HMS Belvidera - 41. Chapter 41

August, 1796

“Look alive up there!” Granger shouted to the lookouts. He heard their mumbled ‘aye aye sirs’, acknowledging his unnecessary orders. Granger felt the tension in the ship as they waited in the dark for the sun to rise, and knew that most of the tension was emanating from him. As near as he could reckon, dawn should find them off the port of Cadiz, and that meant he’d probably emerge from the darkness in the midst of Mann’s squadron.

He had hoped to pass Cadiz during the night, to be well beyond the petulant admiral and his minions by the time dawn broke, but as so often happened, the wind was not their friend. It had died away, and then backed so that instead of flying before it, Belvidera had been forced to tack into it, considerably delaying their progress. Granger thought about that bad bit of luck but then put it aside. He had dealt with Mann before, he would handle him again. Unless the admiral was willing to arrest him, there was little of substance he could do to Granger, and Granger suspected that as idiotic as Mann was, he wouldn’t go that far. To do so would be to defy the orders of their superior, Sir John Jervis, and to invite the wrath of Granger’s powerful family. Granger knew that his family took every opportunity to discredit Mann, and they were already a danger to his career and his position, but if Granger were to actually be arrested, Granger knew his family would become relentless and use that to bring Mann down, and probably the rest of the Wilcox family as well.

The skies got lighter as dawn approached, with all those who weren’t employed diligently looking over the sides, trying to be the first to spot something. “I think I see the loom of something out there,” Granger heard one sailor say to another. “It’s a bloody booby,” his mate said, as the bird flew over the deck. Lighter and lighter the sky got, broadening their range of vision, until the sun emerged over the horizon, and the entire sea was exposed. It was empty.

Granger stood on his quarterdeck, shocked that Mann was once again away from his station. “Maybe there was a local storm that blew them off station, sir,” Roberts offered.

“We would have encountered it last night or sooner,” Granger said, defeating that line of reasoning. “Mr. Roberts, set a course for Cadiz. I want to see if the French ships are still there.”

“You think the Frogs slipped out and Mann engaged them, sir?” Clifton asked. Granger wondered how that would turn out: A clever French admiral against a moronic British one. Granger decided that the English captains and crews would save the day in the end.

“It is a possibility, but before we pursue that theory, we need to know where the French ships are,” Granger said. Belvidera inched her way toward Cadiz, making sure to stay outside the range of the port’s guns. That was the general convention on how far a country’s territorial waters extended beyond her shores: the distance cannon could fire. It worked out to roughly three miles.

“Awfully quiet here, sir,” Somers said as he joined him at the rail.

“Uncharacteristically so,” Granger agreed. “Masthead what do you see of the French ships?” he called.

“Nothing, sir. They’re gone.”

“So Admiral Mann has let them escape, sir?” Somers asked with a grin.

“Or he has engaged them in battle,” Granger said.

“Sir,” the lookout called. “The Dons are gone too.”

“Hand me that glass,” he said to Somers, who handed him a telescope. Granger strode to the forward shrouds and climbed up to the main yard. He found that he was less winded than he usually was, and attributed it to all of his exertions on land. He took the glass and scanned the port, finding only a stray ship of the line or two that had not been fit to sail when the rest of the fleet did. Richery’s squadron and the entire Spanish fleet save these few laggards had sailed.

Granger pretended to scan the harbor as he pondered this development. Did the French and Spanish ships sail together? Had Spain declared war? If not, what would happen when they encountered Mann’s squadron? It seemed unlikely that the Spanish would just step aside and let Mann annihilate the French. He tucked the glass under his arm and slid down the backstay, landing on the deck with the same élan he’d shown as a midshipman.

“The lookout was right. The Dons and the French are gone, and Mann is nowhere in sight,” Granger said, summing up the situation succinctly enough.

“Are we at war with Spain, sir?” Roberts asked.

“I would like to know that as well, Mr. Roberts,” Granger said with a smile. “There is nothing to be done here. Let’s resume our course.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said, and began rattling out the orders that would put Belvidera about and set her back on course for England.

“Make sure the lookouts look alive,” Granger said. In the end, that order was unnecessary. The wind shifted again as they surged west, then west-northwest, with the Levanter on their heels. They didn’t see Mann, they didn’t see the French, and they didn’t see the Dons. Granger began to worry about Mann, not the man himself, but his squadron. They had covered too much ground today, which suggested that he hadn’t merely been blown off station. Was there a battle? Granger had looked for signs, then cursed himself for being a fool. There would be no sign of an engagement at sea. There would be no carnage that would be discernable. The only thing they might find would be a damaged ship, but they found nothing. They ended the day with as many questions as they started with.

“Sir,” Winkler said in a loud whisper as he shook his captain.

“What is it?” Granger asked in a rather cranky tone. As befitted a Royal Navy captain, he was awake almost instantaneously.

“Sir, Mr. Clifton asked me to call you. He thinks they’ve sighted another ship.”

“In the pitch black evening, he’s sighted a ship?” Granger asked incredulously. He pulled on his trousers and coat and was headed out of his cabin before Winkler could answer him. “What do we have here, Mr. Clifton?”

“I don’t know sir,” Clifton said honestly, his voice nervous. “We saw a light off of our larboard bow, and then saw one aft, to the starboard.” Granger strode over to the rail and looked over the side, but all he saw was darkness. The night sky was permeated by a misty fog that blocked out any stars, as well as any light that may be coming from ships. He was about to return to Clifton’s side when the ship’s bell sounded two bells. And then, as if in an echo, Granger heard bells all around them.

Granger felt the adrenaline surge within him. He’d experienced this before when he was a midshipman. Belvidera had inadvertently sailed right into the midst of a fleet. “Mr. Clifton!” he called in a loud whisper.

“Sir?”

“We are in the middle of a fleet, although whose I cannot say.” He let that sink in. “Rouse all the hands but pass the word for absolute silence.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and ran off to do Granger’s bidding.

“Mr. Bailey,” Granger said to the master, who had been eavesdropping and knew exactly what was going on.

“Sir?”

“I want you to station men with sharp eyes in the bow, in the larboard and starboard shrouds, and astern. I want to know if we sight another ship, and I want to be ready to maneuver if we risk a collision.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said.

Roberts arrived on deck, followed shortly by both Carslake and Robey. They wisely approached Granger before jumping in to help. “Sir?” Roberts asked simply.

“Welcome, Mr. Roberts,” Granger said with a smile. “We seemed to have sailed into the middle of a fleet.”

“Whose fleet, sir?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, but since we must have come upon them during the night, I would have to say it’s the French or Spanish.” They often hove to during the night, while British ships rarely did.

“Sir!” came an urgent call from the starboard shrouds. Granger looked and saw a huge three-decker looming up not more than half a cable away.

“Helm, larboard a point. Mr. Roberts, get us down to topsails with a reef. Quietly!”

“Aye aye sir,” they chimed. Granger went over to the side to study the ship, and recognized her. It was the Principe de Asturias, a massive Spanish three decker rated at 112 guns. She was hove to.

“We seem to be sailing with the Spanish fleet,” Granger observed to his officers. “That’s the Principe de Asturias off to our starboard.”

“How do we get out of here, sir?” Carslake asked.

“She is the flagship of the Spanish rear admiral, which means that we are probably at the tail end of the fleet. Mr. Clifton was quite alert and called us all promptly.”

“Thank you, sir,” Clifton said. Granger had noted that he’d been looking sheepish, as if he had somehow failed in his duties. He knew that feeling, the tortuous cycle of what-if questions that could be debilitating. He hoped he’d stopped Clifton from that mental self-flagellation.

“We’ll try to work our way around her, then head north,” Granger told them. “If we can get there by dawn, we should be able to slip away.”

“Do you think we’re at war, sir?” Robey asked.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. If we were, even lubberly Spaniards would be more concerned about keeping watch at night.” Granger was going on instinct here, but it just didn’t seem like Principe was that menacing. “Call the hands to wear ship!”

The Belvidera’s experienced crew was at the braces in no time. They put the helm over, bringing Belvidera on a course to safely cross the Spaniard’s bow. “Tell the lookouts to stay awake,” Granger ordered. “They’ll be in formation, which means that as we cross Principe’s bow, there will be another Spaniard on our larboard side.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said automatically. They watched as the Spanish three-decker loomed into sight again. Granger stood next to the helmsman, guiding him to stay as far away from Principe as possible.

“Sir!” came an alarmed call from the larboard side. Granger rushed over to see the shape of a two-decker, or at least her aft section. She was the Monarcha, as the ornate letters on her stern indicated.

Granger guessed that they were too close to the Monarcha to escape notice, and that suspicion was confirmed when they heard a hail from her taffrail. “Pass the word for Jorge!” Granger said urgently, irritated with himself for not anticipating that he might need him sooner.

The hail repeated just as Jorge scrambled on deck. “I need you to respond to them for me,” Granger said, handing him the speaking trumpet.

“What do I say, sir?” Jorge asked.

Granger wracked his brain for the names of Spanish frigates. “Tell her we’re the Perla, taking station to the north.”

Jorge nodded, took the trumpet, and shouted the reply across the water. They were already passing her as she responded. Granger heard some additional shouts. “The capitan says you are an idiot for almost colliding with him,” Jorge relayed.

Granger laughed. “That may very well be.” They crept north, worried that the Spanish fleet was formed in multiple columns, but either it wasn’t, or they’d gotten lucky and penetrated through the northernmost chain of ships. “Mr. Roberts, let’s tack on some sail. Shake out the reefs in the topsails, and get the mains on her as well.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Once again the topmen surged into the rigging. Granger heard the booming canvas but didn’t worry about the noise. Any ship that heard them would just think they were part of the fleet.

“Shall we clear for action, sir?” Roberts asked.

“It is only an hour until dawn. Let’s get the men their breakfast early,” Granger ordered. That would send a message to the entire crew that Granger thought action was imminent. A good captain always fed his crew when he thought there was going to be a battle.

“I brought you some food, sir,” Winkler said, handing Granger a piece of toast. He knew that Granger wouldn’t dream of going below to eat at a time like this, so he brought toast, biscuits, and some fruit up to feed his captain.

Belvidera surged through the water while her crew ate breakfast quickly, hurrying to get in their meal before dawn broke. “What time is dawn, Mr. Bailey?” Granger asked.

“Dawn’s at 5:03am, sir” Bailey answered promptly. Granger held his watch under the binnacle light and saw that it was 4:45.

“The men have been fed, sir,” Roberts reported in.

“Very well, Mr. Roberts. You may clear for action, and send the hands to quarters. Let’s do it as quietly as we can.” That would mean no drum beating “Hearts of Oak”, which took some of the excitement out of it.

There was still a substantial amount of noise as bulkheads were torn down, furnishings were stowed below or put in the boats. “You may launch the boats, but keep my gig close in, lest I need it.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. He began shouting orders, setting the crew in motion to hoist out the boats and then making sure they were securely attached to a line. Granger walked back to the taffrail and fancied he could see them wallowing after Belvidera like ducklings after their mother.

“Let’s get her down to topsails, Mr. Roberts,” Granger ordered. Roberts looked at him, really surprised. Clearly Granger thought there was imminent danger if they floated the boats and reduced their canvas down to fighting sail.

“It seems a bit lighter, sir,” Clifton observed.

“Indeed it does, Mr. Clifton,” Granger agreed. “Let’s change the lookouts. Send your sharpest eyes aloft.”

Clifton acknowledged the order and began to detail the lookouts. Granger began to pace the deck with Roberts at his side. “What do you intend, sir?” He’d been with Granger long enough to know and expect that he’d share his thoughts before battle.

“I think that depends on what we find in a few minutes,” Granger said. “My intention is to head straight to England, unless I have no choice but to fight.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but you seem to think we’ll be in action any second,” Roberts said.

“Call it instinct, Mr. Roberts,” Granger said. “A fleet of any size will have scouting frigates out. We may have evaded the main body, but it is unlikely we’re far enough along to avoid those scouts.”

“Deck there!” shouted the lookout. “Ship close in to starboard.”

Granger and Roberts moved to the rail as quickly as they decently could. There, no more than pistol shot away, was another frigate. They were lucky they hadn’t run right into her.

“Qui va la?” came the hail from the frigate.

“That looks like the Friponne, sir,” Carslake said. “She’s a 32, with 12-pounders.”

“Run up our colors and run out the guns, Mr. Roberts,” Granger ordered. The ports opened and the guns rumbled out. The Frenchman was shouting excitedly now. “Commence firing.”

The quarterdeck carronades fired even before the order was passed below, but the main guns followed soon enough. “She should be no match for us, even if we didn’t surprise her, sir,” Roberts said, being cocky.

“Never underestimate the enemy, Mr. Roberts,” Granger said, yelling to make himself heard in between the concussion of the guns. He watched as broadside after broadside crashed into the Friponne. She was still struggling to get her crew to action. Granger wondered if the first broadside had found her crew still asleep. He cringed at the thought of all that metal slicing through men packed tightly together in hammocks. Belvidera had fired six broadsides into her before her ports started to open, and a cannon here and there ran out.

“Sir!” a seaman said as he appeared in front of Granger. “I’m sorry sir, you couldn’t hear me. There’s a whole fleet off to the larboard, and another frigate coming at us from the northwest with two ships of the line close behind her.”

“What do you make of them?” Granger asked as he looked across the sea at the fleet. There must be at least 30 ships of the line, French and Spanish, sailing together. Were they at war with the Spaniards? Granger shifted his attention to the ships that were close to them now. They would be in range of the approaching frigate in moments, and the ships of the line shortly thereafter.

“Frigate looks like a Don, and she’s signaling up a storm, begging your pardon, sir,” the lookout said.

“Sir, the Frog has struck her colors,” Roberts called.

“Cease firing,” Granger ordered. “You may take a boarding party over to secure her, Mr. Carslake.” He looked at his watch. It had only taken twenty minutes. Then again, Friponne was an older frigate with 12-pounders, and had been caught completely unaware. He trained his glass on the Spaniard. They pulled his gig up and a party of seamen and marines poured into it.

“Sir, the ships are showing their colors. They’re Spanish!” Clifton said. Granger looked around, looking for a way out, but there wasn’t one. There was no way Belvidera could fight two ships of the line and a frigate, especially with a whole fleet out there. He watched as his boarding party scurried up the side of the Friponne. She’d been sailing on a parallel course to Belvidera throughout the action, so Carslake merely had to maintain her course. She would have been a nice prize, but it was unlikely that he’d retain her for very long. He’d probably be a prisoner of war in short order. That spurred him into action, along entirely different lines.

“Mr. Clifton, would you please join me below,” Granger ordered. Clifton followed him dutifully. Granger strolled into what had been his cabin, but was now part of the gun deck. He went over to his safe, which was secured near the stern, and opened it. “Winkler, I’ll need my best uniform,” Granger called to Winkler. He then took two things out of the safe. The first was the ruby from Oran, the other was his collar. “I want you to guard this ruby, Mr. Clifton.”

“Me sir?” Clifton asked, surprised.

“Yes, you,” Granger snapped. “If we are captured, if they board us and take control, I want you to drop the ruby over the side.” Clifton gaped at him. “You are a smart man. I know you’ll only let it go when there is no other option.”

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton said. He took the ruby and stuffed it into his pocket, even though it made his coat bulge out.

Winkler was there with his best coat, and helped him slip it on, and then Granger ran back up on deck. Winkler had to follow him up on deck to fasten the Collar around his neck.

The Spaniards approached Belvidera, with one of the two-deckers and the frigate crossing their bows to block their progress and to potentially rake them, while the other ranged aside. Granger hid his anguish as he looked around at his ship and his crew, and knew that in a few minutes they’d be taken into captivity. He heard a hail from the two-decker as it ranged up next to them, and it took Granger a few seconds to realize they were speaking English. “Heave to!” they shouted again.

“Mr. Roberts, heave to if you please, and signal Friponne to do the same.” As if to punctuate their directive, the guns on the Spanish ship were run out, even as Belvidera hove to. The two ships of the line could blow Belvidera out of the water in five minutes, maybe less.

“Sir, a ship has broken off from the fleet and is headed our way. It’s the Santissima Trinidad,” the lookout called. Granger trained his glass on the fleet and saw the massive Spanish ship, the largest warship in the world, as she sailed toward them in the lubberly fashion one would expect of such a huge ship.

“Boat’s putting off from the Don, sir,” Roberts said, gesturing at the closest two decker. “Looks like a lieutenant on board.”

They waited for him in silence, with Granger trying to pretend that it bothered him not one whit that he was going to be the first captain to strike his colors to the Spanish in this war. The lieutenant mounted the side and saluted the quarterdeck. Granger stepped forward to greet him.

“I am Captain George Granger, of His Britannic Majesty’s ship Belvidera. Welcome aboard, Señor,” Granger said as he bowed politely.

The lieutenant’s eyes got wide as he heard the name, and wider still as he saw the Collar. “I am Lieutenant Luis de Ortegal y Parambuco.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Granger said. “As you can see, we have just captured an errant French frigate, even as we encountered your fleet.”

“That is the Friponne, Señor, and she was sailing with our fleet,” Ortegal said.

“Ships of His Most Catholic Majesty are sailing in concert with ships of the French Republic?” Granger asked. He saw the man cringe when Granger said the word, republic. He watched the man struggle with the situation, until he finally made the easiest decision.

“I was sent to ask you to remain here until our admiral arrives,” Ortegal said nervously.

“I will be glad to stay and meet with your admiral,” Granger said politely. He really had no other cards to play anyway. “It will be good to see him again. I attended a reception on board Admiral Langara’s flagship last month.”

“You did?” the lieutenant asked, shocked. He must not have been in Cadiz when Belvidera had been there.

“I did,” Granger said. The lieutenant was clearly trying to decide whether Granger was insane or not.

“I will take my leave of you, then,” Ortegal said. He descended the side, and they watched as he had himself rowed back to his ship.

“Mr. Roberts, you may hoist all the boats aboard except my gig. Have the hands stay at quarters, but you may return the ship to its normal state.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, but Granger didn’t hear him. He was watching Ortegal climb the side of the Spanish ship, and watched him exchanging words with his captain, who seemed irritated in the extreme. Ortegal got back in his boat, but this time he headed off toward the Santissima Trinidad, which was almost up to them. In the meantime, he heard the noise and commotion on board Belvidera as her bulkheads were restored and all of her furnishings were returned to their place.

“We’ve secured from action, sir,” Roberts said, reporting to him.

“Excellent. We can’t fight two ships of the line and a frigate, and we certainly can’t match guns with the Santissima Trinidad,” Granger said ruefully.

“Wouldn’t they have taken us already if they intended to, sir?”

“That is what Lieutenant Ortegal was here to do. He paused when he found out what ship we are,” Granger said. They both knew that it wasn’t Belvidera that made him pause, it was Granger.

“The boat’s putting off from Santissima Trinidad,” the lookout called. They watched as the boat headed toward them. Off to the side, they saw a French ship of the line closing in on the group of ships with the obvious intention of taking Belvidera as a prize. Signals flew up the Santissima Trinidad’s masts, and she fired a gun to make her point. The French ship dropped back to rejoin the fleet.

The boat pulled up to Belvidera and Ortegal came aboard again. “Capitan,” he said to Granger, “I have come to ask you if you would give Admiral Langara the courtesy of allowing him to receive you on board his flagship.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Granger said. He pulled Roberts aside. “There is no fight to be had here. If they decide to take us, we must let them. No heroics Rodney.”

“No heroics, sir,” Roberts said, looking as depressed as Granger felt. Granger nodded to Ortegal and followed him into his boat. The Spanish boat’s crew studied him curiously as they conveyed him to the massive flagship.

The Santissima Trinidad seemed to grow exponentially larger the closer they got to her, until they finally reached her main chains and Granger felt as if he were going to have to climb up to the heavens to reach her entry port. It ended up not being that far, thankfully. They received him aboard with due honors, and a captain curtly led him to the Admiral’s cabin.

Langara got up to greet him, as did another officer Granger did not know. “Welcome aboard, Captain,” Langara said cordially. “Allow me to introduce Admiral José Solano y Bote, Marquis de Socorro.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,” Granger said politely.

“It is too bad that we meet each other on such unfortunate circumstances,” Solano said.

“Unfortunate, sir?” Granger asked.

“We must ask you to surrender your ship,” Solano said.

Granger had been expecting this, expecting the Spaniards to ask him to surrender. He had rehearsed his response mentally, but now that it was time to deliver, he wondered if he could. But then he realized he had no choice, so put his all into his performance. “That is an outrage!”

The Spaniards stared at him, surprised. “I assure you, Captain, it is not an outrage, it is a fact.”

“Our countries are at peace. You cannot seize one of His Britannic Majesty’s ships during peacetime! Unless our countries are not at peace?”

The two admirals looked at each other uncomfortably. “The peace is tenuous,” Langara allowed.

“But it is peace, nonetheless,” Granger asserted.

“Yet nonetheless, we must seize your ship,” Solano said, his eyes narrowing.

“That is not only a dishonorable act, it must be a lie!” Granger shouted as he stood up.

“You would question my honor?” Solano shouted back as he stood, just as outraged.

“It is either your honor that is questionable, or His Most Catholic Majesty’s, and since that is impossible, it must be yours,” Granger said.

Langara intervened. “Gentlemen, please sit down. There is no reason to hurl insults at one another. We are not French, after all.” The joke was forced, and so was the acquiescence of Granger and Solano as they reseated themselves. “Explain your statement about His Majesty,” Langara said to Granger.

“I was received by His Most Catholic Majesty not more than a fortnight ago, when he awarded me this Collar for service to him and his kingdom.”

“You were at the Alhambra?” Solano asked, nervously now.

“I was. I stayed there for two nights, and had a private meeting with His Highness the Prince of Peace. His Highness assured me that our two countries were still at peace. Your suggestion that you were given belligerent orders would make that a lie, since it would have been impossible for you to have received those orders after I left the Alhambra and still have sailed before I did.”

“He met with Godoy?” Solano asked Langara in Spanish, assuming Granger didn’t speak that language.

“If he says he did, he did. He has the Collar to show for it, and he did not have it when I saw him last month,” Langara said to Solano, also in Spanish. Granger pretended to stare at them dumbly, as if he understood nothing. There was no reason for them to think otherwise since Granger didn’t speak Spanish the last time he’d seen Langara. Langara stood up and walked to his stern windows and looked out, then turned around. He’d looked confused before he walked over there, but now he was resolved. He’d made his decision.

“Captain, we are simply escorting Monsieur de Richery safely away from Cadiz. As a state of war does not exist between our countries, you are free to go, with two provisions.”

“Sir?” Granger asked.

“I require that you release the Friponne and allow her to rejoin Monsieur de Richery.” Granger was frustrated by that, since Friponne was a legitimate prize of war. She was old, and wouldn’t bring much in the way of prize money, but sailing her into Portsmouth or Plymouth with British colors over French was always a moral boosting event. “It would please me if you would offer me this accommodation,” Langara added.

“Since you asked for it, sir, it will of course be done,” Granger said, making the best of a bad situation. “If you will have me returned to my ship, I will remove my prize crew from Friponne and resume my voyage.”

“I would also like you to promise me that you will not shadow this fleet. While we have nothing to hide, if you were to remain in the area, my officers may take offense and feel the need to capture your ship.”

There was much to argue with in that statement, not the least of which was Langara’s assumption that his ships could easily take Belvidera, but this was not the time to split hairs. “That is also not a problem,” Granger replied. “As I said, I am anxious to resume my voyage.”

“Where are you going, if I may ask?” Solano was trying to be wily, but he wasn’t good at the game.

“I have orders to return home to England,” Granger said, since there was no harm in their knowing that. “I must thank you gentlemen for allowing me to continue my journey. My wife is due to give birth, and I am most anxious to be with her.”

“A happy occasion. You have our best wishes,” Langara said. They bowed to each other; said goodbye in the flowery way Spaniards did, and then the captain escorted him back to the boat, while Ortegal escorted him back to Belvidera. It only took fifteen minutes to retrieve Carslake and his prize crew, and then Belvidera spread her sails and headed for England.