HMS Belvidera - 35. Chapter 35

June, 1796

HMS Belvidera all but flew out of Cadiz harbor, with the morning tide and land breeze pushing her along. Granger surveyed the sea in front of him and found that he was more apprehensive about the fleet that lay in front of him than the one that lay behind him and that was saying something, since the one in front of him was English. He saw the Meleager, waiting to question him, and further beyond that he saw the Windsor Castle with Rear Admiral Mann’s flag flying jauntily from her mizzen mast.

“We will definitely have some signals today, Mr. Clifton,” Granger said good-naturedly. He saw Clifton try to smile at him despite the hangover he nursed from the previous night’s reception. A glance at Somers showed him to be in little better shape. That was the first good thing of the day, Granger decided, with the joy of someone who had evaded a hangover while his companions had not. “Make our number.” Belvidera’s unique number flew up the mainmast; that would tell any other British ship her name, the number of guns she was rated for, and who her captain was. It didn’t take long to get a reaction.

“Flag to Belvidera, Captain to repair on board immediately!” Clifton called. Granger thought the signal sounded rude, but maybe he was just thinking that since it was Mann who was making it.

“Call away my gig,” Granger ordered. “Heave to a cable’s length from the Windsor Castle, Mr. Roberts.”

“Aye aye sir,” he responded.

Granger went below to find Winkler laying out his best uniform coat. The thought that he’d wear the same uniform he’d worn to the reception last night seemed completely hypocritical. “We’ll give that one a rest. Lay out my second-best uniform,” he told Winkler.

“Aye aye sir,” Winkler said, grinning at him. Granger dashed off a copy of his report for Mann and got dressed. He arrived on deck and descended into his gig a full 15 minutes after he should have, but he was in a mood to piss Mann off.

Granger’s gig plowed between the two ships quickly, and Granger was able to scamper up the Windsor Castle’s side easily enough in the relatively calm seas. “The admiral will see you,” a lieutenant said briskly. Granger stood there, refusing to move, until the horrified young man added the word “sir” to the end of his sentence. Granger was determined to brook no disrespect from Mann’s stooges. Granger walked into Mann’s spacious cabin, noting its lack of tasteful décor. There were no refreshments, not that he’d expected any.

“What about immediate do you not understand Captain?” Mann asked harshly.

“I was delayed completing a copy of my report on the ships and conditions of the port of Cadiz for you, sir,” Granger said respectfully.

“You didn’t think to do that before?” Mann demanded snidely.

“When I arrived here yesterday, there was no sign of your fleet at all, sir, so I didn’t know you were even in the area,” Granger said innocently, driving the barb home. “Otherwise, I would have already prepared a copy for you.”

“We were blown off station,” he snapped.

“I encountered no winds sufficient to do that sir. I commiserate with you,” Granger said.

“What possessed you to go sailing into Cadiz anyway, and without my approval?”

“As I said before, sir, you weren’t here, so your approval did not seem to be an issue. I was ordered to Cadiz by His Excellency, Governor O’Hara.”

“To what purpose?” Mann demanded.

“To return a rescued Spanish nobleman, sir.”

“You sailed here just to return some errant count? What nonsense is this?”

“I’m sure that you’ll find we made good use of our time in port, sir. I’ve copied you on our discoveries, on the reports I’ve drafted for Sir John and for the Admiralty. I’m sure you’ve been able to get as close and get just as detailed information, so if you’d like, I’ll just discard them.”

“Don’t be impertinent Granger,” Mann snapped.

“I’m sorry sir. Does that mean you haven’t been able to dispatch a ship into Cadiz that was allowed to anchor half a cable’s length away from the Santissima Trinidad?” There was silence while Mann just glared at him.

“Well you’re here with us now,” Mann said, an evil smile spreading across his face. “You can put your spying to good use by taking the point and closing with the harbor.”

“With all due respect sir, my orders command me to return to Gibraltar at once. I am uncomfortable with the time I’ve spent here already,” Granger said.

“You will obey my orders, Captain!”

“Sir, I am detached by Sir John Jervis to specifically serve the Governor of Gibraltar. If you can give me incontrovertible proof that you have superseded Sir John in rank, or that the Governor has directed me to join your squadron, I will gladly do your bidding.”

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you in irons right now for such insubordination,” Mann almost shrieked.

“You are free to do so, but then I fear it would be you who would be guilty of that sin. I am merely following the orders of our superiors, sir.”

“You watch, Granger. I’ll break you yet!”

“As you wish, sir,” Granger said. Without waiting to be formally dismissed, he turned on his heel and strode down the deck of the Windsor Castle, half expecting a marine guard to arrest him. He swung himself over the side and descended into his boat, still wondering if Mann would try to seize him up. It wasn’t until he climbed back aboard Belvidera that he felt he was safe.

“Let’s get underway,” Granger snapped at Roberts. “I want the topgallants on her, and the royals too.” Within minutes, Belvidera had spread her wings and was flying away from Mann’s squadron.

“Sir, signal from Flag,” Clifton said. “Take station assigned.”

“Make ‘signal not understood’ Mr. Clifton and keep it flying,” Granger ordered. He watched as Mann fumed from his quarterdeck, watching Granger and Belvidera slip from his grasp. Granger knew exactly why Mann had flown that last signal. It was because he’d read Granger’s report, the report where Granger noted the light breezes that had brought him into Cadiz and had openly wondered in his report where the British fleet was. When that report reached Jervis and the Admiralty, it would make Mann look like the ineffective nitwit that he was.

The Governor laughed quietly at first, then louder, then uproariously as Granger relayed the account of his encounter with Mann to him. “You found the harbor unguarded?” The governor asked, and then laughed again. “Harleton!” he shouted.

The Colonel came in, looking somewhat surprised. “Your Excellency?”

“Granger sailed straight into Cadiz, and not one of Mann’s ships was in sight when he got there.”

“Not even a frigate?” Harleton asked Granger.

“Not even a frigate,” Granger answered, grinning. The Governor made him replay his whole tale for Harleton, and all of them laughed now, their mutual distaste for Mann and their need for some comic relief combining most pleasantly in this rare occasion of official mirth.

“Well Granger, it looks as if your streak of luck is with you,” the Governor said. His tone told Granger he had changed the subject.

“Indeed, Your Excellency?” Granger asked.

“A bunch of xebecs out of Oran captured an English merchant brig, the Caroline, carrying naval stores for the fleet. They did it before you saved your Spanish Duke, so if anything, your action will merely be seen as retaliation.”

“They captured one of our merchants sir?” Granger asked, stunned. That was an act of war.

“They did. She’s anchored in Oran like a trophy, if my sources are to be believed.”

“Has Sir John been informed yet?” Granger asked.

“I don’t think so. I suspect he would view piracy in this sector as something we’re to manage, although they give us precious little support,” the Governor groused.

“You say the Caroline is in Oran, Your Excellency?” Granger confirmed. The Governor merely nodded sagely. “Then I should like your permission to sail for Oran and try to recapture her.”

“With one frigate, you hope to capture a brig out from under the nose of the Bey of Oran?”

“I would like to attempt it, with your permission sir,” Granger said. “If I am successful, it may go far to ease our problems with piracy from the Barbary States.”

“If the Ottoman Turks could keep control of their vassals, we’d have less piracy,” The Governor groused. Granger kept his skeptical views on that topic to himself. He had little use or respect for the crumbling Ottoman Empire, and tended to view it as many of his class did, as nothing more than a disorganized band of thugs. “Oh very well Granger, you can give it a try. Least I can do, let you run off on a fool’s errand, after you made Mann look like a spotted toad.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Granger said. He took his leave of the Governor, and stopped only to extract some mortars and shells from Harleton. He wasn’t sure if he’d use them, but if he attacked a fort, he fancied they’d come in handy.

“If you’re to be gone, you may as well take your watch party with you,” Harleton observed sensibly, so the four court martial refugees found themselves once again back aboard Belvidera. Granger had no need to re-provision Belvidera after their stop in Cadiz, so she left port immediately; taking advantage of the fair winds that prevailed, and headed off to her new adventure in Oran.

They’d just cleared the harbor and begun their long journey eastward when dinner was served. Granger had invited all of his officers, as per his custom, to enlighten them about their mission. He looked at the familiar and reliable faces and smiled. “Gentlemen, we are off to attack Oran and recapture HM Brig Caroline, containing naval stores. She was seized by Oranian pirates.” He then sat back and let the conversation flow around him.

“Oran’s a big port, with lots of batteries,” Bailey said somberly. “Begging your pardon sir.”

“Yes, but there was an earthquake earlier in the decade, as I recall, that compelled the Spanish to abandon the place, was there not?” Robey asked. He was quite well informed.

“And now it’s nothing but a den of pirates,” Hercule quipped. “That bosun’s mate, Carter, the one we picked up from the fleet, he knows that town pretty well.”

“Indeed?” asked Granger. “Pass the word for Bosun’s Mate Carter!” They continued to banter until they were interrupted by a very nervous Carter.

“You sent for me sir?”

“I am told you are familiar with Oran,” Granger asserted.

“Yes sir. I was mate on a brig that traded there often,” he said.

“We are meant to attack the port, so join us for dinner and tell us what you know,” Granger said jovially. The other officers made room for him, while Roberts himself helped Carter to a plate.

“Since the Dons left, it’s been run by a Bey, and he reports to the Dey of Algiers, but they’re all pretty independent. The port’s defenses were beat up bad by the earthquakes. The worst one was in 1790, but there was another in ’92, and that convinced the Dons they didn’t want the place no more. I can’t think they’ve put the forts to rights, at least not that much,” Carter said.

“What about ships?” Roberts asked.

“I’d expect they’ve got a good number of xebecs, probably at least a hundred of the damn things, but I don’t know if they’ve got anything bigger.”

“Wouldn’t really need them,” Robey observed. “Those craft are ideal for snapping up merchants.”

“And a swarm of them can take out a much bigger warship,” Carter cautioned.

“Surely not a frigate,” Carslake observed dourly.

“Yes sir, I’ve heard it happen a few times. Get twenty of those things with a couple of hundred men each, on a becalmed sea, and it’s only a matter of time.”

Granger thought about that, about his ship being swarmed from bow and stern by 4000 pirates, about what they’d do to him and his men, and felt his blood run cold. “I expect you underestimate our chances,” he said anyway, putting on his game face. “But I appreciate your counsel.”

“Do they know we’re coming, sir?” Carter asked.

“I doubt it. Why do you ask?”

“If they do, they’ll try to meet us at sea, in just those conditions.”

“Then we will have to hope that our breeze continues,” Granger observed. The rest looked at him dubiously. Winds in the Mediterranean in the summer were notoriously unreliable. It was some 450 miles from Gibraltar to Oran.

As it turned out, the gentle breeze held with them, propelling them to within a hundred miles of Oran by dawn on the fifth day. They’d spent the last few days making precious little progress. Granger stood on the quarterdeck next to Roberts with the hands at quarters, as required. “Do you think this breeze will hold?” Granger asked Carter and Bailey as they awaited the sunrise.

“Not sure, sir,” Bailey said cautiously. These were not his waters; he was more at home in the Indian Ocean or the Caribbean.

“Not likely, sir,” Carter said. His opinion was much more valuable. He’d been adept at predicting every wind they’d encountered thus far.

“So we’ll be becalmed by this afternoon?” Granger asked.

“If you’re asking my opinion, sir, I’d say before then.”

“Sail ho!” came the call from the masthead! “Lots of them!”

“Where away?” Granger called up.

“Dead ahead, sir!” came the cry.

“I’ll be aloft,” Granger said. “Join me Carter.” He strode forward confidently, the bosun’s mate at his heels, then climbed up to the crossyards and positioned himself securely. He took out his glass and surveyed the sea, but before he could say anything, he heard Carter gasp. There had to be 30 xebecs, maybe more, making for them.

“Any chance they’re not here looking for us?” Granger asked.

“No sir. They must have sighted us and sent riders ahead to Oran. They even look warlike.”

Granger watched as they began to fan out, using classic Barbary tactics. Present too many objects for a ship to target, so that some must eventually get through. “It looks to be a warm day.”

“Aye sir,” Carter said.

“Stay with me,” Granger ordered, as he slid down the backstay to the deck. Carter followed him dutifully.

“What are they, sir?” Roberts asked.

“A whole fleet of xebecs, evidently come looking for us,” Granger observed wryly.

“If the winds drop away, they’ll be able to maneuver around us, to lodge off our bows and pound us until they board us, sir,” Roberts said, almost near a panic. A stern look from Granger steadied him.

“Shouldn’t we head out to sea while we can, sir?” Robey asked. And then Granger felt that rush of adrenaline, the thrill from getting an idea.

“Take a sounding. What’s our depth here?” Granger demanded. The others looked at him like he’d grown a third head, wondering what would possess him to ask such irrelevant questions in the middle of the crisis, but the Captain’s orders were the Captain’s orders.

It took a good twenty minutes to break out and heave the deep sea lead, and by that time there was plenty of light out: plenty of light to see their nemeses. The xebecs approached under sweeps, the oars bringing them toward Belvidera in a deliberate manner. The craft crawled menacingly toward them like so many crabs, Granger thought to himself.

“Fifty fathoms, sir,” Roberts said.

Granger smiled. “Anchor. Rig a spring through the rear gunport. We’ll give them a surprise they aren’t expecting.”

Roberts and Robey looked at him amazed, as did Bailey and Carter, then they all grinned. Becalmed, Belvidera was helpless, unable to maneuver; but anchored with a spring, she was quite maneuverable, able to adjust her direction with just a few clanks on the capstan. “Aye aye sir!” Roberts said. In just a few minutes, they heard the sound of the anchor as it splashed into the sea. Either the xebecs weren’t aware of what this new danger meant, or they didn’t care, because they came on with the same deliberation.

“Clear for action, Mr. Roberts. Beat to Quarters,” Granger ordered. The drums began to thrum “Hearts of Oak,” and the band joined in, lending a hand. “Mr. Somers, I’ll need your snipers and grenadiers at the tops today. We’ll also need a disciplined force ready to beat off any borders.”

“Aye aye, sir,” he said.

Granger heard the clank of the capstan and felt Belvidera move as Roberts tested the cable. It worked perfectly. “Mr. Roberts, don’t show them our broadside just yet. Let’s allow them to get within long cannon shot first.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Granger watched the xebecs approaching. They would be armed with one heavy gun, probably a 24-pounder, in the bow, and some smaller guns on the broadside. The 24-pounder was the only one that could harm them, but that wasn’t even the big fear. The big fear was that they’d range alongside. A few of those xebecs with their two hundred to two hundred and fifty man crews would do the job just fine, distracting Belvidera’s men enough that others could close and board as well. They would be swamped and butchered.

“Masthead! How many xebecs?” Granger asked.

“Looks to be thirty three, sir,” the masthead shouted back. He watched his men recoil at the odds.

“Men!” Granger shouted, getting the attention of the men on the gundecks. “Yonder are 33 xebecs. We’re going to pound them to boxwood. We can’t let them get close, because if they range alongside, they’ll board us and overwhelm us. We will sink them, all of them, but you must remember, there will be no surrender. They will butcher us alive if we ask for quarter. So who is with me?”

The cheers roared through the ship, making her vibrate with the noise. Winkler appeared and attached his sword around his waist. “I think you’ll need this today, sir.”

“I fear you’re right Winkler.”

“It will be another hour before they’re in range, sir,” Roberts observed.

“Dismiss the hands for breakfast, a quick meal,” Granger ordered. He knew his men would be fighting for their lives soon. He didn’t want them doing it on an empty stomach. The ship became chaotic as they scrambled to put together an adequate meal. The men finished just in time to man their guns, as the xebecs were almost in range. He saw Andrews and his men rolling barrels out onto the decks, barrels full of fruit for the men. If they got hungry or thirsty during the action, they could grab an apple or an orange. Granger smiled. Andrews was showing a great deal of largesse. Clearly, he too understood the stakes of this upcoming battle.

And then it was time. “Mr. Roberts, a turn of the capstan, if you please. Let’s show those Arabs our teeth.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, smiling. Granger heard the men heaving on the capstan, and felt Belvidera turn, her broadside now facing the oncoming xebecs. Granger decided they were within range.

“Mr. Robey, you may commence firing. Single shots for now. A guinea for every gun crew that sinks one of those bastards!” That got a rowdy cheer, which was drowned out as the first shots began to fire.

Granger trained his glass on the xebecs and watched the fall of the shots. Most missed, which was to be expected at that range, but Granger watched one slam into the bow of a xebec and break her open like a fan. Her oars started flailing about frantically, and then she stopped in the water while another xebec ranged alongside to take her men off. Granger watched with satisfaction as she began to sink.

That satisfaction was cut short by the dull clap of gunfire as the forward cannon of the xebecs began to fire back. Granger heard balls howl as they passed over them, and heard a crash below as at least one found its mark.

“Mr. Robey, fire at will,” Granger ordered, releasing the men to fire as quickly as they could. The xebecs were getting closer and closer, and while Belvidera was taking many of them out, it wasn’t enough. One was trying to range across their bows, but Granger directed the bowchasers to focus on her, and after five shots, they were able to sink her. Closer and closer they came, their cannon belching fire and their shots slamming into Belvidera, while Belvidera responded, shrinking their numbers.

“A pull on the capstan,” Granger ordered. The xebecs were working to cross their stern now. The change in direction of the ship put them back into the line of fire.

Granger heard crashes and screams from below as Belvidera took the pounding. He surveyed the ocean, and the slaughter they’d visited on the Arabs. Half the xebecs had been sunk, but that still left fifteen large caliber guns battering at Belvidera. The xebecs seemed to reform, as if to try a new strategy as they bore in for the kill.

Granger studied them, and saw their speed increase dramatically. They’d double banked their oars for extra speed.

“Mr. Robey, broadside fire. One for each xebec!” Granger ordered. He’d run the calculations. One broadside should blow a xebec out of the water. They’d just have time to destroy the lot before they could board.

Belvidera aligned herself perpendicular to the closest xebec and fired. The xebec all but vanished in front of them. Broadside after broadside they fired, destroying xebec after xebec, but they were running out of time. Granger was amazed at the punishment these rogues were willing to take, but Belvidera was the end game, the prize for the winner. Capturing her would be worth thirty, even fifty xebecs. There were seven left now, and they were close.

Another broadside, another xebec, and now there were six. He could see the men on the closest ones without his glass. Either the xebecs had moved faster than he’d anticipated, or his estimates were off. Regardless, he wouldn’t be able to sink them all with broadsides before they were alongside. “Mr. Robey, you’ll have to fire independently,” Granger called. “Don’t let them through.”

“Aye aye sir,” Robey said, staring up at him from the gun deck below. His face was black from the smoke of gunpowder, and his eyes had that crazed look of a warrior set loose.

It was a calculated risk to let the men control their targets and fire, but the xebecs were close enough to make that practical now. He watched as they destroyed all but one of the remaining xebecs. This one was packed with men, with survivors from the others. She ranged toward the bow.

Granger grabbed his sword. “Repel boarders!” he cried, and headed forward. He was almost to the bows when the xebec grappled with Belvidera. The hordes of pirates brandishing swords were a fearsome sight. And then they weren’t. The first thing to hit them was the smasher, loaded with its 68-pound ball. Bailey aimed it himself, a perfect shot. It burst in the middle of the boarders, shredding dozens of the pirates. Then it was the turn of the marines. Their musketry dropped the remaining pirates like dolls. Granger felt himself carried forward on a tide of men, his own men.

Now they weren’t being boarded, now they were boarding the xebec. He surged forward with his men, and found himself face to face with a pirate wielding a scimitar. Granger parried his jab then thrust his sword forward, feeling it penetrate the man’s vulnerable chest. He watched the pirate gasp in pain and collapse, dying, on the deck. But there was no time for celebration, as another one took his place. Granger dispatched that one to meet his god, and then there was another, and another. Granger felt his arm weakening as he battled this foe, clearly one of the officers of the xebec. The man smirked at him, sensing his weakness, his fading strength, which brought Granger back into the fight, but he was merely delaying the obvious. He watched the pirate swing his blade and it hit Granger’s sword with such force it knocked it clean out of Granger’s hand. Granger stood there, helpless, staring as the pirate raised his blade over his head to deliver the coup-de-grace.

Granger saw his life flash in front of him, knew that he was done for, when a single shot rang out. He felt a bullet blast by him, and watched as it slammed into the pirate’s chest. He turned to see Somers winking at him as he handed his smoking pistol to his orderly. The Marine had saved his life. The pirate that had been attacking Granger staggered, fell back, and went over the side. He expected the pirates to ask for quarter, but they didn’t, they fought on savagely until they’d all been killed or forced off the xebec.

The action stopped, save only for men shooting at pirates who tried to climb aboard Belvidera or her prize. Then the true horror started. The sea was littered with the wreckage of the xebecs, and men, pirates, clung to that wreckage for dear life. Granger watched, amazed, as one man screamed as he was dragged under the water. Then another, then another. He looked at the sea, which had turned gray from the marauding sharks that had smelt the human blood and moved in for the kill.

Granger was unable to tear himself or his men away from the sight as the sharks began to frenzy feed, turning the sea bright red with the blood of the pirates they feasted on. The men being attacked were too far away to help, and Granger wasn’t sure that he wanted to help them anyway. Instead, he watched as the sharks feasted. He decided, in the end, that if 200 of the more than 6000 pirates sent to assault them had survived, they’d be lucky. It was rare for such a victory to be so complete. He hadn’t merely beaten the pirates, he’d annihilated them.

“You may secure our guns and secure our prize,” he said to Roberts.

“Aye aye sir,” Roberts said.

Just before Roberts turned to do that, Doctor Jackson appeared. Something about his demeanor made Roberts stay. Something about his demeanor told Granger there was bad news indeed.

“We have at least five men killed and fourteen wounded at last count, sir,” Jackson said. “Mr. Robey was one of the men wounded.”

“How bad is he?” Granger asked.

“He took a splinter wound to the abdomen,” Jackson said. They stared at him, aghast. That type of wound was deadly, more often than not.

Granger watched Roberts struggle with emotional turmoil, with anguish at having the man he loved hurt, and his heart went out to him. “Mr. Roberts, please go below and check on Mr. Robey. I want a full report on his condition,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and followed Jackson below.

“Mr. Carslake, let’s get the ship back to rights,” Granger said, taking charge of operations, something that was clearly Roberts’ job, but he did it because Roberts was an excellent officer, and a friend.