HMS Falcon: A Charles Mullins novel, Sea Command 7

by Richard Testrake

  The Venetians had controlled the place until their eviction by the Ottomans a few centuries past. The Turks had their own name for the island but the locals still called it St. Marks. Her master was the Turkish overlord over this island, and reported to an emir on Crete, itself.

  The letter went on to apologize for her inability to contact her son, explaining, without knowledge of his whereabouts, it was difficult to know where to send letters. She wrote she had sent many, but had received no answers in the past few years. She said she had been sold twice and relocated both times, and expected he had similar experiences.

  She went on to say that she was presently living in an old Venetian fortress on a headland on the extreme eastern end of the island. Her master was a stern man, unapproachable, but had given her a position where she looked after the wardrobes of his harem. She had access to enough food and was only beaten at long intervals.

  Mullins was appalled at the story told or inferred by this letter, and wondered for a moment how much of it was true.

  “Landsman Brooks, when was the last time you saw your mother?”

  “Sir, I was eleven years old at the time. My master thought I was too old to be about the harem and sold me to a Portuguese merchant in Algiers. He helped me correspond with my mother and said he would free me when he went back to Europe.”

  “However, when the time came, he sold me to a Turk who was moving back to Istanbul. I tried to run away but my old owner informed on me and some big men came to collect me and chained me on the ship. After a year in Istanbul, one of the slaves of my new master furnished me with ink and paper and I was able to write to my mother again.”

  “Soon though, she was sold again and I could not locate her, It was not until this last letter that I knew she was still alive.”

  Captain Mullins was outraged over the story, but had no idea what he could do for these people. Granted, he knew where Mary Brooks had been months ago, when she wrote her son, but she could have been moved several times in that span.

  Too, he was under orders not to do anything that would upset the rulers here. Much of the meat and grain supplied to the British army in Spain came from North African sources. Any insult offered them could very easily shut off this supply. Any ship captain who interfered without orders against these Turks could find himself in very serious trouble indeed.

  Having nothing he could say to Landsman Brooks, he dismissed him and poured a large glass of brandy. That was when the Marine sentry sent in the bosun’s mate who had been waiting outside. This was an unfortunate time for Petty Officer Harkins. While Captain Mullins could not do anything to help Brooks concerning his parent, he damned well could discipline this petty officer who freely whipped novice sailors with his rope’s end. At first intending to merely tear off a strip, he became so involved in his chastisement of Harkins that he disrated the man to ordinary seaman.

  Mullins saw little of Mister Ibrahim during the voyage, but as the ship neared Crete, he thought it might be wise to consult his advisor. During their discussion, the advisor suggested visiting Heraklion, but wondered if there would be an objection if Falcon called at Chania instead.

  There was no objection but, by the same token, there were no dignitaries with whom they could discuss matters like buying slaves. The markets were open though, and the purser took a party of men ashore and bought enough food to last the ship a week. The men were warned that any hands wandering away from the party were apt to find themselves slaves on the next morning. No hands strayed.

  With no excuse to remain in harbor, the ship left port, sailing eastward along the boast until out to sea again. Mullins had Mister Evans come into his quarters with the appropriate charts. Evans apologized, saying the only chart he had of St. Marks was a copy of a copy of an ancient Venetian chart. He reported the Moors presently controlling the island were very jealous of their property and did not allow normal trade from out of the region to approach the island. All commerce came by way of approved shipping from Crete, itself.

  The old copy was a crude affair, probably not very accurate. Mister Evans had his own large scale chart which showed St. Marks as a tiny dot with no distinguishing features. Between the two, it was possible to determine the rough position of the island. Mister Ibrahim was beginning to ask some penetrating questions concerning where they were going. Deciding to take the emissary into his confidence, he went into detail explaining his desire to possibly locate the enslaved mother of his seaman.

  Ibrahim was not at all happy with this idea. His reply was so vocal that the Marine sentry outside the door looked in to see if the captain was safe. The envoy’s objections were based upon the probability of the Moors being outraged enough at any violent intrusion into their territory, that they would cancel their trading treaties and perhaps go to war against Britain. His own plan was to discuss the purchase of these slaves with Turkish officials of certain islands and perhaps gain an estimate of the funds necessary to purchase some of the slaves.

  When Ibrahim finally left the cabin, Mullins had not made any definite plans. He well knew if he sent an armed party ashore to seize the woman, there would be a violent backlash from the Turks. How this would play out back home, he was not sure, but suspected he would suffer for it in some way. The ship remained on course to St. Marks, but Mullins had not come up with a definite idea of what he would do. He told himself the woman might not even be on the island. In that case, he would suffer the loss of his career with no gain for himself or his crewman.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As HMS Falcon approached the position on the chart that indicated the ship to be near of St. Marks, the lookout had not yet reported land to be in sight. However, early that morning three vessels were sighted ahead of them. Two were European-made brigs sailing in line ahead formation, with a larger ship-rigged vessel escorting to windward. Moments after the sighting, the suspect vessels put the wind on their quarter and tried to flee.

  Falcon was a slow ship, but these were slower. All were low in the water, as if they had heavy cargoes on board. None of them answered Falcon’s signals, so he had to presume they were the enemy. As they closed on the trio, it became apparent the two brigs were transports, with the ship likely to be a corvette or small frigate.

  The chase was taking Falcon well away from her course to St. Marks and Mullins decided this might be a sign that his plan to rescue Brook’s mother was ill-advised. Winds had increased significantly, and the rear-most brig in the convoy was having difficulty in the rising seas and began laboring intensely. When her fore topsail blew out, it took her crew an inordinate length of time to replace it. In the time it took to make repairs, Falcon had come alongside, with her portside battery trained on the vessel.

  The brig sent up the tricolor, then hauled it back down. The launch was loaded with a boarding party and left, while Falcon continued after the others. Soon after, the other brig could no longer keep up with the escorting ship and surrendered also. The remaining corvette, decided to fight, but her eight-pounders were poorly manned and she could not get a hit on her opponent.

  The starboard forward nine-pounder bow chaser made a hit on the chase, the ball striking near the stern post and ranging forward through the ship. It was not a fatal shot, but did a disproportionate amount of damage and caused a few casualties. One of her tiller cables was severed and the ship veered off course and was set aback.

  Falcon ranged alongside and fired a pair of her carronades. Loaded with grape, the impact of the shot on her crew was significant. Men fell in swathes, including the captain who was severely wounded in both legs. The corvette’s second in command, a youngster with probably little experience, hauled down his flag and surrendered.

  While crewmen from Falcon took control of the corvette, one of the brigs taken previously came up, followed an hour later by the other. Both of these were relatively intact, although the poorly stowed cargo of one had shifted, causing a certain amount of instability. The repairs to the damaged tiller cable of the corvette
were soon made, and the second brig was also seaworthy, but the brig with the shifted cargo needed to be taken to a calmer place where it could be re-stowed.

  A discussion with Mister Evans revealed that the island of St. Marks could be no very great distance away. Although it was doubtful the Turks would allow them to make port, perhaps they might shelter in the lee of the island and effect repairs there. As the little fleet struggled through the remnants of the storm, the crews of the prizes took inventory, through the night.

  By morning, both sea and winds had subsided and St. Marks was to port. The rocky island seemed to be shaped somewhat like the head of a bird, with a headland projecting out into the sea that might pass for a beak. An imposing stone fortress was built at the very tip of the headland, with gun embrasures constructed on all seaward sides. A smaller island, merely a large rock, lay offshore in the middle of the entrance to a small bay that seemed to serve the fortress.

  Although the wind and sea had subsided, a cold drenching rain still poured from the sky and there was no evidence that anyone on shore had noticed the four vessels seeking refuge. Moving out to the shelter of the smaller island, the ships anchored and their crews set to work. The three prizes all carried military cargo of one sort or another. The brig, whose cargo had shifted, carried military field guns broken down, with the necessary powder and shot.

  Improperly stowed, the heavy load had shifted, endangering the ship. By putting every man available to work, the problem had been repaired by nightfall. As the work continued, a pair of lateen-rigged small boats came out to investigate these strangers. Coming close to Falcon, the boatmen began shouting. None of the crew could understand a word they were saying, so Mister Ibrahim was called. Ibrahim engaged in an animated conversation with the crewmen. The Arabic spoken by Ibrahim did not quite match that used by these locals, so some French, which one of the boatmen spoke, was inserted into the discussion when necessary.

  During a lull in the convesation, Ibraham turned to Mullins and remarked, “Captain, these people believe we are Frenchmen. The corvette you took approached St. Marks last month and her commander attempted to convince the local strongman to come aboard. They are suspicious of us and demand we leave at once. They seem to think we want to kidnap their leader.”

  Falcon was not flying her colors, because of the strong winds they had been experiencing. The flag was becoming tattered and Mullins wished to spare it for ceremonial purposes when possible. Surprised at the envoy’s information, he ordered the officer of the deck to raise the tricolor and asked Ibrahim to do his best to maintain the fiction that this was a French fleet.

  After assuring the boatmen the vessels would leave as soon as repairs were complete, the boatmen left.

  By now, Mullins knew how his prizes had been laden. The second brig carried bales of French army uniforms and kit, while the corvette had crates of muskets stowed below. He had thought the corvette to be a privateer, but it seemed she really was a national ship. Her former captain had thought to enrich himself by hiring his ship out as an escort and by taking aboard some extra cargo.

  A hurried conference with his officers resulted in a plan. Since the Moors in control here believed them to be French and acting improperly, the idea was for Falcon to profit from the confusion. The bales of clothing were broken out and the disgusted Marines had to remove their red coats and don the blue French army garb. The ship, now ready for the sea, set sail and proceeded out into the Med, hoping to convince the Moors that the danger had passed.

  Falcon and her consorts cruised offshore, out of sight of land, for two days. Then, early in the morning, two hours before sunrise, the fleet sailed back into the bay. During their visit earlier, the officers had noted the defenses of the fort as well as the best approaches. There was no hope of entry along the seafront, as the stone walls were vertical, unable to be scaled without specialized equipment. To the rear of the fortress though, on land, there appeared to be an easier approach. While not clearly visible, throngs of people could be seen approaching the rear of the fortress by road and entering. Surely, there must be a large gate there. Although probably closed by night, it might be possible to force it in the dark and gain entrance.

  Ibrahim was vociferously refusing to take part in the raid, assuring everyone that would listen the attack was a sure pathway to disaster. Brooks was given fresh slop clothing and armed with a cutlass and tomahawk. He would accompany Captain Mullins and was tasked to remain by his side during the attack.

  Both would enter with the assault party and Brooks would periodically call out to his mother in Arabic. The other members of the party were forbidden to speak a word of English, hoping to maintain the fiction they were French.

  It was still dark when the boats landed on the beach. The Marines looked strange, in their French army coats but appeared professional enough for all that. While they formed up, and a pair of scouts reconnoitered the land approaches and the gate, the boats went back to the ship to take on some additional armed seamen. While waiting, some of the Marines began venting their displeasure about the delay while standing in ranks. The Marine’s sergeant and corporal, forbidden to shout their usual threats to the men, remained mute.

  Not so Landsman Brooks. He knew this might be the only chance he would ever have to rescue his mother and he was not about to let some loud Marines ruin the plan. Stalking up to the more vocal miscreant, he held his cutlass to a Marines’ throat, meanwhile cursing him quietly in gutter Arabic. Mullins, standing nearby, did not know whether it was the language or the razor-sharp steel that most influenced the Marines. Whatever the reason, all of them fell silent and stood quietly in ranks.

  With dawn about to present itself, a rooster began to sound off. Then dogs, sensing the approach of the oncoming boats, began to bark.

  Apparently, the garrison of the fortress were accustomed to this morning uproar since nothing was done save for a few shouts at the dogs. The scouts had returned from their reconnaissance and reported a heavy wooden door closing the gateway. Allowances had been made for this possibility and six small kegs of powder were in the boats landing now on the beach. The Marines marched off to the entry gate, following the scouts, while the newly arrived seamen delivered the explosives.

  Many of the seamen had completely forgotten their orders to keep silent and some were informing each other of what they were about to do to this enemy. Mullins chastised some of the more vocal while urging on the seamen stacking the kegs of powder at the gate. Now, an uproar was heard inside the gate and a sentry high above dropped a firebrand down on top of the party stacking the kegs. The light revealed to the defenders their peril and a horn sounded, followed by the staccato beating of drums.

  There was no time to fool with slow match, so a gunner’s mate thrust one end of a coil of quick match in an open powder barrel and ran off with the other end. Mullins had just enough time to shout ‘Stand Clear’, when the petty officer fired the quick match. It flared for a second, then the flame raced at an insane speed toward the pile of powder barrels by the door.

  Only the fact the powder was not confined saved much of the landing party from being blown to rags. Much of the explosive force was wasted, and the door, instead of being shattered, was instead split and torn off one of its hinges. Men with axes and crowbars had the rest of it down and the Marines charged through, followed by the seamen.

  A powerful, half-naked man armed with a curved sword engaged Mullins and the Moor probably would have prevailed had not Brooks slashed his cutlass across his swelling gut. The Marines had recovered from their charge through the gate and had formed up again. Their sergeant had fallen, but Corporal Byrnes had them going through their musket drill. A shattering volley ensued, dropping many of the dis-organized defenders, sending other fleeing for their lives. Soon, the chaotic struggle became more organized. The seamen, armed mainly with cutlasses and pikes swarmed the defenders, also armed mainly with blades. The Marines stood back and fired their volleys in machine-like precision.


  It took only minutes before the struggle had been mostly decided. A few defenders still attempted to resist from crannies where they took refuge, but most stood, quietly and dejected in groups, dreading the aftermath. Brooks, paced the courtyard, his bloody cutlass aloft, shouting in Arabic for his mother.

  He strode about the courtyard, heaped with dead and dying, repeating his message many times. Mullins was by now sure the woman was either not here or was perhaps secluded in some hidden place which they did not have the time to locate. It was of utmost importance the Moors did not discover their assailants were British, rather than the French they supposed. Much more depended upon this than the fate of a single American slave woman. The landing party had been ashore too long. It was just a matter of time before overwhelming relief forces could reach the fortress and perhaps defeat them.

  He tried to control his seaman, but Brooks was having nothing to do with him, at the moment. The tall, bloodied Black ranged the courtyard, raging at the Moors and continually shouting. “Mary Brooks, your son is here. Please come’, in Arabic.

  Then, a small door in the inner wall opened slowly and a massive figure came out. This man was the largest human Mullins had ever seen, tall and heavier than any three of his own seaman. Clad in a garish robe, he carried an enormous curved sword. Mullins could hear Corporal Byrnes ordering the commands that would have his men deliver their next volley on this person.

  Behind this imposing figure, a slight woman in traditional Arab garb could just be seen, peering through the opening. Mullins stepped in front of his Marines and held up his arm. More women appeared in the opening door, placing themselves behind their guard.