St. Vincent - 6. Chapter 6

October, 1796

The anchorage at San Fiorenzo was crowded and busy. Boats seemed to be pulling everywhere. Most of the boats swarmed around the transport ships moored inshore, but even among the ships of the line, there was considerable activity. It seemed to contrast with their staid, warlike appearance, making them seem like horses with flies buzzing around them.

Granger forced himself to stay focused on the business at hand, despite the fact that he was exhausted. He glanced off to the side of the quarterdeck at the reason for his fatigue and saw Darby watching him with his puppy dog eyes. At first, having Darby share his cot was fun and exciting, because he was a new lover, and because he was incredibly cute. Then it became therapeutic, as Darby and Granger both worked out their grief over Travers. And then, finally, it had become cloying and annoying, as Darby had evolved into full-blown hero worship. He was constantly around, constantly making himself available, and constantly demanding Granger’s attention. What was worse, he wasn’t even discreet about it, or at least not as discreet as Granger would have hoped or expected. With Cavendish or Lennox, for example, none of the other men had really had a clue they were intimately involved. With Darby, it would be easy for someone to figure that out, or at least it seemed that way. It had become so apparent that Roberts had even commented on it, although he had been diplomatic enough to refer to it as hero-worship. Granger pulled himself out of his depressing thoughts, and got back to the business at hand.

“You may begin, Mr. Roberts,” Granger ordered. The first of the signal guns belched out from the forecastle as Belvidera saluted her admiral and announced to the world that she had rejoined His Majesty’s Mediterranean Fleet.

“Signal from flag, sir,” Brookstone said crisply. “Our number, Captain to repair on board.”

“Acknowledge, Mr. Brookstone,” Granger said. His gig was already swinging out, as nothing had been easier to anticipate than that order. “I will be aboard the flagship, Mr. Roberts.”

“Shall we begin watering, sir?”

“I think it would be a good precaution, but I want to be able to sail immediately if we need to,” Granger replied. Normally getting water would involve getting all the casks pulled up and replacing foul water, but in this case, they’d just have time to fill the empty ones.

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. Granger nodded to him and headed over the side into his gig, his portfolio tucked under his arm. Another nod to Jeffers served to speed the gig on its way. Jeffers had things easy; Granger’s perfectly painted boat, complete with the man himself in the stern, gold lace sparkling in the sunlight, guaranteed most other boats would yield to them. Only once did they have to move aside themselves, and that was for Captain Collingwood and his barge. Granger lifted his hand in salute and hailed his greetings, which Collingwood readily returned. Normally he might have paused and taken the opportunity to invite Collingwood to dine with him, but Granger knew that Jervis waited for no one, and had no desire to raise the ire of his irascible admiral.

They piped him up the side, and Granger was greeted with a friendly face when Lennox welcomed him warmly. “It is so good to see you,” Granger said truthfully.

“It is good to see you too, Sir George,” Lennox said, smiling broadly. It seemed to Granger that the young man got more handsome every time he saw him. “Sir John is most anxious to see you. We have been without news.” Lennox ushered him directly into Sir John’s cabin.

“Well it’s Sir George now, is it?” Jervis asked, but he was smiling. It dawned on Granger that Jervis was proud of him, and that made his emotions surge. Earning the approval of the toughest of England’s admirals was a feat to be admired.

“Yes, Sir John,” Granger said. “I must thank you for your assistance in that matter.”

“Bah,” Jervis said dismissively, even though Granger knew he appreciated the credit. “Surprised to see you here so soon. I was expecting your friend Travers and Aurore. Or did General O’Hara decide he couldn’t do without her?”

“Aurore was lost, sir,” Granger said simply. He handed Jervis his written reports before proceeding. “We came up to her when she was battling two frigates, one French and the other Spanish. The Spaniard was the Ceres, of 40 guns. She hauled off when we came upon them. Aurore was grappled with the French frigate Melodie, of 40 guns. Melodie caught fire, and Aurore was unable to break away from her. The idiotic Frogs didn’t douse their magazine,” Granger said, letting his emotions go. He got them back under control quickly enough. “She exploded while she was next to Aurore. We managed to save approximately 75 seamen and one midshipman.”

“Dashed bad luck,” Jervis said sadly. “Hard to lose our friends, even ones as brave as Travers.”

“Yes sir,” Granger said, doing his best to keep his voice even. He was concerned he wasn’t entirely successful. “Thank you, sir.”

“What’s Belvidera’s complement right now?”

“Including the Aurore’s men, we’re at 300 men, not counting the wounded, out of 250, sir.”

“What about officers?”

“There was just the one midshipman that survived, sir,” Granger said. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I’d like to make the rest of my report to you privately.”

“And why is that, Captain?” Jervis’ eyes had narrowed.

“I’d like to relay that to you privately, sir, begging your pardon sir,” Granger persisted.

“God, what new Byzantine intrigue have you brought me now?” Jervis asked. “Flags, note that Captain Granger is going to send us 50 men of his crew,” Jervis said to his flag lieutenant. “Now leave us.”

“Aye aye sir,” the flag lieutenant said, giving Granger a dirty look. It couldn’t be helped.

“Alright Granger, what is it?”

“Sir, Mr. Darby, Aurore’s surviving midshipman, is the son of His Royal Highness, the Duke of Clarence.”

“So you want to keep him aboard Belvidera?” Sir John asked, almost accusingly. Having influential midshipmen aboard could be a coup for captains desperate for influence at court or the Admiralty.

“Actually, sir, I think he would be better over here,” Granger said nervously.

“What kind of horrible creature is he, Granger?” Jervis asked suspiciously.

“Sir, he’s a good lad, but he took the loss of Aurore pretty hard, and I do believe he’s developed a case of hero-worship,” Granger said uncomfortably.

“Gads Granger, you certainly do manage to gather the entourage as you go. You’re like a junior flag officer.”

“I hardly think I’m that popular, sir,” Granger said, grinning at Jervis. “I assumed, though, that you may enjoy his worshipful attention.”

“You’re a cheeky sod, Granger.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I guess I can relieve you of your problem. I’m assuming you don’t want anyone to know you requested his transfer, that you’d rather have it written down as the random action of the commanding ogre?”

“If the commanding ogre would be so kind, sir,” Granger teased.

Jervis scowled at him good-naturedly. “Why isn’t he known as a royal bastard? That would certainly help his career.”

“His mother is Mary Robinson, sir. She was the Prince of Wales’ mistress. Evidently, Mr. Darby’s mother entertained both brothers. Mr. Darby’s real parentage is being kept under wraps to avoid creating friction between the brothers.”

“I see,” Jervis said. He seemed to grasp the political implications quickly enough.

“I’ve introduced him to members of my crew as my cousin, sir” Granger said. “I think that has provided the right amount of deference without endangering performance or morale.”

“Your cousin?”

“Yes sir,” Granger said. “Through my maternal grandfather.”

“That’s a bit of lese majesty, Granger, now isn’t it? You’re not going to tell me that I have to start calling you Royal Highness now, are you?” Jervis joked.

“Well, my grandfather is the descendant of a royal bastard, Sir John, so I felt that, although tenuous, it was a connection.”

“All you’ve done is saddle the poor lad with all your enemies,” Jervis joked. “Your grandfather comes from the Stuart line, if I’m not mistaken?” Jervis asked playfully. “You are probably more closely related to Don Jacobo Stuart of the Spanish Navy than to Mr. Darby.”

“That’s probably true, Sir John. I did get the opportunity to meet Don Jacobo on my way to see you.”

“You met Don Jacobo? And who won that battle?”

“There was no battle, Sir John, but the outcome would surely not be in question,” Granger said, being cocky. Jervis smiled. “I carried the Spanish Ambassador on Belvidera, to allow him to return home. We encountered a Spanish squadron of two ships of the line and two frigates and approached them under a flag of truce. We transferred the ambassador to Don Jacobo’s ship, La Sabina.”

“Next time, Granger, you’ll have to fight instead of talk,” Jervis said.

“Yes sir. I think in that situation, I would probably avoid battle. Unless you are ordering me to attack two ships of the line and two frigates, sir?” Granger was being cheeky.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Jervis growled. “I’m sending you to Nelson.” Granger grinned before he could stop himself. “Yes I know, all of you young, impetuous frigate captains want to run off with Nelson and find glory.”

“Sir John, you make it sound as if you think you are boring,” Granger teased.

“Are you implying I am not?”

“I would never dream of contradicting you, sir,” Granger joked, making them both laugh.

“Now that’s the first lie I’ve ever heard from you Granger,” Jervis joked back, then he got serious. “Nelson is supervising the evacuation from Bastia. We’ll be leaving here shortly, and dividing up into squadrons. London has left me so ill supported, that with some 14 ships of the line, I have to defend against over 50 French and Spaniards. The Spanish fleet was sighted near Toulon, so we must assume they have united now. We must extract ourselves from this island before my fleet is overwhelmed.”

“Yes sir,” Granger said. “For the record, sir, given a choice between Admiral Langara and Admiral Bruix’s fleet and yours, I’d put the odds on yours.”

“So would I,” Jervis said, dismissing Granger. Granger strode out of the cabin and past the unhappy flag lieutenant. Lennox was waiting there to escort him back.

“I’m so sorry about Captain Travers, sir,” Lennox said. “Was Mr. Merrick lost as well?”

“He was, Mr. Lennox,” Granger said sadly. “They were brave men.”

“Yes sir.”

“Did you hear of this from the other flag lieutenant?” Granger asked. He watched Lennox recoil at being asked his source. “If you did, and you find it suitable, please explain to him that that is why I asked him to leave for the rest of my interview with Sir John.”

“I’ll do that, sir,” Lennox said, grinning. “It was good to see you. Not a day goes by that I wish I wasn’t back aboard Belvidera.”

“Bah,” Granger said, sounding to himself a lot like Jervis. “That’s just because of all that prize money we’ve been winning.” They both knew that wasn’t true, so they laughed about it. Granger returned to Belvidera quickly, anxious to set sail again and rid himself of the fleet.

“Welcome back, sir,” Roberts said.

“Thank you. We will sail at once,” Granger ordered.

“Yes sir,” Roberts said nervously. “The launch just left with the water kegs. They’ll be back in two to four hours, I suspect. Shall I have a boat go after them?”

“Yes, send the cutter and tell them we are sailing, and to hurry up. The extra men may speed the task. After they’ve gone, you may have the anchor hove short.” Then Granger remembered the other unpleasant order he had to give. “We have to send 50 men to Victory. I’d like to see the list of men you’ve chosen, and then I’ll speak to them. Mr. Darby will also be transferring over.”

“He won’t like that, sir,” Roberts observed.

“The Navy is rarely interested in the preferences of its officers, Mr. Roberts,” Granger replied coolly.

“Yes sir,” Roberts replied, then turned and began bellowing orders, while Granger headed to his cabin. He found Darby waiting there for him, a typically annoying gesture from him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” he said, typically deferent.

“You are probably wondering your fate?” Granger asked. “Unfortunately, Sir John requires your presence aboard the flagship.”

“But I don’t want to go, sir,” Darby said, pleading.

“Mr. Darby, I don’t want you to go either,” Granger lied. “In the Navy, when we are given orders, we obey them. We are not usually asked if we like them, or if we wish to execute them, we are simply told what to do, and it is our duty to do it.”

“Yes sir,” Darby said, abashed. “I will miss you.”

“I will miss you too,” Granger said, his heart softening to this wounded young man. He led him to his sleeping cabin for one last, quick tryst, and then Darby went off to pack while Granger interviewed Roberts about the list of transferring sailors.

“Why is Holmquist on the list?”

“I put all the men who had been flogged on there, sir,” Roberts said logically.

“But he’s a good seaman, and you have no problems with him?”

“None at all, sir,” Roberts said.

Granger realized that Roberts had taken the easy way out of this assignment by merely looking at punishment logs and disciplinary reports. He went through the list, man by man, with the end result that they made ten changes. “Please have these men assemble on the main deck.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. Granger grabbed his purse and headed up onto the quarterdeck. Below him were 50 sets of eyes looking up at him nervously.

“Men, this ship is over-complement, we have too many men. Sir John Jervis has asked me to randomly pick from the combined crew of Aurore and Belvidera, and send him 50 men. You have been chosen. If there are any others who have not been picked, and they wish to go, we will be happy to take them in your place. You have a quarter of an hour to gather your kits and assemble for transfer.”

Granger turned away quickly to avoid contact with them, with their eyes. He hated giving up men, because they were a precious commodity, and because he felt an obligation to them. He also felt as if he was letting Travers down, by dispersing his men, men who had fought bravely, to the various ships of the fleet. There were some good captains and bad captains, and these men would individually most likely experience a combination of both. The only real consolation was that Jervis had so transformed this fleet, that the odds of them landing in a truly bad ship were very low.

Precisely 15 minutes later, he stood by the entry port as the hands began to file off the ship. Granger personally shook hands with each man, apologized, and handed him a guinea. He was proud that none of the men were willing to trade with those who were leaving.

The men who were dispatched to get the water returned to a much less crowded ship. Granger was glad that Roberts had the forethought to send only men that weren’t on his list, and the luck that the other ten who had been changed weren’t on the watering detail either. With the water hove aboard and stowed, the boats secured, and a final request for permission to sail granted, Belvidera spread her sails and left San Fiorenzo, heading around the peninsula to Bastia.

“Eleven guns for the Commodore,” Granger ordered, as Belvidera entered the outer harbor at Bastia and slowly maneuvered to an anchorage not too far from Nelson’s ship, the Captain.

“Aye aye, sir,” Roberts acknowledged, and a moment later the first gun went off. The past day had been so much more pleasant without Darby around. Granger had spent most of that time chiding himself for getting involved with the young man in the first place. He was a dangerous man to play around with. He wasn’t emotionally stable enough to be in a relationship, yet he was powerful enough to create problems for even Granger. Granger had rationalized things, and decided that the only reason he’d let Darby past his personal shields so quickly is because of his grief over Travers.

His thoughts shifted to Travers, and his grief briefly vanished as his suspicions rose. Had Travers foisted Darby off on him like some curse from the grave? Did he know how twisted the young man was, and purposely try to throw a rock at Granger from the great beyond? Granger pushed those thoughts aside quickly enough, and then felt guilty for even letting them enter his mind. Travers would never do anything to harm him, and certainly nothing like that. Darby must have been well adjusted and pleasant enough before Travers died.

That revelation only further intensified Granger’s guilt. If Darby was a normal man before this, then the person he was now must be attributable to his grief and his trauma. In that case, wasn’t it Granger’s job to try and help him through that? Instead, he’d left the poor young man stranded on the Victory, isolated in a sea of hundreds.

“Your gig is ready, sir, and the flag has just signaled for you to come aboard,” Roberts said, thankfully interrupting his tempestuous thoughts.

“Excellent, Mr. Roberts. I will be aboard the flagship,” Granger said curtly, more because of his annoyance that his useless musings had prevented him from issuing those orders himself than for any other reason. He lowered himself into his gig and found himself in a similar environment to San Fiorenzo, only with a more urgent and chaotic feel. Granger smiled to himself. Urgent and chaotic were certainly possible when Nelson was in command.

Granger climbed the sides of Captain and hauled himself through her entry port, finding none other than Captain Miller himself waiting to greet him. Miller was, in years, by far Granger’s senior. The man must be in his mid-30s. But he was only posted as Captain early last year, and so Granger out-ranked him in the naval world. “Welcome aboard, Sir George,” Miller greeted him.

“It is good to see you, Captain,” Granger said. He’d met Miller while serving with Nelson; Miller had dutifully followed Nelson along on his various ventures, and now was rewarded to the post of Flag Captain.

“It’s been a while, sir,” Miller said, leading Granger back to Nelson’s cabin.

“Granger!” Nelson said enthusiastically. “I apologize,” he said coyly, “I should remember my manners. It is good to see you, Sir George.”

“It is good to see you too, sir,” Granger said just as enthusiastically. He had been a little worried about this meeting, because Nelson was known to be a jealous man, and despite all of his successes, he did not yet have a Knighthood while Granger did.

“You’ve certainly been busy since we last were together,” Nelson said affably. “Join me for dinner.”

“With pleasure, sir,” Granger said. They sat at the table and ate, with Granger doing most of the talking, regaling Nelson with tales of life in London and at Court.

“We received a courier from Sir John alerting us that you were coming to join us,” Nelson said. “He also brought news of Aurore. I am sorry.”

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said. Nelson was known to become quite attached to people, especially his subordinates, so the sincerity of his condolences was appreciated.

“You’ve walked into a damned interesting situation,” he went on. “The Corsicans are trying to lay their hands on any piece of English property they can, while our merchants are howling bloody murder.”

“Indeed, sir?” Granger asked.

“The Committee of Thirty, as they call themselves, has taken on the role of governing Corsica now that we are leaving, and they have sent me a message that all British property is now their property.”

“That would appear to be a bold move, sir,” Granger said cautiously.

“They are an ungovernable lot, these people,” he said disdainfully. “We are good to be rid of them.” He wiped his mouth and changed his tone. “They have moored a privateer in front of the mole, blocking all boats trying to enter or leave harbor. Your first job will be to explain to them that’s not a good idea.”

“I suspect I can handle that, sir,” Granger said, grinning. He got ready to stand up, making Nelson chuckle.

“Excellent. Then you are to convey a message to those rascals that any interference with the removal of English goods or citizens will result in the cannonade of their town. Sutton’s got Egmont moored close in. Ask him to be a good chap and run out his guns. That should have an impact.”

“I will call on Captain Sutton at once, then, sir,” Granger said.

“We will talk more when this evacuation is complete. Good luck, Captain.”

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said. He bid farewell to Miller and had himself rowed back to Belvidera.

He had a mission now, so he brushed aside Roberts’s pleasant greetings upon his return and got right to business. “Mr. Roberts, our mission is to brush that privateer aside and acquire the cooperation of the Corsicans.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said, although he clearly had no idea how they were going to do that.

“I am going to the Egmont in my gig. I will rendezvous with you there,” Granger said. It would take time to raise Belvidera’s anchor and warp or sail her to the Egmont, and Granger fancied he’d be able to meet with Sutton by the time she arrived.

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. Granger descended back into his gig and relaxed in the back, watching the boats that moved among the ships, but not the shore. Jeffers was able to catch a breeze, and that aided their journey to Egmont. Egmont was a 74, just like Captain, so Granger found himself once again climbing up the tall sides of a ship of the line. Egmont was an old ship, having been built in 1768, but Sutton kept her tidy enough.

“What brings you out here, Sir George?” Sutton asked in a friendly way.

“I am to brush this privateer aside and explain to the Committee of Thirty that they must release British property, sir.”

“And you assume they will do that?”

“With your help, sir. I am instructed to inform them that a cannonade of their town will commence if they refuse our directive. I have come to ask you to run your guns out in a menacing fashion when we do, if that meets with your pleasure.” He had mentally rehearsed that request, in effect making an order to Sutton from Nelson a request from him.

Sutton laughed. “I daresay that whenever a battleship runs out her guns, it is in a menacing fashion. I’ll back you up Granger. Good luck.”

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said cordially. Granger departed Egmont and found his timing prescient, since Belvidera was almost up to him. He reboarded his ship and confirmed her course to the mole.

The privateer was moored in the middle of the entrance to the harbor, and with guns on the mole and on the privateer, made an imposing blockade. “Anchor just off her quarter, so our guns can rake her,” Granger ordered, as Belvidera crept closer and closer to the privateer and the entrance to the inner harbor.

A gun fired from the privateer and crossed Belvidera’s bows. “Orders, sir?” Roberts asked.

“Send the hands to quarters, Mr. Roberts, but do not clear for action,” Granger said. There was no way the Corsicans would miss the martial sound of drums beating “Hearts of Oak”, nor could they mistake the commotion as Belvidera’s men hurried to their battle stations. The privateer fired another shot, which Granger ignored.

“What if she hits us, sir?” Clifton asked.

“Then we will sink her,” Granger said simply.

“Shall we run out our guns, sir?” Roberts asked.

“Not yet.” He watched as they drew closer and closer to the privateer. He was finally satisfied with their position. “Let go!” Granger ordered. The big anchor splashed into Bastia’s harbor, and Belvidera came to rest with one broadside positioned to rake the privateer and the other positioned to blast the town.

“Boat’s approaching, sir,” Gatling said.

“Let whomever they’ve sent to treat with us come on board,” Granger ordered. He was surprised to find two men there, one of them wearing the uniform of a British army officer.

“Welcome aboard His Britannic Majesty’s ship Belvidera. I am Sir George Granger.”

“Thank you, sir,” the officer said. “I am Captain Claude de Folle, of His Britannic Majesty’s Dillon regiment.” Granger digested that quickly. The Dillon regiment was composed mostly of foreigners, and was predominantly commanded by French émigré nobles. “This is Giuseppe Calvatori, of the Committee of Thirty.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you gentlemen,” Granger said politely.

“You are trespassing upon Corsican land,” Calvatori said abruptly, in French.

“I most certainly am,” Granger replied firmly, in that language. “And I intend to trespass much more forcefully if all of the English people and goods are not released immediately.”

“Our guns will sink your ship,” he said.

“That is unlikely,” Granger said. “You have not given me a chance to get to know you, Signor Calvatori, nor have you gotten to know me.” He saw de Folle grin at Granger’s reminder to Calvatori of his abysmal manners. “Allow me to reminisce about one of my exploits. We were attacking St. Marten, in the Caribbean, and I had the occasion to deal with an unruly populace. In a mere sloop, a ship much smaller than this, I was able to inflict significant damage upon the town.”

“We are much better defended than some colonial port,” he sneered.

"Indeed?” Granger asked. “Mr. Roberts, please run out both batteries,” Granger said in English. He was sure Calvatori could understand him. “Ask Egmont to do the same.”

Calvatori stared, horrified, as Belvidera’s guns rumbled forward, shaking the whole ship. He was even more horrified when Egmont trained her much bigger armament on the town. “Perhaps we can reach an accommodation.”

“I suspect we can. Allow me to tell you what that accommodation will be,” Granger said forcefully. “You will allow all British goods and citizens to be removed to their transports. Any interference from your people will elicit a violent response. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Calvatori said. “I will pass your message on to the Committee.”

“Excellent. I will give you 30 minutes, one for each member of your committee, to implement our plan,” Granger said, and pulled out his watch. The Corsican all but fled to his boat, with Captain de Folle trailing at a more dignified pace.