Odyssey - 4. Chapter 4

April 13, 1797

The carriage deposited him in front of St. James Palace, and Granger alit from the vehicle, trying to look calm and unruffled, an affected air. He was as well turned out as one could be, with his new dress uniform coat on, a new silk shirt, new breeches and stockings, and even new shoes, with perfectly polished gold buckles. Dangling from his waist was his ceremonial sword made of gilt, and he wore the ribbon and star of the order of the Bath, symbols of his knighthood. His golden blond hair was pomaded back formally, and his cocked hat was specifically designed to sit on his hair without smashing it down so as not to create an embarrassing pattern about his head. Granger smiled to himself when he thought that such a hat, that fit so loosely, wouldn’t last a second on board a windy quarterdeck. The internal smile did a little to calm his nerves, but not enough to stop the pools of perspiration from forming under his arms. They would not be visible under his coat, and should they begin to smell foul, that odor would be covered up with the copious amount of perfume he’d worn. He smiled to himself again, at the thought that the perfume that he wore to disguise his body odors, and that would waft through the palace of his sovereign, had been illegally smuggled here from Paris. Such was the desire for luxury goods among the wealthy classes that something as mundane as a war could not stop the supply.

Lord Salisbury, the Lord Chamberlain, met him at the entry and actually deigned to nod at his appearance, a reassuring gesture. “This way, if you please, Sir George,” he said politely. He led Granger through the public rooms of the palace; rooms Granger frequented often, and paused before a set of double doors that was closed. A footman dressed in the royal livery stood beside each door, looking quite determined to keep any unwelcome visitors from passing. The Lord Chamberlain looked at the clock on the wall, which showed the time of ten minutes before eleven. They waited in silence, the lack of conversation merely unnerving Granger even more. Granger distracted himself by winking at the handsome footman closest to him, and watched the young man try to hide his smile. Was he actually blushing? Granger almost giggled, but then restrained himself. That did much to ease his nerves, and he waited much more calmly after that. When the clock began to strike eleven, the Lord Chamberlain scratched on the door, and without waiting for an invitation, nodded to the two footmen, who opened the doors simultaneously.

The Lord Chamberlain entered the Council chambers confidently, and then bowed low to his monarch, who sat at the head of the table. “Your Majesty, my lords, right honorable gentlemen,” he said, acknowledging the King and the Privy Councilors. He stepped to the side and raised his voice. “The Honorable Sir George Granger, Knight of the Bath, Captain of His Majesty’s Ship Bacchante,” he announced.

Granger took that as his cue to enter, bowing low as the Lord Chamberlain had done. He approached the table, and stopped short of it, bowing again to his sovereign. “Welcome, Sir George,” the king said affably. He appeared to be in a good mood.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Granger said, forcing his voice to remain even. He glanced around the table, noting who was here. These were some of the most talented and powerful men of the realm. Many of them were so old, Granger wondered if they’d live through the meeting. There were a few there that he barely knew. He recognized Sir Joseph Banks, the botanist who had sailed with Cook on his first voyage. Granger decided he would be a man worth talking to before he left for the Great South Sea. Lord Grey, probably England’s most distinguished soldier, who had fought in the Seven Years’ War, the American War, and in this current conflict as well. He sat there with his ramrod straight back, his steely eyes piercing through Granger. The Duke of Roxburghe, a noted book collector, sat next to Thomas Pelham and the Earl of Dorchester, the present and former Irish Chief Secretaries. Granger recognized these men, and had been introduced to them at some point, but that was the extent of his relationship with them.

On the other hand, there were also men here that he knew quite well. William Windham and Earl Fitzwilliam both looked at him gravely, but their eyes were twinkling, giving away their pleasure. They were Whig politicians that Granger frequently gambled and socialized with, and Granger had even taken Lord Fitzwilliam’s son on board Intrepid as one of his midshipmen. That young man had been quite a challenge, a truly arrogant sprig of the aristocracy, but Granger had helped to turn him into a man. Lord Spencer was there as well, the First Lord of the Admiralty, Granger’s ultimate boss. And next to the King, serving as the Lord President of the Council, was Lord Chatham, Spencer’s predecessor as First Lord, the man who had engineered Granger’s promotion to lieutenant even though he hadn’t served the obligatory six years as a midshipman.

The King seemed to enjoy making him stand there in suspense, but ultimately decided to move things along. “Proceed, Chatham,” he said.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Chatham said, and stood up. He unrolled a parchment scroll, looked about briefly, and then began to read. The first part of it was a recitation of some of Granger’s more important successes. His role in the capture of Toulon, his attack on Port Louis in the Indian Ocean, the burning of a French ship of the line at St. Maarten, his aide in the capture of the Floreal, and the numerous prizes he had seized. Chatham mentioned the capture of La Sabina and Felicite, the destruction of the French 50-gun ship Leopard off Imperia, and his role in destroying the fleet of the Bey of Oran and in bringing home the Bey’s prized ruby and presenting it to the King. He then cleared his throat, and began reading again, only in a much more pompous tone. “We, George the Third, by the Grace of God King of Britain, France, and Ireland, and of Our other Realms and Territories; Defender of the Faith To all Lords Spiritual and Temporal and all of Our other subjects whatsoever; to whom these Presents shall come; know ye that We of Our especial grace, certain knowledge, and mere motion do by these Presents advance, create, and prefer our most loyal servant, the Honorable George Granger, to the state, degree, style, dignity, title, and honor of Viscount Granger of Brentwood, in Essex, and of Baron Ryde, in the Isle of Wight. And for Us, Our heirs, and successors do appoint, give, and grant unto him the said name, state, degree, style, dignity, title, and honor of Viscount to have and to hold unto him and the heirs male of his body, lawfully begotten and to be begotten. Willing, and by these Presents granting, for Us, Our heirs, and successors that he and his heirs male aforesaid, and every of them successively, may have, hold, and possess a seat, place, and voice in the Parliaments and Public Assemblies and Councils of Us, Our heirs, and successors within Our Realm amongst the Viscounts. And also that he and his heirs male aforesaid successively may enjoy and use all the rights, privileges, pre-eminences, immunities, and advantages to the degree of a Viscount, duly and of right belonging which Viscounts of Our Realm have heretofore used and enjoyed, or as they do at present use and enjoy.”

Even though Granger had expected this, even though he had dared to assume it would happen, now that it had, he found himself speechless. It was a huge honor, one that would propel him and Caroline to an even higher position in society, and which would help secure his branch of the family. In a sense, it was almost a declaration of independence from his father, but a polite one, in that he had earned his own peerage, and his own seat in the House of Lords. He contrasted his situation to that of his brothers. Freddie was a Viscount as well, but he was not a peer of the realm. His title was a courtesy title, the Viscount Blankford, one which gave him certain rights and privileges, but would not grant him a seat in the House of Lords. Bertie enjoyed neither privilege, neither a title nor a seat in Parliament. Granger knew that Freddie’s jealousy, always latent, may now become evident, but he suspected that Bertie would just be proud of him, and would view this as all a bunch of tomfoolery. He would view it that way unless he was awarded a title himself, Granger thought playfully to himself. He realized that he’d been standing there, dazed, for a moment, and spurred himself into action. “Your Majesty, I am mindful and grateful for the great honor which you have given me,” he said to the King, bowing. “Thank you.”

The King actually gave him a slight smile, something not all that common, and then nodded. Granger looked then to Chatham, who handed him the parchment scroll, then nodded slightly as well, signifying that Granger was being dismissed. Granger bowed, and then backed away from the King. When he got to the double doors, he bowed again, and then backed out of the room. He almost forgot to breathe, so tense was he, such that when the footmen closed the doors, he exhaled loudly.

“Congratulations, my lord,” The Lord Chamberlain said with a smile.

“Thank you, my lord,” Granger said, almost shyly. As the Lord Chamberlain led him out of the antechamber, he spotted Arthur Teasdale, seemingly even more agitated then Granger had been. “Arthur,” Granger said, shooting him his most dazzling smile. Granger had been seriously annoyed by Arthur’s bitchy attitude since he’d returned, and the man had not uttered a civil word to him since he’d been ashore, but he had been a good friend in the past, and there were clearly demons that were eating at him. Granger, so full of pride and joy at his own promotion, was determined to use that to help stabilize his relationship with Arthur.

“George,” he said nervously. “What brings you here?”

“I have been advanced to the peerage,” Granger said to Arthur. “I have been made a viscount. You are the first of my friends I have been able to share that with.”

Arthur stared at him, blinking, as if his mind was trying to wrestle with all Granger had told him. “Congratulations, my lord,” he finally said.

Granger leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I must always be George to you.” Arthur actually smiled and blushed at that. “Will you call on me? I would love to spend some time with you.”

“I will try,” he said nervously.

“Excellent,” Granger said.

“Mr. Teasdale, we must go,” the Lord Chamberlain said. One of his assistants appeared to guide Granger out.

“This way, my lord,” the chamberlain said. “Your peerage will be announced in the Court Register, but I suspect it will make the Times before then, and will be known on the street shortly.”

“It is nice to know that good news travels as fast as bad news,” Granger said pleasantly.

“Yes, my lord,” the chamberlain said, and smiled. He escorted Granger out of the palace and into his waiting carriage.

“Bridgemont House,” he told the driver.

“Yes, Sir George,” the coachman said.

“You’re being rude, Adams,” Granger teased the coachman.

“Sir?”

“It’s ‘my lord’ now.”

Adams smiled broadly at that. A promotion for Granger was a step up for the entire household. “Yes, my lord. And congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Granger said, smiling. He sat back in the soft leather seat and let himself continue to smile, to enjoy these latest laurels. He suspected that he’d pay for them, and that despite what his parents said, many of his fellow officers would be green with envy. They would let it simmer, always ready to decry his successes, claiming that he’d been put in the way of riches, or given the opportunity to fight a successful battle, something any one of them could have done if only they’d been given the same opportunity. They would give him no credit for his leadership skills or for his intelligence; they would attribute everything to luck, and to his preferment. It would be said he was successful because he had ‘interests’ or ‘influence’, and they would sneer down their noses at him, but only behind his back. And if he stumbled, if he failed at a task or a mission, they would be like vultures, waiting to pick him apart, to tear the flesh right off his bones.

Granger looked down at his chest, where the ribbon and star of his knighthood announced to all the world that he was a member of that chivalrous order. It was a bit strange to have no tangible sign of his peerage. He fancied that he could wear a coronet about, and that actually made him laugh out loud. In reality, he’d only wear a coronet when a new monarch was crowned. His laughter made him put aside his morbid thoughts of what other officers would do or think. John Travers had once reminded him that those men, people who felt that way and treated him that way, they would hate him regardless. His advice was that they should be ignored, and Granger opted to do just that.

The carriage pulled up to Bridgemont House, and Granger had to restrain himself and force himself to exit the carriage and walk up the steps at a deliberate pace. Of course, Franklin was there to welcome him, and to lead him into the dining room, where his parents had just sat down for dinner. They rose expectantly when he walked in. They greeted him formally and calmly, both of them showing the reserve and polish they’d instilled into him. They could wait for his news. It was important to be polite first.

“Do sit down and join us. Franklin, we’ll need another plate.”

“Yes, my lord,” Franklin said. Granger sat down and a plate appeared as if by magic.

“And how did your meeting go?” his mother finally asked.

“His Majesty chose to make me a viscount,” Granger said proudly. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help but feel pride when he told them, knowing how important this would be to them. They both let huge smiles shatter their normally calm countenances.

“That is wonderful,” his mother said.

“I am so proud of you, George,” his father added, some of the most important and nicest words anyone had said to him. Granger interrupted his dinner with them long enough to dash out a letter to Caroline, letting her know about his meeting, and his parents obliged him by sending one of their servants off as a messenger.

“You must make time to see the tailor tomorrow,” the Countess said.

“I just got new uniforms,” Granger objected. “Do they not fit well?”

“You will need ermine robes for occasions of state, and for when you make your first appearance in the House of Lords,” the Countess said. “They will be our gift to you.”

Granger gasped at that. Ermine robes would cost a considerable amount of money. This was an extravagant gift, a sign of how proud his parents must be. “I do not know how to thank you for such a generous gift.”

“God willing, you will have a son who brings as much honor to the family as you have, and you will understand how proud we are of you,” the earl said with a smile.

Granger opted to change the subject. “I saw Arthur Teasdale while I was at the palace.”

“Indeed?” his mother asked.

“The Duke of Clarence had mentioned that they might give him a baronetcy as part of the way to placate him before they sent him to the Indies,” Granger said. “He’s slated to replace Bertie.”

“I can’t see him thriving in that climate,” the Countess said skeptically.

“Nor can I,” the Earl agreed. “I suspect Bertie will be none too happy to leave things off to him.”

“I’m wondering about that. I’ve been visualizing Bertie as being reluctant to come back to England, but he is phenomenally wealthy now, so perhaps that is something he’ll be happy about?”

“Perhaps,” his father said, but with a hint of nervousness.

“What worries you, Father?”

“Bertie seems to have found his milieu in the Indies. He is successful, and if his letters are any indication, he seems very happy. I worry that when he returns to England, he will fall into his old ways, and will get himself into trouble.”

“Let us give him some credit for maturing along the way,” the Countess of Bridgemont said. Bertie had been her favorite son, the handsome and playful middle child. She had defended him where she could, and promoted his interests to her husband and others whenever possible.

“My concerns are more self-centered,” Granger observed, trying to be light-hearted about it. “I am worried that he won’t want to come home, and that I’ll have to kidnap him.”

“You will carry a royal order with you,” the Earl said. “Bertie would not defy the King.” Granger wasn’t sure that the gouty King would scare Bertie much when he was halfway around the world, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He finally took his leave of his parents and went home. He had not been there long before Arthur Teasdale arrived.

Granger had hoped that he would visit, but he wasn’t sure Arthur actually would. Granger was of the opinion that if they could spend some time alone together, then perhaps they would be able to resume their friendship. He waited for Arthur in the drawing room, his high hopes dashed when he saw Arthur’s sullen expression. “It is good to see you!” Granger exclaimed, determined to put his best foot forward.

Arthur looked at Granger and just shook his head. He made to leave, but Granger stopped him. “This was a mistake. I must go.”

“Why must you leave, Arthur? Stay. Talk to me.” He guided him over to one of the sofas and sat down next to him. “What happened at the palace?”

“I was given a baronetcy. I am now Sir Arthur Teasdale,” he said glumly.

“Congratulations. That is good news!” Granger said enthusiastically.

“So you say,” he groused. “It is a balm, a trinket they are throwing at me before they send me off to the Indies to govern some mosquito infested land. I will die of the fever probably before I even arrive.”

“I think you are being a bit negative,” Granger teased. “There is much money to be made in the Indies.”

“I have enough money,” Arthur said petulantly. “I do not want to leave.”

“Can you refuse to go?” Granger asked.

“If I do, I will probably be ostracized from society here,” he said sadly. “I would probably have to go up north.” That was home for him, the northern counties, where industrialization was happening apace.

“I’m not sure which is worse,” Granger said sympathetically. “The tropics can be quite nice.”

“I must go. I must talk to Phillip about this. He wants to go with me. He says we can be together there, not as we are here. He says there will be no prying eyes to see us, no judgmental people to scoff at us.”

“I suspect you will find it easier, but I doubt you will be immune to judgmental people,” Granger allowed. “Perhaps you would like to join me for a bath before you go?”

Arthur smiled, actually smiled, for a minute, but then it faded. “You are tempting, but I must go. I must see Phillip.” His eyes began to look about in an erratic way, and he became very nervous.

“Of course. Let me walk you to your carriage,” Granger said politely. He stopped Arthur at the door of the drawing room, right before he opened it. “You and I have been friends for a long time, Arthur. I care deeply for you. If there is something I can do to help you, you have but to ask.”

Arthur nodded. “I know, George.” He leaned up and gave Granger a quick kiss on the cheek, then all but fled from Granger’s house. Granger went to his study and looked at his desk, but there was nothing he wanted to do. He was bored, and trapped. If he went out, there would be an endless fuss about his new title, and that might actually be pleasant, except some may not have heard the news yet, and others who had may ignore it and feign ignorance, just to be disrespectful. There was really nothing for him to do here, other than soak in the baths and masturbate. There was always the chance that someone would call on him. He had rather hoped that he and Arthur would be able to restore their relationship, and that they would be able to do it both emotionally and sexually, but he’d achieved neither of those goals. Instead, the poor man had seemed positively disturbed.

Granger allowed himself a rare sigh, then sat down at his desk and began to write a letter to his grandfather, telling him of his peerage. Then his mind wandered to Francis Calvert, and wondered what he was doing, and how he was faring with Intrepid. One of the best sloops in the Navy, commanded by one of the handsomest men. Granger wrote him a letter as well. That seemed to spark the correspondent in him, and he spent that night drafting letters to the people he knew, near and far, sharing his good news with them, and reconnecting with them.

April 14, 1797

“My lord!” someone was saying to Granger, even as they shook him. He’d stayed up much too late the night before, writing letters like a fiend, but he had no pressing plans today. He attempted to roll over and avoid the nagging voice, but it was not to be placated.

“What is it?” he groused, opening his eyes to glare at one of the servants. Winkler had gone off to the Abbey, and left him in the capable hands of his household. This young man had been appointed as his temporary valet. His name was Jenkins, and he was normally a footman. As such, he was a well built, strapping young man, and quite handsome, with brown hair that had an almost golden tint to it. Footmen were usually used for decoration and muscle, and this man fulfilled both of those roles admirably. But he’d also shown himself to be an excellent manservant as well.

“My lord, Lieutenant Weston is here, and says it is urgent that he speak with you.”

“Quite right,” Granger said, naval discipline asserting itself. He bounded out of bed, fully awake now, and stood there with his morning erection poking out in front of him. Jenkins grinned and blushed, and handed him his trousers. Granger was in a foul mood, having been awoken early, and in an even fouler mood when he embarrassed himself like that. But Jenkins took it all in stride, and handed him his second-best uniform in rapid fashion. Granger was dressed in no time at all, and he hurried down the stairs to greet Weston.

“Good morning, my lord,” Weston said, smiling. “I am sorry to disturb you.”

“I have been ashore too long and I have grown lazy,” Granger groused. “It is just as well.” He found his grumpy mood evaporating. Weston was simply too pleasant.

“My lord, some of the men picked up some gossip when they were out carousing last night. Mr. Robey wanted me to pass it on to you.”

“Go ahead,” Granger said. If they woke him up merely to pass fleet gossip along, Granger would have them flogged.

“It seems that some of the captains at the Nore have heard of the Abbey, and they’ve a mind to send a press gang down to nab the men, my lord.” Granger stared at him, horrified, even though he hid it. “Mr. Robey said to tell you that one of the admirals there is a Wilcox. Vice Admiral Maynard Wilcox.”

And they were at it again. Those damned Wilcoxes; they’d done everything they could to cause him problems. Now they were plotting to steal his crew. “When is this supposed to happen?” Granger asked.

“They were supposed to send a party there today, my lord. That’s why Mr. Robey sent me over here.”

“Cheevers,” Granger called.

“My lord?” he answered immediately.

“We’ll need two horses saddled up and ready to go at once,” Granger said.

“Yes, my lord,” he said.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but I can ride,” Jenkins said.

“Excellent. Go tell the groom to get you a horse as well.” Jenkins rushed off to do that.

“My lord, if we try to march the men back to the ship, we may very well be stopped along the way,” Weston observed. “How will we handle that?”

“The horses are ready, my lord,” Jenkins said.

“Let’s be off,” Granger said, ignoring Weston’s question. Even as he mounted the horse, a plan was hatching in his mind. “We must return to the ship first.”

Neither man argued with him, even though they looked at him strangely. They galloped through the streets of London, and so early was it that they were able to get to Woolwich without much traffic. He found Robey waiting for him, looking agitated.

“Good morning, Mr. Robey,” Granger said politely, forcing himself to be calm. “Mr. Weston, would you please bring the ship’s book with us.” Weston looked at him and raised an eyebrow while smiling.

“Aye aye, my lord.”

“Mr. Robey. We are going to get our men and bring them back. I may need you to assist us.”

“What would you have me do, my lord?” Robey asked.

“I don’t know yet, but I will send a messenger if I need you. Don’t throw him overboard.”

“No, my lord,” Robey said, grinning.

“I have the book, my lord,” Weston said.

“Then we will be off,” Granger stated. They remounted their horses and took the ferry across the river. A bribe enabled them to make the trip without waiting for the normal time. They cantered recklessly to Norwood, through roads that were either not well maintained, or became congested as the towns came awake. Granger looked at his watch as they approached Norwood, and noticed that only two hours had elapsed since he’d been awakened.

They rode up to the Abbey and Granger stared at the structure, amazed at what Jeffers and Andrews had achieved in just one month. What had been a ramshackle building, all but collapsed, now appeared to be in good condition. From the color of the lumber, it appeared to have a new roof, and the outbuildings all looked well maintained. Granger dismounted his horse and Weston followed suit. “Jenkins, let the horses loose in that paddock, and then join us inside.”

“Yes, my lord,” he said. Granger strode confidently up the stairs to the Abbey and entered it, finding a raucous crowd gathered around several long tables. It was evidently time for breakfast. Granger’s stomach growled, reminding him that he had not yet eaten today. He paused for but a minute to watch these men banter with each other in lighthearted fashion, and to notice there were several women here as well, which was to be expected. His observation was cut short when one of them noticed him.

“Sir!” one of the men said loudly, to get the attention of the others. They had evidently not learned of Granger’s peerage. Within seconds, they were on their feet, and silent, as Royal Navy discipline reasserted itself, even here on land. Jeffers and Andrews hurried over to greet him.

“Sir,” Jeffers said. “You’re just in time for breakfast. Then perhaps we can show you what we’ve done to the Abbey.”

“There is no time for that,” Granger said. “We have heard rumors that the fleet at the Nore has learned of our little sailor’s paradise here.” That got cries of alarm, and chuckles, all at the same time. “They are sending a sizeable press gang to press everyone.”

“Surely not, sir,” Andrews said.

“Indeed, that is the rumor. Perhaps it will not come to pass, but there is no need to take chances. Bacchante is ready to be warped away from the dockyard, and is ready to receive her crew.”

“If they are coming for us, will we have to fight them to get past them, sir?” Jeffers asked.

“Hopefully not. Mr. Weston is the ship’s second lieutenant,” Granger said, introducing him, in a way, to the men. “He has brought the ship’s book with him. It is my intention to sign up every willing man here, quickly. After that, we will head for the ship. If we are stopped, we should be immune from the press, since the men are already on the Bacchante’s books.”

Andrews and Jeffers grinned. “Do you think that will be sufficient?” Andrews asked.

“No, but we must start with that. Set up the books and prepare to sign the men on,” Granger ordered. He walked over to one of the tables and stood on it. “Men, the time has come for you to leave this paradise.” He laughed when they moaned a bit, a rare lapse in discipline. “You are welcome to stay, but I fear you will find yourselves face to face with a press gang from the North Sea fleet in short order.” Now he had their attention. Now they were alarmed. “Those of you who plan to sail with me on Bacchante must sign up immediately. Mr. Andrews has set up the ship’s book over there,” Granger said, pointing. “After we have done that, we will march up to London. Those of you who plan to stay ashore, now would be a good time to start running.” Granger was pleased to see less than ten men bolt for the door. The rest dutifully lined up to sign in. Granger gestured to Weston and pulled him over to the corner. He took a piece of charcoal and drew a map on the floor. “I fear my drafting skills leave much to be desired,” Granger joked. “This is London, here is the Nore, and here is Woolwich. Where would a party come from?”

“The most logical route would be through Dartford, my lord,” Weston said.

“I agree. If we take the most direct route to Woolwich, we may run into them somewhere around Horn Park, I fear.”

“Hard to say, my lord,” Weston opined. He was right. They could be on the doorstep in seconds, or they could still be sitting on their ships, and the whole thing could be a hoax.

“What are the chances this is much ado about nothing?” Granger asked, a question he should have posed before.

“My lord, the men who heard of it said that the scheme had been in the works for a bit. I think the news of your promotion, begging your pardon, my lord, fueled their jealousy, and moved their timetable up.”

Granger was very well connected, but manning the fleet was a thankless job, and pressing men was a fact of life. Prime seamen living in the country were a ready target, and no one would give their plight a second thought. “Here’s what I intend. I am going to take the men almost directly to London, through Tooting. There, we’ll hire riverboats to take us down to Bacchante.”

“A brilliant plan, my lord,” Weston said with a smile. They’d be going almost opposite of the party from the Nore.

“I want you to gather up several horses. I want two scouts ahead and behind our column, and I want you to take five men and fan out in the direction of Dartford. Once you make contact with the press gang, you must come warn us so we may avoid them.”

“Aye aye, my lord.” He paused. “Won’t they be hard pressed to take two hundred angry jacks?”

Granger laughed. “Not if they have five hundred armed marines.”

“I see your point, my lord,” he said, and went off to implement Granger’s plan.