Barbarians on an Ancient Sea

by William Westbrook

  “Deck there!” came the shout from the lookout. “Men on shore waving their shirts!”

  And so they were. The remaining crew of Ceres were taken off the island just before evening, hungry and dehydrated after being put ashore to fend for themselves once their ship was captured. They had existed on iguana and rainwater for over a week. Fallon was looking forward to interviewing them to learn what had happened and how. But that was for later.

  First, he searched the pirate captain’s cabin but found nothing of significance. The schooner was Céleste, but there were no records and no log of her activities. It was the typical pirate way. He had the ship searched thoroughly but nothing was found—at first.

  Then, in the deepest part of the hold, a chest. It was brought on deck and the Rascals gathered around as the carpenter took an iron bar and forced the lock off along with the hasp. Inside was a mound of silver specie that must have come off an earlier prize. It was not a fortune, but it was half a fortune, and the Rascals would be wealthier than they’d ever been as a result. Fallon resolved to give the families of his dead crewmen a fair share, and Ceres’ crew a share, as well, for they deserved to have something for their ordeal.

  Now there was a general buzz of excitement as Beauty allocated prize crews to the two captured ships. They each had enough stores in their holds to reach St. Kitts, for Fallon intended to call on Commodore Truxton to report Woodson’s death and drop off Ceres’ crew before sailing for English Harbor. He was taking a chance on missing Caleb Visser if the American got lucky and quickly caught an outbound ship, but St. Kitts was on the way and he didn’t plan to stay long.

  And, indeed, as the waves rolled into a blue evening the three ships were uncoupled at last and caught the freshening east wind to make their way south out of the Mona Passage. Colquist labored under a swinging lantern and against a heeling ship to save the lives he could. Elinore worked beside him, bandaging wounds and talking softly to the wounded. There were two Rascals dead and over twenty wounded, but the pirates had lost almost sixty men, most falling to the surprise broadside of grapeshot. Many more would die before Colquist could save them, and for now they were lying about Rascal’s deck crying in pain or mercifully unconscious.

  It was deep in the middle watch when Fallon went below at last, only to find Elinore dozing on the stern cushions, her dress a bloody rag. He called for soap and water and she sleepily allowed him to bathe her before she collapsed in his cot. His last sight before falling into a deep sleep on the stern cushions was his nightshirt that had been returned to the back of his cabin door, blackened by gunpowder and shredded by grapeshot.

  TWENTY-NINE

  BASSETERRE HARBOR ON ST. KITTS WAS NOT MUCH OF A HARBOR, MORE a roadstead several miles long and a half mile wide. It was here that a squadron of ships was assembled under Commodore Thomas Truxton, including his own flagship, USS Constellation, 38, a heavy frigate. Truxton’s command extended throughout the whole Lesser Antilles and his orders were to subdue French privateers, most of whom were sailing out of Guadeloupe.

  Fallon had entered the roadstead cautiously, Rascal flying the British ensign, with Ceres and Céleste trailing behind. Men from the Adams, Eagle, Connecticut, and Baltimore lined the railings of their respective ships to gawk somberly at the procession, for here was Ceres returning barely two weeks after leaving and no one could see Lieutenant Woodson aboard.

  Fallon had ordered Rascal and the prizes to anchor and had immediately taken the gig to Constellation, for he could see the commodore’s broad pennant flying there.

  “Welcome aboard, sir,” said Commodore Truxton gravely. “I confess I was startled when my lookout shouted that Ceres was sailing back into the harbor, and I am anxious to hear your story and how you came to have her. Who are you and what of Lieutenant Woodson, pray?”

  “I am Captain Nicholas Fallon, of the British privateer Rascal, at your service,” said Fallon. “And I regret to inform you of the death of Lieutenant Woodson at the hands of pirates in the Mona Passage.”

  Truxton’s shoulders seemed to sag at the news of Woodson’s death.

  “I am aware that you gallantly came to Ceres’ aid once before, captain,” said Truxton sadly. “I must thank you again. But I grieve at the loss of Woodson, who was very popular with the men and an invaluable asset to me. Please tell me all you know.”

  And so the story of the discovery of Woodson’s body in the small boat came out, and the clue he left pointing to Mona Island. Fallon made little of the battle with Céleste, for Truxton would know the scream of shot and cries of dying men well enough.

  “I was able to interview several of Ceres’ crew, sir, and they gave a good account of Woodson’s bravery in the face of overwhelming odds. He was knocked completely unconscious in the fighting and the bastards set him adrift without food or water to die.”

  “His wife in Virginia will grieve to hear of his death,” said Truxton sadly. “I will spare her the details, of course. He leaves behind two children, as well.”

  There was silence between them for a moment.

  “I understand Loire is with a British agent to be appraised in Bermuda, is that correct?” asked Truxton.

  “Actually, the Hamilton agent there was recalled and the ship has been taken to Antigua to the agent there. She has been returned to prime condition by now and should appraise well. Lieutenant Woodson’s account of the battle will, of course, be turned over to the agent for consideration.”

  “I have no doubt of it, sir, and I commended Woodson for a wise decision,” said Truxton kindly. “His crew was quite decimated and he obviously trusted you after so gallant a rescue. Meanwhile, I will buy Ceres back into the service, sir. We have an agent in Basseterre who will appraise her. I have constant need of a dispatch vessel. And I will take the prisoners, who will be given a fair trial. I have no doubt they will be hanged, however.”

  “Yes, Ceres’ crew will testify against them, I’m sure,” said Fallon, and then an idea struck him. “If you feel it appropriate, you might nudge the agent to give a high appraisal for the ship, for I would like to donate the prize money to poor Woodson’s family. We have Céleste to take to English Harbor and the prize court there, as well as some specie we found aboard the schooner, and that will be quite enough for my crew.”

  “That is very generous of you, Captain Fallon,” said Truxton. “Very generous indeed, for you paid a price in blood for Ceres’ recapture. I will have a word with my agent ashore and give him a not-so-gentle nudge in the right direction with his numbers. And I will see that Woodson’s family is the beneficiary of your kindness.”

  “And now, captain,” continued Truxton, “how may the United States government be of service to you, for you have repeatedly been of service to us?”

  “Well, sir,” said Fallon, “any information you could provide relative to the situation with the Barbary states would be helpful. I intend sailing to those waters very soon and I am aware the corsairs have taken American shipping in the past, of course, but I believe a treaty has been signed. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, we have a treaty with all the Barbary regencies now,” said Truxton, but Fallon could see his skepticism. “However, I don’t trust them for a minute, sir. Any pretext to declare the treaty broken will be used. Their demands are insatiable. But, if I may, you should have no trouble under a British flag, surely.”

  “Yes,” said Fallon. “Hopefully, you are correct. But I will be carrying an American who is attempting to ransom his father.”

  He let his words hang in the air, and he could see Truxton’s brow crease.

  “That could be a difficult negotiation with those bastards, captain,” he said, “for they always raise their prices. If I may, I might suggest you seek the advice of Mr. Richard O’Brien, the U.S. consul to the dey of Algiers, when you arrive. He was a prisoner of the dey’s for some time and will know how to proceed.”

  “That is very good advice, commodore,” said Fallon. “I have O’Brien’s diary aboard, actu
ally, but did not know he was back in Algiers as American consul.”

  “Yes, who better I suppose,” said Truxton. “He knows their ways better than most, and trusts them less than most. I will write you a letter of introduction this instant and have it sent over to you.”

  With a few more words Fallon was seen over the side and rowed back to Rascal. He had made a quick decision about Ceres and could only hope Beauty and the crew would agree with it. He felt they would, given their great fortune in finding specie aboard Céleste. The news that Woodson had a family had never occurred to him.

  Truxton’s letter came aboard within an hour and by then Ceres’ prize crew was back aboard Rascal and the bedraggled American survivors transferred to Constellation. It was a behemoth of a ship and no doubt Truxton could use the hands until a new commander for Ceres was appointed. Very soon Rascal and Céleste weighed and glided away from Basseterre.

  Looking over his shoulder at the assembled American squadron Fallon’s eyes fell on Constellation. He could see Truxton on the quarterdeck waving goodbye, and then saluting, which was a very unusual thing for a commodore to do.

  THIRTY

  SERPENT WAS TWO DAYS OUT OF ALGIERS AND CHANCED UPON A BALTIC trader carrying mercantile goods to Italy. The packet was a small ship, easily taken without a shot, and the ship was searched eagerly for plunder or wealthy passengers who might be ransomed for large sums. Regular seamen or servants were destined for the slave market. Zabana had experience with captured passengers attempting to swallow their money, or even exchange clothes with their servants. Consequently, he personally examined his captives’ hands and teeth, for these were the best indications of status. Sometimes he even had men beaten or given a saltwater emetic to force the retrieval of hidden or swallowed money.

  Zabana knew all the tricks, and sorry was the prisoner who tried to fool him.

  Serpent ranged into the waters south of Sardinia hoping for an American ship to present itself, a ship full of gold and beautiful women would be nice, he thought.

  Though Wilhelm Visser received perhaps less scrutiny than slaves who had no chance of ransom, he also was at pains to do what he was told. He had witnessed what happened to those who disobeyed their masters; those poor wretches suffered indignities and all manner of punishments.

  Algerians meted out punishments for even the smallest of transgressions. A Maltese slave who dared threaten his master with his fist had his arms and legs broken with an iron bar. A Turk was crucified for stealing an egg. And Visser had heard it said on the quay that two Moors who struck janissaries had their right hands amputated and hung from strings around their necks. So Visser was careful to do everything that was asked, and as a consequence he was allowed a bit of freedom to roam the city when he wasn’t working. Even then he kept his head down.

  But his eyes were open.

  When the city of Algiers came under Ottoman control a wall was built to surround it on all sides, including along the sea. Five gates were installed in the wall, and five roads ran from the gates up the hill to the qasba, or fortification where the dey kept his palace. A major road ran north and south, bisecting the hillside into the upper city and lower city. The houses Visser passed gleamed bright white in the sun and the glare from the walls burned his eyes. Most were three stories tall, with open courtyards with fountains, tile floors, and a terrace on the roof. Oddly, the homes had few windows, but perhaps that kept them cool.

  Each evening Visser returned to the bagnio, or prison by the quay, which used to house old Roman baths. Here is where the holding pens for captives were located, surrounded by stockade posts and open to the sky. New arrivals were given two thin blankets and a straw pallet for comfort; this was the sum total of their belongings until they were either ransomed or sold. At night, exhausted after a day spent working in the unrelenting sun, Visser could hear a flutist wander the twisting alleys playing something beautiful to announce the curfew.

  One day a week Visser was set free to move about the city. He had earned that much for never giving the guards any trouble and, besides, how could he escape a walled city? He memorized the narrow streets and shrouded doorways, the door knockers and tiles, the smells of strong coffee and tobacco smoke. He walked the passageways and paused in the shade of broad-leafed trees that occasionally grew from a crevice of dirt.

  The city, which once seemed so foreign to him, had become familiar.

  THIRTY-ONE

  THE ENTRANCE TO ENGLISH HARBOR OPENED BEFORE THEM AND RAScal and Céleste sailed in on an afternoon breeze that heeled both ships over on starboard ever so slightly. Elinore stood on the bow, a lovely, living figurehead, while Fallon and Beauty stood together by the binnacle as they passed the naval hospital where Dr. Garón had saved Beauty’s life. As they glided by, Beauty fingered the sea dog necklace around her neck but said nothing, and Fallon wisely left her to her thoughts. Now they were past and on to the anchorage, where Avenger and Loire were both revealed drifting this way and that to their rodes in the breeze which had quickly gone light and fickle so far up the harbor.

  Tentatively, Fallon raised his telescope and held his breath, willing Caleb Visser to appear in it. He could see Aja and—thank God—Visser waving their hats and arms and he and Beauty and Elinore waved back enthusiastically with both arms, Barclay with one, of course, a story to be told later. Rascal rounded up with a flourish and let go between Loire and Avenger and Beauty ordered the topsails backwinded to let the ship drift back and set the anchor. By the time Rascal had settled and Céleste had come to her anchor, Aja and Visser had come aboard to general celebration. Of course, they expressed surprise to see Rascal, surprise to see Elinore was aboard and sad surprise that poor Barclay had lost an arm.

  While the hands went to work to coil down the lines and make the ship secure, Fallon asked Beauty, Aja and Visser below to his cabin. Elinore wanted to go ashore to see her good friend Paloma Campos and Fallon promised to meet her later.

  “We couldn’t let you have a great adventure to the Mediterranean without us,” said Fallon, trying to be humorous, as the group settled around his desk. But it was evident that only the truth would do by way of explaining Rascal’s presence in English Harbor, and he set himself to describe all that he knew and supposed about the Barbary coast. In particular, he shared what he had read in O’Brien’s diary and even produced it for all to see.

  “Nicholas,” said Visser, “I am truly humbled at your offer to put yourself, your crew and your ship in danger for me. I don’t know what to say to you, except to thank you with all my heart, and decline. I will find a ship and go alone, for I now know the risk is great and I cannot conscience you sharing it.” He looked around the cabin in appreciation, but the faces that looked back at him seemed determined.

  “Caleb, thank you for saying that,” said Fallon. “But I don’t think any of us could live with ourselves if we let you go alone. You’ve—”

  “You see, Caleb,” interrupted Beauty, cutting to the chase. “This isn’t really a conversation about whether or not we’re going with you. We’re fucking going.”

  Ah, Beauty.

  Fallon was on deck preparing to go ashore when there was a signal from Avenger requesting the captain come aboard and, of course, he couldn’t refuse an admiral, even if he wasn’t in the Royal Navy. Fallon and Aja dropped into Rascal’s gig and were quickly rowed across to the flagship as the evening sky began its transformation from blue to pink to red.

  “Ahoy the gig!” came the shout from Kinis, the flag captain. “Come aboard Captain Fallon! The admiral is anxious to see you!”

  Kinis greeted both Fallon and Aja warmly, addressing Aja as second mate and shaking their hands heartily. Aja beamed, his eyes telling Kinis that his approbation meant the world to him, for Kinis was a by-the-book captain and would not countenance an officer who didn’t deserve to be one. Kinis led Fallon below decks to be met by Davies in the great cabin, himself beaming and smiling broadly at the sight of his good friend.

  Davies w
as tall, with blond hair worn in a traditional club, a throw-back to an earlier custom in the navy. His face was tan and strong, and his blue eyes carried a mixture of cynicism and humor within them. His was a view of the world leavened by years in the Royal Navy, fighting enemies who were once friends, watching political boundaries change willy-nilly and learning to distrust what he couldn’t see for himself. He had become deeply skeptical of so-called news; there were the facts, and then there was the truth.

  Davies’ friendship with Fallon had been tested by fire more than once as they had fought together in fair weather and foul, most foul, against France and Spain. Their random alliances were unusual but borne of necessity and opportunity. Davies lacked ships and manpower to fight all of Great Britain’s foes and take advantage of every opportunity to harass them. And Fallon was an intrepid privateer whose letter of marque enabled him to take prizes—which Davies willingly bought into the service.

  “I have of course spoken with Aja about his prize,” exclaimed Davies, “and now I see that you have brought another one in! Do you never stop, Nicholas? I am all aback to hear of your derring-do but, first, how are things with Elinore? I hear she is aboard.”

  “She is very well, thank you,” said Fallon. “She’s gone ashore to see Paloma, something to do with wedding planning, if you can believe it. And how is Paloma? As beautiful as ever, I collect?”

  Davies smiled and said softly, “As beautiful as ever, yes. I believe I will be following in your footsteps before the year is out. We have lightly touched on the subject of getting married at some point.”

  “That is wonderful, Harry,” said Fallon. “I will let you know how it feels!”

  A few more handshakes and at last they were ready for business. Fallon described the taking of Loire, though that seemed a lifetime ago and he was sure that Aja had reported most of it already. He described Micah Woodson, as well, as being a good American officer who was kind enough to take Loire’s prisoners and suggest sending the ship to a British prize court to be appraised and sold into the service.