HMS Belvidera - 29. Chapter 29

March, 1796

Granger looked around the table at his assembled officers. He made sure his eyes didn’t linger too long on Somers, but even a glance was enough to fuel his lust. It had only been a day since they’d left London, and already his overactive libido was asserting itself. He gave Gatling a meaningful look, which he finally understood.

“Gentlemen, the King,” Gatling said as he stood up. They all stood and toasted their sovereign. Granger noticed that Gatling’s voice had changed now, and was much deeper. He had made the change from boy to adolescent and was now on the verge of being a young man. Granger thought about how cute he’d been when they’d gone shopping for uniforms. His cute ass, his lithe body, and his handsome face were enough to tempt a saint, and Granger was certainly no saint. He refocused on the dinner and his guests.

“Gentlemen, our orders are to rendezvous with a convoy of transports off Ushant and join the escort. The ships contain naval stores and provisions that our fleet desperately needs, so we must be extra vigilant,” he told them. It was Granger’s custom to invite his officers to dinner the evening after they sailed to brief them on their mission, so that was the purpose of this meeting. He smiled at their reaction, their indignation that they would treat ships with naval stores differently than any other ship under their care.

“What if the convoy hasn’t sailed and we miss them, sir?” Bailey asked. It was an excellent question. Belvidera could end up sailing all the way to Corsica looking for the convoy, only to find that it was behind her the whole time.

“I received a message before we departed that the convoy was getting underway even as we were,” Granger said. “I suspect we can put up a fair enough turn of speed to catch up with them.” That got a laugh, the thought of lumbering transports outsailing a sleek ship like Belvidera.

“How do you find your marines, Captain Somers?” Roberts asked.

“They’re a good lot, sir,” Somers said. His voice was sultry even when he was responding to a simple request, Granger thought. He saw Robey raise his eyebrows and began to worry that there would be a problem if Somers, with his charm and good looks, interfered in Robey’s relationship with Roberts. He reminded himself that it was not his place to meddle in the personal relationships of his officers, unless he was involved in the relationship. “They’re very pretty, but they need work on musketry and boarding.” That got a laugh.

“I noticed you drilling them with small arms yesterday,” Robey said.

“I’m trying to find the best marksmen, and then I’ll train them with the rifles we brought aboard,” Somers said. “We’ll have four or five men in each top when we go into action, with your permission sir,” he said to Granger.

“I am looking forward to seeing how this works out,” Granger said.

“Why four men?” Roberts asked.

“One grenadier, one or two riflemen, and one or two loaders,” he said.

“There were swivel guns in her tops before,” Carslake said. They all looked at him, wondering how he knew that. “The mountings were still in place.” They all looked down, Granger included, irritated that they’d missed that.

“Maybe we should rig them back up,” Robey observed. As the second lieutenant, he was by tradition most obsessed with artillery.

“That’s a fine idea Mr. Robey. Why don’t we just light the sails on fire ourselves,” Bailey said sarcastically.

“Won’t rifles do the same thing? Or grenades?” Robey asked, slightly irked at Bailey’s attitude. Granger was about to smooth things over, but Somers intervened first.

“I think that the swivels might be useful, but if you’ve no objection, I’d like to see how we handle small arms first,” Somers said.

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Granger said, shutting down that line of conversation. Dinner progressed after that on less substantive topics, mostly gossip about the fleet and officers they’d served with.

“Normally we’d have some entertainment, but we’ve lost Mr. Cavendish and his violin, and Mr. Lennox and his voice. Do any of you have any talents?” Granger asked, joking.

“I play the violin, sir,” Somers said.

“That is excellent. I have my clarinet and flute, but we must practice before we inflict our music on these men,” Granger said, being the affable host. Gatling seemed nervous, like he wanted to say something but was reluctant to. “And what about you, Mr. Gatling?”

He looked to Clifton, as did Brookstone. Clifton had made an amazing transition. Roberts said that he’d given him additional responsibilities when they’d revictualed and he’d handled them perfectly. “The three of us can carry a tune, sir,” Clifton said. “Like you, we’d like a bit of practice before we sing for you.”

“Well that is most excellent!” Granger said. “Barring some unforeseen event, let us have dinner again in one week and we will show off the results of our practice.” They all grinned at him, both at the thought of good music and the thought of more of Lefavre’s cooking.

“I have the next watch, sir,” Carslake said, breaking up their party.

They started to leave when Somers approached Granger. “If you’re not too tired, perhaps you’d like to practice tonight, sir?”

Granger tried to act nonchalant. “That would be wonderful. Why don’t you get your violin while I’ll track down my clarinet?” Granger suggested. Somers smiled at him and left, while Granger went into his day cabin to dig his instrument out of the cabinet it was stored in. He pulled it out and then let his libido take over. He went into his sleeping cabin and grabbed his jar of lanolin and brought it into the day cabin with him.

Somers came into the cabin with a knowing look on his face. “What would you like to practice sir?”

“I think it’s your turn to fuck me,” Granger said. Somers got a huge grin, and then looked nervous.

“Are you sure sir? I’m a bit thick,” he said. Granger went up and wrapped his arms around Somers then put his lips right next to Somers’ ear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Granger cooed. And then Somers became an animal. He spun Granger around and pulled his pants down, along with the front of his own trousers. He slowed down to thoroughly lube them up, a caring gesture that Granger appreciated, then he pushed inside Granger slowly, being careful to make it as gradual as possible.

Granger was having none of it. He’d been with men who were bigger, and men who were just as thick, so he adapted quickly. He sensed Somers’ surprise, but that didn’t last long. Somers let his body take over and began to really fuck Granger, really pounding him. Granger bent over his desk, wrapping his fingers around the edge and digging his nails into the wood as he let his body go, let himself enjoy Somers’ attention. Somers came long before Granger was ready, which was a disappointment, but he spun Granger back around and dropped to his knees, finishing Granger off with his mouth. It was a wonderful relief, but that’s all it was: Really good sex. They spent the next hour practicing their music, getting in sync with each other, then they fucked again and Somers left Granger with a smile on his face. A smile, but no commitments.

Adverse winds had kept them stuck in the Channel, much to Granger’s chagrin. He’d worked Belvidera down Channel, exhausting the crew by constantly wearing or tacking the ship. They’d arrived at the Atlantic only to find more adverse winds. It was as if the gods of the sea had decided that Belvidera was to stay wind-bound around the British Isles. Then finally, yesterday, the wind had shifted and sped them on their way. Now as dawn broke, Granger hoped they’d finally catch up with the convoy.

“Sail ho!” came the cry from the lookout in the foretop. “Sail dead on!”

“Deck there! Sails off the larboard bow!” That was they cry from the main top. How many sails were there? Granger looked at Roberts, who looked as confused as he did.

“It appears it is time for some exercise,” Granger said with a wry grin. He took his glass and headed to the foremast shrouds and began the climb up to the tops. He was still agile enough to scamper up, but he found that he was out of breath when he got there, a sign that he had reneged on his pledge to climb the masts regularly. He got to the top and found Holmqvist there, still looking guilty.

“There’s two groups of ships sir,” he said. The guilt was palpable in his voice. The poor man was still feeling bad about forcing Granger to flog him. “I think the group dead ahead is the convoy. Are there two ships of the line escorting it?”

“That was the intention,” Granger said, steadying his glass and looking at the ships in front of Belvidera. It didn’t take him long to ascertain that they were indeed the ships of the convoy. Four transports, two ships of the line, with a set of topsails far beyond them. Probably a frigate or sloop for scouting.

“I think that group to the left may be Frogs, sir” he said. Granger trained his glass to the larboard and his mouth almost hit the deck. This wasn’t a squadron; this was the whole French fleet from Brest, or at least most of it.

“How many ships do you see in that group?” Granger asked him. They studied the ships carefully.

“I make 15 sail of the line and two frigates, sir,” Holmqvist said.

“As do I, but I think that one of the frigates is small, or is a sloop,’ Granger noted.

“I think you’re right sir,” he said. “It looks like they’re chasing the convoy and they’re closing.” The convoy was on the starboard tack, working away from the French, but the transports were slow and lubberly. The French ships of the line, with their bottoms clean from sitting in port, were slowly making progress. By nightfall, they’d have the convoy in range, but only just barely. All they needed was a little time, an hour’s delay, and the convoy would be able to slip away in the night.

“Can you make out the ships in the convoy?” Granger asked.

Holmqvist borrowed Granger’s glass as it was more powerful than the one in the tops. “One of the ships flies a Broad Pennant, sir. I think she’s the Implacable, but I can’t be sure.”

Granger smiled. That would most likely be his first Captain, Sir Evelyn Fellowes. He was due to receive his Flag any day now, but in the mean time, they’d let him retain his rank of Commodore. “Thank you Holmqvist. You were very helpful.” He got a sad grin from the Swede. Granger tore his thoughts away from the demoralized sailor and thought about his ship, and the convoy.

Granger grabbed a backstay and slid down to the deck, pleased with his display of agility. The officers were assembled on the quarterdeck, waiting to hear what he’d discovered. “The French are out, and they are chasing the convoy,” Granger said. “They appear to have 15 ships of the line, while there are only two with the convoy.” He watched as they digested that piece of news. “Mr. Clifton!” As senior midshipman, he was in charge of signals. Granger hoped he was as competent as Cavendish. Much would depend on his efforts.

“Sir?” Clifton asked.

“When was the current signal book issued?” Granger demanded.

“Last October, sir,” Clifton said.

“Do we have the prior book?” Granger asked.

“Yes sir,” he said, confused.

“Excellent. Get it. We’ll use that one,” Granger told him.

“Sir, the French probably have that code,” Roberts said.

“I’m counting on it, Mr. Roberts. Now quickly with that book, Mr. Clifton.” Clifton dashed below while Robey got some extra seamen to help with the signals. Granger stared up at Belvidera’s sails; she had all her regular sail set and was tearing through the water at well over 10 knots. They could see the two fleets now, clearly visible in the distance. There was no chance the French would not have seen them.

“Sir, the lead ship in the convoy is signaling!” Clifton said. “She’s showing her number. It’s the Implacable, Commodore Sir Evelyn Fellowes.”

“Give our number, Mr. Clifton,” Granger said. “Mr. Roberts, let the sheets fly.”

“Sir?” he asked. That would take the way off of Belvidera. Some captains would be irritated that officers asked questions about orders, but Granger wanted these men to speak up. He’d learned at Imperia that input from a junior officer could save their lives. Plus it was important for Roberts to understand his motives in case some random act or a French cannon ball should eradicate him from the face of the earth.

“Let the sheets fly, Mr. Roberts. It is the universal signal for ‘enemy in sight’.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said.

“Sir, Implacable is signaling. ‘Commodore to Belvidera, take station astern convoy,’” Clifton said.

“Reply ‘Belvidera to Commodore, wait’, Mr. Clifton. Then send up this signal. ‘Belvidera to Flag, enemy in sight.’” Fellowes would assume that since he was responding to the ‘Flag’ that there was an admiral out there beyond Belvidera.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Belvidera’s signal to Fellowes, which smacked of insubordination, flew up the main mast. But Granger knew that if his plan worked, Fellowes would forgive him for being rude.

“Mr. Clifton, send up the signal ‘acknowledge’,” Granger ordered. “It must look like we are signaling a flagship.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. That signal soared up the mast. What the French must be thinking about all this signaling was beyond him, but Granger hoped it would make them nervous. French ships tended to signal to each other quite a bit. The French were a chatty bunch even when at sea. English ships usually signaled only when there was a need.

“Next signal, Mr. Clifton. ‘Belvidera to Flag, enemy is fifteen ships of the line and two frigates.’” Clifton ran that signal up the mast. Granger stared at the French, who seemed undeterred by his ruse.

“‘Acknowledge,’ Mr. Clifton,” Granger ordered. Clifton gave up on trying to understand his unfathomable signals and just ran them up. But it was important for the French to think that he was communicating with a fleet just over the horizon, and if the admiral commanding that fleet gave him an order, he would acknowledge it.

Now was the time when he’d really have to gamble for this to work out. If there really were a fleet behind him, the admiral would probably order the two escort ships in the convoy to harass and delay them. Granger weighed his options, calculating the risks. If he sent up the signal ordering the two battleships to engage, and they did, they would be destroyed. He would end up being court-martialed for making up orders that resulted in the destruction of two ships of the line. If he didn’t, the French admiral would guess it was a game. He would have to hope that by using the old signal book, Fellowes would figure out what he was up to.

“Mr. Clifton. Make this signal. The relay flag, then ‘Flag to Commodore, Prepare for battle.’” The relay flag would indicate the Belvidera was merely passing the signal through to Fellowes from the imaginary admiral.

“Aye aye sir,” he said.

“Implacable’s acknowledged sir,” Clifton said. “She’s signaling to the other ships to prepare for battle as well.” Fellowes was doing just what he would be expected to do. Granger worried that he was taking his signals at face value, but then put that aside. He’d have to deal with that if it looked like Implacable and her consort really were going to have to engage the French.

“Excellent. Pass on her acknowledgement to our imaginary admiral,” Granger said with a grin. He watched as Implacable cleared for action. He could tell that they were doing it with much more visibility than normal. She was even hoisting out her boats and towing them, something she wouldn’t do if this was a ruse. Granger knew now that Fellowes had guessed his game.

“Relay signal, Mr. Clifton. ‘Flag to Commodore, engage the enemy more closely,’” Granger said. That was the order throwing the two ships into the battle.

“Sir, the French ships have hauled their wind!” Roberts said. It was true. The French had hove to and were sitting with Brest and safety behind them, and a juicy convoy but a potential fleet action in front of them. It was a stalemate.

“Implacable’s acknowledged sir,” Clifton said. The Implacable and her consort reduced sail to topsails only, battle sails, and turned to face the entire French fleet. Regardless of whether he was ordered to do it or not, it was a very brave thing for Fellowes to do.

Granger watched, grinning, as the French fleet turned about and headed for home. Belvidera waited for the French to be truly on their way, then signaled Implacable to resume course. Granger was worried that he’d given the French reason to turn around, but luck was with them. Just as he’d sent up the signal, another sail was seen astern. It turned out to be nothing but a small cutter, probably plying contraband between England and France. Fortunately that wasn’t his problem, that was the purview of the Customs House.

“Commodore to Belvidera, Captain to repair on board,” Clifton said.

“Acknowledge, Mr. Clifton. Mr. Roberts, I’d be obliged if you’d have my gig made ready.”

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said. Granger headed below to put on his good uniform, and then boarded his gig. Belvidera had closed the distance to half a cable’s length, so the ride to Implacable was thankfully short.

He hauled himself up Implacable’s steep sides and through her entry port, and found Fellowes himself waiting for him. “By God, Granger, last time I saw you you were a Commander. Now you’re a post-captain. I must surely be getting old.”

“Sir, you look as young as when I first boarded Barracuda,” Granger said, almost flirting.

Fellowes laughed. “So where is this fleet you brought with you?”

“I’m sorry sir,” Granger said. “I figured that a ruse was the best way to extricate the convoy from the French fleet.”

“You don’t think we could have taken them on?” he asked playfully. “That was well done. Come back and share a glass with me.” Granger followed him aft to his cabin. Fellowes had been lucky with prize money when he’d commanded a frigate, and it showed in the luxurious appointments and furniture. “We figured you were playing when you used the old signals.”

“When I saw your flag, sir, I knew that you’d figure it out,” Granger said, tossing out a nice piece of flattery.

“Well no good deed goes unpunished,” Fellowes said. “I have an unpleasant task for you.”

“Sir?” Granger asked.

“When we approach Cadiz, I am going to make sure we pass it at night, and thus avoid Admiral Mann’s squadron. There’s a French squadron bottled up in Cadiz, and Mann’s been sent there to keep an eye on them and to remind the Spaniards that a blockade awaits them when they switch sides.” Granger tensed up when he heard Mann’s name mentioned. “He will appropriate these stores, or at least most of them, for his own fleet, and it has taken a long time to gather them together. He can easily slip into Gibraltar to replenish.”

“I see, sir,” Granger said. “How does that impact me?”

“You’re to be our decoy,” Fellowes said with a grin. “If we sight him, you are to close and report to him.”

“Yes sir,” Granger said nervously. “Sir, there is bad blood between me and Admiral Mann. He is a member of the Wilcox clan.”

“They are still carrying that grudge?” Fellowes asked. “And your father hasn’t run them out of the navy?”

Granger laughed. “I fear that they have long memories. My father tells me that, sadly, they are like rats in a ship, and are thus tough to completely eradicate, sir.” Fellowes laughed with him. “I am concerned that he will attempt to keep me tied to his command.”

“That is impossible,” Fellowes said. “You have orders from the Admiralty to personally deliver vital dispatches to Sir John.”

“I do, sir?” Granger asked.

“You do,” Fellowes said. “But hopefully you won’t have to tangle with him.”

“I’m due for a streak of good luck sir,” Granger joked. Fellowes gave orders for food to be prepared, and insisted that Granger stay aboard and dine with him. The fleet sailed on, while Granger helped Fellowes devour some of his more delectable stores.

“I suppose I should return to my ship, sir,” Granger said after they had finished eating. “I was wondering if there was any dessert?”

“As a matter of fact, the chef has prepared a wonderful pudding,” Fellowes said.

“That’s not what I was hoping for, sir,” Granger said. He leered at the Commodore, being quite bold, and got a smile in return.

Fellowes stood up and led Granger into his sleeping cabin. “Not much time, I’m afraid,” he said.

Granger ignored him and dropped to his knees. He pulled down Fellowes’ trousers and found his nice big cock already swelling. He moved forward and took it in his mouth, sucking him slowly but firmly, savoring the feel of Fellowes’ dick hardening in his mouth. It was heaven for Granger to do this for a man who had done so much for him, and to know how much he enjoyed it by his moans, by his thrusts, and by how big his load was when he came. Granger stood up when Fellowes was done and licked his lips. “Much better than pudding, sir.”

Fellowes laughed. “I agree. Now get back to your ship before I make you spend the night.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said. He left Implacable with a grin on his face, and when he got back to Belvidera he went to his cabin and stroked himself off to a big climax, thinking about how much fun it was to suck another man’s dick.

The convoy had hove to yesterday, waiting for nightfall before barreling past Cadiz and through the Straits of Gibraltar. So now that night had arrived, the convoy had packed on its sails and was going quite fast with the wind abeam. Granger’s orders were to stay to the rear of the convoy so that any ship that tried to catch up with them would have to stop and talk to him first. He sat in his cabin, unable to sleep, hoping they would manage to make it past Mann’s squadron unscathed. He was nervous and tense, and he knew he would be unable to get any sleep in this state.

“Pass the word for Holmqvist!” he shouted. The marine outside his cabin heard him and passed the word along. It would cause quite a sensation among the men, wondering why this man who had been so recently flogged was being summoned to see the captain.

Holmqvist arrived quickly, and entered Granger’s cabin nervously. Granger smiled at him, at this big blonde Swede who seemed to be perpetually guilty now. “You sent for me sir?”

“I did,” Granger said. He walked around his desk and stood in front of the seaman, admiring his bulging muscles and handsome face. “I’m wondering about this fight with Weber. I never saw you as the type of man to fight over a whore.”

“It wasn’t like that, sir,” he said. “They’d been playing around with the men, those women, and they got some of us aroused. When that one saw how big I am, she took a shine to me.” That made a lot of sense. A whore, seeing a man like Holmqvist, handsome and hung, would want to take him for a ride even if she had to do it for free.

“I forgot how big you are,” Granger said seductively.

“I can show you if you like, sir,” Holmqvist said, smiling.

“I think it’s important,” Granger said playfully. “Just to make sure I have all the facts.” Holmqvist undid his trousers, letting them fall to the floor, and it seemed as if his dick rose as his trousers fell. It was as big as Granger remembered. He reached down and stroked it gently, getting a moan from the big Swede. “I think that you should let me make you feel good, just to show you I forgive you. But only if you want to,” Granger said.

“I want to,” Holmqvist said. He pulled Granger in to his hulking arms and kissed him. “I want to so bad,” he said. Granger kicked off his shoes and trousers; he’d been wearing his working clothes this evening and they were easier to remove. He made Holmqvist lie down on the thick, luxurious carpet he’d bought, and pulled out the lanolin, lubricating both Holmqvist’s dick and his own ass. Then he straddled him, lowering his ass down onto the massive spear. He felt like he was being ripped open, but Granger had taken him before, so he knew he could do it. It seemed to take forever for him to adapt, but once he did, it was sheer heaven.

Granger leaned forward and nuzzled his mouth into Holmqvist’s neck while he slid up and down on his massive cock, moaning into his skin so the man could feel how good he was making Granger feel. Holmqvist had been largely passive, but as he got more excited, as Granger got him fired up, he became more active. Now he grabbed Granger’s hips and thrust up, driving his cock in and out of Granger. Granger lost all sense of coherence; he just let the big dick in his ass take him to another world. And just when he thought the pleasure could get no better, he came, blasting his load all over Holmqvist’s shirt. As he was finishing he felt the big Swede start to blow his own load, flooding Granger’s ass. That was the true test of endurance, to take that huge dick after already blowing a load, but Granger did it.

“Thank you, sir,” Holmqvist said, smiling up at Granger.

“It was truly my pleasure,” Granger said. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“That we’re married?” Holmqvist said, joking. Granger laughed with him.

“No, it means that you made your mistake, you paid the price, and I forgive you,” Granger said, and kissed him lovingly.

“That was a bad way to do it, sir,” Holmqvist said. “That was worth a flogging.” Granger chuckled with him, then pulled him up and put on his own trousers before guiding Holmqvist out of his cabin. He slept like a baby, and Winkler had to shake him to get him to wake up at sunrise.

He got up on deck just as the sun started to rise. “Sir, the convoy is barely visible ahead,” Roberts reported.

“Sail ho!” came the cry from the mizzen top. “Sail off the larboard quarter!”

“What is she?” Granger shouted. She was still too far away to be seen from the deck of Belvidera.

“She’s a frigate sir, English by the look of her,” he said.

“Heave to,” Granger ordered. They waited until this strange frigate got closer, and indeed she was English.

“She’s making her number, sir,” Clifton said. “Meleager, 38, Captain Preston.” Granger had met Preston before. He was related to the first lieutenant on Barracuda, his first ship.. He was considerably senior to Granger, but then again, almost all captains were.

“Make ours,” Granger ordered.

Granger kept Belvidera hove to until Meleager got within hailing range. “What are you doing here Granger?” he shouted.

“Carrying dispatches to Sir John Jervis from the Admiralty,” Granger said, just as Fellowes had told him to.

“Well then, I shan’t delay you. Have a good voyage!” he said, and then Meleager bore off, and Belvidera set herself before the wind and dashed off to catch up with the convoy, her mission accomplished, and all without having see Admiral Mann.