish air.

“Did no one advise you that there was a war raging?” Keith asked.

“I was not about to let a global conflict stop my pursuit of knowledge,” Daventry replied using his same tone. Granger found it amusing, and so did Keith. In fact, Keith treated Daventry with a marked degree of respect, which was probably an indicator of Daventry’s influence with the government. As a Scotsman, Keith would be tied closely to Pitt’s right hand man, Henry Dundas, and a key member of the cabinet. Granger found Dundas to be coarse, and was not a fan of his strategies as regarded fighting this war, but there was no denying that he held the patronage of Scotland firmly in his grips.

“I think there is a conspiracy to tap into my purse, sir,” Granger joked. “First I had to provide for Lord and Lady Elgin and their entourage on my voyage to Constantinople, and now I am to be saddled with Lord Daventry for his return trek to London.”

“With a purse as sizeable as yours, Granger, I think you can afford someone even of Daventry’s expensive tastes,” Keith joked back.

“And I would like to think the return on investment is better with me than it was with the Elgins,” Daventry said.

“Indeed,” Keith agreed. He seemed to remember Nelson was here, and his mood fouled. “So you were unable to capture the transports?”

“Généreux positioned herself to protect their escape, sir,” Nelson said. “Even if we had avoided her, I am not confident we could have apprehended the transports. As it was, we were only able to apprehend one ship.”

“Yet some additional supplies would have been useful,” Keith said, his eyes narrowing.

“Fortunately we were able to acquire some aboard the ship we captured, sir,” Nelson said, barely able to hide his annoyance at being nit-picked for not capturing the entire French squadron.

“Sir, I think capturing the rest of the convoy would have been problematic,” Granger interrupted.

“And why is that Granger?” Keith asked nastily.

“Captain Renaudin of the Généreux told me that the transports also carried some 3000 troops,” Granger said. “In essence, the supplies they were landing would be of little use with the additional manpower, sir.”

“An interesting strategy,” Keith noted sarcastically. The starving, besieged troops on Malta needed food, not more mouths to feed.

“We were evidently fortunate enough to capture the transport containing supplies, as it had no troops aboard, sir,” Nelson augmented, but all that did was irritate Keith further.

“And what are your orders, Granger?” Keith demanded.

“I am tasked to make all haste in my return to England, sir,” Granger said. He hoped he would not have to explain who had tasked him to do that, and as luck would have it, Keith seemed more than happy to be rid of him.

“I require you to remain with the fleet until we have completed our dispatches,” Keith said.

“Aye aye, sir,” Granger said.

“In the meantime, I will send Lieutenant Cochrane to take command of Généreux and conduct her to Port Mahon,” Keith pronounced.

“Mr. Macclesfield of the Foudroyant is currently in command, sir,” Nelson said. This was his way of objecting to Macclesfield’s replacement, which was a thinly veiled slap at Nelson.

“Then you may welcome Mr. Macclesfield back aboard Foudroyant as soon as Lieutenant Cochrane assumes command of Généreux,” Keith said acidly. And this, in turn, was his way of censuring Nelson for not capturing the entire convoy. It was unfair to Nelson, and even more unfair to Macclesfield, but there was nothing to be done for it. It was also typical of the preferment that plagued the Navy. A good officer could have his laurels ripped from his clutches and handed to a pampered pet aboard the flagship. It was fortunate for the Navy that in this case, the appointment was taken from Macclesfield, a mediocre officer, and given to Cochrane, who was full of ambition and talent.

“Aye aye, sir,” Nelson said, albeit grudgingly.

“Then we will allow these men to return to their ships, and you can join me for supper,” Keith said to Nelson.

“It will be my pleasure, sir,” Nelson lied. Granger doubted there would be any pleasure for either of them.

Granger paused to discuss one final, important matter with Lord Keith. He gave Granger a dour look, since he had clearly intended their interview to be over. “Sir, Lord Nelson mentioned that you were most recently in Palermo. I am wondering if you had any news of my lieutenant, Charles Eastwyck? He was wounded, and we left him there to recover.”

Keith mellowed at this question, since they had all lost members of their crews to death or disease. “Your lieutenant had recovered enough that he was able to return to England. It was my understanding that he was planning to leave on the sloop Phalanx, which was to depart shortly after my own departure from that port.”

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said with a smile, relieved to hear that Eastwyck was doing well. He led the others from Keith’s cabin. “Perhaps we can offer you a ride back to your ship, Sir Edward?”

“Thank you, my lord, but I will wait for the admiral,” Berry said. Hopefully for Berry one of Keith’s minions would feel obligated to provide him with some food and drink.

“I will return to the Généreux with Lieutenant Cochrane, and then I will return to Valiant,” Granger announced.

“Then I should join you,” Daventry said. They waited for ten minutes, making idle conversation with Keith’s flag captain, until Cochrane arrived with a midshipman. Their launch was loaded with men and marines from Queen Charlotte, who would replace Foudroyant’s prize crew.

“Good to see you,” Granger said to Thomas Lord Cochrane.

“It is even better to see you, sir,” he said cheerfully. “And you as well, Daventry.”

“You probably get into less trouble out here than back in London,” Daventry joked.

“I’m not sure if that’s true,” he said. “This is my brother, Archibald.” He was probably sixteen or seventeen, with the same prominent nose and dark hair, but with a more thoughtful countenance, than his brother.

“It is nice to meet you,” Granger said politely.

“It is an honor to meet you, my lord,” he said, with a look of hero worship in his eyes, one that made Granger uncomfortable. They went into the boat in reverse order of seniority, and then Granger told the coxswain to take them to Généreux.

“You will find Captain Renaudin a pleasant enough man to deal with,” Granger noted. Granger told Cochrane of his actions when he’d boarded her. “I allowed him to retain his sword. I hope you will honor my gesture.”

“Of course, sir,” Cochrane said.

“What are your orders?” Granger asked.

“I am to take Généreux to Port Mahon, sir,” he answered. That was a close enough port.

“I will wish you well, and advise you to be cautious,” Granger said with a grin.

“I think, sir, that you have more to fear than me,” he said with a smile. “I am not the most hated man in Oran.”

“No, but you are the most hated in the hearts of some of the women of London,” Daventry joked. All four of them laughed at that. Granger was glad that Berry had opted not to join them. It was a pleasant voyage to Généreux. Généreux hailed the boat, just as she should, and received Granger aboard with the proper honors.

“Welcome back, my lord,” Macclesfield said insincerely. Granger noticed that the mood aboard was a bit more tense than when he’d left. Clearly Macclesfield’s personality had somewhat put a damper on things.

“Thank you, Mr. Macclesfield,” Granger said. “Lord Keith has seen fit to appoint Lord Cochrane to take command of Généreux and take her to Port Mahon.”

“My lord?” Macclesfield asked. His proper response would have been to simply acknowledge the order, and as cold as he was, it was tempting to snap at him and remind him of that, but Granger felt sympathy for him. It was tough to lose a command, even a temporary one.

“Lord Keith was quite fulsome in his praise of Foudroyant’s capture of this ship, and of your conduct in taking charge after Généreux’s surrender,” Granger explained.

“That was most kind of his Lordship,” he said, managing to conceal the sarcasm. While Cochrane and Macclesfield sorted out the prize crews and sent Foudroyant’s men into the launch, Granger strolled over to talk to Renaudin.

“Lord Cochrane has assumed command,” Granger told him, easily switching to French. “He is an honorable man, and will watch after your crew.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Renaudin said.

“I wonder if you would do me a favor?” Granger asked.

“Of course, my lord.”

“If you find yourself in Paris, I would be obliged if you would call on Monsieur de Talleyrand, and give him my regards,” Granger said.

“I will do that, my lord,” Renaudin said. Granger was not sure if the French navy would ruin this man for losing his ship, but by sending him to Talleyrand, he may just get lucky and the wily French diplomat may decide to save Captain Renaudin. “I suspect he will still be the Foreign Minister.”

“Things can change that quickly in Paris,” Granger agreed.

“Yes but it is even more likely with the new government in power,” he said casually.

“New government?” Granger asked curiously. “I have been at sea for a goodly amount of time, and have had no recent news from France.”

“Then you will not know of the coup on 18 Brumaire,” he said with a smile. “Napoleon Bonaparte was able to escape from Egypt and returned to a hero’s welcome.”

“Our blockade was evidently quite porous,” Granger said with a smile, to spur this conversation on.

“Porous enough to allow Bonaparte to return to France. There was a coup, more or less, and the Directory was dissolved.”

Granger was not surprised. The Directory had been very flawed, and had done little to effectively govern France. “And what has replaced the Directory?”

“There is now a Consulate in place,” he said. Granger had no idea what that was, or what kind of strange new government the French had invented this time. Renaudin humored him by explaining things. “The new government is composed of three parliamentary assemblies: the Council of State, which drafts bills; the Tribunate, which discusses them without voting on them; and the Legislative Assembly, which votes on them without discussing them.”

“That would seem to be quite complicated,” Granger said.

Renaudin laughed. “As only a Parisian could design. The executive authority is supposed to be vested in three consuls, who are elected for ten years.”

“So they have the power in the new government,” Granger concluded. “Who are these men?”

“The three consuls are Napoleon Bonaparte, Jean Jacques Régis de Cambacérès and Charles-François Lebrun, duc de Plaisance. Abbe Sieyes had planned to hold the role of Grand Elector and be in charge, but he was thwarted in that plan.”

“I sense the role of Monsieur Talleyrand in that,” Granger said with a smile. Talleyrand detested Sieyes.

“You spent your time in Paris wisely, my lord,” Renaudin said with a grin. “That is most perceptive of you. Sieyes had envisioned himself as the leader of France, and just as happened to him during the Directory, he has wound up on the sidelines.” Renaudin regaled Granger with some of the more interesting tidbits of gossip about the coup in November.

“So how do things stand now?”

Renaudin shrugged, that quintessential French gesture. “In the end, it was decided that there would be a First Consul, who would basically be in charge. That role is being filled by General Bonaparte.”

Granger nodded. “That is most interesting.”

“There was to be a public plebiscite earlier this month to approve the new constitution. I think it is reasonable to assume that has passed.”

Granger chuckled. “It would take a brave man to vote against it.”

“Indeed,” Renaudin said.

“So it would seem, Monsieur, that you have, once again, a King in charge of France,” Granger said, pretending to joke, even though it was true.

“Yes, but we will not call him that,” Renaudin replied jovially. He then got more serious. “Perhaps with a stronger government, there will be a way to negotiate a lasting peace treaty.”

“Nothing would make me happier,” Granger agreed, but he was skeptical. He did not trust Bonaparte, and he did not think that peace was something Bonaparte valued, in any event.

“I think that, as someone who is about to be transported into captivity, I have a more immediate interest in that peace than you do, my lord,” Renaudin said.

“Having been in your situation, I must agree with you,” Granger said. “I am not sure what your fate is to be, but I will hope that you are paroled as soon as possible.”

“I am also hopeful,” he said.

“I am not sure if you were able to bring adequate funds to support yourself, so please, accept these to help you with your journey back to France,” Granger said, and handed Renaudin several gold coins.

“I do not now how to thank you for your generosity, my lord,” he said, truly stunned.

“I suspect you would do the same for me,” Granger said. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Renaudin said. Granger rejoined the other officers.

“Mr. Macclesfield, let us return to Foudroyant,” Granger said. It was dark now, and even though the ships were showing ample lights, he had no desire to spend hours sailing about in the dark in a small boat. He longed for the comfort and safety of his own ship.

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said. That forced them to scramble to get the seamen into the launch, and then Granger followed Macclesfield into the boat.

“Valiant,” Granger ordered. “Then you may return to Foudroyant.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” the coxswain said.

“It is a beautiful night, if a bit cool,” Daventry said, in an attempt to make idle conversation. It didn’t work. Macclesfield was in too foul a mood, and Granger had no desire to chat further with him. He saw Valiant loom up, her lanterns illuminating her gold leaf in a way that made her seem to sparkle. They were hailed, and then Granger took his leave of Macclesfield and was finally back where he belonged.

“Mr. Weston,” Granger said, to fully get his attention. “Lord Nelson asked me of my opinion of you, and I told him that you were an excellent officer and a superb seaman.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Weston said, and was so shocked that he lost his normally jovial demeanor.

“I must say that the way you handled Valiant in my absence confirmed my good opinion of you,” Granger pronounced.

“Thank you again, my lord,” Weston replied.

“How many of our spars did we have to surrender to Success?” Granger asked, getting them away from this somewhat maudlin conversation.

“Her foretopmast was split in two, but our spare main yard sufficed to replace it, my lord,” Weston said. That wasn’t too bad. “But her rigging was in bad shape to begin with, so to make her serviceable we lost about three fourths of our rope.” That was definitely not good news.

“Well, it can’t be helped,” Granger said philosophically. “We will have to miser our remaining stores.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said.

“We are to remain with the fleet until Lord Keith sends us dispatches and bids us leave to go,” Granger said. “I expect that to happen tomorrow morning.” And with that, Granger went back to his own cabin and had supper. And with the intuitive tact he seemed to have mastered, Daventry sensed Granger’s need to spend some time alone and dined with the wardroom.

February, 1800

HMS Valiant

The Mediterranean Sea

“How you tolerate the vagaries of this weather is beyond me,” Daventry said to Granger as they stood on the quarterdeck. It was a nice day, sunny with light winds, much as it had been since they’d left the fleet. They’d made excellent time, even though it had required them to carry Valiant’s maximum sail. Granger’s eyes looked up at the towering masts covered with billowing white canvas sails, gauging all the relative forces on Valiant, and decided that she was trimmed just as she should be.

“I am confident that we will be able to conjure up a storm for you when we get into the Atlantic,” Granger said.

“Do not feel you have to do so just to entertain me,” he said, making Granger smile.

It was noon, and the midshipmen were once again laboring with their sextants, trying to place Valiant’s location. Granger was interested to have them, along with his other officers, corroborate his readings. If they were accurate, then they were quite close to Oran. Granger’s eyes looked again at the sails, hoping that the Mediterranean would not take away their wind entirely. As if to taunt him, the wind died, the sails flapped, and then the wind blew again, filling the canvas. Of course, then the sails had to be trimmed all over again.

“Sail ho, forward!” cried the lookout from the foremast. “It’s that same ship, my lord.”

“Our will-of-the-wisp,” Granger said to Weston. They’d seen that ship yesterday toward dusk, and had spotted her again at dawn.

“We have not been able to identify her, my lord,” Weston said.

“And I doubt that we will be able to,” Granger responded. “She is shadowing us.”

“Could we reduce sail and try to draw her in, my lord?” Clifton asked.

“I don’t think we can get her close enough, and I am reluctant to give up any progress at this point,” Granger responded. “Mr. Meurice, have you figured out where we are?”

“I have, my lord, but the young gentlemen are less certain,” he said, scowling at them. They finished up their calculations, so Granger went over to inspect them.

He frowned as he looked at them, forcing his look to be severe as he inspected each man’s work. “You have all done quite well,” he pronounced, transforming his frown into a smile. “I am especially pleased with your improvement, Mr. Genarro.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said cheerfully. The three young men beamed at him.

“I will host the three of you to dinner this afternoon, to celebrate your navigational skills,” Granger announced. “Mr. Meurice, you can join us.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Meurice said, answering for them.

“And where are we?” Daventry asked.

“We are fifty miles east of Oran,” Granger said.

“That explains the shadow, my lord,” Weston said. He wasn’t afraid, but he was apprehensive. So was Granger.

“Indeed,” Granger said. “We will have to hope that our wind continues.”

“So we can outsail any adversaries?” Daventry asked.

“The adversaries we are most likely to encounter are Oranian xebecs,” Granger explained. “They are at their most deadly when we are becalmed and cannot maneuver. If we have even a light wind, that gives us enough leverage to turn our broadsides on them.”

“But if we are becalmed, they can work their way around us and attack us where we are most vulnerable, my lord,” Weston added.

“Will this wind continue?” Daventry asked.

Granger looked at Meurice. “I have consulted with my mates, and we are confident that it will.” Granger agreed with them, having looked at the glass earlier.

“I have a feeling that we are more likely to see a storm than to be becalmed,” Granger said. There was a feeling in the air, a change.

“Sail ho!” came the call, again from the foremast.

Granger picked up the speaking trumpet. “Our will-of-the-wisp?”

“No, my lord,” the lookout said. “I’m seeing multiple sails.”

“It appears that with this new development, it is time for some exercise,” Granger said playfully, to shield any worry he had about being this close to Oran and sighting several sails.

He walked forward and scaled the shrouds to the foretop, and paused there to take out his glass and inspect the sea in front of them. “Looks like some xebecs, my lord, and two other ships.”

“I think I’ll go a bit higher,” Granger said jovially. He went up to the next yard and positioned himself at the crosstree of the topsail yard. He balanced himself carefully, and then pulled out his glass to inspect these sails. The view was, unfortunately, much better up there.

Granger swallowed hard as he saw the force arrayed in front of him. There was no question in his mind that they were waiting for him, not with the way they’d been shadowed. In the past, the Oranians had thrown their xebecs at him. In seas and winds like these, those craft were not overly dangerous. But this time, there were two other ships, much larger ships. Granger looked at them carefully, studying their strange rigging, which was a combination of square rigging and lateen sails. It seemed odd on such large ships. He spent a good ten minutes studying them, and then closed his glass with a snap. He grabbed a backstay and slid down to the deck. Unfortunately, he had been preoccupied with planning out how to handle this menace, and he’d allowed himself to descend a bit too quickly. The rope burned his hands, but the pain helped steady Granger and his thoughts.

“Mr. Weston, we’ll wear ship,” Granger announced. The wind was from the southeast. “Course northeast.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said, and Valiant turned away from the enemy and clawed her way into the wind.

“You may reduce us down to topsails,” Granger said. That was, ironically enough, the best spread of sails to show when reaching to the windward, but it was also the configuration Valiant would normally wear when going into battle.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston replied. The ship slowed considerably, but Granger estimated that they were making their best speed, such as it was. Sailing into light winds was entirely different than having them off their quarter.

All the officers were gathered on the quarterdeck, waiting in suspense to discover what this nemesis was that had caused their captain to turn and flee. “There is a considerable force directly in our way,” Granger said.

“What kind of force, my lord?” Weston asked.

“In addition to eight xebecs, the larger type of vessel we encountered off Bizerte, there are two ships of the line escorting them,” Granger said.

“I didn’t know the Oranians had ships of the line,” Daventry said.

“I do not think that they do, or they did, but they seem to have acquired them,” Granger said. “They are old ships, and while I cannot be sure, I will give you my guess as to what they are.”

“I’m sure that your guess will be quite accurate, sir,” Clifton said.

“They look to be old 60-gun ships. I am willing to bet that they were French vessels at one time. My suspicion, based on their rigging, is that they were part of the Ottoman fleet. Perhaps the Bey of Oran purchased them, perhaps he borrowed them, or perhaps the Sultan sent them here on his own initiative.”

“We are a frigate, and they are battleships,” Daventry concluded. “Having seen what happened to Success, surely we cannot engage them?”

“I would not hesitate to take on one of them,” Granger said honestly. “They will be older ships, and while Valiant is a frigate, she was once a ship of the line, and has the lower deck armament and scantlings left over from her days as a battleship.”

“Two is a much bigger challenge, my lord,” Weston noted.

“Indeed,” Granger agreed, but explained why to Daventry. “Their armament, while old, is still deadly, and with two vessels, they can use their divide and conquer tactics to particularly good effect.”

“And there are the xebecs, which will be a nuisance, my lord,” Weston added. That was putting it mildly. The eight xebecs alone would be a challenge, if only because they would be teeming with men.

“They serve a special purpose here,” Granger said. They all looked at him, waiting for him to explain. “They will reduce our ability to maneuver.”

“I don’t understand,” Daventry said.

“Were we just battling the two ships of the line, we could maneuver about them, not unlike how Success maneuvered against Généreux. In this case, I would be optimistic that we could wear them down, and disable at least one of them.”

“At least, my lord,” Treadway said, grinning.

“At least,” Granger agreed indulgently. “But with the xebecs, we cannot afford to maneuver like that. They will be poised to strike at us, and their prime attack strategy will be to board us.”

“I would think that those battleships carry a goodly number of men on board as well, my lord,” Meurice added.

“As is often the case with these cretins, we must, at all costs, avoid being boarded,” Granger said.

“What will you do?” Daventry asked.

“We will maintain this course,” Granger said.

“Will we be able to outrun them?”

Granger led them up to the poop deck and looked back to where the Oranian ships were. They had gotten much closer, and were now in sight from the deck. “We can possibly outpace the battleships, but not the xebecs.”

“They are fast craft, my lord,” Meurice said.

“They are also able to use their oars,” Weston noted. It was entirely possible that the xebecs would do to Valiant what Success had done to Généreux. They would swarm around him, attempting to disable or delay him enough to bring the battleships into action.

“We will have supper early, and then clear for action,” Granger ordered. They waited for more, but he said nothing. They probably thought he had some genius, inspired plan to win this conflict. In fact, he did not. He was merely playing for time. There was no advantage to battling those ships until he had to, and there was, in fact, a good argument for waiting. Every minute took those xebecs further from the shore, and they were most vulnerable when farther out to sea. A storm would damage them, or maybe even sink them.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said.

“Mr. Andrews,” Granger said, to get the purser’s attention. “Let us put on an especially splendid dinner this afternoon.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Andrews said, and scurried off to get things organized. The only reason for Granger to give that last order was that he expected to be fighting a pitched battle shortly, one in which many of his men would not survive. For some, this would be their last meal.

“In the meantime, I have promised to entertain our young gentlemen to dinner,” Granger said, then addressed them. “Please join me in my cabin in half an hour.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Meurice said, answering for them. Granger went down to his cabin and found Winkler waiting for him.

“It seems that the Bey has sent a few battleships to tangle with us, along with some xebecs,” Granger told him.

“We’ve battled tough odds before, my lord,” Winkler said.

“We have, and we will beat these as well. I am entertaining Mr. Meurice, Lord Daventry, and the young gentlemen to dinner. Please let Lefavre know.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said.

“After you have tended to that, I’ll need my good uniform,” Granger said. Winkler acknowledged that order, and then went to find Lefavre.

Granger went into his chartroom and studied the map, plotting their position and their course, looking for some obstacle or safe harbor, but the closest shelter was Port Mahon, and that was too distant to save them. Granger returned to his cabin just as Daventry arrived. “I did not realize that there would be so much action when sailing with you.”

“Then clearly you have not followed my career,” Granger joked.

“Most captains lament that they rarely do much besides chase privateers and capture the odd merchant,” Daventry said. “At least that is how they talk in London.”

“That is true,” Granger said. “Much of that is luck or the lack thereof, but it is also a function of the type of ship in which they serve, and where they serve.”

“Why would the type of ship and station matter?”

“Fleet actions are very rare, but they are quite the event when they happen,” Granger explained. “Ships of the line are the main participants in those battles. So if one is posted to a ship of the line, one is less likely to be involved in a battle.”

“That would make sense,” Daventry said, as he digested that information.

“The rarest actions are major fleet battles near England, so I would submit that being posted to the Channel Fleet is also a recipe for less action. There has been one major battle in the Atlantic: Lord Howe’s victory at the Glorious First of June. During this conflict, in contrast, there have been four significant encounters involving the Mediterranean fleet.”

“The Battle of Cape St. Vincent and the Battle of the Nile,” Daventry said, identifying two of them.

“There was also the siege of Toulon, and the inconclusive battle that resulted in the capture of the Ça Ira,” Granger said.

“So there is more action here than in the Channel Fleet,” Daventry concluded.

“So it would seem,” Granger said.

“What would you have me do?” Daventry asked.

“I would leave that up to you,” Granger said. “The quarterdeck will be the most dangerous place.”

“Then that is most likely where you’ll find me,” Daventry said with a smile.

“I will be glad of your company,” Granger said. Winkler returned to help him get dressed, and then he returned to his main cabin to welcome Meurice and the midshipmen. They had a look of awe about them, as their eyes absorbed Granger’s opulent cabin, but there was also an air of concern about the battle they may have to fight. “Welcome gentlemen,” Granger said affably.

They sat down and enjoyed a truly superb meal, courtesy of Lefavre, who had been with Granger long enough to know the stakes they were up against. Granger hid his own apprehensions and put all his efforts into being a good host. He commented on the various dishes, using the conversation to shield his almost overwhelming desire to escape to the quarterdeck. But it would not do to look anxious, and he could tell that his calm manner had already helped steady the nerves of these young officers.

Daventry was invaluable, filling the voids in conversation with hilarious stories about life in London. Granger kept an eye inconspicuously sighted on the clock, and when an hour had passed, he ended their dinner. “Gentlemen, despite the excellent conversation and company you have provided, the time has come for us to return to our duties.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Meurice said. They filed out of his cabin, with Granger bringing up the rear as if to emphasize his calm confidence.

“The men have been fed, my lord,” Weston informed him. Granger took his glass and mounted the poop deck. The Oranians were much closer now, and had worked themselves into an interesting configuration. The xebecs were advancing quite steadily under both oars and sails, while the ships of the line lumbered along a full cable’s length after them.

“Must they be hostile?” Daventry asked.

“Let us find out,” Granger said, although no doubt existed in his mind. He returned to the quarterdeck. “Mr. Weston, beat to quarters.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said, and in no time at all, the drummers began pounding out “Hearts of Oak.” Granger suspected that much preliminary work had already been done while he was eating, because the ship was cleared for action quite quickly. That would bode well for them when they came to put the ship back to rights, assuming they survived this battle.

“Mr. Llewellyn, make sure our colors are visible. Our largest ensign at the main,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said. The flags were duly hoisted, announcing to the approaching ships that Valiant was British.

“They’re showing Oranian colors, my lord,” shouted the lookout. Granger turned to see the strange flags, which looked more like banners, as they soared up the masts of the ships of the line and the xebecs.

A shot crashed out from the lead xebec and landed half a cable from Valiant’s stern. They were almost in range. “Daventry, you have your answer.”

“A blackguard affair, for the Sultan to attack this ship after all our help at Acre, and after the Battle of the Nile,” Daventry said.

“I wonder if the Sultan is aware that these ships are attacking us,” Granger pondered.

“It would seem that the only way to find out is to thrash them, then let London rant to Constantinople about it,” Daventry noted.

“The Sultan’s vassals, including the Bey of Oran, do not seem overly obedient, nor do they seem to care much about the Sultan’s proclaimed foreign policy.”

A cannon ball whirred overhead and punctured a hole in the main topsail. “Indeed,” Daventry observed.