Flashman and the Seawolf

by Robert Brightwell

  This was good news but Cathcart went on. “The new Dey will not take kindly to warnings about piracy. The Algerians have been living on piracy and kidnapping for generations, it is their way of life. He relies on pirates for his support and cannot afford to do anything to stop them. You must treat him with respect, if he feels insulted in front of the court he will have no choice but to retaliate to save face. I can speak to Mustapha Ali and help to arrange an interview with the Dey if you want my help.”

  “Your help would be much appreciated” says Cochrane. “I am grateful given you have cause to hold ill will to Britain as a result of your past associations with us.”

  Cathcart laughed. “I have spent nearly half my life in captivity. But for the years I was in the stinking British prison hulk, I was at least treated like a man and an honourable prisoner of war. Here I was treated like an animal. Of the twenty one men I was captured with, nine died of disease, including one who went mad. I will do whatever I can to help those poor wretches whatever their nationality.”

  Cathcart departed and we hoped to get an interview the next day but instead every day we got a message saying that the Dey was unable to see us but would hopefully see us the next day. We rigged a sail over the mizzen yard to provide shade over the quarter deck but there was little breeze and it was baking hot as we sat around waiting on the Dey’s pleasure. Several of the crew bought powerful arrack spirit from the hawking boats and when Cochrane found two of them drunk to insensibility it was the only time I saw him threaten a flogging. The heat and the pressure of the waiting were getting to him. After six days Cathcart finally wrote to confirm that the interview would be that afternoon. His note said that he would come and escort us and warned us not to go ashore without him.

  Just after midday Cathcart appeared again, this time in a larger and more impressive launch and accompanied by a liveried servant of the Dey. Cochrane and I were ready and waiting, already sweating profusely in our full uniforms. As we climbed up the steps of the dock from the boat a large crowd awaited us and while we could not understand them it was clear that they were hostile. They started shouting, waving sticks and some stones were even thrown but the Dey’s guards were on hand and laid into them with whips to push them back. The guards closed around us and we were marched off through the streets.

  “They are taking us past the prison of the galley slaves” warned Cathcart quietly. They are trying to intimidate you. Do not show pity to the prisoners or they will beat them harshly to demonstrate their power over them.”

  You could smell the prison before we saw it, the stench was appalling but the reason only became clear as we rounded the corner. It was a big stone two story building, with what looked like some better rooms on the first floor. But at ground level there were some dark and dingy taverns for guards along one side but then some long barred rooms that were full of prisoners looking painfully thin and dressed in rags. As soon as they saw us a pitiful wailing began with shouts for help in English, French and Spanish that I could hear and a lot of other languages I did not understand. I glanced at them but mindful of Cathcart’s warning I tried to show no emotion and kept my eyes ahead. As we walked around the corner of the prison building we saw that it also accommodated a row of cages that contained more of the Dey’s menagerie, I counted four lions and two tigers lying asleep. They were lying on more straw than the prisoners enjoyed and had lumps of meat in some of the cages. I saw twenty or thirty rats feeding on the meat and running between the cages and the prisoner’s barracks which were just separated from the creatures by more iron bars. The combination of smells from human and animal dung left in the heat with rotting meat and all the flies and rats was enough to make you gag and both Cochrane and I pulled handkerchiefs from our pockets to cover our mouths and noses.

  Before we could move on we were held back by our guards as a group of prisoners were driven across the street in front of us. Most had the lost look of the blond giant I had seen a few days ago but one man seeing our uniforms called out in English “I am Pierre Auclair, I was in the French legation here, I beg you for pity’s sake to get word that I am here to the French...”

  He was interrupted by the swinging sticks of the guards who sent his fellows cringing into a corner of the yard but Auclair was knocked down by the guards and dragged into the centre of the yard.

  “I fear you are about to witness a bastinarding” said Cathcart quietly. “Don’t interfere or you will just make things worse.” A stout eight foot pole was brought into the yard by one of the guards and I could see that there were two ropes attached to its middle. As soon as he saw it Auclair began raving in French but the guards grabbed his feet and began tying his ankles tightly to the pole, so that it rested above his insteps. Then two of the guards took then ends of the pole and hauled it up to chest height leaving Auclair half upside down and with the soles of his feet pointing at the sky. Two more guards stepped forward now with canes and began to take turns in lashing the soles of Auclair’s feet as hard as they could. The man was screaming in agony and I looked at Cathcart who was wincing as the blows landed as he must have remembered taking this punishment himself.

  After a few moments Cathcart shouted angrily to one of our guards and reluctantly they began to push on past the group still punishing Auclair. I discovered later that a hundred lashes was a typical amount but feet could be left bleeding and crippled lumps of flesh with as many as five hundred lashes.

  As we walked past the building next to the prison, which turned out to be a hospital one more horror awaited us as from one the ground floor windows an arm shot out of some bars and a woman’s voice called out in Spanish “I am Maria di Silva from Colares, Portugal. Please tell me you have come to rescue me. Kill me or rescue me but please God do not leave me alive here another day.”

  I was shocked and turned to Cathcart “They have women prisoners here too?”

  “Oh yes, far fewer than men but when they capture women prisoners on ships then they are held for ransom or some are sold as wives or concubines. They are not worked as slave labour, but as you can imagine are used in other ways.”

  I looked at the poor creature in the window, I could just make out a shadowed face and dark hair in the gloom but then one of the guards lashed his whip at the window and the woman screamed and the arm disappeared.

  “Could we get her out?” I asked.

  “If she is pretty then her price will be tens of thousands of dollars. Do you have such an amount? You should focus your mind on getting yourself out Mr Flashman” said Cathcart which brought me up sharp to the danger we were in.

  After a few further minutes walking down those hellish streets, with beggars yelling entreaties and pirates shouting abuse through the cordon made by our guards, we eventually reached the gates of the citadel and the palace beyond. Suddenly we left the noise of the streets behind and found ourselves in a pleasant courtyard offering peace and tranquillity with a crystal clear fountain in its centre. We were not allowed to rest there though, but led through a door guarded by two huge guards with polished axes over their shoulders into a large cool anteroom. It was beautifully decorated with tiled mosaic patterns over the walls and a high domed ceiling. In the middle of the room were low stools and a table and Cathcart gestured for us to sit while a servant came forward with cups of thick sweet coffee. It was quite refreshing and when I finished my cup it was instantly refilled. Cathcart explained that the coffee pourer, called a caffeegie would normally fill my cup three times and when I had finished I should leave some coins in the cup. The money is then passed to the Dey who usually makes a small addition and then divides it twice a year among the captives for their support. All visitors are expected to make donations according to their rank and the cups were of solid gold and inlaid with jewels to show off the wealth of the Dey and encourage generosity. I reached into my purse and found I had three of the large gold coins left from the money Wickham had given me. Thinking of the poor wretches we had seen on the way here I dropped all of th
em into my cup. The caffeegie smiled and took the tray away and we were left on our own.

  Half an hour passed while Cathcart told us of palace life in his time here and then a chamberlain came for us and led us down a gallery lined with more guards armed with either polished axes or huge scimitars, both types of weapon seeming to be the size used by an executioner rather than a soldier. Each of the men eyed us with an insolent look as we passed and a few hefted their weapons as though they would relish the opportunity to test them on our necks. At the end of the gallery huge doors were thrown open and we entered the Dey’s audience chamber.

  The room was half filled with courtiers in robes and turbans. Conversation stopped as we walked in and as people turned to stare at us the looks we got were decidedly unfriendly. Two more guards came up alongside us and marched us towards a large ornately dressed man sitting cross legged on an elevated couch at the far end of the room. At three different points on the journey the guards growled something at us and Cathcart told us to salaam to the Dey as he had shown us how to do previously. The contrast between the Dey and his courtiers was striking. The courtiers were mostly lean, hard faced men, with daggers and swords in their belts and they glared at us as though they would cut our throats without a second thought. The Dey on the other hand had his plump frame covered in rich silks and cloth of gold. When I got closer I could see that he was also wearing make up with some rouge and black lines around his eyes. On the floor in front of his stool sat two young boys naked but for some kind of gauzy pantaloons and with trays of sweet meets and wine that they could pass up to their ruler. With disgust I noticed that the boys were also wearing makeup, matching that of the Dey.

  We came to a halt before this exquisite like schoolboys before the headmaster. He spoke something in Arabic to an interpreter standing nearby who barked rudely at us ”what do you want?”

  Well this was it, this was my moment to play the diplomat. I needed to impress him with the power of Britain but also not push too hard to avoid causing too much offence. I brought myself up to my full height and withdraw from my pocket the paper confirming I was a diplomatic courier signed by Pitt. “I am a messenger from the Prime Minister of King George the third of Great Britain and Ireland” I said self importantly as the translator loudly converted my words for the Dey and the surrounding courtiers. “He has instructed me to…”

  The translator interrupted at the prompting of the Dey “We hear your king has gone mad.”

  The courtiers who had heard the Dey instruct the translator laughed. I did not want to get into a debate on my monarch’s sanity and so I pressed on. “He has recovered and both my King and Prime Minister were perfectly sane when they asked me to very respectfully point out that the recent capture of a British vessel by Algerian ships was not entirely in accordance with the law. I paused to allow the translator to catch up but saw the Dey’s face darken as he heard the final words. I quickly hurried on “I am sure that this must have been some misunderstanding or oversight…”

  The Dey was talking to his interpreter again while glaring at us. His voice rising to a shout and there was no mistaking his anger or that of his courtiers who were also starting to raise their voices at us. The interpreter was speaking again “The Dey says how dare you speak to him of the law when your country has taken an Algerian ship also illegally. The Dey was still talking and the translator hurried on. “He says that he should put you and your crew in the darkest prison until our vessel is freed and returned with our crewmen.” Several of the courtiers were cheering this suggestion and one was even waving a fist at us. I looked around the room and only saw hostile faces in the crowd. The guards with those massive axes and swords were starting to move forward in anticipation of being required. I looked round at Cathcart seeking help but he just mouthed ‘keep calm’ at me and glanced at someone over my shoulder.

  Suddenly the noise fell away as someone stepped forward from the side of the room. He was an urbane looking man with a closed cropped beard and simple but elegant robes. He moved with a sense of quiet confidence and power and from the way that those around us, even the Dey, fell silent, I guessed that this was Mustapha Ali, the Prime Minister. He surprised me by speaking English with the translator now working for the benefit of the Dey and the audience.

  “We would put you into our prisons as his Highness says but for the fact that we respect the British government. I am sure the capture of our vessel was also a misunderstanding or oversight and that it will be released. Is that not correct Ambassador Flashman?”

  I nodded eagerly. “Absolutely, we just need to sort out the confusion and return both ships and crews to their rightful owners.”

  The Prime Minister paused and looked at us both with a smile of mild amusement playing across his face.

  “I find it curious that you Captain Cochrane were chosen to help reprimand any nation for an act of piracy.” He walked to the audience and touched a man on the shoulder. “This man, Hassan is one of our best captains and he has taken four ships in the last year and this man next to him has taken just one but a large Portuguese merchant ship. Tell me Captain Cochrane, how many ships have you captured with your little ship in the harbour?”

  Cochrane paused not sure if telling the truth would save or condemn us, but like me he suspected that this wily newcomer already had a good idea of the answer and so he answered honestly. “I think it is around forty five ships.” There were gasps of amazement when this number was translated.

  “And tell me Captain were any of these ships from the port of Algiers.”

  “No they were all French or Spanish boats.” Again there was a murmur from the audience, who were beginning to realise that there was a master of their art in their midst.

  The Prime Minister smiled again and continued. “And your most recent capture Captain, I believe it was the Spanish Xebec Class frigate, the Gamo, of 32 guns which you also captured with that little brig in the bay is that correct?” The Prime Minister seemed remarkably well informed and again there seemed little point in denying it.

  “Aye that is so, with fifty men against a crew of three hundred and twenty.” Cochrane could not help crowing about the achievement and it gave the opportunity to warn about the fighting skills of his men. “I have a full crew of one hundred at the moment” he added. Again the translation caused murmurs of astonishment from the audience.

  “Quite so Captain. Do you wonder why I know so much about your prize?” As we did not reply, he continued. “It is because your Admiral’s office has just sold it to us.”

  Well I have been bandy smacked with astonishment quite a few times in my life but to discover that the people who had sent us to remonstrate with a pirate kingdom had at the same time sold them a new warship to help in their piratical endeavours was literally unbelievable. But the Prime Minister has more shocks in store yet.

  Cochrane was also clearly struggling to comprehend the situation. “Let me be sure I understand you sir. You are telling me that while I have been sent here to discuss, er recent events, my superiors have sold you a Spanish Frigate as a prize?” His voice was tightening in anger and I could tell that he was on the verge of exploding with rage.

  The Prime Minister now looked almost apologetic. “That is the case. Your Admiral’s office also warned us in advance that you would be visiting with unwelcome news and even made a point of hinting that you would not be greatly missed. They then sold us the Gamo for just five hundred pounds as though they were expecting some sort of favour in return.”

  “Five hundred pounds” whispered Cochrane in disbelief. He had been hoping to get a prize value of twenty times that amount.

  “They wanted you to hold us as hostages… or kill us?” says I getting to the more pertinent point. My God I knew Cochrane was unpopular but this was ridiculous. “It must have been Mansfield,” I muttered to Cochrane.

  He was reaching the same conclusion for he suddenly exploded. “That spavined, spineless cocksucking treacherous bastard. Gives my prize a
way and then plots to get me killed. I’ll rip his balls off with my bare hands, I’ll tear the lying tongue out of his head, I’ll… I’ll kill the little fucker.” There are few men more eloquent than a cheated Scotsman.

  The Prime Minister waved away the guards that had rushed forward not understanding the tirade and thinking that he was threatening the Prime Minister or the Dey. He smiled again as he continued “with such a prospect in mind Captain, you will be pleased to hear that we do not intend to fulfil their expectations of us and have you kidnapped or murdered. I received word this morning that the Gamo is on her way. I wanted to have this reassurance before we met.”

  My mind was spinning. I had been so angry at Mansfield that it had not occurred to me that we would be kidnapped or murdered after the Prime Minister had divulged the plot. While Cochrane had raged a cold fury had built up in me. How dare some bloody clerk play games with our lives like this? Who did he think he was and more importantly how I could we pay him back? Revenge is a dish best served cold and I was racking my brains for a solution. “A letter of thanks.”

  They turned to look at me in puzzlement and I realised that I had said it out loud. “Can I suggest sir,” I said “that you send a letter of thanks to our Admiral? I would however respectfully recommend that it would be best sent directly to Admiral Keith in the Bay of Aboukir, off the coast of Egypt, where he is with his fleet. It would be particularly helpful to spell out how exceptionally generous he has been in forgoing virtually all of his share of prize money and please do also thank him for his warning of our arrival.”

  The Prime Minister laughed. “I can see how this would pay back your er ‘spavined friend’, but how would it benefit me?”

  “If you inform his Lordship that his generosity has prompted you to agree to an exchange of the Algerian ship and crew for the British ship and crew, then he will take you up on it to get some face saving benefit from his unintended largesse.” I was not sure of the value of the Algerian crew and ship compared to ours but surely with a frigate thrown into the balance, the Prime Minister would find the proposal acceptable.