The Wardroom - 12. Chapter 12

September 18, 1793

Captain Curtis, being the good manager that he was, was determined to re-orient the staff to handle the new challenge of occupying Toulon in addition to managing the fleet. The purpose of this meeting, with Granger, Shafte, Curtis, Knight, and Hood, was to implement Curtis' recommendations.

“I have appointed Lieutenant Devlin to be my liaison with the various foreign contingents ashore,” Lord Hood said. Granger kept his face impassive, knowing that Hood was keeping Devlin away from the flagship and away from himself, after Shafte's revelations. “I need a new lieutenant to assist Captain Curtis.”

“Lieutenant Granger is not adequate, my lord?” Knight asked. Granger cringed. Since the hangings, relations between Knight and Hood's staff had deteriorated, and his relationship with Granger seemed to have deteriorated most of all. There were probably good reasons for that; not least that Knight had taken Ferris, Cabot, and Chalmers on board his ship as a favor to their families. Instead of doing them a favor, he'd ended up presiding at their executions.

“He is not. There is much work to be done,” Hood said simply, but Granger knew him well enough now to know that he was irritated. “I would like to add Lieutenant Cavendish to my staff.”

“That will leave me short a lieutenant my lord,” Knight said. Granger almost dropped his mouth with shock. A promotion of one of his lieutenants was a compliment to Knight, and it would allow him to promote one of his midshipmen to the wardroom.

“Then if you prefer, I will seek a replacement from a different ship,” Lord Hood said calmly.

“That will not be necessary, my lord. I was merely thinking of my own dilemmas,” Knight said.

“Well I have enough problems of my own without worrying about yours Captain. Please keep that in mind,” Hood snapped.

“Yes my lord,” Knight said, abashed but angry. “Lieutenant Cavendish can share a cabin with Lieutenant Granger then.”

“He will do nothing of the sort,” Hood said, getting pissed.

“But my lord...” Knight started to protest.

“Captain, I want Mr. Shafte to stay right where he is. If you have crowding problems, it is because you were unable to keep control of your officers, and because you allowed heinous acts to take place right under your nose,” Hood said, glaring at him.

“My lord, that is unfair,” Knight said, trying to sound offended, but sounding angry instead.

“Let us hope the Lords of the Admiralty agree with you. Your singular lack of cooperation makes me think I should explain my views on this matter more strongly so they have a fuller understanding. As it is, I have been most charitable to you Captain Knight.” Hood said this with a piercing look that would have scared the most stolid of officers. And Knight was not the most stolid.

“I am thankful to your lordship for your charity. I will make sure your staff is accommodated.” Knight had gone from furious to groveling. It wasn't a pretty sight.

“Thank you Captain Knight. That will be all.” Knight nodded and left the cabin. “Perhaps I should transfer my flag to Britannia?” Hood mused to no one in particular, knowing that he'd never do such a thing. “Send for Cavendish.”

They waited while Cavendish was tracked down. He was off-duty, and most likely sound asleep. He came into the cabin, slightly flustered, but remarkably well turned out for such a quick summons. “My lord?”

“Mr. Cavendish, I have an opening for an additional flag lieutenant. I am offering the position to you. I have already spoken with Captain Knight, and he reluctantly agreed, so the decision is yours,” Hood said severely.

Cavendish grinned. It was a fantastic opportunity. “Thank you my lord. It would be an honor to serve you, my lord.”

“Very well. Then let's get on with it. What else is on your agenda Curtis? I haven't got all day,” Hood groused.

“Mr. Cavendish will help us with matters pertaining to the occupation of Toulon, my lord, while Mr. Granger will assist us with matters pertaining to the fleet. Mr. Shafte can assist all of us as needed. I've recruited another clerk.” Curtis didn't point out that he'd taken him from Knight's staff. Another thing for Knight to bitch about.

“Very well. We'll assume that the impounded French fleet falls under your purview, Mr. Granger,” Hood said.

“Yes my lord,” said Granger.

“You have a job to do. I've decided to release the French sailors loyal to the Jacobins. There are 5000 of them. We already allowed 5000 of them to flee into the country when we landed, I don't want to hand the French an additional 5000 men, at least not here in Toulon. I want you to go over to the French fleet and pick four ships of the line, the ones in the absolute worst condition, to send them to Brest or La Rochelle.”

Granger stared at him briefly, stunned. Hood was going to give the Revolutionary Government of France, their enemy, four ships of the line? And 5000 sailors? He didn't argue. “Aye aye, my lord.”

“Once you select them, you'll use the French sailors to disarm the ships. All of the guns will need to be removed. If you can hoist them off, so be it. If not, toss them into the harbor.”

“Aye aye, my lord.” Granger was stunned. Tossing cannon into the harbor? Had the admiral completely lost his bearings? “May I recruit a bosun and a carpenter from the fleet to assist me?”

“Take whatever help you need Mr. Granger. Just get it done as soon as possible. I don't need to feed 5000 extra revolutionary mouths, nor do I want to expend the effort to guard them.”

“Yes my lord,” Granger said. He headed up to the deck and found the First Lieutenant. “I'll need to call the admiral's barge sir.”

“I will attend to it shortly Mr. Granger,” he said, and then went on about his business.

“Thank you sir. I will inform Lord Hood that you will notify us as soon as it is ready,” Granger said, staring at him. In other words, do it now, or incur Hood's wrath.

The first lieutenant glared at him, then called away the barge. Brightly painted, with a well-turned out crew, Granger felt slightly ostentatious. It was a bit like riding around in one of the King's carriages. “Agamemnon,” he said to the crew. He'd met the Agamemnon's bosun, a man named Hartford, and the carpenter, a man named Skyler. They were both perfect for the task, if Nelson would let him borrow them.

Nelson was there to meet him at the entry port. “Well Mr. Granger, do you have orders for me?” Granger smiled. Nelson craved activity.

“Actually sir, I came to ask for your help.”

“Indeed? How can I be of assistance?”

“I have been instructed to find the four French ships of the line in the absolute worst condition, sir. Lord Hood intends to put the French prisoners, the sailors, on board and send them off to Brest.”

“He wants to hand the French four battleships and 5000 seamen?” Nelson asked, shocked.

“Those are my orders sir,” Granger said dejectedly. “I need some professional men to help survey the French ships.”

“And Captain Knight could not help you,” Nelson said. It wasn't a question. “Very well. If you don't mind, I'll accompany you as well. I could stand a stroll ashore, and to get a look at our enemy's ships.”

“Yes sir,” Granger smiled. So with the bosun and his staff, the carpenter and his staff, along with Nelson and Bell, he headed into Toulon to inspect the French ships. It was a surreal experience, to board ships peacefully, when two months ago boarding the same ship would have involved a bloody battle. Granger inspected all of them, from the huge 120 gun Commerce de Marseilles, to the 64 gun Hardy. It was night time by the time he rowed back to the Agamemnon.

“Dine with me Mr. Granger, and tell me which ships you plan to surrender to the enemy,” Nelson said cheerfully. It felt good to be back aboard the Agamemnon, with its camaraderie and cheer.

“I think the four worst ships are the Apollon, Entreprenant, Orion, and Patriote, sir” Granger said in between bites. “Apollon and Entreprenant are ill-founded, and their crews are the most restive anyway.”

“So now all you must do is disarm them. It will take a week at least to remove their guns,” Nelson observed.

“Then I am instructed to toss them into the harbor sir,” Granger said.

“Indeed?” Nelson said. “Well, four 74 gun ships, that's about 300 cannon lining the bottom of the port.”

“Yes sir,” Granger said. “I think Captain Bouvet will get the work done quickly. He is most anxious to be rid of Toulon.” Granger had met the fiery Frenchman. He was just the kind of man to spur his men into action. “I must get back to the flagship. Thank you sir, for your help.”

“Glad to be of service,” Nelson said, and showed him over the side. Granger saw Blackwell standing off to the side of the deck. He hadn't had a chance to talk to him on the trek back from Naples, and once again, there was no time for conversation. Granger was intensely curious as to Blackwell's true relationship with Arthur, but he was more afraid of Lord Hood's wrath.

He returned to the Victory, getting a cold greeting from Knight, and went to report to Hood. “You were gone all day Mr. Granger.”

“Yes my lord.”

“How long until you decide which ships we should send?”

“I have already compiled a list of four ships, my lord. I fear that we'll have to jettison the guns, but if we do, I think we can have the ships on their way shortly.”

“And you did this all by yourself?”

“No my lord. Captain Nelson and his crew helped me.” Granger was a little nervous about that. He probably should have sought permission first. But Hood didn't seem bothered at all.

Granger explained his plan to Hood, detailing the ships and their poor state of repair, and told him about Bouvet.

“Very well Mr. Granger. Make it happen.”

“Yes my lord,” Granger said.

He headed down to his cabin and heard voices inside. “Get away from me,” he heard Shafte say.

“Now Mr. Shafte, that's not very friendly,” he heard someone say. “Let's have a bit of fun.” Carmody. The ship's 3rd Lieutenant, and a bully.

Granger burst into the cabin. “Just what are you doing in my cabin Mr. Carmody?”

“I came in here to see Mr. Shafte, not that it's any of your business,” he snapped.

“Lieutenants can hang too, Mr. Carmody. You will stay out of my cabin, and away from my staff,” Granger said.

“You don't order me around,” Carmody sneered.

“My apologies. If you'll come with me, I'll have Lord Hood explain it to you. Or don't you take orders from him either?” Granger opened the door and gestured for him to leave.

“That won't be necessary,” Carmody said.

“I think it is. If you will follow me.” Granger climbed back up the ladder to the upper deck.

“This isn't necessary Mr. Granger. I will honor your request.” Carmody said, almost pleading. Shafte was right behind him.

Granger ushered them into Hood's cabin. “My lord, I returned to my cabin only to discover Mr. Carmody rooting about. He requested direct instructions from your lordship if he was to stay out of my quarters.”

“No my lord, I, uh,” Carmody stammered.

“He was assaulting me, my lord,” Shafte said.

“Pass the word for Captain Knight and Captain Curtis,” Hood said, glaring at them. “Lieutenant, four men hanged from the yardarm for a similar offense. You are not immune.”

Knight came in, flustered, with Curtis right behind him. “Captain Knight, Mr. Carmody was in Mr. Granger's cabin attempting to assault Mr. Shafte. Are you actively encouraging buggery on your ship?”

“No my lord,” said Knight, glaring at Carmody.

“I am particularly disturbed that my staff has been so abused by your officers. You are to blame Captain.” Hood said. “Your attitude, your lack of cooperation, sets an example for your crew. I consider it insubordination, and I won't tolerate it. One more incident and I will place you under arrest.”

Knight looked like he'd been run through with a sword. “Yes my lord. The attitude will change immediately, starting with Mr. Carmody.”

“That won't be necessary. Mr. Carmody will accompany the deportee fleet. Mr. Carmody, you will be there to ensure our squadrons allow the ships unmolested passage into a French Atlantic port.” Carmody's eyes bulged.

“So I will be taken into French custody my lord?” he asked, terrified.

“You will. But do not worry. I will give you a letter asking them to release you.” Hood glared at him. A lot of good a letter from Hood would do. “That is all.” Carmody slunk out, followed by Knight.

“I'm sorry to bother you my lord. It was difficult to even have your barge called this morning.”

“I think you may find attitudes changing now, Mr. Granger. I doubt the other officers wish to share Carmody's fate.”

“Yes my lord. Thank you my lord.” He and Shafte retreated back to the Wardroom where they got lots of stares. The malice was gone. It may be below the surface, but this game, this slow torture, was at an end, at least for now.

Once in the cabin, Granger locked the door. “I'm sorry George. He just came in and started grabbing my ass. I didn't say anything or do anything.”

“Julian, don't you know the poor man couldn't help himself. You have the sweetest ass in the whole fleet,” Granger cooed into his ear as he nibbled on his neck.

“And it's all yours,” Shafte said. He pulled his pants down and knelt on the bed, his cute little ass sticking up, begging for Granger's cock. Granger lubed him up, then himself, and entered him. His little butt was heavenly. It was as if he wrapped his whole body, his whole self around Granger's cock. They'd learned to modify their sounds so they could hear each other, to audibly connect, but the more they fucked, the more that connection was made with their bodies. Granger felt himself getting close and reached down to squeeze Julian's ass cheeks firmly, his way of alerting him that he was going to blow. Julian shoved his ass back, begging for more of his dick, for more of him. He felt Julian start to explode; he could tell by the way his ass quivered, and the way his back contorted in ecstasy. Granger followed, amazed at how in sync they were, how they worked their bodies together to completely satisfy each other.

September 19, 1793

“Mr. Barret,” Granger said to the second lieutenant, “would you be so kind as to call the Admiral's barge?”

“Certainly, Mr. Granger,” Barret said cheerfully, and gave the orders at once. Granger had heard the officers in the wardroom last night, grousing about how the Captain had told them first to make the lives of the Admiral's staff as difficult as possible, and then had abruptly changed his mind after poor Carmody had been condemned to possibly spend the war in a French prison. Granger headed down to report in to the admiral.

“You are off bright and early Mr. Granger,” he said cautiously.

“Yes my lord. It should be a busy day.”

Granger stood there nervously, trying to decide how to update Hood on the wardroom gossip without causing more problems. “What is it now Mr. Granger?”

“I'm feeling bad for Mr. Carmody, my lord.”

“Indeed? You think he should have been allowed to bugger Mr. Shafte?” Granger caught the glittering in his eyes. He was in a remarkably good mood.

“I overheard the officers in the wardroom last night. It seems they were ordered to make our lives more difficult, my lord.”

“By whom?” Hood asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Captain Knight, my lord. It's just gossip around a table, my lord, but if Carmody was just following orders, that's a blackguard affair.”

Hood sighed. “I have to fight the French and my own Flag Captain.”

“As you predicted, my lord, things are significantly different today. I'd like to help Carmody out, my lord, with your permission.”

Hood grumbled. “You want me to keep him here?”

“No my lord, but I was thinking that we may get our French opponents to offer him a certificate of safe passage. I would like to request one, under a flag of truce, my lord.”

Hood eyed him appreciatively. “You get yourself captured, don't bother coming back. I'll have you flogged.” Granger could tell he was joking.

“I will have to weigh that against the joys of a French prison then, my lord,” Granger said with a smile. “I'd also like to take Carmody with me today, my lord. If he's to go with the deportees, he has a vested interest in making sure they're prepared for their voyage.”

“Arrange it as you please, Mr. Granger.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Granger said. “I was wondering if we might also note, for the record, my lord, that Mr. Carmody volunteered to join the deportee fleet.”

“You mean you would like me not to destroy his career Mr. Granger?” Granger nodded, grinning. “Very well. I'll have to satisfy myself by gnawing on Captain Knight's bones.”

“Thank you my lord,” Granger said again, then headed back up to the quarterdeck where he found Captain Knight, pacing, with a sour expression on his face.

Granger blocked his path. “Begging your pardon sir...”

“Yes Mr. Granger?”

“I'd like to take Mr. Carmody with me to help prepare the deportee fleet, if that meets with your approval sir?”

Knight sighed. He looked as if he was going to issue a smart-ass rejoinder but changed his mind. “You have my permission.”

A surprised Carmody appeared on deck, still managing to look crisp and well-turned-out as life on a flagship demanded. “I figured that since you were sailing with the deportees, you should be involved in prepping them for their mission. Do you speak French?”

“No,” said Carmody.

“That is alright. The French captain who will be in charge speaks fluent English,” Granger said.

“I'm sorry about last night,” Carmody said sheepishly.

“I suspect you were just following orders,” Granger observed.

“Doesn't make it right,” Carmody said. “Guess I'll pay the price, though. Life in a French prison, and even if they do let me go, my career is ruined.” He sighed. “It's not your problem, sorry to burden you with it.”

“It seems, Mr. Carmody, that Lord Hood is under the impression that you volunteered for this duty. At least that's what his lordship was planning to show in his report,” Granger said in a flat manner.

Carmody looked at him, uncomprehending at first, then his eyes lit up. “Thanks.” Granger just smiled at him. Then Granger switched topics, and explained what had to be done to the ships to prepare them to sail. They arrived at the Entreprenant and Granger sought out Captain Bouvet.

“You are back again Mr. Granger?” Bouvet asked. “You wanted to spend more time with me, to enjoy my charming company?”

Granger grinned at him. Bouvet had been anything but charming yesterday. Nelson had almost strung him up on the spot. “I fear your current situation has had an adverse effect on your charms, Captain.”

That made Bouvet smile. “Perhaps you are correct.” Granger introduced Carmody, and then outlined their plan.

“You are telling me that you are releasing me and the loyal sailors, and giving us four battleships to sail to one of the Atlantic ports?” Bouvet was clearly as surprised as Granger had been. “How will I pass through your blockade?”

“Lieutenant Carmody will accompany you, and will carry a guarantee of free passage signed by Lord Hood.” Bouvet nodded. “On one condition.”

“What?” Bouvet asked suspiciously.

“That Lieutenant Carmody be released and returned to England, safe and sound, upon completion of your voyage.”

Bouvet nodded. “You will be released safely Lieutenant.”

“Excellent,” said Granger. “Then you will need to move quickly if you are to disarm your ships and be ready to sail.”

The small party of three men walked their horses toward the new battery that had just been set up, and which the French had christened the Fort de la Montaigne. Two of the men were so nervous they were almost shaking. One held a bugle to sound a parley, while the other carried a white flag. The third, a Royal Navy lieutenant, was more confident and resolved.

Granger looked over at the bugler and nodded. They were close enough to be fired upon, which meant they were close enough to signal their approach. The bugler began to blow, and the soldier holding the flag seemed to lift it up a little higher, as if to emphasize their peaceful intentions. They got to within one hundred feet of the hastily constructed, crude battery, where they were met by two French officers, also on horseback.

The man in charge had dark hair, the swarthy looks of a southern Frenchman, perhaps even an Italian. He was so short it was obvious even as he sat in the saddle. Granger stared into his eyes. They were like pits of fire, burning with energy and determination. And ruthlessness.

“Lieutenant George Granger, of His Britannic Majesty's Navy. Lord Hood has sent me to arrange a certificate of safe passage for one of our officers,” Granger said carefully, in French.

“Capitaine Napoleon Buonaparte,” said the young officer. “Why would we want to issue a certificate of safe passage to one of your officers?”

“Lord Hood plans to release a number of French sailors, approximately 5000 souls, by loading them into four disarmed battleships and permitting them to sail to Brest, L'Orient, or one of the other French Atlantic ports.” Granger was calm and unruffled.

“Why should we do this? We will recapture Toulon and the fleet shortly anyway,” Buonaparte said.

“I admire your confidence, Capitaine. Does that mean you are unwilling to grant our officer a free passage?” Granger was not about to argue the relative strengths of their positions, especially since he had little knowledge of the conflict on land.

“I will allow you to speak with my commanding officer,” Buonaparte said. “You will not need these other men. You will be blindfolded for the journey.”

Granger turned and dismissed the bugler and the flag bearer, watching them canter off at a most undignified pace. “I must thank you Capitaine,” Granger said. One of the aides strode up and tied a crude, and odorous, scarf around his head. He released the reigns to the aide and felt his horse start moving. He heard voices, some deriding shouts, and then all the smells of an army: Horses, and human waste. Finally, the horse stopped.

“You may dismount,” the aide said. Granger swung himself off the horse and the aide removed his blindfold. He found himself standing in front of a large country house, probably quite grand before the army commandeered it as their headquarters. The aide led him into the building, and then into a large room. Seated at a large table was an officer wearing the uniform of a General, flanked by two civilians. The civilians must be the “representatives” sent by Robespierre's government to keep an eye on the army, or more appropriately, the political reliability of its officers. These men were the real powers in this room.

“General Carteaux,” the general said, introducing himself. “Monsieur Freron, Monsieur Barras,” he said, introducing the civilians.

“Lieutenant George Granger,” he said. Granger eyed these men gravely. He had to force himself to adopt a tone of respect to these men, scum, who had overthrown the social order and had visited such cruel reparations on those who rose up in Lyon and Marseilles.

“What do you want?” demanded Freron rudely. Granger outlined the plan to repatriate the sailors and the four battleships.

“You could just release the sailors here, to us,” Barras said.

“Monsieur,” Granger said, “It is possible that their revolutionary zeal would encourage them to join your forces and fight against us.” Granger was irritated that they would think him a total idiot, although he personally thought Hood's plan to set them free was madness, so maybe they figured it was worth a shot.

They eyed Granger, and he met their gazes head on. For Granger, the biggest problem was not hiding his fear, for he had buried that much deeper than that. It was hiding his disdain. This must be how Freddie felt when a delegation of farmers came to demand new cottages, or lower rents. Freddie, heartless and cold, would want to lynch them just as these men wanted to string Granger up. The thought of that scene almost made Granger laugh out loud.

Their eyes then looked at each other, and Barras spoke again. “We will provide you with this certificate. Please wait in the anteroom and we will prepare the document, and then lead you back to your lines.”

“Thank you,” Granger said. It took them almost two hours to draft a simple document, but in the end it was done. Another aide blindfolded him again, this time with a clean scarf, and led him back to Toulon. The aide took off the blindfold and pointed him in the right direction, then left him there. Granger blinked his eyes at the light, but it wasn't as bright as it should be. He turned to see the sun beginning to set, and then spurred his horse into a full canter. He had to reach the British lines before dark, otherwise they wouldn't be able to see his uniform and there was a reasonable chance he'd be shot.

He approached the lines and a bullet flew over his head. Idiots. Granger dismounted and walked his horse the rest of the way. “Hold there!” he heard a voice say. Then he found himself face to face with a burly sergeant. “Well what do we have here?”

“You call me sir,” Granger said firmly. He was tired and irritable from his journey. “Lieutenant George Granger, on Lord Hood's staff.”

“Yes sir,” said the sergeant, abashed. Granger remounted his horse and headed for the inner harbor to check on the progress Carmody and Bouvet were making. He found them hard at work, with Orion moored alongside the dock.

“We've got the men working in shifts. They'll be at it all night, but we should be ready to sail on the 21st,” Carmody said. He was actually enthusiastic about his task.

“Hang on to this,” Granger said, handing Carmody his free passage certificate. Carmody opened it and Bouvet looked over his shoulder and gasped.

“You got Monsieur Barras to sign that?” He was stunned. “You, my friend, will have carte blanche to leave France with that,” he said to Carmody.

“How did you get this?” Carmody asked.

“I went to see the French commander under a flag of truce,” Granger said simply. “And now I must return to the flagship.” Granger was not in the mood for Carmody's expressions of thanks and praise.

“Thanks,” Carmody said, and shook his hand firmly. Granger nodded and dragged himself to the barge. He looked at the men as they rowed to the flagship, looked at them without seeing them. It was a thoroughly exhausted George Granger that climbed the side of the Victory.

But that was not the end of it, not by a long shot. He had to give Lord Hood, Curtis, and Cavendish a detailed description of his journey to see Carteaux, and an update on their plans. Then a brief dinner. And finally, Granger was able to head back to his cabin and sink into his cot, and into Shafte's waiting and willing ass.