St. Vincent - 10. Chapter 10

November, 1796

The wind. No one seemed to notice the first gust, but the second gust started to get attention. “You there,” Granger called to a seaman who had just sliced open a pirate with his cutlass.

The man looked at him crazed for only a second before discipline reasserted itself. “Sir?”

“Take the helm. Hard starboard,” Granger ordered. He left Roberts to continue the fight, while he went below. He arrived on the gundeck to find it clear of pirates.

“We managed to chase them all away, sir,” Gatling said, panting.

“Good job,” Granger said hastily. “Where’s Mr. Carslake?”

“He’s wounded sir,” Gatling said. “We took him below.”

“We’ve got the wind back, Mr. Gatling. We should be turning to starboard as we speak. Man the larboard guns and take out those xebecs off the bow.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and strode confidently forward, giving orders as he went. Granger paused to watch him as he did, to see how the men listened to him, even though he was so young. There was no time for daydreaming, Granger chided himself, and walked purposefully back up on deck.

Belvidera’s sailors and marines had driven the boarders from the decks and Granger saw the last of the surviving pirates scrambling to reach their ships and break away before being boarded themselves. As the wind had picked up, the pirates were now raising sails and rowing frantically to gain distance from Belvidera’s guns.

The smoke had cleared away with the return of the wind, and Granger looked around at the carnage on deck and on the sea and wondered how bad the bill for this would be. He looked over at the xebec that had been boarded and saw redcoats among the men fighting on deck, and then he saw something else, something much more dangerous. Smoke was coming up from the hatch of the xebec Clifton had boarded: the ship was on fire. He stood there impotently, wanting to help his men, but Clifton picked up on it quickly enough. Granger grabbed his glass and peered through it, watching the lieutenant give the orders to abandon the xebec.

Gunfire from the Belvidera distracted him, as Gatling, on his own initiative, had begun to fire at the other two xebecs. They’d evidently been surprised both by the wind, and at Belvidera’s sudden rescue from what must have seemed a certain fate. He almost smiled as they scrambled to get out of range. They would not be a threat, even if they survived Gatling’s bombardment.

His eyes turned back to the other xebec, where fire was now emerging from her hold. He saw his men falling back into the longboat; the launch was already full and had cast off. The pirates were doing the same thing, retreating to the other xebec, but they’d lashed the two ships together, so it would take some work to get them untangled. It seemed to take an eternity for the last of the men to get to the longboat and for it to cast off, but finally they were away, rowing to Belvidera as fast as exhausted men could row.

Now there were screams, ear-splitting screams, coming from the burning xebec. Granger at first speculated that some of his men, or maybe the pirates, may have been on board, but then he realized they must be using slaves to row the boats. The poor wretches would be chained to their posts, and would be burning alive along with their ship.

“Mr. Gatling is below, in charge,” Granger said to Roberts, desperate to change the subject.

“Shall I go relieve him, sir?” he asked.

“No, I think he’s got things under control for the moment,” Granger smiled. “Let’s get those boats in, and then find out how badly we were hurt.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said somberly.

They hove the gig and jolly boat up, and prepared to pull the launch aboard as well. “Sir,” called Brookstone from the boat. “Can you haul the whole boat aboard? We have all the wounded with us.”

“Stand by, Mr. Brookstone,” Granger called. “See if you can accommodate him,” Granger said to Roberts.

Roberts, who was amazing at times like these, arranged to have the launch hoisted aboard while simultaneously doing several other things. Granger walked to the rail and looked at the longboat, which was approaching them fast, and at the burning xebec. It seemed that the one that had lashed on might just escape the conflagration, but it was not to be. He saw the fire practically jump from the burning ship to the other, and in no time at all, both were on fire. The remaining four pirate ships wisely maneuvered out of Belvidera’s range. Granger let them go. They had enough to do, repairing their damage, without chasing four small ships about the Mediterranean. Besides, they were quick craft, especially in weather like this, and they were clearly headed back home.

“Sir, I’m back,” Brookstone said impulsively, making Granger smile.

“So I see, Mr. Brookstone. It is good to have you back,” Granger teased.

“Thank you, sir,” Brookstone said, blushing. “Lord Chartley was wounded.”

“Wounded?” Granger asked.

“Yes, sir,” Brookstone said. “He was slashed by one of their wretched knives. We tried to stop the bleeding, but the wound must be deep.”

“Take him to what was my cabin,” Granger said ruefully. “You can set him up there. Alert Doctor Jackson so he can attend to him.”

“Aye aye sir,” Brookstone said, and made to move off.

“And Mr. Brookstone,” Granger called, making sure he had his attention. “You did very well today.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and dashed off to execute his orders.

Clifton appeared almost as soon as Brookstone was gone. “He did very well, sir,” Clifton said, referring to Brookstone.

“So did you, Mr. Clifton. Tell me of your battle.”

“We saw the one xebec start to sink after the pounding you gave her, so we made for the second one. There were quite a few pirates on board her, sir.” He paused to think for a minute. “Probably at least 100 men, in addition to those who worked the ship.”

“So you boarded her over the bows?” Granger asked.

“Yes, sir. We fought them to the stern of their ship, and would have taken her, but then a third ship ranged alongside and her men came aboard. We got reinforcements from Mr. Brookstone, but they also got more men from the sinking xebec. It was an intense, constant fight. It didn’t end until we smelled the smoke, and then noticed the wind. Then the pirates broke and ran, and we did as well.”

“Well done, Mr. Clifton. How was Lord Chartley wounded?”

“He was fighting next to Mr. Brookstone, sir. A huge Berber, brandishing a large sword, lunged at Mr. Brookstone. Brookstone didn’t see him, but Lord Chartley did. He lunged in front of the man and took the blade. He saved Brookstone, sir.”

“Did Mr. Brookstone see him do that?” Granger asked.

“I don’t think so, sir. One of the marines shot the Berber, so when Brookstone turned around, he found Chartley, wounded and bleeding on the deck.”

“You will have to share that moment with him. In the meantime, you will go below and take charge of the gundeck. Mr. Carslake was wounded, and Mr. Gatling has done a superb job filling in.”

“Still, he made need some help, sir,” Clifton said with a smile.

“He may,” Granger allowed, then turned to talk to Roberts. “Mr. Roberts, I’m going below to check on Lord Chartley and the other wounded men. Let’s get the ship set back to rights. Course due west.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said.

Granger made his way below to the orlop deck, where the only light was from lanterns, and the smell of the bilge was almost overwhelming. He found Jackson amputating the limb of some unfortunate sailor, and felt his stomach churn. Off to the side was Carslake, so Granger opted to talk to him instead of watching Jackson’s surgical skills.

“And what is wrong with you, Mr. Carslake?” Granger asked jovially. “You appear to be fit.”

“That’s what I keep telling these men, sir,” Carslake said furiously.

“So what was wounded?”

“My head, sir. One of the shots from those damned pirates blasted splinters all over. One of them hit me and knocked me out.”

Granger looked at his head, which appeared swollen, but it wasn’t lacerated. “It must have hit you sideways.”

“I’d like to return to duty, sir,” Carslake said.

“That’s really Dr. Jackson’s decision,” Granger said, “but I suspect he’s got enough on his plate without worrying about a grumpy lieutenant.”

“I suspect you’re right, sir,” Carslake said, as he got up slowly.

“Go easy now,” Granger cautioned. “Mr. Gatling took over after you were wounded.”

“Were we captured, sir?” Carslake joked. Granger laughed, but only slightly, since they were surrounded by suffering men.

“He did quite well,” Granger said. “It’s just as well you’re back to work. You may lose your job otherwise.”

“Indeed, sir?” Carslake asked, but with a grin. He hobbled unsteadily at first, and then seemed to get his wits about him enough to stride out.

“Cauterize the wound,” Jackson said to his assistant. “Sir, I’m going to attend to Lord Chartley, if that meets with your approval.”

“I will join you,” Granger said. He climbed up to the gundeck then strode the length of it, chatting with Jackson as they went. “How bad is it?”

“We lost four killed and 20 wounded, but that was before the boats returned. There were another six men killed, and they brought me seven more wounded men.”

“A steep price to pay,” Granger said sadly. “We’ll have your sick bay rigged up as soon as we can.”

“Thank you, sir. That will help,” Jackson said. Like many innovative ships, Belvidera had a sick bay in the forecastle, near the stove. That way, the wounded had fresh air and heat. They were only kept on the orlop during battle. As soon as possible, they’d be moved up to the sick bay.

They walked into what was once Granger’s cabin, and was only slowly being transformed back. “We’ve got him over here, sir,” Winkler said, directing them to where Granger’s office used to be. “We can’t put up the partitions until they restore the stern windows, or so they tell me,” Winkler said, glaring at one of the carpenter’s mates.

“I’m sure that will be fine, Winkler.” Granger followed Jackson over to where Chartley lay flat on his back. He had a sheet draped over his legs and hips, leaving his torso exposed. Granger paused to admire Chartley’s physique. He was a large man, with broad shoulders, well defined pectoral muscles, and muscles on his abdomen that seemed to bulge his skin out. They looked a bit like a washboard. The whole thing was covered with a sexy smattering of dark blond hair, making him look very masculine. In fact, Chartley would have been an Adonis, a model for a present day Michelangelo, were it not for the huge, gaping wound that stretched from his left breast down to his right abdomen. The blanket was lowered enough to reveal the top of Chartley’s pubic region, and the sexy dark blond hair that called that region home.

“I need some vinegar and clean bandages,” Jackson snapped. Winkler dashed off to get them, while Jackson inspected the wound.

“How bad am I wounded, Doctor?” Chartley asked weakly.

“Badly, my lord,” Jackson said. “You are lucky, though. I am a miracle worker.”

“That would make you a saint,” Chartley joked, then chuckled. “If you save me, we’ll have to get you canonized.” Granger looked at him, surprised. Here he was, wounded and quite possibly dying, and the old Chartley, the one Granger remembered as a child when he’d been close friends with Bertie, had suddenly returned.

“I fear that would make you a papist, my lord,” Granger joked.

“George!” Chartley said, evidently seeing him in the cabin for the first time. Then he got nervous and tense again. “I must speak with you privately.”

“It would seem, my lord that I bring out the worst in you” Granger teased, referring to Chartley’s change in mood. “Dr. Jackson is going to attend to your wound, while I attend to the ship. I will return shortly, and give you my undivided attention.”

“If I die under the knife,” he said, and then looked at Jackson. “No offense, Doctor.” Jackson waved his caveat aside. “If I die, there are papers in my sea chest. You, and only you, must find them and act on them.”

“If you die, I will do as you ask. In the meantime, I will assume you are going to live. You’ll be happy to know we are on course for Gibraltar, and as of this moment, we have a fair wind.”

“That is very good,” Chartley said. He then relaxed back into the cot to let Jackson clean his wound and sew him up.

Granger went back up on deck to check on their progress. Belvidera was sailing easily before the gentle wind on calm seas, the peaceful environment a surreal contrast to the searing battle she’d just fought. There was no sign of the xebecs, and Granger was confident those four ships would cause him no more problems. He went below, to where his cabin was being restored, and walked along the gundeck, looking at the damage. The material damage was light; it was the cost in human lives that was expensive.

“We’ll have your cabin back together soon, sir,” a carpenter’s mate said to him as he smiled.

“That’s good, Petrie,” Granger said, and saw the man smile happily that Granger remembered his name. “I rather liked the fresh air that came from not having the stern windows.”

“We can leave them out, if you like, sir,” Petrie joked.

“I think I’d regret it when we got our first gale,” Granger said. The other men around them smiled, happy that their captain had taken a few moments to speak with them. Inspired, Granger toured the ship, checking the damage and talking to his crew. Such a simple thing: taking the time to talk to the men and let them know that he appreciated what they did and cared about them.

He found Roberts up on the quarterdeck. “The carpenter is working on fixing the damage. It appears the worst of it were some shot holes through the stern, along with the removal of my windows,” Granger said jovially.

“We’ve started to move the wounded up to the forecastle, sir,” Roberts said, sharing his own news. “Mr. Carslake appears to be fit and well, although perhaps a bit crankier than normal.” He said this loud enough that Carslake would hear him from where he was standing, near the wheel.

“I’d like to see you get smacked in the head by a chunk of timber and retain both your pretty head and your cheerful disposition, Mr. Roberts,” Carslake growled. The others, Granger included, laughed. Granger tried to fathom this mood that had overcome the ship, this mood of joy, and he put it down to their happiness at still being alive. Beating off the pirates this time had been a near thing, and thinking about that was rather sobering.

“I am going below to check on Lord Chartley,” Granger told Roberts. “You may send the hands to dinner as soon as is practical.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. Granger heard his own stomach growl as he descended the ladder to his cabin. He found Winkler in the main area, directing the other servants as they put Granger’s dining table back in its place.

“Now that the dining table is re-established, perhaps I could have my dinner,” Granger mused. “I will have to tell Lady Granger that you are starving me.”

“I think I’d rather face the pirates than her ladyship, sir,” Winkler said, then scurried off to get Lefavre working on his dinner. Granger cringed as he heard a sharp cry from Chartley’s cabin. A surgeon’s mate came out of that cabin carrying a handful of bloody bandages, and that did much to reduce Granger’s appetite.

Ten minutes later, Dr. Jackson came out, looking uncharacteristically dour. He saw Granger and gave his report immediately. “I probed his wound extensively, sir. There were some pieces of material and other foreign objects trapped beneath the skin. I removed what I could find. I’m hoping the vinegar cleansing will help the wound heal. I have stitched it up, but left it partially open to drain.”

“You do not appear confident about his recovery,” Granger observed.

“A wound that large, made with a foul blade, will be a tough thing to recover from, sir,” he said. “We will have to watch for corruption, and try to prevent it as best we can.” That meant keeping an eye out for that dreaded killer: gangrene.

“I am sure you have done not only your best, but you’ve done better than any doctor in the fleet. His lordship is lucky to have been wounded on board this ship,” Granger said, heaping praise on Jackson, hoping to put him in better spirits.

“Thank you, sir,” Jackson said, and blushed slightly. “If you will excuse me, I will return to the sick bay and attend to the others. I would be obliged if you would help his lordship to stay as still as possible.”

Granger nodded to Jackson, then went in to see Chartley. He was on his back in the cot as he had been before, but there was a bandage wrapped around his entire upper torso where the wound was. Chartley looked at him groggily, no doubt dazed from the laudanum. “My lord, you appear to be partially mummified,” Granger joked, to try and keep him in good spirits.

“You are quite the comedian, George,” he said, unbending. Then, just as he had before, he became emotionally rigid.

“Why do you do that?” Granger asked. “You always treated me so cordially before and now you act as if I am beneath contempt, as if you must adopt a formal pose. You treat me as one might treat a servant.”

Chartley stared up at the deckhead and said nothing, making Granger feel guilty for probing not his wound, but his psyche. “I have to keep my guard up,” he said weakly.

“Even from me? What makes you think I am your enemy or that I would try to do you harm?” Granger asked, making sure not to sound too belligerent.

“I am not sure whom I can and cannot trust,” he replied.

“Where did you come from?” Granger asked him, remembering their conversation about Chartley’s travels right before the pirates attacked.

“I was in the East Indies,” he said.

“You were with Bertie?” Granger asked. Chartley nodded, or at least did the closest thing he could to that. “Does this mission you are on, the one that is so urgent you would have me rip the sticks out of my ship, does it involve Bertie?” If it did, that meant it would probably involve money. Granger got irritated at the thought that Belvidera was being used to shuttle around men who were merely interested in commerce.

“It involves our families,” Chartley said softly. Granger grappled with the forces within him, the curiosity almost overwhelming him and forcing him to probe for knowledge when Chartley was clearly in no position to answer his questions. “It started out as a land deal, and has become so much more.”

“You are weak,” Granger said softly. He stroked Chartley’s bicep in a loving manner, trying to keep the man calm and simultaneously show him some human kindness. “You must rest and stay still.”

“If you had to choose between your brothers, whom would you side with?” Chartley asked.

Granger pondered that. Would he side with Freddie, who was usually so stalwart and reliable? Freddie may have been responsible, but he was also cold and distant, and there was a side of him that was positively uncaring. Or would he side with Bertie, who was usually up to no good? Bertie was a lovable, playful, and jovial fellow, and one who was now successful in his own right. He’d used his considerable charm and intelligence to amass what must be amazing wealth, using what were undoubtedly questionable means to do so. In the past, Granger had instinctively backed up his older brother, but that was when Bertie had been a rogue, squandering the family wealth and creating scandals and embarrassment. Now Freddie was married to a woman who was a challenge, and was doing as much damage to the Bridgemont fortunes as Bertie had ever done. Granger opted to prevaricate. “I fear that isn’t a fair question, since it would largely depend on what the issue was.”

“If a matter was put before you, and you were asked to decide,” Chartley wheezed weakly, “and it was clear that it was Bertie who was right, would you take his side?”

That was an entirely different matter. “My lord, you would assume that such a case is cut and dried, and my experience is that such matters rarely are,” Granger said. He saw Chartley start to object, but used his fingers on the man’s muscle to keep him still. “But in the scenario you have laid out, I would support Bertie.”

Chartley exhaled, relieved. “That is good to know.”

“Did Bertie not think I would be fair?” Granger asked, unable to hide his irritation. “He thinks I am untrustworthy?”

“No,” Chartley answered hastily. “It was not he who had questioned where your loyalties were, it was I who did. In fact, Bertie was adamant that you are the only one he could trust with this matter.” Even in his weakened state, he must have seen Granger’s brows narrow. “George, our paths have not crossed since you have become a man. In the earlier days, you had no use for Bertie, or perhaps even for his friends.”

“You were his only friend that I had any use for,” Granger said in a kind tone. “You were always nice to me when I was a boy. You took time to play with me, and to treat me with respect.”

“You were bright, handsome, and charming even then,” Chartley said. Granger wondered if this half-dead man was flirting with him.

“As were you, my lord,” Granger said, flirting back. “Bertie and I understand each other now, I like to think.”

“Indeed?” Chartley asked curiously.

“Bertie has always been morally challenged,” Granger said. He saw Chartley laugh, then cringe. “You must remain still, my lord,” Granger admonished.

“Call me Peter,” Chartley ordered.

That surprised Granger, coming from a man who had been such a stickler for protocol ever since Naples, but he shrugged it off. “Not Pete?” he asked, flirting and smiling.

“Peter,” Chartley said firmly, but managed to smile despite his pain as he said it.

“Peter,” Granger repeated. There was a lull in conversation while George just sat there, stroking Chartley’s arm lovingly, as they looked at each other, as if to form a bond of trust with only their eyes. Words required much effort of Chartley. Granger returned to the subject at hand. “I am not a puritan, and so long as Bertie’s ways are not overtly dishonorable or embarrassing to the family, and so long as they do not tread on my responsibilities, I choose to ignore them.”

“I think you will find it is Freddie who is morally challenged,” Chartley said. Granger felt the anger rise, as he instinctively jumped to the defense of his brother, but then let it fade just as quickly.

“Perhaps it is his wife, not him,” Granger said, hoping he was right.

“It is probably preferable to think that,” Chartley said, almost rudely.

“I try to think the best of my family members, although they sometimes make that difficult,” Granger said, determined to keep the mood as light as possible.

“That is probably a good thing,” Chartley said. Granger noticed that his bandage was reddening, probably from the exertion of their conversation.

“This conversation is straining you, and you must not allow yourself to get too weakened.”

“But this is important,” Chartley objected.

“So are you,” Granger said. He saw the surprise on Chartley’s face, then even though he was too weak to smile broadly, his eyes smiled for him. “You must rest. I will check in on you as much as I can. If something happens to you, you can rely on me to open your chest and review your papers, and act upon them fairly.”

“Open them now,” Chartley said. “It is easier than telling you, and I would tell you anyway.”

“As you wish, my...” Granger paused and smiled. “As you wish, Peter. In the meantime, you must rest and recover.”

Chartley nodded and closed his eyes. Granger stayed with him for a few moments, waiting for him to doze off, then returned to his main cabin. They were still working on the windows, but Winkler and his team had gotten them to restore the carpets and the dining table. The smell of Lefavre’s cooking wafted over to his nose, reminding him of how hungry he was. He sat and ate with indecent speed, then went up on deck to check up on Belvidera’s progress. It was not until early in the evening, when things were restored and in order, and Granger had checked in one last time on a sleeping Chartley that he was able to unlock Chartley’s sea chest and sort through his papers.

Granger sat at his dining table, organizing the papers by date, or what appeared to be date order, and began to pore over them much as he’d done with captured documents in the Atlantic, the Caribbean, and the Indian Ocean. The schemes and devices he’d uncovered then had been shocking. The documents before him told of a story that was not much less shocking, and because it directly involved his brothers, it hit much closer to home.