THIRTY-SIX

ZABANA WAS FEELING BETTER ABOUT LIFE.

Two small American traders were taken without a shot. Zabana’s janis-saries stormed over their sides and, to add a touch of terror, blew a trumpet loudly before backing the frightened crews almost off the ships. Zabana placed thirteen of his own crew aboard each ship and ordered all but four of the Americans be locked below decks. Those four would be forced to work with the Turks to get the ships back to Algiers. If they didn’t work hard enough, or if they tried to escape, they would be beaten and four more brought up. It was important not to kill slaves, or even wound them if it could be avoided, because wounded or crippled slaves were worth less.

Zabana kept to himself most of the time, alone in his cabin until called to come on deck. He still seethed at the dey’s absolute authority over him and wondered how long the old man would stay in power. Deys had a way of dying prematurely, but Zabana would need a plan that couldn’t fail and another plan for what to do when it did.

No ships were sighted in the next week; at least, no ships worth taking. Zabana reflected ruefully that he’d tried to explain the dearth of available prizes to the dey but his explanation had fallen on deaf ears. At this rate, he could anticipate more humiliation unless the raids on Europe’s coast went well and his ships returned with golden-haired beauties and strong men. And there was always the possibility that Hasim and Rogers would capture a ship or two.

Zabana smiled, remembering when he’d cut off their fingers for some minor infraction. They weren’t his best captains, but perhaps they were the most motivated.

Rascal made good time across the Atlantic; that often angry sea seemed to grant her a favor in her quest to reach the Mediterranean. The hands seemed happy enough. One of the jacks did find a flying fish wrapped up in his cot. And one of the ship’s boys found his pant legs had been sewn together while he slept. It was the normal stuff of a mischievous shipmate, and Fallon thought he knew who that shipmate was. Little Eddy was aboard and up to tricks.

As Rascal approached the Strait of Gibraltar the hands grew tense, for the real adventure was about to begin. Fallon felt it, of course, and found himself looking into the distance ahead with a mix of dread and excitement for these waters were new to him, as well. Finally, quitting the deck, he went below to pore over a chart of the Mediterranean which Davies had kindly lent him. It was a large sea, almost a million square miles in surface area, and stretched from the Strait of Gibraltar eastward to the Levant, with several smaller seas and basins described on the chart. Sir William had said the weather could be unpredictable in the spring, with winds reversing direction seemingly in an instant. Fallon was still deep in thought sometime later as he rolled up the chart and went back on deck to join Barclay at the binnacle.

“Wind should be up soon, Nico,” said Barclay. He had been studying the sky for some minutes while feeling the sea’s gathering strength, and was sure of what he saw. Fallon agreed to a reef in the sails on the bet that Barclay was right.

Beauty was now on deck and thumped to the binnacle to join the others, having heard the shouted order to shorten sail. She immediately checked the slate and called for a cast of the log.

“We’re sure about this wind, are we Barclay?” she asked with a show of skepticism.

“Perfectly sure, Beauty,” retorted Barclay. “Within half hour or I’m an Irishman.”

“Well, you may be part Irish, you know,” said Beauty. “It wouldn’t surprise me. Without the sense of humor.”

Fallon smiled to himself at the verbal jousting between Beauty and Barclay. It was an everyday occurrence and both sides enjoyed it. He looked out towards the east and was still staring when the lookout’s call came.

“Deck there,” came the shout. “Two sail off the leeward bow!”

It could be anything of course, thought Fallon. Any ship from anywhere. But best not to take chances. They had sailed all these weeks without sighting a sail and now this.

Ruse and Gazelle had lookouts, as well, and they both reported a lone sail to the west. Hasim and Rogers had been on the verge of hauling their wind and heading back to Algiers when the strange sail had been sighted. Allah be praised! Food and water were short aboard both xebecs, but both captains hated the thought of returning to Algiers empty handed.

The janissaries on both ships were alerted and checked the priming on their muskets and the edge on their scimitars. They adjusted their hats and robes and the agha ordered them to be ready.

In truth, the janissaries were always ready. But they were not sailors, and they didn’t notice the wind was increasing, but the helmsmen did.

Fallon climbed the rigging to see for himself what these two strange ships might portend. When he found them in his telescope he saw the distinctive shapes of lateen sails, and he knew instinctively he was looking at Barbary corsairs.

Quickly, he descended to the deck and walked aft to the binnacle.

“Beauty, call all hands to quarters,” he said.

“Corsairs, Nico?” she asked after she’d given the orders and the crew jumped to their stations in disciplined motion. Little Eddy dove below to bring up powder and shot with the other ship’s boys.

“I’m sure of it,” said Fallon. And then added: “Or I’m an Irishman.”

They both laughed, because of his name, of course. But Beauty felt the wind strengthening just as Barclay had predicted.

The corsairs were still several miles away and Fallon wondered what their strategy would be in the event they decided to attack. Perhaps they had already seen that the schooner in their telescopes was flying the British ensign. He wondered if that would make any difference.

Somehow, he thought it wouldn’t.

Ruse and Gazelle were on larboard, edging down on the oncoming schooner. Both Hasim and Rogers knew their prayers had been answered, and they’d been ready to turn for home! Surely their faith had rewarded them with a ship full of Christian slaves.

“Seize the dogs!” yelled Hasim. And his ship’s crew took up the chant.

Shot and powder were brought up for the guns, though neither Hasim nor Rogers thought it would be necessary to actually fight the ship coming towards them. They had the advantage in manpower, certainly. In their profession boarding was advisable, both to prevent their own casualties but most certainly to preserve the health of their future slaves.

The schooner could be seen from the deck now. Neither reis seemed worried that the oncoming ship was British. After all, they were all alone on the open sea.

The wind was goading the sea into a menacing thing. Beauty had her peg anchored firmly in the ringbolt next to the binnacle and the rest of the crew hung onto stays and the railings and moved about only with care.

“Nicholas,” said Visser, having to raise his voice to be heard at the binnacle. “Great Britain has a treaty with these fellows, is that not correct?”

“Yes,” Fallon shouted back. “But only if they honor it.” The look on his face said he wasn’t so sure they would. The look on Visser’s face showed surprise, which Fallon knew was naiveté making an appearance. It only confirmed in his mind why he’d decided to convey Visser to Algiers.

The xebecs were about a mile away when the first warning puffs of smoke came from their bow chasers. Fallon couldn’t see the fall of shot, but it certainly put paid to any question about a treaty.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted over the shriek of wind. “I believe we are at war. Beauty, let’s have Cully at the long nine to answer the call.”

While Cully’s crew went to work loading the cannon, Fallon and Beauty studied the tactical situation carefully. The wind was out of the south and blowing hard and it put the xebecs on larboard tack and Rascal on starboard with the weather gauge. It was a good question: which was faster, Rascal or xebec? Not knowing the answer pushed the idea of trying to outrun the corsairs out of Fallon’s mind. No, it would be a fight.

Rascal’s long nine barked, but with the plunge and roll of the ship it would be a miracle if Cully hit anything. Fallon looked for the fall of the shot but saw nothing. Puffs from the xebecs again, and now the corsairs split apart; the leeward corsair fell off to the northwest while the wind-ward xebec held course, close-hauled on larboard and making directly for Rascal’s bows.

“What do you think they’re up to, Beauty?” asked Fallon. The xebec captains obviously had a plan in mind.

“I think… the windward ship is going to rake us,” said Beauty, “aiming for the rigging I would guess. If they’re after slaves they won’t want to kill people. Then maybe the leeward ship hardens up and comes down across either our stern or bows to finish the job and board.”

“Spoken like a true barbarian, Beauty,” said Fallon with a grin. “Now, how do we lower the odds to one-to-one?” They both looked at each other a moment, then raised their telescopes to study the unfolding tactical situation again. The windward xebec was still coming on towards Rascal’s bows and perhaps a half mile separated the ships.

Even now they could see a mass of men gathering at the xebecs’ railings, their tall red hats making them visible through telescopes. There looked to be a great crowd of them on each ship, and Fallon surmised they were the famed janissaries that Sir William described. At all costs, they must be prevented from boarding.

The seas were rising up from the south, pushed by the steadily increasing wind, and Rascal swooped and dove like a swallow after a bug. The xebecs did the same, and Fallon was sure that water was coming over their low freeboard with each dive into a trough.

“Cully!” called Fallon. “Come aft quickly!” He was going to do something radical, even dangerous, in order to escape the untenable, uneven odds and prevent the xebecs’ plan from unfolding. Beauty looked at him curiously as Cully approached.

“Beauty,” Fallon shouted over the wind. “We’re going to fall off sharply at the last moment and cross the first xebec’s bows. Time it as close as you dare. Don’t give him a warning or a chance to turn to follow us.”

“Load both batteries with chain shot, Cully,” he shouted over the wind. Aim for the rigging when we cross!”

Now a quarter mile separated the ships. Now less.

“The far xebec came about, Nico,” said Beauty calmly. Fallon turned to see the far xebec sailing down close-hauled on larboard, her bows pointing towards the imaginary X on the ocean where the first xebec and Rascal should meet. The captains seemed to know their business, thought Fallon. He looked at Beauty, her eyes concentrating on the approaching xebec, which was now very close. Almost, in fact, close enough.

“Fall off!” ordered Beauty, and the helmsman turned the wheel sharply to larboard as the sheets were loosened and the schooner spun away from the xebec’s bows at the last moment. Now Cully’s forward gun roared, and then one by one each sent chain shot like bolas swirling in the air towards the delicate lattice work of rigging holding the xebec’s foremast upright.

The effect was instantaneous as the xebec’s forestay snapped and flew out to leeward like a vine blowing in the wind. Fallon could see several janissaries go down, their hats flying off their heads or perhaps their heads flying off their bodies. And now more ropes flew into the air as the xebec tried to fall off to follow Rascal, but the shrouds would not hold the mast. The big lateen sail billowed out, catching the full force of the wind as the mast groaned as it bent forward without any support from the larboard shrouds. Janissaries and crew were thrown about on deck and watched helplessly as the foremast snapped ten feet above the deck, carrying the sail and boom over the starboard side as seas broke over the ship’s quarter.

But Fallon had no time to spare, as the second xebec was now very close, her guns run out on larboard. He could see Cully standing by his own larboard battery looking back at him, waiting for orders.

Hasim watched in shock as Gazelle’s foremast snapped and went overboard and the big foresail seemed to blow off into the wind. Gazelle now sat dead in the water. Through his telescope he could see that seas were coming aboard the shallow-decked vessel and if he didn’t help her she might well sink. This British captain was clever, he thought, but now Ruse was bearing down on him from the north and there would be no tricks. His guns were loaded and his men were ready. As soon as he boarded the schooner he would sail down to aid Rogers.

Now the British schooner’s larboard guns were out, which was just what he’d expected. He looked at the janissaries on board his ship; they were ready to fight, no question. The guns were loaded. The scimitars were sharpened to a razor edge. The trumpeter had his trumpet in his hand.

“Nico,” said Beauty quickly, “assuming we get by him in one piece, what’s next?”

“We run for it,” said Fallon without hesitating. “By the time that xebec comes about we should be over half a mile ahead. I figure he’ll help keep his friend from sinking and we should be well over the horizon by the time they get sorted out.”

“Good,” said Beauty, “I was hoping you wouldn’t do anything stupid like fight to the death.”

Now the oncoming ships were a mere cable’s distance apart, both twisting and dropping over the wave tops into troughs that seemed to swallow them. Fallon didn’t need to remind Cully to fire on the uproll; the old gunner knew his business and would fire his broadside all at once before Rascal could fall off a wave.

“Mr. Barclay,” said Fallon suddenly. “Watch your parts!”

Barclay looked up and almost smiled at Fallon’s dark humor.

But there was no time for a response, for the xebec was hurtling towards them and janissaries were already aiming their muskets.