St. Vincent - 9. Chapter 9

October, 1796

Granger followed Chartley aboard, letting a surprised Roberts stare at him for a moment before Granger pulled himself over the side and the twittering of the pipes stopped. “Welcome back, sir,” Roberts said.

“Thank you. My lord, this is Mr. Roberts, my first lieutenant,” Granger said, introducing them. “Mr. Roberts, we are welcoming Lord Chartley aboard, and he will be with us until we reach Gibraltar. We will get underway at once.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said crisply.

“My lord, if you will follow me, I will show you to your cabin.”

“As you wish, Sir George,” Chartley said stiffly.

“It will be easier if we dine together, my lord,” Granger said as he led Chartley into his cabin. He introduced Chartley to Winkler.

“That will be acceptable.”

“Then I will have my office converted into a cabin for you. I hope you will find it comfortable, my lord,” Granger said.

“As I said before, Sir George, I am less interested in comfort than in speed,” he said. He must have sensed that he was pushing Granger a bit too hard. “I can see you’re doing everything possible in that regard.”

“I am, my lord,” Granger said, a little surprised that this man had actually unbent enough to say that. “But if we can make your voyage more comfortable while also going as fast as possible, I will view it with success.” Granger shot Chartley his most engaging smile, and was slightly surprised to find it had some effect. The man almost smiled back, but he caught himself before he could. Granger credited himself for not laughing in his face.

“I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, Sir George,” he said.

“Then if you will excuse me, my lord, I will attend to our departure.” Granger gratefully left, anxious to be rid of Chartley’s rigid formality.

“Anchor’s hove short, sir,” Roberts said.

“Very well, Mr. Roberts, let’s get the topsails on her.” The Italian pilot came back aboard, looking grumpier than he had before. “We seem to be plagued with jovial people today,” Granger said to Roberts, irritating himself for letting such a catty comment escape from him.

“It does not seem to be our lucky day, sir,” Roberts said cheerfully, and his whole manner served to erase Granger’s bad mood. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, at extracting Belvidera from Naples harbor.

As they emerged from the harbor, they encountered a brisk wind and moderate seas, just the kind of weather to suit Granger’s mood. Not a whole gale, yet rough enough to be a challenge, and to remind him of the joys of being at sea.

Roberts seemed to share his mood, and they stayed on deck together, braving wind and waves, glorying in the sheer might of the elements, as Belvidera tore along close-hauled. Granger stood with his hand holding the shrouds, and let the spray blast his face. He’d been preoccupied with other things, with Travers, and he’d forgotten to pay attention to his ship, and to his surroundings. At that moment, George Granger fell in love with the sea all over again.

November, 1796

Granger paced his deck, irritated once again. It had been a week since they’d left Naples, and despite mostly foul winds, Belvidera had been able to make good progress. Still, nothing, no amount of speed, seemed to placate Lord Chartley. The man was consistently on edge. Granger had tried to dine with him, to engage him in topics they might enjoy discussing, such as Court, the Royal Family, the price of acreage in the Greater London area, anything at all, yet the man had been nothing but a stone wall.

Last night, his officers had invited him to dine with them in the wardroom, and he’d had a most excellent time. Today, he’d dined in the wardroom again, only this time he’d hosted, providing the food and wine. Granger decided that Chartley could dine by himself. If he refused to engage with Granger and his officers, they would simply pretend that he wasn’t aboard. As he thought about that, Granger began to feel guilty, because it was the height of bad manners to shun someone, especially someone from your own social circle.

Just as the sun began to set, Lord Chartley emerged from below and strode onto the deck. He went to Granger at once to pay his respects, being painfully polite but no more. “Good evening, Sir George.”

“Good evening, my lord,” Granger replied evenly.

“We appear to be making slow progress,” he said grudgingly.

“With winds as they are, we are lucky to be making any progress at all, my lord,” Granger answered. “Belvidera has fine lines, and that gives us this ability to sail so close to the wind.”

“But it would seem logical that we would benefit from more sail, wouldn’t we, Sir George?” he asked. Granger rarely lost his temper, but that comment crossed a line that Granger could not overlook.

“Actually, my lord, it would serve to slow us down,” Granger said evenly.

“I find that hard to believe, Sir George,” Chartley said.

“My lord, I would remind you that while you are a distinguished passenger, you are a passenger nonetheless. It is inconsistent with your dignity and mine, not to mention a contravention of Admiralty rules, for you to interfere in the operation and conduct of this ship.” Granger had used all of his self control to keep the volume of his voice level, but he thought that perhaps he had not been as successful at that as he hoped; based on the stares they were getting from the others on deck.

“I must beg your pardon, Sir George,” Chartley said hastily. The man had an infuriating ability to drive Granger to the very edge of his patience, then retreat before the issue became too inflamed. “I was merely trying to understand how this nautical world operated.”

“I appreciate your interest, my lord. And I was merely trying to make sure you understood where our boundaries were laid down,” Granger said. “To answer your question, the reason we do not add more sail is that the force of the wind against the canvas would make more leeway than progress. It is a matter of relative forces.”

“You see, Sir George, it was an easy question to answer. There was no insult intended.”

“My lord, what was insulting was that you asked the question in the first place,” Granger said. “I will not have an argument about context.”

With the fickleness of the Mediterranean, the brisk weather of the day before had faded into something entirely different. Belvidera lay becalmed, her topsails hanging listlessly from her masts as if they missed the wind and were depressed without it.

“I’ve asked the purser to see about acquiring some new canvas to replace that main topsail, sir,” Roberts commented as they looked up at the tattered sail.

“It’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?” Granger said, looking at it scornfully. “See if the sailmaker can splice two of the staysails together as a replacement.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. They were just about to begin the process of replacing the sail when a cry from the masthead interrupted them.

“Sail ho!” the lookout called. “Off the larboard bow! Lots of them!” Granger took his glass and went to the rail. He trained his glass and was horrified to see ten xebecs quite close in already. They weren’t carrying any sail, and with the glare of the sun, they’d remained hidden until they were almost upon them. Granger estimated the speed of their progress and fancied that they’d be in action within an hour, maybe two.

“Mr. Roberts, clear for action,” Granger ordered. Roberts acknowledged his orders and turned to execute them. The drums began to pound almost instantly as the sounds of “Hearts of Oak” sent the hands scrambling to clear all of Belvidera’s extraneous goods below.

Chartley came up on deck, and Granger was annoyed to note that he was as well turned out as ever, despite the fact that the men had probably cleared away his cabin from around him. “Bit of commotion, Sir George?”

“Yes, my lord, we have encountered a small fleet of ten xebecs. They are moving to attack us.”

“Must they be belligerent?” Chartley asked.

“Once they recognize this ship, as I am sure they must have, they will most definitely be belligerent.”

“And why is that?”

Granger eyed him carefully. “Because of the Oran ruby. Are you not familiar with our capture of it, my lord?”

“You expect that everyone follows your achievements?” Chartley snapped, the first time Granger had seen him lose control. That meant he had hit a little too close to home.

“My lord, we publicly presented the ruby to His Majesty, in a ceremony that resulted in my knighthood. I would daresay that even the most remote laborer would have heard of it. How is it you would have missed it, unless you were out of the country?”

“I have obviously been out of the country,” Chartley responded with irritation.

“And where were you, my lord?” Granger asked suspiciously.

“I would submit, Sir George that we have pirates to fight. We can review my travelogue after the battle, if you still feel a desire.”

“Quite so, my lord,” Granger said, and brought his mind back to the battle at hand.

“Surely they should be no match for us, sir?” Clifton asked him. “Last time we destroyed a force three times as large.”

“The odds are significantly stacked in their favor,” Granger said. “Before, we were able to anchor and thus avail ourselves of the spring in our cable, so we could maneuver. Here we are unable to maneuver at all.”

“What will they do?” Chartley asked.

“They will hover off our bow and stern and pound us until we are an easy target, or they will try to board us directly and overwhelm us with their numbers,” Granger said casually, as if it were of no great account to him. “Either approach would be effective.”

“So what will you do?” Chartley wondered aloud. Chartley’s voice, sounding almost hopeless, galvanized Granger’s mind, and he began to think of alternatives, of a way to get them out of this predicament.

If only a wind would come, he thought. Under sail, Belvidera could pick off those pirates piecemeal, and any breeze would surely change the equation dramatically. He glanced off at the horizon in either direction and could see no sign of a wind, nothing at all. The sea was seemingly empty but for Belvidera and the xebecs. Then an idea sparked in Granger’s brain, an idea that he transformed into a plan with a speed that was impressive.

“Mr. Roberts, fit the longboat and the launch with a carronade. How big of a weapon do you think they can fire?”

“We have two 12-pounders below, sir,” he said. “They’ve been used as ballast. They’ll need a bit of work.”

“Then let’s get on it. You’ll need to find shot for them as well. We’ll put one 12-pounder in the launch, and one of the 6-pounders left from our assault on Oran in the longboat.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts replied automatically. The rusted 12-pounder was hauled up from the hold and the hands began working frenetically to clean it up and make it operational, while the carpenter and his men readied mounts for it on the launch. The activity increased when the 6-pounder was hoisted up, and was put through similar evolutions to place it in the longboat.

“Mr. Roberts, please assemble the officers here on the quarterdeck,” Granger ordered. “My lord, you are invited to join us. I intend to explain what I mean to do.”

Chartley nodded, and in no time at all, the officers were assembled on the quarterdeck, with the men at the quarterdeck carronades shamelessly eavesdropping. “Gentlemen, we will shortly be engaged by those xebecs,” Granger said, pointing at the closing pirates. “They bear the Algerian pennant, and we are no friends of theirs.” That got a chuckle. “We are going to use the launch and the longboat to keep the boats away from our stern and bow. Mr. Clifton, you will take charge of the longboat, and Mr. Brookstone will take charge of the launch. I’ll have my gig in the water, ready in case a lucky shot should sink either one of your craft.”

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton answered for both him and Brookstone.

“If you can herd them toward our broadsides, we will make quick work of them,” Granger said. “I want ample crews in both boats, armed with cutlasses, and a squad of marines as well.”

“With your permission, Sir George, I would like to assist your efforts, preferably in one of the boats,” Chartley said.

“Your help would be most appreciated, my lord,” Granger said. “Perhaps you can assist Lord Brookstone.” Granger used the boy’s formal title with Chartley, hoping it might make him easier for Brookstone to deal with. “Please have the hands lay aft, Mr. Roberts.”

The men assembled in the waist and forecastle, and Granger cleared his throat. “Men, the Bey of Oran wants his ruby back,” Granger joked, getting a laugh. “We’re about to engage these ruffians, and we will sink them just like we did the others. Make no mistake about it, though. There will be no surrender, either collectively or individually. We are the Belvidera, and they are out for revenge. They will kill us whether we fight or surrender; they will offer no quarter.” The men digested that for a few moments, then let out three loud cheers.

Clifton and Brookstone hustled their parties into their small craft, while Roberts and Carslake went around the ship to try and maximize the firing arc of Belvidera’s cannon. If they could maneuver the ship just a little bit, if they could pivot their broadside, it would make a huge difference. Another idea began to germinate in Granger’s mind.

“Mr. Roberts, have the jolly boat hoisted out as well. We’ll use the gig and the jolly boat to move the ship if need be.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but with the men in the longboat and launch, we’ll be short on the gundeck if we fill those boats as well,” Roberts said.

“You are correct, Mr. Roberts. My plan is to tie those boats on to the starboard side, and then we can use their oars to try and maneuver the ship. It may not work, but it is worth a try. In any event, if we keep them close in, we can recall them quickly enough when we need to.”

Roberts grinned. “Very clever, sir. We’ll have to keep the lashings loose, though, so we can cast your gig off in case the other boats need assistance.”

“It seems I am not the only clever one, Mr. Roberts,” Granger observed with a smile. He walked over to the railing and looked down at the longboat and launch, now filled with men. “Mr. Clifton, Mr. Brookstone!”

“Sir?” they responded, almost in unison.

“Remain where you are for the moment. We’ll let your first foray at the xebecs be a surprise.” Granger had realized that the pirates probably couldn’t see the boats on the other side of the ship. For all they knew, all the movement on board Belvidera could simply be them abandoning ship.

“I think the first ship is in range, sir,” Roberts observed.

There was nothing to be gained from waiting until they drew closer. “You may commence firing.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Roberts acknowledged. He gave an order to Carslake, who went below to tend to the 18-pounders, and then went forward to the bowchasers. Granger watched as he aimed the weapon, then backed away and fired. The shot fell short by half a cable.

It seemed as if their first volley had put the pirate attack plan in motion. The xebecs split into two parties, with six ships heading toward Belvidera’s stern and four toward her bow. The six that were heading for the stern would have to maneuver parallel to Belvidera.

“Mr. Roberts, keep the main guns silent!” Granger ordered. “We may be able to lure them in enough to get a hit or two.”

Roberts acknowledged, and then continued to bang away with his bowchaser. The shots were short, or flew wide, which wasn’t a surprise at long cannon range, but if they were lucky, they should have gotten at least one hit by now. Maybe this was not their lucky day, Granger mused nervously, and then pushed that thought out of his head. These were pirates: they were cretins, and no match for his ship and crew.

Roberts delegated the bowchaser to someone else and ambled back to the quarterdeck. “I figured that the gunner may have better luck, sir.”

“Long range with a smooth bore gun is always an uncertain business,” Granger observed sagely. “I thought you handled your weapon quite well.”

Roberts grinned at his double-entendre. “Sir, I had a thought.”

“Go on.”

“If we use all of our boats to move the ship, the xebecs will think that the launch and longboat are afloat for just that purpose, sir.”

“They just might,” Granger smiled. “Let Mr. Clifton and Mr. Brookstone know that we’ll be asking them to tug us about shortly.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. Granger watched him give the orders and looked at him with an appraising eye. Roberts was an excellent first lieutenant, and had shown himself to be a firm but compassionate leader of the men. In the past, though, he’d always thought like a first lieutenant: that meant being efficient and reliable. Until this action, Granger hadn’t seen the initiative in him that was required of a captain. He hadn’t seen Roberts in a combat situation where he was creative and bold until this moment. Granger smiled when he thought about that. That meant that Roberts was ready for promotion. He’d have to put his case forward more forcefully at the next opportunity.

“That’s a hit!” cried someone from the bow. The bowchaser had finally found its mark, and had hit one of the xebecs. He looked through his glass as the ship floundered like a wounded bug, but the damage was superficial. The shot had merely blasted away some of the oars, and those were easily replaced.

“Good shooting lads!” he called to encourage them.

Granger watched as the six xebecs destined for their stern ranged parallel to Belvidera. He could see that they were probably at the very edge of their range, but there was nothing to be gained from waiting any longer. “Mr. Carslake, maximum elevation. You may commence firing on those vessels,” Granger shouted down the hatch. He was of a mind to tell Carslake to wait for the uproll, but the seas were so calm there really wasn’t one.

The cannon went off, not in unison, but close to it, a fact that made Granger smile; since it showed that the gun crews were taking their time to aim. He watched as balls landed all around the xebecs, and smiled as they frantically turned away to increase the range. The next volley caught one of the xebecs. Granger watched her absorb two hits, and then begin to turn first toward them then back away from them. She was moving erratically. The guns fired again, and Granger fancied he could see two balls plough into her. Another xebec moved closer, to transfer the wounded vessel’s crew, as she began to sink lower into the water. Four cannon balls wouldn’t sink her, but they had put her out of action. One down, Granger thought.

“Good shooting men!” Granger shouted below, and was greeted with cheers. He watched as the five remaining xebecs moved to a position off Belvidera’s larboard quarter, then turned to face her.

“What are they doing, sir?” Roberts asked.

“We have some clever pirates, Mr. Roberts,” Granger observed icily. “Those ships over there are poised to attack us if we yaw to aim our broadside at the ships approaching our bows.” If Granger used his boats to maneuver Belvidera so her guns would bear on the xebecs off the bow, the xebecs off their quarter would have a clear run in to her stern.

“I see, sir,” Roberts said.

“I’ll have the boats maneuver us so our broadside faces those ships,” Granger said, pointing to the ships off the bow. “They are closer.” He went to the rail and looked down at Brookstone, Clifton, and all the men in the boats.

“Mr. Clifton, we’re going to yaw the ship so our broadside faces the xebecs off the bow. That will leave our stern exposed. When those other xebecs close, it will be your job to help ward them off. Focus your efforts there.”

“Aye aye sir!” he said, and began giving orders to Brookstone.

“Mr. Roberts, see if you can detach a party to remove the stern windows and mount guns aft,” Granger said. That was a huge job, and would certainly mess up his cabin, but it may make the difference.

Roberts looked at him dubiously at first, and then threw himself into action. “Aye aye sir.”

“Mr. Carslake!” Granger called. He waited until he saw Carslake’s round face peering up at him from below. “Mr. Roberts is going to try and rig some guns in my cabin, aiming aft. In the meantime, we’ll be yawing so you can take out those ships off our bow.”

Carslake acknowledged his order, just as Belvidera began to move grudgingly around. Moving a ship as big as she was with boats was a hard, long, and laborious process. It was impossible to keep their plan hidden. Granger watched as the xebecs nearing their bow began to maneuver further away from them, changing course to take them out of range of the 18-pounders and to head to their new locations off the new position of Belvidera’s bows. He watched as the xebecs off the quarter began to move as well, heading toward them, sensing their opportunity.

Granger smiled at Roberts. “I think we should play this as if it were a fencing match.”

“Sir?”

Granger was still smiling as he went over to the taffrail. “Mr. Clifton, reverse course. Move the ship back around to the larboard.”

“Sir?” he asked confused.

“They are responding to our moves. We will make them row around until they get tired. Move the ship slowly, so when we need to make a meaningful maneuver, they will be surprised.”

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton said, grinning. He made sure Brookstone and the other boats understood Granger’s orders, then directed his own boat. “Alright lads, pull the other way, but don’t do it like you’re English sailors, do it like you’re Frogs.” That got a laugh. Belvidera began to yaw, slowly coming back around to the original direction.

Granger watched as the xebecs off the quarter quickly reversed course to avoid the guns that would soon be ranged against them. “What will they do now, sir?” Roberts asked.

They didn’t have to wait long to find out. The remaining nine xebecs spread out in an arc, five off their quarter, four off their bow, creating a wide range of targets. “There is your answer, Mr. Roberts.”

“Sir?”

“In a few moments, all of those ships will come at us at once, with double banked oars.” He went to the railing. “Alright Mr. Clifton, our game of cat and mouse is nearly at an end. Move us to the starboard as quickly as you can, then get ready to go into action.”

“Aye aye sir.” Belvidera’s bows moved to the starboard, exposing her vulnerable stern to the five xebecs farther out, and bringing her guns to bear on the xebecs off the bow, who were frantically trying to dodge them.

“Mr. Carslake, now would be a good time to remove some of those ships,” Granger called down to the gun deck.

Carslake’s acknowledgement was drowned out as Belvidera’s main artillery opened fire on the xebecs that were once off their bows, but were now off their larboard side. Granger heard a crash from below, and turned to look aft, where the xebecs were now firing at them.

“That must have been a 24-pounder, sir,” Roberts mused, as if large cannon balls slamming into their ship were of no account to him.

“I daresay you’re right,” Granger replied, just as nonchalantly. Their calm manner would reassure the men. Panic at this point would be fatal.

He watched as Carslake’s guns took out first one, then another xebec. There were only two left in the bows, and they were frantically trying to work out of range. Belvidera was enveloped in noise. If it wasn’t the sound of her own guns firing, it was the sound of balls crashing into her, or the screams of people when the balls found their mark. And all of that was punctuated by the sound of hammers, as they frantically tried to train guns through the stern where the windows had been. “Difficult to see,” Roberts observed.

“Another disadvantage of no wind,” Granger observed dourly. Their own gunfire was enveloping them in a cloud of gunpowder smoke. “Perhaps we can use that to our advantage later, but for now, it will only make things difficult.” Granger walked to various parts of the deck to try and see through the increasing cloud, but was unable to get a picture of the battle. In the end, he was forced to scurry up to the main top.

“What do we have here?” he asked the lookout.

“Those two off the bow, sir, they just sitting there firing away. Those ships are closing fast,” he said, pointing aft.

“Keep me informed if the ships off the bow move in a meaningful way,” Granger said, as he slid back down to the deck.

“Mr. Roberts, position a spotter for the bowchasers in the fore top.” Before Roberts could acknowledge, Granger was at the rail. “Mr. Clifton, we are about to have visitors aft. Move to intercept them.”

“Aye aye sir,” he called. Now that they were working in unison, Clifton took charge of giving Brookstone his orders rather than having them originate from Belvidera.

“Jeffers, keep the gig ready to help the other boats if they get hit,” he called to his gig. “Mr. Roberts, let’s get the crew of the jolly boat back aboard. I suspect we may need them.” He went below to check on the progress in his cabin, and found the guns there almost ready to open fire. They had mounted two guns, side by side, and aimed them out over the empty space that had once been sealed in by the stern windows. It felt surreal to Granger, to be in his cabin and to have it wide open to the elements.

“Mr. Gatling, I see this is your project.”

“Yes sir,” the lad said with a grin. “We’ll be ready to open fire in five minutes.”

“Very well. You’ll be needed then. They’re moving in to attack us.” He saw the young man swallow nervously. “Not to worry. Mr. Clifton is moving to help us out here. Just don’t hit his boats by mistake.”

Gatling smiled. “I’ll try not to, sir.”

“There’s a good lad,” Granger said, and patted his shoulder. Back up on the quarterdeck, he went to the taffrail and peered out. The smoke rolled away enough for him to see the lead xebec quite close in. He heard the stern chasers fire, and that daunted them slightly, then heard the deeper roar of Gatling’s 18-pounders.

“Captain Somers,” Granger called.

“Sir?”

“See that the men are issued with small arms, and have your snipers do their best to help us out aft.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. “I have a squad formed up to repel boarders as well.”

“Good thinking,” Granger said.

The whole time they’d been doing this, making these preparations, the din of battle had continued. Granger had tuned out the sounds, focusing only on doing as much as he could to defend his ship. “What of the ships off the bows?” he asked Villiers, who was stationed on the quarterdeck.

“I’ll find out, sir,” he said nervously, then rushed to the foremast to shout the question. Granger walked back to the taffrail and watched as a xebec loomed out of nowhere. Gatling’s guns slammed two shots into her, and the quarterdeck carronade that had been aimed aft lobbed one in as well. Her oars stopped rowing, and she seemed to stall as her crew attempted to deal with the damage, but it was to no avail. Two more shots from their guns slammed into her, and firing down as they were, the shots must have gone clean through her: she was clearly sinking.

Another xebec came out of the gloom, using her wounded consort to shield her from the stern guns, but the launch was there, and after a few shots, he watched as Clifton rammed the boat into the xebec and boarded her. The longboat moved up to help her. Another xebec came up behind them, and moored alongside her consort, sending men to help fight off Clifton and his boarders. Granger fancied that this must be reminiscent of the old naval battles fought by galleys, where soldiers fought the battles hand-to-hand on the decks of ships. He watched one big pirate wield his axe like a Viking warrior as he prepared to sink it into one of Belvidera’s men, but he mysteriously stopped with a jerk, then fell backward into the sea, the victim of one of Somers’ snipers.

He heard a crash on the starboard quarter followed by a yell as one of the xebecs managed to grapple with them. Pirates swarmed over the stern onto the quarterdeck and through Granger’s exposed cabin onto the main deck. He heard a din below as the gunners left their guns to defend against the boarders. Granger drew his sword just as a large, bearded Algerian charged at him with his scimitar. Granger balanced himself carefully and parried the man aside as he did. The fool had relied on brute strength, and Granger had used the man’s own momentum against him. As he fell onto the deck, a sailor stabbed a pike through his back, sending him off to meet Allah.

Granger had no further time for reflection. He found himself fighting a much more skilled pirate. He parried the man’s thrusts, fighting at close range with weapons that normally needed more room. He could smell the man’s stench, his body odor and his breath. The scimitar lunged at him, and Granger skillfully parried it aside, leaving the man temporarily off balance. Granger thrust his sword in and felt the resistance as it pierced the man’s abdomen, and watched as the pirate’s face twisted in agony. There was no time to savor that small victory, for as soon as that man fell, another man appeared to take his place. Granger pulled the pistol out of his belt and fired, taking care of that one as well, but then there was another.

Another crash told him the final xebec from aft had grappled with them, and a whole fresh new group of boarders launched into them. There were screams and cries from below as the men fought on the gun deck, and all around him, his men were frantically trying to keep the pirates at bay. He looked aft as more men surged over the taffrail, more men trying to kill him and take his ship. He was starting to lose hope when he heard the sounds of several muskets go off, a volley as it were.

“Marines, fix bayonets,” he heard Somers order. Somers had kept a squad of marines in reserve for just this occasion. “Marines, advance!” The marines marched forward; following slowly where their bullets had flown just a second before. In the face of their precision and discipline, and their bayonets, the pirates began to fall back. The rest of the men with Granger, heartened by that, surged forward with the marines.

“Sir!” an urgent voice said, while pulling at his uniform. “The xebecs at the bow are moving in!” Granger looked at Villiers, who seemed scared, no doubt because of Granger’s battle-crazed expression.

“Very well,” Granger said calmly. He was about to despair, to give up hope. They were just now gaining the upper hand, and driving the mass of pirates off the quarterdeck. The men below were fighting to do the same thing below on the gundeck. But two more vessels and their crews would finish the job: of that, there was no question.

“Shall I rally the men forward, sir?” Roberts asked.

“Yes, pull the men from the guns. They can do no more good there,” Granger said. The depression and defeat in both of their voices was sad, and unacceptable, but they had all but given up hope. Just as they had both resigned themselves to die on that November day in 1796, they got the one thing that may just save them. Granger heard it first, the flapping of the sails, then he felt it, the breeze as it blew gently against his cheek. “The wind.”

“Indeed, sir,” Roberts said. They smiled at each other for only a moment, and then renewed their fight with a whole new vigor.