HMS Belvidera - 12. Chapter 12

September, 1795

Granger watched the port of Funchal grow larger and larger as they neared the mouth of the harbor. The last time he'd been here had been over a year ago, in Intrepid. He hadn't gotten a very warm welcome. It would be interesting to see how the Portuguese authorities treated him this time, he thought cynically. Spain had been her ally, but was now neutral, and there had been too many conflicts between the two for the Portuguese to be comfortable with the current situation. They knew as well as anyone else that it was only a matter of time before Spain joined France, and they knew very well that once that happened, conquering Portugal would probably be the Franco-Spanish priority, right after seizing Gibraltar.

As they entered the harbor, Granger gave the signal and the salute began, 21 guns to recognize the Portuguese flag. He was pleased to see them return the salute as soon as Belvidera's started. A boat approached them with an officer seated in the rear. Sitting apart from him was another man, a sailor, who must be their pilot. Granger had seen lots of pilots, but he hadn't seen many Portuguese officers. He studied the man through his glass until they were close enough for that to be rude. Granger couldn't make out his facial features, but he had on a glittering uniform and was sporting two epaulets, so he was probably a Colonel, roughly the same rank as a Naval Captain. They turned out the four sideboys and four bosun's mates for him, as prescribed.

The boat hooked on and the officer came on board, saluting the quarterdeck smartly. Granger studied him as he approached. He was much younger than Granger would have thought, probably only in his mid-20s, with olive skin, black hair, and a droopy black mustache. He smiled, and his bright white teeth made a dazzling contrast against his dark features.

“Welcome to Funchal,” he said in flawless French as he bowed. He took his hat off as he did, and that gave Granger a chance to see his full appearance. His wavy dark hair elevated him from attractive to very handsome. “I am Colonel Jaime da Gama, of His Most Faithful Majesty's Hussars.”

“Thank you for your welcome, Colonel,” Granger said politely in the same language. “I am Captain George Granger, of His Britannic Majesty's Ship Belvidera.”

“It appears that you have been in action,” he said, noticing the signs of battle that they had not yet eradicated.

“That is true, a victorious one, but one that left our spars in sad shape,” Granger said.

“We would be pleased to offer you all the assistance in our power,” he said effusively.

“I thank you. We need a calm port to hoist in our new main mast,” Granger said, gesturing to the massive spar. “And of course, my purser would like the opportunity to acquire some stores as well.”

“Nothing would be easier,” he said. “I will direct you to your anchorage, and then escort your purser ashore.”

“I am in your debt,” Granger said, bowing again.

“We also have a, how do you say, sheer hulk, that may be useful?” he offered. A sheer hulk was a derelict ship that had been modified specifically to install and extract spars. That would be a godsend. It would make their job easier, faster, and safer.

“It would be most useful,” Granger said, with a bow. “I am further in your debt.”

“We are brothers fighting in this war,” he said politely. Granger wanted to observe coolly that it certainly hadn't seemed that way last time he'd been there, but he bit his tongue and offered a flowery reply.

“His Excellency, the Viceroy, is hosting a reception this evening. On seeing the approach of your ship, he asked me to extend an invitation to you to join him. I must apologize for the short notice,” the Colonel said. That was as good as a royal command, Granger thought.

“I would be honored to attend His Excellency,” Granger said.

“Then perhaps I can return in two hours time and act as your guide?” The Colonel asked.

“You are too kind, sir,” Granger said. Andrews had appeared at his elbow. Granger introduced them and watched them set off together. Andrews knew him well enough to know what kind of stores to get for him, and for the ship. It made stops in ports like this quite easy.

“Alright gentlemen, it is time to get to work,” Granger decreed. They all knew that, with the sun setting, they wouldn't be able to start the real work until tomorrow morning. But there was plenty of preparation to do, and further activity as they imposed upon Portuguese hospitality to top off their water as well. That meant hauling up the empty water casks and scouring them out. When the ship was taking on water was the only time that men could drink their fill. At all other times, water was rationed. For Granger, the luxury was even greater, because he treated himself to a fresh water bath, even though it was stale fresh water that was months in a cask. Clean and refreshed, he went below to check on Cavendish before the Colonel returned to take him to the reception.

“It is a shame you are not well. You could accompany me to the Viceroy's reception,” Granger teased.

“When I am well, sir, I'm hoping not to spend my time at receptions,” he said with a leer, making Granger laugh.

“How are you feeling?”

Cavendish looked at him with steely eyes, hiding the pain. “Well enough, sir.”

“You're a young fit man,” Granger said, being positive. “You'll heal up fast.”

“I hope you're right, sir,” Cavendish said. “Have a good time.”

“I will see you when I return,” Granger said, and looked around before he leaned down to kiss the young man. Even kissing Cavendish awkwardly like this, with his head forced to extend itself to the side, Granger felt their connection, the bond forming between them, and it was almost magical. Granger hurried from his cabin, pausing only to adjust his erection.

Colonel da Gama was on time to get him. Granger's dealings with people on the Iberian Peninsula had largely revolved around Spaniards, who were usually in no hurry at all. It was as if they made tardiness a national trait. That made him even more surprised by da Gama's promptness.

Da Gama eyed him up and down, evidently impressed by his spruce appearance. “I have come to escort you to the reception.”

“I am at your service,” Granger said and followed him down into the boat. He must have brought the Viceroy's barge. It was large, ornate, and even contained a covered area in the back for its passengers.

“The victory you spoke of, the battle, tell me of it,” da Gama said.

“We fought and captured a French ship of the line not far from here,” Granger said, watching him carefully. Da Gama's eyes fluttered a bit, a sign of the internal controls he was exerting to keep his face impassive.

“I was not aware that a French ship was in this region,” he said, lying. Floreal had been plying about in the vicinity for months. It was unthinkable that he hadn't at least heard of her.

“Well, as soon as you hear of the threat, she has been eliminated,” Granger said cheerfully, masking his suspicions. They arrived at the reception and Granger was introduced to all the dignitaries. For someone like Granger, used to the sparkling society of London, it was rather dull. The dullness was exacerbated by an air of tension in the room that the excellent wine and food could not quite erase. The cheerfulness seemed false, and made him nervous. He was anxious to get back to Belvidera, so he took his leave of the Viceroy as soon as he decently could.

“I will escort you back to your ship,” da Gama said.

“There is no need, Colonel. I must thank you again for all your help. I must get back and get ready for the sheer hulk,” Granger said. He had no desire to engage in further inane conversation with da Gama. The Colonel took him to the barge, snapped instructions to the crew, and then Granger was on his way back to Belvidera.

It was a truly perfect night, with weather that reminded him of the Caribbean in the spring. The temperature was in the mid-60s, and the skies were unencumbered by a single cloud. A slight sliver of moon tried desperately to light up the night, but its failure just made the stars more brilliant. They looked so close you could almost touch them. He watched as the oars sliced into the glassy water of the harbor, and allowed himself the luxury of just relaxing, of just lying back and enjoying the beautiful night.

He climbed up Belvidera's side with relief, despite his pleasant boat ride. She was his home, more than any other place. Granger decided it was true, that sailors were like turtles, carrying their houses along with them. Roberts and Merrick were both there to greet him, and both looked incredibly relieved. Seeing that made him actually smile. Having their captain gallivanting off with a bunch of Portuguese was not something to their liking. But he also smiled because he knew they were fond of him, and their concern showed that. “Welcome back, sir,” Roberts said appropriately, as the senior. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“The food was good, but the conversation was boring,” Granger said. They all laughed. “We'll need to be up and ready at first light,” Granger told Roberts. “The hulk should be out to us then.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. “We've gotten everything ready, and even rigged our own hoists just in case the Portuguese don't show up.” Granger noted with approval that Chairs had placed sentries around the deck. Something about this place just made him nervous.

He went below and let Winkler relieve him of his heavy coat and shirt, and decided to keep his trousers on so he could go visit Cavendish. He got there to find Lennox sitting with him, keeping him company.

“Good evening gentlemen,” Granger said affably. They both looked at him, naked from the waist up, and it made Granger uncomfortable to be in the same cabin with them, at least when he was almost undressed. His play thing, Lennox, and Cavendish, the young man who had captured a much bigger piece of him.

“Good evening, sir,” they both said.

“I need to go up on deck,” Lennox said nervously, trying to think of a way to escape. Granger just nodded as he left.

“You chase away my friends, sir,” Cavendish said playfully. Only the comment hit Granger like a bolt, making him remember how Lennox had been sitting with Calvert on Intrepid, tending to his wounded friend much as he was doing to Cavendish now. And Calvert had said almost the exact same thing to him. He refused to let those thoughts distract him.

“So how are you doing?” he asked Cavendish.

“I'm fine, sir. My leg still hurts, but Dr. Jackson said I can move around a bit so I'm not lying in the same position.”

Granger looked down at the young man, sprawled out on his stomach, and felt the lust rising within him. Anyone who fancied the male form would be hard-pressed to resist Cavendish, but for Granger it was much more than that. He was attached to Cavendish emotionally, and those feelings multiplied his lust. He wanted him, wanted him badly. He ran his hand up Cavendish's good leg until he got to his cute little ass. Granger traced his finger up and down his crack ever so gently, making Cavendish moan softly. “You like that?” Granger asked, teasing him.

“Yes,” he said, breathless.

“Then I think you're really going to like this,” Granger said. He moved his mouth down and replaced his fingers with his tongue, moving up and down Cavendish's crack and flicking his hole as he went. Cavendish was writhing on the cot, fully enraptured by his moves, but Granger turned up the heat even more, diving into Cavendish's hole with his tongue, really probing him. Cavendish thrust back into him, making muffled moaning sounds. He pulled off, finally, and saw the young man laying there completely at his mercy, willing to do whatever he asked. “Let's turn you over.”

“I want you so bad,” Cavendish said. “I want you to make love to me.”

Granger moved up and kissed his cheek, then whispered into his ear. “When you are well, I want that too. I want it more than you can imagine.” He blew seductively into Cavendish's ear, getting a giggle. “Now turn over.”

“Aye aye sir,” Cavendish chirped playfully. He rolled over carefully until he was lying on his back. He winced a few times at the pain, but it wasn't enough to deflate his erection. Now he was on his back, with the blanket pulled down to his waist, and he looked sexier than ever. Granger leaned in and kissed him, the first time they'd actually had a real kiss. Before, Cavendish had always had to turn his head sideways, but not now. Now he wrapped his hands around Granger's head, pulling him in, urging him on.

Granger had kissed lots of people, people he loved even, and those kisses had been magical, but none of them, not kissing Calvert, not kissing Travers, not kissing Caroline, none of them had prepared him for this. There was a way that their lips met and moved together, the way their mouths instinctively linked and moved as one, that was surreal. Granger wanted to break off the kiss and explore his young lover's body, but he couldn't. He couldn't break himself away.

Finally Granger found the strength and moved away, only as soon as he did, he missed Cavendish, and kissed him again. He quenched himself on Cavendish's lips, and then finally pulled himself away, moved down to his neck, his long thin neck, and nuzzled him affectionately. “I've never felt anything like that,” Cavendish said. He was so aroused, his voice was a breathless pant and a moan combined.

“You liked that, eh?” Granger asked playfully. He sat up, smiling, and pulled the blanket off, revealing all of Cavendish. “You are truly a work of art,” Granger said as he took in Cavendish's slim young body with its small tufts of brown hair right where they should be. Granger began exploring his body, using his fingers and mouth to see what Cavendish liked, and what he liked the most. Granger sucked on his nipples, flicking them with his tongue, then nibbling a little bit to see if he liked it. Cavendish's response told him he liked getting them sucked on more, and that made Granger smile. He was able to read the young man so well. But all of this foreplay had sent Granger's hormones into orbit, so he went down, went for the big prize. And boy was it big. He grabbed Cavendish's cock in his hand and licked the head like it was a sucker. “You are really big,” Granger said to him, grinning.

“Yes, sir,” Cavendish said breathlessly, but with a grin. He knew he had a big cock, and he was obviously proud of it, as well he should be. Granger held his throbbing member in his hand and really inspected it, really looked at it. He almost laughed when he realized the irony of it. Cavendish was long, as long as Calvert, but thick too, thick like Travers. It seemed that Cavendish had picked up the best traits of both of their dicks. But it was unique in its own way, in that it was curved upward, like a hangar. Granger went down on him, taking as much as he could into his mouth. He savored Cavendish's taste, his smell, and then pulled off again. He grabbed Cavendish's cock firmly at the base and inspected every part of it, every bulging vein, and every curve. He had teased Cavendish enough, though, so he moved his mouth back onto his cock and began to bob slowly up and down, using his tongue to tease the bottom of Cavendish's head with each upstroke. In almost no time at all, and without warning, Cavendish erupted, blasting his load into Granger's mouth and down his throat, as fast as Granger could swallow. Granger felt Cavendish's body writhe in pleasure underneath him, convulsing in ecstasy as he tried to stifle his screams. Granger let him finish and kept his cock in his mouth, letting Cavendish feel his throat muscles as he swallowed every drop of his load.

“I'm sorry,” Cavendish said, panting. “I should have warned you.”

“I wanted to taste you,” Granger said. “I wanted to drink you.” Granger continued to gently play with his big flaccid tube. “You are really big.”

Cavendish looked nervous. “I don't have to, uh, you know, uh, make love to you,” he said. Granger looked at him and then guessed at what he should have known. Cavendish was the one Lennox had tried to take. No wonder Lennox couldn't handle being fucked.

“Oh yes you do,” Granger said, whispering into his ear. “I can't wait.” Then he kissed him again, intending it to be a good night kiss, but with their connection, it was not to be. Granger was so horny now he'd almost be willing to fuck Ranger.

“My turn,” Cavendish said, pushing him away. “My turn to drink you.”

Granger should have asked if he was well enough, but that was much too selfless of him, a horny male beside himself with lust. He pulled out his dick and moved it toward Cavendish's mouth.

Cavendish struggled to move himself onto his side, and just as Granger had done to him, he spent his time inspecting, appreciating, and loving Grangers throbbing cock. He mimicked Granger's moves, and had Granger so fired up he came almost as quickly as Cavendish. And just like Granger had done, Cavendish swallowed every drop. “That was wondrous,” he said.

Granger kissed him again, and knew he should leave, but he didn't want to. “I should let you get your rest,” he said.

“Stay with me,” Cavendish said. “Please?”

Granger thought about it, thought about the risks, and threw caution to the wind. Winkler would watch out for him. He left his trousers on and climbed into bed, while Cavendish gently moved himself so he was sprawled across Granger. They both fell asleep almost instantaneously.

Granger was awakened by a smirking Winkler. “Time to get up, sir,” he said.

“Thank you, Winkler,” Granger said.

“That was right nice of you to stay with him last night,” Winkler said. Granger felt guilty for being admired for a selfless act of friendship when it was his carnal drives that had brought him to Cavendish's bed. “I'll go get your things ready.” How typical of Winkler to be so considerate.

Granger moved Cavendish aside, gently, waking him up. “I have to go, it's almost dawn,” he said.

“If you come back later, sir,” he said playfully, “I'll make it worth your while.”

“Then you'd better believe I will be back,” Granger said. He kissed him, and Cavendish responded enthusiastically, so enthusiastically that Granger had to break off their embrace before it distracted him from his duties.

Granger dressed quickly, pausing to shave only because he'd be dealing with the Portuguese. He got up to the quarterdeck just before dawn, and as the sun rose they saw the sheer hulk moving purposely toward them, right on time. “They're certainly punctual, sir,” Roberts observed.

“Almost as if they want us to finish our repairs quickly,” Granger mused.

“Sir?” Roberts asked.

“They are trying to get rid of us, Mr. Roberts,” Granger said. “At least that's what I sense. Keep your ears open.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, confused.

Granger summoned Andrews before the hulk got to them and bid him to walk with him on the quarterdeck. “How was your time in town?”

“Very nice, sir,” Andrews said. “They were most cooperative, and the stores were sent out almost immediately.”

“I get the feeling they are trying to give us what we need, or want, quickly, so they can be rid of us,” Granger said sagely.

They walked along for another few paces until Andrews responded. “I think you're right, sir.”

“I would like you to find a member of the crew who speaks Portuguese, or barring that, Spanish, and go back into town. Act as if there are more things you need, something hard to find that would necessitate you exploring about. Keep your ears open,” Granger told him.

“Aye aye sir,” he said.

Andrews left, and the hulk arrived at almost the same time. They moored it next to Belvidera and began to rig all of the hulk's hoists, double-checking them to make sure the spar didn't fall and crash through the deck. In a painfully slow maneuver, they pulled the shattered main mast out of her much as if it were a decayed tooth. Granger watched, amazed, as it lifted out, and then was laid flat on the deck. The carpenter would utilize every bit of it he could. Wood, especially in wartime, was at a premium.

He studied this new mast and wondered at their luck. It was a good spar, made from seasoned pine; the kind of spar you didn't find in wartime. He wondered where the French had gotten it. His attention was distracted as the task of hoisting it up began. They lifted it upright first, and then suspended it off the deck slightly while they moved it over to its proper spot. After that, it was gently lowered down until it rested against the keel. Once that was done, the biggest job, the biggest challenge, was accomplished. Everything else they could do themselves, without Portuguese help.

Granger heard hammering as they got the mast into a perfect perpendicular position by putting in the wedges. That was nasty work down in the bilges, but it could be worse. A couple of the men had gotten into a fight yesterday, and instead of flogging them, Granger had made them go clean out the ballast around the mast. Cleaning the ballast was the most disgusting job on the ship. Any human and animal waste that didn't make it over the side, plus the general dampness, made it a nasty, pungent, place.

By afternoon, they had the new mast set up, and then proceeded to send up the topmasts as well. After that came the onerous task of re-rigging the ship, of replacing all of the bad or missing ropes that kept Belvidera's pyramids of sails from ripping the masts right out of her. Throughout the day they worked on the rigging, then on the sails. Granger found himself taking advantage of the evident desire of the Portuguese to be rid of them by constantly asking for things that were difficult to find, and would normally be difficult for them to part with. New hemp rope, perfectly woven, they supplied without hesitation. And then there were the sails.

Belvidera's sails had been a source of concern for Granger on this voyage. The sailmaker had spent hours repairing her worn canvas as best he could, but it was getting more difficult to make them workable. Those were her fair weather sails. For the rest of the voyage, they'd need their heavy weather canvas, and those were almost completely unserviceable. Granger decided to test the limits of allied loyalty and asked the Portuguese for some heavy weather canvas. They sold it to him at a bargain price, enough to give Belvidera a completely new set of winter sails, with some to spare for repairs. The sailmaker was ebullient, and busy.

While the topmen worked on the rigging, everyone else worked on gorging Belvidera with stores. Fresh meat was at a premium here, but they bought what they could. They stocked up on fruit, and as a treat Granger left a barrel of oranges on the deck for the men to eat as they worked. The oranges would keep scurvy away, such a simple solution for such an old problem. At the end of the day, Andrews came up to him, looking worried.

“I fear we've spent a great deal of money, sir” he told Granger. “I hope the Admiralty reimburses me.”

“Not to worry, Mr. Andrews. If they do not, I will make it good from my own purse,” Granger said generously.

“Thank you sir,” Andrews said, and then he looked around nervously. “Might we have a word in your cabin, sir?”

“Certainly,” Granger said, leading the way below. They walked into his cabin and Winkler vanished, as a good servant should.

“We heard some talk in the town, sir,” he said. “They're expecting a ship.”

“What kind of ship?” Granger asked.

“I couldn't tell, but it seemed to be a big deal. They all seemed nervous about it and one of the men heard a man say that it would be dangerous now that their protection was gone,” Andrews said.

“Protection?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir, that's what they said,” Andrews stated.

“Thank you Mr. Andrews. You have done very well. Let us have a grand meal for the men today.” Dinner, the afternoon meal, was usually the biggest, but today it worked out that supper was. The men didn't seem to mind at all, as the different messes argued over the choicest cuts of meat. While they were gorging themselves, Granger entertained his officers in his cabin, so they were doing the same. Jackson had checked on Cavendish and said he was doing well, but the wound needed to drain, and it would take time to heal. They took him a plate of food, then another, such was the appetite of a midshipman. It was a good dinner, a jovial group, and after it was over, Granger found himself alone in his cabin, completely exhausted from a long day. He was about to go see Cavendish when there was a knock on the door.

Carslake entered, with a terrified seaman, a man named Hodges who had been on Belvidera when she'd had her troubles. “This man says he needs to see you sir. Says it's important.” Carslake looked at him menacingly. “It better be.”

“That's quite alright, Mr. Carslake,” Granger said. “What can I do for you Hodges?”

The man was terrified, being in the presence of his captain, standing on the captain's plush carpet in his luxurious cabin that few even got to see. Granger smiled at him and waited patiently, letting the man pull himself together. “I heard some of the Portuguese talking to each other, sir,” he said.

“You speak Portuguese?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir,” he said. “I served on a Portuguese merchant before the war.”

“What did you hear?” Granger asked.

“They was chattering, thinking no one knew what they was saying, sir,” he said. “I heard them talk about the last time they had to repair a ship. They was laughing that the same mast they'd given that ship was now being hoisted into ours. They were talking about how they hadn't had time to put it in.”

“The other ship was Floreal? Here, in Funchal?” Granger asked, stunned.

“Yes sir,” he said. “At least that's what I think. I don't suppose they could have put the mast into another ship and had it captured by the Frog, sir, but that's the only other thing that would make sense. Begging your pardon, sir.”

“Why was Floreal using a Portuguese port as a base?” Granger asked aloud.

“I don't rightly know, sir,” Hodges said. Granger had gotten all the info out of Hodges that he could.

“Thank you very much, Hodges,” Granger said. He reached into his purse, pulled out a guinea, and handed it to the stunned seaman.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, getting his wits together, and then they left. So Floreal had been using Funchal as a port, maybe even a base. What could be their purpose? Why would they do that? Granger pondered at the irony of the situation, that his first battle with Floreal and the damage to her rigging had caused her to seek help here in Funchal, and the spare mast she'd acquired had ultimately ended up in Belvidera. Granger let that dominate his mind as he went in to see Cavendish.

“I was hoping you'd come see me, sir,” Cavendish said. He was on his back, and looked as sexy as he had yesterday, as sexy as he always did.

“Of course I would,” Granger said, and leaned in to kiss him. He noticed that Cavendish had slid over in the cot to make room for him. They kissed for what seemed like hours, relishing their bond, and then blew each other just as they'd done last night.

At dawn the next day, Belvidera left Funchal with her new canvas and her new mast, her rigging in much better condition than it had ever been. The pilot and his consort chattered away on the quarterdeck as they conned the ship out. Right before they left Belvidera, one of them had commented that they needed to be to the west of the harbor to meet an incoming ship.

Belvidera left port and headed east, then northeast, just as she should, making sure the Portuguese could see her do so. As soon as she was out of sight of land, Belvidera changed course, taking a position due west of Madeira.

On her deck, Captain George Granger paced up and down, trying to decide if he was doing the right thing. His orders were to escort the convoy back to England, and he'd gotten a brief reprieve to fall behind and repair the ship. They'd expect him back tomorrow, or the next day at the latest. He'd already stretched those orders well beyond their limits by going to Madeira, but he could explain that. Sailing in a completely opposite direction on a potential wild goose chase was a completely different matter.

With almost any other admiral, Granger would feel secure, knowing that his actions would most likely be approved of. He knew that was certainly true of Sir John Jervis and of Lord Spencer, both of whom valued an officer who acted intelligently, and who took the initiative. Admiral Wilcox had no such views, and if Granger was wrong, Wilcox would do everything he could to discredit him and to bring his career down in ruins.

Granger thought about playing Hazard with the Prince of Wales, and how high the stakes were. The potential losses were astronomical. He'd been lucky there. The stakes he was playing for now were even bigger. His whole career was on the line. He hoped his luck held.