HMS Belvidera - 37. Chapter 37

June, 1796

Granger and Somers finally got their laughter under control. “Ask him exactly why I should surrender?” Granger asked.

“When his fleet returns, it will destroy your ship,” came the interpreted reply. Granger glanced briefly at Somers, who looked back at him, somewhat amazed. The Bey did not know that his fleet had been destroyed? Evidently communications were not as good as Granger thought they were, or perhaps no one was willing to give the irascible Bey the bad news.

“We have already encountered your fleet,” Granger said. He gestured to the xebec which hovered near Belvidera. “That is all that is left of it.”

The old man babbled volubly when this was relayed to him. The interpreter turned to Granger. “You are lying. There are over 30 ships!”

“And they are all sunk, and the crews mostly dead.” Granger watched the interpreter relay that, and saw the old man get all agitated again. Before he could say anything, Granger spoke to the interpreter again, his tone severe. “Your fleet attacked my ship, breaking our peace treaties. Your ability to bargain ended there. Let me explain to you what is going to happen. You two are going to leave here and convey my conditions to the Bey. You will deliver to me the two merchant brigs still in harbor,” Granger said, gesturing toward the two ships that still flew the Algerian flag. The French ship and the Caroline were already lumbering out of the port. “You will escort into them all of the captured slaves you are currently holding. Any Christians will be in those ships. You will deliver to me a chest full of no less than 10000 gold coins, and the Bey’s prized ruby.”

He watched the old man’s eyes get wider and wider as the list was presented. “The Bey will never agree. You will be obliterated from the face of this earth. Allah will strike you dead.”

Granger looked at the sky, then about him. “And when will this happen? When will I be struck dead?” The interpreter asked the question of the old man before it dawned on him that Granger was being sarcastic. “If the Bey will not agree,” Granger said, “then I will continue shelling this town until it is rubble. I will start by leveling every mosque in sight. Your Bey can explain that to Allah!” Granger finished by yelling, assuming that might work in this part of the world.

The old man stared at him with even more hatred than before. He spoke briefly, and in a normal tone. The interpreter turned to Granger. “We will convey your demands to the Bey.”

“If I see a white flag flying from the flag pole within 30 minutes, my guns will remain silent. If not, then I will begin shelling the town. I expect the gold and ruby to be delivered to me within one hour, and I expect the former slaves to be loaded on those ships within two hours. When I see the white flag, I will send crews to take control of them, and a person to ensure all who wish to go are released. Is that clear?”

The interpreter relayed Granger’s words. The old man merely nodded, and then they both turned to leave. “Captain, please target that mosque and the palace,” Granger said loudly, so they could hear even as they left. “I’ll want you to continue your bombardment if they do not accede to our demands.”

“Aye aye sir,” Somers said crisply. They watched the Algerians board their boat and head for the shore. “Do you think they’ll agree, sir?”

“They have little choice. They have no fleet, their forts are unable to dislodge us, at least without an extended bombardment, and without the xebecs here in harbor, attacking us would be suicide.” Granger trained his glass over to where the fleet of xebecs had been moored and saw that all but a dozen had been obliterated.

“You realize, sir, that you won’t be very popular in this part of the world after this,” Somers joked.

“I suspect I was already unpopular,” Granger said, remembering how he and Travers had saved an American brig from capture, pulling her from the clutches of yet another predatory xebec. “I will endeavor to sleep at night anyway.” He and Somers laughed at the joke. “Let us inspect your fortress.”

Somers led Granger around their little fort, and Granger stopped to talk to the marines, to build up their morale. It was actually quite enjoyable, so much that he’d lost track of time. Somers, on the other hand, had been paying close attention to the passage of minutes. “It’s been thirty minutes, sir,” he said.

Granger trained his glass toward the town and saw the Algerian flag still flying. “Target a single mortar on the palace and fire.”

“Aye aye sir,” Somers said. He aimed the mortar himself, lit the fuse, and then fired the gun. Granger watched as the shell flew skyward and then plunged into the palace. It exploded right after it hit.

“That was a good shot,” Granger said.

“Thank you sir,” Somers said. “Shall we continue firing?”

“Wait a minute,” Granger said. It took exactly that long for the white flag to replace the Algerian one. “Signal Belvidera to send Carter over in the launch. I’ll need my gig back here as well.” They did as he had directed, then Granger glanced at his watch, waiting for the next, more telling move. He wondered who would get there first, the representatives of the Bey or Carter. It was no surprise that it was Carter who appeared first.

“You sent for me, sir?”

“I did. We have negotiated an agreement to evacuate our position and leave Oran. The Bey will be sending us some treasure to placate us, and he has agreed to release those two merchant vessels to us as well, along with all the Christian slaves in Oran.”

“That may be a large number of people,” Carter said. “They like to prey on the Spanish and Italian coasts.”

“We’ll assume those captured will be grateful for their release. Your job is to take possession of those two ships and load up the former slaves. You’ll need to interview them as they come on board to make sure that all who want to go are being released.”

“Aye aye sir,” Carter said.

“I’m promoting you to acting Master’s Mate. You will assume command of the two merchant ships and sail in concert with us to Gibraltar. We will rendezvous offshore after we extricate ourselves from this place.”

“Thank you sir,” Carter said, grinning broadly. “I didn’t think I had much of a future in the Navy after that court martial.”

“You seem to be wrong on that account,” Granger observed with a small smile, and then looked at Carter until he realized he’d been dismissed. He watched until Carter reboarded the launch, which Roberts had fortunately packed with men and with another good bosun’s mate to bring out the other brig.

“Here comes our friend, sir,” Somers said, gesturing to the harbor where the Algerians were rowing frantically to get to them in time.

“We will hold our fire as a sign of good faith,” Granger said. He really had no desire to kill any more of these people than he had to. He stood there stolidly, waiting while the old man disembarked, followed by two men carrying a large chest. Another two men got out of the boat after them, carrying a box mounted on two poles. They carried it on their shoulders. The interpreter followed after them.

The old man arrived first, his face showing so clearly the rage and hatred he felt. He spat out a few sentences, and the interpreter scrambled to the front to explain them to Granger. “He says he has brought you the gold and the ruby.” Granger was sure the old man had said much more than that, but it mattered not.

“Open it,” Granger said, pointing to the chest. They needed no interpreter to understand that. They opened the chest and Granger saw piles of gold coins, glittering in the sunlight. He reached in and ran his hands down into the pile, checking by touch to make sure they hadn’t put lead in the bottom. There would be significantly less than 10,000 gold pieces here, but it was a small fortune anyway. He turned to the seaward and saw his gig being pulled onto the rocks as it arrived. “Put that chest in my gig.”

A group of marines took it from the reluctant Arabs and hauled it to the gig. The old man was babbling again. “The Bey has sent the ruby as you demanded. He urges you to reconsider seizing it. He asked me to tell you that it is the sacred symbol of Oran, and that by taking it, you are risking its curse.”

“Open it,” Granger demanded, pointing at the other box. The Arabs grudgingly opened the box, revealing the ruby. Everyone looking at it, Granger included, gasped when they saw it. It was huge, just as Carter described. “Tell the Bey that his actions have deprived him of his ruby, not mine. Because of his depredations on the shipping of my King, he finds himself without the symbol of his power.”

“Was not the gold enough?” the interpreter asked, after extended conversation with the old man.

“It was not. You may tell your Bey that I am going to present this ruby as a gift to my King from the Bey himself, sent to restore good relations between our states.” Granger watched some of the men around him look saddened by that, by the knowledge that they’d lose any share of prize money from the ruby, but Granger had a plan. He knew it was quite possible that the government would decide that all of the money they captured was not prize money, that it was seized when no state of war existed. By giving the ruby to the King, he was hoping they’d get to keep the gold for themselves.

The old man uttered what must have been a truly horrible oath at him and stalked back to his boat, followed by the others. “Not the most diplomatic of missions, sir,” Somers said, being cheeky.

“We have gained much more than good friends,” Granger said, gesturing to the gig. “Friends like those are all but worthless anyway, as they are as loyal as a snake. Gold is a much more constant source of comfort.”

“I suspect you are right, sir.”

“I am returning to the ship,” Granger announced.

“What orders do you have for me, sir?” Somers asked.

“As soon as those ships are away, you may abandon Somers’ Island,” Granger said, joking. “We’ll send the xebec in so you can use it for your evacuation.”

“Aye aye sir,” Somers said. Granger followed the captured ruby back to his gig and sat in the stern sheets as the men labored to refloat it, and then they rowed him back to the Belvidera. Granger mounted the side, acknowledging the sideboys and the honor guard, then headed back to update Roberts and Carslake.

“I have a chest of gold and a huge ruby I have extracted from the Bey,” Granger announced. That brought smiles to their faces. “Carter has taken the launch to secure the other two brigs and to bring off all the Christian slaves. Send the xebec to Captain Somers. He’ll be using it to evacuate his men as soon as the other ships have left port.”

The rest of the day was pretty anti-climactic after that. Granger watched from Belvidera as the two merchant brigs were loaded, seemingly to capacity or beyond, with slaves the Bey had released. As those ships began to leave harbor, Somers began to dismantle his fortifications. The only real excitement had come at that point, when an Algerian xebec full of men had moved menacingly on their position. Somers had wisely left a gun handy to warn them off. After one round from the four-pounder had slammed into the xebec, his evacuation went off without a hitch. Their little fleet met about twenty miles off the harbor, just as the sun was beginning to set.

Granger had himself rowed to the various ships to take stock of their situation. He put Carslake in command of the Etoile, and petty officers in charge of the others. The Frenchman had some interesting items on board. The bulk of the cargo consisted of luxury goods, clearly sent here to bribe the Bey. The Caroline had been barely offloaded at all, something Jervis would appreciate. Granger put Estabrook in charge of her, along with her original crew, who’d been released, and sent her off to the fleet, along with his report to Jervis on his latest escapades.

He ran into his biggest problem on board the brigs with the released slaves. The ships had almost no stores aboard at all. No food, no water: nothing. The poor people were near panic, both at their current state and over their future prospects. Granger boarded the first ship and was met with a cacophony of voices, shouting in Italian and Spanish. He understood neither language, but he’d brought Clifton with him, and he spoke Italian.

With typical Mediterranean irrepressibility, it took a musket shot into the air to finally shut the people up so Granger could speak to them. “We will send food and water over immediately.” Granger paused after each sentence to give Clifton a chance to repeat his words in Italian. “We will set sail for Gibraltar tonight. Once there, we will attempt to return you to your homes.”

“My home is in Malta. You will help me get there?” a woman asked in broken English.

“I will do my best, madam,” Granger said.

“We have no money, nothing,” she lamented.

“If you would prefer to go back to Oran, madam, that can be arranged,” Granger said, his patience with this woman at an end. A young man pushed past her and gave her a dirty look.

“We do not mean to be ungrateful, Captain. We have been uprooted from our homes, subjected to unspeakable tortures, and as we stand here tired, hungry, and thirsty, it seems impossible to believe that this nightmare might actually be ending.”

“We will send food and water, and perhaps that will make things seem more believable,” Granger said. The overcrowding on the two brigs was problematic, but there was nothing to be done for it. He didn’t fancy letting a bunch of those people loose on board the big French prize, full of luxury goods. He let Clifton talk to the others while he went back to Belvidera to give orders for supplies to be transferred to the former slaves. He told Roberts to set a course for Gibraltar, and then went down to check on Robey.

“He’s not doing well, sir.” Jackson said as Granger entered. “I’m not sure I can save him.”

“You have performed miracles before. It is wrong to expect them from you on an ongoing basis,” Granger told him soothingly. He went over, sat next to Robey, and took his hand in his. It felt cold and lifeless.

“I am not long for this world, I think,” Robey said weakly.

“You are at a crisis. It is not the end,” Granger lied.

“For the first time, I do not believe you,” Robey said, still joking, even on his deathbed. “When you see John, tell him that I love him.”

Granger swallowed hard at that, at hearing Robey profess his undying love for Travers. But now was not the time to argue about such things. “I will,” he replied.

“I know that he loved me, just as I know he always loved you more. You are a hard man not to love,” Robey said.

Granger leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. “As are you.”

“The happiest of my days have been on this ship,” he said. “Rodney is a big part of that, but so are you.”

Granger felt his eyes tearing up, and fought back the emotion. “You are a fine officer: Smart, brave, and honorable. I will see that you are remembered as such.”

“Thank you,” he said. He was weaker still. How much longer he could hold on was the question now.

“Mr. Roberts will want to see you. I will leave you now,” Granger said. Robey’s eyes met his, and there was real love there. Granger stood up and exited the small cabin they’d rigged for him, pausing to wipe the tears from his eyes before he did. Roberts was outside, and saw his expression. He all but ran in to be with Robey for his last breaths. Granger strode out of the cabin and back onto the deck, in a foul mood despite his truly magnificent victory over the Oranians. Then Granger did what he had done so many times before. He began to pace his quarterdeck, up and down, the cool evening breeze keeping him at a pleasant temperature.

He was pulled out of his thoughts and brought to a halt in his walk by loud voices on the quarterdeck. “What is the meaning of this?” Clifton asked petulantly.

“I am here to see wounded officer,” said a woman’s voice, a heavily accented woman’s voice. Granger looked up to see an old woman standing on his deck, squaring off with Clifton.

“And for what purpose?” Granger asked, intervening.

“I’m sorry she bothered you, sir,” Clifton said, giving the old woman an evil look. “I’ll have her put over the side.”

“Let’s hear her out, Mr. Clifton,” Granger said soothingly.

“I am healer. I have an elixir to help him,” she asserted.

“Mr. Carter sent her over, sir,” Gatling said. He’d evidently been the one to let her on in the first place. His eyes darted nervously toward Clifton, aware that while they had been pals, fellow midshipman just a few hours ago, now Clifton was a lieutenant, and lieutenants were supposed to make life difficult for midshipmen.

“You have an elixir to help the officer?” Granger asked. She nodded. Granger thought about Robey, about his current state, and decided they had little to lose by yielding to this old woman, who was probably nothing more than a witch. “Follow me.” He led her down to his cabin, and into the smaller partitioned area where Robey was lying. Jackson and Roberts were both there, looking down at him.

The old woman pushed past both of them and looked at Robey, then felt his chest and his face. She looked deep into his eyes, and pulled out a vial. There was a liquid in it, held in by a cork at the top. She uncorked it and prepared to pour it in his mouth when Jackson stopped her. “What are you doing?”

“He does not have much time. I must save him,” she asserted.

“What are you giving him?” Jackson demanded.

“It is a magical elixir. I have learned to make it, as have the women in my family for generations. Without it, he will die.”

“Sir, I cannot…” Jackson began.

“What is the risk at this point?” Roberts asked despondently. “Give it to him.” Jackson looked at Roberts, then at Granger, who just nodded. The old woman poured the contents of the vial into Robey’s mouth and closed it, forcing him to swallow. If his expression were any indication, and if the smell of it was representative of it, then it must have been a vile tasting liquid.

“You must give him nothing to drink, no water, nothing, for the next six hours. Then you may give him water, and he will start to get better,” she said. She left the cabin without waiting to be dismissed and was gone before any of them thought to stop her.

“That may be poison,” Jackson said.

“Why would an old woman poison a dying man?” Roberts asked logically. “Maybe it will work.”

“Maybe,” Jackson said grudgingly. Granger left them to argue about it and went back to his cabin. He was hoping he might actually get some sleep, a rare commodity indeed for the Captain of HMS Belvidera.

Granger walked up on deck and felt the Mediterranean heat envelop him. He’d just left Lieutenant Robey, who seemed as if he might actually be slightly better. It was still too soon to tell. Roberts was doing an excellent job of maximizing his time with Robey while being discreet about it, so the men didn’t notice.

They had been becalmed for two days now, still barely 100 miles from Oran. That made Granger nervous. He feared lest the Dey of Algiers should hear of their raid on Oran and become angry, and send his much more numerous fleet after Granger’s little convoy. They were far offshore, and Granger knew that while they’d been maneuverable the last time they’d encountered the xebecs, they’d be sitting ducks now, here in the deep Mediterranean Sea.

There had been a flurry of activity yesterday as Belvidera had disgorged at least half of her stores, sending them over to the two brigs full of released slaves. The Belvidera was equipped to support her 250 man crew for months on end, but not to support almost 2000 people, which is what she’d be doing, counting the released slaves. There was a real fear they’d run out of food or water before they could reach even Gibraltar.

Today, the flurry of activity taking place was between those two brigs. There were boats plying back and forth between the two ships, full of passengers. He watched them make trip after trip, until curiosity got the best of him. “Call away my gig,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” Clifton said. He was the officer of the watch. Granger studied him as he gave his orders with confidence. It was really impressive the way Clifton fit right into the role of 3^rd Lieutenant. He took over so naturally, it was hard to envision that only a few days before, he’d been a mere midshipman. “Gig’s ready, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Clifton. I’m heading over to the Hesperia,” Granger said, referring to the brig Carter was commanding. He descended into the gig, gave Jeffers quick orders on where to go, then sat back and studied the ships in his little convoy as they wallowed in the soft swells. They hailed his boat, as they should, and piped him aboard as best they could, even though it took almost the whole prize crew to do it.

“Welcome aboard, sir,” Carter said cheerfully.

“Thank you Mr. Carter. I noticed a great deal of activity between the ships, and I thought I’d inquire as to what you were doing.”

“Yes sir,” Carter said nervously. “I probably should have asked your permission first, sir, before I reorganized the passengers.”

Granger relented. There was no reason to browbeat Carter, who was proving himself to be a very useful officer. “I did not come to criticize, I came to inquire.”

“I understand, sir. I discovered that about half the passengers are Spanish, while the other half are either from Malta or Italy. It was pretty difficult working in different languages, so I brought all the Spaniards over here, and sent all the Italians and Maltese over there,” he said, pointing at the other brig.

Granger thought about that, and at first his senses rebelled against putting a bunch of foreigners of the same nationality together on the same ship. But these foreigners were not prisoners, and had no reason to try and revolt and take control of the ship. Even if they did, they’d only succeed in taking control of their brig, and they’d be in the midst of several other ships, all dominated by Belvidera. “That was an excellent idea, Mr. Carter,” Granger pronounced in the end.

“Thank you, sir,” Carter said, beaming with pleasure at Granger’s praise. Then he got nervous again.

“You wanted to say something? Surely you should understand I am open to ideas,” Granger said, encouraging him.

“I was thinking, sir, that with the wind as it is, the brig with the Italians could make for Malta, then Italy, and we could escort this one back to Gibraltar. There were a few men released who are sailors, enough to man the ship.”

Granger began to pace up and down the deck, motioning Carter to join him. “Your suggestion is that we can repatriate them now, when it is easiest for us, and save the Governor the trouble?”

“Yes, sir,” Carter said.

“What of the ship? She’s a prize,” Granger said, thinking the idea through.

“Yes sir, that’s why I chose this ship for the Spaniards. She’s a lively thing, a good craft. The other vessel is worm eaten. I’m not sure she’d fetch much in a prize court anyway.”

“Who will command her?” Granger asked, referring to the other brig.

“The bosun’s mate in charge of her now volunteered, sir.” So Carter had planned this all out, had gotten the entire thing ready. Some captains would have been furious at having someone do this, taking a plan this far without approval, but Granger wasn’t most captains. Carter had things ready to go, but nothing would happen without Granger’s approval. Even if Granger didn’t approve his plan, he’d already made a great improvement by having all the people speaking one language in the same ship. “He can try and sell the ship for what she will bring wherever he ends up last, then use the proceeds to get himself back to Gibraltar.”

“I will leave it to you to draft orders for him,” Granger said. “You will both want me to sign them as well.”

“Yes sir,” Carter said, smiling now.

“As soon as the orders are complete, he may sail off on his mission. I hope he finds his way back to Gibraltar.”

“I’m sure he will, sir,” Carter said confidently.

“Then I will return to the ship,” Granger said. He headed for the entry port when he heard a scuffle and felt two arms wrap around his legs. He looked down to see a frightened but determined boy kneeling there looking up at him.

“I go with you,” he said in English. Just then several men from his prize crew lunged to drag this poor boy off, but Granger stopped them.

“You must stay here, and go back to your home,” Granger said as gently as he could.

“No, I have no home. I go with you. I belong to you now,” he said.

“Here sir,” Carter said, his annoyance quite audible in his voice. “Let me take him below. I’m very sorry sir, but not as sorry as you’ll be.” The last line was directed at the boy, who now looked terrified.

“That’s alright, Mr. Carter. You may attend to your orders. I think I can handle this lad.” Granger smiled down at the boy and put his hand on the lad’s head. “You have no home?”

“They burn it down,” he said, “the pirates burn it. I belong to you now.”

“You are not a slave anymore. You are free,” Granger said.

“I belong to you,” the lad said assertively. Granger looked around and was about to leave the boy here when he caught the looks the lad was getting from the others, from his men. If he left the boy here, he’d be in for a bad time of it. He’d definitely be beaten. Granger knew that his men would only be protecting him, defending him from such an interloper, but he didn’t think the boy deserved that.

“Very well, you may come with me. We will find some nasty chores to keep you busy,” Granger teased.

The boy didn’t laugh. “I will do what you ask of me,” he said sincerely.

“Good,” Granger said. “Now you may lead the way into the gig.”

“Yes, sir,” the lad said, grinning at having gotten his way. He scampered down into the boat, with Granger following at a more dignified pace.

“How old are you?” Granger asked.

“I am sixteen,” he said. Not a boy at all, Granger thought. Yet he seemed young for his age, and his voice seemed quite high-pitched.

“You speak English,” Granger said.

“I learn it from the men in Oran, the captured men,” he said. He must have meant the crew of the Caroline. He’d learned this much English in less than a month? The boy must be a savant.

“You speak Spanish too?” Granger asked.

“Spanish is my native tongue. I speak Italian, French, Arabic, and English,” he said proudly.

Granger wondered if he was telling the truth, so he switched to French. “You speak French too, eh?”

“I do. I learned that while I was at Oran. I was there for ten years,” he said.

“You lived as a slave in Oran for ten years?” Granger asked.

“I was much sought after when I was younger,” he said somewhat sadly. ‘Sought after’ for a boy his age could only mean one thing. Granger looked at him and seemed to notice for the first time what an attractive young lad he was.

“Why did you leave? It does not seem to have traumatized you, your time there,” Granger said.

“I was no longer as popular. I was just sold to an old man, and he was unpleasant and smelled bad. I am not an Arab, and not a Mohammadan. I do not belong there.”

“When you get back to the ship, you will have to bathe and you will get new clothes,” Granger said, preparing him for their imminent arrival back to Belvidera.

“If you say to do it, I will do it,” he said simply.

“What is your name?” Granger asked.

“Carlos,” he said simply.

“Welcome to His Majesty’s Ship Belvidera, Carlos,” Granger said, as the gig hooked onto Belvidera’s chains.