St. Vincent - 18. Chapter 18

December 20, 1796

For a minute, and no more, the officers on the quarterdeck of HMS Belvidera paused to ponder Roberts’ action with Sabina, his brave resolve to sail off to almost certain capture so the men standing there could escape. As if a clairvoyant moment washed over them all, they seemed to suddenly realize that their escape from the Dons was in no way certain. The Spanish had plenty of ships to recapture Sabina and take Belvidera at the same time.

“We need to get our rigging repaired,” Granger said, setting the tone. “Mr. Clifton, you will manage repairs to the fore mast and jib boom. I will manage repairs to the main mast. Mr. Meurice, you are responsible for the mizzen.” Granger turned to Nelson. “Sir, if I may impose, I’d like you to coordinate our activities from here.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Nelson said, grinning. As Commodore, Nelson had overall command, but that authority did not descend into managing the individual ships under his command. It would have been within Granger’s right to pointedly exclude him from their repair process. But Granger knew that Nelson was one of the best leaders and best seamen in the Royal Navy, so he had deferred overall charge to him. Nelson’s smile showed that he appreciated that.

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said, then strode forward. “Winkler!”

Winkler appeared almost instantaneously. “Sir?”

“Bring me my work clothes,” Granger said. Winkler dashed off to get Granger something easier to work in than a full dress coat and silk stockings. “Alright men of the main mast,” he shouted to his group. “I say we can get our mast in tip top shape before the fore or mizzen crew can. What do you say?”

They cheered loudly, and then immersed themselves in their work. Granger started off directing them at various tasks, but what he really added was motivation. After a brief pause to change clothes, he climbed up in the rigging and spliced ropes alongside veteran hands, much as he’d done on Barracuda when he was a midshipman. What Belvidera must have looked like to the Spaniards, with men swarming all over her rigging, was beyond Granger’s imagination.

The work continued non-stop for two hours, as Granger had prescribed, then he grabbed one of the newly rigged backstays and slid back down to the deck.

“You’re like a midshipman, Granger,” Nelson joked.

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said with a grin. “It’s nice to know I’m still spry.”

“I think you and your men have achieved almost a miracle,” he said. “Once the crew forward finishes splicing that last line, you’ll have your running and standing rigging in adequate condition.”

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said. He turned aft to watch the Spaniards, who were still pursuing them, and were indeed much closer. As if to punctuate that, the closest frigate, Matilde, fired a shot from her bow chaser. It fell short, but just barely.

“Ranging shot,” Nelson observed.

“Yes, sir,” Granger agreed. He looked up and saw that Clifton had completed his work. The young lieutenant strode back to the quarterdeck, looking exhilarated.

“You beat us, sir,” Clifton said. “But we are finished.”

“That was probably a politically astute move, Mr. Clifton,” Nelson joked, making them all chuckle.

Now it was time to extricate themselves from their dilemma. “Hands aloft to make sail, Mr. Clifton,” Granger ordered. “Mains, topsails, and the forward staysail.”

Whistles blew and the men soared up the masts again, only this time they were doing it to make sail, not to make repairs. “An interesting configuration, Granger,” Nelson observed.

“Yes, sir,” Granger agreed. “This ship was designed by Monsieur Forfait, and it has finer lines than other French frigates, and English frigates as well. The end result is that sailing with winds such as these, if we show too much canvas aloft, we make too much leeway.”

Nelson nodded skeptically, but he was a smart enough man to know that Granger would know his ship better than Nelson. Belvidera surged forward as her sails were sheeted home. The differential in speed between Belvidera and the Spanish ships was such that she was keeping her distance and maybe head reaching on them. It didn’t take them long to make that conclusion as well, and then they did what Roberts had anticipated. They turned on Sabina.

Perched at the taffrail, Granger and Nelson watched stoically as three Spanish frigates closed in on Sabina. He expected Roberts to strike at once, but Roberts was playing it out to the end, ensuring that Belvidera would have enough time to get away. Granger felt another presence and turned to see Stuart peering out, trying to see the action. Granger summoned a glass for him to see more closely.

The closest frigate to Sabina, Perla, fired a ball at her to warn her to do just that, to surrender. It was met with a shot from Sabina’s stern chaser, one that crashed into Perla. “Why does not your Mr. Roberts surrender?” Stuart demanded. “There is no honor in fighting a losing battle.”

“Mr. Roberts is ensuring that we will escape from your squadron, señor,” Granger said politely. “He has attracted the attention of all of your ships.”

Stuart eyed him as if he had spoken an unthinkable heresy, and then looked around, considering the situation. “He has sacrificed himself and his crew to save this ship.”

“He has,” Nelson agreed.

“That is a brave act,” Stuart said solemnly.

“It is,” Granger agreed. They watched the drama play out to the end. Perla and another frigate, the Ceres, closed with Sabina and fired a few broadsides into her until Sabina was dismasted. Then, and only then, did Roberts lower her colors. Granger watched, sad and impotent, as his first lieutenant, his marine captain, and twenty of his men went into captivity.

“They will be well-treated,” Stuart said to Granger sympathetically. “Although probably not as well as you have done with me.”

“I am quite certain of that,” Granger said. “I have always been treated honorably by the Spanish, whether they be allies, neutrals, or enemies.”

“Perhaps allies, perhaps neutrals, perhaps enemies, but always friends?” Stuart asked, with a raised eyebrow and a smile.

“Yes,” Granger agreed, smiling back.

“I hope you will not be offended when I say that I am relieved to see my ship back in the possession of His Most Catholic Majesty,” Stuart said.

“Of course not,” Granger said. “Just as I hope you will not be offended when I say that I am glad this ship is not one of his Most Catholic Majesty’s possessions.”

“I would have preferred otherwise, of course,” he joked, “but as I said, you have offered such courtesies to my officers and me that I must in part look forward to spending more time with you.”

“It will be our pleasure,” Granger said.

December 25, 1796

“Happy Christmas, sir,” Clifton said as Granger appeared on the quarterdeck.

“And a happy Christmas to you as well, Mr. Clifton,” Granger said. “I understand we have quite a feast planned for the crew.”

“Yes, sir,” Clifton said. “We have a church service planned, followed by dinner.”

“I have been remiss in conducting services,” Granger said, almost thinking out loud.

“The good lord appears to take our side most of the time, sir,” Clifton said. “We must be alright in his books.”

“I will try to do the birth of Christ justice,” Granger said. “We should make Porto Ferrajo in a few days.”

“If the main mast holds, sir,” Clifton said, eying it nervously.

“Are you suggesting that I did not repair it adequately?” Granger asked, and watched Clifton gasp in horror that he’d offended his captain. At least he did until he saw Granger’s grin.

“The fact that we do not fly Spanish colors, sir, suggests that your repairs were perfect.”

“You are quite the diplomat, Mr. Clifton,” Granger joked. He wasn’t sure why he was so jovial today. Maybe it was the festive spirit of Christmas, which made itself felt even here at sea. Granger thought, rather, that it had to do with his recovery from the fatigue of battle, and the knowledge that his ship and crew had performed better than most ships could have. “Maybe we can pilfer some stores from Elba before we leave.”

“I hope they have powder and shot, sir,” Clifton said. “We’ve shot away two-thirds of our roundshot and half our powder.”

“We will have to keep our eyes open for an opportunity to do just that,” Granger said. He was about to go down to his ‘cabin’ to try and prepare a sermon when Ramsey approached him.

“Sir, may I speak with you?” he asked.

“Not even a Christmas greeting first, Mr. Ramsey?” Granger teased.

“Certainly sir,” Ramsey said. “A happy Christmas to you. And now may I have a moment of your time?”

“You are all business today,” Granger observed.

“Yes sir. In private, if it isn’t too much trouble,” Ramsey said. He looked around the deck, to where Stuart and Nelson were pacing and talking.

“I will be below,” Granger said to Clifton, and motioned Ramsey to follow him. He led Ramsey below to his cabin, such as it was. They had created a space for Stuart adjacent to Nelson’s quarters, and that had entailed trimming some space from Granger’s already cramped sleeping cabin, but it couldn’t be helped.

Granger sat on his cot and motioned Ramsey to join him, there being no other place to sit. He became nervous, remembering the encounter he and Ramsey had almost had. The man was attractive, very attractive, and had given Granger ample signs that he may be willing to engage in a tryst, but he made Granger nervous. Perhaps it was his mission, and even though Granger jokingly referred to Ramsey as a spy, there was some lingering fear on his part that Ramsey’s loyalties might in fact be divided. Granger felt Ramsey’s thigh brush against his, and felt his own reaction to that contact. He only hoped his erection wasn’t too obvious. “And now what can I do for you, Mr. Ramsey?”

Ramsey looked at him and raised his eyebrow in a provocative and flirtatious manner, sending Granger’s hormones surging, but Granger still managed to maintain his calm. That appeared to frustrate Ramsey, but he went on about his business anyway. “I wanted to talk to you about your report, sir.”

“I thought we had completed that?” Granger asked. He’d finalized the casualty figures and let Ramsey embellish it as he was supposed to.

“Sir, it conflicts with Commodore Nelson’s report,” Ramsey said.

“And how do you know this?”

“The commodore’s clerk and I share a compartment and have become friends, sir,” Ramsey said. “His draft was left out and I, uh, accidentally read it.”

Granger smiled. “You accidentally read it?”

“Yes, sir,” Ramsey said. “I hope you won’t make an issue out of this, as I would hate to look dishonorable in front of my colleague and the commodore.”

“Your secret espionage will remain between us,” Granger said warmly. “So explain this discrepancy.”

“Sir, you listed Belvidera’s casualties as seven killed, and 14 wounded,” Ramsey said. “That corresponds with the commodore’s numbers.”

“As it should, since I gave him those numbers.”

“Yes, sir, but when it comes to the Sabina, you listed her casualties as two killed and 48 wounded.”

“That is the information I received from Mr. Gatling upon his return to the ship,” Granger said. “He got those numbers from Mr. Roberts directly, and was ordered to transmit them to me.”

“Sir, the commodore is reporting that Sabina’s casualties were 164,” Ramsey said.

“The number given him by Don Jacobo?” Granger asked.

“Yes, sir,” Ramsey said.

“I am sure of the number in my report,” Granger asserted. Roberts would not mislead or misreport the number, and Gatling would not have made a mistake about that. The boy was truly tortured by his departure from Sabina. It was as if everything he saw or did aboard that ship was etched in his brain.

“Sir, may I speak candidly?”

“By all means,” Granger said.

“I think you should consider adapting your numbers to match those used by the commodore.”

“Even if they’re inaccurate?” Granger asked.

“You don’t know that they are inaccurate. You have two versions, two different numbers, sir. While one may be more credible than the other, that does not mean it is true.”

“And you’re saying that if I report what I believe to be the truth, which in fact may not be, that I will be directly contradicting the commodore?”

“Yes, sir,” Ramsey said. “I don’t think that Commodore Nelson would appreciate that, begging your pardon sir. He has an eye to his public persona.”

“I see,” Granger said.

“Not to mention that it involves more than just him, sir. If you report numbers consistent with the commodore’s, it will make us look better.”

“And that is a good reason not to do it,” Granger said, perhaps too abruptly. He was uncomfortable taking honors or compliments that he did not deserve.

“But there is no harm done. We fought a hard battle and won; the end result is the same, sir,” Ramsey continued. Before Granger could object, he voiced another issue. “And it will make things better for Don Jacobo.”

Now Granger was following him. “You’re saying that if I mirror the commodore’s report, it will further validate Don Jacobo’s assertion? And that when the news of that reaches Spain, he will be lauded for his bravery?”

“Yes, sir,” Ramsey said. “Do you think he fought bravely, sir?”

Granger had the feeling he was being manipulated. He was of a mind to agree with Ramsey, but feeling pressured like this was almost sufficient to make him stick with his original report. “He fought bravely,” Granger said.

“There is one more point to consider, begging your pardon again, sir.” Granger looked at him, non-verbally telling him to go on. “Your reputation in Spain is as high as any Royal Navy officer’s could be. Losing to you, with such high casualties, is an honor for Don Jacobo, and a further confirmation of your abilities.”

“You’re telling me I have to watch out for my reputation in Spain? Even though they are our enemy?”

Ramsey smiled. “I am suggesting that, sir.” Now that Ramsey had made his points, the edge of the issue faded, and the sexual tension between them re-emerged. Granger felt his body urging him forward, urging him to rip Ramsey’s clothes off and fuck him right there, right now. The look on Ramsey’s face, the lustful expression, the look of sexual desire and need, was too obvious for even Granger to ignore. And just as before, a knock at his cabin door interrupted a potential sexual encounter.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir,” Gatling said as he entered at Granger’s invitation. “Mr. Clifton said to tell you that he thinks we may need to take in a reef.”

“I’ll come up,” Granger said. He turned to a very frustrated Ramsey. “Please correct the numbers in my report.”

“Aye aye sir,” Ramsey said, gamely hiding his frustration. Granger stood up and his pants tented out. He felt himself turn red with embarrassment, which only irritated him. Gatling courteously looked away, albeit with a shy smile, while Ramsey just stared at his bulge and licked his lips. Instead of being sexy, that just irritated Granger even more. He stormed up on the deck, and thankfully his erection had deflated enough so as to be inconspicuous by the time he arrived there.

Granger evaluated the wind and the seas, both moderate, and thought that Clifton was being perhaps a bit too cautious, but allowed him to take a reef in the main sail. They were worried about that mast anyway. That served to take his mind away from his conversation with Ramsey, which was fortunate since he was compelled to read a sermon for Christmas after that. Once that was complete, the hands were dismissed for dinner, while Granger and Nelson adjourned to the great cabin to host a dinner for the officers, both British and Spanish.

Dinner was jovial and raucous, with everyone drinking too much, and saying too much as well. Granger noticed that he and Nelson were the only two of the officers who were relatively sober, with one other exception: Gatling. Everyone seemed happy except for Gatling, who ate prodigious amounts of food, but drank little. It was if he was eating to avoid interacting with the others.

“I understand there was a discrepancy between our reports,” Nelson said. Granger’s mind whirled at that. So it wasn’t just Ramsey reading the commodore’s report. If it was, Nelson wouldn’t have even known about it. Ramsey must have let Nelson’s clerk know of his draft as well.

“I am not aware of any discrepancy, sir,” Granger said carefully.

Nelson smiled. “Excellent.” Dinner went on, and Granger forced himself to be polite until enough time had elapsed for him to make an escape.

“Sir, if you will excuse me, I would like to check around the ship before the sun sets,” Granger said to Nelson.

“Of course, Granger,” Nelson said indulgently.

Granger made his excuses to the assembled company, and then left the stuffy cabin for the brisk, fresh air of the deck. He walked up and down the quarterdeck, allowing the exercise to quell his emotions. What kind of game was Ramsey playing? Did he and his fellow clerk collude to fix the problem? Were they manipulating him, Nelson, or both of them? Granger finally decided that he wouldn’t know the answer without more data, that relentless evaluation of the facts in his possession would yield no further results.

He spotted Gatling over by the rail, looking dejectedly out at the sea. “Mr. Gatling!”

“Sir?” the young man answered promptly.

“I am going to walk round the ship,” Granger announced.

“Yes, sir,” Gatling answered.

“You will accompany me.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said automatically.

They walked in silence along the top deck, with Granger’s eyes scanning the deck and the rigging. Belvidera’s rigging would be a worry for him until it was properly repaired. They had their standing and running rigging set up, but the normal redundancies put in for safety were left out. Until he could acquire more cordage and more spars, the ship would be vulnerable. They next arrived at the fo’c’sle, where the wounded were congregated.

“I’m sorry sir,” one of the surgeon’s mates said. “We didn’t know you were coming. I’ll fetch the surgeon.”

Jackson would still be in the great cabin, fairly inebriated. “No. Leave him be. I just came here to see the men.”

Of the fourteen wounded, four had recovered enough to leave sick bay. Of the other ten, Granger knew they’d probably lose half. He made a point to talk to each man and wish him a happy Christmas, and encourage him. He left the sick bay feeling that he’d made some small contribution to their morale, but it felt like such a cheap gesture, a mere visit. He passed the word for Winkler and ordered that they be given some of his better wine.

“Let us inspect the livestock,” Granger announced. He normally did not go out of his way to visit the unfortunate beasts that sailed with them only to eventually be devoured, but he was enjoying this opportunity to explore his ship.

“Yes, sir,” Gatling said, a little surprised. They got to the livestock pens and heard subdued grunting noises. “It appears the animals are indisposed, sir,” Gatling joked.

“But which ones?” Granger asked, raising his eyebrow.

“I’ll find out, sir,” Gatling said. He pulled open a louvered gate, and found not two animals, rutting, but two men in mid-fuck. Granger immediately recognized both men; they were marines, privates that were part of his band.

They turned, horrified, as the one penetrating the other pulled out. Granger stood there, staring at the man’s quickly deflating cock, conscious that Gatling was next to him, almost trembling with fear. The correct thing to do would be to summon the guard and place these men under arrest. Then, after a court martial, they would both be hanged, unless there was some extenuating circumstance that warranted leniency. Granger knew that was probably unlikely. Yet how could he convict these men for doing something he himself did? How could he condemn them to death for doing nothing more than pleasuring each other?

He turned to Gatling. “Mr. Gatling, I am quite certain that I see nothing unusual here. How about you?”

Gatling swallowed hard, and looked...Granger tried to evaluate his reaction. Was it relief? “I am quite certain that I see nothing as well, sir,” he said, and closed the louvered door. They hurriedly left the livestock pen, and walked along the gun deck toward the great cabin. “Sir?” Gatling asked.

“We will finish our tour, Mr. Gatling. Then, if we have time, we can talk about that. You must say nothing to anyone else. Is that clear?”

“You have my word of honor, sir,” he said, with meaning.

“Then I know you will say nothing,” Granger said, smiling. They went down to the main deck, where the men had finished their meal, and their extra tot of rum, and were now mostly gambling and skylarking. They stood there silently, watching the men, listening to their conversations.

“If we don’t make port soon, I may have to start chasing after you,” one of the grizzled seamen teased a ship’s boy, who quite rightly gave him a rude hand gesture.

“I’d go for the captain,” one of the men said. It was Seppings, one of the ship’s best topmen. He was 24 years old, and could walk the royal yard like a circus performer. “He’ll have a tighter bum, not one so worked over,” he said, scowling at the obnoxious ship’s boy, who gave him a rude gesture as well.

“It’s nice to know I have options, Seppings,” Granger said, stepping forward. The men gasped and flew to their feet, standing at attention. “As you were.”

They relaxed, but only slightly. “I’m real sorry, sir,” Seppings said. “It was just a bit of fun. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Next time, find a different object for your fantasies,” Granger said. “The deep recesses of your dirty mind are not a fit place for me, or for Mr. Gatling.” That got a laugh, as it was meant to. Granger walked forward through the men, wishing them a happy Christmas, with Gatling still in tow.

“Perhaps they were right, sir,” Gatling said in a jocular way. “Perhaps we have been at sea for too long.”

They returned to the quarterdeck, where Granger greeted the master’s mate who had the watch, then asked Gatling to walk with him. “You’re wondering why I didn’t arrest those men.”

“Not really, sir,” Gatling said.

“You would not have arrested them?” Granger asked curiously.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but there are more important things to worry about. How would it look to the Dons if we had a big court martial and hanged two men?”

Granger eyed Gatling with an appraising eye. This was a relatively sophisticated train of thought for a midshipman. It occurred to him that Gatling was growing, both as a man and as an officer, and that his impression of him as a mere boy would require a re-appraisal. “I don’t suppose it would look good.”

“Not to mention, sir, how it would look to the commodore, to have that happen on board his own flagship.”

That was definitely a big consideration. As Ramsey had said, Nelson was worried about his public image. Having two men tried and convicted of sodomy on board his flagship would not look good. “And my band would be seriously diminished as well.”

“There is that too, sir,” Gatling said with a smile.

“I suppose the fact that it is Christmas Day should factor into it as well,” Granger said. “You do not seem too disturbed at the sight of two men having sex.”

Gatling stared at him, shocked, and not a little disoriented. “I grew up on a farm,” he answered lamely. He only added “sir” as an afterthought. Granger was mindful of how he’d omitted that word when he’d been talking to Nelson, and how upset he’d been to do that.

“And on your farm, the animals bugger each other?” Granger joked to ease the tension.

“No, sir,” he said, and looked down shyly.

The two of them walked in silence until Granger opted to take the bull by the horns. “What is bothering you, Mr. Gatling?”

“Sir?”

“You have been morose since you returned from Sabina,” Granger said. “You are like a death’s head at a party.”

“I feel like a coward, sir,” he said. “I didn’t want to come back. I wanted to stay and fight. But Mr. Roberts made me return.”

“If you had requested a transfer because you were afraid to fight, then you would be a coward. I find it hard to believe you are a coward. I have only seen bravery from you.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and looked at Granger with sincere appreciation.

“But that is not the crux of the problem, now is it?” Granger asked.

Gatling got so nervous, and so upset, that Granger feared he would vomit on the deck. “No sir, it’s not. It’s a more personal issue.”

“And it is something you would prefer not to discuss with me?” Granger asked, gamely hiding his annoyance.

“Sir,” Gatling started, and then paused as if trying to gather his thoughts. “I really don’t want to discuss it with anyone, but if I did, you’d be the only one I’d talk to.”

Granger pondered that, pondered his statement, and nodded. “Then my door will remain open to you.” Granger stopped and nodded at him, effectively dismissing him. He spent the next hour pacing his deck, wondering at what vexed his midshipman. He noted that the noise from the cabin below had ended, and had seen some of the officers staggering about on deck until they caught his eye and wisely went below.

He walked on for a while longer, and then went below to go to bed. He walked into the great cabin and glanced at the three doors that led to the sleeping quarters. From behind Nelson’s door, he could hear soft snoring. He smiled and moved to the next door. There the noises were different. There the noises were similar to those he’d heard in the livestock pen. He pushed the door open only slightly, just enough to peek in, and saw Ramsey on his back with his hands holding his legs back while Don Jacobo fucked him. Granger admired the Spaniard’s handsome ass as his cheeks squeezed with each thrust. He felt the lust rising within him at the sight of Ramsey’s cute, hard cock flopping around and leaking as he enjoyed his fuck. But most of all, he felt disturbed and possibly even betrayed by this clerk, whom he’d almost felt he could trust.