by Tim Severin
Hector was too astonished to reply.
‘Of course it’s nothing more than a stunt,’ the storekeeper sniffed. ‘But that’s what Intendant Brodart has ordered us to do, so we have to put up with it. The Intendant boasted to the King and to the minister that the Arsenal is capable of such a feat. Premier comite Gasnier has known about it for weeks. Now it’s official.’
‘With respect, sir, do you think it can be done?’ Hector asked carefully. ‘I thought that a galley took at least a year to build, maybe twice as long. And the timbers have to be kept until they are seasoned, and that takes at least a couple of years.’
The head storekeeper regarded the young Irishman suspiciously. ‘Who told you that?’ he asked.
Too late Hector realised that much of the timber he had seen in the Arsenal was green, although according to the official records it had been kept in store for years. The head storekeeper, he concluded, was well aware of the fraud.
‘I don’t know,’ he said vaguely. ‘Maybe that’s something that the boat builders do at home and I picked it up there.’
‘The royal Galley Corps uses only the finest hand-picked timber,’ his superior said quietly, and with a slight edge of menace in his voice continued, ‘Anyhow we will not be issuing timber for this new galley from stores. Everything has been prepared, as you would have noticed if you had kept your wits about you.’
The remark reminded Hector of comite Gasnier’s comment when he had first seen him at the dry dock.
‘You mean the new galley which will be built in the presence of the King, has been built before?’
‘You have sharp eyes,’ admitted the storekeeper. ‘Gasnier’s dry dock gangs have been practising for weeks. Pulling apart a galley, then putting her back together again. Not the whole vessel, of course, just the more awkward sections. This time it will be the real thing, and I’m loaning you to Gasnier as a tallyman. Your task will be to keep track of the materials, ensuring a smooth flow. The royal demonstration is scheduled to start at dawn next Thursday and the galley must be ready to put to sea, fully armed and crewed, by noon on Friday.’
AS IT TURNED OUT, the King, who was known for his capricious decisions, cancelled his visit to the Arsenal at the last moment. But Intendant Brodart decided that the demonstration would go ahead, knowing that reports of its outcome would reach the court. Long before daylight on the appointed day Hector reported for duty at the dry dock. There he found some five hundred carpenters assembling on the edge of the dry dock, which was empty except for the 160-foot keel of the galley lying ready on its chocks. In the flickering light of banks of torches the carpenters were being divided into squads of fifty, each led by a senior shipwright and a foreman. Nearby were marshalled two companies of nailers, and behind them again a hundred caulkers were preparing their caulking irons and pots of tallow and tar. Each man was already wearing a cap whose colour told him on which particular section of the vessel he would work. Hector’s responsibility was to a gang of porters, forty men, standing by to carry the ready-cut timbers from stacks on each side of the dry dock. He was to make sure they picked up the right pieces in the correct order, and took them to the proper sector the moment they were needed.
‘Listen to me, men,’ bellowed comite Gasnier. He was using a speaking trumpet and standing on a scaffolding where he could look down on the entire dry dock and direct the progress of the building. ‘You’re doing a job that you’ve done over and over again in the past. So just follow the orders you get from your foremen and supervisors and think about nothing else.’ He paused while an assistant repeated his words in Turkish. Looking around, Hector realised that at least every fourth man in the building teams was a Turk. Among them he thought he recognised the hulking figure of Irgun, the odjak from Izzet Darya. ‘It is vital not to get in one another’s way,’ Gasnier went on. ‘Do your job as fast as possible, step back and let the next man get on with his work. Above all, there will be no talking or shouting. You are to work in silence and use hand signals. Anyone caught talking will receive ten lashes. Only supervisors and master shipwrights may speak, and then only in a quiet voice. All other instructions will be given by whistles, and there will be a drum beat every hour, on the hour, so that you can keep track of time. Now stand by for the signal to begin.’
The start whistle blew. The porters seized the first dozen frames and carried them at a run down the ladders into the dry dock. The shipwrights hoisted them into position and began to peg them into place. By the time the first frames were secure, the porters were already arriving with the next frames in the sequence. Hector had to admit that the skill and discipline of the workforce was astonishing. In less than half an hour every frame was fitted in its proper place, a task that would normally have taken fifteen days to complete. Then, without pausing, the carpenters turned to the task of laying in the deck beams and then the planks, bending and clinching the timber so adroitly that by noon the entire hull was finished, and the carpenters were kneeling on the upper parts, urgently pegging down the deck boards. Below them the teams of caulkers were hammering oakum into the seams. By then, the cacophony of hammering and sawing had risen to such a deafening crescendo that Gasnier’s rule against talking was unnecessary, for no one could have heard themselves speak. Only at dusk, when most of the woodworking was done, did the noise begin to subside as the carpenters withdrew, leaving the painters and carvers and gilders to add their decorative touches by the light of torches. By midnight the caulkers had begun to check their work, pumping water into the hull, then looking for leaks and plugging them before draining out the vessel, and applying a final underwater coat of tar. Even as the master caulker reported to Gasnier that the hull was watertight, his workmen were scrambling out of the dry dock to avoid the rising water, for the sluice gates had been opened and the dock was flooding. A priest came aboard to bless the vessel and was still saying his prayers as the galley was warped out into the harbour and alongside the quay.
By now Hector’s job was done, and no one paid him any attention as he stood, bleary-eyed and exhausted, watching the riggers step the masts and spars. ‘Just short of nine o’clock,’ said someone in the crowd beside him, as Dan’s colleagues from the armoury manhandled on to the fore deck the galley’s main armament, a 36-pound cannon and two smaller artillery pieces. The Arsenal’s porters were in a human chain, loading and stowing the galley’s ballast, munitions, oars and sea-going gear. There came the tramp of feet and the clank and rattle of iron. Along the quay marched five companies of galley men, fifty men in each company, all in new multi-coloured prison garb and their chains newly blackened. Reaching the galley, they halted. Their argousins blew a short blast on their whistles, and the oarsmen turned and ran up the gangplanks where they dispersed to their benches and then quietly sat while the argousins chained them to their seats.
Now, for the first time in thirty-six hours, Hector saw Gasnier relax and give a quiet smile of approval. The galley’s captain and officers, resplendent in their best uniforms, went aboard, and a lad unfurled the standard of the royal Galley Corps, the golden fleur-de-lis on a red field. A trumpet sounded, and the galley pushed off from the quayside. More blasts from the argousins’ whistles and the oarsmen laid in place their 38-feet-long sweeps, rose to their feet, and stood ready, hands on the oar grips. A drum began to beat and the oarsmen took up a steady deep-throated chant as the great oars began to move to the rhythm, dipping into the dirty harbour water, propelling the galley away from the dock. ‘Brodart promised His Majesty that the galley would be ready for sea trials before noon on the second day,’ said the same voice, ‘and he’s kept his word.’
Hector raised his arm to shade his eyes as he watched the newborn galley heading towards the harbour entrance. It was a beautiful sunlit morning, with scarcely a breath of wind, and another galley was inward-bound, entering between the guardian forts. As the two galleys passed, they saluted one another, dipping their ensigns as they passed. Hector saw that the arriving galley flew a flag whose bad
ge was a red fork-tailed cross on a white field. ‘St Stephen’s Cross,’ said the longshoreman. ‘That must be our new recruit. That’s the St Gerassimus.’
FOURTEEN
‘WELCOME, CHEVALIER, your visit to the Arsenal is indeed an honour.’ Commissaire Batiste had a fulsome greeting for Adrien Chabrillan as the Knight of St Stephen was shown into his office. ‘Intendant Brodart asks me to present his sincere apologies that he cannot be here in person. He has had to leave on an urgent matter – an audience with His Majesty.’ The commissaire looked pleased with himself. ‘We launched a new galley yesterday, after building her in less than thirty-six hours, a most prodigious feat, don’t you agree? His Majesty wishes to hear the details from the Intendant himself.’
‘I saw the new galley,’ commented Chabrillan dryly. He suspected that Brodart, far from going to answer the King’s questions, was headed to court to make sure that as many people as possible knew about the successful demonstration.
‘Remarkable, truly remarkable,’ the commissaire added immodestly. He crossed to a table where a scale model of the galley was on prominent display. ‘One of our galeriens, a jeweller who got a little too free with his clients’ possessions, took more than eighteen months to produce this model. Yet our Arsenal craftsmen managed to build the full-sized vessel, 185 feet long and 22 feet beam at the waterline, in little more than a day. And no skimping on the materials either, finest Provençal oak for the knees and planks. Tough stuff to work. An exceptional achievement.’
He looked at his visitor, expecting a gesture of approval, and was unprepared for Chabrillan’s chilly response. ‘A galley is only as good as her crew, and I’ve come to you for more men. St Gerassimus had a brush with a Turkish brigantine on the way here. Nothing conclusive as the Turk fled, but I lost five banks of oarsmen from a lucky shot, and my galley was already under-strength. A tenth of my regular oarsmen were bonnevoles, volunteers, and they are accustomed to work for plunder not pay. Many of them have chosen not to enter the service of the King. I trust you will be able to make up the shortfall.’
‘These extra oarsmen you seek, would they be in addition to the Turks and demi-Turks who arrived from Livorno six weeks ago and are waiting to join your vessel?’
Chabrillan looked down his nose at the commissaire, not bothering to conceal his disdain. ‘Of course. Though I have no idea what you mean by a demi-Turk.’
‘A private joke of mine. A circumcised renegade,’ the commissaire explained. ‘There are two of them in the Livorno batch, a young Irishman who has proved useful as a storekeeper, and his foreign companion works as a gunsmith. They have received no training for the oar and may not be as strong as the Turks. But perhaps they would be adequate.’
‘If they are renegades then all the more reason that they serve aboard my vessel,’ Chabrillan replied. ‘On the St Gerassimus we pride ourselves on the number of backsliders who have been made to see the error of their ways. I understand that you received a chain from Bordeaux recently.’
The Chevalier was altogether too nosy, the commissaire thought, as he regarded the tall, dandified figure before him. Chabrillan had been ashore for only a few hours, yet already he had been making enquiries about the facilities available to him now that St Gerassimus was part of the royal Galley Corps. The commissaire disliked meddlesome galley captains. They were a distraction from the serious day-to-day business of profiteering from the operations of the Arsenal. Batiste was from a mercantile background and held his lucrative post because he was a first cousin to Intendant Brodart, and he mistrusted those commanders who were aristocrats and put on airs.
‘Yes, yes. A chain did arrive, about eighty felons, mostly tax evaders and vagrants. Several may not be suitable material for the oar . . .’ he began, but Chabrillan cut him short. ‘I’ll be the judge of that. When can I inspect them?’
The commissaire hesitated. It was nearly noon, and he was looking forward to a leisurely lunch with a trio of echevins, aldermen of Marseilles. They were finalising a plan to acquire a parcel of land adjacent to the Arsenal, so that next year the King could be informed that the galley base needed more space and, after a suitable interval, that a site had been found which was good value. The transaction ought to net a fourfold profit for the syndicate. ‘Regretfully, I have pressing duties for the rest of the day, but if you would be willing to inspect the prisoners in the company of the receiving clerk, that can be arranged at your convenience.’
‘Without delay, if you please,’ retorted Chabrillan.
The commissaire summoned an aide and ordered him to escort Chabrillan to the holding cells where the convicts of the chain from Bordeaux were waiting their assessment.
‘And while the Chevalier is examining the convicts,’ the commissaire added, ‘you are to arrange for the Turks from Livorno and the two renegades to be made ready for galley service and delivered to the St Gerassimus, also that pickpocket, what’s his name – Bourdain or something like that.’ Turning to Chabrillan, he enquired, ‘Who should my man ask for at the quayside? He will need a receipt.’
‘He can deliver the oarsmen to my premier comite, Piecourt. He has full authority in these matters. Piecourt will also see to the necessary training of the men while I am away. As soon as I have selected the extra men I need, I set out for my estates in Savoy. In the meantime St Gerassimus needs maintenance work and I trust you will have this done promptly now that you have told me how fast your workmen can perform. When I return, I expect to find my vessel fully seaworthy again and her complement properly trained.’
‘The Arsenal will make every endeavour to meet your requirements, Chevalier,’ the commissaire assured his guest, though inwardly Batiste was already scheming how he could rid himself of the troublesome Chevalier. On his desk was an instruction from the Minister of the Marine. It ordered the Galley Corps to conduct trials to establish whether a new artillery invention, an exploding shell, was suitable for use at sea. He decided to recommend to his superior, Intendant Brodart, that the most suitable vessel for the test was St Gerassimus. The sea trials would keep the Chevalier of St Stephen busy, and if they went disastrously wrong might even blow him to smithereens.
Chabrillan stalked out of the commissaire’s office with the merest hint of a polite farewell, then made his way to where the receiving clerk was already waiting, his black coat hastily brushed in an attempt to smarten his appearance.
Chabrillan nodded at the clerk as he strode into the large gloomy hall where the chain prisoners were being held. ‘Have the prisoners paraded in a line,’ he ordered crisply. Slowly the newly arrived convicts shuffled into position, urged on by casual blows and curses from their goalers.
‘Now have them strip.’
Awkwardly, for many of them were hampered by their fetters, the prisoners removed their tattered and lice-ridden clothing, and dropped the garments to the stone floor.
‘Over against the opposite wall,’ Chabrillan commanded. The prisoners, trying to conceal their nakedness with their hands, shuffled across the room and stood, shivering, to face their examiner. Chabrillan walked along the line, looking into their faces and glancing at their bodies. ‘This one, and him, and this one,’ he announced, selecting the strongest and fittest, until he had picked out a dozen men. ‘Make a note of their names, have them dressed properly and sent to my ship,’ he instructed the receiving clerk, ‘and now let me see your ledgers.’
Meekly the clerk brought the Chevalier to his office, and showed him the list of names he had entered for the newly arrived chain. Chabrillan ran his eye down the columns, picking out those he had selected. He found he had chosen three army deserters, a poacher, a perjurer, and two sturdy beggars.
‘What about these?’ He pointed out the entries for five men against whose names the clerk had written, ‘without saying why’.
‘Just as it says, sir. They were unable to tell me why they had been sent to the galleys.’
Chabrillan fixed the clerk with a questioning stare. ‘So why do you think
they were condemned to the oar?’
The clerk shifted uneasily. ‘It’s hard to say, sir,’ he answered after a short pause. ‘My guess is that they are Protestants, those who call themselves the Reformed. They have made problems for those of the Apostolic and Roman faith.’
‘Excellent. The Reformed make reliable oarsmen. They are serious and honest men compared to the usual felons and rogues who are condemned to the oar. I shall be glad to have them aboard,’ and without another word, Adrien Chabrillan left.
‘HECTOR, did you find out anything more about where your sister might be?’ asked Dan as he wriggled his shoulders inside the red and black woollen prison jacket he had just received from the Arsenal stores. Clothes issued to prisoners came in just two sizes, small and large, and the Miskito’s jacket was too tight on him. It was a warm afternoon in early summer and the two friends, together with Bourdon the pickpocket and a dozen Turks taken captive from the Izzet Darya, were being led along the Marseilles quay by an elderly warder whose relaxed manner indicated that he did not believe they would try to escape.
‘I asked everyone I could for information about where the Barbary corsairs land and sell their captives, but I didn’t learn anything more than I already knew. She could have been landed in any one of half a dozen ports,’ Hector answered. He too was uncomfortable in his new clothes. In Algiers he had grown used to loose-fitting Moorish clothing and, working in the Arsenal, he and Dan had continued to wear the garments they had been wearing when captured. Now his legs felt constrained by the stiff canvas trousers issued by the Arsenal stores. The trousers fastened with buttons down the outer seams so that they could be put on over leg chains while his other new garments – two long shirts, two smocks in addition to a jacket, and a heavy hooded cloak of ox wool – could all be put on over his head. He had also been issued with a stout leather belt, which was there not just to hold up his trousers. It was fitted with a heavy metal hook over which he could loop his leg chain while he was at work so that leg irons did not hamper him. ‘I wrote a letter to an old friend of my father’s, a clergyman in Ireland who had been a prisoner of the Moors. I asked him if he had heard anything. But when I tried to send the letter, I was told that prisoners in the Arsenal were forbidden from communicating with the outside world. I had enclosed a note for my mother in case she is still living in Ireland, though I suspect she has moved back to Spain to live with her own people. Maybe she has heard directly from my sister. It’s impossible to know. Life as a convict galerien in the Arsenal is as cut off from the outside world as being a slave in the Algiers bagnio.’
