Flashman and the Seawolf

by Robert Brightwell

  Certainly Manley Dixon received Cochrane with perfunctory courtesy when he presented his written report of the engagement. This was to be submitted to the Admiralty and would normally be supported by a glowing endorsement of the action by the commanding officer with a recommendation for promotion or recognition such as proposing captaincy of the prize. Cochrane was seething after the meeting “You could straighten a bent ramrod by shoving it up his arse” he growled to me as he walked away from the Naval headquarters. “Your lordship is to be congratulated was all the starchy bastard said, he didn’t even offer me a drink.”

  Cochrane was right to be concerned. In addition to Manley Dixon, Mansfield, Admiral Keith’s all powerful clerk was now venomous in his hatred of Cochrane as I had discovered when I called at his office to see if there had been any letters. “Only three killed eh, well they can’t have put up much of a fight. Don’t spend your prize money just yet Flashman, prize courts can come to strange decisions.” He was walking with a slight limp and I later discovered from the girls at Madam Rosa’s that once the suspicion arose that he was suffering from the clap they had insisted that he have a dose of mercury treatment before he was allowed back in the establishment. As the only alternative were some rough seaman’s whorehouses that would almost certainly give him the clap, after much raging and threats he reluctantly agreed to see the local doctor. He was convinced that Cochrane had started the rumour as the Speedy had been in port when it started.

  There was a letter from Wickham congratulating me on the success of my mission, which seemed like a distant memory now. There was also one from my father saying that he had heard from Castlereagh that I had done some good service and asking when I was coming home. The Old Man said he was proud of me and I remember being quite touched as I didn’t think I had given him cause to say that before. My father also mentioned in passing that James and Emily were expecting a baby and from the date given it seemed that Dr Graham’s electric bed might have worked after all.

  While we didn’t know it then, Manley Dixon and Mansfield had already started to wreak their vengeance. Manley Dixon’s covering letter to the Admiralty with Cochrane’s report was a bare three lines long. While it described the capture as ‘very spirited and brilliant’, what it did not say spoke greater volumes in the convention of such things at the Admiralty. Mansfield then sat on even this for a whole month before sending it, as they had reason to hope that Cochrane would not be around much longer.

  With Gamo under assessment for a prize court to consider its future, the Speedy was restored to its full crew to await the outcome. Initial hopes that this would be a quick affair and that the next voyage would be in the larger ship were soon dashed when new orders arrived for the Speedy.

  When a man as cocksure and confident as Cochrane looks worried you know you are in trouble. He looked worried when he summoned me to the tiny stern cabin of the Speedy for a council of war. Already there was Guthrie the surgeon and Archie who was now acting lieutenant as Parker was ashore in the hospital recovering from his wounds. Without a word he handed me his written orders to read. After the usual pleasantries and preamble at the start of all formal orders, I saw that we were to proceed to Algiers where we were to represent to the ruler called the Dey the illegality of his cruisers having taken a British vessel. This capture had been in retaliation of the British taking an Algerian vessel running a blockade. We were further to ‘remonstrate with him and warn him of his future conduct impressing the power of the Royal Navy that could be brought to bear.’

  If intimidating an enemy potentate was required then with two full frigates and a ship of the line sharing the harbour with us at the time, the Speedy would appear a poor tool to use.

  “Why are they sending us?” I asked the obvious question.

  “Because they are hoping we won’t come back. Their galleys and prisons are full of European and American sailors that have been captured and now many are getting ransomed. Five years ago the Americans paid the Dey a million US dollars to release 115 sailors that he had held in prison for over ten years.”

  “A million dollars!” I was staggered that the new republic could afford such a sum.

  “It must have been around a fifth of their total government budget and they paid annual tributes after that too. I heard that the Americans are trying to get their privateers organised to make a Navy to protect their shipping as a Navy would be cheaper than paying tributes. But whatever they do now, their earlier generosity has given the Algerians the idea that big money can be made by hostage taking.”

  “But they wouldn’t attack a Royal Navy ship surely?”

  “They might if it looked weak and they thought that they could get away with it. The Navy is stretched blockading the coast of France and Spain. We wouldn’t pay them a million but favours could be done.”

  “You are forgetting who the demands would be sent to” interrupted Guthrie. “Any demands would probably come here and Manley Dixon and Mansfield would be in no rush to respond. They could even claim that the Speedy had been lost at sea and leave us to rot.”

  I couldn’t see that happening. If the Algerians did not get a response from Port Mahon then they would try Gibraltar or elsewhere. Sooner or later our captivity would come to the attention of the Admiralty, although what efforts they would take to secure our release remained doubtful. I could not see them paying a ransom, it would make it open season on British merchants for every Barbary pirate. But the whole Barbary Coast of North Africa was full of pirates and to take them on we would need forces that we could not spare while we were also fighting France and Spain.

  “Can we refuse to go” I asked.

  “Only if we want to be court martialled and disgraced,” replied Cochrane. “No we must go and be strong and assertive representatives of Britain. On no account must we appear weak but we must show the utmost tact and diplomacy.”

  This last phrase hung in the air and I knew that two others around the table were thinking the same thing. If tact and diplomacy were required then Thomas Cochrane was not your man. Oh he was fine with the crew and subordinates, but he had immense pride when dealing with his superiors and seemed oblivious of the offence he caused. Eventually Archie broke the silence.

  “Much as I love you dear brother, tact and diplomacy are not your strong suits.”

  “Wait though,” says Guthrie. “We have a diplomat in our midst with papers signed by William Pitt no less certifying that he is carrying messages for the British Government.”

  “Hold on” says I “Pitt is not Prime Minister anymore and I am just a courier not a diplomat. Look at me, I am not twenty yet, no one is going to believe that I am a diplomat.”

  I had started that day with little other concern than which of Madam Bella’s delightful distractions I would visit that evening, but now like a persistent bailiff, trouble had found me again. We were being asked to face down the most fearsome pirate king in the Mediterranean. Of course I could have refused and jumped ship but having just made my Father proud for the first time in my life, I was damned if I was going to go home in disgrace. More importantly despite the worries of the others, I simply could not believe that any Arab pirate leader would be stupid enough to take on the might of the Royal Navy. They must know that to do so would sooner or later see the visit of our fleets and their destruction. Finally, after all we had been through, I felt a strongly loyalty to the ship and the crew. We all knew that the ship’s cat would make a better diplomat than Cochrane and I could see that using my diplomatic papers was the only ace we had. Cochrane had saved me at Estepona, now I could do him a favour in return, and unlike the duel, this time he would know about it.

  After initially looking a bit hurt Cochrane was suddenly all for the scheme. “We can fig you up to look like a diplomat and as for Pitt no longer being prime minister, they will probably never know and if they have, say that Addington’s government has fallen and Pitt is now back in power. Yes indeed, the Speedy will be far more believable as the conveyance
of a diplomat rather than as a threat with its puny armament. We are turning a disadvantage…”

  “Don’t say it!” the rest of us chorused together in response.

  From then on all was activity, particularly with regards to my attire. My best coat and breeches was sent ashore to be cleaned and pressed in the local laundry. Because we wanted to keep our preparations away from prying eyes at the naval headquarters, which would doubtless stop anything that improved our chances of success, I sought the help of Madam Bella. She and the girls were able to make me a pale blue silk sash to wear over one shoulder and some old and battered ostrich feathers were adapted to make a feather trim to a new cocked hat that was bought for our endeavours. They even used some gold thread to embroider some oak leaves around the lapel of my jacket when it came back from the laundry. Trying out my new full fig in front of them, which was supplemented by my restored and polished rapier, they all agreed that I could pass muster. I just hoped that the Dey would be as easily impressed.

  Work had been underway to smarten the ship too, with the gun ports freshly painted black to stand out against the cream stripe along the hull that was also repainted. All brass was polished and the decks holystoned to a shining white. New flags were bought from the ship’s stores and Cochrane and Archie both had their best uniforms laundered and any holes patched. The boat crew were given fresh matching shirts and trousers that would not have looked out of place on an admiral’s barge and the longboat was given a new coat of white paint.

  We set sail late in the afternoon on the day after the orders were received and headed almost due south. After an unremarkable four day voyage with favourable winds we arrived off Algiers. We had been intercepted the previous day by two smaller and faster Algerian vessels, one of which had sped on ahead to warn of our arrival while the other stayed to shadow us out of range. Finally thee coast of North Africa appeared and then we could make out a bay and the city of Algiers. We moved slowly towards the anchorage which was crowded with a forest of masts. Through the middle of it stretched a stone built jetty to a small island in the bay where there was a light house on top of a fortress with three tiers of guns guarding the entrance. Looking around there was every type of vessel from Arab built dhows, lateen rigged ships and oared gun boats to what looked like captured ships of European build. One of them was probably the captured British merchantmen but it was impossible identify which. We considered whether to fire some guns in salute to the Dey and it was a lengthy debate. Did a Dey warrant the 21 gun salute of a monarch and how common were gun salutes in Algiers? With at least two other fortresses we could see surrounding the anchorage and likely to have their guns trained on us and swarms of boats all around us, would they think we were attacking? In the end we decided to dip the flag in salute and leave our guns loaded and ready just in case.

  To the amusement of the crew I prowled around the deck in my new finery trying to look important as I knew we would be being watched from both the surrounding ships and the shore.

  A launch weaved through the harbour traffic directly towards us, in the stern sat a turbaned grandee in richly decorated clothes, contrasting strongly with the tattered rags of the oarsmen who I realised must be slaves. They hooked on to our chains and the turbaned fellow sprang lightly up the side of the ship and onto the deck with the practised ease of a seaman. He paused to cast a very appraising eye around the deck before hawking and spitting on our spotless planking. “Why are you here?” he asked imperiously.

  “We have an emissary from His Britannic Majesty’s Government with a message for the Dey” said Cochrane, gesturing at where I stood looking as imperious as possible at the stern rail.

  The visitor looked at me and gave a grunt of contempt. “Anchor there” he commanded, pointing to a spot in the centre of the harbour that must have been comfortably in the range of at least fifty shore guns from the citadel and surrounding forts. Without any further comment the stranger dropped back in his launch and was rowed away.

  With a chill I realised that we were now well past the point where we could go back. I had been shocked at the contempt shown to us by our visitor and began to wonder if my earlier confidence that the Dey would not dare to offend the British had been misplaced. We moved to our anchorage in virtual silence and when the anchor was let go the running of the chain and hawser sounded ominous. I would be damn glad when we weighed that anchor again. I remember making a promise to myself, if we got out of here without harm then I would make my way back to England. I should have made enough prize money especially with the Gamo and sooner or later Cochrane’s luck must run out.

  We were close inshore now and a swarm of hawker’s bumboats crowded around selling fruit, flatbreads, decorated knives and all manner of other goods. One swarthy native was even trying to sell the services of an incredibly fat woman who was sitting at the front of his craft and waving demurely at the crew. They would never get her through a gun port thinks I, it would take six men to haul her on deck, not that she was worth the effort.

  As I surveyed the scene I was conscious of other eyes on me and so I borrowed a telescope, rested in it the ratlines and studied the shore. The town was dominated by a huge fortress and citadel on some high ground near the harbour. Walls ran from that around the town as far as I could see and at three other points around the harbour there were heavy gun emplacements where large gun muzzles could be seen poking out of embrasures. In short it was clear that we would not be leaving here unless the Dey was happy to see us go. I scanned the harbour front and the first thing to cross the lens was a coffle of chained slaves being driven along. Each was carrying a large sack wrapped bundle over their shoulders. Some were definitely European in origin, I saw ginger hair and blond amongst the group. My lens rested on a huge blonde haired man who must once have been the size of Eriksson. Now he was almost skeletally thin, but what shocked me most was his face. It was completely expressionless, he was a broken man and even when one of the overseers lashed at him he barely flinched. If they could do that to a man like Eriksson, what could they do to the rest of us?

  We had another visitor that afternoon and to my surprise it was an American. James Leander Cathcart was only thirty three when I met him but already he had led an extraordinary life. He had been born in Ireland, emigrated to America at the age of eight and by the age of twelve was serving as a midshipman on an American privateer during the revolutionary war. He was captured by the British and was held on a prison hulk until he escaped after a three year internment in 1782, still only aged 15. When he was eighteen he was captured by Barbary pirates from Algiers on an American ship bound for Spain and was a slave in Algiers for eleven years. During this time by a mixture of good luck and cunning he was able to work his way up to eventually becoming a chief clerk to the Dey and helped negotiate the release of himself and his fellow American prisoners for the huge million dollar settlement. After such an experience wild horses would not have been able to drag me back to this forsaken coast but here he was acting as an agent for the American government in negotiating with the Barbary States.

  Cathcart climbed aboard looking a mixture of European and Arab. I suppose this helped him move freely in both worlds while also looking very comfortable in the heat, especially compared to me in my thick woollen uniform. He wore a European shirt and waistcoat but baggy Arab pantaloons and comfortable looking Arab slippers. Cochrane welcomed the stranger aboard and we retired to the shade of the tiny main cabin. Cochrane apologised for the small confines of the room but Cathcart just laughed “Why sir this cabin is a palace compared to many of the places I have stayed in.” He then went on to talk about some of his extraordinary captivity in Algiers. After some weeks of rough usage by his captors he had been purchased in the slave market by the Dey for use the palace gardens. There he had looked after wild animals such as lions and leopards and while he had been half starved he was not as badly beaten as many of the other slaves in Algiers. He described how while hungry they had to tend the Dey’s fruit trees and vi
nes but if they were caught eating the fruit they received a severe beating on the soles of their feet called a bastonading. With so many nerve endings on the soles of a foot the pain was intense and could leave a man crippled. Cathcart spoke from experience on the pain as he had been bastonaded several times and once lost several toenails in the punishment.

  Cochrane asked “is it true your government paid a million dollars for the release of the American prisoners?”

  “Aye, I had to help with the negotiations and the Dey’s opening demand was two and a half million dollars plus two fully equipped frigates. The talks took years and by then we had lost a good number to plague and other diseases.”

  “Is there still plague in Algiers?” I asked. This was a question that had worried us all about our destination as we knew it had been rife six months ago

  “Oh it comes and goes but it is not so bad at the minute. So you need an interview with the Dey?”

  We explained our mission and Cathcart listened quietly and then explained the political situation in Algiers. “The old Dey I served is now dead. A man called Mustapha Ali was voted to be the new Dey but he preferred to be the Hasnagi or Prime Minister. The old Hasnagi was promoted to be Dey but the real power is with Mustapha Ali, who is at the moment friendly to us. He is a good man and is not as corrupt as the other officials. That does not mean that he will release the British sailors, they were taken in retaliation for the capture of an Algerian vessel. The best that you can hope for is an exchange of prisoners in due course. But in the meantime your visit will show that they have not been forgotten and might get them better treatment.”