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Mark Arbour

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Mark Arbour last won the day on August 4 2014

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About Mark Arbour

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  1. Mark Arbour

    A Game: Find the hidden modern reference

    The Norwegian Pavilion at Epcot had a ride called "Maelstrom", which has since been turned into a ride for Frozen 😡 Either before or after the ride, a Norwegian voice that pelted out that "to know Norway is to know the sea." It stuck in my memory.
  2. Mark Arbour

    A Game: Find the hidden modern reference

    Very good! I don't know if you're the only one playing, but you're the person who won!
  3. Mark Arbour

    A Game: Find the hidden modern reference

    I had to double check to make sure Chapter 13 was within the last five chapters.
  4. Mark Arbour

    A Game: Find the hidden modern reference

    No, it's within the last 5 chapters.
  5. Mark Arbour

    A Game: Find the hidden modern reference

    I don’t think I was clear. It’s at least a sentence long. And here’s a hint: Disney
  6. Mark Arbour

    Chapter 17

    September, 1800 HMS Valiant, The Baltic “Mr. Llewellyn, signal the convoy to heave to,” Granger ordered, even as he grappled with the dilemma in front of him. He had to take possession of two captured ships, and he still had four merchants that he needed to chase down and recapture. “Aye aye, my lord,” he acknowledged. “Mr. Weston, I want you to go take possession of the smaller frigate and assess the damage,” Granger ordered. “Aye aye, my lord,” he said. Granger waited impatiently for the launch and the longboat to arrive at the Russian frigates, and then waited to make sure that there was no immediate duplicity as his men took possession. Satisfied that his officers had things well in hand, Granger decided it was time to chase after the four captured merchant vessels. “Mr. Kingsdale, you find yourself as the first lieutenant,” Granger said jovially. “I have big shoes to fill, sir,” he said diplomatically. Granger took control of the ship, setting off after the four merchant ships with her mains, even as the sailmaker worked to fix damage to her topsails. “I’ll want my gig ready to launch,” he ordered. “Major Treadway, I’ll trust you to board each merchant ship with a squad of your men to make sure that the original crew resumes control. You can bring the Russian prize crews back with you.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Treadway replied, and then both he and Kingsdale worked to get the boat ready. The merchants were slow and unwieldy, so Valiant was easily able to catch up with them, but it still took time. By the time she had recaptured the merchant ships and escorted them back to the convoy and the captured Russian frigates, the sun was starting to set. “Signal Mr. Weston and Mr. Grenfell to come aboard,” Granger ordered. Valiant was well beyond boat range at that point, but he wanted to send up the signal before it was dark. “We’ll also need lanterns for night stations, so no one runs into us.” “Aye aye sir,” Kingsdale said, and made sure his orders were executed. “It looks like at least most of the convoy has obeyed your orders to heave to.” “Most of them,” Granger grumbled, noting that probably 25 ships had opted to ignore him and continue on with their voyage, although it was difficult to discern in the fading light. Granger let Kingsdale handle Valiant and smiled approvingly as he hove her to half a cable from the captured Russian frigates. “That was well done,” he said to the young lieutenant. “Thank you, sir,” Kingsdale said. “You may return the ship to normal, and then please send the hands to supper,” he ordered. He passed the word for Winkler and gave orders for his own meal. Winkler briefly looked at him in frustration, contemplating all that he had to accomplish while also restoring Granger’s quarters, but then acknowledged his orders and went off to get things ready. “When Mr. Weston and Mr. Grenfell arrive, I would like it if you would join us for dinner,” he said to Kingsdale. “You can have one of the Master’s mates take the watch.” “Aye aye, sir,” he confirmed. Daventry had largely stayed in the background during all this activity, but now that there was a lull, he walked over to join Granger. “It is a beautiful night, although a bit chilly,” Daventry commented. “I suspect it will get much cooler before we are done with this mission,” Granger said. “I continue to be amazed at how busy you are, and how that contrasts to the sedate lives most of your contemporaries seem to have,” Daventry joked. “I suspect many of them are busy too,” Granger said, thinking of Borlase Warren, Nelson, and Pellew. “At least we are lucky in that the weather is calm.” “For now,” Daventry said ruefully. Even though it was a little cold, the Baltic was smooth, with just slight swells, and a large moon highlighted the evening, illuminating this mass of ships that was all around Valiant, even though their lanterns twinkled brightly, like some of those strange bugs Granger had seen in the tropics who illuminated themselves sporadically at night. “Why did you send Mr. Weston to command the smaller ship?” “The larger frigate appeared to be in poor condition, and I am skeptical that we’ll be able to salvage her,” Granger explained. “The smaller one took much less damage, and thus may be worth saving.” “And you are thinking that if you give Weston command of her and send her back to England that may be his ticket to promotion?” Daventry asked. “That was on my mind,” Granger said. “I must compliment you on how you work diligently to foster the careers of those officers who serve you. I would expect it is difficult to part with an experienced officer once you have developed a good rapport, such as you have with Mr. Weston,” Daventry said. “It is actually quite easy to part with them under such circumstances. I think it is my obligation to them and to the service to see that their talents are rewarded,” Granger said. “When Lord Hood was speaking to me prior to supporting me in my admission to the Lords, he told me that the true value of an officer is not what he achieves, but whom he leaves behind to succeed him.” “A noble goal,” Daventry agreed. “Unfortunately, in this case, I think you would be doing Mr. Weston a disservice.” “And why is that?” Granger asked curiously. “We are not at war with Russia, even though their actions certainly seem warlike,” Daventry noted. “Up until this latest conflict, we have largely had a good relationship with Russia, and we have usually found ourselves allied with them. I would remind you that over the past five years, Russian ships have served alongside the North Sea fleet in support of our war aims.” “Such as what war aims we have can be identified,” Granger said in frustration, venting about the lack of strategic direction of Pitt and his Cabinet. “Indeed,” Daventry agreed ruefully. “Russia, despite her sizeable but decrepit navy, is a continental power, and her focus is on the land. That is bound to bring her into conflict with France. The only thing propelling her into French orbit right now is the purported insanity of the Tsar.” Granger continued to be impressed with how well Daventry knew about this region, and pondered how much studying and consulting he must have done prior to this mission. “You are trying to tell me that this strange non-war we have with Russia is an aberration, and that we are most likely going to be allied with them in the future,” Granger concluded. “That is exactly what I am telling you. And in that case, I am almost sure that any unpleasant actions we may have will be swept under the rug so as not to impair that relationship.” “So if I send Weston home with this captured Russian frigate, rather than returning to accolades, the whole issue would likely be hushed up, and he would probably find himself posted to a different ship and sent off in short order?” Granger asked cynically. There would be no rewards for Weston in that situation, as the desire would be to have him be as inconspicuous as possible. “I am willing to wager that is what happens,” Daventry said. Granger stood there with Daventry, staring out at the sea, enjoying a moment of relative quiet to ponder his words, until the tranquility was broken by the pealing of bosun’s whistles. Granger was surprised at that, since as lieutenants Weston and Grenfell wouldn’t warrant such honors. He turned to see a man climbing through the entry port, wearing that dark green uniform he’d seen the Russian officers wearing. Before he could say anything, Weston boarded the ship behind him. “My lord, this is Captain Ian McDougal, of His Imperial Majesty’s ship Patrikii,” Weston said. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain,” Granger said politely. “The pleasure is most certainly mine, my lord,” McDougal said, returning Granger’s bow. He had a Scottish brogue, and Granger surmised he must be one of those Royal Navy officers who had opted to serve in the Tsar’s navy rather than exist in England, hoping for a ship or promotion, while eking out a living on half-pay. As Granger witnessed every time he visited the Admiralty, while there was an acute shortage of seamen, there was a large surplus of officers. “I hope you don’t mind me inviting Captain McDougal to join me, my lord,” Weston said. “I thought he may be able to provide additional insight on this situation.” “I’m sure you are right,” Granger said. Grenfell boarded the ship and greeted everyone. “I understand you were in charge of the guns that ravaged us,” McDougal said to him, but in a pleasant way. “I had that honor, sir,” Grenfell said. “You are to be complimented on your rate of fire and your accuracy,” McDougal told Grenfell. “I could not agree more,” Granger said. “Gentlemen, I am of a mind to have our discussion over supper.” “A good meal would not come amiss, my lord,” McDougal said with a grin. He was a handsome man, probably in his thirties, with the look of someone who had seen hard living, probably both ashore and at sea. Granger led them back to his cabin, which had miraculously been restored, at least as far as Granger’s guests could see. McDougal’s eyes grew a bit wider as he noted the luxurious surroundings that constituted Granger’s home at sea, while Granger turned into the perfect host, pointing out some of his pictures and then guiding them to the table. They took their seats and began eating. “This food is truly wondrous, my lord!” McDougal exclaimed. “Thank you, Captain,” Granger said, smiling at him. “I will convey your compliments to my chef.” “It smells quite good, and it is deliciously warm as well in here, my lord,” he said. “I received a stove as a gift, designed for shipboard use,” Granger said. “It is also useful for light cooking and baking. The scent you smell is undoubtedly fresh bread.” “Incredible,” McDougal said, then applied himself to eating. As polite as he seemed, his table manners were horrendous, and the fact that he didn’t seem to realize that he was uniquely being boorish was even more intriguing. The rest of them continued on with their meal as if he weren’t eating like a primitive savage, and politely ignored his conduct. “Tell me of the ships we captured,” Granger said to Weston. “My lord, Mr. Grenfell can brief you on the status of Podrazhislav, since that is the ship he has been commanding,” Weston said. Granger turned his attention to Grenfell. “Unfortunately, the Commodore, Captain, and most of her officers were killed, my lord,” Grenfell said. “The ship is in a sad state, with half of her crew dead or wounded.” Granger was stunned that they’d done so much damage after such a short fight. “I would not have expected such a high casualty rate.” “That ship belonged at the breaker’s yard, not at sea,” McDougal said, almost to himself. “Can you explain that Captain?” Granger asked. “Certainly, begging your pardon, my lord,” he said, and stopped eating long enough to answer Granger’s question. “She was built in Archangelsk, and ships from there are lucky to make it around Norway to Kronstadt to begin with.” “Why is that?” Weston asked. “They’re made of local timber up there, pine of some sort, and they transport it to the shipyard by floating it down the river. They don’t give it time to dry or age, like you should, and like I said, it’s pine to begin with,” McDougal said. “She appears to be falling apart,” Grenfell commented. “Planks are loose, and her knees are sagging.” “She was like that before the action,” McDougal told him. “Russians don’t worry too much about the quality of construction, because they have enough lumber and labor to just build more ships, but the worst of the lot come from Archangelsk.” “I have heard His Majesty’s ministers talk about building ships from fir or other soft woods because it could be done quickly and cheaply, but those ships would be lucky to be in service for ten years,” Daventry commented. “Aye, my lord, but for the Russians, that works, because the usual enemy is Sweden, so all they really need is enough ships to deal with the initial attack, and then after that, they can out build the Swedes by a large margin and overwhelm them,” McDougal said. “You gentlemen are suggesting that it will be nigh on impossible for this ship to serve in the King’s navy?” Granger asked. “I think that is certain, my lord,” Grenfell said, even as McDougal chuckled at the idea. “She’s not even fit to be a hulk,” McDougal said, shaking his head, and then refocused on eating. “Pass the word for Dr. Jackson,” Granger called to the sentry. They continued to dine while waiting for Valiant’s surgeon to arrive, and when he did, Granger sent him, along with some of his mates, over to the damaged Russian flagship to help with the wounded. “That was most kind of you, my lord,” McDougal said. Granger just smiled and changed the subject. “So the Russians build temporary vessels, knowing they will have a short career,” Granger concluded, burning that into his memory. “Aye, my lord, and because of that, they don’t think that maintaining them is very important at all,” McDougal said. “If you were to go to Kronstadt, you’d see about eight first-rates that look an awful lot like the Victory. Some say the Russians stole the plans to her, and it’s hard to argue with that when you see those ships.” “The Victory is a splendid first rate,” Granger opined strongly, since he was especially fond of that ship. “That may be, my lord, but those eight first-rate copies of her in Kronstadt aren’t a one of them fit to put to sea,” he said. “They build them with timber that isn’t seasoned and rots much too quickly, then they don’t do anything to maintain them. Then ten years later, they are all but falling apart.” “Fascinating,” Granger said as he digested that. “You must understand, my lord, that the Russians have an almost inexhaustible supply of raw materials. They have unlimited timber, iron, and men. The problem with all three of them is the quality of those materials.” “The men we captured did not appear to be in the best of health,” Granger noted, thinking of the Russian prize crews that were being housed on the main deck, amongst the 24-pounders. “You will pardon me for noting, my lord, that is because they came from Podrazhislav,” McDougal said with no small amount of scorn. “I am familiar with your career, and I know you have been aboard a Spanish ship or two.” “One or two,” Granger said with a smile, getting a laugh from the others. “My experience is that the Spaniards have gentlemen to command them, a core of professional petty officers and seamen to sail the ship, but the bulk of the crew are nothing more than peasants, my lord,” McDougal said. “That is an apt description,” Granger agreed. “If you will think about the typical Russian ship, and magnify that difference, such that the crews are even more unskilled than Spanish peasants, then Your Lordship will have a view of how things operate,” McDougal said. “And what of the Patrikii?” Granger asked, referring to the smaller frigate. “Patrikii was built in St. Petersburg, made with Kazan Oak, and is only five years old,” McDougal said proudly. “I’ve worked hard to train my men, so you’ll find her a bit different than the typical Russian ship.” “That is admirable,” Granger said, and watched McDougal grow a little bit from his praise. McDougal clearly did not have a problem with excessive modesty. “How bad are your casualties?” “We had five men wounded, my lord,” McDougal said proudly. “That contrast with your Commodore’s ship is quite stunning,” Granger noted. “My lord, I knew that you would not fall for the Commodore’s ploy, but I was compelled to follow orders,” McDougal said in frustration. “Explain that,” Granger said, with evident curiosity. “My lord, the Commodore was using the same tactic he’d implemented to fool some Swedes in the last war,” McDougal explained. “Podrazhislav was supposed to attract your attention with her steady fire, such that Patrikii was able to then slide out of line and cross your stern. After that, presumably one of our ships would be able to maintain a raking fire while the other exchanged broadsides with you.” Granger digested that. “The Swedes are that easily fooled?” McDougal laughed. “Evidently the one that the Commodore vanquished was, my lord.” “I had wondered why Podrazhislav opened fire so early, and from such a distant range,” Granger mused. “And now you know, begging your pardon, my lord,” McDougal said. “I knew when you kept your ports closed and didn’t return fire that you would exploit the biggest weakness in the Commodore’s plan, that you would rake Patrikii as she wore ship. Our casualties were so low because I ordered everyone on board to lie down on the deck.” “That was a very smart move on your part, Captain,” Granger said, and watched McDougal beam in pride at his own cleverness. “Thank you, my lord,” he said. “My lord, Captain McDougal and his men have been working with us to repair the foremast and the bow of Patrikii,” Weston said. “We expect she’ll be ready to sail by the morning.” “That is excellent work, gentlemen,” Granger pronounced, then shifted back to McDougal. “Captain, but for your capture of four of His Britannic Majesty’s merchant vessels, I cannot see that this battle would have been necessary.” “My lord, you must surely realize that I was merely following orders,” McDougal said defensively. “I did not mean to accuse you of any malfeasance, Captain,” Granger said soothingly. “I am just trying to ascertain whether a state of war exists between our two nations.” “My understanding, my lord, is that His Imperial Majesty issued orders to impound all British ships, crews, and merchandise,” McDougal said. “I believe the intention was that this impound order would remain in effect until the issues with the Northern League and His Britannic Majesty were resolved.” “That is a most belligerent action on the part of His Imperial Majesty,” Granger noted. “I would submit, my lord, that it sounds worse than it is,” McDougal said. “Most of the merchant ships are already outward bound, so this will only catch those laggards who didn’t sail in time. I am also fairly certain that the Commodore did not interpret the instructions as His Imperial Majesty intended.” “And how is that, Captain?” Daventry asked. “I think that His Imperial Majesty intended that those ships would be impounded if in port, while the Commodore took that to mean that ships could be captured and impounded if they were found in or near His Imperial Majesty’s waters.” “We’re a bit far from Russia,” Daventry noted. “Most Russians consider the Baltic Sea to be His Imperial Majesty’s waters, my lord,” McDougal said with a grin. “I daresay the Swedes, Danes, and Prussians would have some objection to that,” Daventry joked. “I do not think His Imperial Majesty is overly worried about their perceptions,” McDougal said. “Are there other ships, or groups of ships such as yours, that may be patrolling the Baltic?” Granger asked. McDougal got uncomfortable. “I am not trying to get you to divulge information you are uncomfortable sharing, I am merely trying to ascertain whether this convoy faces further threats.” “There are a few other groups of ships, my lord,” McDougal said, but did not elaborate on what those groups consisted of. “I would think that is most unusual,” Daventry noted. “Don’t most ships of His Imperial Majesty’s navy stand down around this time of year?” “They do, as do the Swedes and Danes,” McDougal noted. “Baltic winters can be cold and unpleasant, and there is no reason for anyone to brave them unnecessarily.” “Yet there are some groups of ships out there doing just that,” Granger said, but it was more of a question. “The decommissioning process is gradual, my lord,” McDougal said. “By the end of October, we will all be ashore.” They finished dining, made the appropriate toasts to their respective sovereigns. Things were a bit tense, since Granger had not discussed what was to happen yet, and all of them, Daventry included, were curious as to how Granger would resolve this situation. “Captain, I am of a mind to release you, contingent on your pledge that you will not further impede His Britannic Majesty’s ships until you return to Revel or Kronstadt.” That would not unduly burden McDougal, but it would make sure that he knew clearly the duration of his period of neutrality, such as it was. “My lord, I am more than willing to make that pledge,” McDougal said. “As I have explained to you, I do not think the initial orders we received were intended to give us permission to capture British ships.” “I am concerned lest those other groups are as confused as your Commodore was,” Granger observed. As it had been relayed to him, it seemed as if the Tsar was giving aggressive officers carte blanche to attack and capture British ships, while giving himself the ability to plausibly deny such an intention, much as McDougal was doing now. “I cannot speak to their intentions, my lord,” McDougal said. “Nor would I expect you to,” Granger said soothingly. “I would like to visit both Podrazhislav and Patrikii in the morning.” “It would be an honor to be able to return your hospitality, perhaps for breakfast, my lord?” McDougal asked. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Granger said. “After that, I will give you leave to take your ships and return to whichever of His Imperial Majesty’s ports you deem appropriate.” McDougal stared at him, surprised that Granger would release not just him, but the two frigates as well. That shocked expression was mirrored by the other officers at the table. “Thank you, my lord. I will look forward to hosting you and as many of these gentlemen who would also like to attend.” “Excellent,” Granger said. “I was hoping to allow Mr. Grenfell and Mr. Weston to return to Podrazhislav and Patrikii so they can continue to help repair those vessels.” “They will be welcome, my lord,” he said. “Then I will see you gentlemen in the morning,” he said, and then escorted them to the entry port and back to their ships. Granger was not surprised to find Daventry waiting for him. “You handled that masterfully,” Daventry said, even as they both took seats in the quarter gallery. “Thank you,” Granger said uncomfortably. “I think it is important that we escort this convoy to the Sound.” Daventry stared at him, preparing to object, then thought otherwise. “Why?” “There are two reasons,” Granger said. “I think that, as you noted, any incidents would be unappreciated at this point, and if we are with these ships, I would speculate that a Russian force would think twice before interfering with it.” “That makes sense, but it will delay our arrival in St. Petersburg,” Daventry noted. “Which leads me to our second reason. I think that it would be better if those Russian ships were to return to St. Petersburg and for a little time to pass before you arrived as well,” Granger explained. “I was actually thinking that I could merely go back with Captain McDougal and then release you to sail home,” Daventry said. Granger stared temptation in the face, wanting desperately to agree with him, even though he knew he shouldn’t. “I will do that if you want me to, but I would first ask you to consider the impression you want to give on your arrival in Russia,” Granger said. Granger poured them both a glass of port, and they sipped on it for a while, even as they both pondered the situation. “I think if I arrive on board ships that have been mauled by Valiant, I will find a most chilly reception,” Daventry said, breaking their silence. “I am even more concerned that, if I am unwelcome there, I will end up in some less-than-pleasant accommodations, and will find myself unable to get to Riga.” “I will leave you to fully consider your options and advise me as to your plan in the morning,” Granger said. “In the meantime, I am going to get some rest.” Granger went to his sleeping cabin while Daventry stayed in the quarter gallery for some time, contemplating what his next move should be. “I’ll have my gig swayed out and brought around,” Granger ordered. It was not quite dawn yet, so he heard the commotion of the gig being lowered from its davits, and of the gig’s crew descending into the boat, even though he didn’t actually see them. “I opted to join you, if you have no objection,” Daventry said, appearing on deck looking quite spruce, if a little plain compared to Granger. Granger had decided that visiting the Russian ships warranted his full-dress uniform, complete with his various decorations. “I also thought I would go on this tour with you, my lord,” Treadway said. “I am delighted to have your company,” Granger said. “I was planning to remain aboard, sir,” Kingsdale said, as was proper since he was the temporary first lieutenant. “I will trust you to see that the men have breakfast, and that my gig’s crew is also fed when they return,” Granger said. “Of course, sir,” Kingsdale said. They watched as the sky lightened enough to see that there were no appreciable changes since last night, and then made to leave the vessel. “You have the ship, Mr. Kingsdale. I would be obliged if you would dispatch a boat with a message to the convoy that we will be escorting them to the Sound shortly,” Granger said. “Aye aye, sir,” Kingsdale said, even as Treadway and Daventry preceded Granger into the boat. “Patrikii,” Granger said to Jacobs, then sat back and studied the small Russian frigate. She was rated for some 28 guns, although he had learned that she carried 18-pounders. They were hailed in the barbaric language Granger suspected was Russian. Jacobs looked at Granger, a bit confused, then shrugged and called out “Valiant!” It seemed to suffice. The gig pulled up alongside Patrikii and Granger could see evidence of her poor construction even from this point. The oak, such as it was, already looked to be rotting, and it was clear the Russians hadn’t thought to invest in coppering her hull. He pulled himself aboard and was welcomed by the standard honors for a Post Captain, then greeted by McDougal and Weston. “I thought we would take you on a tour of the ship, and then we would break our fast, if that meets with your approval, my lord,” McDougal said. “That sounds marvelous,” Granger said. McDougal introduced him to his officers, who seemed competent enough, then took him around the upper deck, explaining Russian rigging. It was quite similar to that used by the Royal Navy, which was no surprise, since the Russians had primarily emulated Britain when it came to their ships. They descended the ladder and the stench all but assaulted Granger’s senses. It seemed that the Russians were worse than the Spaniards when it came to cleanliness. The gun deck was familiar as well, but for two very odd weapons located in the center of the ship. “What are these?” “Those are edinorogs, my lord,” McDougal said. “They are designed to shoot a combustible shell, or conversely solid shot.” “A shell?” Granger asked curiously, and not without a little apprehension. He was not aware that other navies were using explosive cannon balls, but if they were, and they were effective, that would make such weapons very lethal. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “They are not terribly effective, the shells anyway, but they are good weapons when firing standard solid shot.” “Interesting,” Granger said. He noticed the evidence of Patriiki’s decay, and that her knees were not holding up well at all, and then had a nice breakfast with McDougal. Still, he knew the convoy would be anxious to be on its way, so he was relieved to note they had finished dining rather quickly. “My lord, thank you for visiting us, and for releasing us to return to Russia,” McDougal said. “I think it is I who must thank you for the tour of your ship, and the delicious breakfast,” Granger said, and handed McDougal an envelope. He’d gotten a bit of sleep last night, and then spent the rest of his time on correspondence. “I would like to ask that you take this letter to His Imperial Majesty. I have attempted to explain my actions, so as not to further anger him.” “I will convey this to him, my lord,” McDougal said. Granger left Patrikii in his gig, while Weston loaded his men into the launch and headed back to Valiant. They arrived aboard Podrazhislav and found it to be almost a different world. Grenfell welcomed him aboard and showed him around briefly, and while Granger had thought Patrikii had been decaying, compared to Podrazhislav, it was like she was new. Her timbers were so rotten that Valiant’s shot had blown whole sections away, which would explain the high casualty rate. The crew seemed dull and unresponsive, as if they were mere animals waiting for orders. Granger was used to a more animated crew, and found these stolid Russian sailors disturbing. It was with relief that he gathered Grenfell, Dr. Jackson, and his men and returned to Valiant.
  7. Sometimes, just for fun, I'll put a modern term into a historical story. A good example would be in "Master and Commander", when Granger is approaching Port St. Louis, they must hoist the recognition signal, which is 4-20. There's one in Northern Exposure. Did you find it?
  8. Mark Arbour

    Chapter 16

    September, 1800 HMS Valiant, Near Bornholm Granger paced the deck with Daventry, pondering the action they’d had yesterday with the French privateer, and further pondering their next steps. “I slept quite happily last night,” Daventry said. “Indeed?” Granger asked. “Whenever my mind shifted to unpleasant thoughts, I had but to imagine Lord Whitworth trying to untangle this latest mess you’ve tossed in his lap to make me smile most broadly,” he said. Granger chuckled. “While I certainly didn’t conduct myself in that situation in order to purposely vex Whitworth, I must say that has been a positive side effect.” “How long do you think it will take us to get to St. Petersburg?” Daventry asked. “As you are no doubt accustomed, for a trip at sea, that is largely dependent on the winds,” Granger explained. “That is even more important here in the Baltic, since there are no tides to impact us.” “Will we be able to sail at night?” he asked, which was a strange question under normal circumstances, but it made sense in this case. In what was a rarity for Valiant, she had hove to last night. “I am largely relying on Mr. Schein’s guidance, as these are waters he is familiar with and I have never been here,” Granger said. “Let us consult with him. Mr. Schein!” Schein had been standing by the binnacle with Meurice. Granger had been apprehensive about their relationship, since having two men who could claim the role of master on a ship was normally a recipe for a series of conflicts, but the two of them got along remarkably well. Granger allowed himself a moment of personal frustration as he noted that those relationships that he thought would be smooth, like with Whitworth and Dickson, turned out to be stormy, but then there was this situation, where a problem he had anticipated had never arose. “My lord?” Schein asked. “I would be obliged if you and Mr. Meurice would join Lord Daventry and me in the chartroom,” Granger said. Granger’s cabin was set up such that there was an entry in the center of the bulkhead behind the quarterdeck, and that led to a small anteroom where Winkler slept, beyond which were his quarters. On either side of that anteroom were two other rooms, one for Meurice, and the other for Granger’s charts. “Of course, my lord,” Schein said, and then he and Meurice followed Granger directly aft into his chartroom. With Schein’s big bulk in the room, it was quite crowded. “Lord Daventry asked me about our trip, and whether we would need to heave to at night, so I thought this was a good opportunity to ascertain our sailing plan,” Granger said, as they stared at the map of the Baltic. “I would not recommend that we heave to every night, my lord,” Schein said, “but there are some locations where it makes sense, especially when we near islands.” “Like this one?” Daventry asked, gesturing at Bornholm on the map, the same island they were now skirting. They were traversing it to the south, presumably to stay toward the center of the Baltic where the water was deeper. “Yes, my lord,” Schein said. “I am curious, and feel reticent, for not asking you before about your knowledge of the Baltic,” Granger said. “Are there areas where you are more comfortable, and other areas that are more of a mystery?” “I suspect you’ve been busy, my lord, and I didn’t want to bother you with something like that,” Schein said with a smile. He was quite engaging, a bit of a jolly old man. “I am very comfortable with the coast of Germany and Courland, all the way into Kronstadt. I sailed to Memel and Kronstadt many times, and even stopped in Reval occasionally.” “Since that is where we are bound, I would submit that is a good thing,” Granger said pleasantly. “Yes, my lord,” Schein said. “I am also familiar with the islands in the Baltic, but I have no knowledge, really, of the Swedish coast, or of the seas north of St. Petersburg, including the Gulf of Bothnia.” “Well, our mission is to take Lord Daventry to St. Petersburg, so I am glad to think that means your lack of knowledge of Finland and its surrounding waters will not be a hindrance,” Granger said. “Those waters will freeze first, so we will indeed have to hope so, my lord,” Schein said. “Will your lordship want to look in at Karlskrona?” “Why would we need to look into Karlskrona?” Daventry asked. “Sweden has two naval forces, my lord,” Schein explained. “The deep water navy, meaning the bigger ships, is based at Karlskrona. The archipelago fleet is based in Sveaborg.” “Archipelago?” Daventry asked, even though Granger was curious about that as well. “Yes, my lord,” Schein said. “The coasts of Sweden and Finland in the Gulf of Bothnia, I am told, consist of shallow shores with a multitude of small islands; in essence, it is a large archipelago. The Russians and the Swedes both have specialty fleets designed to fight in those conditions.” “What kind of craft would these fleets consist of?” Granger asked. “Small craft probably similar to what one would find in the Mediterranean, my lord,” Schein said. Granger briefly cringed at the thought that there would be xebecks here as well, but relaxed when he pondered that the crews that manned them would presumably be much more civilized, and that no fight would be a contest to the death. “Can you describe these vessels?” Granger asked. “Certainly, my lord,” Schein said pleasantly. “All of the smaller ships are nothing more than glorified rowboats, usually mounting a 24-pounder in the bow. They all have drafts shallow enough to float in a yard of water. The smallest are the gun longboats, the gun yawls are a little bigger, and the gun sloops a bit bigger again.” Swedish Mortar Longboat “Not much different than our own longboat or launch,” Granger noted. “No, my lord,” Schein agreed. “The archipelago fleet is considered an extension of the army.” “So these small craft constitute what we may think of as moving piece of artillery, only instead of being mounted on limbers and carried by horses, they’re mounted on boats and rowed,” Granger said, getting clarity. “That’s right, my lord,” Schein said. “The gun prams are much larger. They are equipped with three masts and seven pairs of oars placed between the gun ports. They usually have a draft of less than 3 yards, and carry up to 24 12-pounders and 16 3-pounder swivel guns. They can carry crews of 200 men or so.” “Those sound somewhat analogous to a larger chebeck or perhaps a sloop of war,” Granger mused. “A good comparison, my lord,” Schein said. “The biggest ships of the archipelago fleet are the archipelago frigates.” “Frigates?” Granger asked, since these would be much more likely to be a direct threat to Valiant. “Aye, my lord,” Schein said. “The Swedes have about ten of them, but I don’t know how many the Russians have. They have three masts, two decks and they are also designed to sail with oars. The crew is about the same size as a pram. They’ll be fitted out with around 24 heavy guns, with another 24 swivels for close combat.” Swedish Turuma, or Archipelago Frigate “That would be an interesting challenge,” Granger mused, visualizing a large fleet of these strange frigates ranged against him. “Your lordship would be at a disadvantage because of their shallow draft, but you will find them to be less sturdily built than this ship,” Schein noted. “I suppose the deep water navy would be a bigger threat to us,” Granger mused. “You will please pardon me for disagreeing with you, my lord,” Schein said. “While the Swedish ships of the line are at Karlskrona, their ships and crews are not very good. On the other hand, their coastal navy has a very good reputation for efficiency and effectiveness. That is why they are in Finland, where they are positioned to stop the Russians, who are their usual enemy.” “I did not know that, Mr. Schein,” Granger admitted. “I thank you for sharing what is obviously a wealth of knowledge.” “I am not sure about that, my lord, but I am happy to tell you what I know,” he said modestly. “It is almost the time of year when the deep water navy would stand down for the winter. In that case, the crews will be let go, and the ships will be put in ordinary, with their ballast removed.” “You are suggesting that by sailing by Karlskrona, we could peek in and see if those preparations have been made, so we will know how many Swedish battleships are lurking around behind us as we go on to Russia,” Granger said. “I would think it would be a wise precaution, my lord,” he replied. “It is on our way, so that makes sense,” Granger agreed. “I will trust you gentlemen to lay in a course for Karlskrona.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Meurice and Schein said, and then left the chartroom to go attend to that. “I fear I know little of the people and ships in this part of the world,” Granger said to Daventry. “You should have been more selective when you chose someone to transport you.” “I have no complaints,” Daventry said. “I wanted you and your brains in charge of this part of our mission. We have people like Schein to fill in the gaps in our knowledge.” “We will hope that is the case,” Granger agreed. “What do you think our reception will be like when we get to Russia?” “I think we will either be received coldly, or told to leave immediately,” Daventry said. “So this is a bit like going home for you,” Granger teased, since Daventry was in a notoriously unhappy marriage. “Yes, but I think even then the Tsar would be happier to see me,” Daventry said. “You are hoping that the Tsar will allow you to stay, and that he will ultimately learn to appreciate your charm and you will then be able to lure him away from France?” Granger asked in a jocular way. “And why is that so hard to imagine?” Daventry said, chuckling. “I am hoping that he lets me stay, as that will save me a considerable amount of effort.” “And what is your plan should he opt to boot us out of Russia?” Granger asked. “Then instead we will go to Riga,” Daventry said. He pointed at that city on the map. “It appears I am to get quite the tour of the Baltic,” Granger said ruefully. A knock at the door was followed by that device opening to reveal Winkler’s face peering in at him. “My lords, dinner is ready.” “You are the bearer of good tidings,” Daventry said. Granger and Daventry followed Winkler back to his cabin for dinner. “You attribute my selection of you and your vessel as my transport to some grand plan designed to enhance my chances of success.” “And that is not your reason?” Granger asked as they took their seats. “It is also possible that I am here solely because of your fabulously talented chef.” “That would be a much more credible reason than the others you have cited,” Granger joked. “It seems to me that when we had returned from the Mediterranean, I counseled you to repair your relationship with your wife,” Daventry said. Granger could not hide his alarm at that topic. “You are suggesting I did not do that?” He thought that he and Caroline had fully worked things out, and he’d been incredibly happy as a result. Fear gripped him lest all that was mere self-delusion. “I am suggesting no such thing. From what I can tell, it looks as if you achieved that goal, and you both seem marvelously happy,” Daventry noted. “Thank you,” Granger said, even as he exhaled with relief. “I raised the issue to tell you that I made an effort to do the same thing with my wife,” Daventry said, confiding in him. “You are telling me that you are now wholly in love with your wife, and pine for her on a constant basis?” Granger asked with a grin. “I fear our reconciliation was nothing so advanced as that,” Daventry said as he dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “One must work within the realm of what is possible.” “And that was not possible?” “It was not, nor was it desirable,” Daventry said. “We were dining together, much like this, all but snarling at each other, and I simply asked her what would make her happy.” Granger raised an eyebrow. “And her response did not involve you immediately committing suicide?” Daventry chuckled. “Surprisingly, it did not. She is from Cumberland, a rigid and dreary place, not unlike our Duke who took that title as his namesake.” “You do not get along with Prince Ernest Augustus?” Granger asked. He was the fifth son of the King, and a man Granger was completely unable to like. “I do not,” he said, shaking his head. “He is as rigid and conservative as the Duke of York, but without his intelligence and basic good nature.” “My understanding is that he likes nothing better than to launch schemes and spread gossip,” Granger said ruefully. He was one of those people who could enter a group of people and almost immediately they would end up fighting and bickering with each other. “He is most petty,” Daventry agreed. “Do you associate much with the other Princes?” “I tend to spend most of my time with The Prince of Wales or The Duke of Clarence,” Granger said, trying not to blush when he thought about how he spent his time with the Duke. “The Duke of York is civil but haughty, so I haven’t much to do with him.” “Unless you can talk about horses or the army, York won’t have much use for you,” Daventry said. “Clarence is a good enough bloke, if not a bit loud and crass.” He was quite right, as the Duke of Clarence could be quite boisterous, and seemed to delight in telling off-color stories in front of ladies. “I suspect his affinity for me stems from his affinity for the Navy,” Granger said. “And perhaps that is also why he is a bit crass and loud. One must often shout to be heard from the tops.” “Yet you do not exhibit such a want of manners as His Royal Highness often does in public,” Daventry asserted. “He is usually on his best behavior around His Majesty, which is where I usually see him,” Granger said, referring at least to his public encounters with the Duke. “That is true of all the Princes,” Daventry said. “What about Kent and the others?” “I have never met the Duke of Kent,” Granger said honestly. “He has been in Canada since we were in school.” “I have not met him yet either,” Daventry said. “Augustus is a bit of the intellectual, so that makes it difficult for me to converse with him,” Granger joked. “I find him to be amiable enough.” “It makes sense that since I was better at my studies than you that I would like Augustus better,” Daventry joked. “If you say so,” Granger said, rolling his eyes. “I have only met Prince Adolphus once. I found him to be every inch a soldier.” “He is most definitely that,” Daventry agreed. “He is also quite devoted to Hanover.” “But you have yet to tie our mutual distaste for the Duke of Cumberland into how you restored your relationship with your wife,” Granger pointed out, bringing them back on topic. “I will satisfy your curiosity this minute,” he replied. “She said that she would like to live in Cumberland, near her family and childhood friends. She has grown tired of London and society, and gets no joy from it.” “That arrangement sounds like it would be most convenient for you,” Granger noted. “Indeed, it is, with one exception. His Majesty is most displeased with me for how I have handled my marriage. I can see it in the looks he gives me, and the way he treats me. Her Majesty is much more vocal, but fortunately she has directed her comments to my wife, albeit indirectly for the most part.” “I cannot imagine Caroline attempting to emulate Her Majesty and giving birth to some 16 children,” Granger said, wondering at what torture that would be. “I suspect that Her Majesty envisioned that bearing the child and giving birth would be the biggest challenge, yet they have found raising them to be much harder,” Daventry said. “I have not had the problems they have experienced,” Granger said. “That is because your children have not reached their twelfth birthday yet, the age I am told at which all hell breaks out,” Daventry said. “In any event, I used the money we acquired in the Mediterranean to buy an estate for my wife in Cumberland, and settled an additional sum on her so she could modify it however she wanted.” “And that has made her happy?” “I was able to have dinner with her and actually enjoy our conversation,” Daventry said. “I would call that a significant breakthrough,” Granger said, grinning. “And she has no issue with your various women?” “I do not have as many women trailing after me as you would make it seem, a fact which surprises me greatly, but I think we understand each other,” he said, then swallowed nervously. “I had to make one great concession.” “Only one?” Granger joked, to help him relax. “She would like to have a child,” he said. “And who is to father this child?” Granger asked. “Evidently that is my job,” he said. Granger started laughing, which made Daventry laugh as well. “This is certainly not a problem we had anticipated when we were at school,” Granger said, making them both remember those crazed adolescent days. “It is not, and I must admit that as apprehensive as I was, it was not as unpleasant as I thought it would be,” he said. Granger could only stare at him in shock. “Truly that is a monumental change in your affairs,” Granger said. “When did this miraculous copulation take place?” “This event happened while you were with the Channel Fleet, and it appears that it may in fact be miraculous,” Daventry said. “She is with child.” Granger grinned, then filled their glasses and toasted Daventry’s good fortune. “I am most interested to see what this child is like when he or she is 17 years of age,” Granger joked. “We had best accumulate a substantial amount of prize money lest this child runs up debt as you did when you were that age.” “That is usually a good idea, in any event,” he said. “I wanted to share this with you, but we have not had a moment to really have such a conversation.” Granger recognized that this was a very intimate moment between them, and felt himself get choked up with emotion. “I am both honored and flattered that you chose to tell me this news,” Granger said sincerely. “I think I will go on deck and see if we have left that island behind,” Daventry said, to end their somewhat maudlin moment. “Let us see,” Granger said, and they went to see if Bornholm was behind them. “My lord, we took the route to the south of Bornholm, and we must now head north to Karlskrona,” Schein told him. That annoyed Granger, since if Schein had suggested going to Karlskrona before they’d sailed south of Bornholm, they could have taken the much more direct northern route, but he opted not to be peevish. “Please advise me when we are clear of the island, then we’ll go about and head north on the larboard tack,” Granger said. “Aye aye, my lord,” Schein said. “Sail ho!” came a cry from the foretop lookout. There were a lot of sails in the Baltic, so this was not unusual. “What do you make of this sail, Carter?” Granger called through his speaking trumpet. “Looks to be a fleet, my lord,” he called back. Granger looked at Weston, who raised an eyebrow at that rather odd report. “It looks as if I’ll be aloft, trying to ascertain just whose fleet is in our vicinity,” Granger said in a pleasant manner. “Mr. Weston, you have the ship.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Weston replied. Granger took his glass and strode to the foremast and agilely scaled up the shrouds to the foretop. “They’re dead ahead, my lord,” Carter said, as soon as he got to the foretop. Granger got himself positioned, took out his glass, and looked ahead. There, sprawling to the south and east of him, was a disordered mass of merchant ships heading westward. “How many are there?” Granger asked Carter, even as he began to count himself. These weren’t massive ships like East Indiamen; rather they were the type of craft typical of the Baltic, with broad beams and shallow drafts. Those two characteristics did much to explain their evidently poor sailing qualities as they struggled to sail into a wind off their starboard bows. “I count 200 my lord, although I may not be right about that,” Carter said nervously. “If they were a bit more organized, it would be easier,” Granger said, getting a chuckle from Carter. “They appear to be mostly British.” “That’s what I see too, begging your pardon, my lord,” Carter said. “Keep an eye on them,” Granger told the lookout, then slid smoothly back to the deck. He strode aft to the quarterdeck. “We appear to have stumbled upon a relatively large fleet of mostly British merchant vessels,” Granger said. “A fleet?” Daventry asked. “Some 200 vessels,” Granger said. “I am of a mind to close with them and see if we can acquire information.” “That seems to be wise,” Daventry agreed. It would delay them, but not that long. “My lord, I can see them now,” Llewellyn said, as he gazed through his glass. “I’ll have an ensign raised on the foremast, so they know we’re friendly, or at least they will when they eventually spot us,” Granger said. “Aye aye, my lord,” Llewellyn said, and dispatched a group to raise a large union flag to the top of the foremast. They continued to close with the merchant fleet, watching the ships get larger from the deck as they did. “My lord, the lead ship is signaling to us!” “And what does she say?” Granger asked. “I think it’s enemy in sight, my lord,” Llewellyn said. Granger grabbed his speaking trumpet. “Carter, is that fleet under attack?” There was a pause, which Granger appreciated, since it showed Carter was taking time to evaluate the situation. “My lord, it looks like there’s a pair of frigates chasing after the fleet. I think they just captured one of the merchies!” “What flag do those frigates fly?” Granger demanded of Carter. “Can’t rightly make it out, my lord,” he replied. “Almost looks like a Scottish flag, but it’s blue where that’s white, and white where that’s blue.” “Most likely Russian,” Daventry said. “Mr. Weston, beat to quarters,” Granger ordered. “Let’s get the topgallants on her.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said, trying to hide the skepticism in his voice. Valiant would be pushing her rigging to the limits. The sails were set, even as the ship engulfed herself in pandemonium by clearing for action. The topgallants were not as big as the course or the topsails, but their addition seemed to propel Valiant on at an exponentially faster speed. Granger could feel the whole ship straining, from her rigging to her guns, which were being readied for action. This was much like the battle with the French privateer, in that the convoy parted for him as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea, giving him a direct route straight to the two Russian frigates. “The one wearing a broad pennant looks to be a 38, my lord,” Weston said, referring to the number of guns they carried. “I think the other is either a 32, or maybe even a 28.” “It looks as if they’ve captured about four ships,” Granger noted ruefully, as he saw those four merchantmen sailing east with Russian flags over British colors. The Russian ships seemed to be taken off guard by Valiant’s arrival, which was not overly surprising, since with the tensions in this sea no one would expect a single British frigate to be patrolling about. “Are they challenging us to battle, my lord?” Weston asked, amazed. The two Russian frigates had recalled their boats, presumably the ones they’d sent off to board merchant ships they captured, and were standing toward Valiant under topsails only, which was what virtually all ships preferred when fighting. “That appears to be their intent,” Granger said. He would not have expected them to so readily seek action against Valiant’s formidable broadsides. “What will you do?” Daventry asked. “Mr. Weston, get us down to topsails,” Granger ordered before answering his fellow peer. “I intend to close with them and exchange broadsides before coming about and finishing them off.” “Do you think we should try and talk to them first?” Daventry asked. “No,” Granger said definitively. “Those ships were clearly capturing His Majesty’s vessels, and as such, that makes them hostile. If we had sighted them before they attacked this merchant fleet, I would have given them the benefit of the doubt, but now that they’ve taken that action, the only response must be battle.” “Thank you for explaining it to me,” Daventry said, which was also his way of giving Granger his approval of the proposed course of action. “Although I must say this will make us less welcome at St. Petersburg.” “If you demand that we not engage those ships, I will agree to your request,” Granger said to him, a statement that required all of his restraint. To back down in the face of these Russian marauders would be maddening, but Granger had learned that it was paramount to focus on one’s mission. “I do not think it will matter one way or the other, and it may do some good for the Russians to know that they’ve picked on a stronger adversary than the Swedish navy,” Daventry said. The lead frigate fired a shot, the sound attracting their attention in a flash. The ball flew across Valiant’s bow, some distance away. “We are still out of range,” Granger noted. They continued to close with the Russian ships, even as their leader fired shot after shot from her bowchaser. “We will hold our fire.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Weston responded. The Russian blazed away with her bowchaser until finally there was a crash forward, indicating she’d gotten a hit. “They’re altering course, my lord,” Kingsdale said enthusiastically. Valiant had been closing on them, heading southeast, while the Russians had been sailing in a northeast way such that the ships would intercept at a right angle at some point ahead, only now that they’d finally hit Valiant with a ranging shot, both ships altered course so their broadsides would bear on Valiant. The lead ship loosed her first broadside, the smoke billowing around her as she did. They had fired that first, all-important broadside from much too far away, such that the only damage was a hole in their foretopsail. “Sounds like 12-pounders, my lord,” the gunner said thoughtfully. “Indeed they do,” Granger agreed. “Mr. Grenfell, see that the guns are run in and that the ports are firmly closed.” “Aye aye, my lord,” he said, and gave those orders. “I don’t understand,” Daventry said, but it was more of a question, since it looked as if Valiant were all but declining battle by running her guns in. “As we close, their 12-pound shot will most likely fail to penetrate through Valiant’s thick timbers,” Granger told him. “If we leave our ports open, there is nothing to stop those shots which may find the opening and otherwise wreak havoc.” And so Valiant and the larger Russian frigate continued to close the range, with the Russian firing slowly but steadily, and Valiant holding her fire. Oddly enough, the smaller frigate merely followed the larger frigate, and did not attempt to add her broadsides to those of her cohort. Valiant had taken quite a pounding, as 12-pound shot slammed into her sides, but so far the damage had been minor. A lucky Russian shot swept across the quarterdeck, hitting a marine in the leg, a leg that was now nothing more than a mangled mass. “Get that man below to the surgeon,” Weston ordered. “It’s almost time,” Granger said to Weston, more to steady the men than to steady the officers. Granger studied the Russian’s quarterdeck and saw her officers, wearing uniforms that were a dark greenish gray, and were surprisingly bereft of gold lace, but were unsurprisingly cut in an old-fashioned style. Most importantly, Granger noticed that the Russian frigate had no carronades, only long guns. Russian Naval Uniforms “My lord, it looks like that second frigate is preparing to try to rake us,” Meurice said. Granger watched as she turned to the larboard, preparing to sail past Valiant’s stern as she engaged the larger Russian ship. “Mr. Grenfell, run out the starboard battery,” Granger ordered. He’d been saving his first broadside for the Russian flagship, but the small frigate had given him a golden opportunity. Grenfell acknowledged his order, but his words were followed by the more tangible sound of the dull rumble of Valiant’s artillery being hauled into position. “Helm, two points to starboard. Easy now.” “Aye aye, my lord,” the quartermaster said, and Valiant began to turn slowly, until her broadside was aimed right at the bow of the smaller frigate. “Fire!” Granger ordered. Valiant’s broadside roared and smoke enveloped them briefly until the breeze blew it away. That first broadside, prepared with care and double-shotted, had smashed into the small frigate’s unprotected bow. The smoke cleared in time for them to see her foremast swaying about before collapsing. It must have been severed below her deck. She would cause them no further problems. “Helm, larboard two points. Bring us alongside that other Russian.” The other Russian fired, and from the shouts and screams below, Granger knew that some of her shots must have made contact. “Ready, my lord,” Grenfell said. “Fire!” Granger ordered, and this time Valiant’s mass of metal slammed into the lead Russian ship. “Fire as your guns bear!” Granger ordered, giving the gunners the ability to fire as soon as their guns were reloaded. A ball hit the rail next to them, sending splinters spraying across the deck, splinters which miraculously missed all of them. “My lord, I am wondering at her construction,” Meurice said, gesturing at the Russian ship. “What are you thinking?” Granger asked. “Notice how our shots seem to penetrate her sides much more easily than we would expect,” he said. “You think she is made of fir?” Granger asked, even as he contemplated the damage the Russian was taking. Fir was a relatively broad term used to describe ships that were made of softer wood as opposed to the oak that the Royal Navy preferred. “I think it is likely, my lord,” Meurice said. They were having this calm conversation even as guns blazed around them, and enemy shots flew over their heads. “There goes her main mast!” one of the men shouted. They watched as it collapsed, hampering the rest of her rigging, and acting as a massive sea anchor. She began to turn away from Valiant as she came into the wind. “Mr. Weston, luff the main topsail,” Granger ordered. “Mr. Grenfell, you will shortly have a chance to rake the Russian. Double shot your guns and await my order.” He didn’t hear them acknowledge his order, he merely watched as the Russian’s ornamental stern came into view, the strange Cyrillic letters announcing her name to those who could read that alphabet. “Fire!” Valiant’s broadside blasted out again, pouring almost a thousand pounds of metal into the stern of the Russian frigate, all but blowing out her quarter windows and gallery, and bringing down her mizzen as well. Granger detected activity at her taffrail. “Hold your fire,” he ordered. It took no more than two minutes for the Russians to hang a white flag from the aft part of her hull, indicating that she’d surrendered. “Mr. Grenfell, take a boarding party to take possession of that ship,” Granger ordered. He gave orders to turn Valiant about to deal with the smaller frigate, which was wallowing about, trying desperately to repair her damage, but when she saw Valiant bearing down on her, she surrendered as well.
  9. Mark Arbour

    Black Widow (Story Discussion)

    My initial thoughts on Dillon are that he's a rebound, but then again, that's quite subject to change. 😉
  10. Mark Arbour

    Chapter 15

    September, 1800 HMS Valiant, Copenhagen Harbor “My lord, the Danish ships give us a good beacon,” Schein said. “They are moored at the start of the middle ground.” “Could we take this channel and avoid them entirely?” Daventry asked, pointing at the King’s Channel. “We could, my lord,” Schein answered. “It may not be as well buoyed, and it is not as well known.” His answer meant nothing to Granger, who had already decided on his course of action. “Set a course to pass to the north of those Danish ships,” Granger ordered Weston. “Once we are past them, we will wear ship and then sail down the Hollander Channel.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said, and took control of the ship. The wind was from the Northwest, so they were clawing into it as they headed for the Danish ships, but once beyond them, they would be running before it. “You are going to challenge them?” Daventry asked Granger. “I am,” Granger replied. “I am recalling my conversation with the Crown Prince. It seemed that his main motive was to intimidate me into not going into the Baltic, and that became even more clear when we had our discussion with Cavendish. I think that he may be trying to bluff us into doing what he wants.” “I reached the same conclusion,” Daventry agreed, still not following Granger’s rationale. “These two ships are clearly here to do the same thing,” Granger said. “So I am, in essence, calling his bluff.” “And you are not worried about facing those ships in battle?” Daventry asked. “I think that at most we will have to exchange a few broadsides with the battleship, and while we would incur some damage, I am confident we would inflict more on that Danish ship,” Granger said. “But she is a battleship, and I have seen what happens when a battleship attacks a frigate,” Daventry objected, remembering how the Success had been pulverized in her battle with Généreux. “That is true, but Valiant was once a battleship quite similar to that vessel, and has the scantlings to stand up to her in battle,” Granger said confidently. “In addition, while she has some 20 extra guns, our carronades are considerably more powerful at close range. I am confident that we can more than hold our own against that vessel.” Granger did feel that confident, but he was hoping that the Danish ship would hold her fire, because a pitched battle with Valiant would create a lot of damage and casualties on both sides, and Granger still had a mission to accomplish. “So you think a show of confidence at this point would be helpful?” Daventry asked. “I do, and I think it will cause Whitworth some problems, and that makes it an even more compelling course of action,” Granger joked. “And now you know why I would only go on this mission if you were my captain,” Daventry said smugly. “I am flattered,” Granger lied. “I will be aloft.” That last sentence was directed to Weston. Granger strode to the main shrouds and climbed up to the maintop. “Lot of traffic, my lord,” the lookout said respectfully. He was a seaman named Soames, an older man who had originally served with Granger aboard Bacchante. He wasn’t very good with most shipboard tasks, but he was an excellent lookout. Granger trained his glass toward the Sound and saw a relatively large group of ships working their way upwind, making slow progress. Some of the ships had their decks piled high with lumber, while even those who weren’t were quite low in the water. “They appear to be a mixed bag,” Granger said, noticing that the flags they flew were almost all neutral. “How many are there?” “I make 20 ships, my lord, ten American, three Swedes, two Danes, two Prussians, and three of ours,” Soames said. “That’s my read on it as well,” Granger said. “Looks like one of the ships is trying to catch up to the convoy, my lord,” Soames noted. He’d called it a convoy, which was a convenient enough term, but they didn’t have a warship escort. “Maybe she fell behind over the night.” “Maybe,” Granger said, even as he trained his glass farther down the Sound. Even then, it was difficult to get a feel for that ship from the maintop. “I think we’ll need to go up to the main topgallant.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Soames said. Granger began to climb up higher, while Soames mirrored his moves on the opposite shrouds. They reached the crosstrees and secured themselves, then refocused on this stray ship. As Granger studied the vessel, he felt his blood begin to race, as if it were not already moving fast enough due to their impending encounter with the Danish warships. “That is no merchant,” Granger said. “And if I’m not mistaken, she’s flying French colors.” “That’s what I see too, begging your pardon my lord,” he said. “I’d say she’s a privateer, pierced for ten guns a side.” Granger glanced ahead and saw that they were nearing the Danish ships, and saw a boat preparing to put off from the Danish ship of the line with an officer aboard. He would be needed on the quarterdeck. “Keep your eye on that French ship,” Granger ordered. “As she draws closer, you may remove yourself back down to the maintop.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Soames said. He watched the French privateer until he saw the boat push off from the Danish ship. Granger grabbed a backstay, and took more care with his descent since he usually didn’t have to climb quite this high, and sliding down on a rope was always a dodgy business. He landed on the deck with a light thud and addressed the officers gathered there. “There’s a group of some 20 merchants working their way through the Sound, with three of our ships included in that number,” he explained. “There’s a French privateer chasing after them.” “It seems we are to be busy today, my lord,” Weston said with his usual cheerfulness. They hailed the Danish boat, and then prepared to receive the officer she carried. A young lieutenant hauled himself aboard and smartly saluted the quarterdeck. “Welcome, Lieutenant,” Granger said in English, hoping the man spoke that language. “I am Viscount Granger, captain of His Britannic Majesty’s ship Valiant.” “It is a pleasure to meet your lordship,” the lieutenant replied in English that was quite good but accented. “I am Lieutenant Willemoes, of His Danish Majesty’s ship Holsteen.” “The pleasure is most certainly mine,” Granger said, bowing in a courtly way. “Captain Arenfelt, the commander of Holsteen, has sent me to tell your lordship that he has been ordered to dissuade your lordship from traveling through the Hollander channel,” Willemoes said. He had clearly rehearsed those words, at least in his mind, from the definitive way that he said them. “That is most unfortunate, since I am tasked to do just that,” Granger said. “That is indeed most unfortunate, my lord, but those are the orders Captain Arenfelt has been issued,” Willemoes replied. “When I left Copenhagen a few days ago, my understanding was that our two countries had negotiated a treaty to maintain the peace,” Granger said. “Does a state of war now exist between His Britannic Majesty and His Danish Majesty?” “The situation is tenuous, as you must realize, my lord,” Willemoes said, grappling with the strange diplomatic status quo. “I would ask you to convey my compliments to Captain Arenfelt and inform him that I intend to sail through the Hollander Channel,” Granger said firmly. “If he fires on this vessel, then a state of war will exist between our two countries. If he does not, then things will remain as they are.” Willemoes stared at him, as if he were planning to argue, but the steely resolve was visible in Granger’s eyes, and Willemoes must have realized there was nothing to be gained by further discussion. “I will convey your message to Captain Arenfelt, my lord.” “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Granger said. Willemoes bowed briefly, then exited over the side, back into his boat, which rowed quickly back toward Holsteen. “And the attempts at bluff continue,” Daventry said to Granger with an amused smile. “If they aren’t bluffing, we will soon have some iron about our heads,” Granger commented. Willemoes reboarded his ship, and the result of his return was soon heard as her drums began to beat. They watched as Holsteen, and the frigate beyond her, beat to quarters and then ran out their guns. “Mr. Grenfell,” Granger said loudly, into the waist. Grenfell was below with the main batteries. He moved so he could look up at Granger. “My lord?” “I think it unlikely that we will receive any fire from these Danish ships, but just in case, have your men lie down on the deck,” Granger ordered. That would at least let the men working the 24-pounders on Valiant’s main deck avoid some flying splinters if they were to receive Danish fire. Those on the quarterdeck and forecastle would be much more vulnerable. “Aye aye, my lord,” he said crisply. “Tell them not to get too comfortable,” Granger joked. “If that happens, they’ll be required to jump up and return fire.” “I’ll let them know, my lord,” Grenfell said, grinning. They drew closer and closer to the Holsteen, and with each inch, so too did the tension increase. “We’ll know soon enough,” Daventry observed. “Indeed we will,” Granger said. Holsteen would see that Valiant had not run out her guns, which lay ready but waiting behind sealed ports, but she would also be able to easily see that Valiant had cleared for action and that her men were standing ready at their guns. The Danes would know they were ready to respond. Granger stood on the deck like a statue, with Weston and Daventry on either side of him, acting as if they were impervious to Danish cannonballs, as Valiant drew parallel to Holsteen. Granger removed his hat to salute the Danish ship, his moves matched by Weston and Daventry, while Travers dipped their flag in salute. The Danish officers did not remove their hats, and their ship did not dip her flag, but she did not fire either. Valiant sailed placidly by the Holsteen, then they repeated their salutes as they passed the frigate, which responded in the same way as her flagship by not responding at all. Flags began to fly up from the Trekroner Fort, followed by flags from the Holsteen as Captain Arenfelt evidently tried to explain what had happened, but that mattered little to Valiant as she sailed beyond them. “My lord, I recommend that we wear ship and enter the Hollander Channel,” Schein suggested. “Excellent, Mr. Schein,” Granger said. “Hands to wear ship!” Enough men left their guns to handle the sails, and Granger turned Valiant neatly so she was running before the wind on a southeast course. “Permission to report, my lord!” Soames shouted. “Come on down,” Granger replied through his speaking trumpet. Soames grabbed a backstay and slid down to the deck. Granger hid his annoyance that Soames landed more gracefully than he had. “Well?” “My lord, the ships of the convoy have surrounded the British ships,” Soames said. “They have formed a shield of sorts about them?” Daventry asked. “Yes, my lord,” Soames said nervously, as he talked to these exalted men. “That is not unusual, for merchant vessels to assist each other, my lord,” Schein added. “That will not discommode the privateer unduly,” Weston noted. “She will just force her way past them.” “But it will accomplish two things that may be helpful to us,” Granger said. “It will distract the Frenchman, so maybe she won’t see us heading down the channel, and it will delay her and give us time.” “What will you do?” Daventry asked. “I will remain under topsails, just as we are, so we are less conspicuous, until she sights us, then we will pour on sail and hope we can catch her,” Granger said. In these seas and winds Valiant could not hope to outrun that French ship. They would have to draw the privateer in or she would merely turn about and sail away from them. “While we are approaching the convoy, see if the cook can put together a quick breakfast for our lads.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said. “I’ll be aloft,” Granger announced. He climbed back to the maintop with Soames, pausing to glance down at the Valiant. She looked like a beehive of activity as her crew tried to dine in a speedy manner. “That Frog is getting awful close to the convoy, my lord,” Soames noted. “She is,” Granger agreed, but was nervous, because she was still too far away for Granger to catch her. The smell of food wafted up to Granger. “Soames, go eat.” “I wouldn’t want to leave you alone, my lord,” Soames said thoughtfully. Granger glared at him, since Soames knew better than to question orders. “Aye aye, my lord,” he said, and obeyed Granger’s order immediately. Granger sat up there by himself, enjoying the solitude, as he watched the Frenchman catch up to the convoy. He’d thought about lowering their flag and any other bunting that would prove that Valiant was a British ship, but there were very few razees in the world, and the only ones in operation were Royal Navy ships. Valiant’s strange evolution to a frigate damned her to be unique and thus easily identified for what she was. The Frenchman encountered an American ship between her and an English merchantman, but the American was so good at blocking, the Frenchman put a cannonball into her hull to persuade her to get out of the way. That was a good enough incentive for the Yankee, who swung out of the way, exposing the British ship to the privateer. Then disaster, at least as Granger saw it, struck. The lead ship of the convoy spotted Valiant and signaled to her consorts, and that in turn must have awakened the French ship’s lookouts. She luffed, and prepared to wear ship to escape. “Mr. Weston!” Granger hailed. “I’ll have the courses and topgallants on her!” “Aye aye, my lord,” he replied. Whistles blew, and men rushed up the masts to the yards. Those on the main yard smiled at him as they headed out to the ends of the yard to loose the gaskets that held the sails in place. The French ship had just completed her turn to put her into the wind when the American ship she’d holed decided to tack, and rammed right into her. Granger smiled, and almost laughed, as he watched the irate Frenchmen waving their fists and yelling at the American ship. Soames chose that time to return, so Granger pointed out what had happened, and then returned back to the quarterdeck. “An American ship has done our work for us,” Granger said. “She has indeed, my lord,” Weston agreed. Valiant heeled over with her increased sail, tearing down toward the privateer. She came up to the convoy, and the ships wisely formed two organized columns to the larboard and starboard sides, all but clearing a path straight toward the privateer. “You can reduce us down to topsails, Mr. Weston,” Granger said. The Frenchman was just now disentangling herself from the merchant vessel. She frantically tried to trim her sails and get enough speed to escape, but she was already in range. Her fate was already sealed, even if she didn’t know it. “My lord, those Danes are coming down channel,” the mizzen lookout hailed. “They will not arrive in time to save their French comrades,” Granger said. “Mr. Grenfell, a ball across her bow.” “Aye aye, my lord,” he responded. He went forward to personally supervise their long 9-pounder in the bow, the most accurate long gun in the Navy. It only took a few minutes for the gun to fire, and they saw the ball fly through the air and land easily across her bow. “They don’t seem to be too worried, my lord,” Weston said. “They should be,” Granger said. Valiant gained quickly on the privateer even as she struggled to pick up speed. He paused to doff his hat to the merchant ship who had made the capture of this ship a possibility, then focused on the Frenchman. “Mr. Grenfell, run out your larboard battery.” “Aye aye, my lord,” he said. Valiant rumbled and shook as her guns were run out, but the foolish privateer was still not daunted. “Mr. Weston, we’ll yaw to starboard so the guns will bear,” Granger ordered. “Make that happen.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said. He began to maneuver Valiant to the right. Granger waited until the privateer was perpendicular to Valiant then gave the order: “Fire!” As soon as the guns had fired, Weston adeptly put her back on her original course. The smoke billowed about them briefly, but as the wind blew it away, it exposed the French ship. She’d been a beautiful vessel, but that one broadside had shattered her. She had lost her foremast, and it was possible to see the huge holes that had been punctured in her side. Still the tricolor flag flew jauntily from her mizzen. Granger assumed that was merely because she hadn’t had a chance to lower it, and he was prepared to cease firing, until two of her guns fired. One of the balls punched a hole in their fore topsail. “Yaw again, Mr. Weston,” Granger ordered. “Mr. Grenfell, fire as your guns bear!” Valiant turned and this time, her gunners took their time and fired more deliberately. Granger watched as the massive 24- and 42-pound balls slammed into the pretty little ship. He cringed as he thought about how many men would be killed or wounded, since privateers usually carried large crews to give them the extra hands to man their prizes. They were almost up to her now, and that compelled the Frenchman in charge to finally lower their flag. “The Frog’s surrendered, my lord,” the lookout shouted unnecessarily. “Mr. Weston, take a party and board the privateer. Make sure to take a large squad of marines with you,” Granger ordered. “Aye aye, my lord,” he said, and began to organize a party of men, even as they lowered the longboat. Granger hove the ship to when they were half a cable’s length away from the shattered ship, and then watched carefully as Weston’s boat pushed off and headed toward the French ship. “She looks to be in a bad way, my lord,” Meurice noted, and indeed he was right. He’d first been focused on capturing her, but now that he took stock of the situation, it seemed as if their prize was on the verge of sinking. “Let’s get the launch and my gig swung out and manned,” Granger ordered. “Aye aye, my lord,” Grenfell said. He was a very efficient officer. With Weston’s departure, he’d seamlessly stepped right into his shoes and taken over the first lieutenant’s role. “My lord,” Weston’s voice hailed him from across the water. “This ship is sinking.” “She cannot be saved?” Granger asked. “No, my lord,” Weston responded. Weston was a good seaman, so he would be able to assess the privateer’s viability as well as he could. “There are a lot of wounded men here.” “My lord,” Grenfell said, distracting him. “The Danish ships should be up to us within a quarter of an hour.” He looked at the Danish ships and they were heading toward them under full sail. “I doubt they’ll be in a better mood this time,” Daventry noted. “I fear you are correct,” Granger said. “Mr. Weston, I need you and your men back here at once. We’ll return to help the Frenchmen in a bit.” There was a pause, as Weston struggled to wrap his mind around Granger’s order, and how he was being compelled to leave this ship he’d just been given responsibility for. In the end, though, there was only one response, and Weston uttered it. “Aye aye, my lord.” “Mr. Grenfell, leave the other boats in the water, but bring the men back aboard,” Granger ordered. “We’ll tow them astern for the time being.” “Aye aye, my lord,” he said, and went to attend to that. Granger waited anxiously as Weston and his boarding party cast off and headed back to Valiant, as he wanted to have his entire crew here to face the Danes. “Will they attack us?” Daventry asked Granger. “Not yet,” Granger said, “The frigate is in the lead, and she would not be in that position if they were going to start firing.” Weston hauled himself aboard, followed by his crew, who diligently returned to their stations. “That ship is the Juin, sailing from Dunkerque, my lord. She was holed badly below the waterline,” Weston said. “I told them to man the pumps, but there is little chance they’ll be able to keep up with the flooding.” Granger looked over to the French ship and could see the water cascading out of her, courtesy of her pumps. “How many wounded?” “My lord, it was like bedlam,” Weston said, shaking his head. “They had no business fighting. They had 200 men aboard, and half of them are dead or will be shortly.” “That is unfortunate,” Granger said, shaking his head at the idiocy of her captain who had not immediately surrendered. “Of the remaining 100, 50 are badly wounded. She probably has only 30 fully fit men left at this point, my lord,” Weston said. “Well, we cannot help her until we deal with our Danish friends,” Granger said, gesturing at the two Danish ships that closed in on them. They hove to, the frigate off Valiant’s larboard stern and the Holsteen off her larboard bow. “Allow us to drift forward,” he said to the helm, which would move Valiant forward enough to cross the Holsteen’s bow. “They’re sending another boat, my lord,” a lookout called. Granger saw Willemoes in the boat, along with an officer who was probably his senior. “They’re sending us a post-captain this time, sir,” Kingsdale said with a smile. “We are evidently now in bigger trouble,” Granger joked back, getting a chuckle from the officers within earshot. Weston hurried to assemble the sideboys and bosun’s mates to properly welcome the Danish captain aboard. He was an older man, but still managed to haul himself up on his own without the need for a bosun’s chair. His entire expression and posture was one of a man who was enraged. Willemoes followed immediately behind him and introduced Granger to the captain of the Holsteen. Arenfelt had no use for such niceties, and began all but shouting at Granger. “Captain Arenfelt has come here to express his outrage that you would attack a ship in His Danish Majesty’s waters, especially after you were expressly forbidden from traversing them,” Willemoes said. “Please explain to Captain Arenfelt that we intercepted the French privateer Juin as she was attempting to seize a British merchant vessel,” Granger responded. “If he wishes to express outrage, he should address it to the French who would allow their privateers to prey on British ships in His Danish Majesty’s waters.” This was interpreted to Arenfelt, who blustered some more. “That does not excuse your seizure of that vessel, my lord,” Willemoes said. Granger had a feeling the young Danish lieutenant was significantly editing the comments his chief was making, based on how long it took Arenfelt to articulate points that Willemoes clipped down to a simple sentence. “In fact, it does,” Granger said. “His Britannic Majesty’s warships are well within their rights to protect and defend His Britannic Majesty’s merchant ships from attack and seizure in any waters. Further, His Britannic Majesty has the right to expect that when those merchant ships are peacefully engaged in trade in His Danish Majesty’s waters, His Danish Majesty’s ships should work to ensure they are not attacked or seized by other ships. Please point out to Captain Arenfelt that I was doing the job he was supposed to be doing, since he had failed in accomplishing his duty.” Willemoes swallowed hard before interpreting that. It was amusing to watch Arenfelt’s eyes bulge larger and larger as Granger’s words were explained to him. It seemed as if he must surely explode, but instead, he stood there, fuming for a few seconds, then became remarkably calm. He muttered something to Willemoes, who seemed surprised, the turned to Granger. “Captain Arenfelt suggests that the best resolution to this issue is for you to leave His Danish Majesty’s waters as soon as possible, and that you leave behind this French ship.” Granger glanced over at the French ship, which was already substantially lower in the water. “That is acceptable,” he said. “As soon as you have left our ship, we will re-stow our boats and continue on our voyage.” They both bowed, although Arenfelt’s gesture was perfunctory at best, and went over the side. “Mr. Weston, please get us on a course south-southeast, then I will thank you to retrieve the boats.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said. Valiant came into the wind smoothly as she spread her mains and topgallants, leaving the Danes and the Frenchman behind. “We seem to have lost another prize,” Daventry joked. “I fear Admiral Dickson will be even more vexed with you.” “I think the Danes think they have acquired something of value,” Granger said, gesturing to where boats from the two Danish ships hurried toward the French privateer. “It is possible they could salvage her, isn’t it?” Daventry asked. “It is possible, but I cannot see where they would benefit from the effort,” Granger responded. “They will also have to handle quite a few wounded Frenchmen, and I am quite sure they did not plan on that.” “Well, it is a most auspicious beginning to our voyage, but we certainly aren’t making any friends,” Daventry quipped. “I did not think any of these people were pre-disposed to be our friends anyway,” Granger observed. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he had not yet had breakfast and it was past dinner time. “Pass the word for Winkler!” It took almost no time for Winkler to appear. “You sent for me, my lord?” “I am almost starving now that I am in your care again,” Granger said, but less pleasantly than normal, because he was indeed quite hungry. “And as with most things, my lord, I have anticipated your wishes,” he said in that slightly insubordinate way that only he could get away with. “Since your cabin is not yet restored, we are setting up a table on the poop deck for you to dine.” Granger looked beyond him to see Jacobs and another man lugging up a table and two chairs, clearly including Daventry in their equation. “I will make allowances for the fact that we all but sank a Frenchman.” “I am most obliged, my lord,” Winkler said, even as he went to bring Granger’s food up to him. “Mr. Weston, you may return the ship to her normal state and pipe the hands to dinner,” Granger ordered. “Lord Daventry, would you care to join me?” “It would be my pleasure,” he said, and followed Granger up to the poop deck. “I think we should enjoy this weather, as it most definitely will not last,” Granger said, appreciating the warm breeze that blew past them. “I daresay you’re right,” he said, as he took his seat, then resumed their previous conversation. “I am not concerned about making friends with these Northern Countries, but I have taken Cavendish’s words to heart, and I would note that they mirrored what I had heard in England before we left, and that is that Sweden is most likely to be friendly to us.” “I would imagine that all four of these allied powers - Russia, Denmark, Sweden, and Prussia – will be eying each other with considerable suspicion and distrust,” Granger said. “Any overt help the Swedes or Prussians give us would infuriate the Russians or Danes.” “My information suggests that it is a bit more focused than that,” Daventry said. “Russia is the giant in the room, as it were, and has an oversized influence on her neighbors. So even if the other three disagree, they will still make an effort to go along with her.” “You make her seem much like the school bully,” Granger said. “An apt description,” Daventry confirmed.
  11. Mark Arbour

    Chapter 11

    Me too. I thought I'd solved that problem. Hopefully now it's fixed.
  12. Mark Arbour

    Chapter 61

    I'm more inclined to bitch slap JJ. Carullo has a lot of baggage from 9-11, and JJ knows it. I agree with your take on Dillon. 🙂
  13. Mark Arbour

    Chapter 61

    September 14, 2003 Escorial, CA Will We’d been hanging out in the pool area with Gathan, Klip, and the other hockey players. It seemed like when you got a group together, at least one person would get wasted and make an ass out of themselves, but tonight was like the big exception. Everyone got pleasantly buzzed and seemed fine stopping there. I decided that part of that was because they were in this veritable palace and were on their best behavior, and the other reason was because they had their first practice tomorrow. We’d horsed around in the pool, played Marco Polo, volleyball, and done other stupid shit. That was fun, but probably wouldn’t have been worth staying up for if I wouldn’t have gotten to see Dillon in a bathing suit. He had a really nice body, one that was fit but normal. He wasn’t ripped like some guys - he wasn’t super-muscular like Zach - and he wasn’t like some big huggable cushion like Robbie had been. At the same time, he was. He had good muscle tone that bulged out in sexy places, like his pecs and his biceps, while the rest of the time it was largely hidden by his smooth skin. He had just enough padding to hide his abs, but not so much that he looked beefy. After a while, everyone had gotten tired of the pool, so now we were sitting around on the patio in the pool area. We were all drinking, but no one had smoked cigarettes or weed, since smoking wasn’t allowed indoors. I didn’t know if Dillon did either one of those things. I listened as the conversation veered off to hockey, and more specifically, their hockey team, and while I loved to watch them play, I got bored hearing them talk about it. I looked at Dillon just as he yawned, and that made me chuckle. The more I got to know him, the cuter he was. “I’m going to bed,” I said, as I stood up. “You guys have a good time.” “Happy Birthday,” Gathan said again, and gave me a hug. “One of the best ones I’ve had,” I said, because I’d had such a good time with all of them, especially Dillon. Klip gave me a hug too, and I shook hands with the rest of the guys. “I’m going to crash too,” Dillon said. I left the pool area and paused to wait for him. He walked out, closing the door behind him, and when he saw me, he smiled big. “This time you were waiting for me.” “Busted,” I said, chuckling. “You got enough energy to see a few important things?” “Sure,” he said. “I was just getting bored listening to them talk about how good they were on the ice.” “You’re lucky Matt isn’t here anymore,” I said, since he was a pretty big grandstander. I had to stop and explain who Matt and Wade were, even as I led him through the tunnel to the gym. “Dude, this is un-fucking-believable,” he said, as he took in the tunnel and then the gym. “Real estate is really expensive in the Bay Area, so Grand built this annex so our staff members would have a place to stay,” I explained. “He linked the two buildings with the tunnel, and put this gym in at the same time.” “This is the bomb,” he said, even as he sat on one of the machines and started doing curls, bulging his biceps out in an incredibly sexy way. “Keeps me in shape,” I said, which was true, even though that wasn’t the only thing I did to stay fit. “There’s a sauna and a steam room too.” His eyes bulged as I showed him how they worked. “Want to steam?” “Sure,” he said. We went into the shower area to rinse off, and that earned me my first look at Dillon’s body. He had such a cute little ass, and a nice dick, at least when it was limp, but the hottest thing about him was his pubic hair, which was more red than blond, and looked like a beautiful golden halo around his dick. I looked down, horrified, to see that I was well on my way to getting hard, so I hurriedly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist. He followed me into the steam room with a knowing smirk, but at least the heat and the steam hid my red face. I was kind of wondering if he’d sit on the top shelf so I could peek back and perve on him, but instead he sat next to me on the middle shelf. “This is awesome.” We didn’t say anything while the steam sprayed out, we just relaxed and enjoyed the heat and the moisture. When it stopped, that seemed like a good time to start up a conversation. “A good way to unwind after a workout, or before I go to bed if I’m stressed out,” I told him. “That why you’re in here now? You stressed?” “Not even,” I said. “I just thought this would be a fun thing to show you.” “I love it,” he said. We stayed in there until we got hot, then got out and headed to the showers. “You can grab your suit and shower in my room if you want to,” I offered, since that’s what I was going to do. “You sure?” he asked, worried that he was imposing. “Yeah,” I said, making is sound like ‘of course’. “I’ll show you how the aromatherapy shit works. That way you can use it in your own shower.” “Cool. I didn’t have time to figure that out before dinner,” he agreed. I led him back through the tunnel and down the halls, chuckling at how nervous he was strolling through this virtual palace wearing nothing but a towel. “I had a really nice time this evening. Thanks for making me feel so at home. I was kind of freaked out about coming here after Klip talked about how awesome it was,” he said. “Yeah, that happens,” I said, acknowledging that Escorial was a pretty impressive place. “I’m glad you got used to it. You’ll enjoy being here more that way.” “Sure is different than my house,” he said. “What’s home like?” I asked. I had never asked Klip about his family, not that we had a chance to have that many conversations anyway. “My dad works at the University of Oregon in their finance office, and my mom’s a Realtor,” he explained. “I mean, we have a nice enough house, and all three of us have our own rooms, but it’s not like this.” “Sounds cool,” since it sounded pretty normal. “What are your parents like?” “My mom is this outgoing person, which you probably would have guessed since she’s in real estate. She does pretty well at it. My dad is just the opposite. He’s all quiet and reserved,” he said. “I’ve got another brother, Liam, who’s in between Klip and me in age.” “What’s he do?” I asked. “He goes to school at Oregon State,” he said. “He’s majoring in biology.” “Sounds like fun,” I said with a grimace to show him that it didn’t sound like fun at all. “No shit,” he agreed. “What about you? What are you going to major in?” I asked. He shrugged. “Don’t know. I’m only going to college because my parents are making me go.” “Really?” I asked, totally stunned. “Not going to college was never an option for me.” He shrugged. “Klip got looks and brains, Liam got brains, and I got looks.” “Yes you did,” I said, smiling at him. He gave me a cocky look, since he knew he was hot. “So are you a total slacker?” I asked, expecting him to deny it. “Pretty much,” he said. “Got in lots of trouble in high school for skipping class.” “What did you do when you skipped?” I asked. “Usually went surfing,” he said. “You probably don’t do that.” “I skip school a lot, but I keep up with my work, so it’s not a big deal,” I said. I opened my door and gestured for him to follow me inside. “This is home.” “Nice digs,” he said. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at my rug. “That’s a fake bearskin rug. Stef put one in my room in Malibu, and I liked it so much he got me another one for this room,” I explained. “You have a big fucking room,” he said, as he checked it out. “When I moved up here, Stef and Grand gave me one of the bigger rooms,” I said. “My uncle used to use it, but he moved out.” “Where’d he go?” “Italy,” I said, even though Ace spent a lot of time in Almaden as well. “Here’s the bathroom.” “Dude, this is incredible,” he said, even as he looked around. It was a lot bigger than the guest bathrooms here at Escorial. “Makes getting up in the morning a little easier,” I joked. I flipped a switch to turn on the heated floors and explained what they were. “So warm,” he said, drawing attention to his feet. Even his feet were cute. “Here, I’ll show you how the shower works,” I said, leading him through the glass door. “You go first,” he insisted. I made to argue with him, but then changed my mind and decided to take a risk. “It’s big enough for both of us, if you don’t mind,” I suggested. He shrugged. “Fire it up.” I turned on the water, getting it warm, then shucked off my towel, while he did the same thing. I had to try hard not to look at his body. “What fragrance do you want?” I asked. “You pick,” he said. I chose eucalyptus because it seemed non-threatening. I shampooed my hair, using that as an excuse to close my eyes and not stare at him. It was probably not possible for me to finish this shower with him without having a raging hard on. I was kind of worried about that, but he’d been giving off some pretty big signs that he was interested in me. I guess this was the time to find out if he was. I rinsed out my hair and opened my eyes, then turned to look at him as he finished lathering up his own hair. He stood under the water, leaning slightly forward to let the water run off his head over his face, which gave me an amazing view of his cute little ass. He turned around; his eyes closed, and leaned his head back to wash the shampoo off his head and down his back. I stood there frozen, watching him, because he was a vision of beauty. I’d seen pretty much all of him before this, but his dick was hard, and it was really nice. I guessed it was about seven inches but on the thicker side. It actually reminded me a lot of Tony’s dick, at least as far as size went. Only Tony had these veins on his dick that made it seem kind of like an inflamed monster, while Dillon’s cock was smooth and sleek, with almost no variation to its straight form. I was conscious that his eyes were on me, and I felt myself blushing before I even looked up at him. I was so busted, there was no way I was going to be able to bullshit my way out of this one. “Like what you see?” he asked, with a shit-eating grin. I glanced down at my own dick, which was hard as a rock. “Obviously,” I said, smiling at him. “Dude, you’re fucking hung like a horse,” he said. “You’re not exactly small,” I said. I moved closer to him, wondering if he’d pull away from me, only if anything, he moved in to meet me. Then our lips met, tentatively at first, then more intensely, as the passion built up at an incredibly fast pace. I felt his hand on my dick, even as I grabbed his, and it was one of the weirder sensations I’d experienced. It was like our lips were dancing together in such an awesome way that the other activity, like us stroking each other’s cock, was almost a sideshow. And then the sideshow took over as I felt my orgasm rising, then exploding all over his hand, even as I panted into his mouth. After I was done, I spun him around, lodging my still-hard cock in his crack, and jacked him off while I nuzzled his neck. He came in almost no time at all, making these incredibly sexy whimpering noises. When we were done, we looked at each other a bit sheepishly, finished rinsing off, and grabbed clean towels, all without saying anything. “I should probably let you get to sleep,” he said. I hadn’t really expected weirdness from him after sex, but I was used to that with other guys I’d been with, so I knew how to handle it. “Stay,” I ordered. “At least for a while.” I decided the bed may be a bit too forward, so I led him over to the bearskin rug, flipped on the fire, and we lay down on the fake piece of animal skin on our sides, just looking at each other. “That was fun,” he said, smiling nervously. “Dude, that was awesome,” I said enthusiastically. “Klip told me you were a lot of fun,” he admitted. “How does he know?” I asked. “I haven’t fucked him.” He laughed at that. “Good luck with that. He’s straight as an arrow.” I wasn’t sure that was true, since I was pretty sure Klip had hooked up with Wade, but I didn’t say anything about that. “I’d rather have you,” I said honestly. I leaned in and kissed him again. “I’m glad,” he said. “So how’d you get your black eye?” I asked. It was the first time I’d said anything about it, but all the other guys had given him shit about it. “Got into a fight,” he said, which was the same response he’d given everyone else. “I figured that out, especially since that’s what you told everyone else,” I said. I just stared at him, challenging him to take the chance and tell me the story. “You done much with other guys?” he asked. I blinked in confusion, because that wasn’t related to our prior conversation at all. “Yeah,” I said. “I’ve known I was gay since I was pretty young, and in this family, that’s not a big deal.” “Makes sense,” he said, chuckling. “I think being out, so people know I’m into guys, made it easier for me to hook up with people,” I explained. “They pretty much knew I’d be up for playing around if they wanted to take a walk on the wild side.” “I can see that,” he said, mulling that over. “I guess it’s like having a sign out in front of your business.” “You make me sound like a whore,” I joked. “Dude, you don’t need money, so I wouldn’t have suspected that at all,” he joked. “What about you?” “I had a girlfriend and a boyfriend,” he said sadly. “Dude, you’ve got all the bases covered,” I joked. “I had,” he said, emphasizing the past tense. “The guy I messed around with was my best friend, only he blew me off when he went away to school.” “I’m sorry,” I said sympathetically. “That’s tough to deal with.” “No shit,” he agreed. “My girlfriend found out about us, and that’s how I got this,” he said, pointing at his black eye. “She hit you?” I asked, stunned. “No, her brother did,” he said. “He’s pretty huge. I was lucky he did it when I had a bunch of friends around who could pull him off me.” September 15, 2003 Tribeca, NY JJ “Hey there,” Carullo said pleasantly as he walked into the kitchen. “Good morning,” I said evenly. We’d both escaped back to our rooms on Saturday night after dinner, and then he’d vanished on Sunday. I gave myself props for not acting totally irritated with him, even though I was. “I went to New Jersey to see my mom yesterday,” he told me. “I’m sure she enjoyed seeing you,” I said. What I wanted to do was rip him up and down for creating this bullshit situation with me and Luka, and then running away and hiding to avoid the problem. “You probably won’t see much of me this week.” “Why?” he asked, and looked concerned, which would have been sweet if I thought he’d actually miss me if I weren’t around. “It’s fashion week, and that’s a big deal,” I said. His oblique look was almost enough to exhaust my patience with him. How could he possibly not know how important this was? Did he live in a hole somewhere? “They have these big events twice a year. This kicks off the Spring fashion shows.” “Kicks them off? What happens after this?” “They have a show in London, Milan, and then Paris. Paris is always last. New York and Paris are usually the best,” I asserted. “Are you going to all of them?” I shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll make all of them, but I’ll probably get to Paris. I talked to Stef about going, and he seemed pretty excited about it, so maybe he’ll go with me.” “You guys would probably have a blast there,” he said, trying to be nice and upbeat. “I gotta go. Don’t wanna be late to work.” “Have a good day,” I said. He looked at me briefly, like he wanted to say something, then he hurried out the door, running away from me yet again. I rolled my eyes at his idiocy. I was up early, at least for me, because I had to go to school this morning. I’d gotten approval to be out this week for the fashion show, but evidently it was absolutely vital that I appear this morning and turn in the report I’d been up last night working on. These people clearly had no sense of priorities, but I went along with their stupid rules, just like I’d done with the Figure Skating Association. So I went to school, got that done, and was just about to leave when I ran into Mary-Kate Olsen. “JJ!” she said in her enthusiastic way and gave me a big hug. I didn’t really have all that many friends here in New York, or at least not many that were my age, but Mary-Kate and her sister Ashley were two of the few people I spent time with. “MK!” I said back, mimicking her tone. “Why aren’t you at the park?” She and her sister were into the fashion scene, so I’d expected them to be at Bryant Park, where the show was being held. “Had to meet with one of my former teachers,” she said. “I needed some advice for this movie we’re working on.” “You’re doing a movie?” I asked, even though I probably should have known about it. “New York Minute,” she said casually. “Is that one of those cheesy twin movies you guys make?” I asked, giving her shit. “That’s exactly what it is,” she said. “Pays the bills.” “Let’s hope,” I joked. “So why are you here, and not already at the show?” she asked. “I had to turn some shit in,” I said grumpily. “Ashley’s already there,” she said, then pretended to pout. “Didn’t even wait for me.” “Bitch,” I joked. “You need a ride?” “Beats taking a cab,” she said, agreeing. “Or the subway,” I said, making both of us grimace. I led her up to the Maybach, where the driver was there to open the door for her. “You travel in style,” she said, enjoying the beautiful car that was my personal cocoon here in New York. “I do everything with style,” I joked, sort of. “You do, you certainly do,” she agreed, which was sweet and validating. “Want to see what we’re working on?” “Sure,” I said, which was unnecessary since she was already pulling out a folder with some sketches. “Here’s our new line,” she said, showing me some drawings. “Peasant blouses,” I mused. “It’s not high fashion, but it’s supposed to be more affordable,” she said, being slightly defensive. “Makes sense,” I said. “You think this Bohemian look is going to be the next thing?” “I do,” she confirmed, “at least for the newer, hipper people. We’re thinking of younger people who live in the cities or ’burbs.” I looked at the sketches carefully, which seemed to make her nervous, but after a bit, she seemed to get that I was just thinking about things. “I think your colors are too bright.” “You don’t like the contrast between the peasant look and the bright cheerful colors?” she asked, also explaining their rationale. “I’m not a big fan of the peasant look,” I said with a grin, joking about my own snobby wardrobe and getting a chuckle from her. “Seriously though, I’m just not sure if the bright look will appeal to the people you want to sell these to.” “You don’t think they would appreciate some joyful color in their clothes to go with the peasant?” She was almost implying that the bright colors would make people happy about their shitty lives. I internally rolled my eyes. And people thought I was a snob. “Look out the window,” I said, gesturing at the people, the common masses. “See many bright colors?” We looked out at them, and dark colors were overwhelmingly predominant. “So you think we should change everything to black and grey?” she asked, frustrated. “No,” I said patiently. “I’m not trying to criticize your idea, which seems pretty good overall.” “I get that,” she relented. “I mean, I did show you these, which means I’m basically asking for your feedback.” “Then I’ll give it to you. I think you should consider muting the tones. For example, this purple could work if it was a shade lighter, or what may even work better is to go darker and then fade it out.” “Fading,” she mused. “That’s a pretty interesting idea.” “I’m not exactly the expert on your target market,” I joked. “I’m not a former Disney princess.” “No, you’re a former ice prince,” she said. “That’s just as bad.” “Probably,” I grumbled. We got to Bryant Park, where things were pretty much organized chaos, and after that I was just absorbed into the flow of the show. I went to a bunch of shows, a dinner party, and then finally I was able to drag my tired ass back to the condo. I looked at my watch while I was in the elevator and noted that it was almost midnight. I sighed, thinking that the next few nights would probably run even later. The condo was dark beyond the entry light, so when I peeked down the hall and noticed that Carullo’s door was open and his light was on, it cast a bright spotlight onto the otherwise darkened corridor. It sounded like he was doing something in there, like moving stuff around, but I ignored that and went into my bedroom and put all my shit down. I’d started out with my satchel bag, and then accumulated a bunch of gift bags throughout the day, so it was a relief to shed myself of all that crap. I thought about going to bed, but I was too curious about Carullo’s activity to not at least see what was going on. I walked out of my room and down the hallway and peered into his room. He was wearing gym shorts and a tank top, both of which looked incredibly tacky after all the cool clothes I’d seen today, but also looked incredibly sexy on him. He was busy putting things into boxes. “Hey,” I said. “You’re back!” he said. He came over and gave me a friendly kiss and a hug. “Long day?” “You have no idea,” I complained. “Probably going to be like this all week.” “Bummer,” he said. “Good thing you like it.” “Good thing,” I agreed. “What are you doing?” “I, uh, I got transferred,” he said nervously. “Transferred?” I didn’t even know that was an option. “Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “Our whole group is moving up to the headquarters in Bristol, Connecticut.” “Where’s that?” Connecticut was close. Shit, people commuted from there into the city every day. “It’s a little over 100 miles away, near Hartford,” he said. “Can’t really commute there from here. Trains don’t go there, and traffic is a bitch.” I could see his point on that. “When did you find out about this?” I asked. “There was a rumor a couple of weeks ago, but they confirmed it today,” he said. “They told you today you have to move, and you have to pack up that fast?” I asked, thinking that was a little insane. “No, we’re going to be going up there in about a month,” he said. “They’re going to bus us up there starting in a couple of weeks, then after a month we’re supposed to be in Bristol.” “You’re so anxious to leave that you’re already packing?” I asked him, letting him see how annoyed I was. He knew me well enough to know that the annoyance hid how upset I was. “No, but I was waiting up for you, and I decided to do something constructive,” he said. “You were waiting up to tell me about this,” I concluded, more to work that through in my mind. “Yeah, to tell you that, and to, uh…” he said, and then seemed to lose his resolve. “Never mind.” “What?” I demanded, unwilling to put up with him dicking me around by leaving me in suspense. I briefly compared myself to my father, who hated secrets, and wondered if I was becoming more like him. That made my bad mood even worse. “I wanted to ask you a favor,” he said, and stared at me boldly as he did. It was all I could do to restrain myself from offering an incredibly caustic and snarky reply, but if I did that, he’d just shut down on me, and I was too curious about what he wanted to let that happen. “What do you need?” I asked calmly and evenly. “I talked to Luka today,” he said. “How is he doing?” I asked, pretending that I gave a shit. “He’s pissed off at me, probably as bad as you are,” he grumbled. “Maybe,” I said, but smiled slightly to make it a joke. “You saw him at his job. He’s a waiter. But he’s also really into the fashion scene,” he said. “I didn’t run into him today,” I said. Luka was a really handsome guy. I would have recognized him. “No, but you probably will,” he said. “He’s supposed to be showing some of his designs.” I had no idea he was a designer, but then again, half the city seemed to think they were either in the fashion industry or show business. The fact that he was going to get the opportunity to show off his stuff was different, because if he totally sucked he wouldn’t have gotten that opportunity. “When?” I asked curiously. “I’m not sure,” he said. “So I know you’re mad at me, but I want to ask you not to take it out on him.” “You care about him that much?” I asked him acidly. “He’s a friend, like I said,” he replied. “So yeah, I care about him, and I want him to do well, and I don’t want my bullshit to piss you off enough to slaughter his career.” “You think I’m that petty?” I demanded, acting all outraged, when I was, in fact, that petty. “No, but I didn’t want you to be surprised, and I knew if I gave you some time to think about it, you’d treat him fairly,” he said, which was just so much wishful thinking. “If anything, I should feel sorry for him for getting his emotions played with, just like you played with mine,” I snapped. “You should,” he said sadly. “If his stuff sucks, I’m not holding back,” I said firmly, “but I won’t go out of my way to sabotage him.” “What if it’s good?” he asked hopefully. “Then I’ll say it’s good,” I said. “Look, I put up with a lot of shit in the skating world, getting crap scores when I should have done better, and I also saw that happen to a lot of other talented people. I’m not going to shoot someone down unless I hate them, and I don’t hate Luka.” He nodded. “Thanks.” I grimaced at how much he was annoying me, then stormed off to the solitude of my room, where I cried yet again over someone I’d been into who had totally blown me off.
  14. Mark Arbour

    Chapter 14

    August 1800 His Britannic Majesty’s Embassy Copenhagen, Denmark Granger sat in the dining room, preparing to have breakfast with Lords Whitworth, Daventry, and Cavendish. A servant arrived and put food in front of them. Granger frowned at the plate, since he did not like to eat fish for breakfast, and it was clearly a fish that was on the plate. As soon as the servant left, Whitworth launched into him. “You met with the Crown Prince before you met with me?” he demanded. “I was invited to call on His Royal Highness,” Granger said evenly. “I received a communique from you telling me it was advisable that I do so.” “I expected you to contact me first,” Whitworth blustered. Granger glanced at Cavendish and saw him trying not to grin at Whitworth’s idiocy. “I had assumed that you would also be at the supper I was asked to attend,” Granger said. “Perhaps you were not charming enough to get invited.” “Don’t be impertinent,” Whitworth snapped. “Then do not patronize me, and question my actions, which have not been shown to be in error,” Granger said back just as abruptly. “Lord Whitworth is worried that you will make a worse hash of things than he already has,” Cavendish said. “That is offensive!” Whitworth all but shouted. “You have negotiated a treaty that is clearly in Denmark’s favor, giving them time to firm up their alliance with Russia and receive support from both the Tsar and from Stockholm,” Cavendish responded. “I have done no such thing,” Whitworth objected. “I have brought peace to this situation by stalling the preparations for war.” “As it is almost winter, those preparations would have been stalled anyway,” Daventry said. “The Danes have agreed to suspend convoys until after later negotiations,” Cavendish said. “And that is quite the coup,” Whitworth said, full of himself over what he considered to be quite the success. “It lets us put off negotiations indefinitely.” “It does not,” Cavendish said, shaking his head at Whitworth. “As soon as the Russians give Bernstorff sureties that they will back up Denmark, Denmark will demand that negotiations be renewed.” “That is not what the agreement says, and that is not what they will do,” Whitworth asserted. “In fact, that is exactly what your agreement says,” Cavendish said. “It is quite clear that Denmark has only to suspend convoys until they are ready to begin negotiations again, and they will be ready to begin those talks when the Russians are firmly in their corner and committed to come to their aid.” “I thought that the Russians were already committed to aid Denmark?” Granger asked. “Tsar Paul is a most mercurial leader, and an agreement for a league of armed neutrality and actual negotiations about war and peace may be different in his mind,” Cavendish noted. Whitworth seethed at having his masterpiece, as he saw it, denounced. “That must be what the Crown Prince was referring to last night, when he told me that Lord Whitworth was short-sighted,” Granger added, just to irritate the old man. “The Crown Prince is evidently more astute than I had thought,” Cavendish said smugly, while Whitworth sat there, his face almost red with rage. “In any event, that is your affair, not ours,” Daventry said, to move them beyond this impasse. “I think it is most relevant to our issues. His Royal Highness told me that he knew I was to take you to St. Petersburg,” Granger said to Daventry. “How did he find out about that?” Daventry asked, furious now, as he looked at Whitworth. “I felt it was important for the Danes to understand that we were pursuing multiple channels to resolve this issue, so they would clearly know they may end up isolated,” Whitworth said. “You told Bernstorff I was going to St. Petersburg?” Daventry demanded, even though Whitworth had just admitted that he had. “I cannot believe you did that,” Cavendish said, and was annoyed enough to show it. “Short-sighted indeed.” “Neither can I,” Daventry said. “You betrayed confidential information to the enemy.” “That is hardly a fair way to characterize things,” Whitworth said. “In any event, with the treaty we have negotiated, your mission to St. Petersburg no longer has any purpose.” “That is not your decision, as my mission really has nothing to do with you or your efforts,” Daventry asserted strongly, then addressed Granger directly. “We will discuss this later, when there are no spies left to relay our conversation.” “You are questioning my honor?” Whitworth demanded, outraged. “I am accusing you of being a dishonest traitor,” Daventry replied. “I made no comment about your honor.” That was clearly a challenge to Whitworth, and they all waited to see if he would respond by calling Daventry out, thus demanding satisfaction. Granger thought it was quite cowardly for Whitworth to let such an insult go unanswered, but as he was not directly involved, he said nothing. A very long period of silence followed, while the four of them focused on eating breakfast. “How was your meeting with the Crown Prince?” Whitworth asked Granger in a conversational way, but Granger was so furious and disgusted with the old diplomat, he had no desire to converse with him, so instead he didn’t respond to him at all. That only added to the considerable tension in the room. “I received orders for you to return to London immediately,” Granger said to Cavendish, redirecting the conversation away from Whitworth. “I had expected that,” Cavendish said. “I will need you to remain here and assist me as we finalize these negotiations,” Whitworth said in a way that made it seem as if it was an order, and Cavendish was one of his minions. He had already exhausted Daventry’s considerable reservoir of patience, and he was now close to doing the same for both Cavendish and Granger. “Cavendish received orders to return to London immediately,” Granger said firmly. “Those orders did not allow time to help you attempt to extricate yourself from the disaster you’ve blundered into.” “Now look here…” Whitworth began to bluster, until Granger cut him off. “Cavendish went to sea on my orders, and he is being ordered back by a direct command from His Majesty, courtesy of a letter from the Earl of Leicester,” Granger stated. “Your thoughts have absolutely no bearing on this issue, and you are out of line to even voice an opinion.” “I am wondering if you would help me find a passage back to England,” Cavendish asked Granger. “I suspect that if I remain here, certain forces may plot to ensure I am stuck here.” “Well, since our mission to St. Petersburg has been foiled, you are welcome to return to London with us,” Granger said. A look at Daventry served to keep him from objecting to this proposed course of action. He wasn’t sure if Daventry was willing to abandon his mission to St. Petersburg, but even if he weren’t, it would do no harm for Whitworth to think they were returning to England. “I am looking forward to arriving back in the capital, where I will be able to fully explain to the government how my mission was foiled,” Daventry said, glowering at Whitworth. “Then I see no reason for us to delay our departure,” Granger said, as he stood up. “We will leave in a quarter of an hour.” “I will have dispatches for you to carry,” Whitworth said. “You will have a quarter of an hour to prepare them,” Granger said. “If you deliver them to me by the time we leave, I will see that they are taken home. If you are late, you will need to find a different courier.” “You have made your positions quite clear,” Whitworth said, glowering at the three of them. Granger stood up and left the room, followed by Cavendish and Daventry. “We will talk when we are safely aboard Valiant.” “That seems to be wise,” Daventry noted wryly. A quarter of an hour later, the three of them went outside and climbed into the carriage. As Whitworth wasn’t there, Granger ordered the carriage to leave. Whitworth arrived shortly after that, and the carriage stopped after a few feet, and even though it was a short distance, it still forced Whitworth to chase after them with his dispatches. “I will trust you gentlemen to get these to London as quickly as possible,” he said grumpily. “We will treat these with the same care you have taken with our mission,” Daventry said snidely. Before they could argue anymore, Granger rapped the front of the coach to urge the coachman forward, and then the three of them were alone. “I am not sure how this news affects your mission,” Granger said to Daventry. “My meeting with the Crown Prince was most interesting.” “Indeed?” Daventry asked. “He informed me that if we sailed through the Sound and into the Baltic, we could expect that any force we run into would be hostile. He assured me that he had received a pledge of support from the Russians, the Swedes, and the Prussians.” “It sounds as if he was trying his best to dissuade you from going to St. Petersburg,” Cavendish noted. “He was indeed,” Granger said, and began to ponder the Crown Prince’s words. “Do you think he was trying to intimidate us into not going to St. Petersburg because he is worried we will undermine his efforts to gain Russian support?” “I heard a rumor that the Crown Prince has only recently sent an urgent message to St. Petersburg for that purpose,” Cavendish said. “I would speculate that the solid backing he asserts he has from those other nations may not be as solid as he thinks it is.” “You do not think the Russians will back the Danes up?” Granger asked. “I think they will, but the Crown Prince makes it sound as if there are Russian ships patrolling the Baltic, waiting to apprehend any British ships they can find. I suspect they are not that organized, or committed,” Daventry observed. “Will you press on with your mission?” Granger asked Daventry. “I think I should,” he said with a certain amount of skepticism. Granger remembered their conversations, and his conclusion that Daventry was probably going to Russia to see that the Tsar was dissuaded from this League of Armed Neutrality, even if a new Tsar was required to accomplish that goal. “The Crown Prince also noted something else, something I had not accounted for,” Granger said. The other two men looked at him curiously. “The Baltic sometimes freezes over in the Sound, so it is quite possible that we will be trapped in this sea until March, or at least February.” “That certainly makes your part of our mission much more hazardous,” Daventry allowed, and seemed unusually apprehensive, presumably because he realized the trap he may be exposing Granger and his ship to. “I have never thought it would be easy,” Granger said. “It does change things a bit, though, since if we are to be isolated here, we will need to plan provisions for much longer than I had anticipated.” “Can you store enough aboard Valiant to survive until April?” Daventry asked. “We can, but we will need to add to those provisions we have aboard. We will be able to get some things from the shore, either by taking them or buying them, but some things will be more difficult to acquire,” Granger noted. “I am most anxious to acquire more fruit, especially limes or lemons, as we will need them to ward off the evils of scurvy.” “I would suspect those would be especially hard to find in the dead of winter,” Cavendish noted. “If you do this, if you go forward, I would recommend that you approach the Swedes first if you have need of assistance.” “Why?” Granger asked. “There is no love lost between the Danes and the Swedes, and the Swedes have, for a long time, had designs on Norway. They will be unreliable allies for the Danes, at best. That, and the Swedish King is known to be all but mad, and he may be inclined to befriend a man like Daventry,” Cavendish teased. “It is good to know whom one can relate to,” Daventry said with a smile. “My perception is that both Denmark and Sweden will be largely forced into doing what Russia wants them to do,” Cavendish noted. “Since Denmark is irate over the Freya affair, they are more than happy to follow the Russian lead and form this new League of Armed Neutrality.” “But the Swedes will really only do so if the Russians compel them to?” Granger asked. “That is my understanding. Their economy is too dependent on trade with us to be as belligerent as Russia or Denmark may be,” Cavendish responded. “So the Swedes are more likely to be friendly because they want us to buy their wares, and because they want to seize Norway from the Danes,” Granger said ruefully. “It appears that self-interest is their primary guide.” “And that is different from other nations in what way?” Daventry asked cynically. “I suspect that means that any assistance they give us must not be too obvious,” Granger noted, thinking of this tangled web of Baltic politics. “That would stand to reason,” Cavendish observed. “What of the Prussians?” Granger asked. “The government has tried and failed time and time again to get the Prussians to join in a coalition against France, and they have pretended to be interested, teased that they are, only to back off in the end,” Cavendish said, letting his frustration show, which was presumably the same irritation felt by the British government. “I would suggest that whether you have any luck with them is largely going to be dependent on their individual city mayors or governors.” “That will be a challenge,” Daventry noted. “It will be hard to know which harbor we can even approach.” “Stralsund is a key town, but it is part of Swedish Pomerania, and so it is Swedish,” Cavendish said. “Memel is the city that is responsible for most of the Baltic trade with Britain. I would suggest they may be the most receptive.” “That is good to know,” Granger said, logging those tidbits into his brain. The coach pulled up to the dock and stopped, but when the footman opened the door, Granger pulled it shut so they could finish their conversation. “The decision is yours, Daventry,” Granger said. “Do we go forward as planned, or back to London?” “You are willing to take me to St. Petersburg?” he asked, which was annoying to Granger in the extreme, since he’d already made that pledge. Going back on it now would smack of cowardice. Granger said nothing; he simply stared at Daventry, waiting for an answer. “We go forward.” Granger nodded and turned to Cavendish. “Then we must find you transportation back to Admiral Dickson. I would take you myself, but the Admiral and I do not have a good relationship, and I am fairly certain that the dispatches that Lord Whitworth has given you would cause him to delay us, at least.” “That would seem to make sense,” Cavendish said. “Daventry, can you ask Jacobs to find us a boat to take us out to Valiant?” Granger asked, which was his way of getting some time to talk to Cavendish alone. “Perhaps he can also inquire if there is a craft that can take Cavendish to the fleet?” “Certainly,” he said, and then exited the coach. “I received a letter from Caroline, courtesy of dispatches from Dickson. She pledged that she was ready to assist you, and that she had enlisted Arthur’s support as well,” Granger told Cavendish. “And she did this prior to the letter you were going to write her?” Cavendish mused. “She did,” Granger confirmed. “You have a place to go, and a firm base of support to back you up when you return to London.” “Thank you,” Cavendish said sincerely. “I would suggest that you may want to accidentally review the dispatches Whitworth has sent,” Granger said, gesturing at the pouch he had given to Cavendish. “Dickson would like nothing better than to create problems for me, and if delaying your return to London would cause either of us difficulties, he will see to that.” “I am not aware of any dispatches,” Cavendish said with an impish grin. “The only thing I know is that Lord Whitworth wanted Admiral Dickson to get in contact with him.” “Interestingly enough, that is all I can recall as well,” Granger said with a smirk. “Good luck.” “I think you will have more need of luck than I do,” he said. “Remember my advice about the Swedes. They are our closest allies in the Baltic.” “I will do that,” Granger said. He handed Cavendish a purse that contained a substantial number of gold coins and was quite heavy as a result. “You will need additional funds to get back to England.” “I will make sure to pay you back,” Cavendish pledged. “You will pay me back in a different way, when we next meet,” Granger said, leering at Cavendish, and making him chuckle. They exited the carriage and found their trunks being loaded into two separate boats. “My lord, we have found a lugger to take Lord Cavendish to the British fleet, and we have found a pinnace to take us to back to Valiant,” Jacobs said. “Thank you, Jacobs,” Granger said. “That was well done.” “I did not have time to write up a report on what has happened here, and how Whitworth has almost foiled my plans, so I must rely on you to communicate that to the government,” Daventry said to Cavendish, even as their baggage was being loaded into the pinnace and the lugger. “I would ask that you speak to Mr. Pitt or your father directly.” “I will convey your plans to one of them,” Cavendish said ruefully, since his father would not speak to him. “Thank you, and good luck,” Daventry said to Cavendish, as he made to board the pinnace. “I think you will need luck more than me,” Cavendish said, the same reply he’d given to Granger’s similar comment. It seemed that chance would play a large role in whether they managed to complete their mission and make it out in one piece. Granger didn’t say anything; he merely followed Daventry into the boat and nodded to the coxswain. As the pinnace bore away from the pier, he saw Cavendish boarding the lugger, and that vessel was soon underway as well. The pinnace largely retraced the same route Granger had taken yesterday, passing by the Citadel and Trekroner forts, until she approached Valiant. Granger was pleased to see several bumboats about his frigate, since that would mean that they were still able to purchase stores from the Danes. Their boat was hailed, and the correct reply was given, although any of the lookouts on Valiant would have been able to spot their captain in the pinnace, so there was certainly no surprise when the boat responded to their hail, confirming that fact. Granger hauled himself aboard and was greeted by Weston. “Welcome aboard, my lord.” “Thank you, Mr. Weston,” Granger said. “I need to see you and Mr. Andrews in my cabin at once.” “Of course, my lord,” he said. Granger headed to his domain, with Daventry, Winkler and Jacobs in tow. He had just positioned himself at his table when Weston and Andrews came in. Daventry joined them, of course. “Please be seated gentlemen,” Granger said, pouring them a glass. “Thank you, my lord,” Andrews replied. “I had a most interesting meeting with the Danish Crown Prince,” Granger said. “He informed me that it is quite possible that we could find ourselves frozen inside the Baltic until March or April.” “Frozen in, my lord?” Weston asked, “Yes,” Granger said, forcing himself to respond calmly. “There is a chance that the Sound and the other channel here, the Great Belt, will freeze during the winter. In that case, we will be unable to exit the Baltic, even if we manage to avoid the ice in the other parts of this body of water.” “Are we still going to Russia, my lord?” Andrews asked skeptically. To his cold, merchant-like mind, such a risk made the voyage largely untenable. “We are,” Granger stated. “But we must make sure we have adequate supplies in the event we are stranded in this sea.” “That should not be too difficult, my lord,” Weston said, even as he got a more skeptical look from Andrews. “It would not be unusual for us to prepare for a six-month cruise.” “I agree, Mr. Weston,” Granger said. “But we did not prepare for such a cruise when we left England, so I am concerned that we acquire those things we may not have planned for, and I am especially concerned that we acquire things that will be difficult to get in the depths of winter.” “I see your point, my lord,” Weston said. “The thing that first came to mind was having adequate lime or lemon juice,” Granger said. Scurvy was a very real danger, and one that Granger had managed to avoid during his tenure in the Navy, primarily because he was so careful to have quantities of those two fruits available. “I actually managed to buy some limes from a bumboat yesterday, my lord,” Andrews noted. “They had offered an especially good price.” “Do we have enough to last us until April?” Granger asked him. “We do not, my lord,” Andrews acknowledged. “Then we must rectify that problem at once,” he ordered. “Anything else you can think of that we may require, we must get now. Keep in mind that we should be able to find a place to get water, wood, and basic items like that.” “I would suspect that naval stores would be relatively easy to find as well, my lord, since most of them come from the Baltic,” Weston noted. “I suspect you are correct,” Granger agreed. “How long will it take you to achieve that, Mr. Andrews?” “I will hope to have that accomplished within the next day or two, provided the bumboats are still cooperative,” he said. “If they are not, we will need to find a different source.” “Then I will leave you to attempt to buy them out of items we need before the Danish authorities become suspicious and cut off our supply of goods,” Granger said. “And Mr. Andrews, time is of the essence, which means that while you should try to strike a good bargain, cost should not detract us from completing our stores.” “Of course not, my lord,” Andrews said, even as he cringed at possibly overpaying for items. “If the Danes prove too expensive, I will gladly make up the difference from my own purse,” Granger said, something Andrews would have assumed, but made him happy to hear nonetheless. “Thank you, my lord,” he said, and hurried from the cabin to begin bartering with Danish bumboats. “Mr. Weston, you and I must review our rations and supplies to make sure we have not overlooked something,” Granger stated. “Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said. And with that, they began to pore over the details of all the items Valiant would need for an extended stay in this frozen expanse known as the Baltic Sea. September, 1800 HMS Valiant, Copenhagen Harbor For the past two days, Valiant had remained anchored near Trekroner fort. On the first day, the local vendors had all but mobbed her, and they had taken that opportunity to gorge themselves full of whatever useful stores they could buy. It was no surprise to Andrews that the price of limes and lemons had begun to rise precipitously as soon as the local merchants realized how in demand those items were, but it couldn’t be helped. They had also bought whatever vegetables they could, and had ended up with a rather large amount of sauerkraut as a result. Granger cringed at the thought of a diet consisting primarily of fish and sauerkraut, but there was little he could do about it at this point. On the second day, they had hoped to continue to victual their ship, but there had been no bumboats around them, and no craft had approached them at all. The crew had been busy squeezing the lemons and limes into juice, which was more easily stored and preserved in that form, and they had dumped the used peels into the harbor, leaving a strange circle of the discarded parts of the fruits surrounding the ship as if it were some sort of halo. As dawn broke on the third day, Granger was not surprised to see that once again, there were no boats close to Valiant. “We are not as popular as we were a few days ago,” Daventry commented. “Indeed we are not,” Granger agreed. “The only explanation for that is that the Danish authorities have banned their merchants or citizens from having any intercourse with us at all.” “Then what will you do?” Daventry asked. “We have been able to acquire the bare minimum number of stores we will need for our voyage, so there seems no further purpose to remaining here,” Granger said. “I am just wondering how to leave such that we do not confirm to the Crown Prince that we are, in fact, going to St. Petersburg.” “I don’t think you’ll be able to do that as long as you sail into the Baltic, and since you can’t take me to St. Petersburg without sailing into the Baltic, there is nothing for it but to go ahead and hope we are faster than any courier he sends,” Daventry said logically. “Quite so,” Granger said. “Mr. Weston, I’ll have the anchor hove short.” “Aye aye, my lord,” he said. The men were called, and the band began to play some ditties to help the men as they labored at Valiant’s capstan, pulling her large cable in until she was moored directly over it. “Topsails, Mr. Weston,” Granger ordered. Those were released quite quickly, and began to draw conveniently enough just as the anchor was lifted from the bottom of the harbor. “Anchor’s aweigh, my lord,” Weston informed him. “Set a course to clear that buoy,” Granger told Weston. “Mr. Schein, I will appreciate your guidance as we take the Hollander Channel.” “Aye aye, my lord,” they both chimed. “Sail ho!” called the masthead. Granger turned his eyes away from getting his ship ready for sea and looked across the expanse of water to the Hollander Channel. There, clearly anchored to impede access to the Baltic, was a 64-gun Danish ship of the line, and next to that ship was a 36-gun frigate. “It seems as if we must pass them, my lord,” Weston noted. “We will see if they are inclined to let us go by unmolested,” Granger said. “Beat to quarters and clear for action.” “Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said. Treadway’s marines began to pound out “Hearts of Oak” as the men hurried to clear away anything non-essential for combat, while Valiant herself moved slowly across Copenhagen Harbor, heading for the entrance to the Baltic Sea.
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