Northern Exposure - 57. Chapter 57

May 19, 1801

Off Reval, Estonia

Granger and Daventry sat in the stern of the Admiral’s barge, ignoring the stares from the oarsmen as they propelled the vessel toward the St. George. Tasked with commanding the barge was a senior midshipman, Colin Fitzgerald, whose Irish looks matched his name. He must have been 19 years old, and his red hair was unmistakable, even in the dim light of the lanterns.

“Mr. Fitzgerald, after you unload our baggage, I will want you to return and retrieve the rest, along with our staff,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said with a cheerful lilt to his voice.

“I would also like you to bring Captain Drubetskoy back as well, as he expressed a desire to meet the admiral,” Granger continued. “Unfortunately, that means you’ll have one more trip to make, in order to return him to his ship.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he responded, unfazed by having been committed to spend several hours toiling back and forth between the two ships. “Begging your pardon, but I think that it’s a very good thing the Russian anchored so close to the flagship.”

Granger smiled at him. “Indeed it is.” They stopped talking as the St. George came into view, her towering sides and painted gunports visible in the dim light. The St. George was ordered in 1774 but was not launched until 1785. One would have thought that allowing her lumber all that time to season would have made her a solid craft, but like the other Duke-class ships of the line, she was clumsy and unwieldy. Sporting three decks packed with 98 guns, she towered above the water and would be formidable in battle, but maneuvering her was a decided chore. Granger was thankful, yet again, that he had been fortunate to command frigates and had not yet been given a ship of the line. Sailing a ship like the St. George, which seemed to revel in tormenting her masters, while at the same time being tied to the fleet, were jobs Granger was loath to do.

“Will you want a bosun’s chair, my lord?” Fitzgerald asked innocently.

“I do not, but perhaps Lord Daventry would fancy one,” Granger said, giving his friend an amiable prod.

“I am at least as agile as His Lordship,” Daventry said, declining the chair. “And some have said I am more so.”

“Some would say that,” Granger replied, “but those people are rarely found in polite company.” Before they could continue their banter, they hooked onto the chains of the St. George. Granger stood up and pondered briefly how ridiculous he would look if after his claims to be adept at ascending the sides of the massive battleship, instead he fell back into the sea. Fortunately, he grabbed the chains and hauled himself up with no problems, pulling himself gracefully through the entry port and onto the main deck.

Hardy’s familiar face was waiting to greet him, and Granger was relieved beyond belief that he was acting as Nelson’s flag captain and not Sir Edward Berry, a man Granger did not like. “Welcome aboard, my lord,” Hardy said, shaking his hand with the enthusiasm one greets a friend. Granger returned his grip and gesture.

“I can think of no one I would rather see after hauling myself aboard one of His Majesty’s battleships,” Granger said effusively.

“And welcome to you as well, my lord,” Hardy said to Daventry, modifying his tone to indicate he was not as beloved in Hardy’s mind as Granger.

“Thank you, Captain,” Daventry said.

“Let me lead you back to His Lordship,” Hardy said, and guided them aft, past the crew members on the main deck who looked at Granger with curiosity and awe. Granger found it odd that men serving under Nelson would think Granger was of consequence, but smiled at them anyway.

The marine sentry guarding the admiral snapped smartly to attention, while Hardy opened the door and led them into Nelson’s opulent cabin. Nelson was standing to greet them, smiling broadly, and Granger could not help but think how slight was this man who had such a huge reputation. He seemed frail, presumably because the weeks at sea, not to mention the stress of fighting a major battle, had evidently weakened him, but his personality and charisma were, as always, ready to override those perceptions about his physical health. “Granger! What a pleasant surprise to find you here! I find that as I travel about, I periodically wonder if you will not suddenly spring up.”

“It is good to see you again sir, and before I speak further, I must congratulate you on your stunning victory in Copenhagen,” Granger said, even as he held Nelson’s hand in his.

“We will have much time to discuss that later,” Nelson said, then turned his attention to the other British traveler. “I am not surprised to find you here as well, Daventry.”

“Your lordship is suggesting that I am merely Granger’s baggage handler?” Daventry asked, pretending to be in a snit, and making them all laugh.

“Hardly,” Nelson said. “If the two of you are in Russia, I can only imagine the chaos you have left behind for the poor Tsar.” He led them over to his seating area and poured the three of them glasses.

“You said you were surprised to see me, sir?” Granger asked. “You did not get the note I sent you?”

Nelson looked at Granger strangely. “I received no note from you, only a brief communique from Secretary Panin ordering me to remain here pending further instructions from the Tsar.” Granger and Daventry shared a knowing look, rolling their eyes at how the games and schemes of the Imperial Court were manifesting themselves here.

“It must have been intercepted,” Daventry mused. “In the end, the result was the same, in that you remained here.”

“I was assuming you were bringing me an invitation to ascend to Kronstadt to meet with His Imperial Majesty,” Nelson said cautiously. His arrogance was endearing.

“Sadly, sir, His Imperial Majesty cannot receive you at this time,” Granger said. “In fact, he expressly ordered that you leave Russian waters tomorrow.”

“I am to take orders from some Oriental potentate?” Nelson raged. “By God, I could roll up the whole Russian fleet with these ships!”

“Sir, please understand,” Granger said. “His Imperial Majesty is prepared to return to the status quo ante with Britain. He wishes no conflict with us.”

“Then why would he evict me so unnecessarily from his waters?” Nelson demanded.

“Try to see his point of view,” Daventry intervened. “He is ready to treat with our ambassador, who is rumored to be on his way. He can hardly do so with such an impressive British fleet in his waters.”

Nelson thought about that. “It will appear that he is being forced to sign a peace agreement, rather than doing it of his own free will,” he concluded.

“Precisely,” Daventry said. “Besides, you must sail tomorrow if only to save Granger’s reputation.”

“And why is that?” Nelson asked.

“Sir, I knew that once I explained the situation to you, you would gladly do as His Imperial Majesty asked. His Imperial Majesty was skeptical of my bonafides, and it was not until I pledged that you would do as he wished that he would be convinced,” Granger said.

“So if I do not sail on the morrow, it will appear that you lied to the Tsar, and your honor will be suspect?” Nelson mused. “You are lucky I consider you a friend and will thus defend your honor.”

“Much as if Granger were a damsel in distress,” Daventry added. He was probably relishing this chance to tease Granger after enduring months of barbs from Granger about his liaison with the Dowager Empress.

“In much the same way, I shouldn’t wonder,” Nelson mused, grinning at Granger.

“I would note, sir, that being considered your friend is already a lucky occasion, so this only adds to it, but I am most appreciative that you have saved my reputation,” Granger said as gallantly as he could, then changed the subject. “The Russian who captained the lugger that brought us here is in awe of you, sir, so I invited him over to meet you.”

“I did not know I had fans in the Imperial Russian Navy,” Nelson mused.

“Quite a few, sir, as a matter of fact,” Granger noted.

“Well then I shall have to make sure I impress him when he arrives,” Nelson said. “Hardy, I am going to task you to find room for our two newly arrived peers.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Hardy said, and used that as an excuse to leave Nelson alone with Granger and Daventry.

“I had heard about your mission to St. Petersburg,” Nelson said to Granger and Daventry, which was actually a request for information more than anything.

“Then we will tell you of our travels,” Daventry said, and began a long discussion to familiarize Nelson with what they’d been up to. Their conversation was interrupted when an awestruck Drubetskoy arrived, but Nelson handled him wonderfully, then pawned him off on a lieutenant for a tour of the St. George.

May 20, 1801

HMS St. George

Off Reval, Estonia

Granger stood next to Nelson on the quarterdeck, watching the ponderous ships of the line haul their anchors aboard even as they trimmed their sails to make sure they were in perfect line ahead formation. Nelson had organized his ships into two columns sailing side by side, making it easier for communication. The seas were calm today with an easterly breeze, propelling the battleships along at a slow but deliberate pace, while the sun blazed through the fog to begin to reflect directly off the water.

“Nicely done, sir,” Granger said approvingly of the fleet and its maneuvering.

“I have good captains,” Nelson replied. He was unique in that while he demanded and took the credit for any success, great or small, he was also quite adamant about lauding the efforts of his officers and men. That thought prompted Granger to glance at the people assembled on the quarterdeck. As with any flagship, things were more rigid than in a ship that did not house an admiral. All the officers were turned out almost as nicely as if they were going to Carlton House, while the warrant officers looked as if they were about to go to a Sunday worship service. Granger was used to being on board a flagship and had dressed accordingly, donning his second-best uniform that was so slimming. Granger had spent the night talking with Nelson about Russia, and hearing all about Copenhagen, so much that he’d had no chance to rest, much less sleep. Suddenly all the people on the deck seemed to close in on him, making him feel almost trapped. His eyes darted around as he searched for some escape, then came upon the perfect solution.

“With your permission, sir, I’d like to go aloft,” Granger said.

Nelson looked at him with surprise, then nodded his assent. “Please alert us if you see the Swedish fleet bearing down on us.” His good humor was like a balm, making Granger smile.

“Should I spot an enemy vessel, I will alert you at once, sir,” Granger said in a playful way, then went over to the shrouds and began the climb to the Mizzen top. He found that despite his months ashore, after a few minutes, he reacquired his agility aloft. He avoided the lubberly crow’s nest and remained on the shrouds, pivoting off them to land gracefully on the platform. A lookout nodded to him respectfully, and fortunately he was a good seaman who knew not speak unless he was spoken to. Granger had relied on that to give himself some peace to think.

He pondered that when he’d joined Nelson prior to the Battle of the Nile, he’d been ecstatic at being back in this familiar milieu, where the sights, sounds, smells, and motion of the sea had been a homecoming. It frustrated him that he did not feel that way this time. He chided himself, remembering that last time he’d been sailing into an almost certain fleet action, and the excitement from that alone would have been enough to overcome any malaise. This time, there was little hope of action. The Russians were not about to sail and offer battle, the Danes were effectively neutered, and the Swedes were smart enough not to risk their hastily manned fleet against the powerful and experienced ships Granger saw as he scanned the seas about him.

In a quest to change his attitude about being with the fleet, Granger looked beyond the battleships to the attendant craft, and spotted the two frigates that were with them: Alcmene and Calliope. Granger knew Alcmene well, as she was one of the ships that had helped him capture the Spanish treasure frigates when he’d been shuttling Lord Elgin to Constantinople. He had not yet encountered Calliope, but he knew of her. She was originally the French frigate Topaze, and had been captured a year ago when she’d been overpowered by a British squadron of two ships of the line and three frigates. He studied her lines and smiled, for she bore a resemblance to Belvidera, only she was a bit larger, rated for 36 guns. He watched her for quite a while, and while she was a beautiful ship, her station-keeping was not as crisp as one would expect. Flags soared up the mast, and Granger smiled and shook his head as he read them, for Calliope had fallen under Nelson’s eagle eye, and he was signaling her to stay on station, a public critique of the shoddy performance she had been exhibiting. It almost seemed as if Calliope snapped to attention in response.

There were other smaller ships with them as well, but the two that most attracted Granger’s attention were the Arrow and the Cruzier. The Arrow was an experimental sloop designed by Samuel Bentham, and indeed she was a strange looking craft. Her hull seemed to fan out as it rose from the water, as her width increased above the waterline rather than decreased as one usually saw in the standard ‘tumblehome’ naval design. She also had a raked bow and stern. The whole effect made her look a bit like a saucer on the water. She was presumably designed like that so she would be quite hard to capsize in rough weather, a real benefit to tackling the rough seas of the North Atlantic, but he had heard rumors that this had made her too stiff. Granger thought it was exciting that the navy was willing to try out new ideas like that, then he grimaced, knowing that experimenting with new designs was not something St. Vincent’s Admiralty was likely to do.

Cruzier was much more attractive as she was built on the lines of a captured French corvette, lines that were probably identical to those of Granger’s first command, the Intrepid. Granger was convinced she had been the best sloop in the Royal Navy, and that sparked sadness, remembering that Calvert had wrecked her off Halifax. His mind desperately wanted to tangent off and think about Calvert, but Granger manfully wrestled his thoughts under control and refocused on Cruizier. While her hull looked almost identical to Intrepid’s, her rigging was entirely different. Instead of building her as a sloop with three masts, Cruizier was rigged as a brig, with only two masts. Granger wondered at that decision, as having all of her sail-power in only two masts would make her more vulnerable in action. On the other hand, it would also make her more economical to operate as she would require fewer men to handle her canvas. The Admiralty was likely to embrace the latter advantage.

Granger sighed to himself, as none of this ruminating or admiration of the smaller ships had changed his mood. He realized that the problem was not the fleet, or the ships themselves, but in fact he was the problem. He was back on familiar ground, so to speak, but he was miserable. He had no desire to speak to his fellow officers, no urge to be involved in the handling of the ships or the fleet, and found no joy in being in the company of anyone. He wracked his brain, trying to remember a time when he’d felt this bad, and thought of his homecoming after the Battle of St. Vincent. That had been different than this, though. This time, there were no external events causing him problems, it was all inside of him. When he’d come back after that Battle of St. Vincent, there had been things that had legitimately roiled his emotions. He’d almost destroyed Belvidera, and he had truly loved his frigate. He’d found Caroline pregnant with another man’s child. He’d been sexually assaulted at the direction of his sister-in-law. He thought it was entirely reasonable that those things alone should send anyone into a state of depression.

That was not what was currently happening. He searched farther back until he finally found a similar situation: when Calvert had been removed from Belvidera and given his own ship. Granger remembered the agony of losing the man he loved, and how difficult it had been to hide that from his officers. He remembered how the pain had haunted him even as he’d sailed south toward St. Helena. He remembered the nights where he had felt so incredibly alone. He remembered how he’d felt then, and he felt the same way now. While Granger probably wouldn’t admit it even to himself, if he were forced to pick the one love of his life thus far, he would go through several mental backflips but he ultimately would choose Calvert.

Granger pondered the implication of the realization of what that meant. He had no idea that his feelings for the Tsar were that intense, and worse, now that he realized that, the ache in his heart seemed to grow exponentially. All of his thoughts and introspection had only succeeded in making him more miserable. He rolled his eyes at himself, causing a tear to fall out, one that was fortunately dissipated quickly by the wind.

Yet he went on, continuing this orgy of self-torture. In his heart, he knew that there was nothing he wanted more than to go back to St. Petersburg. If he were not on this flagship with his destiny already sealed, he would be sorely tempted to do just that. He tried to think of how pleasant his homecoming could be, how his children would be older and happy to see him, how Cavendish and Caroline would be there to welcome him, and how all of his friends would celebrate his arrival. None of that erased his desire in the slightest. He reminded himself of his duty, then sneered, almost thinking treasonous thoughts. The duty he pondered was to a King who he respected, but was mad enough that he was most likely still locked up. If there was a regency, it would be headed up by his heir, the Prince of Wales, who was selfish, lazy, and untrustworthy. It was hard to place duty to them above his love for the Tsar, who was so enlightened and intelligent.

All of that was fine and good, but in the end, it was to no avail. He was going back to England, like it or not. His affair with the Tsar was over, even if he returned to St. Petersburg. Granger saw clairvoyantly that he had been nothing more than a fun plaything for the Tsar; a sexual thrill and a friend when His Imperial Majesty had needed one. Even if he returned, there was no going back. Things would have already changed, and he suspected that the Tsar would view his presence as more of an annoyance than a happy event. There was no going back.

Signals began soaring up the mast again, followed shortly by Nelson’s voice. “Granger, as we are to have guests soon, I would ask you to remove yourself to the deck.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Granger shouted down automatically. He grabbed a backstay to slide down to the deck, and fortunately remembered to keep his descent under control lest he end up with rope burns. He landed on the deck gracefully, using that small physical achievement to charge his smile for his admiral.

“You impress me with your agility, Granger,” Nelson said, smiling back. “I have invited the other captains to sup with me. You and Daventry can update them on the situation with Russia.”

“I will be happy to nod in approval as Lord Daventry deftly outlines the current situation, sir,” Granger said, and got an annoyed look from Daventry in return.

Boats approached the St. George like so many ants invading a picnic. Daventry went aft with Nelson while Granger opted to join Hardy and help him shuttle the captains aft. “Quite a nice day to be aloft, my lord,” Hardy said conversationally.

“After being confined throughout a frigid winter, it was nice to enjoy such beautiful skies and to watch the fleet maneuver.”

“I take it you saw Calliope yawing about as if she were a Bristol trawler, my lord,” Hardy growled.

“I did, and saw that there were sharp eyes on deck to spot her malfeasance,” Granger said with a smile.

“Her captain has recently taken ill, my lord,” Hardy explained. “I am not sure what the malady is, but he has written to His Lordship begging to be sent home.”

“That is most unfortunate,” Granger noted, then they were interrupted by the arrival of the captains. Thomas Foley was first, and both Granger and Hardy greeted him warmly. “Captain Foley, allow me to show you aft.”

“I can find my own way, my lord,” Foley said a bit gruffly, “but I am glad of your company.”

“Sir, while I was in St. Petersburg, living a life of luxury, you were fighting another battle without me,” Granger accused jokingly.

“My lord, while I am sure you were duly pampered and caressed by the Russians, I would not have traded places with you for anything,” Foley said, his eyes turning almost to fire as the inner warrior came out. Granger almost blushed at the thought of those caresses.

“Captain, I do not doubt that for a minute,” Granger said. “When I think back on the Battle of the Nile, I maintain that while the bulk of the credit for our victory must undoubtedly go to his lordship, there is no other man who deserves accolades than you.”

“You flatter me, my lord,” Foley said.

“It is well deserved, nonetheless. The way you drove Goliath around the front of the French line, savaging Guerriere and blazing a trail for the rest of the fleet, was truly brilliant,” Granger said, then ushered him into Nelson’s cabin.

“You are kind to say so,” Foley said, then focused on Nelson, while Granger went back to greet another captain. He escorted Lord Henry Paulet back, inquiring about his father and other news, and by the time he returned to the entry port, the next arrival was Captain Thompson.

Thompson had been the captain of Leander and had been taking Granger, Sir Edward Berry, and Nelson’s dispatches about the Battle of the Nile back to England when they’d encountered the French battleship Genereaux. Leander had clearly been overmatched by the powerful French ship, but Thompson had fought her bravely, even though Granger had been frustrated by his uninspired battle tactics. The end result of that action was that they all ended up as French prisoners. Both prior to and after the battle, Thompson had been cold to Granger, but Granger was determined to bear him no malice. “It is good to see you, sir, under much better circumstances than the last time.”

“Ah yes, my lord,” Thompson said with a genuine smile. “You were being carted back to France while we were left to find our way back to England by traipsing through Germany.”

“I heard it was lovely that time of year, sir,” Granger said playfully.

Thompson paused and pulled out his purse, handing it to Granger. “I am glad I have a chance to repay you for the guineas you gave me aboard Leander, my lord. They were a godsend on the journey.” When Granger had taken his leave of Thompson, he had given him a purse full of guineas, knowing that he’d need them to travel comfortably home.

Granger was of a mind to reject Thompson’s purse, but he knew the man was rich after an inheritance that caused him to add ‘Boulden’ to his name, and he sensed that Thompson would otherwise be offended. He took it, feeling the heavy coins it contained. “You did not have to repay me, sir, but I thank you, and I am glad it was helpful.”

“I also want to apologize to you, my lord, for being less than pleasant during that trip,” he said sincerely. That really surprised Granger, especially since Thompson’s tone and expression validated his earnestness.

“I hope that you will think nothing of it, sir,” Granger said. “It cannot be easy to lose your ship, even after such a bravely fought battle.”

“I was told your lordship truly inspired the men at the guns on the main deck, so it appears that bravery was not limited only to me,” Thompson said.

“I think, rather, they inspired me,” Granger said, remembering how hard the crew of the Leander fought.

“At least you did not have to travel with Berry all the way back to England,” Thompson said, shaking his head. “I think I would have preferred being held captive in France.” Granger had found Sir Edward Berry to be spiteful and petulant and had little use for the man. Evidently Thompson had discovered his true colors as well.

Granger laughed. “He can be a most difficult person.”

“Most difficult,” Thompson said, as he and Granger walked into Nelson’s cabin.

He and Daventry explained the situation in Russia, then as dinner was served, Nelson and the other officers regaled them with tales of the Battle of Copenhagen. Those who participated in the battle were fully animated, discussing their roles and what they observed of the other ships. Those like Hardy and Paulet, who were part of Admiral Parker’s strategic reserve, attempted to be as enthused even though they’d played no meaningful part in the battle. Granger had studied the battle intently prior to his visit to the Russian Admiralty, and he’d already heard Nelson describe it once before, so he adopted an engaged pose and attitude, asking questions to demonstrate his interest. He glanced at Hardy and decided that he had it considerably better than that poor man, for Granger hadn’t even been near that battle, while Hardy had watched it unfold before him without being able to participate. A midshipman entered the cabin and passed a note to Hardy, which seemed to compel him to stand up and excuse himself, then follow the midshipman toward the quarterdeck. Granger playfully wondered if Hardy had ordered him to do that prior to the dinner so he’d be able to avoid listening to a repetition of the Copenhagen battle.