I smiled at the resulting “ohs” and “ahs” and exclamations that came from the assembled men; and after a long pause while things settled down, I raised my hands for silence and added, “And neither are the rest of our galleys going directly to Ibiza—we’re going to sail to Algiers first and take more prizes.” And try to destroy the place.
There was a moment of stunned silence before the cheering erupted.
******
Edward Shepherd and his eight captains were the first to be given their orders. Edward was given the overall command of nine fully crewed galleys. Their orders were simple—they were to stay together and move along the Moorish coastline and look in at all small ports along the way.
Why look in at the small ports? Because we had been told, and it sounded reasonable, that many of the Moorish coastal villages usually had a couple of locally-owned cogs and a pirate galley or two in their harbours. That, apparently, was how the people of the smaller Moorish ports earned their coins and served their King instead of paying taxes. It was very much like the way we archers and the portsmen of Hastings and the other Cinque Ports earn our coins and serve King John.
The orders for the sergeant captains and crews of the prizes being taken to be sold in Lisbon and London came next. They were to stay quarantined here in the middle of the harbour for at least three days and then sail in the next good weather straight to Ibiza. They would rendezvous with us in Ibiza’s harbour—some or all of our galleys were expected to be there when our cogs and prizes arrived.
In the event our galleys had not yet arrived, our cogs and prizes were to stay anchored in the middle of the harbour on high alert, and not tie up at the quay or allow their men to go ashore until enough of our archer-crewed galleys entered the harbour to be able to protect them. Our precautions were warranted; Ibiza was, at the time, caught up in the religious conflict between the Pope who wanted it to become a Papal State and the followers of the Orthodox Patriarch who wanted it left alone with Orthodox priests and nobles in control.
Amidst many congratulatory cheers and back-slappings, a sergeant captain recommended by Harold was told to put up another stripe and take command of the cogs and prizes going directly to Ibiza to await the arrival of our galleys. And, as you might imagine, the cogs and prizes going to Ibiza were quarantined and told to wait here in the harbour for a couple of days before they sailed for Ibiza; we didn’t want to take a chance that they’d be taken by a Moorish pirate and word of our raid would reach Algiers before our galleys arrived.
The orders for the galleys going to Algiers came next and took the most time even though they were very similar to the orders we gave to the sergeant captains for the raid on Tunis.
“Basically, it will be the same as Tunis except that afterwards we’ll sail to Ibiza instead of Malta.”
That’s what I told the captains before we started talking about what each of them was to do when we reached Algiers. Then, just as we did before we raided Tunis, every sergeant captain was called forward and, as the other sergeant captains listened carefully, loudly told what he was to do and what would be expected of him. It took all day because the layout of the harbour at Algiers was very different from that of Tunis.
There were many questions and quite a few good suggestions.
Chapter Thirty
We visit Algiers
We did not sail for Algiers immediately. We stayed in the harbour overnight and had another “captains call” in the morning just as we did before our raid on Tunis. It was always surprising how many questions and concerns arose when a galley captain had an entire night to talk to his sergeants and think about a new assignment wherein he might lose his life. The next morning some of them climbed out of their dinghies all chipper and alert and confident; others had obviously stayed up all night worrying and thinking. They all had questions and concerns that needed to be addressed.
Four hours later, the sergeant captains returned to their galleys in their dinghies, the “follow me” flag was waved from Harold’s mast, and the rowing drums began their rhythmic beat. The crews on our temporarily quarantined cogs lined their deck railings and cheered lustily as we left the harbour bound for Algiers.
****** Lieutenant Randolph
My assignment and that of my galley was to repeat what we’d done at Tunis—sail quietly into the harbour at Algiers late in the day as if we owned the place and then, the next morning, go ashore and be ready to capture one of the city gates as soon as our fleet of galleys begins to enter the harbour. Since I had to be in the Algiers harbour a day earlier than everyone else, mine was the only galley that sailed as soon as the first “all captains” meeting was finished.
It was late in the afternoon three days later when our lookout first reported seeing the entrance to the Algiers harbour and the great city stretching out behind it. It was a large harbour, and, as we got closer, our lookout reported he could see were numerous masts. That was good news. It meant the harbour was full and bustling as we’d hoped and expected.
The sun was just finishing going down as we slowly made our way towards the barely visible harbour entrance using some of our oars on the lower rowing benches, just as we would if we were a slave-rowed Moorish galley returning from a long voyage. Only a few of my men and I were on the deck as we approached the harbour entrance. We were all wearing Moorish clothes.
Things started to go badly from the very beginning. We were still some distance from the entrance to the harbour in the fading light when one of the archers on our mast shouted a warning.
“Hoy, the deck. There be galleys in the harbour and many cogs.”
“How many galleys? Are they pulled up to the beach or at the quay?”
A few seconds later there was a worrisome report.
“Hoy, the deck. They be galleys near the harbour entrance. Forty at least, maybe more. A few are pulled up on beach but most are in the harbour.”
In the harbour? They should be nosed into the beach or at the quay, particularly at the end of the day. Something’s wrong. I better climb up and look for myself.
There was a new report before I could jump down from the roof of the forward castle and make my way back to the mast.
“Hoy, the deck. A couple of them buggers is coming out. We count sixty plus sails anchored in the harbour and at the quay. Many cogs and ships.”
I jumped down from the roof and walked rapidly to the mast. Everything was quiet except the slow swish of the oars we had out. Gulls were swooping and crying overhead and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The sunset was glorious.
Climbing a galley mast was something I never got used to doing. Ours wasn’t swaying much at the moment because the sea was calm, but a rope ladder was always a problem for me. It had been a dry day, so, at least, the rope ladder wouldn’t be wet and slippery. I kicked off my sandals and climbed with my feet bare; I moved slowly, one step at a time, with each foot down solidly before I raised the other.
It didn’t take long to get high enough to see into the harbour. What I saw when I got high enough gave me a great shock. There were two galleys coming straight at us and rowing hard with their sails up.
The two galleys didn’t shock me. They could have been coming out most normal-like, trying to get out to sea before darkness fell. What shocked me was that there were so many galleys behind them in what appeared to be some kind of defensive formation—and I could see the periodic glints and flashes on the deck of the two galleys coming towards us that would only occur if the sun bounced off bared swords.
My God. They know we’re coming. What should I do?
******
My initial reaction to the outbound galleys was to turn and run. On the other hand, darkness was coming so if we rowed right on past them and into the harbour we might be able to lose ourselves amidst all the shipping. Finally I decided.
“Turn us around, Tommy,” I told my sailing sergeant. “Right smartly if you please. All hands to the oars. Drummer beat to maximum speed. Raise the sail. Sharply
, lads, sharply.”
I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just ignore the galleys coming towards us and sail into the harbour. It was still light enough for them to follow us and find us where we moored. Besides, it wouldn’t be surprising for an innocent captain to turn and run if he saw two armed galleys coming for him with their decks crowded with fighting men.
We spun around and they did indeed come charging out of the harbour to follow us. We went straight out to sea and lost them soon thereafter when darkness fell—I ordered the sail lowered in case they could see it outlined against the moon and made a hard turn to starboard. We didn’t see our fleet even though we knew it was out here somewhere preparing for tomorrow’s raid.
Now, what? Should I stay out here and try to warn William or should I go back and try to enter the harbour despite the darkness? My head hurt thinking about it. Finally, I decided. It was the moon that decided me. There was only a quarter moon; so we’re going to go back and try to enter the harbour in the darkness.
******
It took quite a while to find the harbour entrance. We used the moon to mark our position and tried to retrace our path. It didn’t work very well even though we rowed longer to make up for the extra distance the sail would have given us. Unfortunately, all we could see when we got to where we thought the harbour should be was the dim outline of the coast. The wind must have blown us off course when we were backtracking.
I was just about to give up in despair and head back out into the blackness of the sea when there was a call from one of the men in the lookout’s nest.
“Hoy, the deck. We saw a light flicker off to our port. Distant it was. It might have been from Algiers City.”
Climbing the mast in the dark was not pleasant. I’m not a sailor man and I’d never done it before. But I did it, even more slowly and cautiously than before. At first, I didn’t see anything and I wasn’t even sure I was looking in the right direction. It turned out I wasn’t.
Finally, one of the lookouts climbed down to where I was clinging to the rope ladder and tried to show me where to look. Nothing. And then there it was; I could see a couple of faint lights flickering in the distance. Perhaps smiths or bakers were working at night when it was cooler or women were cooking their families’ suppers.
“Stay up here and pilot us towards the lights,” I told the unknown lookout. “Sing out if you need food or water or to piss or shite but don’t take your eyes off those lights until someone comes up to relieve you.”
We rowed hard until we reached the harbour entrance. And even then we almost missed it because of the dark.
“Everyone quiet,” I said in a whisper as I walked along the rowing benches. “No talking, and muffle your oars.” .. “No talking, and muffle your oars.” ..
I must have whispered it twenty times as I padded along the aisle between the rowing benches. I’d already sent Tommy Small, the sailing sergeant, up the mast to the lookouts with the same message. There were now three lookouts up on the mast. They were told to climb down if they had anything to report, not shout.
We slowly rowed into harbour. Nothing stirred. All we could hear was the periodic creak of our galley’s wood and rigging and the swish of our muffled oars. The harbour was dead silent. We had three lookouts in the bow with long pikes to push us off any galley or cog we might come upon in the darkness.
Our progress was slow because we were only using six lower-deck oars on each side as a slave-rowed galley might do as it entered a harbour at night when visibility was limited. I deliberately took us in along the edge of the harbour so the loom of our ship would not be seen outlined against the moon.
We all held our breaths as we passed what must have been the western end of the galleys that had been waiting for us. I needed to piss so badly I lifted my tunic and let go when I heard voices drift over the water from a cog we were slowly passing.
“Keep going deeper into the harbour,” I whispered to Tommy. “We’ll anchor as far away as we can get from the galleys.”
I’d already told him that twice before but I couldn’t help repeating it for fear he might have forgotten. I was so excited my arms were tingling and shaking as if I was in someplace cold.
A few minutes later I asked for my sailing sergeant’s opinion.
“What do you think, Tommy?” I whispered. “Will this do for us?”
“Aye, Randolph. It’s as good as any. I’ll go pass the word to the rowers. I’m going to put the anchor down myself so they’ll be no splash.”
******
Dawn found us silent and alone near some Moorish cogs. Voices began to come across the water from the city. Their priests were in their towers calling the faithful to prayers. Almost immediately we began to smell the smoke of cooking fires and fresh bread coming from the cogs around us.
I whispered instructions for our “prayer men” to come up on deck wearing their Moorish clothes. They were ready and there were soon six of us on our knees in a line on the roof of the stern castle. The sailor who led us in our bowing had been a Moorish captive for many years. He would pretend to be the galley’s sergeant captain and respond in Moorish if any questions were asked.
It wasn’t until dawn broke and we could hear the calls of the city’s priests coming out of the water that I realized how poorly we had anchored. I could see the harbour entrance from here alright, but one of the Moorish cogs anchored nearby was blocking me from seeing the gate in the city wall my men and I were supposed to hold.
I wasn’t taking any chances. Even before the heathen priests began calling there were only the three of us who could be seen from the nearby Moorish cogs and ships, me and Tommy and the sailor posing as the sergeant captain who knew how to jabber in Moorish-speak. Everyone else was out of sight below deck, hungry because we couldn’t light a cooking fire to make bread, and ready to either instantly put their oars in the water and row like hell, or grab up their weapons and come running out for a fight.
We couldn’t feed the men because cooking a lot of bread might have alerted the Moors that we had many men on board; the same for the men coming on deck to use the shite nest to put their turds in the harbour where they belong. They’d just have to go hungry for a while and use the buckets Tommy put out for them. They were used to using buckets from when the weather was too heavy to safely use the shite nest in the stern. It wasn’t a problem.
*******
The more I thought about the galleys waiting at the harbour entrance, the more I worried about our plan to take the galley to the nearby quay and for the four of us to walk up to the gate in the city wall the way we did in Tunis. If the Algerians expected an attack, moving a strange galley to the quay might have been seen for what it was, the beginning of an attack.
“Tommy,” I told my sailing sergeant, “I’ve changed my mind. Me and my three lads are going to take the dinghy to the beach and walk up to the gate. You stay here real quiet-like and don’t bring the galley to the quay until you see our galleys start to enter the harbour. We won’t move against the gate until we see you get to the quay.”
After I was sure Tommy understood what I wanted, I set my worries aside. My mind was made up. I climbed off the castle roof and went to fetch my three men. It was time to begin our assault on the city. It felt a strange kind of relief to finally be doing something. As I walked across the deck I wondered how soon William would come through the harbour entrance. He waited until almost noon when we raided Tunis.
Just thinking about William’s arrival made me hurry. What if he arrived early and we weren’t ready to take the gate?
Chapter Thirty-One
Randolph and the Algerian Horsemen
I was suddenly very anxious and it seemed like it took forever for the one sailor among the four of us to row our galley’s dinghy to the strand on the north side of the quay. But we did reach it and were able to pull the dinghy ashore. The strand was surprisingly deserted except for some old fishing boats that had been pulled ashore for repairs or to be lived
in. No one was about and that too was worrisome. It looked increasingly as if the Algerians knew we were coming.
After we pulled the dinghy ashore, and turned it around so we could leave quickly if it became necessary, we set out to walk up to the city gate; four nondescript and unarmed men wearing Moorish tunics and head linens. We might have been walking into the city to find work or to meet someone.
One of the men, not me, carried a bundle on his shoulder. Hopefully, it looked like something he was bringing to sell in the market or perhaps that he might be a workman carrying his tools. Actually, and not put too fine of a point on it, he was carrying the tools of our trade—galley swords. We did not, of course, carry our bows and shields; we had no way to conceal them.
Three of us knew how to use our swords, quite well as a matter of fact. The fourth hardly at all; he was a wiry and dependable two-stripe “chosen man” sailor from Portsmouth, one of the slaves who made his mark and joined us after we captured the Moorish galley on which he’d been chained to a rowing bench to sit in his own shite and piss until he died. He’d learnt to jabber Moorish right good during the years he sat there.
The name against which our interpreter-sailor made his mark on our company’s roll was Edward Portsmouth Sailor, known to one and all as “Eddy.” Eddy walked on the strand in the front of our little group of men because he’d do the jabbering if any Moorish jabbering needed to be done. As you might expect, Eddy, being a good sailor, was the man what rowed the dinghy we pulled up on the strand.
Eddy was a careful man. We adjusted the Moorish clothes covering our tunics and waited impatiently while he made sure the dinghy was turned around to face the water and its oars were hidden under it. But we didn’t complain; to the contrary, we wanted to be able to get away quickly if things turned to shite at the city gate.
*******
My three men and I reached the city wall and began to walk on the cart path that ran along the wall towards the gate. Several times we nodded and walked on without speaking as we met people coming towards us on the path. Everything seemed normal until we came around the corner of a wall bastion and got our first look at the gate at the end of the cart path running up from the quay—it was closed.
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