HMS Belvidera - 11. Chapter 11

September, 1795

Granger looked aloft at Belvidera's jury-rigged mizzen mast. They'd managed to get enough sail on her to keep up with the convoy, but just barely. And the rigging itself, the ropes and spars, would require a lot of work to get back to something even moderately stable. He thought of what would happen to her with her current rig in the storms of the North Atlantic, and that was enough to cause Granger serious anxiety. Their number one priority was to make Belvidera whole, and her sails were her engine. Without them, she was as good as lost.

In the short time since the action with Floreal, they had worked wonders. They'd managed to get the ship underway, and once that was done, they'd gone about trying to set the hull to rights, and returning all the items removed for action. Granger thought about the prize crew commanding Floreal, and how they'd suffer from the elements without her stern windows. He thanked his lucky stars that he was saved that inconvenience, that Belvidera hadn't taken any damage on her stern. Securing the guns, including those damaged, had taken most of their time. The carpenter was busy at work, the sound of hammers resonating through the ship. Unlike last time, though, most of the damage had been aloft. Belvidera had taken no balls below the waterline. That meant only normal shifts on the pumps, but even more importantly, it meant that there was a relatively low number of casualties. There were five killed and 24 wounded. Granger's next action was to go down to see the wounded.

He descended down to the orlop and worked his way to the sick bay. Granger had been lucky in many things, but finding a good ship's surgeon had been one of the luckiest. Doctor Jackson had once been a renowned London practitioner before debts and women had caused him to flee and join the Navy. He took his duties seriously, and did everything in his power to make those who were wounded better, or at least more comfortable. When he'd shown Granger the bill for medical supplies and Granger had shelled out money for them without question, it had been a leap of faith, a trust that the doctor would use the expensive supplies effectively. But he had proven that to Granger time and time again, so much so that Granger almost gave him a blank check. As a result, Belvidera had one of the best-stocked sick-bays in the fleet.

As Granger entered the sick bay, he'd noticed another major difference in this room as opposed to the sick-bays in other ships. In Intrepid, Jackson had been adamant that the wounded needed fresh air to flush out the ill humors in the stuffy rooms. As a result, and because of the respect he garnered from Granger and the others, the carpenter and sail maker had gone to work and devised canvas vents that funneled fresh air from the outside into the sick-bay.

Granger spotted Dr. Jackson off in the corner, presumably working on one of the men. He stood up when he saw Granger, his blood red apron a depressing reminder of the carnage of battle. “How are the men?” Granger asked.

“We have 24 wounded, sir,” he said. “I think we may be able to save 15-20 of them, but it is too soon to tell.” That was really a phenomenal projection. Most ships were lucky if half the wounded survived.

“That is truly excellent doctor,” Granger said. “How is Mr. Cavendish?”

“He is recovering, sir,” Jackson said. “I removed the splinter but left the wound open. I want to go back in, when I have better light, and probe for more shards of wood.”

“You may move him to my cabin,” Granger said. “The stern windows should give you ample light.”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson said with a grin. Cavendish wasn't as popular as Lennox with the crew, primarily because he kept a wider gulf between himself and the men. That was part of his breeding, his social background, and his personality reinforced that. But among the officers, he displayed his normally cheerful personality, and they had grown attached to him.

He walked over toward where Cavendish lay and stopped to talk to the wounded men as he passed. These men had put their lives on the line for him, they'd trusted him, and it was such a simple thing to spend a few minutes with them, to encourage them and praise their efforts. Granger finally found Cavendish in a corner, sprawled out on his stomach with a bandage wrapped around his thigh. There was a blanket covering him, but it wasn't low enough, so the bottom part of his ass was exposed. Granger found himself staring at it, marveling at how beautiful it was. Thin, with dimples in the cheeks, it was so smooth it seemed to flow seamlessly into Cavendish's legs. Those were spread enough that Granger could see the very slight dusting of brown hair that started at his balls and faded to nothing by the time it got to his hole. When Granger's eyes got to his hole, and realized that his sexy little pucker was almost winking at him, he had to forcibly pull his eyes away. To avoid any further temptation, Granger tactfully pulled the blanket down.

“Was I exposed sir?” Cavendish asked playfully.

“Can't have you tempting the men,” Granger teased.

“Just the men, sir?” Cavendish asked, almost flirting.

“Perhaps not,” Granger said with a grin. “You saved my life.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but it was for my own account that I did. I would have no one interesting to converse with if you were killed,” Cavendish said. For a wounded man, he was in an excellent mood. It occurred to Granger that his mood, his perkiness, was probably the way he hid his pain.

“Dr. Jackson wants to explore your wound to make sure that he got all the shards of wood,” Granger said, and watched him cringe. “He's going to move you to my cabin, and you can recover there afterward.”

“I'll try not to snore, sir,” he said, pulling himself back into his good mood.

“Sir,” came a voice behind him. “Flag is signaling for all captains to repair on board.” It was Lennox.

“Thank you Mr. Lennox. Please acknowledge the signal and call away my gig,” Granger ordered. Lennox looked beyond Granger, to Cavendish, his expression filled with worry. They were good friends. “We are moving Mr. Cavendish to my cabin, where the light is better. After you have finished those tasks, I'd like you to supervise that move.” Granger knew that no supervision was required, but it would give Cavendish someone he trusted with him, and give Lennox something to do to help him.

“Aye aye sir,” Lennox said, then left to go attend to his signals and Granger's gig.

“I must go meet with our admiral,” Granger said. “I will see you when I return.”

“Thanks for visiting me sir,” Cavendish said. Their eyes met and they connected. All those nights of playing music and gossiping had brought them closer than Granger had realized. As he looked at the barely clad young man in front of him, Granger felt deep concern, concern that showed how much he cared about him. He brushed his hand affectionately over Cavendish's face and then headed back to his cabin, where Winkler was pulling his things back into order.

“I'll need a clean shirt and my second-best uniform coat,” Granger said. Second-best was more than sufficient for Wilcox.

“Right away, sir,” Winkler said.

“We're moving Mr. Cavendish into my cabin. You'll need to make sure they have a space partitioned off for him.”

“As disorganized as things are, sir, we'll have to try not to lose him in the mess,” Winkler joked. Granger smiled and shook his head. He put on the fresh shirt and coat, but he felt dirty. He needed a bath badly, but that would have to wait. After a spell with the comb, Granger dragged himself to his gig and headed to the Centurion to face his admiral.

His gig arrived right before Howard's. Granger climbed up Centurion's tall sides and hauled himself through the entry port with the agility of youth. He found a lieutenant waiting to escort him. “I'll lead you back to see the admiral, sir,” he said.

“I will wait for Captain Howard,” Granger said as he watched Howard's gig hook on to the chains.

“I have orders to escort you back immediately, sir” he said.

“Well, you tried to execute them and were unsuccessful,” Granger noted dourly.

“Yes sir,” the lieutenant said, abashed. Granger turned in time to see Howard climbing aboard.

“Granger! I'm glad to see you survived!” Howard said in a friendly tone.

“Thank you, sir, for defying your orders to come to our aid. My men and I are forever in your debt,” Granger said sincerely.

“I may need your help when we get home,” Howard said, referring to potential political cover. If there was an inquiry, Howard would need some friends to pull some levers to make sure his career wasn't destroyed. Granger smiled to himself, knowing that once Caroline and Arthur understood that Howard had saved his life, they'd fight like warriors for him.

“That won't be a problem, sir,” Granger said. Howard smiled at him and then led the way aft to the admiral's cabin. It was flattering to see how Granger's reassurance had eased Howard's mind. They entered together to find the admiral almost beside himself with anger.

“How dare you disobey my orders, Howard? You purposely disregarded my express orders, and my signals. The logs will clearly show that, at your court-martial,” Wilcox yelled.

Howard stood there and said nothing, so Granger intervened. “We all know there will be a court-martial, sir, and we all know who will be court-martialed,” Granger said evenly.

“Are you threatening me, Captain?” he demanded.

“I would have thought it was obvious, sir,” Granger said. “You neglected to support Belvidera, and cost her five men dead and 24 men wounded. All of those casualties were unnecessary. Without Captain Howard's support, the list would be much longer.”

“Nonsense!” he yelled. Granger ignored his response.

“I would have expected that you would have been planning to request one, sir,” Granger said.

“Why would I request my own court-martial?” Wilcox demanded.

“To an impartial observer, it would appear that you intended to throw Belvidera in as a sacrifice so you could come up and take Floreal with a minimum of effort,” Granger said.

“It's not my fault you couldn't fight your ship more effectively,” Wilcox said, now speaking loudly and firmly, but no longer yelling.

“Belvidera is a frigate, Floreal is a ship of the line, sir,” Granger observed calmly. “Ordering us to engage her was analogous to a pagan sacrifice.”

“So you say,” the admiral growled.

“In any event, it is not my place to be your judge. We will be needed as witnesses,” Granger said. He was trying to control his anger, but he was failing.

“I am gratified to hear that,” Wilcox said snidely. “There won't be a court-martial.”

“Then how will you answer the charges that will be levied against you? Charges of cowardice, sir.” Granger watched Wilcox's eyes bulge and he heard Howard almost gasp out loud next to him.

“Cowardice? Cowardice? You're accusing me of cowardice?” Wilcox spluttered.

“I am not, sir,” Granger said. “As I said, I am not your judge. I am sure you will mount a spirited defense against those charges.”

“You will pay for your insolence. You will pay for your insubordination with your commission! When the government hears of this...” Granger cut him off.

“When the government hears of this, it will probably be from the Duke of Portland, who will have interviewed his son. Lord Frederick Cavendish is lying in Belvidera's sickbay with a splinter wound, a wound he would not have if Belvidera had been adequately supported, sir,” Granger said. He heard his even tone, he heard his clear and concise words, while he felt the fire, the anger burning within, and worked manfully to control it. His last comment finally seemed to hit the admiral, the realization that he'd been playing with fire, and the lives he had so willingly risked weren't all merely expendable.

“Captain Howard, have you secured the prize?” Wilcox asked.

“I have, sir,” he answered. “There was considerable loss of life on board Floreal. Our own losses were three killed and 11 wounded,” he said.

“They fought that badly?” the admiral asked.

“They had been softened up for us, sir,” Howard said. Wilcox scowled at that.

“You may distribute the healthy prisoners between Centurion and Illustrious,” Wilcox said. “After you have done that, you can lead the convoy until Belvidera has repaired herself enough to resume those duties.”

“Our spars were heavily damaged, sir,” Granger said. “I'd like your permission to solicit spares from the convoy.”

“You are responsible for your own ship, Granger. There is no need to bother the others if you did not plan adequately for contingencies.”

“Aye aye, sir,” he said, and turned to leave. He imprinted Wilcox's words into his brain, memorized them. The admiral had bitched and moaned, but he hadn't forbidden Granger from seeking the spars he needed. But Granger knew that was merely an oversight on Wilcox's part. If Granger was to solicit help from the other ships, he'd have to do it with considerable stealth.

He and Howard walked out of the cabin, while Captain Flagg made to follow them, to escort them to the side. “Captain Flagg!” The admiral said, stopping him, evidently worried at the conversation Flagg would have with them.

“Sir?” Flagg asked.

“Never mind,” the admiral said, realizing such a precaution was useless in the long run. Flagg walked them along the deck until they were near the entry port, then he cleared away the people around him.

“I'm sorry, to both of you,” Flagg said. “We tried to persuade the admiral to support Belvidera, but he was adamant.”

“In the end, Captain Howard saved the day, sir,” Granger said. The unspoken words were that he had had the courage to do so, while Flagg had not. Howard's gig pulled up and he shook hands with Granger and Flagg before descending into his boat. Flagg looked at Granger, like he wanted to say more, but instead he just shook Granger's hand and left him there to wait for his own gig.

Granger got back to Belvidera in a foul mood. Clashing with Wilcox wasn't satisfying. The man was too stupid to be a challenge. He hauled himself aboard and saluted the quarterdeck, where he saw that they had the wash deck pump out and they were cleaning the blood off the deck. He decided that a bath would do much to restore him. “Mr. Merrick, I'll have a bath. Please keep the wash deck pump rigged.”

“Aye aye sir,” Merrick said.

Granger headed below to his cabin and found Winkler waiting for him. “Welcome back, sir,” he said. “We've put Mr. Cavendish in that partitioned off area over there,” he said, pointing at the larboard corner near the window. That was the side with his quarter gallery that he used as a lounge. It was perfect.

“Excellent!” Granger said. “I'll check in on him, and then take a bath.”

“Aye aye sir,” Winkler said. “Dr. Jackson is in there with him now.” Granger heard no sounds, no screams.

“Very well,” Granger said. He walked into the cabin and found Jackson sitting next to Cavendish's thigh, wearing thick magnifying glasses, probing his wound with forceps. “I hope I'm not interrupting, Doctor,” Granger said.

“Not at all, sir,” Jackson said. Granger sat in a chair next to Cavendish's head, and looked into his blue eyes, realizing that they looked a little mazy. “I've given him some laudanum.”

Granger took the young man's hand and looked into his eyes. “Sir,” Cavendish said, his voice slurring slightly.

“He's one of the bravest patients I've ever come across,” Jackson said.

“Did you hear that?” Granger said. “I'm so proud of you, how you're holding up.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said. Granger ran his hand across his face in an affectionate gesture, feeling his soft, clammy skin.

“I have to take a bath, and then I'll come back to check up on you,” Granger said.

“Yes sir,” Cavendish said. “I'll try not to leave before you get back.” Granger and Jackson both chuckled, then Granger left them and, wrapped in his bathing robe, he went on deck to experience the joy of having fresh seawater blasted on his body. He had just finished and was putting on his robe when Roberts approached him. His eyes took in Granger's body, making Granger feel exposed and aroused. He wrapped the robe around himself quickly to hide the latter.

“Pardon me, sir, but we were ready to hoist the new main topmast up when we found the main mast was damaged. It is split. We're holding it together with rope, but it is unlikely to withstand the strain of topmasts,” Robert said, concerned.

Granger thought about this dilemma. Without a functioning main mast, the whole complex of rigging would not work. He stood there and recalled his conversation with Wilcox, and how he hadn't forbidden Granger from soliciting spars from the other ships. “Mr. Roberts, take the launch and go to Illustrious. Ask Captain Howard if he has a spare spar, or if there is one on Floreal,” Granger said. “If we cannot find one, we will have to work with the one we have.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. It was a shot in the dark that Illustrious would have a mast, but maybe Floreal would. Getting any captain to part with a spar was a tough proposition.

“If you can find a spar, we'll transfer it at night, when the flagship isn't paying attention,” Granger said. “Make sure Captain Howard knows that.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Then Roberts went off to visit Howard, while Granger went below to check on Cavendish. He encountered Jackson as he was leaving.

“How is he?” Granger asked.

“I think I got all the wood out, sir,” Jackson said. “He's a young, healthy lad, so I think he'll recover. My only concern at this point is that the splinter may have damaged his muscles, and that would make his leg less useful.”

“I guess only time will tell how that will work out,” Granger said.

“Yes sir,” he said. “He's resting now, but I think he'd appreciate your presence. He called for you repeatedly during the surgery. In fact, you were the only one he asked for. I think there's a bit of hero-worship involved.”

“I hardly deserve that, but I will gladly spend time with him,” Granger said, brushing aside the doctor's arguments and praise. Jackson left and Granger paused to think about that. He had asked for Granger, and only Granger? Was their bond that strong? Or was it just that Granger was the only one, besides Lennox, from a similar social class? Or did Cavendish see him as a father figure?

Granger walked into the cabin they'd partitioned off for Cavendish and sat next to him, watching him sleep. Granger ran his fingers through Cavendish's thick brown hair and gently stroked his cheek. He realized that this young man had become very important to him, and that his feelings toward him were in no way paternal.

He saw Cavendish's eyes open, and saw him smile as he recognized him. Granger leaned in and kissed him on the cheek affectionately. “Sir,” he said feebly.

“Shhh,” Granger said. “Rest.”

“Will you stay?” he asked weakly.

“I will be here as much as I can,” Granger said. Cavendish took Granger's hand and pulled it to his lips, and kissed it lovingly. Granger continued to gently stroke his cheek.

There was a soft knock on the door and Winkler peeked in. “Sir, Mr. Roberts is back.”

“I'll be right with him,” Granger said. He leaned in to kiss Cavendish on the cheek again, only Cavendish turned his face. The move surprised Granger, especially when he felt his lips on Cavendish's, and felt Cavendish's lips respond to him. Granger tried to pull himself away but couldn't. It was like he was metal, stuck in a magnetic field. Finally, duty intervened, and he pulled himself away. What was that? Was it the laudanum that was dulling his mind, or did Cavendish truly have feelings, romantic feelings for him? “I'll be back,” Granger said softly.

“I know,” Cavendish said, smiling. Granger stood up and headed to the door, but had to stop himself to wipe the smile off his face, and hide his erection.

He walked into the cabin and found Roberts waiting for him, along with another lieutenant. “Sir, this is Lieutenant Harris, from Illustrious. He's the officer in charge of Floreal.”

Granger shook his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harris, and good of you to come in person.” That really was a respectful thing to do, considering he had his own damaged ship to repair.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” Harris said.

“Floreal has a spar that will work perfectly sir,” Roberts said.

“I am not the admiral's favorite person, Mr. Harris,” Granger said candidly. “I think it may be better to transfer this spar at night, without much ado.”

“I understand, sir,” Harris said. “There's also some extra cordage that may be useful to you as well. It seems Floreal carried an excess of repair materials.”

“She was much too well maintained after months at sea to have been without a base, despite that,” Granger observed. “What port was she using?”

“I'm not sure, sir,” Harris said.

“You still have wounded prisoners aboard?” Granger asked.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“See if you can find out. In the meantime, let's focus on the transfer of this spar,” Granger said. “The seas seem relatively calm tonight. It may be our last chance.”

“I agree, sir,” Harris said.

“Then, after we go to night stations, allow Floreal to fall to the back of the convoy. Show a blue light at your main mast, and we'll show one from our mizzen,” Granger said.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. They saw Harris over the side, and then returned to plan their transfer. A main mast was a massive piece of wood, and would require a great deal of care to install. It was over two and a half feet thick, and almost as long as Belvidera's deck. But the toughest part was actually putting it in. They'd have to fish the old mast out, then put the new one in and make sure it was firmly seated against the keel.

“Mr. Roberts, you'll need to begin preparations to replace the spar,” Granger ordered. “Mr. Merrick, we will maneuver within hailing range of the flagship,” Granger stated. That was no mean feat, but Granger needed permission to heave to and repair the Belvidera. He deftly guided a wounded and difficult-to-maneuver Belvidera so she was just alongside the flagship.

Captain Flagg appeared at the side, not the admiral. “Sir, we need to heave to and repair damage to our rigging,” Granger shouted through his speaking trumpet.

“Just a moment, captain,” Flagg shouted in response. A few moments later he returned. “You have permission to leave the convoy to effect your repairs. When they are completed, you will rejoin the convoy.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger replied. He gradually let Belvidera fall back until she was next to Floreal. They kept station together as darkness set in and the Indiamen all took night stations. Once it was completely dark, the two ships let themselves fall behind until they were at the rear, out of sight of Centurion. He'd almost forgotten about Echo, but when she came up, Granger explained what they were doing and her commander scampered off after his charges, satisfied.

Harris had worked diligently on the damaged French ship to rig hoists. The seas were calm, but not completely, so it took some delicate moves to get the mast to the point where it was flat on the deck. Granger went to the side to thank them. “Thank you Mr. Harris. We will see you tomorrow or the day after!”

“Good luck, sir,” he shouted. Then Floreal sheeted home her sails and hurried to catch up to the convoy with the admiral none the wiser. The real work would begin at dawn.

A very tired George Granger retired to his cabin and let Winkler help him out of his clothes. He'd actually collapsed into his own bunk when he remembered the young midshipman next door. He strolled out of his cabin and heard noises from his chartroom. He peeked in and saw two shapes, two men, fucking. He waited for his eyes to adapt to the light, and finally made out the figures. It was Winkler, sprawled across Granger's table on his back, while Jeffers plowed into him. Their movements weren't violent or frantic, they were slow and loving. Granger remembered that he hadn't had sex like that since he'd been with Travers, and that made him sad and not a little jealous. He closed the door and gave them their privacy, then got his erection under control before he went in to see Cavendish.

Granger sat next to him and stroked his face again, waking him up. “You came back, sir,” he said.

“I did,” Granger said. “I told you I would. We have a busy day tomorrow, as we have to seat a new main mast and re-rig almost the entire ship.”

“You should get your sleep then,” he said, disappointed.

“I will, in good time,” Granger told him. “Are you in pain, do you need anything?” Granger asked.

“Yes, sir,” Cavendish said. “Kiss me again.”

That kind of shocked Granger, but he found himself drawn to the young man, drawn like a moth to a lantern. He moved in, prepared to kiss him on the cheek, but Cavendish turned his face again. Their lips met, gently at first, with a tentative touch. Granger felt Cavendish's lips quiver, felt them almost pull him in, until the kiss got much deeper. Before he knew it, it was no longer affectionate, it was passionate. Finally Granger pulled away, both of them out of breath.

“That was wonderful, sir,” he said. “I've wanted that for so long.”

“It was,” Granger said. “I've wanted that too.” He found himself surprised that he said it, and even more surprised that he meant it.

“There's so much more I want to do, sir, if you're willing, but I'm not at my very best right now,” he said playfully.

“Tell me what you want to do,” Granger said, his voice husky.

“I want to lick your entire body, taste all of you,” Cavendish said, so excited he omitted the word, ‘sir’. “I want to suck you, to taste your essence, and I want you to do that to me. Then I want you to make love to me, and I want to make love to you.”

“I want to do that too, but talking about it like this is making me hard as a rock,” Granger said.

“Show me,” he said. “I want to see you; I want to watch you pleasure yourself.” Granger stood up and pushed his trousers down, so his cock was at eye level to Cavendish's face. “It's beautiful,” he said, and gently touched it. His touch sent a shockwave through Granger's whole body.

Granger moved his hand down Cavendish's back and pushed the blanket aside to expose his ass. The moonlight flickered through the windows, illuminating it. Granger ran his hands over it, and then allowed his fingers to trail up his crack. “Ah,” Cavendish moaned, and spread his legs wider. But Granger saw the bandage, and it reminded him that Cavendish wasn't well, and probably shouldn't exert himself.

He took over stroking his cock, the sight of Cavendish's ass and the knowledge that he was watching him was enough to bring him to the edge quickly. “Shoot in my mouth,” Cavendish said. Granger was so worked up there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for him at that point. He felt himself getting close and moved the head of his cock close to Cavendish's mouth. Cavendish opened wide, and Granger felt himself reach the point of no return. He blasted his first shot right into Cavendish's mouth, followed by another, then another, and another, until he was completely spent. Cavendish smiled up at him and licked his lips seductively.

“I will return the favor as soon as you are well,” Granger said. “Now we must both sleep.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, smiling. Granger gave him another kiss and headed back to his cabin to sleep; only he didn't. All he could think about was the handsome brown-haired young man in the cabin next to him. He told himself that this was just some errant fling, but he knew better. This was no ordinary fling. He was falling for Cavendish, and falling for him hard.

The next morning came much too early. Winkler had to shake him hard to wake him up, and that was unusual, telling him how tired Granger really was. He helped Granger get dressed, and Granger decided to tease him a bit.

“I heard strange noises in the chartroom last night,” he said.

“Sir?” Winkler asked nervously. Granger was having a hard time not laughing. “Perhaps there are rats.”

“I've never heard rats moan like that,” Granger teased. Even in the light of the lantern, he could see Winkler blushing, and that made him laugh. It was a rare day when he could make Winkler speechless.

“I'll get your breakfast ready, sir,” Winkler finally said. Granger nodded and went in to check on Cavendish. He leaned in and kissed him, waking him up.

“So last night wasn't a dream, sir?” he asked.

“Only for me,” Granger said, smiling. “I've got a new mast to rig, so I'll be busy. You work on getting well. You promised me some fun when you recover.” Then he kissed him again and left. He had to pause to hide his grin. He was like a young girl, giddy with her first love.

Seeing the challenge that faced him was enough to remove the giddiness. Dawn broke and they found the seas were much too rough for their purposes. Granger stared at the spar, secured firmly to the deck. There was no way they could seat a mast in this weather. “Mr. Bailey, let's plot our position.” They went to his chartroom to study the charts. Granger found himself distracted as he peered around surreptitiously, looking for any signs of sex, but didn't see any. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. “How far are we from Madeira?” Granger asked.

“I should think we're within 100 miles, sir,” Bailey said. That made Granger's decision. He went back on deck with a new purpose.

“Mr. Roberts, we're going to Madeira. Set a course west-northwest,” Granger ordered. “We should be close, so tell the lookouts to be alert.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said automatically.

“Let's set the fore topsail and fore mainsail, along with the mizzen topsail,” Granger said. “I think she can handle that.”

“We might run a few lines to brace those yards, sir,” Roberts said cautiously.

“Arrange it as you wish,” Granger said. Belvidera seemed to sense that she was on a new mission, that for her own health she needed to reach port. The wind was now on their larboard quarter, an excellent point of sailing for Belvidera, and they nursed her along as quickly as they could. By noon they had sighted Bugio, and by late afternoon they were preparing to enter the port of Funchal, on the island of Madeira.