HMS Belvidera - 24. Chapter 24

January, 1796

Granger forced his brain to process this new information, the arrival of these two ships, as quickly as possible. He was certainly not going to be able to just sail out of Roses unmolested by the French. He wondered if the Spanish would enforce the twenty-four hour rule, forcing him to leave within a day of his arrival. He was quite sure they wouldn’t restrict the French ship from following him. Dusk was nigh, and it would be dark shortly after the enemy ship anchored.

“Mr. Robey, call the men down from the yards,” Granger ordered. “Mr. Roberts, I’ll have the bower anchor dropped with the one-inch cable attached.”

“Aye aye sir,” they both said.

“We can haul in the main anchor and stow the main cable. Then we can simply slip our cable when we leave,” Granger ordered. “We’ve been going through a few anchors lately.”

“Yes sir,” Roberts said, grinning, and then rushed off to implement his orders, giving Granger some time to think. He heard the splash of the bower anchor and hoped they’d have the other one hauled in before the French arrived and guessed at his intentions. He watched proudly as his crew executed the maneuver flawlessly.

“We’ve hoisted the anchor aboard, so only the bower is out, sir,” Roberts said, reporting in. “I hope there’s not a big storm. I’d not fancy being flung ashore here.”

“I expect the wind will come from the land, at least that is what I am hoping for,” Granger said. Then, around the point, came the two ships. They were big two-deckers. The French ship looked austere and professional, even though her sail handling was not. The Spanish ship looked like a floating circus, with crosses stitched into her sails, and flags flying from every mast and yard, or so it seemed. “Lookout, do you see any other ships?”

Granger was gratified that he paused to look before answering. “A set of topsails off on the horizon, sir,” he called down. “Maybe a frigate.” Granger nodded. That made sense. The ships of the line, the muscle, would block his escape, but if he did get away, there was a frigate, maybe two, to forestall him long enough for the ship-of-the-line to catch up and seal his fate.

“Shall we clear for action?” Roberts asked.

“We are guests of the King of Spain,” Granger said with a cynical smile. “We have nothing to fear. I suspect I will be entertaining shortly. Pass the word for Winkler. In the meantime, inform Monsieur de la Haye that he is to remain below, and out of sight.”

Winkler appeared and looked over at the nearing ships. Granger walked over to the rail with him and they stared off at the now dark night, lit brightly by the lanterns hung gaily from the French and Spanish ships. Granger turned to Winkler, focusing back on their immediate task. “We’ll be having company soon. Instruct Lefavre to make some food for us, and I shall entertain them in my cabin.” Winkler acknowledged his order and scurried off. Despite his confidence, it was hard to remain completely impassive when the French ship came within range. The Spaniard steered for an anchorage nearer the town, while the French ship anchored near the harbor entrance, clearly blocking Belvidera’s escape route.

As soon as the two ships anchored, there was a flurry of activity, with boats putting off from both ships and the shore, all of them lit up like Carlton House. Granger watched as the French captain had himself rowed over to the Spanish ship, then watched as Ventura was rowed out to the Spanish ship as well. Ventura! Granger suddenly felt ridiculous, like a cuckolded husband. Had Ventura slept with him, kept him occupied, so the other ships would have time to get here? Granger engaged in an orgy of self-flagellation, but in the end he decided that it would not have made any difference. They would have sailed and he would have found himself ship to ship with a French squadron, only he’d have been outside of Spanish waters and subject to capture. Still, why didn’t he warn Granger that other ships were expected? Granger resolved yet again to remember that just because the man let him put his dick in him didn’t mean there was a commitment of trust there.

“Boat’s approaching, sir,” Cavendish said. “The same Spaniard is in her.” Granger turned to look out over the water and saw Ventura sitting in the stern of his boat. He boarded Belvidera, clearly looking nervous and uncomfortable.

“Welcome back, señor,” Granger said politely. “To what do we owe this additional honor?”

Ventura seemed a bit taken aback by Granger’s polite formality, but he struggled on gamely. “I am sure you have witnessed the arrival of the San Pablo of 80 guns. She preceded the French ship, Arrogante, of 74 guns.”

“Your port seems quite busy today,” Granger observed.

“It is a rarity. I have come to invite you to join Capitan Gonzalez of the San Pablo for some food and wine,” he said.

“I would be most happy to accept Capitan Gonzalez’s invitation,” Granger said. He turned to give Roberts some brief orders, and then followed Ventura into the boat. They were silent on the short trip over, the tension between them mirroring the tension in the harbor. Granger mounted the towering sides of the Spanish ship, and pulled himself agilely through the entry port.

The first thing that greeted him was the stench. The smell of human body odor, combined with the waste of humans and/or animals, was almost overpowering. Then the visual picture of the ship came crashing through the dimly lit main deck, the picture of mere peasants trying to be sailors. Granger was amazed that the ramshackle Spanish Navy could put together a single squadron, much less a whole fleet. He was led aft by Ventura into an opulent cabin. Here the stench was overpowered by the scent of flowers and food. Granger smiled to himself, thinking that the bright red and gold trappings looked remarkably tacky, but kept his thoughts to himself.

“I am Capitan Gonzalez,” the captain said, bowing as he greeted Granger. “Welcome aboard His Most Catholic Majesty’s ship San Pablo.”

“Captain George Granger, of His Britannic Majesty’s ship Belvidera,” Granger said as he bowed. “I must thank you for the invitation.” The French captain was scowling in the background.

“Would you permit me to introduce you to Capitan Herbet?” Gonzalez asked diplomatically. He gestured toward Herbet, who came forward stiffly.

Granger bowed politely. “But of course,” Granger said affably. “Are we not gentlemen first? It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Capitaine.” The French captain bowed as slightly as was possible without being rude and merely mumbled some brief acknowledgements.

“I hope you will both join me for some dinner, and you as well Colonel,” Gonzalez said, gesturing to Ventura. They sat at the table, the four of them. Granger and the Frenchman sat at the heads of the table, as if to put as much distance between them as possible.

“Colonel Ventura has informed me that you were here seeking provisions. Have you acquired what you need?” Gonzalez asked, getting to the point.

“We are hoping to acquire a few more items tomorrow, and to refill our water casks if it is not too much trouble,” Granger said. He didn’t want them to think he was ready to leave yet. “We are nearly out of water, so we should attend to that first.”

“Then you are leaving?” the French captain asked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“If that meets with the approval of these gentlemen,” Granger said, gesturing to Gonzalez and Ventura.

“It will be a short trip, in any event,” the Frenchman said, getting a glare from both Spaniards. Granger decided to bait him.

“I have seen nothing to concern me so far,” Granger said calmly. He saw the Frenchman’s eyes glaze in fury.

“Well then let me explain the situation to you so you are more aware of your fate,” he said. Granger was relieved to see he was so angered that he rambled on before the Spaniards could stop him. “If you should manage to slip past my ship, and that is highly unlikely, there is a frigate, the Sambre, of over 40 guns waiting outside to intercept you.”

“A French frigate? And only one?” Granger asked innocently. “I still see nothing to worry about.” He watched the Spaniards try not to chuckle as the Frenchman choked with anger.

“You will learn to appreciate French ships, monsieur,” he said, menacingly.

“You are wrong, monsieur,” Granger replied calmly. “I have long held a great respect for French ships. In fact, my own ship was once French, and my prior command was a French ship is well. Your countrymen make excellent vessels, and we are always happy to capture more of them.”

“You will be pounded into boxwood before you even leave this port,” Herbet said, shouting now.

“Monsieur, I am a guest of His Most Catholic Majesty, and my safety is in his hands,” Granger said, eying the Spaniards. “I have proven myself to be a friend of His Majesty’s, and he has proven himself to be a friend of mine.” Granger gestured toward the order hanging around his neck.

“You are quite right, Capitan,” Gonzalez said. “There will be no battles fought in this harbor. By anyone.”

Herbet ignored him. “You may have a medal, but there are 100,000 French troops on the border, and this town was in French hands not more than one year ago.”

Granger saw the ire rise in the Spaniard’s eyes and acted accordingly. He slowly stood up. “Monsieur, you have insulted His Most Catholic Majesty, implying that he is a coward, and would bow to your idle threats. I cannot, in good conscience, remain at this table with you. Colonel, would you be so good as to escort me back to my ship? I must thank you for your hospitality, Capitan,” he said to Gonzalez, ending his self-righteous tirade, and then he turned on his heel and stormed out of the cabin, all of it quite dramatic, followed by an angry Ventura. They said nothing as they descended into the boat. The harbor was pitch black now, with no moonlight and only the lanterns from the ships to illuminate their position.

“You pick interesting friends, señor,” Granger observed to Ventura.

“I did not pick them,” Ventura snapped. Then his voice mellowed. “I did not know they were about to arrive.”

“But you knew they were on their way?” Granger asked. Then he relented. There was no reason to antagonize this man. And he was cute. “In any event, it would not have mattered. The only escape would have been if I had left immediately after arrival. As it is, I will take my chances tomorrow with Capitaine Herbet.”

The Spanish boat got to Belvidera and hooked on. Granger made to jump out but a hand stopped him. “May I join you aboard for a moment?”

“But of course, señor,” Granger said. He was desperate to rid himself of the Spaniard, to get Belvidera ready for sea, but he could see no other option. Ventura snapped an order to a young man, who looked at him sullenly and then followed.

Roberts was happy to see him, but less happy to see the two Spaniards with him. “I have some business with Colonel Ventura. This is his, uh...” Granger didn’t know who the other Spaniard was.

“I am sorry. This is Miguel. He is my aide,” Ventura added hastily.

“Excellent. Please see that Miguel has some refreshments,” Granger ordered, then led Ventura below. “You did not get to finish your dinner. Perhaps you would like some food?”

Ventura leered at him. “Food is not what I want to eat.” Granger grinned and led him to his sleeping cabin. Then they were in each others’ arms, their bodies smashing together. There was no time to disrobe, only time to drop their breeches for a fast but satisfying coupling. No more than ten minutes later, they returned to Granger’s main cabin. “I hope you will visit us again.”

“The offer is most tempting. I suspect our paths will cross again,” Granger said with a grin.

“I feel bad, but I must ask you for a favor, as if the pleasure you have given me were not enough,” Ventura said, his continental manners returning.

“What may I do for you?” Granger asked, hiding his suspicion.

“My aide, Miguel, is in a bit of trouble in town. He is a randy young man, and finds it difficult to avoid women. He has deflowered the wrong one. I am wondering if you would be willing to take him with you.” Granger eyed Ventura carefully. Still, another man was always useful. He did not see what harm was to be done.

“We will be happy to welcome him into our ship,” Granger said.

“One more thing Capitan. Miguel has a special skill,” Ventura added. Granger wondered briefly if it was sexual, then fought down his grin. “He knows the harbor like his own hand.”

Granger stared at Ventura, stunned, and then pulled himself together. Ventura had just given him a safe way out of the harbor. “I am in your debt, señor,” he said.

“And I know just how you can repay me when we next meet,” Ventura said, his smile so dazzling it even seemed to permeate the darkness. Granger led him over the side, and then turned to Roberts. “Now we must get to work.”

“What about him, sir?” Roberts asked, gesturing to Miguel.

“He is our newest crew member,” Granger said. “And he is to be our guide out of here. Have the other officers meet me in my cabin in fifteen minutes.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. Granger gestured to Miguel, telling him to follow him below. He was probably all of 16 years old, with a long, handsome face. His skin was as brown as Ventura’s, but his hair was blond. He looked angelic, although it seemed ironic on him, what with his dour expression.

“Do you speak English?” Granger asked.

“Yes,” Miguel said. “I lived for a time in the United States.”

“Colonel Ventura left you here with us. We are going to leave port tonight. Will you help us?” Granger asked.

“What choice do I have?” he answered sourly.

“I offer you a proposal. Help us leave Roses, then escape from the French frigate that is patrolling outside the harbor. After that, I will put you ashore wherever you wish, and give you some gold to help you find your way,” Granger told him.

The young man eyed him suspiciously. “What am I to do in the meantime?”

“You may join the crew. Or you may remain as a passenger. It is up to you,” Granger observed. “But you can make that decision later.”

“I will help you,” he said simply. The officers arrived as their conversation finished up.

“Gentlemen, we will be leaving Roses shortly. In addition to the French ship moored at the mouth of the harbor, there is a large frigate patrolling outside. We must evade both of them,” Granger said.

“We could handle the frigate, sir,” Robey observed.

“You are right. We could probably dish her up in no time at all. But that is not our mission. It is just possible that she could delay or damage us enough that the Arrogante could come up and finish us off, and our goal is to get our passenger to England.” Granger watched them digest that, and smiled. “But we will try to find a French frigate for us to fight at some point in the future, Mr. Robey.”

“Thank you, sir,” Robey said playfully. “I would be most obliged.” That got a laugh.

“I want a light in the water, roughly where our lantern is,” Granger continued, getting down to business. “That way, when we slip our cable and start to drift, the Frog will think we’re still there.”

“Won’t they have a guard boat in the water, sir?” Roberts asked.

“Quite possibly,” Granger said. “It’s also possible that they will try to cut us out.” It was humorous to see them all look around at each other, anxious to rush up on deck. “They will not try that until at least their captain returns, and I left before he did. We will go to quarters, quietly, and then we’ll rig boarding nettings.” He waited for them to acknowledge his orders. “Once we have that done, we’ll be on our way. Miguel here is going to help guide us out, and then he will be our passenger until we have an opportunity to land him. Perhaps you would be willing to accommodate him in the midshipmen’s berth, Mr. Cavendish?”

“Aye aye sir,” Cavendish said, and looked sideways at Miguel. Granger recognized that look and hid his jealousy. He’d just fucked Ventura. If Cavendish wanted to enjoy Miguel, who was he to object? He put those thoughts aside and focused on his duty. That got tougher to do after he saw Miguel give Cavendish the same look in return.

They went up on deck and Granger looked off toward the harbor entrance, at the flickering light that marked Arrogante’s location. He felt a presence next to him and turned to see Miguel. “She is moving,” he said.

Granger watched, amazed, as the light moved to the west. The Frenchman was putting Arrogante directly in front of the harbor entrance, completely blocking his way. There was no way he’d be able to slip by her unnoticed. “Which direction is the current?” Granger asked.

“I do not understand,” he said.

“If we were to just float, would we run into her?” Granger asked.

“Yes, I think we would,” Miguel said, smiling. “But we must pass her. How are we to do that?”

Granger ignored him, pondering his options, when he suddenly felt the wind, a fresh wind from the shore. His original plan had been to stealthily drift past the Frenchman, rather like a ghost, but now that she’d positioned herself in the mouth of the harbor, the Frenchman would make that impossible. If he needed to escape and he couldn’t sneak out, he’d have to sprint out. “We will fly past her.” He turned and called for Roberts.

“Sir?” Roberts asked.

“We cannot sneak past our Frenchman, so I hope to catch him by surprise. We’re going to leave Roses under full sail,” Granger announced.

“In the dark, sir?” Roberts asked, amazed. Granger understood his attitude, the apprehension about trusting Belvidera to some young Spaniard they didn’t even know yet. It was probably foolhardy, but there really weren’t a whole lot of options.

“I fear we must,” Granger said. “We’ll need enough hands to man the braces. We can bring the topmen down from the yards after the sails are set. We’ll need our larboard battery loaded with round shot and charge of grape, and I’ll want the guns depressed to engage boats.” That would take care of any guard boat.

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts chirped efficiently. Granger nodded, dismissing him to go implement his orders. His hope was that the French would see the lantern on the pole and think Belvidera was still anchored, so when she suddenly appeared in front of them, under full sail, they’d be too flabbergasted to respond.

They deliberately worked to get the ship ready for sea, to spring into action in just moments after Granger would issue the order. They still had a little time. Granger wanted the French to relax, to get comfortable, and that meant giving Herbet a chance to return to Arrogante and then sink into his seaboard routine.

Granger used the time to go around the ship, inspecting each station, each gun crew, their grinning faces reflecting the dim light of the lanterns. There were pikes and cutlasses handy to ward off any sudden attack by the French, and the marines were formed up on the upper deck, ready with their muskets and bayonets. Granger smiled at how perfectly turned out they were. He wished Chairs would worry more about musketry and less about polish. He heard the bell sound and decided it was time. He strolled back up onto the quarterdeck and stopped next to Roberts. “Let’s get underway, Mr. Roberts,” Granger ordered. “As quietly as possible.”

And then Belvidera turned from a dormant vessel into a live ship. Her sails boomed a bit too much as they caught the wind, but they avoided some noise by just slipping the cable instead of cutting it, leaving the anchor and some rope as a souvenir for the Spanish. In five minutes they were underway and quickly picking up speed. He felt the ship heel to larboard with the press of the wind on her sails. He was relishing the feeling when an elbow nudged him.

“You must watch out for the rocks on the starboard side,” Miguel said. “The Frenchman gives us a perfect beacon. Steer right for him, and then we will veer to starboard when we get close.”

“Helm, point to larboard,” Granger ordered. If they didn’t have Miguel with them, they’d probably already be aground. Ventura was forgiven for not warning him about the approaching Frenchman: Miguel more than made up for it. They waited for what seemed like an eternity as Belvidera tore through the water, her bowsprit aimed like a lance at the Arrogante’s midships.

“Now, starboard so her lights are on your larboard bow,” Miguel said. The helmsman began the maneuver even before Granger ordered him to, a sign of how nervous they were. If that French ship opened fire now, her broadside would rake Belvidera from bow to stern. That would probably turn her into an instantaneous wreck. Slowly Belvidera wore ship, until Miguel was happy with the new course. Granger was just starting to relax when he heard a shout, in French.

“They have sighted us, sir,” Carslake observed.

“That sound didn’t come from the ship, sir” Cavendish said. Just then a seaman came skidding to a halt and knuckled his hand to his forehead in salute.

“Begging your pardon sir, but there’s a fair number of boats in front of us, loaded with men,” he said. Granger dashed to the side, only to see the Arrogante’s launch, packed full of men, loom right in front of Belvidera. They were really shouting now, but it was too late. Belvidera crashed into the small craft, lurching from the impact, but driving on, rolling the launch over and spilling her men into the cold sea. Now there were screams as the men landed in the water. They would not last long; most of them probably couldn’t swim.

“There’s another boat off the starboard bow, sir,” Robey called from below.

They were clearly mounting a cutting out expedition against Belvidera, and this was the force. Probably at least 200 men in four or five boats, maybe more, they’d just started their trek to Belvidera, fighting against tide and wind. The progress must have been slow indeed, but now they found themselves with their prey in sight as Belvidera barreled by at probably close to ten knots. “Shall we fire on them, sir?” Roberts asked. Granger was about to stop him, to avoid firing guns and letting their flashes give away their position, but at that moment Arrogante launched a flare into the sky, illuminating the whole situation. There were two ship’s boats quite close to them, and they turned to close and board Belvidera as soon as the flare burst.

“Fire as your guns bear,” Granger said calmly. The last word was almost drowned out by the sound of the quarterdeck carronade going off. One by one, Belvidera’s cannon went off, just as they’d practiced, just as if those boats were floating kegs, and when they’d finished, both of the nearest boats were gone. More screaming men in the water, but there was nothing they could do for them now. The flare burned out, Belvidera ceased fire, and tore on through the night, with the Frog ship now off their larboard side. He saw a flash and heard the loud clap of gunfire as her bowchaser went off, firing aimlessly, and in fact, they heard no shot overhead.

“Mr. Robey, I’ll want the larboard battery loaded with chain shot,” Granger called down. “After that, reload quickly with round shot and a dash of grape. I’m going to give you two chances to rake her as we pass.” Robey acknowledged the order and he heard the shouts below as the gunners rammed home the cumbersome charges. Arrogante’s lanterns burned brightly still, illuminating the ship perfectly. “Helm, starboard a point,” Granger ordered.

Belvidera yawed over as she turned, then heeled to starboard as she tried to right herself. That was as close to an uproll as they were going to get. Granger looked off to see the French ship silhouetted no more than a cable’s length off Belvidera’s larboard side. “Fire!” Granger shouted.

The battery erupted almost in unison. Granger’s eyes were blinded at first by the gun flashes, and then he heard the noise of the broadside. That was replaced quickly enough with the sound of the chain shot flying through the air, a macabre screaming sound, and then the dull rumble as the guns were reloaded. “Larboard a point,” Granger ordered. “You may fire as your guns bear.”

Now Belvidera flew past the Frenchman’s bow, her guns discharging one by one into this weak spot, the balls blasting along the length of her decks. There were more screams to go with the sound of the guns, and of the shattered wood. Now they were past her, now the open sea was in front of them, but Granger knew they would not be able to escape without receiving at least one broadside from the angry Frenchman. He heard the drums rolling as she went to quarters. Granger was stunned by that. He’d figured Herbet would have his ship at quarters for the cutting out expedition, but evidently he felt so confident Belvidera would be taken in the harbor, he didn’t even take that simple precaution.

Belvidera was rapidly sailing out of range, making Granger hope optimistically that they’d avoid Arrogante’s vengeful response. He saw Cavendish and Chairs standing by the binnacle, the dull light illuminating their faces as they peered astern. A flare shot up into the sky, its burst illuminating the ships. Granger smiled when he noticed that Arrogante’s mizzen mast had been damaged, but that smile was erased when he saw the blinding flashes of her broadside. He heard the roar of gunfire, a much deeper roar than Belvidera’s, followed by a howling sound as shot screamed overhead. Of course the Frog would fire at their rigging. He looked up to see if anything had carried away, not that he’d see it in the black night anyway, when a huge piece of wood loomed out of the darkness. Granger was barely able to leap aside to dodge the wood, and even then it caught him, knocking him across the deck and into one of the carronade crews. The men helped him up and steadied him, as he was dizzy from being knocked about.

Granger shook that off and walked over toward the wheel, which was miraculously still intact. The binnacle was smashed though, and there, lying on the deck, pinned down by the massive yard, were Cavendish and Chairs. “Get us on course to clear the harbor,” Granger ordered. As soon as Roberts acknowledged, he rushed over and knelt next to his two officers.

He got to Chairs first, but the yard had landed squarely on his chest, crushing him against the deck. He was dead long before Granger got to him. Then he found Cavendish. He ran his hand across the young man’s face lovingly, trying to ease his pain. “My leg,” Cavendish said through gritted teeth. A lantern arrived, illuminating the scene in front of them, of Cavendish’s leg smashed beneath the mizzen yard.

“Move that yard off of him, carefully now,” Roberts ordered. Granger stepped to the side as men manhandled the yard up and to the side, releasing Cavendish. Granger pulled him out from under it quickly, getting a shriek of pain as his reward. There were loblolly boys there to carry him below to the surgeon. They jarred Cavendish’s leg, getting a scream and a sharp retort from Granger, and then they carried him below.

“How many were injured?” Granger asked.

“Other than Mr. Cavendish and Lieutenant Chairs, there were only light abrasions,” Roberts said. “We seem to have made it past the Frog, sir.”

“We did,” Granger said, smiling. “The men will stay at quarters, but they may rest there as best they can. That big frigate will be out there looking for us.” That last sentence was said for the benefit of the men around him, who would spread the gossip like wildfire through the ship. Then they turned their attention to repairing their rigging.

It seemed to take forever to do that, to get their rigging back in order, and then Granger headed below to check on Cavendish. He found him in the cockpit, which was gratifyingly devoid of other wounded men. “How is he?” Granger asked the doctor hastily.

“His leg has multiple fractures,” Jackson said. “I have re-aligned the bones as best I can, and we have immobilized it with this,” he said, gesturing at a wooden contraption that looked like an overbuilt splint. “I am doubtful whether he will walk on it again, and even if he does, he’ll have a pronounced limp.” Granger stared down at the young man that he loved so much, digesting the fact that he was now disabled. “I’ve never seen a lad so brave,” Jackson rambled on, filling the uncomfortable void with his words. “He barely shouted out as I reset the bones. That’s a painful thing, enough to break the toughest yeoman.”

“He is very brave,” Granger said as he ran his hand across Cavendish’s cheek. His eyes were closed as he slept, the laudanum and the pain having triggered his brain into somnolence. “We’ll let him recover in my cabin where Winkler can keep an eye on him. I’ll leave it to you to figure out how and when to move him.”

“Aye aye sir,” Jackson said. “Will you be sending me more men?”

“I hope not Doctor. We are heading south as fast as our sails will carry us, so hopefully dawn finds us quite some distance from that Frog frigate. If that is not the case, we may very well keep you busy.” Jackson just nodded somberly.