St. Vincent - 2. Chapter 2

September, 1796

Captain Sir George Granger stood on his quarterdeck in a foul mood. Part of his foul mood was a normal reaction to sailing, to leaving home. He’d had a tearful goodbye with Caroline and his children this morning, and he found that the older the children got, the harder it was to take his leave of them. Another part of his bad mood was undoubtedly caused by the hangover he nursed, a reminder of the pleasant dinner they’d had with Lord and Lady Spencer last night. Then there was the most irritating part of all. Belvidera lay at Woolwich, fully loaded with her anchor hove short, with the tide just now beginning to ebb. This was the time to sail, only they were still short their passengers. The Spanish Ambassador and his suite, along with Mr. Ramsey, had still not arrived, despite the boats he’d sent to retrieve them. Granger paced his deck, and only just remembered not to stomp angrily.

“Boats rounding the bend, sir,” the lookout called. Granger turned his eye to the river and saw the boats approaching.

“Mr. Clifton, have those boats hoisted aboard as soon as they arrive. Mr. Roberts, get us under way. Hands aloft to make sail,” Granger said. His orders were acknowledged, and loud shouts preceded the swarm of men up Belvidera’s masts. He watched proudly as the topsails were set smartly, and trimmed to catch the morning breeze. He fancied that he could see the boats’ crews pick up their pace, knowing that if they didn’t catch Belvidera soon, they’d have a much harder pull as they chased her down river.

“Mr. Carslake, get the anchor up,” Granger called. “Captain Somers, I’d be obliged if you’d have the band begin playing as soon as the boats are aboard.”

“Aye aye sir,” they both chimed. Granger watched his officers deftly allocate resources to meet his demands. Setting sail, raising the anchor, and retrieving the boats were all evolutions that should tax a normal crew to their utmost, but Granger’s crew consisted of veterans, and they knew their jobs.

“Mr. Brookstone, do you have the Spanish flag ready to raise?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir,” Brookstone answered.

Granger moved his eyes around the deck, taking in the various activities, looking for any flaw. He heard the bosun’s whistles blow as the Spanish Ambassador came aboard, and immediately Belvidera began to fire off her salute as the Spanish flag was raised up the main mast. Granger greeted the man courteously.

“Welcome aboard, Your Excellency,” he said.

“Thank you, Sir George,” he said, looking around at all the activity.

“Mr. Villiers will show you below to your cabin, if that meets with your approval, Your Excellency,” Granger said with a bow.

“I would be obliged,” he said, happy to be out of the way. The boat was lashed alongside while the various sea chests were hauled up. In the mean time, Belvidera had broken free of the land, her anchor rising from the muddy bottom of the Thames. Granger felt the ship spring into action.

“Starboard your helm a point,” Granger scowled to the helmsman. The band chose that moment to begin playing, but Granger was able to tune them out and focus on navigating his ship down the river.

A very handsome young man was trying to get his attention, but he had none to spare. He quite brusquely dismissed him, just in time to avoid ramming a trawler that was idiotic enough to wander in front of them. Time seemed to fly by as Belvidera cruised gracefully toward the sea, and as her crew stowed the boats, luggage, and passengers that had just come aboard and readied herself for the journey ahead. Not until they were off the Nore would Granger grudgingly leave the deck to go below and welcome the Ambassador and his suite aboard in a more formal manner. He found he was ravenously hungry, which was convenient since dinner was being served.

“I hope Your Excellency is comfortable,” Granger said hospitably.

“I fear you have given me the greater part of your cabin, Sir George,” del Campo said. “Your generosity is overwhelming.”

“I am sorry your aides are forced to share a cabin,” he said to the gentlemen in Spanish. They chattered delightedly at learning he spoke their language, as much as possible. Jorge was on hand to help Granger make sure he didn’t say something ridiculously stupid in error.

“How long will it take us to return to Spain, sir?” one of the aides asked.

“It can be two weeks, or it could be six, largely depending on the weather,” Granger said nonchalantly, as if it made no difference to him at all.

“We will rendezvous with your Admiral Jervis, Sir George?” another aide asked. Granger hid his initial concerns, that they had planned this whole thing just to spy on them. He’d checked into their backgrounds, and not one of them was a naval man.

“Again, I am not sure,” Granger said. “If we have an opportunity to land you in El Ferrol, we will do that. Otherwise, we will take you to Gibraltar.”

“Ah yes, Gibraltar,” del Campo said. “Nothing has caused so much enmity between our nations as your possession of Gibraltar. There are those in my country who can think of nothing but retaking it, and those in yours who are adamant that it be retained at all costs.”

“It is likely that most of my countrymen feel that way, Your Excellency,” Granger said delicately. “Gibraltar has served us well as a strategic base and a waypoint in the Mediterranean.”

“But is it worth the constant threat of war?” del Campo asked.

“Is Gibraltar the reason for this latest war, Your Excellency?” Granger asked pointedly. He watched all the Spaniards recoil at that, at the knowledge that it was their own alliance with France, the constant subordination of Spain to that country that had caused this war. Gibraltar was just a convenient excuse, a rallying cry.

“You must forgive me, Sir George, for injecting politics into an otherwise pleasant meal. I fear that being in your capital has made it difficult for me to think as a regular person.”

Granger laughed. “No one who lives in any capital can emerge as a normal person.” Their conversation and banter was light after that, until Granger went on deck to check on their progress as they sailed down Channel. He was standing by the binnacle when a figure approached him.

“Begging your pardon, Sir George, but I have not had the chance to introduce myself. I am Elijah Ramsey,” the figure said politely.

Granger turned to face this spy in his midst, and found himself jolted out of his bad mood by the man’s devastatingly handsome looks. He looked young, with a face that could only be described as angelic. His reddish-blond hair seemed to accentuate that look, creating almost a halo effect. And then there were his eyes, dark brown eyes, eyes that seemed to smolder with passion. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Ramsey,” Granger said curtly, although not as curtly as he had planned.

“Thank you, sir. I was wondering if you might have some time to chat about my assignment.” The poor man seemed nervous, and Granger, with his fussy sense of fairness, realized that he’d condemned him before he’d even met him.

“Walk with me, Mr. Ramsey,” Granger said, more of an order. “Tell me of your assignment.”

“I am worried that you will think me a spy, someone sent to watch your every move, sir,” Ramsey said.

“The thought had occurred to me,” Granger said, as he pivoted.

“I’ve followed your career since the siege of Toulon. I’ve read all the published reports, and I’ve talked to as many people as I can to get additional insights. I think that you are one of England’s best captains, and certainly the best of the newer crowd. I wanted to be able to witness events first hand, sir.” They reached their turn, and Granger’s eyes met Ramsey’s, and saw in them hero worship, maybe even something more.

“You seem to be one of my biggest fans, Mr. Ramsey, which makes me question your judgment,” Granger said, joking.

“That would be the modesty you are renowned for, sir,” Ramsey said, grinning.

“So what is it you are supposed to do?” Granger asked.

“My goal is to write about our adventures, as it were, sir. I hope to be able to augment my words with some sketches.”

“You are an artist?” Granger asked.

“I’m not sure if that is the accurate description, sir,” Ramsey said. The man had an engaging smile, and a charming demeanor.

“Perhaps you also have some modesty, Mr. Ramsey?” Granger teased.

“Perhaps, sir,” Ramsey said.

“And what if I do not like your articles, or your sketches?” Granger asked.

“Then they will become food for the fishes, sir,” Ramsey said, gesturing to the ocean, as if he were going to throw them away.

“I sense that you understand me,” Granger said, getting serious. “I do not like braggarts, and I was worried that you would come up with something that made me appear to be self promoting.” Granger watched Ramsey get angry, and it was interesting to see that he had a temper beneath his charming artist’s veneer. “Having talked to you, I think that you know how I feel, and I am confident that you will do an excellent job.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ramsey said, the anger dissipated by such praise. “I know that you play the flute and the clarinet.”

“It seems as though you are diving into my mind and picking my thoughts out of it,” Granger said, slightly irritated.

“Perhaps some of them, sir,” Ramsey said, only now he was flirting.

“Do you play an instrument?” Granger asked.

“A musical one, sir?” Granger ignored the blatant double-entendre. “I actually do, I play the violin.”

“We lost our last violinist,” Granger said sadly.

“Lord Frederick Cavendish, if I am not mistaken, sir.” Ramsey paused. “He is one of the men who spoke so highly of you.”

“You know his lordship?” Granger asked, just remembering at the last minute not to call him ‘Freddie’.

“I do. I have done some work for his family, mostly sketches. I worked with a painter; I did the sketches and he did the painting, sir.”

“Well, perhaps we can test your musical abilities,” Granger said.

“I am at your service, sir,” Ramsey said politely.

“Excellent. Now if you will excuse me, Mr. Ramsey, I must attend to my duties.” Ramsey bowed, a courtly move which Granger returned, and then he mentally returned to the world of his ship. In reality, he’d never left her. His subconscious mind was trained to constantly monitor the ship, and so in tune to her behavior was he that it seemed as if she were an extension of himself.

Granger watched the evolutions as Belvidera wore ship for the trek further down the Channel. He saw Gatling dashing up the shrouds with Villiers behind him trying to keep up. Granger thought back to the time when he’d been a midshipman, when he’d first joined Barracuda, and she’d set sail for the first time. He’d been terrified, being forced to climb up on those heaving things, those masts that seemed to have as their only mission flinging him off them and into the sea. Perhaps in six or seven years Villiers would be standing on his own quarterdeck, watching a new midshipman scurrying up the masts. And so the cycle went on.

“I will be below,” Granger said to Roberts. “Send Mr. Villiers down to see me when he returns to the deck.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said.

Granger made his way to what was left of “his” cabin. He’d retained his office, the quarter gallery, and his sleeping compartment, but the rest had been allocated to the Ambassador. They would take their meals together in the dining room.

“I’ve almost got you unpacked, sir,” Winkler said.

“Not much room,” Granger observed.

“Begging your pardon sir, but it’s not all that much smaller than your cabin on the Intrepid.”

Granger looked around and realized he was right. “I have become spoiled.”

“Yes sir, what with all the excellent care you get,” Winkler joked.

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. “Enter,” Granger said. He heard footsteps, soft ones, and looked up to see a very nervous young man standing respectfully in front of him.

“You sent for me, sir?”

“Yes Mr. Villiers. I like to meet my officers when they come aboard,” Granger said.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Villiers said, concerned that Granger was irritated. “I came aboard when you weren’t here.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you did anything wrong, I was just telling you why I summoned you,” Granger said. He was a cute lad, but small. Granger couldn’t decide if he was small because he was a late bloomer, or just small in general.

“I understand, sir,” he said shyly.

“So you wanted to come to sea?” Granger asked, stating the obvious. “I don’t suppose you play an instrument.” For some reason, Granger felt the desire to play his clarinet, but he didn’t want to play alone, and he didn’t trust himself to play with just Ramsey.

“Sadly, sir, I play the piano.”

Granger laughed. “Well, I don’t have one of those, so that won’t do much good.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but may I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead, Mr. Villiers.”

“I’m excited to be posted to your ship, but I’m also surprised, sir. I know that my mother and your mother haven’t always been on the best of terms.”

Granger smiled. “I suspect that if we were to dive into their minds, we’d find that they really don’t dislike each other. Besides, it is not dignified to let women’s trivial spats interfere in the careers of young gentlemen.”

“I understand, sir.”

“You have no cause to worry, Mr. Villiers. You are one of my officers, and you will be treated fairly.”

“Thank you, sir, although I never worried about that. I was just curious as to why you did it.”

“Because the Prince of Wales asked me to,” Granger said. The boy’s eyes bulged at that. “He told me to have you caned at every available opportunity.” He watched Villiers expression change to horror, which made Granger actually laugh out loud. “You may return to duty.”

“Aye aye sir,” Villiers said.

“He seems like a good enough lad, sir,” Winkler said after he left.

“And you have become an expert at evaluating the abilities of King’s officers?” Granger joked.

“Indeed, I have become quite good at it, sir.” Granger just shook his head.

“What makes you think he’s a good lad?”

“He fit in right well, sir, and didn’t have any of those attitude issues that Mr. Clifton or Mr. Fitzwilliam had.”

His Britannic Majesty’s ship Belvidera, for all her fine lines and spread of sails, lay wallowing in the Bay of Biscay, totally becalmed. “This has got to be one of the most unpredictable bodies of water on earth,” Carslake groused to no one in particular.

“Let’s put this time to good use. Mr. Meurice!” Granger called.

“Sir?”

“Do you have your davits rigged?”

Meurice smiled. “We do, sir.”

“Hoist out the boats and rig them to the davits. Let’s see how they work,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir!” Meurice said. Granger paced the deck, up and down, watching surreptitiously as Roberts and Meurice supervised the effort. It was humorous to watch the men try to heave the boats up with the new set-up. Since they hadn’t got the hang of it, it seemed as if one end of the boat would end up higher than the other as they were lifted.

After the evolution was complete, Granger felt as if he were on a completely different ship. He looked forward to the waist, where normally the boats were stacked, creating this pyramid in the middle of the ship that tended to block one’s view of the forecastle. Now they were gone, and he had a clear view along the entire length of the upper deck. There was a negative trade off, though, in that the boats were dangling over the sides, so if he walked to the edge of the quarterdeck to look down, the boat blocked his view. Still, that was something he rarely did, and the trade off in having the deck clear was well worth it.

“Mr. Roberts,” Granger called. “Do the boats seem secure to you?”

Roberts had been inspecting them dubiously throughout their hoisting, so Granger expected some negativity from him. He was to be surprised. “Yes sir, I think they’re quite secure.”

“Excellent. Tomorrow we’ll have drills, and practice raising and lowering them. I want us to be able to do that as quickly as possible, and I want us to be able to do it reliably enough that we can lower the boats with men in them, if need be,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said automatically. Meurice came up and joined them, the three of them staring forward at the empty space where the boats had once been.

“Now that the boats aren’t there, the gangways seem awfully narrow,” Granger observed. The gangways linked the quarter deck and the forecastle.

“Yes, sir,” Meurice said. “We could put a few extra planks there, to give us a wider passage.”

“That is an excellent idea, Mr. Meurice,” Granger said. “Let’s try that. And let’s also see if we can’t adapt the hatch covers so they cover up the hold. That will give us an easier time of it when we encounter storms,” Granger said.

They looked at him and nodded, taking in his suggestion. It made sense, since during storms the water would crash onto Belvidera’s deck and much of it would end up pouring below through the main hatch, only to have to be laboriously pumped out. Granger was also thinking of his own comfort. That wall of water that made it to the main deck inevitably washed into his own cabin, dampening his carpets and making his world seem moldy and sour. He reasoned that the more livable Belvidera was, the better morale would be, and the better Belvidera would be as a fighting unit.

As they moved off to implement his orders, del Campo appeared on deck and moved to join Granger. “The vagaries of the wind seem to be delaying us.”

“Yes, Your Excellency. No winds are almost worse than adverse winds.”

“I have a question for you Captain,” del Campo said.

“Sir?” Granger asked.

“How do you think your government would react if Spain were to ask England to assist us in shipping our treasure from our colonies?”

Granger eyed him steadily to force himself from staring in shock. “Your Excellency, I would hardly presume to speak on such an issue for His Majesty’s ministers.”

“I am not asking you to render a decision, only an opinion, idle speculation if you will.”

“I think His Majesty’s government would be worried that they would be aiding in the shipment of money that would be used against us, Your Excellency,” Granger said honestly.

“Unless, perhaps, they were compensated, and such monies were considered an adequate offset to that risk,” del Campo offered.

“Perhaps,” Granger allowed. “Capturing a Spanish treasure ship occupies the minds of most Royal Navy officers and crews. Not, of course, to deprive His Most Catholic Majesty of his money, but merely to sate our own avarice,” Granger added playfully.

“Naturally,” del Campo said.

“It seems to me, Your Excellency, that maritime nations such as ours, as well as the Portuguese and the Dutch, have a natural bond, a natural alliance forged by the sea,” Granger offered.

“And you are wondering what madness it is that Madrid has tossed its lot in with the French once again?”

“That question has crossed my mind,” Granger agreed.

“If our northeastern border were secure from invasion, I think such a natural alliance would make sense. As it is, we are not an island nation, and we share a land border with France. As they are the stronger power, it makes us vulnerable to their whims.”

“I suspect there are many Scotsmen who could easily understand your point, Your Excellency,” Granger observed.

Granger sat at his desk, writing in time to Belvidera’s easy motions as she worked her way to the south. He picked up the glass of water Winkler had put next to his writing pad and sipped it cautiously. Normally water that had been in a cask even this long was already so rancid it was impossible to drink without mixing it with wine or some other ardent spirit. Granger found this was much better, and while not entirely pleasant, it was palatable, and that was saying something.

He’d gotten a letter from Calvert, who was busy chasing pirates and privateers in the Caribbean. Granger thought about his handsome face, his long sexy neck, and his body that he used to give Granger so much pleasure, until he had to distract himself to quell his erection. Granger craved physical attention, but he knew that with Calvert, that was only a small part of the equation. He missed the man’s playfulness, his youthful demeanor and tempestuous emotions, the things that made loving him so challenging and so rewarding at the same time.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hail from the masthead, a hail that he heard here in his cabin. Granger put his letters away and stood up, making sure that his dick wasn’t tenting his trousers. A knock at the door heralded the arrival of Gatling.

“Mr. Clifton’s respects, sir, and we’ve sighted a sail.”

“A sail, Mr. Gatling?” Granger asked.

“Yes, sir, begging your pardon, sir, but Mr. Clifton wanted to advise you right away.” Granger smiled. Clifton was so excited he’d sent word before he even knew what the sail was.

“That is as it should be, Mr. Gatling. I will go up on deck. Lead the way, if you please,” Granger said. He snickered to himself as he saw Gatling try and control his impulse to charge out of the cabin and rush up on deck. Instead the young man walked with determined purpose, aping Granger’s own pace. As he climbed up to the deck, his coat tails rode up, exposing his cute little ass. Granger had to look away, lest his dick became a problem yet again.

“What do we have, Mr. Clifton?” Granger asked.

“We sighted a sail, but it now appears to be more than one ship, sir,” Clifton said. “They’re downwind of us.” In other words, Belvidera could investigate with no real risk to her own safety.

“Call the watch. Let’s shake out the reefs in the topsails,” Granger ordered. “Helm, port a point.” Granger set them on a path directly toward the other ships.

The commotion aroused del Campo, who came up on deck looking as perfectly dressed as always. “Good afternoon, Captain. What has caused all the excitement?”

“We have sighted some ships, Your Excellency. We know nothing more than that.”

“And you are investigating?” he asked. Granger almost sneered at this attitude he encountered among both French and Spanish officers, an attitude of extreme caution, almost fear, when sighting a sail at sea. A Royal Navy captain saw every sail as an opportunity. It would possibly be a prize, an enemy ship, or a friendly ship that may be carrying news.

“We are,” Granger said. “Perhaps it is your treasure fleet,” Granger teased.

“I hope that is not the case, Captain,” del Campo said with a smile. “Even with so fine and gallant a vessel as this, I fear you would find yourself heavily outnumbered.”

“I suspect you are right,” Granger said. “If you will excuse me, I intend to go aloft and look at these strangers for myself.” Granger headed forward, across the enlarged gangways, and climbed up the foremast shrouds. The Spanish ambassador was a nice man, but Granger found his company tiresome at times, and he was climbing the masts to avoid conversation as much as he was to evaluate this new group of ships.

He hauled himself up to the main top and nodded to the lookout there. Granger took his powerful glass and aimed it at the oncoming ships. “What do you make of them, Soames?” he asked the seaman.

“Looks to be four ships, sir,” he said. “If I had to say, I’d bet the closest two was frigates, and the other two was 74s.”

“That was my conclusion as well,” Granger acknowledged. “Whose?”

“Looks to be Dons, if you ask me, sir,” he said. “They was heading south until they see’d us, sir.”

“Running for home, no doubt,” Granger joked. “Let me know if they do anything, and keep me advised as to what they are.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Granger slid back to the deck on the backstay, then strode back to the quarterdeck. His officers had gathered in a separate group from the Spaniards, but they all closed around him as he approached.

“It seems we have encountered some of your countrymen, Your Excellency,” Granger said with a bow. “Two frigates, and two ships of the line, or so it appears.”

“What will you do?” del Campo asked, the same question the others wanted to ask him.

“I am of a mind to close with them under a flag of truce to allow Your Excellency and your staff the opportunity to transfer to those ships, where hopefully you will find yourself a safe passage home.”

“They could try and capture you,” del Campo said.

“I am hoping that Your Excellency would be willing to vouch for the safety of this ship, noting that with the direction of the wind, we would have no trouble avoiding those ships,” Granger offered. He was most anxious to rid himself of the Spanish ambassador. “I am also unable to believe that one of His Most Catholic Majesty’s officers would violate a flag of truce.”

“It is obvious, even to a landsman like me, that you could easily avoid capture at this point, Captain. I will do my best to keep you from their clutches.”

“I must thank Your Excellency,” Granger said with a bow. “Mr. Roberts, we’ll need a white parley flag hoisted over the Union flag. You may leave the Ambassador’s flag flying as well.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. Granger smiled at the confusion that would cause aboard the Spanish ships. They’d see a white flag over the British flag, and a Spanish flag flying from the main mast.

Belvidera closed with the Spanish ships, until the picture became much clearer. “Captain,” the ambassador said, interrupting his thoughts. “The lead ship is, according to my aide, the frigate, La Sabina. He thinks the other ship is the Ceres, and the large ship of the line is the Principe de Asturias.”

“I must thank Your Excellency,” Granger said. “Mr. Roberts, fire a single shot to announce our peaceful intentions, then you may heave to.” He had brought his ship close enough to these Spanish ships. There was no need to risk his ship based solely on Spanish promises.

“Sir, boat’s putting off from the frigate,” the lookout shouted. The Spaniards were going to save him the effort of sending a boat by sending one of their own instead. He studied it carefully as it drew closer, and was surprised to see a captain in the boat no less. Granger snapped orders at Roberts to prepare for his arrival, not that Roberts wouldn’t have handled that on his own. The boat hooked on to Belvidera and the Spanish captain was received on board with due honors.

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

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain. I am Capitan Don Jacobo Stuart, of His Most Catholic Majesty’s ship La Sabina.” Granger had heard of this man, of the descendant of the English Stuart kings who was serving in the Spanish Navy.

“It is an honor to have you visit my ship, Capitan. Perhaps you would care to come below for some refreshments?”

“Sadly, Captain, I fear I must return to my ship after I ascertain what has brought you here under a flag of truce.”

“But of course,” Granger said. Del Campo had been below, and had chosen just that moment to reappear on the deck. “Allow me to introduce you to His Excellency Señordel Campo, until recently His Most Catholic Majesty’s ambassador to His Britannic Majesty.”

“It is good to see you again, Your Excellency,” Stuart said, bowing to the ambassador. The ambassador returned his bows and courteous greeting.

“His Excellency sought passage back to Spain on board my ship, now that a state of war regrettably exists between our two nations,” Granger explained. “I was hoping that you would be able to provide His Excellency with accommodations for the remainder of his voyage home.”

“That was most thoughtful of you, Captain,” Stuart said. He turned to del Campo. “Your Excellency, if you and your aides would like to accompany me, I can convey you to the admiral, and then back to Spain.”

Del Campo nodded to acknowledge Stuart, and then turned to Granger. “I must thank you again for your kind service to me.”

“The pleasure of Your Excellency’s company was reward enough,” Granger said, bowing ceremoniously.

“Then I will take my leave of you,” Del Campo said. He and Granger bowed, and then Granger bowed to Stuart. The next time they met, it would be unlikely they would be so pleasant. As the Spanish Ambassador lowered himself over the side, the Spanish flag was lowered from the mast, as if the two were linked. Granger watched the boat shove off and return to La Sabina, and then put Belvidera about, heading away from his destination. He’d wait until the Spaniards were underway, and then skirt around them, giving them a wide berth.