Odyssey - 63. Chapter 63

August 22, 1798

Aboard Généreux

Granger lay in his cabin wearing trousers and a shirt, pretending to be asleep. It had been four days since the battle and they had made but slow progress toward Corfu. Granger had spent much of his time looking after the British prisoners aboard Généreux. As he was the only British officer aboard, he felt it was his obligation to act as their guardian, as it were. He had done what he could to make their lives tolerable, but it was difficult to demand resources from Lejoille when his ship was already over-manned and under-supplied. He had seen Thompson and Berry as they’d come over to complain about various things, and had tried to intercede to smooth things over with Lejoille to the best of his abilities. It was a futile effort, in any event, as Thompson and Berry seemed determined to annoy Lejoille and his officers, who in turn took special pleasure in annoying Thompson and Berry. Granger would have laughed at the whole situation but for the fact that the men usually suffered during these petty scuffles between captains.

But being in captivity, with little to do but mediate disputes, had become boring. Granger had spent much of his time exploring this ship, noting her strengths and her weaknesses. She was fast and handled well, or at least she would if she weren’t towing the Leander. Her internal layout was similar to British ships of the line, with a few differences. Her biggest flaw was one that was endemic to French ships, and that was her weak construction. Granger noted that it wasn’t as bad as he’d seen in French frigates, as her scantlings were stout enough, but the French design for knees was substandard to the British design. In Granger’s opinion, that was but a small problem, and one that would have more of an effect on her useful lifespan than on her performance. Granger had come to the conclusion that she was a good and well founded ship, one that was a formidable match for a British ship of the line.

Then Granger had taken to observing the crew or more specifically, one member in particular: Beauvilliers. He and Granger conversed often, and their discussions were always pleasant and mildly flirtatious. Granger had found that flirtatious charm to be almost a national trait for Frenchmen, but Beauvilliers took it to an entirely different level. Granger had kept an eye on him, in a stealthy manner, and had observed him going below on certain evenings at 1:00am. He was curious as to what this handsome Frenchman was up to. He looked at his watch and saw that it was almost 1:00, and heard a door creak slightly. Granger got up and peered out his cabin door just in time to see Beauvilliers sneaking out of the wardroom. Granger carefully followed him, watching him descend a ladder, and then following only when he’d gone onto the next one.

When he got to the orlop deck, the smells fully assaulted his nose, and they were so strong, they almost made him vomit. But he held his scented handkerchief up to his nose and pressed on. It was almost completely dark down here but for a carefully shaded lantern.

“What are you doing here?” he heard Beauvilliers hiss at someone.

“I’m here to service you, sir,” a voice whispered back. It was high-pitched, and probably belonged to one of the ship’s boys.

“I told you not to come back,” Beauvilliers said angrily. “I told you to send someone else, someone who knows how to suck a cock without using his teeth.”

“I will do better,” the boy promised. “It’s just that you’re so big.”

“You will not. You cannot blow me, and you will not let me fuck you, so you are not worth the money. Be gone!” Granger snuck into the shadows as the lad vanished up the ladder. He could barely see Beauvilliers’ silhouette, but as Beauvilliers lowered his trousers and began to stroke his cock, Granger could make out that it was big. Very big.

Granger carefully made his way over to Beauvilliers until he was no more than two feet away from him. Before he could move closer, the ship took a wave erratically, and threw Granger off balance. That said more about how engrossed Granger was in watching Beauvilliers masturbate than anything, since with his sea legs, he could manage almost any motion at sea. He stumbled into Beauvilliers, knocking him onto a sack of grain, and falling on top of him.

“What are you doing?” Beauvilliers demanded, but Granger had landed next to his groin, and there, in front of him, was the Frenchman’s big cock. Granger reached out and touched it sensually, getting a moan for his efforts. He began to stroke Beauvilliers’ big dick, admiring it in what little light there was. It was big, but not as big as Jardines’. That ship’s boy must have had a small mouth or been inexperienced. This would be child’s play for Granger. “Who are you?” Beauvilliers demanded.

“Shh...” Granger cooed, and lowered his mouth down onto Beauvilliers’ organ. He lowered his own trousers so he could stroke his own cock while he blew Beauvilliers. Granger worked his magic, really putting his all into it, so he was surprised when Beauvilliers pulled his mouth away and forced Granger’s face up to meet his.

“It is you!” Beauvilliers said, and Granger was glad to hear the excitement in his voice. “You do that so well.”

“I do,” Granger said, and leaned in to kiss the Frenchman. He recoiled from that intimacy.

“I do not kiss other men,” he declared.

“That is a shame,” Granger said seductively as he rubbed his naked ass on Beauvilliers’ dick. “If you kiss me, you can fuck me.”

“That may be worth breaking my rule,” Beauvilliers said, grinning, and then he pulled Granger’s mouth to his. For someone who didn’t want to kiss, he was remarkably good at it. His mouth played Granger’s like it was a flute, their lips and tongues working in perfect harmony, even as Granger lined Beauvilliers’ massive cock up to his hole. He cursed himself for not remembering lanolin, but opted for the more primitive method of simply using spit. He broke off their kiss to spit in his hand and lube his ass, and to put more on Beauvilliers’ cock, and then with some effort, he was able to work the huge dick into his ass.

Granger had to stop and add more spit to his ass, but eventually he got himself lubricated enough that Beauvilliers could fuck him. Granger let the randy Frenchman take over, and just enjoyed the sensation as Beauvilliers thrust into him over and over again, each penetration a new form of ecstasy. He would go slowly and lovingly, pausing to kiss Granger as he did, then he would go fast and hard, really fucking Granger, then he would revert to a calmer pace. Granger knew Beauvilliers was doing this to keep his orgasm under control, but the way he did it, and the way it was impossible to predict whether he’d be cuddled gently or fucked raw from second to second, made it that much more erotic.

Granger finally reached his point of no return, and cried out softly as he ejaculated all over the flour bag. Beauvilliers pounded on, but his muffled grunts were so erotic they kept Granger’s libido fueled enough to handle that big dick, even after he’d come. Finally Beauvilliers’ body stiffened and twitched, as the Frenchman jammed his cock as far up Granger’s ass as it would go, and deposited his seed deep in Granger’s bowel.

He pulled out quickly after that, and hurriedly put on his trousers. Without saying a word, he stealthily climbed out of the hold. Granger shook his head at the man’s oddness, and then followed along on his own, taking time to make sure he wasn’t seen. For the first time in quite a while, Granger slept soundly, so soundly that Donegal had to wake him by shaking him to get him ready in time for breakfast. After he had his morning meal, Granger went up on deck.

“Good morning,” Beauvilliers said to Granger cheerfully as Granger strolled onto the quarterdeck.

“Good morning,” Granger replied, smiling at this handsome Frenchman who had been such a good fuck. “I enjoyed last night.”

Beauvilliers looked at him, pretending to be confused. “I don’t understand.”

“You do not remember being in the hold last night?” Granger asked softly.

“I do not,” Beauvilliers asserted in an unpleasant manner, one that he’d never directed at Granger before. Granger merely raised an eyebrow, and then began to pace the deck alone, pondering Beauvilliers’ behavior. It took him a while to piece things together, and it was only then that he realized that Beauvilliers’ forays into the hold were a secret activity, something he would never admit to others, or even to himself, at least on the surface. He must pay the ship’s boys to service him, and with the darkness of the hold, he could pretend the boy was a woman, or whoever he wanted him to be.

Granger thought of a lieutenant he’d once shared a cabin with when he’d been aboard HMS Victory, in this very sea. The man had tried to pretend that nothing had happened the morning after they’d fucked, but Granger had refused to tolerate his denial. With Beauvilliers, it seemed to be much more of an issue, and a much deeper-seated concern. Granger decided that if he chose to let the man fuck him again, he would do it on Beauvilliers’ terms.

He wondered if he avoided going into the hold at 1:00am, and thus avoided making himself available to Beauvilliers, if Beauvilliers would then ultimately seek him out. Granger chided himself for his arrogance, and for assuming he was such a good fuck that Beauvilliers would risk admitting to himself that he liked to fuck other men. Granger was probably not going to be on board this ship for that much longer, so no good would come of forcing an issue. He would accept Beauvilliers’ charms as they came, and as he wanted them.

The day passed on slowly, with the typical squabbles amongst the men. Granger was lucky today, since the arguments were among the French sailors from different ships. Lejoille came up on deck and smiled at Granger, then opted to come over and join him at the larboard rail.

“Our pace is so slow it is maddening,” Lejoille groused.

“It would be so much better if everyone could get along without these petty arguments,” Granger said. Lejoille laughed.

“At least today it did not involve your men,” he said.

“Yes, I could sit back in relative calm and watch other people worry about such things for a change,” Granger said.

“A luxury I am never allowed,” Lejoille said. Granger nodded in agreement, but seeing Lejoille with the myriad of responsibilities that plagued a captain reminded him that he was still away from his ship. He thought of Bacchante, and how sweetly she sailed. What heaven it would be to be aboard her right now, sailing along with a moderate breeze off her quarter.

After supper, Granger went to his cabin and prepared to wait until 1:00am. He dismissed Donegal for the evening, and lay on his back, listening to the shipboard sounds. At a little after midnight, his cabin door opened, and a large man came in. He could tell it was Beauvilliers. Beauvilliers affixed something to the door, presumably to lock it, then came over to the cot and lay down next to Granger. “I am thinking this will be more comfortable than the hold, but we will have to be quieter.”

Granger leaned in to his ear and whispered softly. “That will be hard to do with your huge cock spearing me, but I will try.” Beauvilliers let out an almost guttural moan, and turned Granger over onto his stomach, then pulled his trousers down violently. Granger grasped for his lanolin and quickly slapped some on his ass, and Beauvilliers helped out by holding his cock level with Granger’s face so he could put some lanolin on it as well. It was a gorgeous organ, one that Granger appreciated, almost worshipped, as he applied the lotion.

Then Beauvilliers had had enough, and he moved down so his body was draped over Granger’s. He lined his cock up with Granger’s hole and pushed in, a little faster than would have been comfortable, but Granger gritted his teeth and bore it. Then Beauvilliers started to fuck him, much as he had last night. Granger ground his hips back into the French lieutenant, begging him for the cock he so willingly plunged into Granger. On and on they went, going slowly so they would make no noise, and making it last that much longer. When Beauvilliers finally came, it was the same way he did last night, where his body seemed to freeze as he jammed his dick as far into Granger as he could. Afterward, Granger expected him to flee from the cabin, but he actually kept his dick lodged in Granger and rolled them both onto their sides, so Granger could masturbate himself to orgasm. After Granger was through, Beauvilliers pulled out gently. “I do not want to leave,” he said.

“Then don’t,” Granger replied. The Frenchman kissed Granger, fueling his libido, and hardening his cock, which he thrust back into Granger’s ass. Beauvilliers took them both on another wonderful ride, and only after they were both done did he finally return to his own cabin.

August 25, 1798

Aboard Généreux

“Sail ho!” Came the cry from the masthead. Whereas on Leander, Granger had been calm when hearing such news, on Généreux he was much less stoic. He hurriedly put on his dress coat and went up on deck to see what this new sail was. It was probably just a Greek coastal trader, and was thus much ado about nothing, but sighting a sail added some excitement to an otherwise dreary day. Granger’s nights, on the other hand, were anything but dreary. He glanced over to Beauvilliers, who smiled at him, getting a smile from Granger in return.

“Is it one of yours?” Lejoille asked Granger.

“I don’t know,” Granger said. “With your permission, I will go aloft and see.”

“Feel free to indulge yourself,” Lejoille said. Granger climbed up the main mast to the platform, and pulling out his telescope, he trained it on the approaching ship. She looked to be a brig, probably a merchant, and she was sailing quite well with the wind behind her. Granger spent some time studying the cut of her sails, and the shape of her hull, then descended back to the deck, impressing Lejoille with his use of the backstay.

“You are quite the acrobat,” he said to Granger.

Granger wanted to tell him that only when he was in bed was he truly an acrobat, but he opted to just thank the captain instead. “The ship approaching is a brig, probably a merchant and most likely French.”

“A brig is no threat to us,” he said. “We will stay on this course until she is up to us.” The brig sighted the two warships and attempted to give them a wide berth, but when they raised French colors, she followed suit and closed with them. She was a lovely little vessel, and looked to almost be new. The brig lowered a boat, and her captain boarded it for the brief trip to Généreux.

A lieutenant guided him onto the quarterdeck, where he removed his hat and bowed respectfully to Lejoille. “I am Capitan Bastide, of the brig Papillion.” He was of medium height, with an average build, but his most unique feature was very white skin that contrasted starkly with his jet black hair.

“Captain Lejoille, of the Généreux. What is your cargo, and where are you bound?”

“I am carrying wool, and heading to Marseille,” he said, perhaps a bit nervously. That was not unusual, as he was probably smuggling some items past French customs.

“I would like you to take three passengers with you,” Lejoille said.

“Monsieur, we are a small ship,” Bastide objected.

“Perhaps, Captain, your books are not in order?” Lejoille asked pointedly. “I think I should send some men over to inspect your cargo.”

Bastide stood there on the deck of this ship that could easily overwhelm his small brig, powerless to do anything but agree, which he did. “I did not understand how important carrying these passengers was to you. Of course we can accommodate them.”

“Thank you,” Lejoille said, and then strode over to where Granger and Généreux’s officers were standing. “Lord Granger, I am sending you back to France aboard this brig. Lieutenant Beauvilliers will accompany you, and you may both take a servant with you, unless you think your man can take care of both of you.”

Granger stared at Lejoille for a second, totally stunned by this change in plans. “Captain, I will gladly go where you ask, and it would be reasonable as a prisoner to point out that I have little choice, in any event,” Granger said with a grin, getting a smile in response from Lejoille. “But I am curious as to why you are sending me to Marseille?”

“You are a famous man, and capturing you is good propaganda,” Lejoille said to Granger. He was being candid, and Granger appreciated that. “It is inevitable that you will be taken to Paris. I am confident that you will be treated well, and well-received, and I am equally sure you will be paroled in short order, but you must see the benefit to having you on display, as it were.”

“I did not realize I was that handsome,” Granger said with a smile, making the best of the situation. “I have heard that Paris is a beautiful city. I look forward to seeing it.”

“It is dirty, and smells of horses,” Lejoille growled, “but as far as cities go, it is very pretty.”

Granger chuckled. “Would you permit me to take my leave of my fellow captains aboard Leander?”

“If you hurry,” Lejoille said.

“Then if you will excuse me, I will go and pack my things,” Granger said. He quickly went down to his cabin and told Donegal of their plans, then Granger put on his dress coat with the money sewn into it, and went back on deck.

Bastide was not happy at all about detouring to the Leander, so Granger knew he would have to make their parting fast. “Well Granger, you came to see how we live in squalor?” Berry asked him rudely.

“The squalor has negatively impacted your manners, Captain,” Granger said abruptly. He ignored Berry and spoke to Thompson. “I am ordered to go to France aboard that brig. I suspect you will take a different route home.”

“I wish you luck, my lord,” Thompson said. Granger held out his hands to Thompson in an intimate gesture, one that conjured up a strange look on Thompson’s face, since he and Granger certainly weren’t that close, but he took Granger’s hands anyway. He found one of them holding a purse with some gold coins in it, which he managed to take without it being obvious.

“To help you on your journey,” Granger said to him quietly as they embraced.

“Thank you, my lord,” Thompson said sincerely. Granger nodded to them, and to Aubrey, who was on the deck as well, then descended over the side and into the boat that would take him to France.

August 27, 1798

Off the Tagus, Portugal

The Beaver hove to, with Captain Erasmus Travers allowing the Meleager to close with him. He had hoisted the Royal Navy dispatch flag, which was sure to arouse interest, and then he’d let the British frigate do all the work of sailing to within range of him. The Meleager got to within half a cable of Beaver before she hove to as well. Travers admired the handsome way the frigate came into the wind, and felt remorse that he no longer commanded a naval vessel. Merchant brigs did not have the crew to perform such crisp maneuvers.

“Ship ahoy!” came the hail.

“United States brig Beaver!” Travers hailed back. “We have two messengers aboard with dispatches for Lord St. Vincent!”

Travers smiled at the curiosity that aroused. “We will send a boat,” came the return hail.

Winkler and Jacobs appeared on deck with their dunnage, looking completely out of place in their role as messengers. “The Meleager is sending a boat for you two,” Travers growled.

“Thank you, sir,” Winkler said, aping the manners of his benefactor. “Both for the passage and for your hospitality.”

“You’re welcome,” Travers said, with rather bad grace. “Jacobs, you are welcome to come home with us if you want.” In Travers’ eyes, as an American Jacobs really had no place here among these Englishmen.

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Jacobs said respectfully, “but I intend to go with Winkler. Besides, I’ve got a bit of prize money built up from this voyage.”

“Well that is your concern, not mine,” Travers said. The boat from Meleager hooked on, and a midshipman boarded. After a brief introduction, Winkler and Jacobs preceded the midshipman into the boat, which cast off for Meleager.

“What brings you two out here on an American brig?” the midshipman demanded.

“We are carrying dispatches from Lord Granger to Lord St. Vincent, sir,” Winkler said succinctly.

“Isn’t Lord Granger in the East Indies?” the midshipman asked.

“He was, sir, but he is now in the Mediterranean,” Winkler said, offering no additional information. Granger had cautioned him to speak to no one about his dispatches except for Lord St. Vincent, so Winkler was determined to do just that. The midshipman left them in peace. The boat hooked on to Meleager’s main chains, which Winkler and Jacobs climbed up, following the midshipman.

“I’m Captain Charles Ogle,” the captain said. “Who are you?”

“I am Joshua Winkler, sir. I am tasked by Lord Granger to deliver dispatches personally to Lord St. Vincent.” Winkler managed to hide his nervousness, but only barely.

“Well Winkler, you’re on the wrong ship. We’re headed for Jamaica,” Ogle said.

“Sir, I would be most appreciative if you could help me find passage to His Lordship,” Winkler said.

“What’s so damned important?” Ogle demanded.

“I’m not sure of the details,” Winkler lied, “but Lord Granger traversed through the Egyptian desert to try and get this information to Lord St. Vincent. He said it was most urgent.”

“Through Egypt?” Ogle asked, surprised.

“Aye, sir. We were first in the East Indies, then in India.”

“And why is not Lord Granger with you?” Ogle asked suspiciously.

“We encountered Admiral Nelson’s squadron, sir, and we knew of the location of the French fleet he was looking for. Lord Granger transferred to the Vanguard to guide him there,” Winkler said.

“Bloody hell,” Ogle said. He knew who Granger was, and he knew how powerful Granger was. If he’d traveled across the Egyptian desert to get these men to St. Vincent, it was probably important. Ogle had a fair wind for Jamaica, and a foul one for the Tagus, but the risk of offending either Granger or St. Vincent was too high for him to take. “Very well. We will backtrack and take you to His Lordship.”

Winkler and Jacobs found a spot out of the way and stood watching this frigate tack into the wind and begin her haul to the Tagus. “You handled that well,” Jacobs said.

“Thanks,” Winkler said, and smiled at Jacobs. The American had been a good traveling companion, and was quite handsome. Winkler had gotten progressively more attracted to him on this journey, but he said nothing, and did nothing. He fancied that Jacobs was the kind of man who would take action if he saw something he wanted, and Winkler liked his men to be in charge anyway, at least when they were in bed. He found he’d made himself blush with that thought, so he turned away from Jacobs.

The Meleager wasn’t the fastest frigate, but she was handy and quick enough. They’d started their trek to the Tagus in the morning, and by late afternoon, they were close enough to the fleet that Ogle could send them off in a boat.

“Best of luck to you men,” Ogle said in a friendly way. “Please convey my compliments to both Lord Granger and Lord St. Vincent.”

“Aye aye sir,” Winkler said. “And thank you for detouring to bring us here.” Ogle just nodded, dismissing Winkler and Jacobs to descend into the boat.

The admiral was flying his flag on HMS Britannia, an old but sound three-decker. The boat closed on her with good speed. “You seem nervous,” Jacobs said to Winkler.

“That is because I must interview Lord St. Vincent,” Winkler said. “He was aboard Belvidera for a time, and he is a hard taskmaster.”

“Surely he can’t be that bad?” Jacobs asked.

“You should ask some of the captains in the Mediterranean Fleet about that,” Winkler joked. The boat hooked on to Britannia, and Winkler politely bid the midshipman who conveyed them goodbye. He climbed Britannia’s tall sides, nervous at what was ahead.

He was met by a lieutenant he didn’t know. “I’m Lieutenant Barlow,” he said brusquely.

“I am Joshua Winkler, and I’ve got dispatches for Lord St. Vincent from Lord Granger,” Winkler said.

Barlow held out his hand. “I will deliver them to His Lordship.”

“My orders are to deliver them to Lord St. Vincent personally, sir,” Winkler said.

“That was not a request,” Barlow said. “I will deliver them.” Winkler stood there, defiant. “Perhaps you’d fancy having your back scratched.”

“If that is what is required for me to discharge my duty, sir, then so be it,” Winkler said. Jacobs smiled inwardly at how brave Winkler was being.

Barlow seemed to realize he couldn’t bully this seaman, and he didn’t want to create any incidents to annoy his irascible chief. “This way,” he said, with bad grace, and led Winkler back to St. Vincent’s cabin.

“What is it now, Barlow?” St. Vincent boomed. Jacobs looked at Winkler, raising his eyebrows as he began to understand what kind of man they would have to tangle with.

“My lord, this man says he bears dispatches from Lord Granger that are most urgent, and he refuses to hand them over to anyone but you,” Barlow said, clearly frustrated.

St. Vincent looked at the two other men for the first time. “Winkler? What are you doing here in Portugal?”

“I’m flattered you remember me, my lord,” Winkler said, allowing a small grin. He took a brief second to shoot Barlow a smarmy look. “Lord Granger has been in a hurry to get these dispatches to you.” Winkler handed St. Vincent the dispatch bag he carried. “We have been on quite an odyssey.”

“Where have you come from?”

“We left Amboyna and went to Calcutta, my lord. From there, we took a ship to Egypt, stopping in Jaffna on the way to avoid a storm. We traversed through the Egyptian desert, barely avoiding capture by the French...”

“The French are in Egypt?” St. Vincent interrupted. He suddenly recalled that he was being a bad host, and offered both Winkler and Jacobs a glass of wine.

“Yes, my lord,” Winkler said. “Lord Granger told me that they had landed between twenty-five and fifty thousand men. He thinks the French will rout the Mameluks, begging your pardon, my lord.”

“What of their fleet?”

“We escaped through Damietta on an American brig and found them anchored near Alexandria, my lord,” Winkler said.

“Let us hope that Nelson finds them,” St. Vincent said.

“That’s actually why I’m here, my lord. We encountered Admiral Nelson’s ships off the coast of Greece. Lord Granger transferred over to the Vanguard, and sent me on ahead to deliver the dispatches to you.”

St. Vincent smiled. Nelson was a brilliant strategist, and a great leader. He had recognized his potential, taken him under his wing, and advanced his career. He’d given Nelson command of the fleet he sent into the Mediterranean instead of more senior officers, including Sir John Orde, who’d had the impudence to challenge him to a duel for bypassing him. But St. Vincent knew that if Nelson could find the French, he’d thrash them. He didn’t think that Admirals Orde or Parker would do as well, so he’d made his decision based on what was best for his King and his country.

Granger was another one of St. Vincent’s favorites, a man who was bright and energetic, but with the refined manners and charm one would expect from someone of his class. St. Vincent had little use for aristocrats in the Navy, as they tended to demand more than they deserved, and perform worse than they should, relying on their bloodlines and connections to garner commands they would botch. But Granger was the exception. How typical of Granger to eschew his role of carrying dispatches when the prospect of action came up. If Granger knew where the French were, and he led Nelson to them, a victory was inevitable, at least in St. Vincent’s mind.

“Well let’s see what Granger has to say,” St. Vincent said, as he opened the dispatch bag. There were several reports from Granger, itemizing his various activities, but St. Vincent skipped those for the time being, and opened the personal letter Granger had written him. He explained the reason for his haste, and the nefarious actions of Sir Tobias Maidstone. St. Vincent knew the man and didn’t like him. He was just the sort of money-grubber who would bilk the government for his own profit. “Barlow!” St. Vincent shouted.

Lieutenant Barlow entered the cabin quite promptly. “My lord?”

“Signal Minerve to close with the flag, then have Cockburn brought aboard,” St. Vincent said.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Barlow said.

St. Vincent ignored Winkler and Jacobs, who sat there trying to remain inconspicuous as they drank their wine. Winkler watched St. Vincent’s expressions change as he read the reports, but mostly the old admiral was smiling. When he was done reading, he invited Winkler and Jacobs to sup with him. Winkler had dined with Granger, and so had Jacobs, such that they were able to eat in a civil manner, but they were both quite nervous nonetheless. St. Vincent pelted them with questions about their voyage, and their captures and battles along the way. Winkler was conscious that he was eating some excellent food, but he was too nervous to enjoy it.

Just as darkness was descending on the fleet, Captain Cockburn arrived. “You sent for me, my lord?”

“Ah Cockburn, join us for some port.” Cockburn looked at the two seamen at St. Vincent’s table with surprise. Admirals usually didn’t invite crewmembers to dine with them. “This is Winkler, and that’s Jacobs. They were with Granger in the Indies, and they traveled here to bring me dispatches. Through the Egyptian desert, no less, where they found the French.”

“The French are in Egypt, my lord?”

“They are, and Nelson was enroute to annihilate them, so we will have to hope that turns out well. In the meantime, we must keep a good lookout for Bacchante. She is returning from the Indies with items stolen from Amboyna, and we must intercept her before she reaches London.”

“Items, my lord?” Cockburn asked.

“Items, Captain,” St. Vincent said, his eyes drilling into Cockburn.

“Of course, my lord,” Cockburn said hastily.

“You will position your frigates to intercept her as she passes this coast. How will you do that?”

Cockburn pondered it for a minute. “We have three frigates and two sloops available, my lord. I will spread them out in a line with five miles separating each ship. We will sail to the south during the day and to the north at night, to ensure she doesn’t slip past us.”

“That is excellent,” St. Vincent said. “There’s another ship chasing after her, a captured Spanish frigate.” He rooted through Granger’s reports to find her name. “The Santa Clarita, under the command of Acting-Captain Calvert. If you see her, route her to me as well.”

“Aye aye, my lord.” St. Vincent nodded at him to dismiss him. After Cockburn left, he turned his attention back to Winkler and Jacobs. “I’m assuming that you two would prefer to return to England to await Granger rather than being signed on to another ship.”

Winkler would have been worried about that statement, but he saw St. Vincent’s soft smile. “We would, my lord.”

“I am sending the Dove home with dispatches on the morning tide. I will send you over to her with my latest updates, along with the reports you brought me. You can await my dispatches on deck and enjoy the fresh air.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Winkler and Jacobs said.