St. Vincent - 15. Chapter 15

December 14, 1796

Granger sat in his cabin, finalizing all of his preparations to accommodate Nelson. He had been candid with Jervis, in that he had picked the market clean of delicacies, but he feared that would still not be enough. In the fleet, a captain was often judged by his table, and Granger had a reputation as one of the better hosts. It was important to him that he maintain that perception, especially with Nelson on board. Belvidera had carried other officers before, notably Sir John Jervis, but in her prior roles, she’d been only a transport. In the case of Jervis, she’d been bringing him to Corsica, where he’d promptly transferred to HMS Victory. This time would be different. This time she’d be the flagship.

“Pass the word for Mr. Andrews,” Granger shouted, and heard that call picked up by the marine guard outside his door. It took less than ten minutes for Andrews, Belvidera’s purser, to appear.

“You sent for me, sir?” he asked.

“I did. Please have a seat,” Granger offered. Andrews sat. “We will be serving as the flagship of our little squadron, and I am concerned that we will not have adequate stores.”

“I am assuming you mean for your own table, sir,” Andrews observed.

“I am sure you have already provided well for our men, Mr. Andrews,” Granger said. Andrews was a rare purser, one who actually tried to provide the men with good rations. Granger had served with him long enough to know that was his nature; it wasn’t because Granger usually subsidized their stores to provide extra luxuries for the men from his own pocket.

“There is not much left in Gibraltar, sir,” Andrews said. “If you will permit me, I could take a harbor boat over to Algeciras and see what I can acquire there.”

“You would not get captured, would you?” Granger asked nervously.

“No, sir,” Andrews chuckled. “I have had enough business with them that they wouldn’t dream of such a thing. Besides, begging your pardon sir, but you are known to the Spanish, and they are willing to accommodate us where they may not be so nice to others.” He got a positively cynical smile on his face. “In any event, British gold usually overcomes any matters of conscience where merchants are concerned.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” Granger said jovially. “I am wondering if you would indulge me and allow me to make an observation.”

“By all means, sir,” Andrews said, the only real response he could make.

“It seems that you have become much more confident and sophisticated in your position as purser. I seem to recall our first voyage together, when putting into Madeira gave you much cause to worry.”

“I have learned to adapt, sir,” Andrews said with a smile. That in and of itself was unusual for Andrews. He was like most of his breed; wily and taciturn.

“You will have to make your trip quickly,” Granger said. “We intend to sail within the next day or two.”

Andrews looked a bit nervous. “Then I had best be off, sir.”

“Good luck, Mr. Andrews,” Granger said. As soon as Andrews had left his cabin, his place was taken by Midshipman Gatling.

“Sir,” Gatling said officiously. “I have a message for you.”

“And whom might this message be from?” Granger asked.

“From the Blanche, sir,” Gatling said, handing him an envelope. A knock at his door and the entry of Somers caused him to pause only briefly.

“I hope I am not interrupting, sir,” Somers said.

“Not at all,” Granger said, and waved Somers to a chair. “If you will allow me a moment to read my correspondence, I will be right with you.”

“I am at your disposal, sir,” Somers said, with just a hint of a double entendre.

Granger opened the envelope, and saw Gatling get ready to leave. “You have not been dismissed, Mr. Gatling.”

Gatling froze. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, terrified that he’d made some horrible gaffe.

“I fear patience, and the mere act of standing still, is a skill this young gentleman still needs to acquire,” Somers said dourly.

“Yes, sir,” Gatling said, abashed. He failed to notice the smirks on the faces of his senior officers.

“You gentlemen have delayed my review of this note long enough,” Granger joked jovially. He ignored them and focused on the letter. It was an invitation for him to dine aboard Blanche with her new captain, D’Arcy Preston. “I am invited to dine with Captain Preston aboard Blanche this afternoon.”

“I would not hold my breath, expecting fun and ribaldry, sir,” Somers said. Granger decided to quiz him on that later. He took out his pen and paper and dashed off a note to Preston, accepting his invitation. “Please see that this note is sent over to Blanche at once.”

“Aye aye sir,” Gatling said, and then dashed off.

“Blanche is not known as a fun ship?” Granger asked Somers. He moved around his desk to sit in a chair next to Somers, indicating that their conversation had become informal. It was a gesture that he and Somers both understood, and respected.

“She is rather dour and serious, much like her new captain,” Somers said. “I have an old friend aboard, in charge of her marines. He escapes whenever he can.”

“I don’t know this Captain Preston,” Granger mused, even as he chuckled over Somers’ last remark. “The first lieutenant of my first ship was named Preston. Last I saw him, he was commanding a sloop.”

“I do believe Commander Preston is his cousin. Captain Preston is in his early thirties,” Somers said, then proceeded to give Granger a biographical sketch of this man. “Didn’t make lieutenant until he was in his late twenties, but then his career took off.”

“I didn’t hear of any major exploits,” Granger said.

“Ah, but his exploit was of a different kind,” Somers said with his lopsided grin. “He married the daughter of a distinguished judge, who was somehow connected to Sir John Jervis. Sir John has seemingly guided his career since then, not that it has gotten any less drab.”

“So he is a protégé of Sir John?” Granger clarified.

“He served in the West Indies with the admiral, with the result that he was promoted to commander two years ago, and was now promoted to post-captain just recently.”

“I believe his family hails from Yorkshire,” Granger added, the only piece of knowledge he had on the man. Caroline had bought some property adjacent to theirs.

“That’s correct. Near Whitby.”

“It should be an interesting dinner,” Granger observed.

“I would be willing to wager that you will not describe it as such. As I said, Captain Preston is a rather severe individual, and my understanding is that the wardroom is of a similar style.”

“Then it should be a blessedly short outing,” Granger joked. “By the way, what did you come here to see me about?” Granger was about to stand up, but Somers asked him to stay where he was, a symbol that he wanted their informal conversation to continue.

“I spent some time with Lieutenant Estabrook.”

“Indeed?” Granger asked, his guard fully up now, but his attention fully captured.

“He is quite enamored of his handsome commander, and very jealous of you.”

“He is an idiot to show it,” Granger said.

“But perhaps his feelings are justified?” He saw Granger frown. “It was obvious to me that you love him, because I know you so well. Who could blame you? He is handsome, and full of passion.”

“Not unlike you,” Granger said, flirting.

“I rather think he is only a bit more handsome than me, but who can say?” Somers mused, with faux conceit. “Apparently my ugliness was not sufficient to deter the good Lieutenant Estabrook.”

“You slept with him?” Granger asked.

“No, I fucked him hard,” Somers said playfully. “He likes that.” So did Somers.

Granger laughed. “And did you discover secret charms that would explain Commander Calvert’s affection?”

“He is quite good,” Somers said. “Although I’ve been with much better lovers. Much better.” He leered at Granger.

“You have? Recently?”

“In about one minute, if I am to have my way,” Somers said. Granger laughed at Somers’ sense of humor, a laugh that was stifled by Somers’ mouth, and was turned into a series of moans when Somers entered him and fucked him to a brilliant orgasm.

“You have no competition,” Somers said, as he tied his trousers.

“You bring out the best in me,” Granger lied. Somers was good, but they were friends who fucked, nothing more.

“I did take some time to explain to Mr. Estabrook the need for discretion if one is to simultaneously engage in sodomy and serve in His Majesty’s navy.”

“Did he seem to comprehend your points?” Granger asked.

“I am hoping he will be able to better guide their relationship,” Somers observed. There was a lot in that statement, not the least that it was Estabrook who was setting the tone, not Calvert.

“I hope for both their sakes, you were successful,” Granger said. He stood up, signifying that their period of informality was over. Somers winked at him as he left the cabin, leaving Granger to finish his work, and then put his appearance to rights.

Granger had Jeffers take him over to Blanche in his gig. “You may wait here, or return to the ship,” Granger told him as they approached Blanche. Granger tuned him out after that, and focused on the ship to which he was bidden. Even though she was rated for 32 guns just like Belvidera, Blanche was a smaller ship. She was designed during the last war, and was one of the shorter frigates that had been fashionable then. As Granger studied her lines, he fancied that she’d be slower then Belvidera, but probably handier. Those would possibly balance out, although Granger preferred the speed to the maneuverability, but where the difference really showed was in their armament: Blanche carried 12-pounders on her main deck, while Belvidera’s guns were 18-pounders. The other difference he noticed was the lack of flourishes on Blanche. Maybe Preston hadn’t been all that successful, and couldn’t afford to spend a lot of money on gold leaf, or maybe he hadn’t had the time, but whatever the reason, Blanche looked to be rather stark and plain.

Granger mounted the side, hauling himself through the entry port and saluting the quarterdeck as prescribed. Blanche appeared to be orderly and neat, and there was nothing to indicate that her men were discontented. They seemed to be clean and well-dressed, based on the standards of the fleet.

“Welcome, Sir George,” Preston said, greeting Granger warmly.

“I must thank you for your invitation, Captain,” Granger replied affably. Preston was as plain and stark as his ship. He took Granger on a brief tour, and the overall impression Granger got from Preston, his officers, and his crew, was one of competence. Their conversation at dinner was dry, just as Somers had predicted, and the food was bland. Granger found himself chuckling to himself, thinking that this must be what Caroline endured with her various luncheons and parties.

There was an undercurrent to their conversation, as if Preston wanted to ask him about something but was uncomfortable doing so. Granger wondered briefly if he’d make a case for Blanche to serve as the flagship, but put that thought aside quickly enough. Granger was Preston’s senior, so the honor was his by right, and even if Preston wanted to break with precedent, Granger was hardly in a position to make that decision. He’d need to consult with Nelson. In the end, that was not what was on Preston’s mind.

“I am wondering if I may seek your guidance.” Preston finally asked.

“I will help you to the degree that I can,” Granger replied in a friendly manner.

“Your ship once wore a badge of shame, much as Blanche does, and now she is widely recognized as one of the crack ships of the fleet.” Blanche’s prior captain had been removed from command and court-martialed for sodomy.

“Thank you for that compliment,” Granger said, and was unable to stop himself from beaming. That was high praise coming from another captain.

“It is well-deserved,” Preston insisted. “How did you achieve that transition?” Then Granger understood his line of questions.

“When I took command of Belvidera, the ship was dirty and neglected, the men were filthy, and wore rags, and there had been a mutiny aboard in which the previous captain had been murdered. You’re starting from a slightly better place,” Granger said, smiling. Preston nodded dourly. “Against that, I was able to transfer my prior crew and officers, and by setting an example, they helped the existing crewmembers conform to the standards I expected.”

“I have had no real problems with my crew, sir. The problems are the perception of the ship outside her wooden walls.”

“That, Captain, will simply take time to rectify. I have been lucky, and that has done most of the work.”

“I think there’s a bit more to it than luck, sir,” Preston said, with open admiration that made Granger uncomfortable. He was proud of his achievements, but overt praise was something that he didn’t stomach well. “You have a certain degree of star power.”

“Sadly, you will not be able to replicate that immediately,” Granger said. “My family background has done much to help that along.”

“I will struggle along, nonetheless,” he said fatalistically.

“From what I can see, Captain, you are doing all the right things. You appear to have a good and content crew, and the ship appears to be in good material condition. You have excellent officers.”

“Thank you,” Preston said.

“The only thing lacking is a bit of dash and flourish, and I’m not sure I see that as one of your traits,” Granger teased. He was somewhat surprised to see Preston smile at that.

“That much is certain.” On that note, Granger took his leave and returned to Belvidera. He wondered if Preston had the makings of a good captain. He wrestled with that, and decided that he probably did, but he would probably be much more in his element were he commanding a ship of the line. A ponderous and stolid battleship seemed to match Preston’s personality perfectly.

December 16, 1796

Sir George Granger, KB, stood at attention on the deck of his ship, his keen eye sweeping its length, looking for anything out of place. He’d been sweating these details for the past few days now, and the reason for his efforts was just now appearing. Granger stood, eyes forward, as Commodore Horatio Nelson pulled himself through the entry port of HMS Belvidera. As soon the whistles and flourishes ceased, Granger stepped forward.

“Welcome aboard, sir,” Granger said respectfully, but with a repressed smile. He took off his hat as he greeted Nelson. Nelson insisted that junior officers and men remove their hats when speaking to him. It was fast becoming a formal salute in the Mediterranean fleet.

“It is good to be with you again, Captain,” Nelson said. He shook Granger’s hand, and Granger fancied he could feel the energy flow from the man like an electric shock. Just then, the first gun of the salute went off, as Nelson’s broad pennant, the symbol of his rank as Commodore, soared up the mast. They both turned to see Blanche mirroring Belvidera’s salute perfectly, signifying that she was also part of Nelson’s squadron.

“Soon it will be thirteen guns, sir,” Granger commented as the eleventh gun fired. As Commodore, Nelson got an eleven gun salute, but when he ultimately achieved flag rank as a rear admiral, he’d get thirteen guns.

“There are a few other captains in my way before that, Granger,” he observed somewhat grumpily. “I’ll have to hope that Lord Spencer can clear a path for me.”

“He managed to post me, sir,” Granger said. “Clearly miracles are within his purview.”

Nelson laughed. “I forgot what good company you are, Granger. Let’s get underway, and then you can regale me with your charm at dinner.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, sir.” Granger turned to Roberts. “Get the anchor hove short, and signal Blanche to do the same.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said.

“Perhaps I can show you to your cabin, sir?” he asked Nelson. “I hope it will serve.”

“I have heard of your opulent quarters Granger. They say you live the life of an admiral.”

“I do my best, sir,” Granger said, and led Nelson aft. “If you’ve no objection, I’ve retained my sleeping cabin and configured the day cabin into a sleeping area for you.”

“That will serve quite well,” he said. He’d brought a midshipman and several other servants as well, but Granger could rely on Roberts to find berths for them. “And we will dine together?”

“If that is acceptable to you, sir,” Granger said.

“I am just contemplating that if your chef is as good as he is rumored to be, I will become fat on this voyage.” Granger chuckled.

“If you will pardon me for saying so, sir, you could use a little more meat on your bones.” Nelson was skinny and bony.

“Fattening me up for the kill, Granger?” Nelson joked, and then got serious. “Get us out of here while the winds are favorable. I am anxious to complete this mission.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said. He went back on deck to find Brookstone and Nelson’s midshipman, a Mr. Lockyer, working together on signals.

“Anchor hove short, sir,” Roberts said.

“Fore and main topsails, Mr. Roberts. Take us out,” Granger ordered. While Roberts attended to that, Granger focused on the two midshipmen. “Mr. Brookstone, signal Blanche to weigh anchor and proceed.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. He and Lockyer got the signal together crisply and hoisted it up the main mast. They seemed to make a good team.

“Blanche acknowledges, sir,” Brookstone said. Granger kept his eyes focused on Blanche as she began to set her topsails. His ears told him what was happening on Belvidera. He heard the men panting and chanting at the capstan as the band played some music, giving them rhythm. He heard the loud clapping of the topsails as they were set, loud enough to drown out the band.

“You’re making me look good, Granger,” Nelson said, surprising Granger, who didn’t notice he’d returned to the quarterdeck.

“Sir?”

Nelson gestured at the two ships, which were setting sail and maneuvering together as if they were twins. “It’s a perfect example of two ships leaving port. Just as it should be.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said. “We’re lucky there was wind. It’s hard to get boats from two different ships to row in unison.” They would have had to warp the ships out, otherwise.

Nelson laughed. “I fancy you’re correct. When we clear the Rock, set course due east. We’ll veer more northerly after our noon sightings tomorrow.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said. Nelson began to pace the deck, leaving Granger to handle their exodus from Gibraltar. Granger had the feeling that Nelson was watching him, but he didn’t let that bother him. That’s what flag officers were supposed to do. The only problem was that this flag officer had a very keen eye.

He noticed that Blanche was falling behind a bit, not a lot, but enough to notice. “Mr. Brookstone, signal Blanche to maintain station,” Granger ordered. That would irk Preston, but he wasn’t the only one under a microscope.

“Aye aye sir,” Brookstone said. Granger glanced over at Nelson and thought he saw him grin slightly as he walked. It was a very tired George Granger that finally went below after seeing that Belvidera and Blanche were settled on their course. Granger pondered that people skills were as important in the Royal Navy as seamanship. He was beginning to regret his enthusiasm for having Belvidera serve as the flagship.

December 17, 1796

“I must thank you, sir, for allowing me to host this dinner in your cabin,” Granger said to Nelson, even though it was technically his own cabin, just on loan to the Commodore. He tried to avoid sounding stiff, and to make it appear that this was just a normal dinner, when in fact it was nothing of the kind. Nelson had expressed concerns that the men would find their mission demoralizing, and had spent a good 30 minutes with him and Roberts strategizing on just how this dinner should go.

“I am most pleased to be able to meet your officers informally,” Nelson said. He’d already met them formally when he’d come aboard. Granger watched him train his intense eyes around the table, taking in this team that Granger had, through luck and effort, had so much success with.

“It’s a bit of a tradition, sir, that I host such a dinner after we depart and inform my officers of our intentions,” Granger prompted. This part had already been choreographed out with Nelson before. “I was hoping you could do the honors for me.”

“There is not much honor in this mission, Sir George,” Nelson observed wryly. “We are to complete our evacuation of the Mediterranean.”

“What is left to evacuate, sir?” Roberts asked, again, just as Granger had planned.

“With Spain’s entry into this war, and the lack of reinforcements,” Nelson began; saying the last phrase with a sneer clearly directed at the government, “our position in this sea became untenable. Given even a small reinforcement, I believe we could have held Corsica, but that is not to be.” Everyone at the table, Granger included, seemed to share that interpretation if the mumbled grumbling was any indicator.

“But we have just quit Corsica, sir,” Roberts persisted, just as he was supposed to.

“You are correct, Mr. Roberts,” Nelson said, focusing on him, and directing all of his charisma toward him. It was funny to watch how that temporarily disoriented Roberts. “But we still have our garrison on Elba.”

“That would seem to make for an ideal base, sir,” Clifton said. That wasn’t part of the script, but worked perfectly.

“That’s a good observation, my...uh...Mr. Clifton,” Nelson said, almost using Clifton’s formal title. He was the Earl of Barnfield, and Nelson had almost correctly referred to him as ‘my lord.’ “You’ve put together such a cast of aristocrats, Granger, it’s no wonder you forsake titles on board.”

“It has been worse than this, sir,” Granger smiled. “When Midshipmen Lennox and Cavendish were with us, it would have been more confusing.” Granger felt his insides churn with memories of Cavendish, but kept his internal turmoil from showing.

“I suppose it would have,” Nelson agreed indulgently. “In any event, Mr. Clifton, while it would be an ideal base, it is impossible to maintain without support from the fleet. What good is a base, if there is no fleet to be based there?”

“A remarkably astute observation, sir,” Somers said with his trademark grin, getting a chuckle from everyone.

“Without our navy to defend the island, there is little the troops there can do to stop the French from retaking it. It is only a matter of time, probably as soon as Corsica is completely conquered, until they turn their attention to Elba. Having those soldiers remain there is merely to ask for their useless sacrifice for no strategic advantage.”

“And that is what we are tasked to do,” Granger said, jumping in.

“That is correct, Sir George,” Nelson said. “We are ordered to go to Elba and escort our troops and establishment back to Gibraltar. The transports are already there, although it is too much to hope they will already be loaded and ready.”

That got more laughs. No one expected the army to be that efficient. “So, gentlemen,” Granger concluded, “our destination is Porto Ferrajo, on Elba, where we will evacuate His Majesty’s forces and convey them back to Gibraltar.”

“Another retreat, sir?” Carslake asked. He’d already had enough wine to make him speak his mind, which was not always a good thing.

“We know that is what it is, Mr. Carslake,” Nelson said smoothly, “but for posterity, we will call it a strategic evacuation.” That got laughs from everyone, and served to divert the conversation to more amusing gossip.

“Granger, where did you get this excellent beef?” Nelson asked as the dinner progressed. “I really must steal your chef away.”

“We keep Lefavre locked up when he is not cooking to prevent him being poached away from us, sir,” Granger joked. “We have even managed to keep him from Sir John’s clutches.”

“Where he has already failed, I am unlikely to succeed,” Nelson said gamely, getting more laughs. “That does not explain the beef. We were unable to find fresh provisions in Gibraltar.”

“This cow was Spanish not a fortnight ago, sir,” Granger said. “It had a change of loyalty, brought about by the lure of British gold.”

Nelson laughed hard at that. “So you are trading with the enemy? Shame on you Captain,” he said, pretending to scold Granger.

“I must beg your pardon sir,” Granger said playfully. “I made the calculation that a well-fed crew on board this ship was much more dangerous to the Spanish than the comfort they would derive from the guineas it cost me.”

“A good rationalization, Granger,” Nelson said. “Your calculations were correct. This is good beef.”

As Granger lay in his cot that night, ruminating on what a success his dinner had been, he couldn’t help but remember the first such dinner they’d had on Belvidera. Travers had been at that dinner, and Granger felt the tears pool in his eyes, tears which he hastily wiped away. He wondered if he would ever recover from the loss of his good friend; he wondered if the pain would ever go away.