Sea Warriors

by Martin Archer

  “Hurry, Harold,” I said as I pointed towards the distant gate. “It looks like our men are being forced out of the city into the arms of that lot outside the gate. They’ll be slaughtered.”

  Harold sent more men to the oars and ordered the sail to be temporarily raised. Our galley tore through the harbour towards the quay. Only about twenty of the thirty-one galleys which were supposed to be with us, were with us as we approached the quay. The others were almost certainly engaged elsewhere with the two lines of enemy galleys or heading for the strand where the Algerians were moored their galleys along the shoreline—which they would probably find empty since many, if not all, of the Algerian galleys had been manned to confront us.

  There was no doubt about it, our careful plan, which we had worked on for so many months, was falling apart in front our eyes.

  “Lower the sail.” … “Landing party to the deck.” … “Standby to back oars.” … “Back oars.”

  All over the deck of Harold’s galley our men were busy gathering up their weapons and getting ready to carry them ashore. They’d be heavily burdened. In addition to their longbows and quivers, they were carrying either extra quivers of arrows or bladed pikes and land-fighting shields. Many of the archers also carried galley shields on their backs and sheathed short swords on their belts.

  It was a hot and sunny day for a fight. A few men were smart enough or thirsty enough to run to the water barrel for a quick drink before we got to the quay. I should have thought of water; I should have told some of our men to carry water skins.

  “Harold,” I said loudly. “Stand by to have some of your sailor lads start carrying water skins up there.”

  ******

  Harold brought his galley up to the quay with our deck packed with heavily laden archers. I was at the deck railing ready to lead them ashore. The noise from the fighting in front of the gate was quite loud and there was a great cloud of dust hanging over the battlefield. A few of the Algerians in the Algerian rear had seen us arrive at the quay. I had already passed the word that the men were to quickly form up on the quay and advance in the tight fighting formation we used when enemy horsemen were present.

  I leaped on to the quay wearing my mail shirt under my tunic and was already quite warm as I held my hands wide apart to indicate how and where I wanted the men to form up on me. It didn’t take long before we were in our tight horse-fighting formation with the first three men in each file being pike-holding archers with land-fighting shields. We were in a line about fifteen men wide and seven men deep as we double-timed up the slope towards the dust-covered battle in front of the gate. It was slow going because of the slope, the heat, and the weight of the weapons we were carrying.

  Some of the men standing in the rear of the Algerians attacking the gate had turned and stared at Harold’s galley as we reached the quay. But they paid us no particular attention even after we began pouring out of the galley and began climbing up the path towards them. They likely thought we were reinforcements coming from their fleet of galleys.

  Everything began to change when we formed our battle formation and they saw our other galleys begin to reach the quay and discharge their archers. That’s when the men in the rear of the mob in front of us first began to realise we were coming to fight them, not to reinforce them.

  They learned too late to do themselves any good. A few seconds later I dropped my raised fist and we began pushing a stream of arrows into the mob of men who were mostly facing away from us. We took them down as a scythe cuts the rows of wheat in front of it.

  In less than a minute, six or seven similarly formed galley companies had run up from the quay and begun adding their arrows to ours. The men in front of us quickly turned into a panic-stricken, leaderless mob with those on horseback trampling their own men in a desperate effort to get away.

  It was all over rather quickly—and the gate into the city remained closed. Men from Randolph’s galley were lying all over the ground in front of the gate amidst a much greater number of dead and wounded Algerians. Only a small handful of Randolph’s men were alive and many of them had been wounded more than once. They were huddled into a corner of the wall where they had gone to make their last stand—where a bastion protruded out from the wall so they had a corner that would shelter them on two sides.

  We also found some wounded men from Randolph’s galley in front of the gate who were still alive, but no Randolph. Dead and wounded Algerians were everywhere. We were too busy attending to our own men to deal with the Algerian wounded, some of whom were attempting to drag themselves away, others were crying out and pleading for help. It was the usual battlefield chaos that exists when the fighting stops.

  ******

  Our dead and wounded men were being gathered up and carried to the quay when one of the archers who had gone with Randolph to the gate came up from the quay and sought me out. That’s when I first began to understand what had happened—about Randolph finding the gate closed and hurrying back too late to warn the galley; and how the galley’s company of archers had started up the path with some of the men continuing and some turning back when the Algerian horsemen charged.

  It was a heart-breaking story and I only heard part of it as we hurried back to the quay with our dead and wounded men; some slung over the shoulders of our strongest men, others being led and helped to walk. The day had become very warm and the men suffered greatly.

  “He just fell to the deck and died when we got him back to the galley. There wasn’t a wound on him,” the anxious archer told me as we trotted back towards the galleys along the quay.

  I didn’t have time to lament Randolph and our lost and wounded men. We were hurrying to the quay because I had no idea as to how the fighting was going in the harbour between the Algerian galleys and ours; all I could think about was that we needed to get our galleys and men back into the fighting in the harbour before the Algerian galleys won the day.

  The Algerian army, if that’s what it was, had been at least temporarily routed; our standing around in the sun in front of the city walls waiting in case the Algerians reformed and returned would accomplish nothing. It was time to rescue our wounded and move on to what we do best—take prizes. The city would have to wait.

  ******

  My blood was overly heated by the sun by the time I reached the quay and began shouting orders and motioning for the men to re-board their galleys. The heat was so bad while Jeffrey and I waited impatiently for our archers to return that I wobbled and had to stop for a moment to rest while Jeffrey had one of his sailors throw water on my face and tunic to cool my blood.

  Peter reached the quay with his rear guard and ran down the quay to Jeffery’s galley temporarily to report. I agreed when he suggested he should lead his three galleys into the harbour to take prizes. I didn’t have time to tell him about Randolph.

  My impatience finally got the better of me after my blood cooled sufficiently for me to think again—we left a senior sergeant on the dock to direct our late-arrivals and casualties to a couple of galleys whose sergeant captains were ordered to remain at the quay until every man was boarded. We had no choice but to concentrate all our efforts on defeating the Algerian galleys and securing the cogs and ships in the harbour as prizes; we’d have to wait and deal with the city later.

  Randolph’s galley with the body of my dear friend remained anchored just off the quay. A battle was raging in the harbour and I didn’t have time to stop and pay my respects.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The harbour at Algiers

  As we rowed away from the quay with the drum booming, Harold and I could see galleys in every part of the harbour and what appeared to be several pursuits involving one of our galleys chasing an Algerian galley through the crowded harbour.

  It was hard to tell exactly what was happening or who was winning. One reason for the difficulty was because just about every transport in the harbour had raised its anchors and was either attempting to escape or had been taken by one
of our prize crews who was trying to get it out of the harbour

  Some of the transports were being towed towards the harbour entrance by small boats powered by desperately rowing Moorish sailors; others were prizes being towed by one of our galleys. Others, either prizes or Moors trying to escape, had raised their sails and were trying to claw their way out of the crowded harbour despite the wind coming in from the sea. It was absolute chaos, and there were numerous collisions and near-collisions. Compounding the confusion, dozens and dozens of dinghies and small boats crammed full of Moorish sailors were attempting to row ashore to escape being captured.

  It was hard to tell what was happening or who was winning. Were the galleys I could see in the harbour some of the Algerian galleys which had been waiting for us at the harbour entrance, or were they prizes we had taken which were trying to find transports to tow away as prizes? The other, and perhaps more important question, at the moment, was who controlled the entrance to the harbour?

  There was only one way to find out, so I decided to temporarily forego attempting to join the fighting or the taking of prizes and ordered Harold to row straight to the entrance of the harbour so we could see what was happening there.

  “We need to make sure the entrance is blocked so the Moorish transports and galleys can’t get out unless they are prizes,” I said to Harold by way of explanation as he loudly gave the necessary rowing orders and his loud-talker and sergeants repeated them even more loudly.

  I didn’t say a word as he gave his orders, merely nodded and poured another bowl of water on my head. It felt wonderful and I suddenly realized I so desperately needed to piss I could not wait. So I lifted my wet tunic and aimed downwind even though pissing on the deck of his galley was as close to a mortal sin as an archer could get. My brother would have had a fit.

  ******

  Rowing through the shipping in the crowded harbour was an exciting experience with Harold’s sailor sergeant constantly shouting rudder and rowing commands to turn us this way and that. Ships and galleys were everywhere moving about in an effort to get clear of the fighting going on about them. We saw two collisions and nearly had one of our own when a small boat of Moorish rowers attempting to tow a single-masted cog to safety crossed right in front of us. We passed over its tow line and listened to the screams of its rowers as the stern of their dinghy was dragged down under the water.

  Less than two minutes later, we came around a three-masted ship just as it finished raising its anchor—and found ourselves head to head with a fleeing Algerian galley with one of our own galleys coming right behind it in an effort to capture it as a prize. We quickly shipped our oars and began snapping off the Algerian’s oars as it came past. It already had dead men on its deck and our archers added to them as it slid past us—and promptly put its bow straight into the side of the cog whose dinghy we’d sunk.

  Our archers and sailors cheered mightily and pumped their arms as our sister galley pursuing the hapless Algerian shipped her oars and came slowly sliding past us at distance of no more than ten paces. Its men cheered and shouted to us with equal enthusiasm and many waves and arm pumps of their own.

  From my position on the roof of the forward castle, I could see sailors in our sister galley’s bow swinging grapples in circles around their heads. They were preparing to throw them on the hapless Algerian as we passed going in the opposite direction. After the grapple throwers came a deck packed with enthusiastic archers and finally a beardless young one-stripe lad in the shite nest in the stern of the passing galley dropping a turd into the harbour.

  The young archer in the shite nest waved at us with a big smile as we slid past. I smiled broadly and lifted my hand to acknowledge him. So, I’m sure, did all of our men who saw him—it was one of the most amusing things I’d ever seen in the midst of a battle. The sergeant captain of the pursuing galley had obviously thrown his bales of live chickens in the shite nest to clear his decks and they were bouncing up and down all around the lad whilst fluttering their wings all about and complaining loudly as he dropped his shite.

  Even the ever-serious Harold smiled when he turned to me and asked,

  “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have flapping chicken wings wipe your arse?”

  ******

  My worries fell away as we approached the harbour entrance. The two lines of Algerian galleys were gone. We had either scattered them or taken them. Some had obviously been taken—there was already a line of galleys and cogs lashed together with their anchors in the water to the north, prizes for sure.

  More importantly and just about the only thing that had appeared to have worked as planned, eight of our galleys were either arrayed in their assigned blocking positions across the entrance or boarding and seizing cogs and ships attempting to leave the harbour. At first, I had been confused by the cogs in the line of prizes, but then I realised that they must have been taken by our entrance guards when they tried to leave the harbour.

  “Where to now, Captain?” asked Harold with a smile as he nodded towards our blocking force and the line of prizes.

  “Let’s make a run through the harbour to see if we can find an Algerian galley that needs to be taken or a galley of ours needing help to capture a prize.”

  ******

  Smoke was billowing up from a cog on fire in the harbour and people were pouring out of the city to watch the battle. Both of our “rescue galleys” were still waiting at the quay with their cargos of wounded archers from the fighting in front of the city gate. The quay itself was empty of people; the longbows of the tow galleys’ archers were keeping the onlookers far away. There was no sign of the horsemen and their attendants.

  We spent over an hour rowing through a harbour that was in a state of total chaos. Unanchored cogs and ships were drifting aimlessly about everywhere; others were being towed by their dinghies and ship’s boats in the hope that they could somehow reach the harbour entrance and escape into the sea beyond it. Some of the dinghies and small boats were rowing fleeing Moorish sailors ashore from the cogs and ships they were abandoning.

  More importantly, and to my great satisfaction, every Algerian galley we came across either had one or more of our boarding parties aboard or was awaiting their imminent arrival with its deck covered with dead and wounded men. All in all, the fighting was subsiding. Many of the transport cogs and ships in the crowded harbour, however, had not yet even been boarded. Even so, not one of our galleys needed our assistance. I had been reduced to an onlooker and it was very frustrating.

  Everywhere our longbows and archer-heavy galleys had reaped a grim harvest of the slave-rowed Algerians with their untrained and ill-equipped sailors and fighting men. Bodies floated in the water everywhere in the harbour. Some had been killed during the fighting and fallen in the water; most, however, had been tossed overboard by our prize crews as they cleared the Moorish decks. For the most part, at least so far as I could tell, our men were following orders—the surrendered Moors on the Algerian galleys were not being treated as pirates and immediately killed. I had forbidden it because we had taken them in their home waters. Besides, as I had explained to the sergeant captains before we sailed, we needed hostages to exchange.

  ******

  The results of our raid were fairly clear to me and my lieutenants by the time we finished patrolling the harbour. There was no question about it, we had control of the harbour and all the shipping in it—and the Algerians had control of the city and all the land around it. In other words, my plan to take and destroy Algiers had failed. Instead of the whole city, we held only the quay.

  I used Harold’s loud-talker to shout orders across the water to three of our galleys which had finished sending off their captured cogs and ships. They were to row to the quay and relieve the galleys which had loaded our survivors from the battle at the city gate so they could row to the relative safety of harbour entrance and thence to Sardinia.

  The sergeant captains of the three galleys and their crews were pleased
and cheerful when they received their new orders; they had taken all the prizes for which they had prize crews, and they were pleased to know that getting our wounded to safety and barbering them was a priority.

  We led the three galleys to the quay and Harold brought us alongside one of the two galleys carrying the survivors from the battle at the gate, John Plymouth’s. Harold’s sailors used their long-handled pikes to hold their galley against John’s whilst Harold and I climbed aboard. We wanted to see for ourselves the state of his galley’s supplies and the condition of the men he had on board.

  “Hoy, John, what do you have aboard? How many survivors and how many prize crews?”

  “Hoy, Captain, and you too, Harold. Welcome aboard. We followed you straight here to the quay and stayed as you ordered—so I’ve got every man I sailed with and sixteen of Randolph’s men; and all five of my prize crews, of course. I had seventeen of Randolph’s men but one went dead on me, that he did, and there’s another who might be needing a mercy.”

  “Try to keep him alive in one of your castles and happy with the flower paste if you can,” I replied. Then I gave him his sailing orders.

  “Now here’s what you are to do, John. We’ve got our prizes all lined up nice and tidy-like out there by the harbour entrance with Henry White in command. I want you to row out there and see Henry. Tell him you’ve brought him five prize crews and that I said he was to give your galley fifty Christian or Jewish rowers from among the galley slaves, Englishmen, Frenchies, and Island men if he’s got them. You keep your archer sergeant and three files of archers.

  “Turn all the rest of your archers and their share of your arrow bales over to Henry White for him to use on our prizes—then you sail for Sardinia. Wait at least two days for me or Harold or Lieutenant Peter. If we don’t show up, you are to go on to Cyprus via Malta and Crete, but only after you take on supplies and get the wounded barbered up most nice.”

  I thought for a minute while he nodded his agreement to my orders and asked a couple of minor questions. Then I expanded on my order to him.