St. Vincent - 4. Chapter 4

October, 1796

Granger stared at the sea where Aurore had been, and where now there floated only debris from the battle. He wanted to flee to his cabin, collapse onto his cot face down and sob, venting the emotions that boiled within him, but he was a Royal Navy captain first and foremost, and there were others depending on him. He had responsibilities to attend to.

“Mr. Roberts, where is that Spanish frigate?” Granger demanded.

Roberts looked at him, surprised. They’d all been so enthralled and horror-stricken they’d totally forgotten about the other ship. “Masthead, what do you make of the Don?” Roberts inquired.

“Hull down to the east, sir,” he shouted down.

“Helm, set a course due east. Mr. Roberts, I want the mains and topsails on her at once,” Granger commanded. The whistles blew and the topmen rushed aloft, while the remainder of Aurore’s crew sat on the deck, exhausted from their exertions. “Mr. Gatling,” Granger called.

“Sir?”

“Get the wash deck pump rigged for these men. Anyone who isn’t in sickbay should get a bath. Tell the purser to supply them with materials from the slop chest so they can make new clothes.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Granger looked aloft as the billowing canvas grabbed the wind and shot Belvidera forward. “The topgallants as well, Mr. Roberts.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, but dared to give Granger a dubious look.

“I want that other frigate,” Granger said to the deck in general. “Mr. Meurice, plot her position and ours.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and hurried down to the chartroom.

Granger went forward to the waist, where the Aurore’s men were sitting, looking exhausted and despondent. “Have Aurore’s men assemble forward, and then call all hands, Mr. Roberts.” Roberts nodded to Hercule, the boatswain, who pelted out the whistle call, augmented by the cries of “all hands, all hands lay aft.” It was the same procedure used to call the men to witness punishment, Granger thought wryly.

He walked to the rail and looked down into the waist, where the faces of his crew looked up at him. On the forecastle were Aurore’s men, looking grimy and grim. “Men,” Granger began, shouting loudly over the wind, “We have heroes amongst us. You have seen how these men fought against two frigates, and big frigates at that! You saw how they fought the fires that ultimately consumed their vessel, fought them off long enough for us to save Aurore’s wounded. These men have lost everything, all their possessions, and their ship. They are here with us now, and I am relying on your generosity to help them through this time.” There would be countless items they’d be missing, things like knives, shoes, paper, and pens. All they had were the clothes they were wearing. He knew his crew would help them, would share what they could. He turned to the Aurore’s crew. “Men of Aurore, we are proud to welcome you aboard.”

Then as his crew was dismissed, they did something that really surprised Granger. As if sensing their Captain’s emotions, his extreme distress at losing the Aurore and one of his best friends, they responded to mirror his mood. A loud cheer broke out in the waist and expanded as the men spontaneously rushed into the shrouds and rigging and hung there, cheering on the remnants of Aurore’s crew. He watched those dislocated sailors try not to shed tears over such an outburst of acclaim, but most were unsuccessful. Granger smiled at them all proudly.

“Mr. Roberts, you may re-light the galley stove. Let’s see if we can’t provide an especially grand meal for the men today,” Granger ordered. “I’ll want a full report on how many men were saved, and how many are wounded.”

“Aye aye sir.”

“Mr. Carslake, did any of the officers survive?”

“No, sir,” he said sadly. “Besides Mr. Darby, there’s a bosun’s mate, and a few other petty officers, but the only other officer was the third lieutenant. He died shortly after we brought him aboard.”

“Mr. Darby,” Granger called. The midshipman had been off to the side, looking lost in this strange ship. For the first time, Granger had a chance to study the young man. He was tall, probably 5’10”, and big in a beefy kind of way. His dark blond hair combined with his large frame and round face made him seem more boyish than he was.

“Sir?” he asked.

“Do you have enough energy to walk with me?”

“Yes, sir,” the young man said, although it sounded like ‘of course’. Everyone left them alone as they began to pace the quarterdeck. Granger walked slowly, because he knew the young man was exhausted, but he also knew that it was important to keep him moving right now.

“Tell me of your battle,” Granger said gently.

“We encountered the two frigates sailing together, sir,” he said. “It was misty in the morning, and we came upon them unexpectedly. I was on the quarterdeck, and I heard Captain Travers tell everyone that we’d fight them both, and since they weren’t English, those were even odds.” Granger smiled at the thought of Travers with his patriotic bravado, hiding how nervous he must have been.

“Those are still tough odds,” Granger observed.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “We took on the Don first, and crossed his stern, raking him good as we did. It was brilliant, because he couldn’t turn away without ramming the Frog. So then we raked the Frog too,” he was so animated, recalling Travers’ brilliant maneuver. “We traded broadsides with the Frog and he got lucky, shooting away our mizzen. That’s when we lost Mr. Merrick,” he said sadly. “The mast seemed to land fully on him, and when we cut it away and pulled off the wreckage, he was already dead.”

“Mr. Merrick was a brave and gallant officer. He served on this ship long enough to acquire many friends. We will miss him as well,” Granger said somberly.

“Yes, sir. He spoke of you and Belvidera often. I think he and Captain Travers spent many an evening reminiscing about their adventures with you,” Darby said. Granger ignored the feelings that evoked: The jealousy that Merrick and Travers had been so close and intimate as to spend off hours in an apparently innocent but extensive manner, the knowledge that those hours weren’t innocent, and the curiosity that Darby seemed to know a lot about them, as if he were there as well.

“What happened then?” Granger asked, getting back on track.

“The Frog grappled with us,” he said, then chuckled. “He thought since we were smaller and he had more men, he’d just come walking aboard, sir. But Captain Travers loaded the quarterdeck and focs’l guns with canister and blasted away their boarding party with one broadside. Then we boarded them.”

“You boarded them?” Granger asked, not because he didn’t believe him, but for clarity.

“Yes, sir. The Frogs were firing down on us and that’s when one of their marines hit Captain Travers. He made us prop him up so he could direct the fight, while the Second Lieutenant led the boarding party. We’d all but taken the ship when the fire took over the Frog. Captain Travers ordered us to break away from her and flood our magazine. Then the Frog exploded. It was like the hand of God, sir, where he came down and plucked three-fourths of the living people away with one move. I was blown onto my stomach and that probably saved me from the splinters that flew around. One of the bigger ones hit the captain in the stomach, and he knew then he was done for. He looked around for another officer to take charge, but there wasn’t anyone. He saw me and he smiled at me.” Granger stopped walking and put his hand on Darby’s shoulder to steady him, as he was becoming hysterical. It was only marginally successful. “He told me that I was one of the most able midshipmen he’d ever encountered, that I was almost as bright as you, sir.” Now it was Granger’s turn to bite back his emotion. “He told me to take charge of the ship, and to watch out for his men.”

“You must have earned his trust, Mr. Darby,” Granger said.

“Thank you, sir,” Darby responded gratefully, even though they both knew neither he nor Travers had any choice, since Darby was the only one left standing. “After that, he rolled onto his side because of the pain. We saw your ship coming up, and saw the Don break off the action. I sent what men were left to fight the fires, but they were everywhere. We’d just get one put out when there was another one. That’s when you came aboard and took us off.”

“You did very well, Mr. Darby.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Granger studied the young man carefully, until he feared he was making him nervous. “How long have you been at sea?”

“For almost a year, sir,” he said. “I wanted to go into the Navy, and my father asked Captain Travers to take me on board.”

“You were promoted to midshipman quickly,” Granger observed. “Were you carried before then?” That was common practice, that a young man with connections would be carried on ship’s books for years prior to actually going to sea, such that he could join a ship as a midshipman instead of working his way there as a captain’s servant.

“No, sir, but it was arranged,” he said nervously. That made Granger suspicious.

“Who is your father?”

“Sir, I am not supposed to reveal that to anyone, but I have permission to tell you.”

“Indeed?” Granger asked curiously. “So who is he?”

“The Duke of Clarence, sir,” he said. “My mother was the Prince of Wales’ first mistress. She goes by the name Mary Robinson now, although it was originally Darby, which is how I got my name. She’s a poet.”

“Your father is the Duke of Clarence, but your mother was the Prince of Wales’ mistress?” Granger asked.

“Yes, sir,” Darby said uncomfortably. “My mother had a fling with the Duke as well.”

“I am sorry to badger you about these things when you have endured so much,” Granger said gently. “I am just trying to understand your situation.”

“It’s not a problem, sir,” Darby said politely. “I think His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales is aware that I exist, but if I were to appear at court as the Duke of Clarence’s son, it may cause bad blood between the brothers.”

“So you are not allowed to acknowledge your parentage, and you forfeit the advantage that would come from having royal blood in your veins?” Granger asked, picking up on the situation perfectly.

“Yes, sir,” Darby said.

“I will not betray your confidence unless I have to,” Granger said. “May I share this with Sir John Jervis?”

Darby swallowed hard. “I think that would be alright, sir.”

“So were you sent to sea, or did you choose to go?” Granger asked.

“A bit of both. My mother told me that I must join the Army or Navy, or become a poet like her, and I have no gift for verse, sir.” They both chuckled at that.

“Nor do I, Mr. Darby.” They laughed together. “I’ll want you to spend some time with Mr. Ramsey, who is my clerk. Favor me by continuing to be careful and not revealing your parentage to anyone else on board.”

“Yes, sir,” Darby said, then seemed to steel himself to question that order. “Begging your pardon sir, but may I ask why?”

“You certainly may,” Granger said, pouring on the charm. He sensed how wounded this young man was, and knew he’d need a lot of support in the days ahead. “Mr. Ramsey was sent aboard to report our activities. He is either a reporter or a spy, depending on whether you like him or not.” That got a chuckle from Darby. “Mr. Villiers, the junior midshipman aboard, is the son of the Countess of Jersey, one of the Prince of Wales’ mistresses. He’s a good lad, but I’m not sure that he would keep knowledge of who your real father was to himself.”

“I understand, sir,” Darby said. “Thank you for explaining it to me.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Darby. As is the custom on this ship, all new members of her crew, including officers, must thoroughly bathe, and that includes you.”

“That custom is well-known, sir,” Darby said, flashing Granger a very cute smile.

“Excellent. Then we will see what your new friends in the Midshipmen’s berth can scrounge up in the way of a uniform, although I am wondering if anything will fit.”

“I’m a bit large for my age, sir,” Darby said, grinning shyly.

“And how old are you, Mr. Darby?”

“Seventeen, sir,” he said. Granger hid his surprise. With his doughy body and baby face, the young man could easily pass for 15, despite his large proportions.

“Not to worry. We’ll have the sailmaker and his mates adapt your messmate’s contributions to your wardrobe.”

“Thank you, sir,” Darby said. Recognizing that he’d been dismissed, he scurried off to get his bath.

“Pass the word for Mr. Ramsey,” Granger ordered. Ramsey arrived on the quarterdeck almost immediately.

“You sent for me sir?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Ramsey. I have a mission for you. I would like you to interview the survivors of the Aurore and piece together their stories for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Ramsey said, but held back a question. It inevitably came out. “Is my role to discover the true facts, or to embellish them to Captain Travers’ benefit?”

“Unless you discover otherwise, I am going to assume they are one and the same,” Granger answered. Ramsey seemed content with that, and went forward to begin interviewing the crew. “Mr. Roberts! Where is that Spanish frigate?”

“Sir, she’s showing a fair turn of speed. We’re gaining on her slowly, but it’s unlikely we’ll catch her before nightfall,” Roberts said.

“What’s the state of the moon?” Granger asked.

“It is in its last quarter, sir,” Meurice answered.

Granger looked at the assembled officers and found their glum faces irritating. It was all but a given that they would lose the Don frigate in the darkness of night. There was but a sliver of a moon, and it was overcast as well. She would be able to wait until nightfall, then change course, and they would have no inkling of her direction. “We will press on all the same, but you may secure from quarters,” he ordered.

The chaos ensued again, as Belvidera put herself back to rights, with the bulkheads and partitions restored, along with the furniture. Granger was of a mind to escape to his cabin when Roberts approached him with Doctor Jackson in tow. “Sir, we have an update on the Aurore’s crew.”

“Very well,” Granger said stiffly.

“We have 48 healthy men, including Mr. Darby, sir,” Roberts said.

“If we absorb them into the crew, that will put us over our limit,” Granger said, as much to himself as to them. “Even having a crew at full complement in wartime is almost unheard of.”

“Yes, sir,” Roberts said, merely to agree.

“What of the wounded?”

“There are 55 wounded men below, sir,” Jackson said. “Many of them are suffering from burns, and ameliorating their pain is making some serious inroads into our laudanum supplies.”

“It can’t be helped,” Granger said. Medical supplies were expensive, especially since Granger provided them from his own purse.

“Yes, sir. I expect half of them will be back on duty within a week. We’ll probably lose 15 of them in that time as well.” Granger pondered what Darby had said, that three-fourths of their men had been plucked away. He’d thought the young man had grotesquely overstated the casualties, but with a crew of about 250, it was likely that they’d be lucky if 75 of Aurore’s men returned to active duty.

“I know I can count on you to do your best to help them out,” Granger said to Jackson. “If you require anything, you have but to ask.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jackson said, then walked purposefully back toward his sick bay.

“We’ll have to transfer some of these men to other ships in the fleet,” Granger observed to Roberts. “Now is a good chance to get rid of any troublemakers.”

“Yes, sir,” Roberts agreed. “I figured that we could see how the Aurore’s hands do, and then keep some of the better ones.”

“Then we are of the same mind,” Granger observed. “Excellent.”

“What of Mr. Darby, sir?”

“As long as we can get Sir John’s acquiescence, I will keep him on board,” Granger said. The midshipman was his last link to Travers, and he was loath to give him up.

It was no longer dawn, it was daylight, and an exhausted George Granger knew that he’d lost the Spaniard just as he’d predicted. He picked up his speaking trumpet and shouted into the tops. “Masthead, any sign of a sail?”

“None, sir,” came the replies from the men stationed at each of Belvidera’s masts.

“I will be below if I am needed,” Granger said to Roberts, then retreated to his cabin. Winkler was there to strip off his uniform and to nursemaid him into his cot. Winkler was a constant source of comfort in this unpredictable world, Granger thought ruefully. He hoped sleep would envelop him and take away the pain that coursed through his body, but alas, as he suspected, it did not.

He felt the acute burden of loss, that feeling that something important to him would never be again. He agonized over the fact that John Travers would never be there in front of him. He’d never see his handsome face with its Dutch nose, he’d never witness Travers’ gruff exterior vanish as his charming smile broke through, and he’d never experience the bliss of being one with the man, of being united physically, spiritually, and emotionally. He allowed the sobs to wrack his body again.

Finally, the sobs brought temporary relief from the anguish of his loss, but that was only replaced by loneliness, an emotion almost as bad. He had no one to turn to, no one to whom he could vent his thoughts and feelings. His love for Travers was a forbidden love. He could speak of it to no one on the ship, save perhaps Winkler. Somehow, that alone made him feel slightly better, even though he knew he wouldn’t do that. As much as he cared for Winkler, and as close as they were, there were boundaries to their relationship created by rank and class that would make such an expression of his internal self inappropriate.

Who would understand? Who would feel his loss equally? Caroline might, but she did not know Travers was his lover, and there was no reason to burden her at this point. Arthur and Sir Phillip Kerry knew of his love for Travers, but they didn’t know Travers well enough to truly understand his grief. The Duke of Clarence had obviously been taken with him enough to trust him with his bastard son, but even he would not feel this level of pain.

Granger allowed his tortured thoughts to drag him down that road of self-pity, until he became disgusted with himself, and then added that new emotion to the pile. In the end, it was sheer emotional exhaustion that drove him to sleep, but it was a fitful sleep, and of little restorative help.

He finally got up and went into his office, taking the contents of Travers’ pockets with him. It felt ghoulish, to go through the correspondence of his dead lover, but curiosity got the best of Granger, and in the end, it was the last link he had with him. The first letter he recognized; it was the last one he’d written to Travers, and Travers had obviously kept it near him, as if to keep Granger closer. Granger fought back the tears as they tried to force their way out of his eyes again.

There were two other unfinished letters. The first was his report of his action with the French and Spanish frigates. He’d started writing it as the Aurore had sighted the ships and was closing with them, and it was brief since time was short before the engagement started. Granger surmised that Travers had done it, begun the report, mostly to record the starting time and his initial thoughts, just in case something like this happened. His description mirrored that which Granger had gotten from Darby.

The second letter was to Robey, and that made Granger cringe as he held it in his hand. It was unsealed, as it was evidently unfinished. Granger felt that reading Travers’ final correspondence to Robey was a bit dishonorable, but once again, his inquisitive nature got the best of him. Granger was surprised by the lack of emotion it contained. It was the letter one would send to a good friend, not a former lover. He fought back the smile that came from knowing that, in the end, Travers had loved him more. Or did he? Granger sorted through the papers, wondering why there was no letter for him.

A knock on his cabin door interrupted his thoughts. Granger quickly wiped his eyes before shouting ‘enter’, and then sat back, endeavoring to appear unruffled. A very nervous Darby entered the cabin.

“I hope I’m not intruding, sir,” he said. His eyes were red, even though he appeared to be composed. Granger had no desire to break down in front of this young midshipman, so he opted to be brief.

“What may I do for you, Mr. Darby?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I made a grave error. I have some papers I was supposed to give you, but I forgot.” The lad was terrified.

Granger held out his hand and Darby put an envelope in it, an envelope with Travers’ writing on the outside. It was sealed, so unless Travers had told Darby what was in it, he hadn’t read it. “It’s important to always remember to deliver important dispatches or letters first, Mr. Darby,” Granger said severely. “I think that in this case, you learned your lesson, and in any event, circumstances certainly would explain such laxity.”

“Thank you, sir,” Darby said, relieved. “Captain Travers gave me that letter after he was shot, sir. He told me that if something happened to me, I was to throw it into the fire, but otherwise, I was to give it to you.”

Granger had to use every muscle in his body to keep his voice from cracking as he asked the next question. “Did he say anything else?”

“He didn’t have to, sir. I knew how important you were to him, begging your pardon, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darby. Go get some rest. Perhaps you can join me for dinner later?”

“Thank you, sir. It would be an honor,” he said, almost smiling, as he exited the cabin. Granger barely had the patience to wait for him to leave before almost tearing open the letter.

Dearest George,

I have just posted a letter to you in Gibraltar, and as the enemy looms, I have but a few seconds to draft a line to you. I have a good ship and an excellent crew, but the odds are stacked against us. I am confident of victory, but I feel a premonition, as if this is to be my last action.

While I hope and pray it is not, if it is, I cannot leave this world without telling you how much I love you. If there was one event in my life that was the highlight, it was meeting you, falling in love with you, and having you return my love.

I know you so well, and know that if I am dead and you are reading this, you will feel guilty because you did not love only me. Don’t. It is how you are. You have too much love to give to only have one person receiving it. Know that you were the only person that I truly loved, and know that I was aware that I was the most important person in your life after Caroline and your children. You always made sure I knew that.

There is one other who has captured a piece of my heart, and I will share this with you because if I am indeed gone, he will need help, and I hope you will honor my memory and my love for you by aiding him. I took on board a new midshipman at the request of HRH the Duke of Clarence. He is a handsome and charming young man, and he is so selfless in his affections he almost reminds me of you, if that were possible. His feelings for me by far eclipse my feelings for him, but I do care about him, and I worry that without me, he will fall apart. His father can only provide limited help for him at this point. I hope you will take him under your wing and think of me often as you do.

For you, I reserve my complete and total love.

John.

Granger stared at the letter blankly, his mind rapidly processing all that it contained. Yet even then, he was unable to stop himself from indulging in a stream of consciousness, of leaping from part to part and digesting the pieces one at a time. He let the tears flow again, let them really flow, as he thought about Travers and what an amazing man he had been. Granger was determined to honor his memory, to ensure that all of England knew of what a hero he was. Caroline would willingly help him with that; she had grown fond of Travers herself.

He had hidden his doubts about the depth of their love well, so well that Travers had not suspected, and that did a lot to allay Granger’s guilt. He read and re-read that section, recognizing that with those words, Travers had given him the tool to move on without paralyzing regrets. Granger paused to think of how incredibly cold and insulated he had become, when his lover didn’t even know he had doubts about the strength of their love. He didn’t know what to think of Travers’ observation that he had too much love for just one lover. It was something he’d have to mull over later.

He was distracted by those thoughts by the obvious bombshell in the letter, the part about Darby. Darby was a handsome young man, although he was not the type of man Granger figured Travers would find attractive. In the past, Travers had gone for guys that looked like, well, that looked like Granger: Blond hair, blue eyes, and slim muscular frames. Darby had blond hair, but it was a dark blond, so dark Granger suspected it could almost be light brown if it was deprived of any sun to lighten it. His eyes weren’t blue, they were greenish brown. And most different of all was his body. Darby wasn’t slim, although he appeared to be quite muscular. His body appeared to benefit from big bones, and then from an ample layer of padding on top of those bones. It made him seem big and cuddly.

Travers had all but bequeathed Darby to him, and that made it really strange. Did Travers want him to sleep with Darby? Was that what he meant by helping him out, to replace Travers as Darby’s lover? Granger thought about the handsome young man with his pleasant and unassuming demeanor, and decided that he was just the type of guy, from a personality perspective, that would attract John Travers at this point in his life. Darby seemed like the kind of man who was not keen on drama, but was a solid companion. And Darby certainly was attractive. Granger began to think of him, of being with him, and then shook those thoughts off as he quelled his growing erection.

Travers had asked him to take care of Darby, to watch out for him and make sure he endured this incredible loss. Maybe they could help each other, but regardless, Granger felt honor-bound to do what he could for Darby.