FIFTY-FOUR

THE AVAILABLE CHARTS, MAPS AND WRITTEN ACCOUNTS OF TRAVELERS and explorers to North Africa showed Algiers was surrounded by the largest hot desert in the known world, the Sahara. At three and a half million square miles it was over thirty-two times the size of Great Britain. And considerably warmer.

As Fallon and Aja worked on the breakwater each day the breeze off the desert felt increasingly warm, such that the air seemed to burn their noses and throats. Sweat poured from their bodies and they stopped often to drink copious amounts of water supplied by their guards.

Fallon could still see Serpent across the harbor but the repair work seemed to have been completed for there were no actual work parties about. He had yet to see Zabana.

Each day was the same as sleds of rocks would be brought from the mines, dragged by scarecrow slaves to the quay where Fallon and Aja would drag them out to the breakwater and tumble them to the edges and down into the water to gradually make the mole wider. Sled after sled, rock upon rock. Fallon and Aja spoke very little, for they needed all their strength just to get through each day. At night they were returned to their pen to be reunited with Wilhelm Visser and Little Eddy, so tired they could barely move.

As they ate dinner near the end of their first week of captivity Fallon knew, tired as he was, he had to work on the plan for their attempted escape. Beauty should be off the mole in a few days. If she had gotten his message. If she had understood it.

He paused for a moment. Would she arrive on time? And then he smiled a tired smile. Of course she would.

“Let me tell you what I have been thinking,” Fallon said as they nursed their little dinners. He told them about his note to Beauty with the hoped-for secret message and his idea to steal a boat, providing they could escape from their pen.

Aja, well familiar with Fallon’s ways, managed a wide smile. “I watched you watch the harbor, captain, sir,” he said. “I have been waiting for this moment.”

Visser looked visibly afraid. “We will only have this one chance, captain,” he said. “If we don’t succeed I can’t imagine what they will do to us. These people know how to torture people until there is no will left to live.”

“I believe you, Wilhelm,” said Fallon earnestly. “I know what we are risking. But hopefully we have a plan of sorts in motion and we must do our part to see it through. It is our chance to be free, your chance to be free and to see your son. Are you willing to try Wilhelm?”

Visser looked at Fallon and slowly nodded. “Maybe I can help,” he said. “The guards don’t concern themselves much with me on the docks. Tell me what I can do.”

“Well,” said Fallon, “can you bring back anything under your tunic that we can use?”

“What are you looking for?” asked Visser.

“I don’t know,” answered Fallon with a smile. “A knife or a musket would be nice.”

“How about a cannon?” asked Aja, also smiling.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Visser with a grin. “But a cannon will be difficult, though worthy.”

“Bring anything you can that you think we can use to lure the midnight guard inside, Wilhelm,” said Fallon. “Now, Little Eddy, let me ask you a question.”

Little Eddy’s eyes got wide and the boy sat upright, anticipating a role in the escape.

“You were the fastest boy up the mast on Rascal,” said Fallon. “Like a monkey you were. Tell me, can you climb these walls?” He nodded towards the stockade walls of the pen. They were long poles, set inches apart and perhaps fifteen feet tall.

Little Eddy stood up and walked to the wall with the door. He stood with his back to the group, staring at the poles. Finally, he approached the wall more closely and began trying to insert his hands into the cracks between poles. He was a small boy for his age, with small hands and arms, and he found a pole with enough space on either side that he could push his hands through.

Suddenly his feet were off the ground and on the wall, his toes wrapped around the pole pushing him up and up. He struggled once, getting a hand stuck, but managed to free himself and then he was at the top. Little Eddy, the acrobat.

The little crowd below him wanted to cheer but dared not. Instead, Fallon whispered as loudly as he could, “Well done!”

And Little Eddy scampered down.

Now it all depended on what Wilhelm Visser could fit under his tunic.

At dawn the next morning Rascal weighed under a sky that came with violent streaks of red. Barclay commented on it, mumbling the sailor’s aphorism: Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. He knew what they were seeing was dust in the eastern sky and that dirty weather was coming.

The wind had come east southeast, and Beauty’s decision to sail sooner rather than later to Tipasa seemed prescient, for it would give the crew a chance to rest before the final push to Algiers. In truth, the crew couldn’t have waited another day in Gibraltar. They were more than anxious to be away.

Colonel Bisanz had shown up last evening with one hundred of his finest soldiers, all volunteers, each man equipped to fight a small war. Beauty had welcomed each soldier aboard as Rascal’s boats brought them out and, at the last, she had gone ashore to personally thank Bisanz. She found him standing by himself on the dock in the twilight, his men gone, alone.

“Colonel,” she began, “I don’t know how to thank you for your support and these volunteers. God willing we won’t have any trouble, but I pity the poor devils who try to stop us.”

“I pray you won’t need to fight to free your people, Beauty. The corsairs are ruthless; but I don’t have to tell you that. All I ask is to bring my boys home with yours, if you can. But remember, they volunteered for the mission. It’s them to thank, not me.”

She studied his face in the dim light, a face with bright eyes and that spectacular mustache, and smiled.

“I thank God and you, colonel. And then the boys. In that order. Goodbye.” And then Beauty did something she’d never done before in her life.

She kissed a man.

Renegade’s progress had slowed considerably as she was forced to tack against the building easterly. In consequence, they were a day later than Jones had predicted arriving in Gibraltar.

He scanned the harbor for any sign of Rascal but she was nowhere to be seen. That was not surprising, just disappointing. What was surprising was seeing Lord Keith’s flagship, Artemis, 74, riding at anchor in the crowded roadstead.

Renegade had barely found a spot to anchor when her number flew from the flagship with the signal: captain repair onboard. Jones went below to quickly change into his best uniform and alert Sir William to make himself ready to be rowed across to Artemis. At the last he remembered Admiral Davies’ letter for Lord Keith and then, checking himself in the small mirror and brushing his unruly hair, he pronounced himself as good as he was going to look. Back on deck, he waited while Sir William’s dunnage was lowered into his captain’s gig, along with Sir William, and in very little time they were approaching the massive hulk of the flagship and being hailed to come aboard.

Jones went up the side, his heart in his throat at seeing the famous Lord Keith, the hero of Saldanha Bay for capturing an entire Dutch squadron, and now commander-in-chief of the Mediterranean station. He and Sir William were shown to Keith’s great cabin by a rather bent first lieutenant and found themselves in a room of glittering gold from the epaulettes of several captains already there.

Jones and Sir William were introduced to the flag captain, Burrell, and Captain Elliott of Mischief, who looked pale and nervous, and finally Lord Keith himself, resplendent in his Royal Navy uniform and shock of white hair. He had an erect bearing and strong jaw but his eyes were wise and wide.

“William, it is good to see you again,” said Lord Keith, obviously well-acquainted with the British agent. “There is much to talk about and I confess making sense of it all gives me a headache. At least the Austrians are giving a good account of themselves against Masséna. I believe we will see the French defeated in the coming months, which has allowed me to return to Gibraltar. Poor Burrell thought we would run out of rum if we stayed longer! We only arrived on station this morning and the rum will come aboard before the water casks!”

At this everyone in the great cabin laughed, for all knew the average jack could do without anything, face any deprivation except the loss of rum.

“May I pay a special compliment to Captain Jones, sir?” said Sir William. “He not only brought me safely across the Atlantic but he took a prize on the way. And without a shot!”

“Good Lord, Captain Jones!” exclaimed Lord Keith. “I am all aback to hear how you did that! Pray let’s have a glass so you can tell the story.” And with that the steward brought out several bottles of claret as Jones told the story of capturing Honneur as modestly as he could.

“Well,” said Jones a bit timidly, “we chanced upon a small French frigate and were able to run her down easily, for Renegade has a clean bottom. The prisoners are located below decks and well-guarded. Sir William was kind enough to help me interview the captain and review his orders since he is fluent in French. I brought them with me and, oh, and this is a letter from Admiral Davies for you personally, sir.”

Jones withdrew the papers from his breast pocket and handed them across the massive desk to Lord Keith who looked a question at Sir William.

“The capitaine’s orders concerned bringing back French officials from the Caribbean to Paris, no more,” responded Sir William to the unasked question. “I doubt if he had the imagination or courage for mischief.”

At this Lord Keith relaxed and put the French capitaine’s orders aside for the moment.

“Captain Burrell, will you please see that the prisoners are removed to the prison ashore?” said Lord Keith. “They are a damned nuisance but the prize is worth it, no doubt.” And then he addressed himself to Jones.

“Captain Jones, I will gladly buy Honneur into the service, of course. The prize agent is fair-minded and you and your crew should profit handsomely as there was no damage to the ship.”

Jones blushed radiantly.

“And now gentlemen, if you will excuse me a moment while I read this note from Admiral Davies I would be grateful,” said Lord Keith, rising to go to the stern windows where the light was better. “Pray help yourself to more wine.”

The steward went man to man and poured the claret carefully, re-filling the Admiral’s glass which sat upon the desk half empty. Jones was careful not to do more than sip, wanting to make a good impression on these exalted figures. He stole a glance at Elliott, who seemed to recede to the edges of the room.

After a few moments, Lord Keith turned from the stern windows and took his seat again. His face was still kind but his eyes had narrowed a bit.

“Captain Elliott, Admiral Davies tells me that a privateer named Fallon should have entered these waters from Antigua and I am wondering if you spoke to him at all.”

Elliott looked startled to be called upon but, gathering himself, he sniffed before answering. “Yes, I welcomed him aboard the first time he entered Gibraltar. I can only report that Captain Fallon told the most fantastic story of sinking two Algerian corsairs just days before and I immediately took him for a fabulist. He was only in a schooner, after all, and we all know too well the reputation of corsairs. At any rate, he asked for my help and protection to Algiers, but of course I refused based on my orders from you to remain on station. I must say I found Fallon hot-tempered and rude.”

“Did Fallon mention that he was attempting to ransom an old man from slavery?” asked Keith, his eyes squinting a bit more. “As for sinking two corsairs, Admiral Davies gives Fallon his highest approbation and claims that he is as clever a captain as they come. Perhaps the captain’s story was not as far-fetched as it sounded.”

At that, Elliot blanched. He was none too tanned anyway, preferring to spend most of his time in the Royal Navy in his cabin.

“You said Fallon returned to Gibraltar again, Captain Elliot?” continued Lord Keith without waiting for an answer to his last question. “Did you endeavor to find out why?”

“I did not, sir,” mumbled Elliot. “I was very busy with affairs on board ship. The word on the lower deck, however, was that Rascal’s crew claimed they fought another corsair to the east. Fallon also had a prize crew aboard an American merchant vessel, Mary of Dundee. Surely that beggars explanation, as well. At any rate, within a day or two he had left again. When the ship came back a third time it stayed for a week, I suppose. I was told the captain was no longer aboard but I can’t vouchsafe for that. Then, two nights ago, Colonel Bisanz brought troops from the garrison to the shore and they were loaded onto the privateer. The next morning she sailed away. Why Bisanz did that I couldn’t say, but it was highly irregular.”

Lord Keith took a moment to digest this information, tapping Davies’ letter on the desk and looking squarely at Jones.

“Captain Jones,” he asked, “are you acquainted with Captain Fallon? I realize the Caribbean is a large sea but I am curious.”

Jones didn’t blink, for Captain Elliott’s description of Fallon as a fantastic liar had infuriated him. “Yes sir,” he answered as evenly as he could, “I have served alongside him with Admiral Davies and can attest to his bravery and… and cunning. He is the cleverest captain I know.” Here Jones shot a quick look to Elliott, whose face had recovered its natural color and now moved on to red.

“How was it you served alongside a privateer, may I ask,” said Lord Keith with a hint of skepticism in his voice.

“Captain Fallon was an informal advisor to Admiral Davies, sir,” said Jones. “He looked at situations from a privateer’s point of view and I believe Admiral Davies valued his opinion in the highest. It was Fallon’s idea to trick Coeur de France into leaving Port-a-Prince to fight. The plan was all his.” Jones had tactfully left out his own role in luring the ship out. But he knew that the sinking of the French flagship was well-known throughout the Royal Navy.

“I heard Coeur went down with all hands, is that true?” asked Keith. “I believe she carried 100 guns?”

“All true, sir,” replied Jones quietly. He fidgeted in his chair, his wine untouched, fearing he had been too forthcoming with praise for his friend in an effort to defend him from Elliott’s slur.

“Sir William,” asked Lord Keith, “do you have anything to add to this conversation?”

“Only that I met Captain Fallon once at Admiral Davies’ invitation and endeavored to acquaint him with what I knew of the Barbary situation.” A pause. “I found his questions insightful and direct. From what Davies told me beforehand, I can believe Captain Jones’ account. I realize we have a treaty with the dey, but it seems to be unravelling.”

This seemed to slam the door in Elliott’s face and he found he could say nothing in response except, “I was only following my orders, sir.”

Lord Keith looked at Elliott sadly. He really was a dolt of a captain and Keith knew it and had known it for some time.

“Quite,” he said at last, and endeavored to swallow his disappointment in one of his officers.

The topic turned to lighter subjects at last, the best clarets ever taken from a French prize, the peculiarities of a folluca’s sailing rig, the increasing difficulty of pressing men to man Great Britain’s many ships. At last the little meeting came to a close and the captains rose to leave to return to their ships.

“Captain Jones,” said Lord Keith, “may I ask you to stay a moment, sir?”

Jones could only stay behind, of course, though he feared a reprimand for crossing swords with one of Lord Keith’s captains. Sir William lingered, as well, but of course he was staying aboard.

As Burrell closed the cabin door behind him, Lord Keith bade his two remaining guests to sit again as he picked up Davies’ letter and seemed to re-read at least parts of it.

“I don’t know Admiral Davies personally, you understand,” he said as he looked at Jones. “But I know of him, to be sure, and I know he is held in high regard in Whitehall. So I am inclined to believe that what he says in his letter is true. He is saying, to put it succinctly, that Fallon is his irreplaceable ally in the Caribbean and should the opportunity arise to render him assistance in his quest to ransom an Algerian slave he hopes we will do so. It is a glowing letter, to be sure. He admits to Fallon’s unorthodox ways and ideas that at first seem far-fetched. And Davies said something striking: he said that Fallon was his imagination. I am not used to modest Admirals in the Royal Navy.”

It was then that Lord Keith looked at Sir William and smiled a knowing smile.

“I keep my own imagination close at hand,” he said quietly.

Sir William barely nodded to acknowledge the compliment. “If I may, Lord Keith,” he said, “what else did Admiral Davies say that has you so interested in Fallon’s well-being?”

Lord Keith looked down at the letter in his hands and then up to Sir William. It was a good question, and Sir William was right to ask it. After all, the two of them had much to discuss about the Mediterranean as it was.

“Admiral Davies said that if there was one man who would have ideas to disrupt any potential alliance between France and Algiers it would be Fallon. He staked his reputation on it. Which would seem to make Fallon a very valuable asset, indeed, given the Admiralty’s concerns.”

Sir William leaned back in his chair. Jones sat rock still in his, not deigning to speak or even move.

“Captain Elliott said that Colonel Bisanz had loaded troops onto Rascal before she sailed, and that Fallon was not aboard,” said Sir William. “I am wondering why, and what it all means. And I am wondering if a conversation with the colonel wouldn’t tell us more than we know now if, indeed, you have the opportunity to intercede on Fallon’s behalf.”

Sir William, serving up some imagination to Lord Keith.

The three men arrived at the quay after a bumpy row in the Admiral’s gig, for the harbor was feeling the beginning of unsettled weather. Lord Keith was well acquainted with Colonel Bisanz and liked the man, as did Sir William, but both were quite in the dark about his actions and wanted to get the full picture of what had gone on with Rascal and some account of why Fallon was not aboard any longer. For Jones’ part he was honored to be in their inner circle and kept his mouth shut.

They arrived at the quad and then proceeded immediately to find Colonel Bisanz who, as he had with Beauty, welcomed them formally. It was odd for a Royal Navy admiral and British army officer to ever be in the same room with each other and the meeting began tentatively.

“I understand you brought troops to the shore two nights ago to be loaded aboard Rascal, a British privateer,” Lord Keith began. “Can you tell me why, pray? I am not here to challenge your actions in any way, colonel. But I am developing a personal interest in Rascal.”

“If you know the ship, Admiral,” answered Bisanz, “then you might also know her first mate, Beauty McFarland. If she had asked for a thousand troops I might have given them to her.”

At that Jones laughed in spite of himself, then quickly settled, embarrassed.

“I don’t know the ship itself, colonel,” said Lord Keith with a smile. “But somehow I am not surprised that she carries a woman as first mate. I imagine she is formidable. Captain Jones?”

“I know Beauty very well,” said Jones. “And I wouldn’t refuse her anything either. I fear I would be in danger if I did.”

Bisanz related the story Beauty had told him in great detail, knowing Lord Keith would want the full picture. At the news of the kidnapping of a ship’s boy named Little Eddy Jones involuntarily recoiled, as did Lord Keith, for they both knew the tales surrounding children sold at auction. Next, the story of Fallon and Aja’s capture was on the table, with Jones interrupting to describe Aja for Lord Keith. After that, the admiral rose and paced the small office while Bisanz told of the meeting with Beauty and how she’d asked for volunteers to sail to Algiers based on Fallon’s message and instructions.

“Instructions, you say?” asked Jones. “Captain Fallon was specific?”

“Yes,” said Bisanz. “Beauty said he was quite specific about when she was to arrive off the mole at the harbor’s entrance.”

For the first time since hearing the story Jones smiled. Lord Keith noticed.

“Fallon has a plan, admiral,” he said. “I don’t know what it is but I will wager my pay that Beauty has tipped to it and knows what she’s doing.”

Lord Keith shook his head in something like wonder. He was beginning to understand Admiral Davies’ respect for Fallon’s ingenuity. But it seemed he’d gotten himself captured, along with his second mate, and now his first mate was off to help him with a ship full of British soldiers and it seemed to Lord Keith that nothing could be done further.

He didn’t see Sir William’s glance to Jones, and the nod from Jones in answer.