Chapter 3: The Barbary Coast

January 1808

Winter in the Mediterranean was a far cry from the miserable cold of the English Channel. Even with a cloud cover to block the sun, the temperatures off Oran, on the Barbary coast of North Africa, were pleasant. HM sloop Wolverine was anchored at a safe distance from the shore, protecting the convoy whilst xebec after xebec crept out from the city bringing sacks of grain to be loaded onto the transports.

This was already Wolverine’s second such victualling journey. The British forces in the Mediterranean were depending on food shipments from the Barbary states of Northern Africa to feed the Mediterranean Fleet and the Gibraltar garrison. It was a beneficial relationship for both sides. The British had cheap supplies of grain, beef and salt only two days away from Gibraltar, and the Beys had a steady income from that trade. In addition, the Barbary pirates left British shipping alone, which was helpful but not crucial since all British ships sailed in convoy anyway, with a man o’war escorting.

Since the trading partners hardly trusted the other, each shipload arriving at the transports was examined by the fleet purser and his helpers, and each load was paid for in gold before the next lighter would approach. This did not make for a speedy transaction, but it alleviated the distrust.

After three days off Oran, three of the transports were loaded to capacity with grain, mostly wheat, but also some millet. The fourth transport was now being loaded with salt. Apparently, as the fleet purser, Mister Cameron, had intimated, the Berbers had huge salt lakes a few miles inland, with thick crusts of salt that could be harvested. Salt was important for the preservation of meats and was traded at a premium in England whilst it was dirt cheap here.

Another small xebec was crawling out from the town catching the weak breeze in its two lateen sails. Thomas was the officer of the watch and ordered the next work party into the longboat. Wolverine’s crew had to help with the loading since the transports were not fully manned, and now another fifteen men rowed over to the salt ship.

Two hours later, the transfer was almost completed when a dinghy that had been trailing the xebec cast off and made its way towards Wolverine. Thomas studied the boat through his telescope. There were only two men in it and two rolls of what looked like carpets.

“My compliments to the Captain and will he please come to the quarter deck,” Thomas instructed Midshipman Pons. “Then go and rouse the Marines.”

Benning was at his side in less than a minute.

“There’s a boat approaching, Sir. Two men from what I can see. They may want to trade.”

Benning made a face. “What? More grain or salt?”

“Looks like carpets, Sir.”

“Well, that may have some value,” Benning said. “Mister Cameron mentioned that the Berbers make beautiful carpets.”

Now the boat was close and the twelve Marines Wolverine could boast had been posted along the guard rail. The older of the two men stood up and began to shout something.

“Can anyone make out what the fellow wants?”

Thomas almost shrugged but caught himself in time.

“No, Sir. There’s some French in it or maybe some Spanish.”

“Now that you say it, it may be Dago he’s trying to talk,” Benning agreed. “Wait, wasn’t that something like ‘fugitivas’?”

“I believe I heard it too, Sir.” Thomas agreed. He formed a speaking trumpet with his hands and shouted back. “Fugitivas?”

The man held up two fingers, then bent over to unwrap one of the carpets. Inside was a small girl with light hair who looked up at them.

“Are they trying to sell slaves to us?”

“Dinero?” Thomas shouted, but the man shook his head emphatically.

“Well, get down into the boat, Mister Grey, and see what you can make of this. I’ll have you covered by the Marines.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” Thomas answered stoically. He pointed at the Jacob’s ladder and when the dingy hooked to the chains, he climbed down.

From up close Thomas could see that the older man had scars over his face and arms.

“Yo soy Pedro Almunia, soy un esclavo,” the man said slowly, realising probably that Thomas would not understand him well. “Las chicas son Inglesas, esclavas.”

Thomas look at the girl in the rug. “Are you English?”

“Yes. I and my sister. My mother sent us out with Pedro.”

“Is she a slave too?”

The girl nodded. “She wanted us safe. I ... I’m growing, and the man who owns us wanted to sell me, and Heather too in a year or two. Pedro, he’s a slave from Spain. He works for a carpet weaver across the street. He rolled us up in two carpets. He told them he wanted to sell the carpets for his master.”

“Who is the young man?”

“That’s Ali. He’s the carpet weaver’s son. He’s helping us.”

“Well, bring them all aboard, Mister Grey!” Captain Benning called having followed the exchange.

The girl nodded to the old slave who then rolled her up again in the carpet. Thomas understood. They might be watched from the xebec. When he was handed the bundle, he therefore grabbed it around the middle and lifted it up to the deck. The second bundle was handled the same way.

“Could you pay them some money, please? They must show something for the trade,” the girl in the carpet said.

“Are they going back?” Benning asked surprised.

“They must, or Ali’s father will be killed,” came the answer.

The officers on the quarter deck quickly collected what coined money they had. It amounted to almost two pounds and they handed it down to the boat.

“Adios, mis palomas,” the old Spanish slave called before they turned the dinghy towards the xebec again.

“Adios, Abuelo!” the girls called after the boat.

Captain Benning raised his eyebrows. “Mister Grey, have somebody bring my new carpets to the cabin! And pass the word for Mister Poole!”

Of course, the whole affair was the sole topic of talk, from the wardroom to the forecastle. Word filtered down from the after cabin that the girls and their mother had been captured by Algerian pirates almost four years ago whilst sailing from Sicily to Gibraltar. Their father, a Scots merchant in Palermo, had died and the widow wanted to return to Britain.

Captain Benning ordered a sharp lookout for the night, fearing that the escape had been noticed and might precipitate an act of retribution. However, nothing happened during the night until the end of the Morning Watch. At 6 bells, the lookout sang out. Three boats with lateen sails were approaching. They were shipping small guns. Captain Benning was on the quarter deck at the time and studied them through his telescope.

“This is no courtesy call,” he said. “Mister Grey, all hands! Clear the ship for action!”

Thomas repeated the order, and a few moments later the Marine drummer started his roll. The men came pouring up from the hatches and in less than ten minutes, Wolverine was ready for action.

“Have the guns loaded if you please!” Benning ordered, obviously taking the situation seriously. “Weigh anchor!”

As the three boats came closer, Wolverine hove to under reefed topsails, with the topmen ready to shake out the reefs at any time.

“Sir, they have a woman on deck. She looks European,” Thomas reported.

Indeed, a woman stood in the bows of the first boat with a man behind her who held a short sword to her neck. She was gagged. The man began to shout something and waved the sword in the air for emphasis.

“If he hurts the woman, we’ll blow that scum out of the water,” Benning ordered through clenched teeth. “Can anybody understand him?”

“Perhaps the girls might, Sir,” Thomas suggested.

“By Jove, you are right! Bring the older one up from the cable tier! Quick!”

“Sir, he’ll want the girls back,” Thomas opined.

“Well, not a chance. Of course, he’ll kill the woman if we refuse. She might even want that.”

“Sir, he’s standing close to the bows with her. If we fire the 32s at their stern, they will likely both be thrown overboard. At least, he’ll be stunned. We might save her.”

“How? We’ve no boat ready.”

“I’m a strong swimmer, Sir. I could jump in with a Nº2 line, get to her and rope her. The hands can then pull her aboard.”

“And you, Grey?”

“I can swim back, Sir. The Marines can cover me.”

“I see. Perhaps that’s not entirely harebrained. Well, get ready then! Where’s the girl?”

“I’m here, Sir,” a small voice sounded from behind them.

Benning turned and gave the girl an encouraging smile. “Can you find out what he wants?”

The girl shrugged. “Me.”

“Talk to him anyway. Keep him talking too. If we want to save your mother, we need some time.”

“He’ll kill her,” she said sadly.

“Not if everything goes according to plan. Gun captains, aim for the stern. If you’re unsure of your aim, don’t fire!”

The girl bravely went to the rail and shouted something in an unknown language. The man in the boat answered angrily.

“He says, he’ll slit her belly if I don’t return.”

“Ask him if he’ll let her go if you do!”

The girl swallowed, but then she shouted the strange words again. The man in the boat shook his head and laughed, shouting something back.

“Are you ready yet, Mister Grey?”

“Yes, Sir!” Thomas answered. He tried to steady his breathing. This would be his first fight, and it would not be anything like the fighting he had envisioned. He might just be shot and drowned here on this God-forsaken coast. Again, he steadied himself and gripped the line. “I’m ready, Sir!”

Something was shouted again from the boat and the girl cried out.

“Gun captains! Ready! Fire!”

Within two seconds, eight double-shotted 32-pounder carronades hurled over 500 pounds of iron at the frail boat. The effect was staggering. Whilst the stern of the boat was obliterated, the bow was rocked violently. The woman and her captor were both thrown down, the woman a little to the right of her captor. The boat was sinking quickly and the woman went under. Thomas stood on the rail searching for her to come up again. There! A white shimmer under the choppy surface of the water. In a wide arc, Thomas dove from the main deck. He covered the half pistol shot distance in short time, but he had lost sight of the woman.