IN THE MIDDLE 1700S GIBRALTAR BECAME A MAJOR TRADING PORT FOR goods from North America, Europe, and the Mediterranean, as well as a base for the Royal Navy and a garrison for British troops. Its strategic military importance was obvious, being the gateway to all of North Africa and the countries bordering the Mediterranean. Ships carrying wine, cotton, spices, tobacco, timber, and a host of mercantile goods regularly sailed into the port, there to be unloaded by immigrants from around the world seeking relief from poverty or war in their home countries. Gibraltar was at the head of the Mediterranean, the busiest international trading center in the world.
Rascal glided into the port of Gibraltar on a dying afternoon breeze to find hundreds of ships anchored there in various stages of loading or unloading. It was a breathtaking sight, and Rascal’s captain and crew gawked at such a collection of shipping as they had never seen, not even in Boston.
Fallon could see two Royal Navy ships, the frigate Mischief and the brig Helena, anchored near the shore and, presumably, the custom houses and government buildings. To see only two Royal Navy ships surprised Fallon; the war with France and Spain was consuming much of the navy’s sea-going arsenal.
“Beauty, please secure the ship and then have my gig lowered over the side,” he said. “I want to row around the harbor while there is still light.”
In the event, the gig was soon lowered and Fallon and Aja descended into it and cast off. The first ship they came to was an American merchant ship, Margaret, and her captain stood at the larboard railing as Fallon’s gig glided up.
“Ahoy, captain!” called Fallon, “I trust you had a good voyage from America?”
“That we did, sir,” replied the captain. “We are here waiting to offload our sugar and take dates and olives off a ship from Tunis. We dare not sail to Tunis just now so Tunis must come to us!”
“It is too dangerous, I take it, for Americans in the Mediterranean?” asked Fallon, though he thought he knew the answer.
“Aye, I’ll not take a chance on becoming a prisoner and losing my ship. It’s all I have in the world.”
Fallon waved goodbye and ordered Aja to steer for a large trader lying more in the center of the harbor. A water hoy was alongside so perhaps the trader was soon to weigh, and go where? Anywhere in the world was possible. The hoy’s crew were a mixed lot of immigrants, including some Muslims in their robes and caftans, all doing the work of the harbor.
A large man at the ship’s waist was supervising the loading of barrels of water and looked up with curiosity as Fallon’s gig approached. As the hoy cast off the gig took her place alongside the trader.
“I am Captain Nicholas Fallon of the British privateer Rascal, sir. I am seeking any information as to the situation in the Mediterranean relative to armed corsairs.”
“I am Benetti, first mate of the Portuguese trader Corfu, sir, and I’m afraid the Mediterranean is aflame with unrest, captain. We are to pick up wine at Sanary-sur-Mer on the French coast but first we must get there, and the corsairs seem to be taking Christians where they find them. I spoke to a Dutchman off Cadiz and understand a Maltese ship was taken just last week and all aboard were taken off, including the captain’s wife. I have heard nothing but disturbing news since we arrived here from London. Where are you bound, Captain?”
“I was planning to call at Algiers but after listening to you I’m not so sure,” said Fallon. “I am hoping to get more information when I go ashore in the morning.”
“Yes, the dock is full of gossip and captains trading it,” said Benetti. “Have a care, Captain Fallon.” And with that, the Italian disappeared into his ship.
Next, Fallon was rowed to Mischief, 44, and stood in the sternsheets and announced himself. Momentarily, a lieutenant’s head appeared over the quarterdeck railing and invited Fallon aboard. He went up the side easily and was met by that same lieutenant, Gerard, who offered to show him below to Captain Elliot’s cabin.
Captain Hieronymus Elliot was a middle-aged man, thin to the point of bones and tight flesh; indeed, his stiff uniform seemed to hold him together. He coolly welcomed Fallon into his cabin and bade him sit while he hailed his steward for some wine. Fallon studied the cabin which, like its occupant, was spare and unprepossessing. He wondered at his host’s financial circumstances, or perhaps he was merely penurious.
“What can I do for you, Captain Fallon?” asked Elliott, sitting down behind his desk. “I was made aware you had sailed in on a schooner and I’ve been expecting you, frankly.”
“I have on board an American,” replied Fallon, “who was notified almost a year ago that his father had been captured by the dey of Algiers’ corsairs and could be ransomed. The American is a fisherman and has raised the money the dey demanded but lost his ship in a storm. I offered to bring him to ransom his father but was attacked by two corsairs several days ago. We were flying British colors quite plainly, so I am obviously wondering if Great Britain’s treaty with the dey is still in effect.”
Captain Elliot smiled a rueful sort of smile and leaned forward in his chair.
“What of your battle with the corsairs?” the captain asked, a hint of suspicion or disbelief in his voice. He had heard of no corsairs taking British ships.
It would not do to gloat over sinking two corsairs, so Fallon answered matter-of-factly that, indeed, both corsairs were sunk in the battle, but that the wind had helped dismast one of them. He did not mention that the other one had been bombed, fearing Elliot would think it fantastical.
“I see,” said Elliot, but his blank expression suggested he did not see at all. He knew the corsairs to be wily fighters and could not imagine how a lone schooner could defeat two of them. However, it was fair to say imagination was not his strong suit.
“Well, Great Britain has a treaty with all the regencies,” he said with a sniff, “so I can see no reason why you should have been attacked.” This was the same to Fallon’s ears as: You are lying, and it made him furious.
“Sir, the fact is we were attacked by two corsairs, and we are most certainly British,” said Fallon defiantly. “I came to you to ask for protection getting into Algiers.” Fallon was quite aware that he was sitting on a frigate and a brig was at anchor nearby.
“Admiral Lord Keith is supporting the Austrians against Masséna at Genoa,” said Elliot with a sigh. “My orders are not to leave Gibraltar undefended until the fleet returns. Until then…” He spread his hands in the universal sign of What can I do?
“You seem quite capable, captain,” he continued condescendingly, “I have no doubt you’ll manage to get your man out of Algiers.”
Fallon could only stare at the floor in anger. He rose, his wine untouched, and with a few words left Elliot’s great cabin. He was none the wiser for having come.
As he dropped into his gig it was clear to him that he was on his own.