St. Vincent - 27. Chapter 27

January 29, 1797

“Seventeen guns, Mr. Clifton,” Granger ordered. He focused his telescope across the water at the boat carrying Sir Gilbert Elliot and his staff, and their ‘necessary’ baggage. It filled Belvidera’s launch, and would require copious amounts of space below. Granger wondered at his original desire to host the commodore, and what that would mean to his ship. God help them if they engaged an enemy. They’d be fighting with furniture and art work all around them.

“Seventeen guns, sir,” Clifton repeated, because it was unusual.

“Is that the usual number?” Kerry asked. He’d come on board last night, and gotten situated in Granger’s quarters. Granger smiled as he thought about how well he’d gotten situated. He was thoroughly enjoying the brigadier.

“We’re being a bit generous,” Granger said. “It may be more accurate to fire off 15 guns, since Sir Gilbert is no longer the viceroy of Corsica, but that may appear to be a snub to His Excellency.”

Kerry nodded. “Sir Gilbert is an educated and refined man, but he does have an ego. A good call, on your part.” That seemed to make Clifton happier, even though he certainly would have obeyed orders regardless. “When will the commodore be boarding?”

“Within the hour,” Granger said. “He is personally supervising the last phase of our withdrawal.”

“Withdrawal,” Kerry mused. “Sounds so much better than retreat.”

“Yet the result is the same,” Granger observed grimly. He was no happier about their leaving Elba than General DeBurgh was, but he knew that to voice opposition to such a high level decision was madness. “We will be back soon enough.”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier for us to stay?” Kerry mused.

“We must either increase the strength of our fleet or decrease the strength of theirs first,” Granger said. “As it is, the combined French and Spanish fleet outnumbers us in the Mediterranean by about five to one.”

“Those are not good odds,” Kerry said.

“I think you’ll find even the commodore would agree with you. He has told me that he thinks an English ship of the line should be able to beat three of her Spanish counterparts.” Granger thought that was perhaps optimistic, but two to one certainly wasn’t. The launch hooked on, and Granger nodded to Clifton to have the bosun’s chair lowered to the boat; Sir Gilbert was strapped in, and then hoisted aboard the Belvidera. He was in his late 40s, a bit old to be traipsing around the Mediterranean and scaling up the sides of a frigate, but the man seemed robust enough when he was released onto the deck. The bosun’s whistles stopped shrilling, and the first gun went off.

“Welcome, Sir Gilbert,” Granger said, extending his hand.

“It’s good to see you again, Sir George,” Elliot said properly. “I fear I’ve brought a good bit of gear for you to stow.”

Granger appreciated that he at least realized there were challenges with storing it all. “I’m sure we’ll find a place for it.” He introduced Elliot to his officers, and gave Clifton orders to work with Elliot’s staff to discover which items would be needed on a daily basis, and which could be buried deeper in the hold.

“Sir, I’ve rigged accommodations for you in my cabin. Colonel, I fear that you will be stuck in the wardroom,” Granger informed them.

“I’m sure that will be wonderful after the cramped quarters of the sloop, Sir George,” Colonel Drinkwater observed. “It was a bit claustrophobic at times.”

Granger chuckled. “You will enjoy your time on deck, in any event.”

“Sir, the commodore’s boat has left the jetty,” Clifton informed him. They noted that his broad pennant had been lowered from the headquarters he’d commandeered in town.

“Very well. Prepare the salute. Let’s get that launch unloaded and hoisted aboard!” They’d need to get it out of the way so they could get Nelson’s gear stowed, along with the gig.

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton chirped. They in fact just did achieve that when Granger’s gig pulled alongside. The pipes twittered again, but Nelson eschewed the chair and hauled himself up over the side. As soon as he arrived on deck, the saluting gun began again, and his broad pennant fluttered up the mast. The other ships began saluting it as well, an odd time for such ceremony, the middle of a withdrawal.

“Welcome aboard, sir,” Granger said.

“Granger,” Nelson acknowledged. “Signal the Romulus to take station to the northward.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger acknowledged. Nelson moved over to cordially greet Sir Gilbert and Kerry, while Granger supervised the signal. Nelson’s flag midshipman and Gatling resumed their symbiotic relationship and got the flags hoisted quite fast.

“Romulus has acknowledged, sir,” Gatling said.

“Give the general signal for evacuation,” Nelson said dourly, then turned to Sir Gilbert. “Another retreat.”

“I fear it is necessary,” Elliot agreed.

“Granger, you can take station just north of the harbor mouth. As soon as the transports are clear, we can square away and follow Romulus.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said. “Get the anchor hove short, Mr. Clifton,” Granger ordered. He heard Clifton’s acknowledgment even as he led Nelson and Elliot below to their quarters. Neither complained; both of them understood the crowded conditions of life aboard a frigate at sea. “If you will excuse me, I will attend to our departure, sir.”

“Quite so,” Nelson said.

Granger joined Clifton on deck. “The commodore seems to be in a foul mood, sir.”

“He doesn’t like defeats, and he doesn’t like retreats,” Granger said.

“Yes, sir,” Clifton agreed. “Anchor’s hove short.”

“Very well. Let’s get the main topsail set, and the mizzen stay with a reef,” Granger ordered. “Weigh anchor.”

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton acknowledged. Weighing the anchor was already in process, but the orders brought the topmen out, rushing out along the yardarms to release the clews, and the sails. Granger heard the booming of the canvas, and felt the force as Belvidera tugged against her anchor.

Granger leaned over and yelled down at the men below, laboring at the capstan. “Put your backs into it men!” He had the marine band assemble and play music to encourage them, then turned his attention back to the fleet.

“Flag to Dido. Make haste,” Granger snapped to Gatling. Dido was at least two evolutions behind the other warships in getting underway. Hotham should have been better prepared and have moved faster.

“Dido’s acknowledged,” Gatling said shortly. Hotham would be bristling at that public censure, but he would blame Nelson, not Granger, thinking that the commodore already detested him simply because he detested his uncle.

“Flag to Dromedary,” Granger snapped. “Make haste.” Dromedary was a naval transport, and should be following orders more smartly than that.

“Dromedary hasn’t acknowledged, sir,” Gatling said.

Granger positively fumed at that. “Fire a signal gun to get her attention.”

It took a few minutes to load the forward gun with a blank charge and fire it off, but Dromedary still didn’t acknowledge their signal. Nelson came up on deck, presumably roused from below by the sound of the gun. “Trouble, Granger?”

“Sir, Dromedary is lagging, and has refused to acknowledge our signal.”

“That is General DeBurgh’s transport,” he observed. “It has all of his staff, and his personal possessions on board.”

“That may explain their intransigence, sir,” Granger agreed calmly, even though he was seething below.

“General signal to the convoy to proceed without the Dromedary,” Nelson said. He grinned broadly at Granger. “We’ll see how he fares on his own.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said, grinning back. “Mr. Gatling, general signal. Dromedary is detached from the fleet.”

“Aye aye sir,” Gatling said. The other transports were already lumbering out of the harbor, with Dido bringing up the rear, while Dromedary hadn’t even weighed anchor yet.

“Sir, Dromedary is signaling. She says ‘wait,’ sir,” Gatling said.

“Do not acknowledge,” Nelson said. “Signal Southampton to pass within hail.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said. He nodded to Gatling, who signaled to Southampton. Southampton acknowledged and then ranged alongside Belvidera. She was smaller than Granger’s ship, and only carried 12-pounders for her main armament, as opposed to Belvidera’s 18-pounders.

Nelson picked up his speaking trumpet. “Captain McNamara!”

“Sir?” McNamara shouted back through his own trumpet. His voice was remarkably crisp.

“You may offer convoy to Dromedary if she obeys your orders and keeps up. If not, you may leave her behind.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and then waved to them. Granger returned his wave. He saw Villiers there on the quarterdeck, watching them wistfully, and he nodded to the young man, eliciting a small smile from him.

“We’re approaching Escombreras, sir,” Granger said as he addressed Nelson respectfully. That was the jut of land that would impair their view of the Spanish naval base. “The roads of Cartagena should be in sight within the hour.”

“Excellent, Granger. I will be up directly,” Nelson said. The voyage so far had been remarkably fast and uneventful. Granger, Kerry, Nelson, Drinkwater, and Elliot dined together daily, and Granger had found that the military men made for interesting companions. Kerry satisfied every carnal urge Granger even thought about, so randy was the handsome brigadier. Elliot was quite an accomplished diplomat and politician, with humorous stories that kept them laughing much of the time. Drinkwater was a noted historian, and regaled them with his tales of the siege of Gibraltar during the last war. These military men kept the more somber naval officers in better spirits.

Granger contrasted their attitudes, and decided that it was a result of the relative histories of their branches of service. The Royal Navy viewed defeat and retreat with a jaded eye, something that happened rarely, and when it did, sometimes officers were shot, as was the case with poor Admiral Byng. Their Royal Army counterparts, by virtue of the small size of their force, were much more used to strategic retreats.

He returned to the quarterdeck and was joined by Kerry and Elliot. “Do you think we’ll find the Dons at home?” Elliot asked.

“If they’re out, they’re out for a reason, Your Excellency,” Granger observed. “The Dons can barely afford to keep their ships from complete decay. Mounting an expedition and manning it requires a considerable outlay that they’ll be loath to make unless there’s a good reason.”

“They don’t have standing crews?” Kerry asked.

“No. They usually have a very small cadre of seamen in each ship, so when they sail, then draft whomever they can grab in port. That usually means soldiers and peasants.”

“I would think that would make for a rather undisciplined force,” Elliot observed.

“Yes, Your Excellency. A good time to engage the Dons is right after they leave port. It’s a good bet half their crew, at least, is seasick,” Granger said with a grin.

“Are the Frogs as bad?” Kerry asked.

“No, they tend to be somewhere in between, in my opinion,” Granger said. “Still, ship for ship, no Royal Navy captain would ever worry about going up against a French or Spanish adversary.”

“That’s why the commodore says that we should be able to handle odds of three to one against the Dons,” Elliot stated.

“That is correct, Your Excellency.”

“Wouldn’t you expect the Dons to be in port? The French were snug in Toulon.” They’d found Toulon bustling with activity, but there were no ships making ready to sail.

“I think the French were in the process of preparing to seize Elba, and completing their conquest of Corsica, Your Excellency,” Granger guessed. “That’s a short voyage, as you saw, and does not require the logistical preparation that a sortie into the Atlantic or to the Caribbean would require.”

“The big fear at home is that they’ll link up, the Dons and the Frogs, and then sail to the Channel and unite with the French fleet at Brest,” Kerry said. “That’s what the conversation and panic was all about in London.”

“That is certainly possible,” Granger allowed, “but I think it is unlikely.”

“And why is that, Captain?” Elliot asked.

“That is a long voyage, and crews such as those the Dons will pull together will suffer from significant casualties due to disease and injury on the way. The weather makes such a trek uncertain, and makes linking up with the Brest fleet at sea almost impossible. What is more likely is that they would sail all the way to the Bay of Biscay, and if they weren’t intercepted by Sir John Jervis’ force, they would certainly be shadowed by it. Once there, they would probably run into the full force of the Channel Fleet. Without support from the ships at Brest, they would be annihilated.”

“I could not agree with you more, Sir George,” Nelson said as he joined them. “But your hypotheses rely on at least one or two strokes of luck on our part, and that level of uncertainty is enough to make those in London rightfully fearful.”

“Yes, sir,” Granger said, as he was supposed to. He was slightly abashed at having his grand strategic vision somewhat dismissed by his commodore.

“Deck there! Cartagena coming into sight!”

“If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I am going aloft to see this for myself.”

“As you wish,” Nelson said indulgently.

Granger was glad to be rid of all of them, and strode to the main mast and climbed up to the main yard. He swayed about, but the seas were easy enough, and he balanced himself at the top with the agility of a midshipman.

“Not much there, sir,” said the lookout. Granger trained his glass on the port and felt his pulse racing. The Spaniards were gone. They had sailed.

“I make two ships of the line and three frigates, all laid up,” Granger said.

“That’s right, sir, begging your pardon sir,” he said. So the Spaniards had left the laggards behind, the ships too crippled to sail. Granger had seen all that he needed to see, so he grabbed a backstay and all but glided back to the deck.

“Gads, Granger!” Elliot exclaimed. “You’re like an acrobat.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Granger said with a smile, then turned to Nelson. “The Spaniards are gone, sir.”

“Gone?”

“There are but two ships of the line and three frigates there, none of which appear ready to sail, sir.”

“So the Don’s are out,” Nelson mused, and then looked aloft, as if frustrated. “Set a course for Gibraltar. We need to warn Sir John.”

“Are you sure they’ve gone that way, gone west?” Sir Gilbert asked.

“They didn’t take their cripples, so they were planning for a longer voyage. Granger’s scenario of forcing a Channel crossing may very well be their intent. In any event, I do not think they will make it past Sir John.” He paced up and down the deck, fuming. “I need to be there. There’s going to be a battle, and I need to be there.”

“If it is physically possible, sir, Captain Hope and I will get you there,” Granger said to him, almost a pledge. “Mr. Clifton, shake out the reef in the mains!” Granger turned to Gatling. “Signal Romulus to make more sail. Tell her course is Gibraltar.”

“Aye aye sir,” they chimed. Hope would have seen what they’d seen. He would see the empty port of Cartagena and draw similar conclusions.

“Romulus has acknowledged, sir,” Gatling said. Granger looked back and saw her tacking on sail, surging forward to keep up with Belvidera, which was a faster and handier ship in most seas.

“Invite Captain Hope aboard for supper, Granger,” Nelson ordered. “We have to reduce sail for night stations anyway.”

The two frigates surged southwestward, making great progress, and then as night fell, they reduced sail and Captain Hope, along with his first lieutenant, came over to dine with them.

“Good to see you, Granger,” Hope said as Granger welcomed him aboard. “This is my first lieutenant, Blanchard.” They exchanged greetings. Granger hustled them below, knowing they were anxious to meet with Nelson.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” Nelson said affably. All the rushing seemed to be for naught, as they sat down to a leisurely meal while the two frigates thrashed along at a respectable pace.

“So the Don’s are out, sir,” Hope said, bravely diving into the topic at hand.

“Quite an astute observation,” Nelson said acidly, but made it seem like he was joking. “After yet another fabulous dinner, courtesy of Granger’s chef and his purse,” he said, getting a chuckle, “we will part company.”

“Indeed, sir?” Granger asked.

“Captain Hope, you will go directly to find Sir John and alert him that the Spanish are out.” Nelson then turned to Granger. “We are going to Gibraltar, to check for news, to see if your Mr. Roberts has managed to escape from the clutches of the Dons, and to see if the governor there has any news of our Spanish friends.”

“And we are to remain your guests?” Sir Gilbert asked.

“You make it sound as if you are prisoners, Your Excellency,” Granger teased, making them laugh.

“Hardly, Granger. Nelson was right. This is almost as good as being aboard an Indiaman. Hope, taste this mutton. Isn’t this spectacular?”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Hope agreed, and gave Granger a knowing look, a look of sympathy. He evidently understood the rigors of entertaining important visitors aboard a vessel. Granger ultimately saw Hope over the side, and then the two frigates parted company. By morning, Belvidera was all alone on the seas.

February 9, 1797

Belvidera wore neatly into Gibraltar’s crowded harbor. Their detour had taken a bit of time, and it had allowed the convoy to beat them to The Rock by a full day.

“It appears that the convoy made it here unmolested, sir,” Granger observed.

“They were lucky they did not run into the entire Spanish fleet. Signal McNamara to report on board. I need to know if they sighted the enemy.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and gave the order for the signal to be sent, and then for McNamara’s inevitable arrival on board. Then he turned his attention to guiding Belvidera to her anchorage.

“Let go!” Granger shouted as they approached his chosen area. The anchor splashed into the harbor of Gibraltar, while the crew of HMS Belvidera quickly and efficiently furled her canvas. Boats were already being lowered in the water to allow their passengers some respite ashore.

“A fast passage, Granger,” Nelson observed.

“Thank you, sir,” he said politely. Nelson was an easy commander to have aboard but for one thing: his lack of patience. If Granger could have made Belvidera fly, it would still not have satisfied him. “When will you be ready to depart?”

“I can give you no more than two days here, so we’ll leave on the 11^th,” Nelson ordered.

“We’ll be ready, sir.” They really didn’t have much to do, other than to take on water and any other supplies they could purchase from the good people of Gibraltar. Andrews would no doubt sneak over to the Spanish side of the bay and acquire some stores there, but no one would ask any questions about that.

“Sir!” Gatling said enthusiastically. “Boat approaching! Mr. Roberts is on board!”

Granger put his normal stoicism aside and rushed to the rail, with Nelson right behind him. They trained their glasses on the boat and saw Roberts and Somers sitting in the sternsheets of the boat, grinning broadly. The men in the boat, Belvidera’s men who had endured captivity, were much more demonstrative, waving at their compatriots on board. “With your permission, sir, I’d like to give them a warm welcome home.”

“By all means,” Nelson said, smiling.

“Man the sides, Mr. Clifton!” The men flew up into the shrouds, hanging there like leaves on a tree. “Lads, show them we’re happy they’re back!” Granger shouted. The men cheered wildly and waved their hats at their fellow men, who followed Roberts and Somers up over the side.

“Welcome back,” Granger said, and took Roberts hands in his. “You have been missed.”

“Thank you, sir,” Roberts said. Granger shifted his attention to Somers.

“You have been missed as well, although not as much,” he joked.

“And that is as it should be, sir,” Somers said jovially.

“Welcome back, Mr. Roberts, Captain Somers,” Nelson said, joining Granger. “Your handling of the Sabina was one of the bravest acts I have seen.”

“Thank you, sir,” Roberts said, blushing.

“How did you get here?” Nelson asked. “Give us your report verbally, for the moment.”

Roberts had evidently rehearsed this, at least in his mind. He described the action with Sabina and the other Spanish ships, the one where he’d sacrificed himself and his men to allow Belvidera to escape. “They seemed a bit miffed that we didn’t surrender at once, sir, but I knew you needed more time to escape.”

“You were correct,” Nelson agreed.

“After they closed with us, and there was nothing else we could do, I hauled down our colors, sir,” Roberts said sadly. No Royal Navy officer could easily stomach surrendering his ship, even if she was a prize. “They treated us quite well, sir, and I expect much of that was due to your reputation,” Roberts told Granger. “Even the men received decent care. There were one or two incidents where they were treated a bit roughly, but I spoke to the commanding officers and they corrected that fast enough.”

“Much as we treated our prisoners,” Granger observed. “I have not found the Spanish to be lacking honor.”

“No sir, not honor, but certainly seamanship. We sailed here from Cartagena aboard the Terrible and her consort. The sail handling was enough to make your skin crawl. As I said, they treated us well enough, but it was a dirty vessel, and the men were mostly peasants.”

“Pretty much as you observed, Sir George,” Kerry said, interjecting himself into the conversation. Granger paused to introduce him to Roberts. “It’s good to see you, Archie,” he said to Somers, and gave him a friendly embrace. “Captain Somers is my cousin,” he informed Nelson. Granger knew that, as Somers had told him they were related when they’d first met. He looked at these two handsome cousins, and felt his hormones surge at the thought of being with both of these men.

“Evidently brave men are the standard in your family,” Nelson said, flattering both men. “Did the rest of the Spanish fleet sail with you?” Nelson asked.

“No sir, but it looked like they were getting ready to leave port. I’m not sure when they left.”

“We looked in there a few days back, and the port was all but empty,” Granger noted.

“Then those two Don battleships will most likely be wanting to join up with their fleet, sir,” Roberts said. “They were pretty anxious to get back to the others.”

“Spaniards are like sheep when they are at sea. They cannot survive without being part of the flock,” Nelson observed sagely. “You have done quite well, Mr. Roberts. I have said so in my official report, and I will say so to Sir John when we re-join the fleet.”

“Thank you, sir,” Roberts said.

“You may return to your duties, but I wouldn’t get too comfortable with them. I don’t think you’ll be here for much longer,” Nelson said with a grin. Granger said nothing, the conflicting emotions surging through him. Nelson was intimating that he planned to get Roberts promoted, and that was a great honor to Granger, and a great opportunity for Roberts, one he certainly deserved. On the other hand, it was agonizing to have just gotten him back, only to lose him again. Granger could see the same emotions affecting Roberts.

“I think you will find that Mr. Clifton has filled in for you quite well,” Granger said soothingly. “I suspect he will enjoy having you back, if only briefly, so he can have at least a night or two of sleep.” That got a laugh from all of the naval officers, who knew what the demands were on a first lieutenant.