St. Vincent - 32. Chapter 32

March 4, 1797

Granger was in a particularly foul mood. No sooner had they deposited their passengers at Spithead and made their way back into the Channel than the wind had shifted, shifted to be directly foul for their path to London. They had labored to make progress, any progress, but any hope of that faded when the wind had risen in strength, and a full-blown gale had hit them. It had increased in force, turning into one of the worst storms Granger had ever encountered in the Channel. They’d lain hove to, letting the winds and the seas push Belvidera down the Channel, yielding unwillingly to such a monstrous force.

Granger had spent most of his time on deck, fighting the storm just as he would fight a French or Spanish warship. He lay in his cot, exhausted, enjoying a few hours of precious rest, even as his teeth chattered from the cold. The galley stove was out, so there was no heat on the ship at all. The weather was too rough to risk a fire on board. Winkler had dried him off and put him to bed, piling blankets on top of him, but nothing seemed to be able to take the chill out of his body.

He thought sadly that now would be a wonderful time to have Kerry with him. Granger longed for his warm body, with its dark red hair, so much that he could almost feel the heat Kerry would emanate. Granger allowed himself a sigh when he thought of Kerry, that personal sign of frustration people rarely saw. Kerry had spent most of his time in the wardroom with Somers, and even if he’d wanted to be with Granger, Granger had been too busy to indulge him. As Belvidera’s marine captain, Somers didn’t have the same nautical obligations that Granger had. He could rise in the morning and sleep at night, fulfilling his duties to Belvidera during normal hours, and fulfilling Kerry during his nocturnal hours. There was no real reason or need to call Somers unless the ship went to quarters. Granger toyed with scheduling a drill that night, smiling at the thought of Somers and Kerry being tossed out of their comfortable cots in the middle of the night, but he knew he could never do that. That would be cruel, simply cruel, and while Granger could be heartless in pursuit of his duties, he was not a cruel person.

Kerry’s rejection of him, for that is what Granger took it to be, puzzled the young captain. How could it be that the man would profess his undying love for Granger, and sail thousands of miles on a mission just to warn him of dangers that might envelop him, and then completely ignore him? How could Kerry so blithely toss him away? Granger thought of Kerry’s reputation as a playboy, of the conquests he’d supposedly made, and then left the unfortunate woman (or man, Granger assumed) high and dry, moving on to the next conquest. Had he just been a conquest? Had he been totally made to look the fool? Granger thought back to their lovemaking, to their conversations, and pushed those thoughts aside. Kerry had been too sincere in his protestations, and his body had responded to Granger in a way that could only happen if there were feelings, emotional feelings, involved. He decided that Kerry might have loved him, inasmuch as he was capable of love, but that Somers was his new toy, the new man who had caught his fancy. Maybe he was one of those men who obsessed over his latest lover until a new one came along?

Someone knocked at his cabin door, rousing Granger from his thoughts. “Begging your pardon sir, but Mr. Llewellyn is here to see you,” Winkler said, peeking into the cabin.

“Enter,” Granger ordered. Llewellyn came walking in, looking around nervously. Granger sat up in his cot, letting the blankets fall off him as he did, exposing his fit upper torso to the young man, and exposing that same torso to the frigid cold temperatures. He hastily grabbed the blankets and covered himself up.

“Mr. Lennox’s respects, sir, and he thinks that we may be able to get some sail on the ship,” Llewellyn said, his teeth chattering like Granger’s.

Granger almost instinctively jumped out of bed and rushed on deck to see if Lennox was right, but he changed his mind. “My compliments to Mr. Lennox. Ask him and Mr. Meurice to join me in the chart room.”

“Aye aye sir,” Llewellyn said.

“When are you off watch?” Granger asked.

“Now, sir. As soon as I deliver your message.”

“You may join us as well, if you are so inclined,” Granger said. Such an invitation from his captain was as good as an order, Llewellyn knew, but it was also a compliment. Granger had been impressed with the young man, with his energy, his courage, and his leadership, and had decided to let him watch how decisions were made when commanding a frigate.

“Thank you, sir.” Llewellyn allowed himself as much of a grin as decorum allowed, then dashed out of the cabin to pass on Granger’s message.

“I’ve got you some dry things, sir,” Winkler said as he entered. How he did that, on a ship that was all but drenched by the waves, amazed Granger.

“I’ll try to keep them that way. I am hoping to return to this very cot shortly. I’ll be in the chart room if I am needed.”

“It is currently vacant, sir,” Winkler said playfully. He and Jeffers often used the chartroom for their encounters, and Granger usually made a point to tease him about it.

Granger chuckled despite the cold and fatigue that had seized control of his body, and made his way to his chart room. He found Meurice and Lennox there. Llewellyn came bursting in right after Granger, getting surprised looks from the two lieutenants. “I invited Mr. Llewellyn to join us. I felt it might be a useful learning experience,” Granger explained.

“Be nice to see him learn something, sir,” Meurice growled, but with a small grin. It was his job as master to train the midshipmen in the art of navigation. Llewellyn caught on quickly enough, despite Meurice’s gloomy attitude.

“Where do you estimate our position to be?” Granger asked Meurice.

“The last decent bearing we had was three days ago, and it put us here,” he said, pointing at a spot about 25 miles due south of Portsmouth. “We haven’t had a chance to get a bearing, and haven’t even sighted land since then, sir.”

“The visibility has been very bad, sir,” Lennox added.

“We could still be well out in the Channel by now, or we could be almost in the mouth of the harbor at either LeHavre or Cherbourg,” Granger said, shaking his head at the chart.

“The wind has shifted, sir,” Lennox said. “It’s favorable for our journey toward London.” The wind had shifted almost a full 180 degrees, and was in a position to send Belvidera flying up the Channel.

“How long until dawn?” Granger asked.

“Four hours, sir,” Meurice answered. And that was the dilemma. They were looking at four hours of precious, wonderful progress on their course. If they shook the reefs out, they’d probably be able to log forty miles before dawn. It was sorely tempting after the past few days, where they’d actually been going backward.

But there was a trade-off, a gamble to be made if they were to try to take advantage of that mileage. “If we put her before the wind in the dark, we may very well drive ourselves onto a rock,” Granger said, laying the risk out on the table. The horizon had been clear at dusk, so since they were making only lee-way, it was unlikely that they’d bump into something unforeseen. Sailing with the wind, as they were contemplating, was an entirely different story. Granger made his decision. “We’ll remain hove to until dawn, and then we’ll get sail on her once we ascertain that we are not right next to some damned French rock.”

“Aye aye sir,” Lennox chimed. Granger nodded at him and Meurice, dismissing them, while he and Llewellyn remained to look at the chart.

“How can you calculate lee-way, sir?”

Granger moved closer to the chart, and closer to Llewellyn, so he was standing behind the young man, just barely touching him. “All we can go on is our estimated speed and course,” Granger said, drawing an invisible line with his finger that seemed to extend down to Cherbourg. The action brought their bodies closer together, so now they were definitely touching. Granger imagined that Llewellyn had leaned back into him, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Couldn’t we be here, sir?” Llewellyn asked, bending slightly as he gestured toward LeHavre, and thus pushing his ass back against Granger. Granger felt his libido surge with this contact, and with the memories of Llewellyn’s cute ass, stark white except for the red blotches where Granger had spanked him.

“We could be,” Granger said, moving forward slightly, letting Llewellyn feel his hardening cock through his uniform pants.

“It actually feels warm in here, sir,” Llewellyn said. “It’s wonderful.”

“It is body heat,” Granger declared, pushing their bodies together unabashedly now. “It is about the only way to get warm in this cold.”

“I like it, sir,” Llewellyn said, leaning back into Granger as if surrendering to him.

Granger swallowed hard. “It’s warmer if you’re in a cot with a lot of blankets on top of you.”

“Yes, sir,” Llewellyn said, and then pivoted around so he was facing Granger. Now Granger’s erect cock was pressed against Llewellyn’s own hard member. “Please, sir,” Llewellyn said, almost begged.

Granger moved in and kissed the young man, an impulsive gesture on his part that might have turned out awkwardly, but didn’t. Their mouths blended together, perfectly synchronized, while Llewellyn wrapped his arms around Granger, pulling him in even farther. Granger reached down and grabbed his ass, kneading it with his strong hands, and felt Llewellyn moan into his mouth. “Follow me.” He led Llewellyn through the door into his great cabin, and then into his sleeping cabin. Winkler eyed them from the shadows, smiling to himself as he watched the two men vanish behind the closed door. His captain deserved some fun, and some companionship. He assumed his station outside the Captain’s sleeping quarters, acting as an interceptor to see that they weren’t disturbed.

They were in Granger’s frigid cabin, stripping off their clothes quickly to avoid the cold, and then they jumped into the cot. It was dark as well as cold, so Granger couldn’t see much of Llewellyn’s body, but he could feel him, that delicious warmth, as they embraced. At first, all they did was shiver and share warmth, but as their temperatures warmed, so did their touches. Granger re-united their mouths and pulled their bodies together, so that now their naked and erect cocks were pressed together, rubbing together.

Granger let the lust fuel him, driving him into frenzy, until he was inspired enough to reach beyond the blankets for the lanolin, which was ice cold. Carefully he warmed some up in his hands, then reached down and slathered it onto Llewellyn’s cock. It still wasn’t warm enough to avoid making him jump, but he ignored the cold and got into the feel of Granger’s lubricated hand as he stroked his cock. Then Granger shocked him by turning away from him. “Sir, you want me to, uh…”

“I most certainly do,” Granger said, grinning. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, sir,” Llewellyn said with a playful tone. He lined his dick up and pushed into Granger. He lasted all of two or three strokes before he ejaculated into Granger’s bowel. Granger giggled at that, more amused than frustrated. “I’m sorry sir. I, uh, I’ve never done that before and I guess I just...”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Llewellyn. You are young, and it was your first time. You will recharge and be ready to go again, and then you will take me on a longer ride.”

“Yes, sir,” Llewellyn said. “I liked it.”

“So did I,” Granger said, telling the truth. He lay there content but still hard; smiling as he thought of all the enjoyment he’d have with this young man. And some ten minutes later, Llewellyn was erect and at it again, and he showed Granger that he was indeed a lot of fun.

March 5, 1797

Winkler gazed down at the two handsome men, intertwined together. It was the first time in several days that he’d seen his captain without his teeth chattering. He was almost tempted to leave them be, but he had orders to wake his captain before dawn, and being a young man himself, he opted to give them a little extra time in case they wanted to take care of their morning erections. “Sir,” he said, shaking Granger. “Sir!”

“What?” Granger asked, awake almost immediately.

“It will be dawn soon, sir. I woke you a bit early,” Winkler said, leering at Granger.

“Give me ten minutes,” Granger ordered. He rolled over on top of Llewellyn, waking him up. Llewellyn yawned and stretched, even as Granger lowered himself down onto his hard cock.

“Mmmm,” Llewellyn moaned, his Welsh brogue making that noise even more rhythmic and sexy. Granger slid up and down on the young man’s dick, savoring the feeling of having Llewellyn inside him, and savoring the warmth created by the energy of the fuck and the closeness of their bodies. As befitted his age, Llewellyn came first, but Granger kept his still-hard cock lodged in his ass and used that to help him bring himself off in one really pleasant morning orgasm.

“Thank you, Mr. Llewellyn,” Granger said, rolling off of him. He grabbed a rag and wiped off the young man’s body.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. He got out of bed and hastily put his clothing back on, while Granger watched him. He’d wait for Winkler to come in and help him with his own uniform. “If you ever want to, uh, do that again, sir,” he said nervously, “I’m more than willing.”

His nervousness and shyness just made him that much more adorable. “You can count on it,” Granger said, winking at him.

Llewellyn gave him a really cute grin, and then left the cabin. Winkler came in as soon as he left. “First time I’ve seen you warm in days, sir.”

“I had some help with that,” Granger said wistfully. He had really enjoyed Llewellyn. He was young, with all the difficulties that entails, but he showed a marked improvement in endurance after a few rounds, and his raw energy and enthusiasm made him a very erotic lover.

“Yes, sir,” Winkler said, chuckling to himself. Granger got dressed and went up on deck, gnawing on a biscuit as he did. It would have to suffice as breakfast.

“Good morning, sir,” Lennox said affably. “It should start to get lighter soon enough.”

“Yes,” Granger said noncommittally. His senses were piqued, and he felt a presence out there. “Send the hands to quarters.”

“Aye aye sir,” Lennox said. The drums began to beat, and the men went to their stations just as they should. Granger listened to see if he could hear anything else out there, another ship, or land, but he heard nothing. A few minutes later, Lennox reported that the men were all at their stations, and then they waited, peering at the sky that was perceptibly lighter.

“Land off the starboard bow!” called the lookout. Granger strode to the starboard taffrail and stared off into the blackness.

“How far off?” he shouted to the tops.

“Probably half a mile, sir,” he shouted back.

“Let’s put her on the larboard tack, Mr. Lennox,” Granger ordered. There was no reason not to head away from the land.

“Aye aye sir,” he said. The hands manned the braces, putting Belvidera before the wind once again. She surged forward like a dormant thing that had just come alive.

Somehow the action of getting Belvidera on course had distracted them, so when they turned back to examine their situation, they found that it was light enough to take in the whole picture, a picture that was quite alarming and quite clear, despite the morning haze. They were at the entrance to a harbor, and well within range of the batteries positioned there.

“What town is that, sir?” Lennox asked. A gun fired from the shore, and Granger ignored Lennox while he looked for the fall of the shot. It was quite close.

“Helm, two points to larboard,” Granger ordered. “Mr. Lennox, shake out the reefs in the courses!” Belvidera turned sweetly, so well did she handle, and once the billowing canvas was sheeted home, she surged forward. A cannon ball flew over them, parting one of the stays.

“Mr. Clifton, get a party aloft to repair that damage. Mr. Llewellyn, hoist our colors!”

“Aye aye sir,” they chimed. More guns boomed out now, and more shots flew overhead. Granger chose that moment to answer Lennox’s question. “I think it is Cherbourg.”

“Indeed, you are correct, sir,” Meurice said. He had been a lieutenant in the French navy before he’d sailed to England with Granger after the fall of Toulon. “I was stationed here at one time. Those are formidable batteries.”

“Do you think she can handle the topsails, sir?” Lennox asked.

Granger paused to evaluate the wind and the seas. “Mr. Meurice?”

“I think we’re getting the most way just as we are right now, sir,” Meurice said, echoing Granger’s own thoughts. More canvas would mean a higher chance of damage aloft, which could be fatal right now, and might have the effect of driving the Belvidera’s bows into the seas, actually slowing her down. Still, that was a fine and good rationale, but when a shot slammed into the stern, it was more difficult to resist the temptation to merely clap on more sail.

“Sir, I can see smoke!” a lookout cried.

“They’re heating shot,” Granger observed, forcing himself not to sound anxious. He wasn’t quite sure if he pulled it off this time. “Mr. Lennox, we’ll need fire parties handy.”

“Aye aye sir,” Lennox said, and delegated Clifton to attend to that. Another crash from below, followed by a scream, testimony that at least one man had been hit.

“We should be out of range within a quarter of an hour, sir,” Meurice said helpfully.

Another shot flew toward them, this one leaving a black trail. “Heated shot,” Granger observed, even as he watched the shot fall toward them and slam into the hull. They heard cries from below, not of pain, but of alarm, as the fire parties tried to douse the cannon ball to cool it off. If it was left for even a minute or two, lodged in Belvidera’s dry timbers, it could ignite the whole ship. Another ball hit them, another problem to contend with. Then another. Granger saw smoke rising from the hold, a slight wisp.

“We need more fire parties below. Mr. Clifton, take charge of extinguishing the blaze!”

“Aye aye sir.”

“Mr. Lennox, rig the wash deck pump. We’ll use that as well.” He acknowledged the order, even as another shot hit them.

The smoke was thickening now, as the flames took hold below decks. Granger was of a mind to go below and tend to putting out the fire himself when the lookout interrupted his plan. “Sail ho!” came the cry from aloft. All eyes turned to the sea, and there, right in their path, was a large merchant vessel. It had just tacked to enter the harbor, and was very low in the water.

Lennox grinned. “French West Indiaman, sir. Appears to be fully laden.”

“Don’t see many of those,” Granger said. “Detail a large boat’s crew and swing out the launch. Pass the word for Fowler. He can command.” Fowler was one of the master’s mates, the brightest of a less-than-bright lot.

The man arrived quickly. He was older, in his mid-30s, with a rough London accent that marked him as a man from the less desirable part of town, probably Seven Dials. “You sent for me, sir?”

“We’re going to capture that ship, Fowler. I want you to take a party of men to secure her and sail her into Portsmouth, or the most convenient port. We’ll escort you most of the way.” Fowler didn’t even look at him with the slightest expression of amazement, though surely he must have felt it. Here was Belvidera, just almost out of range of the harbor guns, fighting at least two fires down below, and Granger was talking about capturing a merchant vessel right out from under the noses of the French.

“Aye aye sir!”

“You can let the crew and officers escape in their boat,” Granger said. “Unless you think some may want to serve His Majesty.”

“Aye aye sir.” The merchant vessel had sailed blithely along. She’d never dreamed she’d find a British warship in the mouth of the harbor, and with all of the smoke billowing from Belvidera, she didn’t seem overly worried by it. That would change immediately, Granger thought with a wry grin.

“Lower that boat. Mr. Brookstone! A shot across her bows!” The bowchaser fired, but the Frenchman was unperturbed.

“Mr. Brookstone, how many guns are able to fire?” Granger shouted down.

“We can fire the forward guns, sir,” Brookstone said, coughing. “The rear ones are blocked by the boats anyway.”

“Then do so. This Frog needs some convincing.” That should have gotten a chuckle from the men, but they were too busy fighting the fires below. Granger wondered briefly if they’d have to abandon ship and sail home in the captured merchant vessel, assuming she surrendered.

Belvidera’s forward guns belched their own fire, sending roundshot hurtling toward the French ship. Granger could see the balls slamming home and he could see the subsequent confusion on her decks, as the officers stared at this impudent ship that stood between them and their sanctuary, which was only a few miles away. Granger wondered if he’d have to keep firing at the French ship before she’d strike, and hoped he wouldn’t. They didn’t have the time or energy for a fight. Just as he was about to order another salvo, the French ship raised her flag, and then lowered it.

This was risky for Granger, taking a prize this close to port. Gunboats were probably already putting off from the shore, and if they didn’t make haste, those boats may very well capture both ships. “What’s the status on our fire, Mr. Lennox?” Granger demanded.

“There are two fires still burning sir, both aft. One is in the wardroom, and the other is in the aft hold. A ball got down there and ignited the stores.” That was bad luck. It was hard to fight a fire down there, and any use of water would damage the food Belvidera would need for the voyage home. Granger comforted himself by remembering that home was less than 100 miles away.

“Take whatever hands you need!” Granger stated. “Get those fires contained!”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Lennox and Clifton worked wonders, organizing fire crews and bucket brigades to fight the fire, all while Belvidera sped away from Cherbourg. Granger was focused on the huge French merchant ship. He kept his eyes firmly on her deck and her officers, looking for signs that they were planning some mischief. Fowler arrived and the greeting appeared to be civil. A boat was lowered, and the officers and most of the crew of the French ship got into the boat. It would be a long, wet journey to land. Fowler wasted no time in getting sail on the ship and setting a course for England.

“That bearded the Frogs, sir,” Lennox said cheerfully. “Stealing a prize right out from under their noses.”

“There are probably some formerly rich merchants in Cherbourg who are cursing us to hell, sir,” Clifton added.

“They can console themselves with the damage they’ve done to this ship, gentlemen,” Granger said dourly, reminding them to redouble their efforts.

March 7, 1797

It had only taken two days for Belvidera and her prize to work their way back to Portsmouth. Granger saw the Isle of Wight off their larboard side, and noted that the anchorage at Spithead was no longer empty. The Channel Fleet had returned. Granger stood on the deck in his best uniform, waiting for the ship to anchor before he went to meet with Lord Bridport. After that, he’d be catching a post-chaise to London, and home.

The prize, the Honfleur, was packed with valuable cargo from the West Indies. Granger estimated that this prize might very well approach the value of the Precieuse, the prize he’d taken off of Madeira. If he weren’t already a rich man, he would be after this. He thought cynically that the Honfleur might bring enough to pay off even Davina’s gambling debts. Yet while the crew was euphoric about their windfall, and while Granger should share their joy, he didn’t. He stood on deck, somber and drawn, keeping everyone at arm’s length, even Kerry and Llewellyn.

“Drop anchor, Mr. Lennox,” Granger ordered. Belvidera dropped her anchor at Spithead and her sails vanished as if by magic. Belvidera was home.

“Have the hands lay aft, Mr. Lennox,” Granger ordered.

Lennox looked at him, puzzled, but did as he asked. The call went out and the men came rushing into the waist of the ship, or assembled in the foc’sl, staring expectantly at Granger. Granger had rehearsed what he planned to say, for it seemed that he was the only one who had put all the pieces together, to digest what this latest action really meant.

He’d gone below yesterday and inspected the damage, and no amount of work by Belvidera’s carpenter would repair what the flames of the fire had wrought. Only a dockyard could take care of her now. And that meant the Belvidera would be paid off, her men given their wages and prize money, and then scattered to the other ships in the fleet. That meant that as he stood there on her deck, this was probably the last time he’d command this group of men, and quite possibly the last time he’d command this ship.

“Men!” Granger said loudly. “Our last encounter with the Frogs has made us all rich men.” That got a loud, raucous cheer. Granger smiled, wondering at what the crews of the other ships anchored here must think. “But it has hurt our ship, and she will need to be sent to the dockyard.” The mood changed immediately to one that was somber, to match Granger’s own melancholy. Now they all got it. Now they all understood. This crew that had worked wonders together, that was like a well-oiled machine, that functioned effectively with a minimum of fighting and drama, this crew was to be no more. “It has been an honor to serve with you, all of you. I am not sure where I will command again, but if you find your way to my ship, I will find a place for you.” That got another cheer, as the men showed their captain just how much they loved him.

“One more cheer lads, for Belvidera! The best frigate in the fleet!” Granger shouted. The men cheered, and so did Granger. All the officers, and even Kerry, joined in, cheering themselves hoarse. Granger stopped cheering and took off his hat to salute his men, and then he went over the side for what might be the last time. His next stop would be the flagship, and then London.