Master and Commander - 23. Chapter 23

February, 1795

“Pass the word for Doctor Jackson!” Granger shouted. He looked through the telescope and there was Calvert, lying on the bottom of the boat, his head supported in Fitzwilliam's lap. The midshipman seemed fine, but Calvert had an obvious gash in his neck, although how bad it was he couldn't tell yet.

“Sir?” Jackson appeared, and then looked to the boat.

“We'll have wounded aboard. Prepare your sick bay. Lieutenant Calvert is one of them; he can be put in my day cabin.”

“Aye aye sir,” Jackson said, and hurried off to get his sick bay ready.

Intrepid tore through the water toward the small boat, but they couldn't get there fast enough for Granger. He watched as the boat got closer and closer, burning with impatience until he could finally start to pick out the details with his glass. The boat was being steered by what looked like a French officer. Calvert and his crew must be prisoners. Where was Zenith? Why was he out here in the middle of the Atlantic with a Frenchman holding him prisoner?

“Mr. Carslake, have the marines stand by. We'll have some prisoners,” Granger said. “Mr. Humphreys, heave to and prepare to grapple with that boat.”

“Aye aye sir,” they said. Intrepid came into the wind beautifully, so smoothly that the small boat barely bumped her side. Grapnels flew to secure her, while men lowered bosun's chairs to haul the wounded aboard. First through the entry port was the Frenchman.

“Good morning monsieur,” Granger said politely, switching easily to French. “I am Commander George Granger, of His Britannic Majesty's ship Intrepid.”

“I am Lieutenant Pierre Marcoeuf,” he said as gallantly as he could. “I surrender my boat to you.”

“Quite the prize,” Granger joked to him, and saw the young Frenchman actually smile. “You and your men will be cared for.”

“Thank you monsieur,” he said.

“Is this how you greet a post captain?” came a roaring voice, linked to a short round man.

“And who, pray tell, are you?” Granger asked. He wasn't going to tolerate any rudeness on his ship, especially when it was directed at him.

“I am Captain Jacob Freemantle, of Zenith,” he said.

“And how, Captain Freemantle, would we have known that?” Granger asked coldly. The man had no uniform coat, no markings.

“We are wasting time. We must sail north after the Floreal!” he shouted.

“Where is your ship Captain?” Granger asked.

“Sunk, thanks to that lubberly lot of Frogs,” he said, glaring at Marcoeuf. “They captured us then put an idiotic prize crew aboard. She caught fire, and these are the remnants of those who managed to escape.”

“There are no other survivors, no other boats Captain?” Granger asked.

“There are not. We were the only ones far enough away not to get swamped when Zenith exploded. Now we are wasting time. We must head north and warn the fleet.”

“We are not heading north, Captain. This ship is bound for Antigua,” Granger said coolly.

Freemantle began to splutter. “Look you, I'm giving you a direct order to turn around and head after that ship. You disobey it at your peril.”

“That, Captain, is a risk I am quite willing to take. Last time I checked, Lord Spencer still outranked you,” Granger said, irritated.

“Well he's not here and I am, and I say put this ship about!”

“This ship is going to Antigua Captain. If you wish to chase Floreal, I suggest you reboard the one boat you haven't yet lost,” Granger said. Humphreys and Carslake tried to hide their grins, while the Frenchman chuckled outright.

Freemantle's nostrils flared, and his brows narrowed. “Insubordination! I'm placing you under arrest. You there! Arrest this man!” Freemantle bellowed at the marines. They merely stared at him. Granger had no fear that his crew would not be loyal to him.

“Mr. Humphreys, find a cabin for Captain Freemantle, if you please. We'll have all healthy crewmen bathed and de-loused.”

“Bathed? I'm not taking a bath!” Freemantle bellowed.

“Captain that is the last time you will countermand my orders on my ship. We work very hard to keep our parasites at bay, and staying clean is the best way. Corporal, if the Captain resists, you may shackle him to the deck and hose him off.” Granger was pissed at this man, much more pissed than he was even showing. A man who had lost his ship, endangered Granger's lover, and then presumed to give Granger new orders on his own ship, this was all beyond the pale. It wouldn't have been so bad if the orders had made sense. He watched the wounded men being swung aboard, some with splinter wounds from the timbers that must have flown through the air like lances when Zenith blew up.

“You will never command another ship again. I will break you. Break you and beach you. When we get to Antigua, you're going to be hauled ashore and you'll be lucky if the governor doesn't hang you,” Freemantle said, his voice vile and grating. He seemed surprised and irritated at Granger's cool demeanor. “You act like you're not worried, but you should be.”

“Well Captain, if my grandfather weren't the governor, I might feel a bit more fear,” Granger said simply. That got an audible chuckle from Carslake and Humphreys, their control finally exhausted. “As it is, I expect you'll be too busy with your own court martial to worry about me.”

“You think you're so smart. You're lucky you didn't run into that ship. You'd be on your way to a French prison!”

“We did run into her. We recognized her for what she was and avoided her,” Granger said.

“You ran away?” he asked, implying that Granger was a coward.

“We are a 20 gun sloop Captain. We are not made to fight line-of-battleships, unlike Zenith. Now I have to attend to the wounded and to my ship.” Granger nodded to the corporal who dragged Freemantle off. Humphreys and Carslake stared at Granger, stunned. Defying a post captain was a very brave, maybe stupid act. It was insubordination, and could very well cost Granger his command. But Granger knew that the news he carried was much more important than a camouflaged French ship of the line, and he knew that most captains were smart enough to see through her trick, even when Freemantle hadn't.

“The launch is too big to haul aboard sir,” Carslake said.

“Cast her off then,” Granger said. “Square away Mr. Humphreys.” Within minutes, Intrepid was settled back on her original course, headed toward Antigua. “There will be no deviation from our course without my explicit instructions.”

“Aye aye sir,” Humphreys and Carslake said. Granger headed below to his day cabin and found Calvert sprawled across the cot they'd quickly put in there. Jackson was probing his wound, pulling splinters out.

“How is he Doctor?” Granger asked.

“These splinters have been in him too long. I'll have to cut them out, along with the corrupted skin. We must pray it does not become gangrenous.” Granger nodded and stood on the other side, taking Calvert's hand.

Calvert looked up at him, his eyes glazed from the laudanum. “George?”

“As I live and breathe,” Granger said, smiling at him. “You're safe aboard Intrepid, in Doctor Jackson's capable hands.”

“How?” he asked softly. He was clearly very weak.

“Later. Rest and recover,” Granger said.

“I told him. Warned him. Wouldn't listen. Wouldn't even clear for action,” Calvert said, almost a sob.

“Freemantle?” Granger asked.

“Yes,” Calvert said.

“He is not worth your breath. Sleep now, rest.” Then Calvert's eyes shot open, the pain piercing through his laudanum. They gave him more drops as Granger left, disturbed and distressed.

“Mr. Carslake surrendered his cabin to Captain Freemantle, but Captain Freemantle still isn't happy about it sir,” Humphreys said, trying not to grin.

“I doubt he'll do much better after his court martial,” Granger said.

“There were thirty men in the boat. Five were already dead, while the rest are in bad shape. They were in that boat for ten days, and ran out of water two days ago. Fitzwilliam is the only one who seems healthy, besides Freemantle. That Captain insisted on having his fill of water and food, while others went without.”

“Didn't the French lieutenant stop him?” Granger asked.

“On the third day, Freemantle managed to take control from the Frog. Sounds like they worked out some sort of truce,” Humphreys said.

“Send for Monsieur Marcoeuf,” Granger ordered. It took over ten minutes for the Frenchman to drag himself up onto the deck. He had seemed fine before, but perhaps he'd been faking it.

“You sent for me Capitan?” he asked politely.

“I did. We are a small ship monsieur. From what I can tell, you have only five of your men who may survive. Guarding prisoners is not something I wish to expend resources on,” Granger said.

“I do not understand,” he said.

“If you would give your word of honor that you will not try to escape, and that you will not endanger or tamper with this ship, I will grant you parole. You will be free to move around the ship, and to take your meals in the wardroom with the other officers,” Granger said.

He watched the struggle on Marcoeuf's face. He could refuse, in which case they'd have to confine him below, but Granger was hoping he wouldn't. He seemed like a pleasant enough man, and he was handsome in a swarthy French kind of way. “I accept,” he said. “I give you my word that neither I nor my men will tamper with this ship.”

“Excellent!” Granger said. Sleeping quarters were going to get awfully tight on board Intrepid.

Granger sat next to Calvert, stroking his hand lovingly. There were bandages wrapped around his wound, making his already long neck look ridiculous. The bandages didn't cover the wound; that had been left open to drain. Instead, the bandages were placed around it, to absorb any puss and blood that oozed out. It was grotesque.

It had been three days since he'd been hauled aboard, and Granger had spent that time worrying about him, taking statements from the boat's crew, or those that survived, and arguing with Freemantle. The man was adept at finding ways to get on Granger’s nerves. It seemed that what Calvert had conveyed with his few words was echoed by the crewmen and Fitzwilliam. Freemantle had charged in foolishly, ignoring the others.

He felt a presence next to him; Doctor Jackson. “He seems to be recovering, sir. The wound looks to be healing well.”

Granger looked at him dubiously. “This is your area of expertise Doctor. To me it looks like so much raw meat.”

“You must trust me. In any event, dinner is almost ready,” Jackson said. Granger nodded. Staring at this wound didn't do much for his appetite. They'd taken to eating together, he and his senior officers, the Frenchman, and Freemantle. It was not a happy group.

They took their seats quietly, waiting for Winkler and the wardroom steward to put down more of Lefavre's creations. The mood changed with such good food in front of them, as young men and their appetites took over, or in Freemantle's case, an older man with a big appetite and an expanding waistline.

“You really could have told me about the Dutch being at war with us Granger,” Freemantle said. “Made me look like a fool.”

“You were too busy talking to listen Captain,” Granger said coolly. He was in no mood to be friendly to this oaf. They glared at each other.

“I'm surprised you haven't been drummed out of the navy with your impertinent tongue. Guess all those connections in London keep you safe and sound,” Freemantle said rudely.

“They do,” Granger said.

“I'd figured you'd thank me for taking your former first lieutenant off your hands. He's a good officer, when he shuts up and listens. But then again, I think it was your wife who wanted him on my ship, not you.” Caroline? She'd schemed to get Calvert reassigned? Granger bit back his retort, and his feelings. He'd think about that later.

“It was most kind of you to humor her,” Granger said. “I am surprised you saw no signs to indicate that Floreal was not in fact a merchant ship.” Granger changed the subject and thrust back at Freemantle.

“Their deception was quite elaborate,” he snarled. “I'll bet they picked up several prizes that way.”

“Actually, Zenith was the first,” Marcoeuf interjected. “Before that, we encountered a frigate, who gave us a wide berth. We were trying to figure out why our plan did not work.”

“You left your gun ports open when you cleared for action,” Humphreys said, then looked at Granger nervously. Granger winked to tell him no great secret had been revealed.

“They were sealed when we saw you,” Freemantle stated firmly.

“Au contraire, Capitan,” Marcoeuf said. “In fact, they were open for you as well. Now that is interesting, that is how you discovered we were a warship.”

“Lies! Lies I tell you!” Freemantle yelled.

“Captain, I do not tolerate yelling at my table. Please restrain yourself,” Granger said.

“Don't tell me what to do you whippersnapper!” he screamed.

“I think this is the last dinner we will enjoy together,” Granger said. “Captain, you may dine elsewhere. And you may feast on the bounty of The King. I have no desire to share my table or my stores with you.” Granger stood up, as did all the others but Freemantle, and walked out of the cabin.

Granger walked around the deck, inspecting the ship, then went below to check on Calvert again. He was sleeping peacefully, so Granger just sat with him, holding his hand, willing him to get better. Did Caroline really use her connections to have Calvert transferred? Or was Freemantle merely baiting him? He could tell that Caroline didn't like Calvert, but he just wrote it off as her being out of sorts after giving birth. Did she suspect he and Calvert were lovers? Granger sighed. It would be months before he'd be back in London and able to find out for sure. He fought back the anger that threatened to consume him, anger at Caroline for interfering in the operation of his ship and for almost getting Calvert killed. But then, with his fussy sense of justice, he decided that it was unfair to condemn her when he didn't know whether she'd done it or not. Had she not proven her love to him? Didn't she deserve his loyalty and confidence?

Granger headed back to his cabin and was surprised to find that he was not alone. “What brings you here Mr. Fitzwilliam?”

“I hope I'm not intruding sir. There was a time in the past when I was able to help you out with your personal needs, and I was hoping you'd let me do that again,” he said nervously.

Granger stared at him and mentally compared him to Lennox. Lennox was so much more attractive to Granger, shyer, cuter, and less forward. But he was in a mood to fuck someone, and Fitzwilliam had a sweet ass. “You came here hoping I'd fuck you?”

“Yes sir,” Fitzwilliam said, grinning. Granger moved toward him forcefully and pulled him in for a rough kiss. He ran his hands down past the waistband of Fitzwilliam's trousers and found his hole, using his fingers to probe it and play with it. Fitzwilliam moaned huskily, but Granger wasn't in the mood for nice lovemaking. He pulled his own trousers down, pulled Fitzwilliam's down, and pushed the young midshipman onto all fours on his cot. Then he globbed on some lanolin, lined himself up, and drove into Fitzwilliam hard. He smiled as the midshipman gasped in pain, and then moaned softly in pleasure as Granger began to fuck him, and fuck him hard. He slammed into him over and over again, conscious that at some point Fitzwilliam had cum when Granger still hadn't. In Granger's current mood, that was so much the better. He drove on, relishing the rawness of the fuck, the sheer savagery of it, and finally, after what seemed like hours and drenched in sweat from his exertions, Granger exploded inside Fitzwilliam, a massive and long orgasm to match the long rough fuck.

Much to his surprise, Granger came back to reality to find Fitzwilliam spasming as well. He'd shot his first load, then gone along for the ride and ended up shooting a second right after Granger did. Fitzwilliam turned to him, looking at him with glazed eyes. “Thank you sir. That was unbelievable. Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Granger said with a smile. Then the midshipman left him alone in his cabin with his thoughts, but the fuck had cleared his head and helped him put things into perspective. He'd have to deal with Caroline eventually, but she could wait until he returned to London.

March 1795

Granger sat in his day cabin with Calvert. He had hoped that Calvert's stamina, that strong youthful health would reassert itself and slaughter the bad humors that plagued him, but it was not to be. He was still weak, very weak. The only good sign was that his wound did not appear gangrenous. Yet. Jackson continued to play with his psyche, at one point calling that encouraging, and at the next asserting it was too soon to tell. It was maddening, to say the least. Winkler had thrown open the windows, letting in the warm tropical air. It was gloriously warm now during the day, and refreshingly cool at night. Granger was starting to see what his grandfather saw in this climate.

“I'm so tired,” Calvert said.

“Then you should rest,” Granger told him. “We should be in Antigua in a day or two. They'll have a proper hospital there.”

“NO!” he said emphatically, so emphatically Granger had to restrain him. “I'm sorry. I want to stay here. I want to get well and I want to be on board this ship with you, and to show you how much I love you.”

Granger smiled at him lovingly and stroked his cheek. This outburst of energy and emotion seemed to drain him though, and he drifted off to sleep, a smile on his face.

Just then the door burst open and Freemantle exploded into the room. “Well isn't that touching. No wonder your wife wanted him off your ship,” he said snidely. Granger stared at him coldly, vowing for the umpteenth time on this voyage to destroy this idiot. His confidence wasn't just faked. All he'd been doing was holding Calvert's hand.

“Ah yes, gestures of friendship must seem quite foreign to you Captain,” Granger said, leading him out of his day cabin. “Just exactly what are you doing in my cabin?”

“I didn't mean to interrupt your romantic interlude,” he said, snickering to himself.

“As I explained, there was no romance, only friendship, and you haven't explained your presence in my cabin.” Granger turned to the marine on guard. “If you let this man pass by here again, I'll have you cashiered in Antigua.”

“Yes sir, I'm sorry sir,” he stammered.

Before Freemantle could rip into him again, Granger took the offensive. “I am wondering if you weren't coming to ask me, Captain, when last a British ship of the line struck her colors. I have searched my memory and can remember no captain who has endured such shame.” Freemantle got that strange look on his face, the one where his nostrils flared and spittle formed at the edge of his mouth. “Pass the word for the Corporal of the Guard,” Granger said to Humphreys. Freemantle stormed off then, while Humphreys just shook his head. Freemantle inspired hatred in Granger, but only pity from the others.

Freemantle stopped at the hatch and yelled to Granger. “I've never been treated so insolently or with so little respect.”

“I have learned, Captain, that respect is something that is earned,” Granger said, then turned his back on the man. Freemantle was becoming more and more unhinged every day.

“You sent for me sir?” the corporal said, his uniform looking quite perfect.

“Captain Freemantle was able to breeze right past the guard at my cabin door. Can you explain that?” Granger demanded.

“No sir,” the corporal said honestly.

“I'm wondering if this will happen again.” Granger demanded.

“If it does, there won't be a live marine to answer for it sir,” the corporal said, clearly pissed off.

“Thank you Corporal,” Granger said politely. Freemantle was like a psychological nightmare, making everyone around him, everyone that had been in contact with him emotionally unbalanced. He yearned to be rid of the man.

“Land ho!” came the cry from the masthead. “Land off the larboard beam.”

Granger took his glass and climbed to the maintop to confirm his suspicions, then slid agilely back to the deck. “It is Guadeloupe. Helm, course due north. Mr. Humphreys, stand by to trim the braces,” Granger ordered. Intrepid came about, a neat ninety degree turn, handling the moderate seas and brisk winds as if they were nothing. The wind was right off her quarter now, her best point of sailing.

“Mr. Humphreys, shake out the reefs in the topsails and let's see how she handles it,” Granger said, beaming. At this rate they may just make English Harbour before nightfall.

“Trying to get to English Harbour as fast as possible eh Granger. So you can get rid of me?” Freemantle asked in his faux friendly way.

“It is my life's ambition at this point Captain. Please excuse me while I attend to my ship,” Granger said, the allusion to him having a ship while Freemantle did not was left there to smolder.

“Land off the larboard beam!” came the cry from the lookout.

“You going in circles?” Freemantle jabbed.

“That will be Montserrat,” Granger observed. “Foretop, are you awake?!”

“Aye sir!” came the cry back. Then no more than a few seconds later: “Land ho, dead ahead!”

“That, gentlemen, is Antigua. Set a course for English Harbour Mr. Humphreys. I'll be below if I'm needed,” Granger ordered. He wanted to put on his good uniform to meet the admiral.

“I want a boat ready to take me ashore the minute we reach harbor,” Freemantle ordered, causing Granger to stop in his tracks.

“You, Captain, will remain here until I have met with the admiral and he sends for you.” Granger paused, waiting for Freemantle's anger to boil up, just about to explode, and then he added: “You spoke of respect, Captain. It would be a snub to have you escorted ashore by anyone of a lesser rank. It will be that way until your court martial.” That was the custom of the service. A man facing a court martial was due the courtesy of being escorted by someone of equal rank. Freemantle digested this, his emotions bubbling underneath his skin in what seemed to be a human volcano. In the end, he stormed below, leaving Granger in peace to get changed then re-emerge on deck to guide his ship into English Harbour.

Intrepid put her nose confidently into this, one of the best natural harbors in the world. “Mr. Fleming, we'll need fifteen guns,” Granger called. Fleming was already there, preparing to salute the Vice-Admiral's flag that flew from the massive three-decker.

“Boyne, 98,” Lennox said crisply, as he should. “Captain George Gray.” The guns began to crack as Intrepid saluted her new admiral.

“Who's the admiral then?” asked Carslake.

“Vice Admiral Sir John Jervis,” Granger said with a grin. One of the toughest admirals in the fleet. He'd make short work of Freemantle.

“Flag to Intrepid. Welcome. Captain to repair on board immediately,” Lennox said. Granger glanced over to see his gig already waiting for him. He was glad he'd changed into his good uniform as they'd begun their final approach to English Harbour. Jervis hated delays.

“Anchor, Mr. Humphreys. I'll be aboard the flagship.” Granger descended into the boat, and as he looked forward, he saw Intrepid's large anchor crash into the sea, announcing the end to this long voyage. Thousands of miles had passed under her keel since she'd left England, but she'd managed to make Antigua in record time.

The Boyne loomed up before him. Everything about her appearance was crisp; clean and polished. And massive. Granger knew Jervis was a stickler for cleanliness, and taut discipline, so this flagship gleamed even more than one would expect. He climbed her tall sides adeptly and hauled himself through her entry port, welcomed by the Bosun's whistle, two sideboys, and Captain Gray himself.

“Welcome Granger. Sir John is waiting for you,” he said politely, leading Granger aft. He entered the massive cabin, beautifully decorated, but it was still overwhelmed by its occupant.

“You in a hurry Granger? You must have news,” Jervis said unceremoniously. It would almost have seemed rude if Granger didn't know that Jervis was an accomplished courtier.

“Yes sir. We are at war with Holland, or the Batavian Republic as it is now known.”

“I expected as much,” he groused. “I was expecting reinforcements, more than just your little ship.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you Sir John,” Granger said with a smile. Jervis had a long, hooked nose, imperiously planted in the middle of his large sculpted face. He had the appearance of a hawk, a raptor, but for a second there was a slight grin. “Zenith was sent out ahead of us but fell afoul of a French ship of the line.”

Jervis glared at him while Gray inhaled in shock. “You are saying that Zenith surrendered to a single French ship of the line?”

“Yes sir,” Granger said. “I have her captain, Jacob Freemantle, aboard Intrepid sir. As he is awaiting court martial, I felt it appropriate that he wait for an officer of equal rank to accompany him to wherever his is bidden.”

“I'll make short work of him,” Jervis said. His eyes and tone were enough to strike fear into both him and Gray. “How did this happen?”

“The Zenith encountered a French ship of the line disguised as a merchantman, the Floreal. We ran into her some ten to twelve days after Zenith, sir,” Granger said.

“And yet you did not fall for her ruse?” he asked.

“No sir. She was acting too aggressively, and she left her gun ports open so they were visible,” Granger said.

“Maybe she didn't do that for Zenith?” he asked, wanting to find an excuse for a British ship to surrender to a French ship of similar strength. This was the kind of scandal that could rock a government at its foundation.

“One of the French lieutenants is aboard as well sir, and he claims they did. He said that the gun ports were also open when a British frigate avoided the Floreal as we did. I have statements from the survivors, all saying in essence the same thing: Captain Freemantle drove in to attack this ship despite his first officer's attempts to caution him, and without even clearing for action,” Granger said.

Jervis stared at him, his mouth agape. “You must truly dislike Freemantle to have gone to so much effort to orchestrate the final days of his funeral.”

“Sir, I do dislike Captain Freemantle, most heartily. But I felt it was my duty to collect what evidence I could before those who had survived the blast perished,” Granger said.

“What blast?” Jervis asked.

“It seems that the French somehow allowed Zenith to catch on fire, sir. Only one boat was able to escape intact when she blew up,” Granger said.

“So the entire crew was blown to pieces?” Jervis asked, stunned so badly his sadness actually penetrated his tough shell.

“Yes sir,” Granger said, echoing his mood.

“I know Freemantle. He's as big an idiot as they make. Damn Spencer! He was sending him out here so I could snap him into shape or drum him out of the service, no doubt. Well it cost His Majesty one good ship and crew, and a whole lot of embarrassment.”

“Yes sir. Begging your pardon sir, but Captain Freemantle has become increasingly, er, uh...”

“Spit it out Granger!” Jervis said loudly.

“He's becoming deranged sir,” Granger said.

“Becoming? I told you I knew him before. I was almost glad to see you, yet you have brought me nothing but more trouble,” Jervis grumbled. But there was a hint of a grin.

“I will try to redeem myself sir,” Granger said cheekily.

“Gray, go over and get Captain Freemantle. Find him a cabin on board. Tell flags to set up a court martial. We've enough Captains for it,” Jervis said.

“Aye aye sir,” Gray said, and exited quickly to fulfill his demanding chief's orders.

“Granger, go see the governor. He'll cause me no end of problems if I delay your meeting.”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir,” Granger said, smiling.

“By the way, I've read of your exploits. You've done well. I'm glad you're here now,” he said.

“Thank you sir,” Granger said, wondering what “here” meant. Did he escape from India only to be stuck in the West Indies?