St. Vincent - 28. Chapter 28

February 11, 1797

“It seems we are to have company,” Nelson observed as Belvidera warped herself out of Gibraltar. Granger trained his glass across the small body of water to Algeciras, where the two Spanish 74s were getting ready for sea. Granger paused to sense the wind, feeling its strength and direction, then relaxed.

“They will pose no threat to us, sir,” Granger replied with a grin. “The wind and seas would have to rise dramatically, and by then I think we will be clear.”

Roberts interrupted them. “Not to mention, sir, begging your pardon, but Neptuno is a horrible sailer.”

“Indeed?” Nelson asked. He liked Roberts, and always treated his comments and observations with respect.

“Yes, sir. I spent many hours on our voyage trying to decide if they just didn’t have the feel of her, or if she was trimmed wrong, but regardless, she’s a wallowing tub.” He gestured over at the two ships. “Terrible is already a few evolutions ahead of her. The officers there know what they’re doing, even if the crew doesn’t.”

“I plan to proceed, unless you order otherwise, sir,” Granger joked.

“Make haste, Granger, not because I’m afraid of those Dons, but because we have to find Sir John. Their departure is meaningful.”

“Sir?” Roberts asked, confused.

“Those ships are sailing to join their fleet,” Granger told him. “They’re not leaving to chase us. That may be a nice benefit, but it’s not the reason.”

“And that means that the Spanish fleet must be very near indeed,” Nelson stated, validating Granger’s hypothesis.

The naval officers, joined by their military and diplomatic colleagues, continued to speculate on the intentions of the Spaniards, the whereabouts of Sir John Jervis and his fleet, and the overall progress of Belvidera as she cleared the Rock.

“Why do we have no sail on the front mast, Sir George?” Colonel Drinkwater asked.

“With the direction of the wind, setting our foresails would have the impact of driving the bow into the sea, and would actually impede our progress,” Granger stated. It was so logical to him, but so foreign to these soldiers. Sailing was largely a mathematical exercise; a calculation of the various forces that acted upon Belvidera, and how to manipulate them to get the best progress for his ship. “When we set our course through the Gut, and sail due west, we’ll set those sails.”

“Thank you for explaining it to me, Sir George,” Drinkwater replied cordially. He was an enjoyable companion, always ready with an interesting question or story.

“It is my pleasure. I only wish I was able to give you as much information on sailing as you have given me on siege warfare.” Drinkwater’s description of the Siege of Gibraltar had been vivid.

“Sir,” Roberts interrupted. “We’re almost clear of the headland.”

“Very well, Mr. Roberts,” Granger stated. “Send the hands aloft.”

Roberts bellowed to Hercule, who bellowed to his mates, who blew their whistles, sending the topmen aloft to make sail. They were well on their way to completing the evolution when disaster struck. A man on the main topsail yard lost his footing and, luckily enough, he caught on to a rope, but it was a small line. Granger looked up to see Llewellyn working his way out to the yard to the terrified man. Granger stood stoically watching this young midshipman, with barely any experience aloft, risk his own life to help one of the men in his division.

“Careful, Mr. Llewellyn,” Roberts called. Evidently he was not as stoic as Granger. Llewellyn was almost to the man now, and handing him a larger line. In a few seconds, they’d be able to help pull him to safety. But the man panicked, and instead of grabbing the line and pulling himself up, he grabbed for Llewellyn. Everyone watched in horror as the two men tumbled off the yard and into the sea. If they would have landed on the deck, they’d have been killed by the fall. Landing in the water hadn’t really improved their chances all that much, since the water would be frigid, and most sailors couldn’t swim.

“Back the mizzen!” Granger ordered. “Mr. Roberts, get the jolly boat away!”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and began to lower the smallest boat Belvidera had, primarily because she was the easiest and handiest.

“Mr. Clifton, keep an eye on those men, so we know where to spot the jolly boat!” Clifton acknowledged his order and kept his eye zeroed in on the water where the men had fallen. The seas were rough and choppy, so it was difficult to see them. It was therefore with a collective sigh of relief that they spotted both heads emerging from the water. The seaman, William Barnes, evidently couldn’t swim. Llewellyn himself wasn’t a strong swimmer, but he was working his way toward Barnes to offer him some help.

“Where’s that boat,” Granger shouted, just as the jolly boat flew out from behind Belvidera and tracked toward the two men. The current was driving the boat, Llewellyn, and Barnes away from Belvidera and back toward Gibraltar. The activity on the deck was entirely focused on the boat, and it was with relief that they saw it draw up and pull a wet Llewellyn from the water. They began to search for Barnes, who had evidently succumbed to the sea, when Gatling shouted boldly.

“Sir! The Dons!” They turned away from their drama with the sea, horrified to see the two Spanish battleships closing fast. In a few minutes, they would be close enough to engage Belvidera. Granger looked at the jolly boat, with Roberts, the boat’s crew, and a drenched Llewellyn, and weighed his options rapidly. They would probably not find Barnes anyway, as he hadn’t surfaced for some time.

“Mr. Roberts, get back here immediately!” Granger shouted across the water. Roberts had been engrossed in the rescue effort, and realized the threat the Don’s presented as suddenly as they had on board Belvidera. They gave up their search for Barnes and began rowing back.

“They won’t make it, I fear, sir,” Meurice said fatalistically. Clifton, Gatling, and Nelson glared at him.

But this was not a time for delusion. “I fear you are right,” Granger said, drawing the same conclusion. The wind and tides were such that it would push the jolly boat and Belvidera into the Spanish, and they’d be engaged before they could rescue Roberts and his men.

“By God, Granger, I’ll not lose Roberts again!” Nelson exclaimed dramatically. Did he intend that Belvidera would engage two Spanish ships of the line? Surely not.

A plan formed in Granger’s mind, and he set it in motion with one order. “Mr. Gatling, signal ‘Flag to Irresistable. Enemy in sight.” Gatling knew better than to argue with his captain, even though Irresistable was with Sir John.

“An old trick, Granger,” Nelson said, smiling.

“Aye sir,” Granger said, but had no time for conversation. “Heave to on the starboard tack, Mr. Clifton.” He called down to the gun deck. “Mr. Brookstone. Load and run out the starboard battery. Single shotted, and aim high!”

“Aye aye sir!” They shouted. Belvidera came around as she hove to, and all the pieces of the puzzle were now fixed in place. Belvidera appeared to be challenging battle, while the men in her jolly boat rowed frantically to reach their ship. With the seas as they were, the jolly boat would be largely invisible to the Dons. The Spaniards, meanwhile, must have seen this action and found it relatively daunting, if only because it made no sense at all. Why would a 32-gun frigate challenge two Spanish ships-of-the-line to battle? This was sheer insanity, a suicide mission. Two broadsides from either of those ships would turn Belvidera into a smoldering wreck.

“Are you planning to engage them, Granger?” Nelson asked, seemingly as surprised as the Spaniards.

“I plan to fire a few broadsides at them to dissuade them from closing. If I’m lucky, I’ll make them pause. If I’m really lucky, I’ll cripple one of them.”

“Unlikely, but you have my permission to try,” he said with a smile.

“Guns are loaded and ready, sir,” Clifton said. He’d slipped seamlessly back into his role as first lieutenant.

“On the uproll,” Granger said, waiting for the swell to give Belvidera’s guns even more range. “Fire!” Granger ordered. The guns went off, almost in unison, much to the delight of the passengers, who saw this as an interesting evolution, not a real battle. That may change shortly, Granger thought wryly. Granger watched as the balls flew at the Spaniards, and fancied that one or two may have actually hit.

“Good shooting, Mr. Brookstone!” Granger called. “Maintain your fire!” He then turned back to Gatling. “Mr. Gatling, signal to Irresistable: ‘Acknowledge.’” They had to keep up the charade, to make the Spaniards think there were other ships just across the horizon. The guns roared out again.

“Sir!” Clifton called. “The Spaniards have hauled their wind!” Granger and the others on deck watched as the Spanish battleships hove to, as if to figure out what this single British frigate was up to.

“Surely they’re not afraid of you,” Sir Gilbert said.

“Hardly, Your Excellency,” Granger replied. “They are worried that there are other ships just beyond the horizon. We are acting most unusually, and that has caused them some concern.”

“Most unusually,” Nelson agreed, then chuckled.

“If just one of those ships were to range alongside, she would turn this vessel into a floating wreck with two broadsides at most,” Granger said. He watched that have a sobering effect on all of them, Kerry included.

“Jolly boat’s hooking on, sir,” Clifton said.

“Hands to the braces!” Granger shouted. “Get that boat on board, and see that Mr. Llewellyn is put somewhere warm.”

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton said. He attended to that, while Granger put the Belvidera about and sent her back on her way, out into the Atlantic. The Dons, after a few moments of hesitation, ultimately resumed course as well, trailing after Belvidera, but they were too far away now to be much of a threat.

“Welcome back, Mr. Roberts,” Granger said. “You appear to have a wish to remain a guest of His Most Catholic Majesty.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Roberts said unnecessarily. “We got back as fast as we could.”

“You did quite well,” Granger said, smiling to let Roberts know that he was teasing him.

“And that is just the type of brilliance and courage one would expect from you and your ship, Sir George,” Nelson pronounced formally.

“Thank you, sir,” Granger said, trying not to blush at such flattery. “If you will excuse me, I will go check on Mr. Llewellyn. Mr. Roberts, maintain this course, and alert me if the Spaniards show signs of gaining on us.”

“I’ll join you, Granger,” Nelson said. They went forward, where they found a shivering Llewellyn shrouded in towels, stationed next to the galley stove. They were stoking it to generate extra warmth, but Granger gave the order to begin preparations for dinner. Might as well, he reasoned.

“I’m sorry I fell in the sea, sir,” Llewellyn said nervously when he saw Granger. When Nelson came into the galley, he stopped talking and looked horrified. The young man was terrified of the commodore, especially since he knew Nelson was irritated with him over his brawl at the contest on Elba.

“That was quite a brave action, Mr. Llewellyn,” Nelson said. “I believe I wrote you off as a rogue after your incident in Porto Ferraio. You have atoned for that.”

“Thank you, sir,” he managed to stammer.

“If I’m familiar with your history, Granger, it seems that you also went swimming in this very sea a few years ago, trying to save a seaman.”

Granger hadn’t thought about that for quite some time. That was the night he’d ended up in Travers’ cot, the night they’d first made love. He felt the sadness over losing Travers threatening to overwhelm him, so he pushed those thoughts out of his mind. “A few years ago, sir,” Granger agreed.

“Then maybe, Mr. Llewellyn, you’ll turn into a truly exceptional officer, just like your captain.”

“Thank you, sir,” Llewellyn said, and eyed Granger with hero worship.

“I’ll leave you to deal with him, Granger,” Nelson said, and shook Llewellyn’s hand before departing.

“Did you really do that, sir?” Llewellyn asked.

“Something like that,” Granger said. “Warm up. Perhaps I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“I’d like that, sir.” Granger left him there, but gave orders to Winkler to tend to the lad and make sure he was taken care of.

The day progressed in an uneventful fashion after that, but the encounter had fatigued Granger. That evening, after dinner, the others had opted to play cards, while Granger had excused himself to attend to his ship. In reality, he’d gone back to his sleeping cabin, savoring the time alone. It’s not that he didn’t like having Kerry there, he truly did. He smiled when he thought of being with him, and those thoughts transmitted themselves lower, to his groin. Granger was of a mind to take matters into his own hands, but it seemed such a waste to masturbate when an encounter with Kerry was only a few short hours away. A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. Llewellyn came into his cabin.

“Sir, Sir Gilbert insisted that I find you and have you taste this sherry he brought from Corsica,” Llewellyn said nervously. He handed Granger a glass while his eyes darted around the cabin.

Granger instinctively stood up to take the glass of wine, forgetting that his carnal thoughts had given him an erection, which tented out his trousers in a very pronounced fashion. Llewellyn looked down at it and smiled, a smile that vanished when he saw how annoyed Granger looked. Granger felt his irritation surge, and felt it manifesting itself into something different than it usually did. He strode to the door, told the marine that he wasn’t to be disturbed, and then returned to Llewellyn. “Your actions caused me to lose valuable progress today.”

“Sir?” Llewellyn asked nervously. He’d been nothing but brave, but Granger knew what he really wanted, and he wanted that too.

“You’ll need to be punished for such a breach, Mr. Llewellyn.” Llewellyn blushed and looked down at the deck.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and began to undo his pants. Granger sat back on his bed and got his first look at Llewellyn’s erect dick. It was really attractive, long and slender, with a slight downward curve to it.

“Lie across my lap,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Llewellyn said. “Begging your pardon, sir, but with your pants on, you may end up getting them, uh, soiled.”

Granger glared at the young man, but it was a fake glare, a glare generated by channeling pure lust. Granger stood up and dropped his pants, his erect dick protruding out even as he sat down. “Now, Mr. Llewellyn.”

“Aye aye air,” he said. Llewellyn positioned himself so that his own erect cock was lodged against Granger’s, and spread his legs to give Granger full access to his cute, skinny ass.

Granger took his hand and smacked Llewellyn’s ass firmly, then did it again, and again, practicing to minimize the noise. He felt the young midshipman’s cock throbbing against his own, and felt his hips begin to gyrate as he gave himself over to pleasure.

After each smack, Granger ran his hand lovingly across this beautiful, perfect ass, allowing his fingers to graze gently across his cute pucker. Granger lost count after ten strokes; he just gave himself over to the lust that this young man inspired. “Sir! Sir!” Llewellyn said urgently, and then he came. Granger could feel his urgent thrusts, and feel the wet liquid that was his semen as it bathed his own crotch. When he was done, he rose up, and then, much to Granger’s surprise, knelt between Granger’s legs.

He pushed his captain back, and then began to lick his own cum off Granger, sucking it out of his pubic hair, running his tongue around his balls, and his legs, getting it all. Granger lay there with his erect cock pulsing, demanding attention, and Llewellyn didn’t disappoint him. He gingerly licked the head of Granger’s dick, but smiled at his captain to show that he knew what he was doing, and that he liked it, then began bobbing up and down. It wasn’t the best blow job Granger had ever had, but it was a good blow job. He felt his balls rise, felt his juices begin to surge forward, and warned Llewellyn, but the lad merely clamped down that much harder, swallowing the entirety of Granger’s copious load.

When Granger was finished, both men hastily got dressed. “Thank you, sir,” Llewellyn said. “That was the best reward.”

“And the best part is that I got to enjoy it too,” Granger said with a grin. Llewellyn left him, then, and Granger sighed to himself, and then headed back into the main cabin to rejoin his guests, and to compliment Sir Gilbert on his excellent sherry.

February 13, 1797

An urgent knock at his cabin door shortly before midnight brought Granger to a fully alert state from a deep slumber in no time at all, a skill he’d had to master as one of His Majesty’s captains. Only this time it was all the more important, since he had to disengage from Kerry, who drowsily tried to pull him back. Granger extracted himself from the handsome man’s grip and pulled himself together, then answered the door.

“Sir,” Winkler said, and then entered at Granger’s invitation. “Mr. Roberts sent me to tell you that he thinks we’ve sighted an enemy ship.”

Granger had his uniform coat on and was out of the cabin almost before Winkler finished his sentence, yet so refined was he that he managed to do it while looking like he was in no hurry at all. He strode purposefully up the ladder and onto the quarterdeck. “What do we have, Mr. Roberts?”

“Sir,” Roberts said softly. “I heard a Spanish voice off the starboard bow just a moment ago. I’ve passed the order for the ship to remain silent.”

“Excellent,” Granger said. Roberts was really a good officer, and had truly come into his own. It was time for him to move on, as much as Granger would miss him. He put those thoughts aside and peered over the side at the thick, soupy fog that blocked out any moon or starlight that might have given them some idea of what they were up against. “Call the watch, quietly, and have them man the braces. We may need to maneuver quickly.”

“Shall we clear for action, sir?”

Granger was reluctant to go through that laborious process without some solid evidence. For one, it would necessitate turning their guests out of bed, which was inevitable anyway, but it would also upend all of their possessions and furnishings, as the things were hustled below. “Let’s send the hands to quarters. Quietly.” He turned to Llewellyn. “My compliments to the commodore and Sir Gilbert. Alert them that we are going to quarters quietly.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said.

“Boy,” Granger said to the lad manning the ship’s bell. “Do not sound the time until I tell you. Just tell me when it’s almost time to ring it.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said nervously, awed that the captain, with his god-like powers, had actually deigned to address him.

Nelson appeared as quickly as Granger had. Granger pondered that the habit of being up and ready at a moment’s notice was an ingrained part of their psyche now. “What have you awakened me for, Granger?” Nelson asked, but in good spirits. He liked action, even the promise of action.

“We’ve heard some Spanish voices off in the distance.”

“Sir,” the boy interrupted nervously. “It’s almost time.” Granger motioned for all of them to be silent, and then bells began going off all around them. They were in the middle of a fleet.

“Gads, Granger,” Nelson said. “You’ve found the Dons. Their whole fleet.”

“Yes, sir. I thought you’d be pleased,” Granger said, being cheeky, and getting a chuckle from Nelson. There were other things it could be, like a convoy, but none of those was known to be in the area, and even if it were, the Spanish fleet would most likely be escorting it anyway.

“What do you intend?” Nelson asked. Granger motioned Roberts and Clifton over as well.

“We must have come upon them, which means they’re hove to or under very easy sail. My plan would be to clear them before dawn, at which point we can hurry ahead and alert Sir John, sir.”

“And what if they discover you?” Nelson asked.

“I was planning to clear away the smashers in the bow, sir, and use them to create chaos if we are discovered. As long as this fog holds, we should be safe enough.”

“An excellent idea,” he said. Granger positioned Somers in the bow with the two massive carronades, guns that would have an impact, and then positioned lookouts at various points aloft to try to locate any Spanish ships. In the end, not even the lookouts up in the crosstrees could see much beyond the ship.

“Sir!” one of them cried out. “Ship ahead!” Dead ahead was a massive Spanish three-decker.

“Hard a larboard,” Granger ordered. “Trim the braces, Mr. Roberts!”

Belvidera heeled over in response to the force of her rudder and shot neatly across the bow of the massive Spanish ship. There were yells and shouts from her quarterdeck, but nothing more.

“You didn’t fire,” Sir Gilbert observed. Granger hadn’t even seen him come up on deck.

“No, sir. Right now, they may just take us for one of their own. With our French lines, and with the fog as it is, that’s entirely possible.”

“Sir!” the lookout cried. No sooner had they cleared the three-decker, than a two-decker loomed out of the haze.

“Hard a starboard,” Granger ordered this time. Only their moves were being observed by the three-decker behind them, and the two-decker in front of them. More shouts were followed by an actual shot.

“That sounded like a nine-pounder, begging your pardon, sir,” Brookstone said. He’d become quite the gunnery expert. While they weren’t damaged by that single shot, the ensuing commotion among the Spanish ships ensured that the alert was given.

“Mr. Somers. You may render passing honors as we cross her stern!” Granger shouted playfully. They saw the stern of the Spanish 74 looming up on them, and were so close as to be able to clearly make out her name: Conquistador. Somers chose that moment to fire, lobbing a huge shell at the hapless Spanish vessel. The 68-pound ball was packed with canister, so it broke as it penetrated Conquistador’s thin stern bulkheads, scattering the deadly smaller balls throughout her gundeck. They could hear the screams as some of those balls found their mark.

“Sir, we must have cut her rudder lines!” another lookout shouted. Conquistador came into the wind, all back, with her steering completely gone. Somers took that opportunity to lob another ball into her stern, merely exacerbating the chaos that must be reigning there. Another ship loomed off their starboard bow, and Somers placed another carronade ball squarely on her beak, smashing her forward bulkhead to pieces. The ship veered away dodging the Belvidera, which seemed bent on spreading chaos and destruction.

Belvidera surged forward, trying to get ahead of the hornet’s nest she’d stirred up. Behind her, she heard the sound of a collision, as two of the ships must have run afoul of each other, and there was constant gunfire, as the Spaniards endeavored to find the menace, but were only firing on themselves by this time.

All through the night, the English frigate drove westward, moving forward, with a determined captain and commodore working to eke every last bit of speed out of her.

“It’s almost dawn, sir,” Roberts said. Granger realized that he hadn’t told the ship’s boy to start ringing the bell again, and the lad had obeyed orders to the letter. Not only that, he’d stayed at his post personally, well beyond his time to be relieved.

“You can chime the time again, lad,” Granger said. “What’s your name?”

“Kenny, sir,” he said.

“Well Kenny, you obeyed orders just as you were supposed to. There’s a good lad,” Granger said with a smile.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. He sounded the time as he was told.

The officers stood on deck, awaiting the coming dawn. “By God, I hope we find Jervis!” Nelson said, and the fact that he called him ‘Jervis’ in such a familiar way exposed how excited he was.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the sun rose, and even more slowly, it began to burn off the fog. “Sir, enemy in sight!” The lookout called. He was looking backward, at the Spanish fleet they’d just run through. They all trained their glasses aft, and could see the Spaniards forming up, only now they were split into two separate divisions.

“Your actions divided them into two parts, Granger!” Nelson said enthusiastically.

“Sir! Sir!” The lookout called excitedly. “Up ahead! It’s our fleet!”

As if they were one, all eyes pivoted forward and there, sailing in perfect line ahead, was the Mediterranean fleet. Victory was near the van, and just seeing her, that old warrior, filled Granger with pride and confidence. “Mr. Gatling! Make: Enemy in sight!”

“Flag has acknowledged,” Gatling reported almost immediately.

Granger looked back and counted the Spanish ships, then corroborated his own numbers with Roberts, Clifton, and Nelson.

“Make, estimate 27 ships of the line,” Granger ordered. Granger turned to count Jervis’ fleet, and could only make out 15 ships of the line. Two Spanish ships for every British ship.

“I do believe that you said odds of two to one favored us, did you not, Sir George,” Sir Gilbert asked, sensing the more solemn mood that enveloped them when they realized the true size of the enemy fleet.

“Indeed he did, Your Excellency,” Nelson said. “Good odds for us, I’d say.”