HMS Belvidera - 10. Chapter 10

September, 1795

It had taken them three days to catch up with the convoy, the fluky winds that had assailed them yesterday must have sped the convoy on. But Belvidera was a good sailor, especially after the changes to her armament. That was the topic of discussion as Granger entertained his officers at dinner.

“I think replacing those carronades has made the ship much more maneuverable,” Granger said.

“When we were battling Floreal, it would have been difficult to execute some of those maneuvers with her as she handled before,” Bailey said agreeably. Granger was the captain, so he knew they would all agree with him. They chatted on about that, until Cavendish changed the topic.

“Begging your pardon sir, but when do you think we'll be back in England?” Cavendish asked.

“Sometime in October, I should think,” Granger said. He hadn't really thought about that, about the reality that he would in fact be going back home. “Once we're there, I'm not sure how much time we'll have before we're back at sea again.”

“We are destined for the Mediterranean?” Roberts asked.

“We are, although I wouldn't bank on it. We were supposed to be on our way to India now,” Granger joked. They laughed with him, if for no other reason than because he was the captain.

“If Sir John requested you, sir, then it is unlikely they'll send you elsewhere,” Merrick opined.

“That's probably true,” Granger said. “Not even the Admiralty wants to tangle with Sir John.” That got a round of laughs. The dinner went on, with good conversation. After they had finished dining, Granger and Cavendish played their instruments, Granger the clarinet and Cavendish the violin, while Lennox sang along with them. He saw shadows over his skylight as those on watch gathered to hear. Granger felt like a rank amateur, playing with his two talented midshipmen. Lennox had a voice as sweet as any he'd heard, and Cavendish played the violin like a member of the symphony.

A change in the watch served to break up their party, and Granger found himself alone in his cabin. He hadn't had any trysts since his encounter with Roberts and Merrick. From the way they had been getting along, though, he assumed they had. He just hoped they had sense enough to be discreet. He had wondered if Lennox would linger, but he didn't. Lennox was a shy person, and it almost irritated Granger that he had to make all the moves. He scolded himself, telling himself that any midshipman would defer to a captain. He remembered back to his own times with his captain, Sir Evelyn, and how he'd always waited for him to request his presence.

There was a knock on the door, and Mr. Cavendish came walking in. Granger smiled at him. When he'd first joined Granger aboard Intrepid, Cavendish had been all thumbs, incredibly shy, and seemed completely out of his element. It was hard to believe that was only eight months ago. What a difference the time had made! Cavendish was due to celebrate his sixteenth birthday in January, and he'd gone from an awkward adolescent into a budding young man. His face had changed with his body, getting longer and sexier, but his eyes, those pale blue eyes, hadn't changed at all. They were inquisitive without being aggressive, very disarming in and of themselves. If his physical appearance had altered markedly, that was nothing compared to the way he comported himself now. Gone was the awkward young man who stumbled, replaced by an agile young midshipman who could run across a yard with no apparent fear. Gone was the shy young man, too timid to take charge. He was replaced by a confident officer who seemed to be a natural leader.

“What is it, Mr. Cavendish?” Granger asked.

“Mr. Roberts wanted to let you know that the flag has signaled night stations, sir,” he said crisply.

“Very well, I'll come,” he said. “Did you have plans after your watch?”

“No sir,” Cavendish said.

“Would you care to play some more? I haven't enjoyed myself like that for some time,” Granger asked.

“I'd like that sir,” Cavendish said, flashing his smile at Granger. What a charmer. No wonder he'd been so successful with the ladies when they'd been in Philadelphia, Granger thought. He remembered Calvert's statement after they'd left America, that one didn't need to be charming or handsome if one's father was a duke. Remembering that made him remember Calvert, and that threatened to bring his latent loneliness back to the surface.

“Excellent. Then I will see you here with your violin after the watch ends,” Granger said. He strode past Cavendish and went up on deck to inspect the convoy.

Granger had to give Wilcox grudging approval for the way the ships were disposed. Belvidera was in the lead, while Centurion and Illustrious were in the center with the convoy. Trailing them was the sloop Echo, rousting the stragglers and watching to make sure there were no ships following them. Echo was lucky, because East Indiamen were usually well-crewed and officered, and kept station better than the average merchantman. Being in front of the convoy suited Granger perfectly. It kept him away from the admiral and the social whirl of the other ships, and he liked to be in the lead, to see what was out there.

“Good evening, sir,” Roberts said, as if they hadn't finished dining half an hour ago.

“Good evening,” he said.

“We are at night stations, but there was no reduction of sail, sir,” Roberts said.

“Indeed?” Granger asked. That was odd. Usually the convoy reduced sail at night to help avoid collisions. “Are you sure?”

“Mr. Lennox!” Roberts called.

“Sir!” Lennox said smartly.

“Please read back the signal we received from Centurion,” Roberts said.

“Aye aye sir,” Lennox said, and pulled out his log. “Flag to convoy, take night stations.”

“Nothing about reducing sail?” Granger asked.

“No sir,” Lennox said.

“Then we must be vigilant to make sure no Indiamen run aboard tonight,” Granger joked.

“Yes sir,” Roberts said cheerfully. Granger left them, went back to his cabin, and absorbed himself in his correspondence. He'd gotten a letter from Bertie. Bertie's letters always made him smile. His middle brother had managed to figure out how to transfer his considerable charm and playfulness onto paper. Granger thought of the letters he'd written back and how dull and dry they were. He'd have to do better next time. In any event, Bertie wouldn't be in India much longer, at least according to his letter. Apparently there was an expedition in the works to take over the Dutch East Indies and he'd be going along as governor of the new territory. It was hard to picture Bertie giving up his luxurious life in Madras to rummage around in the humid and disease-infested Spice Islands. The lure there was money, lots of money, though, so it was no wonder he would be in the thick of it. Granger thought about how his brother had been all but disowned because of his gambling debts. He may end up richer than all of them.

There was a knock at his door, followed by Cavendish. He carried his violin in its case; the instrument was clearly precious to him. “I just got off watch, sir” he said.

“That's excellent,” Granger said. He got his clarinet and they began to play, at first picking songs that they knew. They sat across from each other, and Granger watched Cavendish put his all into the song. He almost went into a trance, his beautiful blue eyes glazing over as he let the music carry him. Occasionally he would emerge from his trance and smile at Granger. Granger pulled out some sheet music he'd brought with him, and they put it under the light of the lantern and huddled together so they could both see it. It was harder at first, as they tried to read the music, but they gradually got the hang of each other, the rhythm. Granger was conscious of the lad's closeness, of his body brushing against his as they played. Finally, with Cavendish's arms tired and Granger's lips all but exhausted, they ended their session.

“Thank you sir,” Cavendish said, grinning. “That was marvelous. I love to play, but don't often get the chance.”

“Then we will have to do this more often,” Granger said. Cavendish got up as if to leave, but Granger was enjoying his company, and didn't want to see him go. There was something about the young man that drew him in. “Join me for a glass before you leave.”

“With pleasure, sir,” he said. Granger poured them both a glass of port that he'd bought in London. It was only adequate, and he said so to Cavendish.

“So growing up, did you spend most of your years in London, or in the country?” Granger asked.

“At first, when I was a small child, I was mostly in the country, sir,” he said. “In Nottinghamshire. But after I turned ten, I spent a lot more time in London.”

“Much as I did,” Granger said. “Your father was a supporter of Charles James Fox at one time, was he not?”

“Yes sir, but they had a falling out over this French revolution. Mr. Fox adopted a more radical line, while my father supports the government, enough that he's become part of it,” Cavendish said.

From there the conversation flowed on, mostly about politics. Granger thoroughly enjoyed himself, as if he'd found a kindred spirit. Lennox wasn't as well informed as Cavendish, so with this young man, Granger could gossip and joke about people at court and almost feel like he was home. “I suspect that we will become distant relatives in the near future, sir,” Cavendish said with a grin.

“Indeed?” Granger asked.

“There is to be a marriage between the daughter of the Duke of Devonshire and your brother. The young ladies are cousins, so I know them well,” he said.

“I'd heard rumors of that when I was in London, but I was led to believe those plans had fallen through,” Granger observed, remembering Caroline's comments as they'd toured their new home.

“My understanding is that the deal is all but done, it is only the price they are arguing over. I fear your father may have negotiated a better dowry for you than he'll get for your brother,” Cavendish said with a grin. “I'm not sure which daughter, but whichever one she is, she's bound to be a spitfire.”

Granger laughed. “I'm not sure how well a high-spirited woman will do with my brother. He's a bit stodgy and dry.”

“Perhaps she'll loosen him up a little bit, sir,” Cavendish said. He stifled a yawn, and Granger felt bad for keeping him from his much-needed rest.

Granger stood up. “I enjoyed our time together, Mr. Cavendish,” Granger said politely.

“As did I sir,” Cavendish said. Did his eyes sparkle when he said that? “I'm available whenever you need me.” Granger got the distinct impression that it wasn't just whenever, it was for whatever, and that intrigued him. He went to bed that night, thinking about his brown haired midshipman.

The next morning found the convoy scattered miles apart, as some of the ships had instinctively shortened sail, while others had obeyed the signal and had not. The funniest part, if one was inclined to laugh at the misfortunes of Admiral Wilcox, was that his own flagship had been rammed from astern by an Indiaman, severely damaging the stern of Centurion and the Admiral's own cabin. It took almost the whole day to round the ships up again, and it made the Admiral look like an imbecile in front of the whole convoy.

The convoy had passed Tenerife yesterday and was heading toward Madeira. Granger was up at dawn as he always was, as the whole ship was. Like all Royal Navy ships, Belvidera greeted each day with the men at quarters. Granger had learned that lesson a long time ago, when dawn had broke and he'd found himself at close range with a French ship.

“Bit of light, sir,” Merrick said. The change in him had been enormous. He positively hung on every word Roberts said. For most, it looked like he was being a good subordinate, but for Granger, who knew better, it looked like he was in love. What's more, Roberts seemed to return those feelings. Granger thought they were discreet enough, but it was hard to know.

“So there is,” Granger agreed. “Make sure the lookouts are awake.” Granger had a bad feeling that there was something out there, he sensed danger. It was just an instinct, nothing he could quantify, but he'd learned to trust his intuition.

“Aye aye sir,” said Merrick. As the sky lightened, Granger saw Cavendish over by the starboard carronades. He must have sensed Granger's eyes on him, as he looked back and grinned slightly. They'd spent every other night or so playing, usually by themselves, then they'd relax with a glass and gossip about all the people they knew at court. Granger thought about inviting Lennox, but he didn't want to. Cavendish had a charm and a confidence about him that was captivating, and Granger wanted to experience that without distraction. He'd done nothing, made no moves on the young man. It just didn't feel right to him, even though with each passing evening he found Cavendish more and more attractive. And with each session, each conversation, he felt the bond between them grow.

“Deck there, ship off the larboard bow!” came the hail from the tops.

Granger grabbed his glass and peered into the still dark skies. The lookouts in the tops would see the ship first, and best, in these conditions. “Deck there, she's ship-rigged. She looks like the Floreal!”

“How close?” Granger shouted.

“About a mile away sir!” Came the response. Granger headed forward and made the climb up the foremast to the fore maintop. There, with his glass in the lightening sky, he saw the Floreal, sailing along as if she didn't have a care in the world.

“Mr. Lennox!” Granger called before heading back down. “What's the night signal for enemy in sight?”

“Two Bengal lanterns, sir” he said.

“Well make that signal,” Granger ordered. He scrambled down the backstay and strode back to the quarterdeck. “It seems we've met Floreal again, only this time, the odds are on our side.” Illustrious or Centurion, individually, should be more than a match for the French ship.

“Flag acknowledges sir!” Lennox shouted. Floreal had surely sighted them, but perhaps she'd only seen Belvidera? She was still standing toward them, downwind of the convoy.

The sun, when it came up, rose so suddenly it seemed to catch them all off guard. “Mr. Lennox, signal the flag that the enemy is a 74-gun ship of the line,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Granger looked back, expecting the Centurion or Illustrious to pour on sail to intercept the ship, but they did nothing of the kind. Granger hid his amazement at this, at having the admiral so blithely ignore this ship that had caused them so much pain and suffering.

“Sir, Flag to Belvidera, engage the enemy more closely,” Lennox said.

“Sir?” Roberts asked. Wilcox was sending Belvidera in alone?

“Illustrious to flag. Interrogatory,” Lennox said. Granger smiled. That would be Captain Howard, wondering why he wasn't being released to engage the French ship. Howard was tenacious, like a bulldog, and would be beside himself at being held back from the battle.

“Did she get a reply?” Granger asked.

“No sir, but it looks as if they're having a conversation with speaking trumpets,” Lennox said. Illustrious was in the lead, and with his glass, he could see Howard leaning over the taffrail.

“Send up our own interrogatory, Mr. Lennox,” Granger said. He had no intention of throwing Belvidera into a ship-to-ship fight against Floreal.

“Sir, flag repeats signal to engage more closely,” Lennox said.

“Mr. Roberts, clear for action,” Granger ordered. “Mr. Lennox, signal message not understood.”

“Aye aye sir,” Lennox said. The bosuns played “Hearts of Oak” on their pipes and the men, already at quarters, began the process of tearing down all unnecessary items and storing them below. It had taken Winkler a week to get things organized after the last time they'd cleared for action, so God only knew how long it would take him this time.

“Let's get the topsails on her,” Granger said. The men rushed up the rigging and out onto the yards, releasing the gaskets that held the sails. Belvidera responded immediately, surging forward, challenging the French ship again.

“Sir, Centurion is simply repeating the same order. Our number, with engage the enemy more closely,” Lennox said.

“Very well,” Granger said. “We will see if we can't dismast her again, gentlemen.” They would willingly go into battle, but this, being thrown out as some sacrifice, this was maddening.

“Do you intend to close with her, sir?” Roberts asked.

“I intend to harass her,” Granger replied.

“Sir, Floreal has gone about,” yelled the lookout. It was true. She'd finally seen the convoy and turned to flee.

“Let's get the topgallants on her,” Granger ordered. In the last battle, Floreal was the faster ship, but in this one, with these seas, Belvidera had the advantage. But the trade-off for that was that the seas were relatively calm and that meant that Floreal could use her lower deck guns. Those were massive 36-pounders, guns that would turn Belvidera into boxwood with a few well-aimed broadsides.

“Sir, the convoy is maintaining course and speed,” Lennox observed. Wilcox was making no effort to aid him. He would let Belvidera be pulverized, and then come up with his ships and complete the capture with little effort. It was a cowardly thing to do, and it made Granger's blood boil. He watched as the convoy dropped further and further behind. Belvidera was closing on Floreal, closing quickly.

“Mr. Roberts, I'll need enough men to handle the sails and to man one side of the guns,” Granger ordered. “Mr. Merrick, you may commence firing with the forward guns as you see fit.”

Closer and closer they got, to the point that they could clearly see Floreal's name inscribed on her ornate stern. It was horseshoe shaped, like most French ships. He saw one of Belvidera's balls crash through the stern gallery. That would certainly inconvenience her captain.

“Sir, Illustrious has increased sail!” Lennox said. Granger looked back and saw Illustrious piling on every piece of canvas she could carry. The winds were strong, but Howard was risking everything now to come to his aid. Howard must have finally decided to do the right thing, even if that meant disobeying orders. That was a bold step. Granger hoped he would be in time.

“Mr. Merrick,” Granger called.

“Sir?” he said, and appeared in the waist.

“We're going to luff across her stern to see if you can rake her twice before we have to dodge those broadsides,” Granger said. “Double shot the larboard guns, with grape on top of that.”

“Aye aye sir,” Merrick replied.

“Sir,” Lennox said urgently. “Flag is signaling Illustrious to resume her station.” They heard a gun behind them as Centurion fired a gun to get Howard's attention. But Howard had made his decision, and he would suffer the consequences.

“Illustrious is coming to help us, gentlemen, so we must try and slow down Floreal enough so she can engage,” Granger observed to the deck at large. He saw the excited grins of the men at the nearest carronade. Knowing that there was a ship-of-the-line coming into the battle, that they wouldn't be alone, had improved morale immeasurably.

Granger watched Floreal's stern approaching, biding his time, waiting for just the right moment. “Ready helm,” Granger said. “Mr. Roberts, when we turn, I want to back the fore topsail to slow us. That will be your responsibility. As soon as we have taken some way off of her, you must reverse it again so we can regain our speed quickly.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said.

“Now, starboard your helm,” Granger ordered. “Fire as you bear, Mr. Merrick.”

Belvidera swung to starboard, and Granger saw the smasher fire first. He watched as the huge 68 pound ball burst too soon. He had hoped it would pass through her stern and burst among the guns, spraying grape down the length of the gundeck. It hit the solid part of the stern instead, and while it blasted Floreal's stern to pieces, the carnage inside would be minimal. He watched as the glass windows shattered into deadly shards. Now came the main guns as they came to bear. He watched as the guns slammed into her, with much better results. That had given the Frog a bloody nose.

“Now, Mr. Roberts,” Granger shouted. The Belvidera backed her foretopsail, taking some of the way off of her, just enough to get in another broadside. He saw Floreal start to come about and ordered Roberts to return the foretopsail to its normal position. Belvidera responded beautifully, surging ahead.

“Helm, starboard a point,” Granger ordered, taking Belvidera back upwind. By the time Floreal had turned to the starboard to engage her, Belvidera had retreated to the edge of Floreal's range.

“Beautiful, sir,” Roberts said, the fire of battle in his eyes. It was not as intense as Grafton's, but it was still pretty intense. He watched as Floreal's broadside erupted, and watched as a few of the balls cut through the rigging. They'd gotten lucky that time.

Floreal made a lumbering turn to larboard, to continue in her efforts to escape, which was just fine with Granger. “Larboard your helm,” Granger ordered. The Belvidera resumed her chase, trailing after the Floreal. He'd used these same maneuvers with Intrepid, only then he'd had a sloop battling a frigate, now he had a frigate battling a ship of the line. The only problem this time was that the wind was off Floreal's quarter, and that made approaching her much more dangerous. She was more maneuverable, and she wouldn't fall for that trick a second time.

“Mr. Merrick, we'll have the larboard battery in action again, but I want you to run out the starboard guns,” Granger shouted. He didn't even wait for his acknowledgement. “Mr. Roberts, we're going to pretend as if we're turning to larboard. Floreal won't want that kind of punishment again, so she'll anticipate us and turn with us. It is my intention to then continue straight on and cross her stern again.” It was important that Roberts understood his plans, just in case he was cut down.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Granger heard the rumble as the starboard battery ran out. “Helm, one point to larboard,” Granger ordered. Belvidera began to turn, slowly this time, and just as he'd expected, Floreal matched his moves. He waited until she was committed to her course change.

“Mr. Merrick, run in the starboard guns and prepare to engage with the larboard battery,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. The wheel went back over and Belvidera swung back on her original course. He watched the confusion on Floreal as she frantically tried to do the same. As Floreal turned north again, Belvidera swung east, and in the process, Floreal once more exposed her vulnerable stern.

The smasher went off, followed in quick succession by the rest of the battery. He watched the huge carronade ball soar through her stern windows, or at least where they used to be, and burst in her lower deck. That would create some carnage. He'd hoped to damage her rudder, but that didn't happen.

He watched Floreal coming around and knew that this time they wouldn't be able to escape unscathed. They'd have to pay for that maneuver this time; they'd have to take a broadside from Floreal. Granger forced himself not to swallow, to stand still and show no fear. Slowly Floreal turned, until the two ships were on parallel course, and he watched anxiously as her broadside erupted.

The French strategy in battle was to aim at the rigging to disable the other ship, while the British strategy was to pound away at the hull, causing as much carnage as possible in an attempt to induce the other ship to surrender. Granger heard the shots howl through the air as if it was slow motion. He saw a shot crash into the carronade close to him, dislodging the gun and decapitating a seaman. The man's headless body fell in front of Granger and seemed to wiggle on the deck as blood poured out of his neck. Granger forced himself to look away from the gruesome sight.

He heard Belvidera's guns firing, and then heard the deeper roar as the Floreal fired again. A shot crashed into the forecastle, knocking the smasher off her slide and wounding two men.

“Look out sir!” he heard Cavendish yell, and then felt the young man tackle him and push him out of the way. He heard an enormous sound as the mizzen mast crashed almost to the deck. They'd rigged slings, a net that was supposed to catch falling spars, and it worked to a degree. He felt Cavendish gasp in pain, and scrambled out from under him. There, stuck into the back of his left thigh, was a large splinter that was at least a foot long, presumably from the mast.

“You there,” Granger shouted. “Carefully, get him below!” One of the loblolly boys ran over, assisted by another, and they dragged Cavendish below. Granger met his eyes and nodded. The young man didn't scream in pain once. God damn Wilcox to hell, Granger thought. This was all his doing. His quest for revenge against Granger and his family had brought them to this, to sacrificing innocent lives to satisfy a dishonorable feud. He pulled his thoughts back to his ship. She'd lost her mizzen mast and her main top mast, and was swinging down wind. In a moment, she'd expose her fragile bow to Floreal, and that would be devastating.

“Mr. Roberts!” Granger called.

“Sir?” he asked. He had a bloody bandage wrapped around his head.

“Cut away that wreckage, quickly!” Granger said. He gritted his teeth, waiting for the next broadside, waiting for more death maybe even his own.

“Get the fore topsail in!” he shouted into the rigging. The men listened to him quickly. The rigging was a complicated system of checks and balances. Without the main topmast to balance the foremast, the sail might possible pull the whole fore topmast down as well.

Only some of Merrick's guns were firing as they swung toward Floreal. He heard her massive armament fire again, and watched as the main and foretopmasts vanished as if by thin air. No need to take in the fore topsail now, he thought ruefully.

“Helm, keep her rudder to starboard,” Granger said. “Mr. Roberts, we need this wreckage cleared!” He was already working on it frantically. The wreckage was acting as a sea anchor, pulling Belvidera into the wind and straight for Floreal. But there was too much of it, and there was no way they'd get rid of it in time to avoid another broadside.

“Look sir!” Lennox said, pointing emphatically. And there, passing just astern of them was Illustrious. She was a beautiful sight, perhaps the most beautiful thing Granger had ever seen. Her starboard ports were open and her guns run out, ready for action, while her sails made her seem like some angel, a messenger of death, at least for the French. They heard the cheers as the men from Illustrious yelled for them and their bravery, the cheers returned by the Belvidera's men as they urged their countrymen on.

Floreal had been so intent on destroying Belvidera; she'd seemingly overlooked the approaching Illustrious. She turned sharply away, heading north, and as she did, those terrible broadsides swung away from Belvidera. For the moment, Belvidera was safe. “Mr. Roberts, Illustrious has given us time. Try to fish those spars,” Granger ordered. Spare spars were a precious commodity at sea, so she'd need all the remnants she could save. They'd fish them out of the water and save what they could. He turned his attention back to the battle as it unfolded.

Floreal's turn was awkward, and Granger noticed for the first time that she'd actually reduced sail so as to concentrate her fire on Belvidera. She would pay for that now. Illustrious yawed slightly to the larboard and Granger watched as her starboard broadside, freshly loaded double-shotted guns, discharged its contents into Floreal's stern. Floreal shook as the balls hit her; it almost looked like she was staggering under the onslaught.

Howard made no fancy maneuvers. His ship was designed to slug it out, yard arm to yard arm, with ships just like Floreal, so that's what he did. They watched in awe as the Illustrious gained on Floreal, and saw her forward guns and Floreal's rear-most guns go off as the two ships drew parallel to each other. Now Illustrious was right alongside the Floreal, and now British gunnery decided the day. Granger watched as the Illustrious fired three broadsides for every two that Floreal managed, and noticed that ratio increase and increase. Then came the penultimate moment, the moment when Floreal's colors came down, when she struck to Illustrious. The men on Belvidera cheered themselves hoarse, and Granger let them go. They'd earned this victory. He looked at his watch and discovered that Illustrious had forced Floreal to surrender in just 15 minutes of fighting.

Granger looked at his shattered ship. He watched as the wreckage was slowly cut away and what they could recover was salvaged, he watched as the wounded were hauled below, and he watched as the guns were secured. He watched and took it all in, a dull rage growing in his chest, a rage at Wilcox. If he'd let Illustrious pursue Floreal from the beginning, none of this would have happened. Granger would have been able to delay her enough to let Illustrious catch up, and they would have taken, at most, one broadside. The blood of his men, that blood was on Wilcox's hands.

The convoy was up to them now. Granger watched Centurion go by, her crews cheering until they were silenced. The Indiamen had no such qualms, the sailors cheering themselves hoarse. Granger let his men enjoy their accolades, and then it was time to get back to work and to get Belvidera back under way.