The Wardroom - 13. Chapter 13

September 21, 1793

“We're ready to sail my lord,” Carmody said to Hood formally as he stood at attention in the Admiral's cabin. Granger stood next to him, proud of Carmody's achievement, proud of their achievement in general. It had been a Herculean task, but they'd offloaded the guns and loaded up stores and victuals, not to mention the rebel sailors.

“Well done, gentlemen. Good luck Carmody. You have your papers?”

“Yes my lord. The letter from you giving the French ships safe passage and the certificate that Mr. Granger acquired for me to get me out of France.”

“You have your orders. Proceed. And good luck,” Hood said firmly.

“Yes my lord.”

“Mr. Granger, you are going back to Toulon with Mr. Carmody?”

“Yes my lord. I was wondering if I could have your lordship's permission to stop in Toulon for a bit, then I had plans to sup aboard Vesuvius.”

“Yes, of course Mr. Granger. Have Commander Travers bring you back in the morning. I want to see if we can use his mortars to help take out some of those damn French batteries.”

'Aye aye my lord.”

They headed to the entry port now, Granger absolutely beside himself to get off the Victory and enjoy his free time. He smiled to himself, thinking that this must be what Nelson felt like all the time. He kept a respectful distance while Carmody took his leave of Captain Knight, and then preceded him into the boat.

He felt Carmody's hand on this thigh, a friendly gesture, not an erotic one. “Thanks for helping me out. I didn't really deserve your aid, but you gave it anyway.”

Granger smiled at him. “I thought you got a raw deal, caught up in a power struggle between your captain and his admiral. Hopefully this will set things right.”

“Let's hope those French blokes are still in charge when we get to Brest, otherwise they may just hang me,” he said.

“I doubt that. I think you've made a friend in Bouvet, and he'll defend you even if your letters don't help. Besides, if they're overthrown, it will probably be by a more moderate government anyway.” The boat pulled up to Apollon and hooked on to her chains. Carmody shook his hand and then mounted the side. Granger looked up to see Bouvet waving down at him. He returned the waves, thinking that the next time they met, it would probably be as enemies, with cannon balls flying.

“Make for the town,” Granger ordered, and the boat shoved off. It didn't take long for them to arrive at the quay. “I'll be back in about an hour. Wait for me.”

“Aye aye sir,” said the coxswain.

Granger headed up the street to a hotel he'd heard of. He walked into the establishment and told them what he wanted, paid the mistress of the place, and headed upstairs to one of the rooms. There, in the middle of the room, was a large bathtub. In no time at all, servants had filled it full of warm water. Granger luxuriated in the feel of fresh water, of taking a bath, only just remembering to actually wash himself before the water got too cold. He'd been craving a bath desperately, and had even thought about having the wash deck pump rigged for a shower, but since he was on such bad terms with Knight, he decided that any such request would elicit a negative response.

After that, he drank his fill from the town fountain, not the freshest water in the world, but infinitely better than the stuff on Victory, water that had been in casks so long it was more green than clear.

Refreshed and recharged, he bought several loaves of bread and headed back to the boat. He handed each oarsman half a loaf, earning their eternal gratitude, and munched on one himself. Fresh bread, fresh water, and a bath. Such heavenly luxuries. “To the Vesuvius,” he told the coxswain.

Vesuvius was in the outer harbor, poised to help the troops defend their newly constructed fort, Fort Mulgrave, named for the British Army Commander. Granger didn't think Mulgrave had distinguished himself enough to deserve having a fort named after him, but he kept his thoughts about the military to himself. He wasn't all that involved in their affairs anyway, that was Cavendish's bailiwick.

Finally they spotted Vesuvius and the boat pulled rapidly toward her. He heard Victor hail the boat from the deck, and responded. If they had any doubts that the boat was heading for them, those doubts would be erased now.

“You may return to Victory,” Granger told the coxswain, and then he climbed up the side and onto the familiar deck to find Travers there to greet him, grinning almost uncontrollably.

“Welcome Mr. Granger! It is good to see you,” Travers said.

“It is good to see you, too sir. I am ordered by the flagship to ask you to attend Lord Hood in the morning, and I am to remain aboard tonight and repair on board with you then.”

“That is excellent news!” Travers said, his eyes twinkling. “Mr. Victor, will you have the extra cot put in my cabin?”

“Yes sir,” Victor said.

“It's good to see you too Mr. Victor,” Granger said, throwing his best smile at Victor.

“Yes sir. Thank you sir. Good to have you aboard again,” Victor said, then went off to attend to Granger’s sleeping arrangements. Granger noticed Chilton in the background, as if trying to remain hidden.

“Hello Mr. Chilton. And how are you?” Granger asked him cheerfully.

“Just fine sir,” he said nervously. “It's nice to have you back aboard.”

“I fear it is only for the evening. Just time to reduce your Captain's supply of food,” Granger said.

“Yes sir,” Chilton said, giving him a small smile, and then casting a meaningful gaze toward Travers.

“Join me below for a drink Mr. Granger,” Travers said, and led him down to the familiar cabin. The men were just finishing up, placing his cot in the small cabin. As soon as they were gone, Travers pulled him in and kissed him passionately, telling Granger with his lips and his body how much he missed him. Travers pushed him over to the door and pulled Granger's trousers down frantically, then his own.

“God, George, I miss you so much. It's like a dream having you here, a piece of heaven!” Granger moaned as he felt Travers' big cock press against his ass, and relaxed and pushed back to take him in.

“I missed you too, John. So much. So much,” Granger said, although it was more like a moan. And then they closed their mouths and let their bodies do the talking, expressing the love they felt for each other, and the passion that love evoked. Granger had always been the penetrator with Shafte, and had almost forgotten how absolutely euphoric getting fucked was. And how that feeling was amplified when he was being fucked by someone he loved.

He felt Travers pick up his pace, felt him getting close, and then felt him explode in his ass. Granger ignored the fact that they were out of tune with each other's bodies; otherwise he would have cum close to the same time. He let Travers finish, savoring the feel as he pulsed into him. Then Travers spun him around and dropped to his knees, taking Granger's cock in his mouth, and finished him off that way, slurping down Granger's load like a thirsty man who has just found an oasis.

Travers stood up, a huge grin on his face, and kissed Granger again. “It is so good to have you here George.”

“It is good to be here John,” Granger said, grinning. “You are going to feed me aren't you?”

“I'm not hungry,” Travers teased. “I just had my dinner.” They laughed then, and sat at the small table in Travers' cabin, eating the bread Granger brought while Travers' servant prepared something more substantial.

“So how have you been?” Granger asked him. “You seem pretty horny. Chilton not taking care of you?”

Travers got serious. “That's been a problem.”

“What do you mean?” Granger asked, concerned.

“He's a little too fixated on me. Christ George, I think the kid's in love with me.”

Granger nodded sadly. “I can see why he would fall in love with you. Is it such a problem?”

“You know, when you and I first started, uh, you know...” he said nervously.

“Fucking?” Granger teased.

“Yeah. Fucking,” Travers said, and grinned back at him. “When we started fucking, we were both so careful, so paranoid.”

“I remember. I remember how you rearranged your cabin so I could spend time with you, next to you,” Granger said, the thought taking him off topic.

“Chilton didn't do that.”

“What do you mean?” Granger asked.

“He tried to crawl in bed with me in the middle of the night, he gave me looks, you know, 'looks', while we were on deck. It was like he wasn't afraid to let everyone know that he wanted me to fuck him,” Travers said in a near panic.

“Did the crew figure it out?” Granger asked, really concerned now.

“I think they figured he was a little obsessed with me, but I don't think they figured out that I fucked him,” Travers said.

“So you fucked him? How was he?” Granger asked.

“OK. He'd never done it before, so it took a few times to break him in, and then it's like that's all he wanted to do. It was interfering with my duties,” Travers said, exasperated. This was really bothering him.

“I'm sorry John. I don't mean to be flippant about this. I just hate seeing you so sad, so upset.”

Travers smiled at him, and then leaned across the table to steal a quick kiss. “I know. Having you here, having someone I can talk to about it, means more than you can know.”

“So what did you do?” Granger asked.

“I broke it off. Told him that we couldn't be lovers anymore. It was the only solution,” Travers said sadly. Granger studied him carefully. He knew Travers so well. He could tell how hard this had been on Travers, how much he cared about Chilton, maybe even loved him.

“You love him too,” Granger said.

“Not like you George,” Travers said, getting defensive. “You know you're the one I love.”

Granger smiled. “I know that. I know you love me, and that I love you. And if I had my choice, you'd be the only one I'd be with. But our lives don't work that way. I love other people. I just don't love them as much as I love you.”

“I thought you were jealous, that you'd be mad at me if I admitted it. I do love him George, I care about him.”

Granger analyzed his own emotions, his feelings. He'd always thought that if Travers loved someone else, he'd be devastated. “As long as I know I have your heart, first and foremost, I'm happy,” Granger said. “I'm just sad for you because this must be so painful.”

Travers reached across the table and took Granger's hand, garnering strength from him. “It has been hard.”

“How long has it been since you stopped sleeping with him?” Granger asked.

“Two weeks ago. He told me he'd gotten it, understood my motives and rules after a few days, so I relented, but he hadn't changed. So I cut it off for good.” Travers sighed. “I wish I could find another ship for him. It's eating him up, being here with me.”

“Do you want me to help? See if I can make that happen?” Granger asked.

“I don't know,” Travers said resignedly. His servant came in with food then, forcing their conversation to a more generic topic. When they were done, and the cabin steward was gone, they made love again, and then lay in their respective cots, talking.

“I want so bad to come over there and lie next to you, to feel your warmth, to smell you,” Granger said wistfully.

Travers smiled. “Don't make me throw you out of my cabin too. There's nothing I'd like better either.”

“I met Robey,” Granger said.

“He's here?” Travers asked, clearly stunned.

“On the Robust. He seemed to know an awful lot about us,” Granger said, digging for information.

“I told him who you were, and that I liked you,” Travers said defensively.

“What about you and him?” Granger said, unsure of how to ask the question.

“What do you want to know?” Travers said, opening up to Granger, offering to expose himself.

“What did you do with him, you know, sexually?” Granger asked.

“We blew each other,” Travers said. “That's all. He wanted to go further, wanted me to fuck him, but I was nervous. I was worried about the same things that worried me about Chilton.”

“He seems a lot more mature than that,” Granger observed.

“He is, now. When he was a midshipman, he was giddier. Even now, he carries his emotions on his shirtsleeves, and to have a relationship like we have, you and I, you have to be able to control yourself.”

“What about now?” Granger asked. “You still love him?”

“I do George. I do love him. He's one of my best friends. After you, he's the one man I can be the most open with.”

Granger nodded. He could see why Travers would feel that way. Robey would be an easy man to love, with his cheerful demeanor, his cute smile, and his sexy body. “I'm glad I got to meet him.”

Travers smiled. “Me too.” Then their conversation shifted to Granger, to his trials and tribulations on the flagship. In the end, between their lovemaking and talking, Granger got no sleep that night at all, and he didn't regret that one bit.

September 22, 1793

Commander John Travers stood at attention in front of the wizened old admiral, trying to focus on what he was saying and not on the cum that was trying to trickle out of his ass. If he was a less stoic individual, he might even have giggled, but he was not.

“So Commander, look at these charts. The French have set up batteries here on this hill and have started to lob shots into the inner harbor. Luckily for us, their guns are firing at extreme range. A few balls have hit the St. George but did little damage. She fires back, but the elevation is too high for her lower deck guns. Still, they're a nuisance, and if they start heating their shot it could change things entirely.”

“Yes my lord,” Travers said. He had a hard time seeing how his small vessel could succeed where a 98 gun ship of the line had failed. He pointed at the water on the western side of the outer harbor. “Shoal water, my lord. Shallow even for Vesuvius, but we could handle it during high tide.”

“We could use pontoons,” Granger said, an inspiration coming to him so quickly he forgot to say “my lord” afterward. He corrected that. “Lighters or pontoons my lord. We could lighten Vesuvius up enough to drag her into the shallows.”

“It would be risky,” Hood said. “What if the lighters or pontoons are smashed by their batteries? Then the Vesuvius would end up firmly aground, pummeled by their batteries until she was destroyed.”

“You are correct my lord,” said Travers sadly. Granger cursed himself for suggesting an idea before it was thought through.

“No, if we use Vesuvius, we'll have to do it at high tide.” Hood said. “Even then, she'll be under fire from at least two French batteries. That's a lot of punishment, even for your sturdy ship Travers.”

“My lord, what if we were able to move a frigate with heavier guns into the shallows? That might distract some of the fire from Vesuvius, and she could do some damage on her own as well.” Granger was inspired again.

“As you well know Mr. Granger, all of our frigates are off on other duties. We have only our battleships here,” Hood said, scowling at him. Granger knew he was on dangerous ground, already having given Hood one bad idea and now proposing one that they didn't have the resources for. But this time he'd already thought of a solution.

“Yes my lord, but we have several French frigates here,” Granger said. “We could pick one, give her a small crew, enough to sail her close to the batteries and then open fire with a few guns.”

Hood smiled. “Your idea has merit. Pick one of the French frigates. Curtis, drum up a small crew for Mr. Granger. 30-50 men ought to do it.”

“Aye aye my lord,” they said.

“In the meantime, we've tried to improvise some form of floating batteries for the western edge. We'll see how those work out,” Hood observed. “Mr. Travers, I think that you would be best utilized supporting the troops near Fort Mulgrave. Then, when Mr. Granger is ready, we can shift you over so you two can try your experiment.”

“Aye aye my lord,” Travers said.

“I'll want you to maintain contact with our troops ashore, in case they need you. Mr. Cavendish, work with Captain Travers to devise a way to work with the military.”

“Aye aye my lord,” Cavendish said.

“Very well then. We have a plan. Mr. Granger, alert me when you are ready.”

“Aye aye my lord,” Granger said. He followed Travers out of the cabin.

“So you'll be commanding a frigate,” Travers teased as Granger walked him to the side of the ship.

“And I get to choose which one,” Granger said, grinning.

“It was good to see you George,” Travers said. “Come visit whenever you can.”

“It was good to see you too John. Maybe I'll invite you over to my frigate for dinner.” Granger shook his hand, and then watched him vanish over the side into his waiting boat. He stared after him, mooning over his loss, until he pulled himself out of his daydream.

Granger had himself rowed back over to the French fleet and inspected the frigates this time. He decided that they were in much better material shape than the line of battleships, ironically enough. He was initially inclined to pick the Arethuse or the Perle, both big French 40 gun frigates. But they were so big he feared they would not have a shallow enough draft to get close enough to the batteries. In the end, he picked a beautiful 32 gun frigate, the Aurore. Granger smiled to himself as he paced her deck, allowing himself a few minutes to fantasize about what it would be like to command such a ship on the open sea.

The Aurore's captain and crew had abandoned their ship when the British entered Toulon, fleeing into the countryside. That had left the ship deserted, giving it a strangely eerie feeling. Winkler was with him, of course, already down in his cabin setting things up.

Granger descended down to the Captain's cabin and couldn't help grinning at Winkler. It was like a palace. Her captain had left his beautiful furnishings aboard, including soft, deep carpets.

“Bit nicer than we're used to sir,” Winkler said.

“Well, it's only temporary, so don't get too comfortable,” Granger said, unable to stop smiling.

“Don't you worry sir, you'll have your own command soon enough. Then you'll be able to have a cabin like this that's all yours,” Winkler said.

“Thank you Winkler. How have things been aboard the flagship? Everyone still treating you alright?” Granger felt guilty for not asking after Winkler earlier.

“They're right fine now, thank you sir. Once those boys had their necks stretched, and the others was sent off to a life of buggery on board the Berwick, begging you pardon sir, things settled down nicely.”

“I'm glad to hear it. You remember you're to come to me if that changes, right?” Granger smiled at him.

“Yes sir,” Winkler said, grinning.

Curtis had drafted a crew for him from the Windsor Castle and the Bedford, and at Granger's request had also recruited the Captain's gunner. Then there was only the question of officers. Windsor Castle and Bedford had each supplied master's mates, but he needed a midshipman as well.

“I'll need a good midshipman,” Granger said to Carslake, the master’s mate sent to him from the Windsor Castle. “I know the man I want, but I'll have to replace him.”

“Lord love you sir,” said Carslake, with his Devon drawl, “Windsor Castle's got more young gentlemen than she knows what to do with. Couple of them, Pennel and Greene, they don't quite fit in. They'd love a transfer.” So Granger took the boat over to Windsor Castle to meet with her captain and ask for the midshipmen. He seemed relieved, a surprise to Granger. Apparently he'd taken a few too many boys to sea, and the Navy Board was making him pay them out of his own pocket. Granger drafted orders to assign Chilton to the Aurore, and to transfer Pennel and Greene to the Vesuvius, signed, of course, by Hood.

So it was that Granger stood on the quarterdeck of the Aurore, the carpenter and gunner working to make sure her guns would elevate enough to hit the batteries, when a very confused and perturbed Midshipman Chilton came aboard. “I've been transferred to the Aurore, sir,” Chilton said. Granger could see the irritation, the anger in his eyes.

“Welcome aboard Mr. Chilton. Make yourself at home. I recommend that you pick one of the cabins in the wardroom.” Granger saw Chilton look at him oddly. “With only 50 men aboard, there's lots of room.”

“Yes sir,” he said, slightly more chipper.

“Stow your gear and report to Mr. Carslake. There is much to do for us to get ready to go into action.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said, and dashed below.

One of the biggest surprises on the Aurore had been a stowaway. They'd found a lone Frenchman who had stayed on board, and conveniently enough, he was the cook. Even more conveniently, he spoke English, albeit badly. Lefavre was his name, a short man with a loud voice. Granger drafted him to continue on as the cook, and sent him and Winkler ashore to get some additional stores for dinners.

September 24, 1793

Granger sat in his cabin at his table, well, they were his for the time being, entertaining his officers at dinner to thank them for a job well done. The Aurore was ready now, ready for a limited combat mission. Her task was to sail or warp herself within range of the batteries and blast away at them. There would be no need for a massive crew to man the sails and the guns at the same time. And they'd only be engaging the enemy with one side at a time, and even then, they only had enough men to man six guns. But their job was to be a target, as much as to have an impact. Granger hoped that the Frenchmen would be infuriated at seeing one of their former ships firing away at them and would make him the primary target.

“Gentlemen,” Granger said, raising his glass, “To a job well done.” They smiled and drank with him, Carslake and Wilson, the other master's mate, Fleming, the gunner, and Chilton.

“I've been thinking sir, that if they use heated shot we'll have to set aside a fire fighting party,” Wilson said.

“You're quite right,” Granger said. “But I have a feeling they won't use that at first. I don't think they have the set up for it, because they haven't used it when targeting the St. George.”

“I think they have the set up, sir,” Fleming said. “They just aren't using it on those other ships because the range is too far. Too far for heated shot.”

Granger nodded, filing that information in the back of his mind for the future. The warrant officers, experts like Fleming, were one of the reasons that Britain was unassailable on the seas. Their experience was an amazing asset. “That's an excellent observation, Mr. Fleming. If we see smoke from a furnace, we'll stop serving number six gun and redirect those men to fire control.”

After that they had a nice dinner. Even Chilton seemed to relax, at least enough to grin and blush when the others teased him. He really was cute. With Shafte, his cuteness was in the underlying intelligence and personality, and the fire that was buried so deeply inside of him. With Chilton, it was more of a classic beauty, truly handsome features and a nice body.

After a lot of wine and good food, Carslake proved to be the most sensitive of the group. “I want to take another turn around the deck sir,” he said, getting up to leave. They all filed out then, all but Chilton.

“Something bothering you Mr. Chilton?” Granger asked.

“Permission to speak freely sir?” Chilton asked.

“Granted,” Granger said, eying the young midshipman coolly.

“You transferred me over here just to get me away from Captain Travers. You knew that if I stayed there, he'd fall in love with me, not you.” Chilton's whole posture changed when he said this. Hurt, defiant, angry, a myriad of destructive, negative emotions.

“I did nothing of the sort Mr. Chilton,” Granger said calmly. “I requested your transfer because I thought you would be good in this environment, and because I didn't want you to ruin your career.”

“Ruin my career?” Chilton asked, now curious.

“Sodomy is a crime, Mr. Chilton. Four warrant officers hung from the yardarm of the Victory not more than a month ago for that offense.” Granger let that sink in. “Your posture toward Captain Travers was dangerous. Other people, the men, were talking. Do you want a reputation as a bugger?”

“No sir,” Chilton said sullenly.

“Well you were on your way to getting one. Captain Travers could probably have avoided the charge, as people would see you as a lovesick puppy chasing after him. But if you are in that environment, and you keep acting as you have with him, you will be labeled a sodomite.”

“No one can prove anything,” Chilton said defiantly.

“They don't have to. They just have to think it, and tell other people what they think. Your reputation would be ruined. And do you think the Admiralty would promote you with that kind of reputation? No matter how good your connections are, they won't survive that.” Granger cringed to himself. Not even he would survive that kind of scandal.

“He told me that he loves me,” Chilton said, now the anger was replaced by pain.

“And in his own way, he probably does. But there's a big difference, at least in his mind, between loving someone, and being in love with someone. He loves you in that he cares about you. It doesn't go beyond that,” Granger said sympathetically.

“I suppose you know this because he loves you then?” Another mood shift, back to anger.

“He does. And I love him. And quite frankly, if I thought that was in jeopardy, I would have gotten you transferred. But that's not why I did it. You're not a threat to my relationship with him,” Granger said, more assertively and firmly.

Chilton just sat there staring at him, making Granger uncomfortable, not that he'd ever show it. He watched Chilton wrestle with things, with the truths that Granger had thrown into his face, and the realization that he'd loved a man who didn't love him back, and that he'd been jilted. Granger felt his irritation with Chilton evaporate as a tear fell down Chilton’s cheek.

Chilton seemed to suddenly become aware of that and jumped up to leave, to go drown his sorrows below. Granger stood up with him, and reached out to touch his shoulder, offering some physical comfort to try and heal the psychological pain. Chilton moved toward him and wrapped his arms around Granger, hugging him tightly, burying his head in Granger's shoulder. And then he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Granger just held him tightly, trying to comfort him, glad that he wasn't the one experiencing that kind of pain. Hopefully he never would.