by Rod Miller
Captain Clemmons and Hurry (who, by the way, was now an official member of the expedition following a late-night pow-wow between the captain and the major) and the crew aboard ship experienced smooth sailing—so to speak—as well. The girl was able to keep the camels calm and under control upon arrival, as expected, and helped see to their stowage in their shipboard stalls.
All went without a hitch—with one exception: the tulu was too tall.
Ibrahim pitched a fit when he came aboard, complaining and caterwauling and clamoring, but since he had no English he was largely ignored. The resourceful sailors simply sawed a spacious slot in the ceiling of his stall and added a cupola-like extension to accommodate his too-high hump. The tulu, who the sailors named Tulu, seemed happy with the arrangement.
Even as the last nail was driven, the USS Cordwood weighed anchor and left the Strait of Smyrna to set sail for Alexandria in search of more camels.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
* * *
Hurry’s hurrying and scurrying around the ship, inside and out, set Rawhide Robinson’s name for her—Hurry—in stone. She and her uncle Harry soon improved their adequate, if hesitant, ability to communicate with the crew and caught on to the American idiosyncrasies of the English language in no time.
Poor Ibrahim, however, had no English and his aloofness—and lack of interest—stalled his assimilation. But when it came to communicating with Rawhide Robinson and his arcane cowboy lingo, Ibrahim was at little disadvantage compared to Harry, Hurry, or even—on occasion—the other Americans. After months at sea with the rustic westerner, the sailors still, on occasion, found themselves befuddled, bewildered, flummoxed, flabbergasted, perplexed, nonplussed, confounded, and confused by cowboy argot, jargon, idiom, and slang.
Rawhide Robinson was asked, “This, in my hand, is it a lariat or a reata?”
Rawhide Robinson replied, “Well, it’s both. ‘Lariat’ is a cowboy way of saying la reata, which is the Mexican way of saying rope. Reata, lariat—all the same. ’Course it’s sometimes called a twine, a lass rope, lasso, ketch rope, seago, gutline, string, cable, choker, maguey, a skin string—”
“—But how do you know?”
“I don’t know how you know. You just know.”
And this simple question: “Food?”
“Chuck. Grub. Bait. Vittles. Muck-a-muck. State doin’s. Throat ticklin’s. Them’s your general terms. If you’re palaverin’ about some particular comestible, it could be anything from axle grease to whistle berries, fluff-duff to huckydummy, sow bosom to bear sign, sinkers to cackleberries—I gotta quit talking about food. It’s making my stomach think my throat’s been cut.”
“What?”
“Oh, you know—I’m a mite gut shrunk—wolfish—narrow at the equator—my belly button’s bouncin’ off my backbone—”
“Hungry, you mean?”
“Why, sure—in a manner of speaking.”
Rawhide Robinson: “Harry, what is it you call a bunch of camels?”
Harry: “Caravan is the common term. Sometimes flock.”
“That’s it?”
“That is all. Why?”
“Seems a mite slender. Horses, now, out where I come from, might be a bunch or a band or a herd or a remuda or a cavvy or remounts or the saddle band or plain ‘hosses.’ ”
“It is too much!” Harry said.
“Well, there’s a lot of horses. So you need a lot of words to talk about them. You got your caballo and your cayuse, your bronc and your broomtail, your mustang and your mockey, your pony and your plug, and so on.
“Then, of course, you got to be able to identify a horse by what he’s good for. Say, a cow horse or a cuttin’ horse or rope horse or night horse or Sunday horse or top horse or circle horse or last year’s bronc, if you catch my meaning.
“And how in heaven’s name could you discuss equines without considering their physical characteristics? Some of ’em’s clear-footed and some puddin’ foots. You find ’em cold-jawed, coon-footed and cow-hocked. They might be fiddle-headed or hogbacked. Head shy, jugheaded, ewe-necked, or mule-hipped. They might be snorty or whistlers or cribbers.
“Thing is, when you get to chin-waggin’ with your saddle pals, a man’s got to have a vocabulary to make himself understood.”
Someone said: “ ‘Understood’ is a relative term.”
Another said: “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
And another: “What language is that you’re speaking, anyway?”
And still another: “A horse is a horse.”
Rawhide Robinson, as is the wont among cowboys, stuck to his guns. “Maybe so, maybe no. You could say a boat is a boat, for all that. But sometimes it’s a ship.”
The time the cowboy spent schooling Turks and sailors alike in cowboy lingo paled in comparison to the hours and days he spent learning about camels. Some of his education was formal. At Major Wayne’s request, Captain Clemmons assigned a handful of sailors, under the able leadership of Ensign Ian Scott, to help Harry, Hurry, and Rawhide Robinson care for the camels. Ibrahim resisted all efforts of assistance with the tulu, but Wayne was having none of it.
“What’s the matter with the man?” the army officer asked Harry.
“He did not want to leave Turkey. His life with the Grand Vizier was soft, and held much status. He thinks now he is below his station. He has no interest in associating with infidels. He is homesick. Ibrahim will care for the tulu as he is under obligation by his master’s orders, but beyond that he vows he will not cooperate.”
“#&^$%*!” Wayne said. “We’ll see about that!”
Harry and Hurry, on the other hand, leapt into their role as teachers with high spirts and enthusiasm. The first day the USS Cordwood was underway to Alexandria, they led a camel onto the open deck where studious sailors and a curious cowboy encircled it.
“What’s the matter with its knees?” one sailor asked.
“There is nothing wrong,” Hurry said. “Why do you ask?”
“They ain’t got no hair on them. Looks all scuffed and rough and wrinkly.”
“Oh, I see. The camel, he lowers himself to the earth by first kneeling on the knees of his forelegs. When he rises, his knees are the last to leave the earth. They are much used, and so the knees are protected by the thick skin.”
Another sailor: “How much water can these camels keep in that hump?”
Harry: “Oh, my friend, there is no water in there.”
“But they say that’s how come they can go so long without water!”
“Not so. I am afraid the hump is filled with fat. That is all.”
And another: “I heard tell they can walk on sand. What keeps ’em from sinkin’?”
Harry lifted the camel’s front foot. The sailors gathered around, with Rawhide Robinson elbowing his way among them for an unobstructed view. Harry pointed out the leathery pads on the bottom of the hoof, and told how they spread when the camel walked, providing a wider surface area.
“Like snowshoes, then,” said a sailor from the North Country.
“Snow shoes?” Harry said, looking perplexed.
“Well they’re these wood frames maybe three, four times the size of your foot with webs of rawhide laced across. We strap on our shoes when we go out in deep snow.”
“I suppose it is much the same principle,” Harry said.
“About them hairy ears and all them eyelashes,” another sailor wondered.
“Ah, yes,” Hurry said. “You have noticed their ears are covered with hair inside and out, and they have two rows of eyelashes. In a windstorm, this protects them from blowing sand. In a sandstorm, humans wish for the same.”
Then she told the pupils, “But that is not all! Watch this!”
The girl tickled the camel’s upper lip—which wiggled and waggled on either side of its split middle. As the sailors laughed, she blew on the beast’s muzzle, prompting oohs and aahs and chortles and chuckles when the camel slammed its nostrils shut.
&nb
sp; “You see!” Hurry said. “The camel can also close his nose to keep out the blowing sand!”
The revelation drew a round of applause from the appreciative Americans.
Harry said, “A marvelous animal, the camel. Much superior to the horse.”
“Now hold on there,” Rawhide Robinson protested. “These here camels might be fine for fending off a sandstorm, but they ain’t no horse. Why, a horse is noble looking—splendid and stately standing still and beauty to behold when ambulating. These creatures look like whoever invented them was booze blind and dizzy drunk. Why, they’re so ugly if one of them looked in a mirror he’d scare himself plumb to death. God his own self must have been playing a joke on mankind when He created camels and again when He had old Noah unload these beasts from his ark. Better than a horse! Hmmmph!”
Harry smiled the kind of sympathetic smile reserved for the addle-brained and hopelessly ignorant. “You shall see, Rawhide Robinson. You shall see.”
Hurry defused the situation with a simple whistle.
Somehow, the camel understood the signal and lowered its knees to the deck then folded its hind legs double and squatted on them.
“Climb aboard, cowboy!”
Skeptical but always game, Rawhide Robinson hitched up his britches, grabbed a hank of camel hair at the front of the hump as he jumped and swung a leg over. As he lit, Hurry whistled a different command and the camel hefted its front end, its hind end, then, again, the front with Rawhide Robinson leaning expertly with the motion.
“How’s the weather up there?” a sailor said.
“It’s a mite breezy,” the cowboy said from his perch atop the dromedary. “But I reckon a man could get accustomed to ridin’ high like this.”
Harry said, “As with a horse, the camel’s back is much more comfortable when saddled.”
“I sure hope so. It’s a mite spiny up here. Besides trying to keep from slidin’ down the slope.”
But learning to ride a camel was not on the agenda aboard the Cordwood.
“Robinson get down from there and stop this nonsense!” Major Wayne said as he clomped across the deck. “I have developed procedures concerning the camels. You men look sharp and pay attention.”
The major outlined a precise and detailed set of orders for camel care. He ordered one sailor to be on watch at all times, continuously making the rounds through the stalls on deck and those below deck. He ordered the camels fed and watered daily at three o’clock in the afternoon; to wit, one gallon of oats, ten pounds of hay, and one gallon of water for each camel at each daily feeding. In addition, the camels were to receive a weekly ration of salt.
“Men, the grooming of these animals is your responsibility as well, and I can assure their ablutions and toilette will far exceed your own. The camels are to be currycombed and brushed for no less than a half hour each and every day.”
The sailors groaned.
“The legs and feet of every camel are to be washed daily.”
The sailors moaned.
“With soap.”
The sailors mumbled.
“Stalls are to be mucked out and cleaned daily.”
The sailors grumbled.
“Harry will instruct you in all other aspects of their care. I will make unannounced inspections routinely. Should anything out of the ordinary occur, I expect to be informed post haste. My assignment is to transport these camels, and the others we will be acquiring, safely to the United States. It is a mission I take with the utmost seriousness and I am relying on you men to facilitate its success. Captain Clemmons has assured me of your cooperation. Are there any questions?”
“Sir, suppose I am spat upon by one of the camels?” a fastidious sailor asked.
“I can assure you—and Harry will agree—that eventuality is highly unlikely.”
Another sailor: “Supposing one of them steps on me, sir?”
“Mind where you put your feet. Avoid putting them under the camel’s hooves and you will be fine.”
“Sir, why so much water? I hear tell they don’t drink much water,” came the question from another sailor.
“There is truth in what you have heard. Camels can go for extended periods without water—but, like you, they will drink when drink is available.”
A burly, bearded, brawny sailor said, “What about the girl, sir?”
“What about the girl?” Wayne said.
“Well, sir, you said the man there, Harry, was to tell us what to do. Does that apply to the girl, too? Will we be takin’ orders from her?”
Hurry blushed at the attention but stood her ground.
“Orders, no,” the major said. “Advice, yes. Instructions, certainly. Guidance, of course.”
“But she ain’t but a little bit of a thing.”
“Granted. But her experience with camels far exceeds your own—or that of any other person on this ship save her Uncle Harry and, perhaps, Ibrahim. Don’t dismiss what she tells you.”
“Still and all, she’s a girl.”
Rawhide Robinson stepped forward. “Listen here, sailor. I don’t know much about camels but I’ve been tendin’ cow critters since you were in nappies and horses before that. So I know a thing or three about animals. I’ve told others this and I’m a-telling you—Hurry has a way with camels and you’d do well to pay attention to what she says.”
“Hmmmph.”
“I’ll tell you this, too—if you cross her, she’s likely to clean your plow. I’ve seen with my own eyes this little gal get the better of a better man than you. And if she don’t knock your ears down a notch, I’ll likely do it myself if you give her any trouble.”
“What’re you, cowboy? Her protector?”
“Not likely. She don’t need me watchin’ over her.”
“Enough of this!” Major Wayne said. “As I said, Captain Clemmons assured me of the cooperation of every one of the sailors who volunteered or were assigned to this task. I expect nothing less. If this young lady’s presence upsets you unduly, you are welcome to seek re-assignment. I’m sure swabbies are—”
An explosion and shower of seawater interrupted the major’s discourse, followed by another blast and more of the Mediterranean raining down.
“Pirates!” came the cry from the quarterdeck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
* * *
As the raining-down seawater dissipated, Ensign Ian Scott rushed to the rail, seeking the source of the shots over the USS Cordwood’s bow.
“Holy mackerel!” he said and hustled toward the captain’s quarters but met Clemmons on his way to the quarterdeck.
“Did I hear cannon fire, Ensign?”
“Indeed you did, sir.”
The befuddled captain raked his fingers through his hair, reset his peaked cap, and sucked on his unlit pipe. “Are we under attack?”
“Those were warning shots over the bow, sir. No hurt or harm. But you won’t believe what’s firing on us.”
Clemmons stared at the junior officer, his anticipation at a low boil. “Well, Ensign Scott—are you going to tell me?”
“It’s a xebec, Captain! A xebec!”
“Xebec? Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
“I was under the impression the only xebecs still afloat were in Mediterranean maritime museums.”
“Yes, sir. But it is a xebec all the same.”
“Do you suppose the Barbary pirates have returned after all these years, as well?”
“Couldn’t say, Captain. But whoever it is out there, they are coming after us.”
Clemmons eyeballed the attackers through his telescope. “Well I’ll be. A xebec. Knock me over with a feather. . . .”
“Is that an order, sir?”
“Don’t be daft, Ensign Scott. I suppose we should see what they want. Heave to,” he ordered the helmsman, and sent an officer to see to the ship’s four twenty-four pound howitzers and the arming of the sailors.
Major Benjamin Wayne stomped onto the quarterdeck
as the ship hove to. “Captain! What the hell is going on?”
“We’re about to find out,” Clemmons said as he watched the xebec draw closer, its sails assisted by oarsmen.
“We’re stopping. Why?”
Clemmons explained in as few words as possible that, as a supply ship in peacetime, the USS Cordwood’s armaments were scant. Fleeing would be futile, as the smaller, trimmer xebec could easily outrun them. “And it appears they have the firepower to blow us out of the water should they so choose.”
“So what’s your plan? Let them take over the ship?”
“I doubt it will come to that. I shall allow them to come aside and ascertain their intentions. If they are pirates, they most likely assume an American military supply ship will make a fine prize. Once they understand what our cargo consists of, interest will diminish.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“If they attempt to seize the ship, we will, of course, resist. We’ll give them a taste of our lead and steel long enough to allow us to hoist our sails and be underway.”
“But you said they could outrun us!”
Clemmons smiled. “True enough. But if my seamanship is good enough—and I believe it is—we’ll put ourselves in a position to run them down. That ship of theirs is delicate—a twig compared to our tree trunk. We’ll smash them to smithereens.”
Sailors scrambled around on the main deck seeing to their duties, unaccustomed though they were to hostility on the seas. But all were soon armed and dangerous and ready to meet whatever threat presented itself.
When the xebec came alongside the Cordwood, Captain Clemmons was at the rail.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain,” came the call across the water from the pirates.
“Permission denied. State your business.”
“I wish you no harm. It is your cargo we seek—we have no wish to damage your ship or injure your men.”
