Master and Commander - 10. Chapter 10

June, 1794

“It looks to be a pretty basic port, sir,” Humphreys observed.

“You say there are shoals here, on the headlands?” Granger asked Hercule. Dinner was over and the table had been cleared. In its place was Granger's chart of Port Louis. Granger and Hercule each had a pencil to make markings as they enhanced it.

“Yes sir. Too shallow for even Intrepid sir,” Hercule said.

“What about schooners?” Granger asked.

“Maybe they could cross, but only at high tide,” Hercule answered. The port was like a cylinder with a fort on each headland and shoals spreading out, almost forming a funnel.

“So anyone approaching Port Louis would have to enter directly, straight through the gauntlet,” Granger observed.

“Yes sir,” Hercule said. “It's formidable too. Those forts are designed to deliver crossfire to any unwelcome ship entering port.”

The men stared at the chart. Granger was ordered to keep the schooners bottled up, but that was only a temporary remedy. He wanted to achieve more, to destroy these ships in their harbor. In order to do that he'd somehow have to get past those batteries.

“What kind of defenses do they have inside the port?” Granger asked.

“There are none,” Hercule said. Granger just stared at him.

“You're saying that once past the forts at the entrance, there are no batteries along the harbor front?”

“Yes sir,” Hercule said. “There would be no need. No one can get past those two fortresses.”

“What are the tides like?” Granger asked. They descended from there into a technical discussion of tides, currents and prevailing winds. “Very well gentlemen. You have given me much to think about. Mr. Calvert, please see that we have a few French flags available. This ship was built in France, so if we encounter another vessel and are flying French colors, we'll look like a Frog. Maybe we can capture her and acquire some information.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. That served to break up the party. Granger went up on deck to pace. Back and forth he walked, mulling the challenge, the dilemma in his mind. He could send boats in, a cutting out attack, to capture or burn some of the schooners. Approach the island at night, before they knew he was even out there, and attack, working for complete surprise. To give the boat's crews a chance, he'd have to send at least 30 men off, a third of his crew. While that seemed to be the best option, if the attack was discovered, the batteries would blast the boats out of the water. Then he'd have a ship dangerously short-handed and his mission would still be incomplete.

He could attack the port like a bulldog, sail in, sink the schooners, and sail out. A broadside from Intrepid should be enough to blast a schooner out of the water. But to achieve that, Intrepid would have to brave the twin batteries guarding Port Louis. If she were disabled, they could feasibly pound her into matchwood. And after she fought her way in, even if she was successful, she'd have to fight her way out again. The chances of going through that gauntlet twice with no damage were virtually nil.

He could land a party of seamen and marines to capture one of the batteries and train the guns on the other fort and the schooners. Only there were a lot of French soldiers and sailors on Ile de France, many more than he could spare from Intrepid. They'd be hard pressed to hold the fort even for a brief period of time.

The other option was to obey the spirit of his orders and just blockade Port Louis, position himself to intercept and destroy any schooner that dared to come out. That was the safe play, but it was also the least effective. Vagaries of wind and sea could easily create a situation where they could escape from Intrepid handily.

Granger felt a presence next to him, pacing with him. “Am I disturbing you sir?” Calvert asked.

“You are, because you make me long for the time when you are off-watch,” Granger teased.

“You should be looking forward to it,” Calvert said in a cocky way that made him irresistible. “You are thinking about our mission?”

“I am. None of the options I've weighed gives me the gambler's chance I want,” Granger said.

“It was strange having Hercule in the meeting. It's hard not to think of him as a Frenchman,” Calvert said.

Sparks flew in Granger's mind then. He stopped pacing, and let the plan in his mind unfold. Calvert just stared at him, unwilling to interrupt him, so deep in thought he was. “I think you have just hit on the perfect plan, Mr. Calvert. Find someone to relieve you and meet me in my cabin.”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said, the confusion apparent on his face. What had he said?

“Pass the word for Hercule and have him meet us there too,” Granger called over his shoulder as he strode down to his cabin and pulled out his chart. Calvert arrived first and Granger ignored him, deep in thought. Hercule came in then, and just stood there, staring at Granger. Finally, Granger turned to them, confident now that he had developed a course of action.

“Gentlemen, I have the inkling of a plan in my mind, but for it to succeed, it will require your assistance.” They just stared at him. “Mr. Calvert, you observed that Hercule, while a loyal member of this crew, is still quite French in appearance. In addition, we are in a ship that was built in France, one of the newest and leading classes of corvette, just the kind of ship the Republicans might send out here to prey on merchants. I'm thinking that we can simply go sailing straight into Port Louis. We have a French ship, we'll be flying a French flag, and she'll have a French captain and French officers,” Granger said. His eyes were on Hercule, even though he couldn't help but glance at Calvert and his dazzling smile as he got it.

“Who would be the French captain sir?” Hercule asked carefully.

“You.” Granger watched Hercule digest this. “It would require some acting on your part, but probably not too much.”

Hercule stared at him, unconvinced that he could pull it off. “You tend to assume a leadership role with the men of your watch, and they accept you as such,” Calvert added helpfully. “You have but to project that style onto a larger stage.”

“Sir, I will do this if you ask me, but I am not sure that I can pull it off,” Hercule replied honestly.

“I think you can,” Granger said. “What's more, we have a week at least before we arrive at Port Louis. We'll practice and rehearse. Think of it as putting on a play. And you will not be alone. You'll have to select your officers, and they'll be with you.” Granger was trying to appeal to that innate sense of performance art that Frenchmen seemed to possess.

“What will I have to do sir?” Hercule asked.

“What happens when a French warship arrives in port?” Granger asked. “I assume they're met with a welcoming committee?”

“There would be a boat with a port officer, maybe two,” Hercule said. “Maybe a doctor as well.”

“Is there a recognition signal?” Calvert asked.

“I do not know if they use one here or not. If they do, they will first hang out the interrogative. Then it will be up to us to give the proper response,” Hercule stated.

“Do you know what it is?” Granger asked.

“I do not know the current one. I only know what it was about a year ago, when I was with the fleet in Toulon,” Hercule said.

“How often were they changed?” Calvert asked.

“Maybe twice a year, possibly less. But, begging you pardon sir, as long as we have a legitimate signal, we should be alright,” Hercule observed.

“Why?” Granger asked.

“Because there are the variances of distance, time, and port of departure. If we use our Toulon signal, they will know it was legitimate. Sure, it is older, but we are a long way from France. It is conceivable that it has been a long voyage for us. Perhaps we went to the West Indies first, before coming here?” Hercule was really much smarter than he looked, Granger thought.

“So what is this signal?” Calvert asked.

“It is numerical. Four, Two, Zero,” Hercule said. “The four is raised alone, and the two and zero are raised afterward, together.”

“So let us assume that this works, and we make this signal. Then the port officers and doctor would come aboard. They would only see and meet men in our crew who are native Frenchmen. They would see a French ship with French officers, and probably be thrilled at having such a vessel to add to their resources. What would be their next step?” Granger asked.

“I do not know sir. I expect that the captain would have to go ashore and report to the port admiral or governor,” Hercule observed.

“If we arrived at dusk, so it was dark as we anchored, we may be able to put a visit off until the next morning,” Granger said.

“Then during the night we could board and take the schooners in the harbor!” Calvert exclaimed. “What if we are discovered?”

“It seems that the harbor is simple enough that we could leave in the darkness without too much trouble,” Granger said. “If not, we will have at least doubled our odds of survival, since we will have only to face fire on our way out.”

Granger stared at the chart, then at Hercule and Calvert. “Captain Hercule, assemble your officers and crew,” he said with a smile.

“Aye aye sir,” Hercule said grinning, the spirit of the thing fueling his own excitement.

July 1794

The past week had seen a flurry of activity on Intrepid, getting ready for her encounter with the Frenchmen at Port Louis. Granger paced the quarterdeck, pondering their work, and pondering its significance. There wasn't a man aboard that hadn't been absorbed into their scheme. The whole crew was energized and excited. But that carried a huge risk. If things went wrong, morale would be destroyed. Granger chided himself for being a complete idiot. If things went wrong they very well may end up dead. He put those negative thoughts aside and pondered their achievements.

The Bosun had lowered himself over the stern of the ship and repainted the ship's name on the stern. Intrepid, once Intrepide, was known to have been captured, so she had to assume the name of one of her sister ships, in this case the Rapide.

The sailmaker and his mates, not to mention many of the crew, had busied themselves making French uniforms for Hercule and the men he'd chosen to act as “Rapide's” officers. They'd had to fashion French flags, not just the ensigns, but signal flags, and they'd had to make uniforms for the seamen who would be visible on deck as well.

But it was the carpenter who had made the best change of all. Thinking about it made Granger smile even as he paced. It was decided that the French officers would be led down to Granger's cabin and entertained there. Granger wanted to be in an adjacent cabin, preferably his sleeping cabin, to eavesdrop. He wanted to hear the conversations firsthand, but he didn't want to be trapped there. As it was, the only exit was through his main cabin. So the carpenter had cut a doorway from his sleeping cabin into the cabin adjacent to it, which conveniently enough happened to be Calvert's. So now Calvert could retire to his cabin when he was off watch and merely walk through the passageway right into Granger's sleeping cabin. It made it much easier for them to spend lots of time together, just the two of them, without raising suspicion.

Granger tried to shake off his grin but it was impossible. The sky was clear, the wind was steady, and the seas were calm. It was brisk, just cool enough to make it comfortable to walk the deck in uniform without sweating oneself damp. His crew was motivated and excited, they had a great plan, and he was getting laid all the time. Constantly. He thought about Calvert and that just fueled his grin. They'd put their conflict behind them and just enjoyed each other and the love they shared.

“You seem cheerful sir,” Calvert said to him quietly as he joined Granger in his walk.

“You're the reason,” Granger teased back. “Our sightings suggest we could reach Ile de France tomorrow morning.” It was important to stay focused lest his giddiness be visible to the crew and other officers.

“You planned an arrival at dusk, I thought,” Calvert observed.

“I did. I do. Which means we should heave to for the evening and then claw into Port Louis during the day.” The wind was foul into Port Louis, an easterly, which would make their escape much easier but their approach tedious. Unless it changed.

“The rehearsal went well,” Calvert observed. They'd staged an encounter earlier in the day, with Granger playing the French official, and Hercule had performed admirably. A few of his “lieutenants” had needed some coaching, especially on current political attitudes in France. Granger was glad they'd done the dry run.

“It did. I think we're all on the same page,” Granger said. “I plan to entertain the officers, real and imaginary, tonight at supper. A way to toast our mission tomorrow.”

“I'll make sure to have Wilson keep the watch sir,” Calvert said. Wilson was a competent Master's Mate, but showed no signs of intelligence that would warrant his promotion beyond that rank. It made him perfect for keeping watch during these meetings, and he seemed to harbor no grievance at being left out. Granger credited Calvert for that. With his usual thoroughness, Calvert made sure to save him a large plate of food and to brief him afterward.
“And make sure you don't have the watch tonight,” Granger said quietly, then winked at Calvert. He went below to his cabin and made sure things were organized.

Dinner was a fun, lively affair. Granger insisted that they relax and leave protocol behind, a task greatly helped by Hercule, who assumed the role of co-host and made everyone except Granger call him “sir.” Lennox and Fitzwilliam regaled them with songs, and Granger even joined in with his flute. He'd missed playing, but since he was the only officer who played an instrument, he had to settle for solo performances, and that just wasn't much fun. And then the revelry was over.

“At dawn tomorrow, everyone will be in their appropriate clothing for the attack on Port Louis,” Granger said, his order effectively ending the dinner and setting the tone. He retired to his sleeping cabin, stripped off his uniform, and climbed into his cot. A few minutes later the panel opened and Calvert stepped through, stark naked, his huge erection leading the way.

“I was waiting for you,” Granger said to him, smiling.

“I'll bet,” Calvert teased, and climbed into bed with him. The sex was amazing, their connection, their bodies so in tune with each other, but Granger decided that lying in the cot together, snuggled up for warmth and affection, was just as fulfilling.

Granger put on the “uniform” of a French seaman and strolled up on deck. The men on deck chuckled when he arrived, just as the sun rose. Hercule was there in his French Captain's uniform, looking quite in command. Calvert was next to him, technically in charge of the ship, but making it look like it was all Hercule. Granger nodded to them and strode up to the foremast and began to climb the shrouds. He avoided the lubbers' hole and scampered around quickly, his coordination aloft still not forgotten from those days as a midshipman. He climbed to the foretop and settled in next to the lookout.

“Nothink in sight yet sir,” the lookout said with a Scandinavian accent.

“We should see Ile de France shortly, right over there,” Granger said, pointing. “You're Holmquist, right?”

“Yes sir,” he said and smiled shyly. Granger had seen him going about his duties. He was a large man, very large and very muscular. A good seaman, an expert topman, and the kind of man who seemed to always avoid trouble while still remaining popular with his messmates. And he was large in more ways than that. Granger had seen him shower. It was difficult for the men to consistently shower without sporting an erection, especially young men like Holmquist. It was typical of the morale on board that all he got for it was gentle ribbing about his massive dick, the biggest dick Granger had ever seen. He smiled to himself, thinking that if he weren't an officer and totally attached to Calvert, it would be worth taking Holmquist for a ride, just to see if he could take him.

“Where are you from?”

“Sweden sir,” he said respectfully. “There's the land!”

“Deck there! Land ho!” Granger called to the deck in French. He wanted everyone in character. No English. Granger put the glass to his eye and watched as Port Louis slowly came into view. “Holmquist, how many ships do you see in port?”

“I see ten schooners and a brig sir,” Holmquist said.

“Does that brig look like a merchant or a brig-of-war?” Granger asked. He had made his own determination but he wanted to hear what Holmquist thought.

“I think she's a merchant sir,” he said.

“So do I,” Granger said. “A prize they've taken?”

“She looks English to me sir.” Granger studied her. Indeed she did.

“Thank you Holmquist. You have a good eye.”

“You're welcome sir,” he said in his friendly manner. Granger skidded back down to the deck and headed to the quarterdeck.

“Looks to be ten schooners and a brig,” Granger told Calvert and Hercule.

“Ten schooners? That's more than we thought there'd be sir,” Calvert said.

“They're anchored in a cluster. If we can board one or two of them, we can fire them when the tide turns. That should take care of the lot of them,” Granger said.

“What of the brig sir?” Calvert asked. “Is she a man-of-war?”

“No. Looks to be a merchant, and looks to be English. We'll need to board her. There may be prisoners, and we don't want to roast them alive,” Granger said. He turned to Hercule. “When you talk to the French officer, see if you can find out about the brig.”

“Aye aye sir,” Hercule said. Granger climbed back up to the foretop. He tried to take his chart up to make corrections and observations for the future, but it was too windy. So to occupy his time, Granger made his way from foretop to his cabin to update his chart, back to the quarterdeck to consult with Calvert and Hercule, then repeated the process again.

Granger gazed at the pretty island. It seemed part barren, part tropical, while the port was built on a flat area with mountains in the background. One of them had the strangest look Granger had ever seen. It looked like it had a finger sticking up out of the top, pointing at the heavens. They grew closer and closer as the day went on, tacking into the wind, back and forth, taking care to arrive just at dusk, just as planned. Granger ended up on deck with Hercule and Calvert.

“Hoist our colors,” Hercule ordered. The Republican flag soared up the Intrepid's staff.

“They've hoisted their colors sir,” Fitzwilliam said. “There's another flag, an odd, swallow-tailed one.”

“That is the interrogative. Hoist the recognition signal. Four, then twenty,” Hercule said.

The ‘four’ rose up and stayed there until the French flag dipped in acknowledgement, then the ‘twenty’ flags went up and waited for a similar gesture. There was a pause, a huge pause that seemed like hours but was actually only a minute or two. Then a gunshot rang out and smoke rose from the fort. Some of the men panicked, but Granger smiled.

“Return the salute Mr. Fleming,” he ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” Fleming said, and Intrepid matched the fort, gun for gun, a welcome and a salute. They approached the headland and tacked in to the harbor. It was narrow, and Granger was worried they'd have to warp in, but Intrepid was handy and the channel wide enough to preclude that. A boat headed toward them. Granger and Calvert headed to the nearest gun and pretended to be actively securing it, taking peeks at the approaching craft.

There was a figure in the stern in a major's uniform. The gold lace glittered in the sun brightly, announcing to all the world that he was a very important person. The boat hooked on and he pulled himself confidently over the side. He knew his protocol: he saluted the quarterdeck.

“Welcome aboard Major,” Hercule said confidently. “I am Capitan Hercule of the Rapide.”

“Major Chevrault,” he said formally. “We were not expecting you.”

“I am Jean-Louis Charbonnier, of the Committee,” said one of the other seamen. He was playing his part as well as Hercule. If anything, Charbonnier's role was even more important than Hercule's. Granger saw the major swallow nervously. A delegate from the Committee of Public Safety, from Robespierre, carried enormous power. Charbonnier's pose, his assumption of that role, would hopefully smooth their plans.

“Welcome monsieur,” the major said, much more politely. “Anchor over there, if you please.” He pointed to a spot that could not have been more convenient for their purposes. Directly upwind from the schooners, but downwind of the brig, almost perfectly in between them. Hercule guided them in competently, dropping the anchor with perfect timing. The sails vanished from the yards as if by magic and Granger worried that their sail drill might be too good, too well-practiced to be French, but then pushed those thoughts from his head. Come what may, the Intrepid had arrived at Port Louis.

“May I offer you some refreshments?” Hercule asked.

The Major nodded, his eyes not on Hercule but on Charbonnier. They headed to Granger's cabin, while Granger and Calvert followed and snuck through Calvert's cabin and into Granger's sleeping cabin.

“The people are excited. They are hoping you have mail, or news,” the major said.

“Sadly we do not,” Hercule said. “We sailed here from Martinique. It was under attack from the accursed British.”

“That is a disappointment,” Chevrault said. “If you do not mind me asking, why are you here?”

“I do not mind you asking Major,” Charbonnier said in the perfect tone that said he meant just the opposite. “We are en route to India, to meet with Tippoo Sahib. On our way we sighted a convoy and came here to warn you. Are there no bigger ships to help us attack them?”

“There is only the frigate, the Emeraude. She is expected to arrive later tonight perhaps, or tomorrow morning. Together with your ship and our schooners, we should be able to effect something against them.”

Granger looked at Calvert. If a frigate came sailing into port that would most certainly change their whole plan. Did London know there was a frigate based here? Fellowes certainly didn't.

“What about the brig?” asked Hercule.

“A prize. We captured her from the British a week ago. She is carrying military stores. Mostly gunpowder.”

“I am glad you did not moor us near her then,” Hercule said, joking.

“The governor will want to meet you as soon as convenient,” Chevrault said.

Charbonnier looked meaningfully out the stern windows, where the sun had now set and it was quite dark. “I do not like to travel about in open boats in the middle of the night. Tell your governor we will call on him in the morning.”

Chevrault looked at Charbonnier, then at Hercule, and decided that it was smarter to irritate the governor than to antagonize a representative of the Committee. “Very well. I will send a boat for you an hour after sunrise,” he said, standing up abruptly.

“That will be acceptable,” Hercule said, looking at Charbonnier meaningfully, as if seeking his approval. “Allow me to escort you to your boat.”

When they arrived on deck, ‘Rapide's’ launch was being hoisted out. “You see we need to row a guard around our ship. It is sometimes easy for our men to desert, or for others to collude with them,” Hercule said.

“This is a safe port monsieur,” Chevrault said, “but you are welcome to take your own security measures. I bid you good night.” And then he was over the side, and they were alone.

Granger convened his officers, the real ones and fake French ones, in his cabin.

“He says the Emeraude is approaching sir,” Hercule said. “She is a 36 gun frigate. Her guns, they are 18-pounders.”

Granger nodded. A big frigate with big guns. It was daring enough to risk the batteries, much less tossing a large frigate into the mix. But the die was cast, and there really was no choice but to go on and hope they could get out before the frigate returned.

“We will take two boats. One will board that brig. We'll need combustibles to set her afire,” Granger said. “The other boat will board one or two of the schooners and fire them as well. As soon as we see a flame, we'll cut our cable, retrieve our boats, and catch the tide and winds out of here.” They all mumbled “Aye aye sir.”

“Mr. Calvert, you will command the Intrepid. Hercule and Charbonnier will stay here with you. That way if there is a problem, you can stall them, feign ignorance. I'll take the boat to the brig; Mr. Humphreys, you'll attack the schooners,” Granger ordered. He saw the objections in Calvert's eyes, but he wanted to go, needed to go. The potential for action was like an aphrodisiac, one he couldn't resist. “No firearms, cold steel only. I want this done quietly!”

“Aye aye sir,” they said, and went up to assign the boat's crews. Calvert stayed behind as Granger knew he would.

“Sir, let me go in the boat,” he pleaded.

“You got to round up the impressed men Mr. Calvert. It's my turn to have some fun,” Granger said. “It is how I want it.” The last sentence cut short any objections.

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said reluctantly.

“Have the guns loaded but don't run them out until you set sail. Double shotted with grape. There will be enough confusion as it is, but a broadside as we leave will set more chaos upon them,” Granger explained. “The brig will catch fire, and ultimately her cable will burn through. If that happens and we are not back yet, you must cut your cable and leave as quickly as possible.”

“I won't leave without you sir,” Calvert said earnestly.

“You will obey my orders,” Granger said harshly, then relented. “You cannot risk letting the brig near Intrepid. She is filled with gunpowder!”

“Aye aye sir,” Calvert said reluctantly. Then he grabbed Granger and hugged him roughly, breaking his hold only for a quick kiss. “I love you George. Be careful.”

“I love you too Francis. I will.”

Granger grabbed his sword, the beautiful weapon his father had given him when he'd been posted to Intrepid. He'd never used it in battle other than as an ornament, never used it in anger. Now there was a good chance that he would. He headed up on deck and down into the Intrepid's cutter. He found Holmquist and Jeffers there in the stern, waiting for him.

“Set a course for the brig,” he ordered. “I want silence, complete silence.” They'd muffled the oars, but it seemed like every pull, every breath they took was like a bellow. They moved slowly but steadily toward the brig, fighting the wind but not the tide. It must be nearing high tide. Granger was counting on that, counting on the ebb to help speed them past the fortresses. For a moment, Granger thought they might have actually rowed in the wrong direction and missed the brig, but then her shape loomed up in the darkness. The boat hooked onto her aft chains. Amazingly enough, they hadn't been spotted. Yet.

“Quiet men. Choate, you know what to do,” Granger hoarse-whispered to one of the topmen. He'd been a shepherd in the past, or so he'd said. Granger thought it more likely he was a criminal of sorts; he was quiet and stealthy. Granger saw him climb the side of the brig and heard a few muffled sounds, and then Granger and the rest of the men poured up the side of the brig.

He climbed up the chains then leaped over the side, and there he was, on the quarterdeck. A French officer stared at him in surprise, only to be run through by Granger's sword before he could even react. Granger saw the man's expression as he opened his mouth to cry out but had his shout muffled as he gagged on his own blood. He put that horrible vision aside and motioned for the men to begin their work, to begin placing the combustibles around the ship. Granger heard a cry from forward and waited, tense, but there was nothing. One last resister, evidently.

“There was only an anchor watch sir. They've been neutralized,” said Jeffers bloodlessly as he approached Granger.

“See if you can find any prisoners. Fleming, get those combustibles placed as quickly as possible,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” they said.

Granger wandered down into the Captain's cabin to see if there was anything of value, any papers, but this was a British prize, so there wasn't. He came back on deck to find Jeffers waiting. There was a group of men with him, about ten, all told.

“This is the crew sir,” Jeffers said.

“I'm Barney sir, former master of this ship,” said an older man.

“Well Captain, we are going to destroy your ship. My apologies,” Granger observed. The man looked at him blankly. The ship was already lost to him when the French captured her.

“Ready to set the fires sir,” Fleming called.

“Very well. Get the blaze going.” Granger ordered. “Everyone into the boat.”

The men began to swarm over the side. For a brief second they were noisy, chattering, until Jeffers explained it to them and there was silence. Then their stealth vanished. Granger saw a light, the light from a fire farther down the harbor. Humphreys had fired one of the schooners. Shouts of alarm cried out. No need to worry about noise now. Granger saw flames rising from the mound of straw by the mast, and saw smoke from below.

Fleming came rushing up on deck and gave him the nod. “Over the side the rest of you!” Granger called.

They scrambled into the boat. Fleming jumped into the boat and cried in pain. “Broke my flippin' foot!” he growled. Then he screamed in pain as Granger landed right on top of him. Granger giggled, the madness of the moment and Fleming's irritation somehow appealing to his sense of humor.

“Find the Intrepid!” Granger ordered Jeffers. “And get us away from that Brig!”