HMS Belvidera - 23. Chapter 23

December, 1795

Captain George Granger looked out at the roiling seas, ruefully marveling at how right he had been when he’d feared the good weather they’d experienced would make them pay with bad, for bad it had been. For two days now, they’d lain hove to, waiting for the storm to abate enough so Belvidera could manage to put her nose south toward San Fiorenzo.

“It appears we will have to remain hove to,” Granger yelled to Roberts, who merely nodded. Talking above the sound of the crashing waves and howling wind took quite a bit of labor, and for the exhausted officers and men of Belvidera, every ounce of strength was needed to fight this storm. Granger stared up at the rigging, looking for anything that may carry away. It all seemed secure. They’d sent the topmasts down, and that had helped with Belvidera’s motion, but all she could manage was a few strips of canvas on her main yards, enough to hold her steady. He felt an elbow nudge him and turned to look at Roberts, who merely pointed forward.

There, rising out of the sea, was a massive wave, barreling straight toward them. The waves all around them were large, but this one was huge, a giant in a land of giants. Granger moved quickly to the wheel. “Starboard a point, take that wave square on the bow,” he yelled. The helmsmen, for there were two of them, so hard was it to keep Belvidera steady in these seas, nodded and struggled with the wheel. Granger beckoned for another man to help them, and slowly Belvidera turned, taking the wave as square on her bow as was likely possible.

He felt the ship rise, soaring up at what seemed an insane angle, and watched, horrified, as a wall of water broke over the ship, crashing down on her decks and rushing aft with the force of a sea that was not to be trifled with. It surged over the coaming and down into the waist, but even that huge hole was not enough to dissipate its mass. Water surged along the gangways and aft toward them, swirling around Granger’s feet. He shrugged internally. It wasn’t as if his feet weren’t wet, and hadn’t been wet for the past few days anyway.

Then Belvidera began to slide down the backside of the wave, her angle inverting itself, until the bow crashed into the trough, shipping still more water over her bow. A few more waves like that, and the ship would be unlikely to survive. Granger peered ahead at the huge waves that now seemed normal after the monster they’d encountered. “Check to see that nothing has carried away below,” he screamed into Roberts’ ear, and sent him off to survey the lower decks. If a cannon broke loose now, it would be disastrous.

The day went on like that, with the waves and wind buffeting them mercilessly. Fortunately, they’d survived that rogue wave and had encountered no more like it. As dusk came upon them, Granger went below to make his own inspection. The main deck was largely empty, save for his cabin. Granger noticed how wet the deck was, soaked by the waves that had crashed into Belvidera. She was normally a reasonably dry boat, but in seas like these, no ship could stay arid. The sounds were overwhelming. The creaking of the timbers as they flexed and bent, of her seams as they opened and closed, was like a symphony of screaming wood. Then there was the monotonous clanking of the pumps, which would have to be manned continuously in these conditions. That was back-breaking labor for the crew, he knew, but there was nothing for it.

He descended to the lower deck, to the stench of packed men and vomit. Even the strongest stomachs were tested in these seas. The stuffiness combined with the smell was almost overwhelming. The exhausted men that weren’t on watch slept in their hammocks, swaying dizzily with the ship’s movements. Everything seemed to be in order. He headed to his cabin, only to find his foot squishing into his soaked carpet as he walked in. That brought a frown. Damp carpets were tough to dry out. Soaked carpets would take days spread in the sun to finally give up their moisture. Winkler was there to take his tarpaulin, his jacket, his coat, and his gloves. He led his tired captain to his cot and put him to bed, much like a mother would put her child to sleep. In two hours time, the captain would be up again and back on deck.

And so the night went, with Granger spending four hours on deck, and then taking an hour or two below to rest. His officers did the same as they put their efforts into fighting this storm; probably the worst one Granger could remember encountering in the Mediterranean. Finally, as dawn broke, the fury of the wind and waves seemed to abate slightly. As the morning went on, the wind eased more, enough that Granger thought they might try to put her back on course. They put the ship about and back on her southerly course, fighting against the thrashing waves, heading for the safety of San Fiorenzo.

“The fleet is here, sir,” Roberts observed. Belvidera plowed along, still fighting the heavy seas which slammed into her as if to taunt them as they neared the welcome refuge of San Fiorenzo. It had taken them another day to finally reach the safety of the Corsican port. Now, as dawn broke, he could see the masts of the fleet arrayed beyond the breakwater, safe in their relatively calm harbor.

“I should think so,” Granger observed. Having the entire fleet at sea in that kind of gale would be costly, both in men and materiel. That thought prompted his next question. “Did we lose anyone?”

“Ordinary Seaman Baker, sir,” Roberts said. “He went over with that big wave.” Granger nodded sadly. He’d been so wrapped up in avoiding being swamped, he hadn’t seen the young lad whipped off the deck and tossed into the cauldron that was the sea. He was a good seaman, and Granger was sad to lose him.

It was almost noon by the time Belvidera entered port, her captain and crew savoring the abatement of the waves and the easing of the wind, sheltered as the port was by the neighboring mountains. It suddenly occurred to Granger that he had on his seagoing uniform, his worst clothes. “Anchor as near the flagship as possible,” he ordered, and dashed off to change. A summons from Jervis was certain, and he knew Roberts well enough to know he could trust him with the ship.

He had just put on a fresh shirt when Cavendish came in. “Message from the flag sir. Captain to repair on board.”

“Acknowledge Mr. Cavendish,” Granger said, smiling slightly at his handsome friend. “Have Mr. Roberts call away my gig.”

“Aye aye sir,” Cavendish quipped, and hurried off to do his bidding. It took another ten minutes to set his appearance to rights and to grab his satchel with his report. By that time Roberts had found an excellent anchorage. Granger arrived on deck just as the anchor splashed into the sea. He watched as Roberts managed to lower the anchor, take in the sails, and lower his gig, all at virtually the same time. He was an extremely efficient officer. Granger studied the ships in port, looking for changes, and found himself surprised to find that Aurore was not there. He shrugged that off and descended into his boat for the short but wet trip to the Victory. He turned back to look at Belvidera and smiled to himself. She looked like a battered warrior. Huge swaths of her paint had been scraped off her hull by the storm, witness to the pounding she’d taken.

Captain Grey was there to greet him and lead him aft. Sir John looked the same, and his mood did not seem to have improved in the short time Granger had been gone. “Well, what have you been up to Granger?”

“Sir, we neutralized a French 50-gun ship, the Leopard, at Imperia,” Granger said. Some of his former French crewmen had known her name. “She was the lead ship of a squadron that escaped from Toulon. There were two 74s and a frigate left, so I alerted Commodore Nelson and he instructed me to come back and report to you.”

“Neutralized?” Jervis asked.

“Yes sir,” Granger said. He forced his tired mind and body to stay alert enough to relay the events at Imperia.

“Your three prizes arrived before the storm,” Jervis said. “Most useful. Well done.”

“Thank you, Sir John,” Granger said.

“Well Granger, your arrival is timely. All my other frigates are off scouting, and the Foreign Ministry has a mission they seem to think is most urgent,” Jervis said. Granger just looked at him blankly, waiting for him to go on. “Join me for supper and I’ll tell you what you’re to do.”

The mention of food made Granger realize how incredibly hungry he was. He hadn’t had a decent meal in days. Like a good captain, he thought first of his men, but he could rely on Roberts to see to them. “A good meal would not come amiss, sir,” Granger said with a smile. “Our galley stove has been out for the past five days.”

“Grey, see that the cook makes some extra food, just in case Granger empties my entire table,” Jervis joked.

“I am most obliged sir,” Granger said. They sat at the table and food began to appear. Granger had to control himself to avoid wolfing down the delicacies that only admirals seemed to be able to deliver up seemingly on a whim.

“It appears that the government had a man in the French Foreign Office,” Jervis said. “He’s a former aristocrat, Monsieur Jacques de la Haye.” Granger just looked at him as he chewed his food. “It seems that the Frogs suspected he was a traitor and were on to him. Fortunately he managed to escape from Paris with his life, and some papers the government is most anxious to get their hands on.”

“What kind of papers, sir?” Granger asked.

“They didn’t tell me, so I can’t tell you,” Jervis snapped. “In any event, a plan was in place for him to escape, giving him a couple of choices. One was through Hamburg; the other was to have him flee to the south, to the Mediterranean coast. Your job is to go pick him up.”

“Yes sir,” Granger said. “Where will I find him?”

“Somewhere between Palamos Point and Cape Creus,” Jervis said. Granger stared at him, his mouth agape. That was twenty miles of Spanish coastline. How was he supposed to track down one man? “I know what you’re thinking Granger, and you’re right. They’re idiots. They seem to think it’s like walking along the Embankment. But that’s the request I got, and those are the orders you’ll get.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said fatalistically. He ate some more food as he pondered this mission. He was supposed to go lurk off the Spanish coast looking for one man who may not even be there. “When will you want me to leave?”

“I can give you a day in port to re-stock your water,” Jervis said.

“And how long should I wait for Monsieur de la Haye, sir?” Granger asked. If he’d gone to Hamburg, Belvidera would be wallowing around off a neutral shore for nothing.

“I want you to cruise there for three weeks. If you don’t find him by then, you can rejoin the fleet off Toulon. If you find him, they want you to spirit him directly back to London,” Jervis said, a twinkle in his eye. “So you see Granger, you have an incentive to locate this Frenchman.”

“Yes sir,” Granger said, grinning now.

“If you make it there, see if you can put your considerable political muscle into getting us some stores out here,” Jervis groused. “We’re short of everything, everything except incompetent captains.”

“I will try not to bring you back any more of those then, sir,” Granger said. Jervis just shook his head.

January, 1796

His Britannic Majesty’s Ship Belvidera approached Cape Creus as dawn broke, logging the northern end of her patrol. They’d been in this area for two weeks now, and Granger had seen no sign, no signal at all that Monsieur de la Haye was about. He had hoped, expected, that as soon as Belvidera appeared off the shore, flying her huge Union flag to proclaim to all the world that she was an English frigate, that M. de la Haye would somehow coerce a fishing boat or some other similar craft to put out to sea and rendezvous with him. It should not be a hugely difficult task. Spain was a neutral nation, so there was no question of the boat he hired being at risk for seizure. But that had not happened.

He had another week of time here on the Spanish coast, then he was destined to return to the fleet, so it seemed. He wracked his brain, trying to figure out a way to meet up with this mysterious Frenchman. His officers, even Cavendish, had been as bereft of ideas as he had. Granger fumed internally at his impotence, his inability to accomplish his mission.

Perhaps de la Haye had been captured already? Perhaps the French had agents ashore laughing up their sleeves at him as he beat about, waiting for the man who had already met his fate with the guillotine? That served only to anger him more. He had to physically restrain himself from stomping up and down the deck, forcing himself into a more measured pace. Then he began to examine his options. If de la Haye was in the vicinity, so far Belvidera’s presence had not lured him out of hiding. He would have to try something else.

He took his glass and scanned the shore, looking for a signal, any signal, but there wasn’t one. His glass settled on the pleasant little city nestled at the foot of the hills, just to the south of the Cape. Roses was its name, according to his charts. A city that had been subject to French invasion and capture before the peace treaty should have no love for their French neighbors. An inspiration came to him, a plan of action. He pulled himself from his ruminations to see Robey waiting patiently for his orders, expecting him to turn about and retrace his course back to Palamos Point.

“Mr. Robey, lay in a course for Roses. Pass the word for the purser,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye, sir,” Robey said. The Belvidera wore ship, heading toward the Spanish harbor. It was a fortified port, bristling with guns, although most of them would be directed inland at the far more likely invader.

“You sent for me sir?” Andrews asked.

“I intend to put into Roses to see if we might acquire some stores. Perhaps some fresh fruit and vegetables, even meat if they have it. I wanted to alert you,” Granger said casually. “I’d also appreciate it if you’d acquire some items for me. Lefavre will give you a list.”

“Aye aye sir,” Andrews said. Granger went below to put on his best uniform, and made sure to wear his Spanish medal, the Order of Carlos II, around his neck. He was hoping that would give him an entrée. It was not acceptable for a foreign warship to come traipsing into a neutral port for no apparent reason, nor could he be seen to be using Roses as a base. He returned to the quarterdeck to find Belvidera nearing the harbor.

The wind was moderate, the seas were relatively calm, and there was nary a cloud in the sky. In fact, the only thing that prevented it from being a perfect day was the chill in the air, but Granger philosophically rationalized that this was winter, and it was certainly warmer here than it would be were he in England. Belvidera was well within range of the port, with its Spanish ensign flying jauntily from its staff.

“You may begin the salute, Mr. Roberts,” Granger ordered. The foremost gun went off, matched by the Spanish fort, as they saluted each other’s flags.

“Boat’s putting off from the shore, sir,” Brookstone called. “Looks to be carrying an officer.” Granger studied the boat as it drew nearer, studied the soldier who sat rigidly in the stern. His yellow uniform and froggings marked him as a dragoon, while his twin epaulettes indicated that he was a Colonel. Granger gave the orders for the appropriate honor guard and relaxed, waiting for the man to arrive. He did so with the appropriate salute to the quarterdeck.

He approached Granger and removed his hat, bowing low. Granger duplicated the gesture. “I am Colonel Juan Manuel de la Ventura y Palamos,” he said in French as he rose up from his bow, giving Granger a good look at his face. He was probably in his early 20s, maybe even late teens, with brown hair that had lighter streaks in it. His skin was tanned, either because it was olive-colored, or because he had been in the sun, while his eyes were a light greenish brown. “I am pleased to welcome you to his Most Catholic Majesty’s port of Roses.”

“I must thank you for your warm welcome, Señor,” Granger said in the same language. “I am Captain George Granger, of His Britannic Majesty’s ship Belvidera.” His eyes met Granger’s, then moved lower, as if trying to memorize Granger’s appearance.

“While we are most honored by your arrival, Capitan, I am wondering as to what fortunate turn of events has brought you here?” he asked smoothly, with typical continental floweriness.

“I was hoping that we could purchase some stores of a non-military nature, Señor. Perhaps some fresh fruit and vegetables, or even meat if it is available? And of course, my men always appreciate fresh bread,” Granger said pleasantly.

“Nothing could be easier,” he said in a friendly manner. “Perhaps after I guide you to your anchorage, you would be willing to come ashore and meet the governor?”

“I would be honored,” Granger said. They bowed to each other, and then Ventura showed them where to anchor. Granger introduced him to Andrews, and then prepared to leave in Ventura’s boat.

Granger took Andrews and Roberts aside briefly. “Mr. Andrews, take the launch ashore and keep your ears open. If you are approached by a man claiming to be our Frenchman, you must help to sneak him aboard.” Then he turned to Roberts. His watch told him it was noon. “I will return by midnight. If I do not, you must assume I have stayed involuntarily. You will act accordingly.”

“Aye aye sir,” they both said. Granger nodded to them and descended into the boat before Ventura, then sat next to him for the brief trip to the shore. Granger was conscious of Ventura’s leg brushing against his. He looked at the handsome Spaniard and smiled, turning on the charm.

They arrived on the jetty to find a carriage waiting to take them only a brief distance to an imposing building, clearly the governor’s residence. Ventura ushered him into the place, past the guards, only to find that the governor had already retired to siesta and that Granger would be welcomed at a reception later in the afternoon. While he had no desire to spend additional time with the governor of an unimportant city, Ventura was charming and handsome, and his mission was to find this renegade Frenchman, and that would only be helped by his being ashore.

“It is time for siesta,” Ventura told him as he led him out of the governor’s chambers. “After the siesta, we will return. I have taken the privilege of setting aside a room for you to rest, if you will follow me.” Granger bowed and smiled, and followed the handsome Spaniard up the stairs to the second floor.

Andrews was used to this now, to foreign cities and foreign markets. He thought back to his first voyage with Captain Granger. They’d found bad stores in the Intrepid and needed to stop for replenishments. Andrews had wanted to stop in Gibraltar, in a familiar world, but Granger wouldn’t be distracted from his mission, so they’d stopped first at Madeira and then at Tenerife. Granger had forced him to broaden his horizons, to look beyond just Britain and her bases for victuals, and his travels with his captain had taught him how to get what he needed in foreign ports almost more successfully than at a dockyard.

He was mobbed by vendors, all seeking to sell him things whether he needed them or not, all seeking some British gold. Andrews thought of the irony, that most of the gold came from Spain in the first place, didn’t it? Or at least through Spain.

A short, swarthy man stepped in front of him boldly, too boldly, so boldly it was all Andrews could do to keep his marine escort from giving the man a musket butt in the abdomen. “You are English,” he said in that language. “I sell wine. Here is a list of my products.” He thrust a piece of paper in Andrews’ hand. Andrews opened it dismissively and saw the words scrawled frantically: “I must speak with you! Urgent!” Andrews was of a mind to dismiss him, but Granger had told him about the renegade Frenchman, and that made his ears open wider than normal, and increased his willingness to listen to the potential crank.

“We have need of wine. Please lead the way,” he said to the man, who led them off to his shop at a brisk pace. The shop was disorganized, at least to Andrews’ trained eye. He had sorted and compartmentalized Belvidera’s stores to the point where he always knew where anything was, or if anything was missing. This looked like chaos, with barrels standing in odd places and stacked in odd configurations, and with bottles done in the same way, as if to mimic their larger brethren. The man had said nothing until they got to the shop.

“This way, you only,” he said.

“Wait here Simpkins,” he said to his aide. The others would do as Simpkins did. The man guided him into a small stuffy room, through a door, and into a smaller, even stuffier room. He knocked on a wall in a precise pattern, and then moved a barrel away from the wall, revealing a small door at the base of the wall, no bigger than two feet square. The door opened and a face peered out, soon followed by the rest of the man.

The man who emerged had a refined air about him, despite his bedraggled appearance. He looked to be about 50 years old, with light brown hair and matching eyes. He wasn’t handsome, but he could be considered attractive. “You are English?” he asked, in Andrews’ language.

“I am. I am from His Majesty’s frigate Belvidera, on a quest for additional stores. My name is Andrews. I’m the purser,” Andrews said. He’d surprised himself, revealing more than he normally did.

“I am de la Haye. I was hoping they would send someone for me,” the man said.

“That is why we are here,” Andrews said.

“We must leave, and leave quickly,” de la Haye said urgently. “They know I am in the area. There are guards everywhere.”

“Then how will we get you to the ship?” Andrews asked.

“You must buy some wine,” the merchant said with a grin. “This barrel,” he said, pointing at one of the less neatly stacked ones, “has small holes drilled in the bottom. We can include it in a stack of perhaps twenty barrels, and Monsieur de la Haye can be placed inside. Along with his possessions, it should weigh the same.”

Andrews appreciated the idea, and he appreciated the skills of a good merchant. “Very well,” he said. They bartered only briefly over the price of the wine, but only for appearances sake. Andrews paid well over twice as much as it was worth. In any other ship, he’d worry that the Admiralty would be reticent about charging that off as espionage expenses and would decide that the unfortunate purser should pay the extra costs. Andrews knew that Granger would never leave him in a lurch like that. The transaction completed, the merchant hired a cart to take the barrels down to the waterfront while Andrews headed back to the boat. He found Cavendish waiting there with the launch and the cutter.

Andrews took a moment to admire the handsome and refined young man. He was clearly the captain’s favorite, yet no one seemed to think badly of that. It was probably because of Cavendish’s charm, or his skill with the violin, or perhaps it was just because of his high station, but it seemed quite natural that the captain should pick him for companionship. Andrews thought cynically that if he were at sea for much longer, with no wenches available, a handsome young man like Cavendish would serve. But the captain was a noted crusader against sodomy, having had men hung for it in this very sea, and was married as well, so he’d probably forsake those pleasures. He pulled Cavendish aside, and out of earshot of anyone.

“Say nothing, just nod as I speak to you,” Andrews hissed to Cavendish. “The Frog we’re looking for is here in town. There’s a shipment of wine coming down here. He’s hidden in one of the barrels.” Cavendish nodded. “They must be stowed immediately and taken to the ship. Take them yourself and see that these barrels are hove below so no one can see anything from the shore. Release him as quickly as possible.”

“Aye aye sir,” Cavendish said smartly. He was a bright lad, and good in situations like this. “Will you be returning to the ship?”

“I must make some more purchases, if only so things do not appear suspicious,” Andrews said. The wine barrels came lumbering down to the waterfront and the men from Belvidera loaded them into the launch. Andrews paid the man with gold, not Admiralty vouchers, and then went off to look for oranges and other fresh fruit.

Ventura led Granger into a large room with a bed and a servant, whom he dismissed.

“This looks very comfortable. Thank you,” Granger said.

“You are welcome,” Ventura said, and flashed his smile at Granger. His bright white teeth contrasted against his darker skin in what could only be described as dazzling. “I will leave you to rest.”

“And where will you go, Señor?” Granger asked, knowing that he shouldn’t, but asking anyway.

“Back to my quarters,” Ventura said. “They are across town.”

“And then you will have to travel all the way back here for the governor’s reception,” Granger observed.

“It is not too far, and I am used to it,” Ventura said.

“This is a large room, and a big bed. You are welcome to stay here and keep me company,” Granger said, his tone lowering to a point where it approached sultry.

“I would not want to inconvenience you,” Ventura said. “But it would make my day easier.”

“Then it is settled,” Granger said. Ventura smiled at him, and then began to pull off his tunic. Granger followed suit, taking off his coat while his eyes feasted on the disrobing Spaniard in front of him. They stripped off their outer garments until they were left with just their shirts, breeches and stockings on. Ventura removed his shirt, exposing his chest, the chest of a man who had not completely matured yet. His skin looked soft and silky. Granger made a point to take his shirt off slowly to tease the Spaniard, and smiled as he saw the young man look at him with unrestrained lust. If the look in his eyes hadn’t given it away, his tenting breeches would have.

They stood in front of each other and lowered their breeches, their erect cocks springing out and almost touching each other. Granger looked down at them and smiled, for they were almost the same size. It was as if he had found his Spanish twin. Granger lowered his hand and gently stroked Ventura, making the man moan in pleasure. Granger looked up at him and their eyes met, then their lips, and then Ventura broke off the kiss and led Granger to the bed.

Granger had heard legends of Spanish lovers, of hot, fiery, passionate sex, so he had expected Ventura to rush in. The other man did nothing of the kind. “We have a long siesta to enjoy each other,” he murmured in Granger’s ear, and then they explored each other’s bodies with their hands, then their mouths. Only then after a long period of sensual exploration, did the fire truly erupt in Ventura. He climbed on top of Granger, rubbing their bodies together with smooth, even thrusts until neither could stand it anymore. Then he had pulled Granger’s legs back and lubricated him, and entered him in such a smooth, caring way Granger felt he was being carried along on a cloud. And then the fire was truly aroused, and Ventura began to really fuck him. He got a little too enthusiastic and came too quickly, blasting his load in Granger’s ass, but he was a caring lover, so he maintained gentle thrusts against Granger’s prostate while his hand nursed Granger to a powerful orgasm.

“What a wonderful surprise, having you visit today,” Ventura said with a smile.

“It has been a most enjoyable visit,” Granger said, smiling back. They lay there, two sated men with grins on their faces, until it was almost time to pay his diplomatic respects to the governor.

The governor himself was unsurprisingly an old and uninteresting man. They endured tedious conversation as propriety demanded until they could decently excuse themselves for one more fuck, and then Ventura took Granger back to Belvidera.

He found three anxious lieutenants waiting for him. Their excitement dissipated the fog of Granger’s post-orgasmic brain. “We found Monsieur de la Haye and we managed to smuggle him aboard, sir,” Robey said. “They had guards all along the waterfront, but he was stowed in a wine barrel so we got him off smoothly enough.”

“So they knew he was here, and that we were looking for him?” Granger asked.

“I think so, sir,” Andrews said. “They were definitely on the lookout for someone trying to stow away on our ship.”

Granger thought back to his reception here. “Did you get the stores you were looking for?”

“Yes sir,” Andrews said. “They were very accommodating.”

“Just like in Madeira?” Granger asked.

“Yes, sir, as a matter of fact,” he replied.

“I will go and meet with our French friend,” Granger announced. “I want the anchor hove short. When does the tide start to fall?”

“In about two hours, sir,” Roberts said.

“I want to be ready to leave by then,” Granger said. He went below to find an older man, probably in his 50’s, sitting at his desk writing frantically. “Monsieur de la Haye?” The man nodded. “I am Captain George Granger.”

“We must get out of here,” he said urgently, ignoring Granger’s greeting.

“We are leaving as soon as the tide turns,” Granger said.

“Let us hope it is soon enough,” he said.

“I do not understand, monsieur,” Granger said.

“They knew I was here, they just did not know where. When you arrived off the coast, they sent word to Toulon. There will be French ships to capture you, and me. You will go into captivity; I will go to the guillotine.”

“How do you know this?” Granger demanded.

“There was talk in the town. The governor sent a message when we first sighted you off the coast. That is why I could not escape to your ship. Every boat, every port, has been watched. I was hiding with an old friend, but even then, your arrival was timely. One can only rely on kindness for so long.”

“Do you know when the French were supposed to arrive?” Granger asked. He felt his stomach dropping. He had led them right into a trap.

“They were expecting them any day now,” de la Haye said. Granger felt the ship move as the cable tightened.

“What is this information you have that is so valuable?” Granger asked.

“It is secret, I cannot reveal it,” he said obstinately.

“Monsieur, if I am to risk my ship in a hurried departure from a strange port, I want to know what I am doing it for,” Granger said, irritated.

“The dispositions of the French Army, troops, commanders, strengths and objectives, for the upcoming campaign,” he said simply. Granger said nothing, he just nodded. That would be worth more than its weight in gold. That could very well be the key to keeping the French contained in the months ahead.

“Very well,” Granger said grudgingly. He summoned Bailey to his chartroom and they studied the port, with the known underwater obstructions. They could only pray that they’d avoid the unknown ones.

Granger went up on deck and found that his luck was with him. The tide had just started to ebb, and there was a gentle breeze blowing from the shore. He planned a course that would take him out the same way they’d come in, but there was little margin for error.

“Mr. Roberts, I want the ship to be completely quiet. Once we’ve raised the anchor, I’ll want the men at quarters and I’ll want the ship cleared for action. First, though, we have to get underway. Have the men get the courses on her.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said.

“Sail ho!” came a cry from aloft.

“Belay that order, Mr. Roberts. Let’s see who has come to visit us,” Granger said with an amused tone, belying the nervousness that lay just below his smooth exterior.

“Aye aye sir,” he said.

“Two ships, sir,” the lookout called. “Both 74s.” Two ships of the line? Even one was more than a match for Belvidera. “The first one flies Spanish colors, the second’s a Frog. They’re on the other side of the headland.” So the French were here to bottle him up in this port, and the Spaniards were here to make sure that the port authorities cooperated in the French attempts to seize his ship and fugitive passenger.