The cockpit fell silent as everyone snapped to attention, and Bliven saw Preble’s face far above him, fixed as granite. “Well?” he asked Cutbush quietly. “How is he?”
“He is a lucky young man, sir. The wound extends almost the width of the belly, it cut through the skin and grazed the flesh. But the belly wall was not penetrated—no guts were exposed. I will cleanse the wound, and sew him up.”
Cutbush looked down at Bliven. “That will hurt, I fear.” Bliven nodded.
“But with luck and no infection, sir, he will mend.”
At those words Bliven resolved to withstand any pain without complaint, as long as Cutbush would vouchsafe him his life. “Sir?” he asked weakly.
Preble leaned down, stiffly, but closer. “Yes?”
“Did we save our man?”
“Yes, he is safely aboard. Well done.”
“Was anyone else hurt?”
Cutbush interposed himself. “A few cuts and bruises, and bumps on the head. You were the most seriously injured. And now, Captain, if you will excuse us, I must finish.”
“Of course, of course.” Preble looked down again at Bliven, who knew he would show no emotion in front of the men, and then the captain looked about the flickering light of the cockpit. “Who was the senior man present at this altercation?”
Bliven heard general agreement that it must have been the master’s mate, a man named Richardson. “Well,” Preble said wearily, “come give me a report of what happened while it is fresh on your mind.”
Bliven heard their footfalls recede even as his belly tightened and twisted against another burning wash of alcohol.
“Do you know what this is?” Cutbush’s soft voice was right by his ear.
Bliven opened his eyes and saw a new coin, a long-haired figure of Liberty with a fat, barely draped pair of breasts. “A dollar,” he answered.
“Well, you are going to bite down on this soft silver dollar while I sew your belly together. If you can lie still, and not flinch and make me miss a stitch, the dollar is yours.”
“I shall have a scar, I suppose.”
Cutbush nodded. “Like Caesar’s wife. Now, bite down.” Cutbush continued to soothe him as he worked surely and swiftly. “Now, unless I miss my guess, you are already wondering whether it will make a better impression on your sweetheart, whether to have me write her a letter telling her you are wounded, so as to let her sympathy grow during the weeks it will take us to get home, or whether your case would be better advanced by letting her discover it in a shock, once you arrive. If you want me to write her, I can make out that your wound is more dangerous than it is to magnify the result.”
Bliven made a small vocalization, but Cutbush stopped him. “Don’t speak, just bite down. And you should think about what stories the newspapers might dream up, inflating their subscriptions by exaggerating your exploits. Perhaps you took on a whole British ship of the line, or the whole fleet, single-handed. And the celebrity in your hometown? Everyone will want to buy you a drink.”
Forbidden to speak, Bliven listened to Cutbush’s soft wit-filled monologue, concentrating on that instead of the wicked needle sticks, and the fine silk thread that felt rough as twine pulling through the holes in his skin. Perhaps Cutbush was, in his own way, telling him about life, that it is a duality, that mirth must come with pain, joy with sadness, wisdom with loss.
“Oh, and the politicians. Your winning this war will surely make a senator or two, perhaps even a president. Maybe it will even be you. There. Now, give me the coin back.” He pulled it from Bliven’s mouth. “Well, you won’t want to spend this—you’ll want to keep it and show your grandchildren.” He inspected the deep tooth marks in the amply bosomed Liberty. “But heavens, I hope you never bite this hard on anyone else’s titties.”
Bliven exploded with laughter but grabbed his belly. “Ow! Oh, Jesus, ow!” Cutbush blotted the sweat from his brow, affecting not to notice that he also wiped away the tears that traced down from the corners of Bliven’s eyes.
“May I have some water, Doctor?”
“Of course.” Cutbush held Bliven’s head up until he had gulped his fill. He bound the wound tightly with fresh bandages wrapped completely around his middle, then had several men transfer him to a freshly sheeted bed with a pillow.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, I thank you.”
Cutbush nodded. “I will sit up with you. You sleep now, you will live to fight another day.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Of all my books, The Shores of Tripoli may, at the end of the day, have to be logged in as my favorite, first for the warm associations made or renewed during its creation. I tender my deep thanks to its acquiring editor, Nita Taublib, to whom I credit the initial idea of recognizing that American letters had no early naval hero to compare with Britain’s Horatio Hornblower or Lucky Jack Aubrey, and for bringing me on board after reading my other historical novels and believing I might be a suitable author for the Putnam naval series. How lucky could I get that my agent, Jim Hornfischer, is himself also a well-known, front-rank naval historian, and was set afire with the possibilities of the series? I thank Ivan Held, president of G. P. Putnam’s Sons, for maintaining the project during changes within the company, and for handing it off to Christine Pepe, Putnam’s executive editor, of whom I came to stand in awe at her gift for making the best suggestions with the lightest touch, and for giving the book a full edit not just once but a second time, after requesting that I expand certain parts of the narrative. The entire crew at Putnam, from the copyeditor to the designer to the artist, has been the surest and most professional I have worked with.
Authors of historical novels must make a strategic decision with each book—how close or far from historical fact to steer in order to best serve the story. As the author of numerous history books, I have always maintained that real historical people offer the best stories, and The Shores of Tripoli threw down the gauntlet to prove that theory. Therefore I steered the story as close to fact as my Lieutenant Bandy steered the Constitution to the whirlpool in the Strait of Messina. The main characters, the Putnams, Bandy, and the Marshes, are fictitious. With very few exceptions whom I needed, as they say, for dramatic purposes, everyone else actually lived: all of the captains and commodores with whom Putnam served, General Eaton and Tobias Lear, Dr. Cutbush, King Ferdinand and Queen Maria Carolina of Naples, Mustapha VI and Hamet Pasha, and many others—all were a thrill to research and are presented as close to their true selves as the needs of the story would allow.
Similarly, the story’s background is as authentic as I could make it. Sarah Pierce’s School for Girls and Tapping Reeve’s law school were indeed thriving institutions in the Litchfield of 1800. John C. Calhoun was a student there, and Lyman Beecher did cross Long Island Sound to preach there. The Putnam family did indeed introduce Vermont Russet apples to Connecticut. The ruins of Cyrene are indeed a day’s ride from Derna; their ancient economy was indeed based on an aphrodisiac/abortifacient herb. And so on. Rather than tell a story and hang history on it like Christmas ornaments, my approach was to line up the history and weave a story through it. As a writer, I have never had so much fun in my life. And so I thank those long-dead people, who are as alive and vivid to me as my own friends.
I also thank my own cadre of readers for wading into the manuscript with an eye for continuity, errors, and loose threads: Craig Eiland, Evan Yeakel, Robin Sommers, Brent Bliven, and Jim Kunetka. Any errors that got by them must be so obscure that I am the only one who must bear the responsibility.
GLOSSARY
Ballast—Deadweight carried in a ship’s hold to keep her stable in the water.
Barbary states—Semi-independent states of the Mediterranean coast of Africa, from west to east Morocco, Algiers, Tunis, and Tripoli; nominally loyal to the Ottoman Empire and the sultan in Constantinople, but in reality exercising considerable au
tonomy of policy.
Bashaw—Pasha, or bey, title of the rulers of Tunis and Tripoli, nominally inferior in rank to the dey in Algiers but functionally independent.
Berth deck—On a vessel the size of a frigate, the third deck, beneath the spar and gun decks, containing living space for the crew.
Biscuit—Dietary staple of a ship’s enlisted crew, made of flour, water, and salt, baked twice to rock hardness, eaten by breaking it up and soaking in tea or water. Not called “hardtack” until the Civil War era.
Bosun—Contraction of “boatswain,” the warrant officer charged with supervising operations of the deck crew.
Bow—Pertaining to the front end of a ship.
Bowsprit—Spar projecting forward from the bow, used to attach the staysail and jibs.
Brig—Smaller class of sailing warship, mounting approximately sixteen to twenty-two guns; among merchant ships, a square-rigged merchantman of up to three hundred tons.
Camboose—The stove in the galley on which the crew’s food is prepared.
Cockpit—Station of a ship’s surgeon when treating those wounded in battle, typically located lower down in the ship than the regular sick bay, to be more insulated from the fighting.
Cutter—The larger of a ship’s boats, used for transporting larger numbers of men.
Dey—Title of the ruler of Algiers.
Epaulette—Shoulder insignia of an officer’s rank.
Fighting top—Platform attached to a mast above the lowest course of sail, large enough to hold several marksmen to snipe at an enemy’s crew, especially officers, during battle.
Frigate—Second-largest class of sailing warship, after ships of the line, typically mounting twenty-eight to thirty-eight guns. American heavy frigates were rated to mount forty-four guns but usually carried many more, and were far more robust than their European counterparts.
Galley—That portion of the berth deck set aside to prepare food for the crew.
Gun deck—On larger sailing warships, a deck separate from the spar or berth decks devoted to operating the main battery of guns. Ships of the line had two or three gun decks; frigates had one main gun deck but with a varying assortment of guns mounted topside.
Guns—Naval cannons, typically six-, nine-, twelve-, eighteen-, twenty-four-, and thirty-two-pounders, the number being the weight in pounds of the ball fired.
Haul down—The act of pulling a ship when in port over onto her side so that part of the hull normally underwater can be cleaned.
Head—That part of a ship used as a toilet, typically located farthest forward, on either side of the bowsprit.
Hogging—The tendency of a poorly designed ship to be too buoyant amidships, with the bow and stern pulling lower in the water, bending and eventually breaking the keel.
Hold—The lowest portion of a sailing ship, where was stored the heaviest cargo, such as water, and ballast to keep the ship from becoming top-heavy.
Jambia—A type of curved, broad-bladed dagger favored in south Arabia and the Horn of Africa, the style traditionally being heraldic to a particular tribe.
Jibs—Staysails that run from the foremast out to the bowsprit. On a large ship they are, in succession, the staysail, jib, and flying jib.
Jolly boat—The smallest of boats carried by a ship, for ferrying crewmen in a port.
Keel—The central backbone of a ship’s hull, to which the ribs are attached; the first part to be laid down and about which the construction centers.
Kentledge—Scrap iron used as ballast.
Lateen rigging—Triangular sails carried on yards mounted at an angle on the mast, making it easier to sail in a direction other than straight before the wind; probably of Roman origin, adopted by Arab mariners.
Linstock—Type of slow-burning fuse put to a gun’s touch hole to fire its cartridge; informally called “matches.”
Magazine—A storage compartment for gunpowder.
Mainsails—Or “courses,” the lowest set and largest of the sails on a sailing vessel.
Mole—Lengthy breakwater meant to shelter a harbor.
Navigation—The art of pinpointing one’s location at sea and charting a course that will arrive at the desired destination.
Orlop deck—The lowest deck on a sailing ship large enough to have three or more decks, typically used for storing cables.
Plum duff—A type of pudding made of grease, flour, and raisins, served as a very occasional treat to sailors.
Polacca—Or polacre, a sailing ship common in the Mediterranean and favored by Barbary pirates, typically lateen-rigged on the foremast, which was often leaned forward so as not to interfere with the square-rigged mainmast; the mizzenmast might bear a square topsail over a lateen mainsail.
Port—Pertaining to the left side of the ship, as in “a turn to port,” or “located port side”; also, a town or city that engages in maritime commerce.
Quarterdeck—The aft portion of the main deck from where a ship is commanded and steered.
Rigging—The configuration of a ship’s sails, differing with each type of vessel.
Royals—The fourth-highest set of sails on frigates and ships of the line.
Schooner—The smallest class of sailing warship, mounting ten or twelve guns, typically with two masts, mainsails rigged fore-and-aft, with perhaps square rigging in the topsails.
Scimitar—A type of sword, of Moorish manufacture, with a broad, curving blade.
Sextant—A navigational instrument for sighting the angle of the sun above the horizon at a given time, used for determining latitude.
Ship of the line—The largest design of sailing warship; divided into classes, a third-rate of seventy-four guns typically mounted them on two gun decks, whereas a second-rate of more than eighty guns, and a first-rate of one hundred to one hundred twenty, had three gun decks.
Skysails—The fifth and highest set of sails on a ship of the line.
Sloop—More technically in this era, sloop-of-war, the smallest class of gun-bearing sailing warships, undifferentiated by rigging, though often described by their specific type or function (schooner, gunboat, bomb scow), they were typically listed as sloops.
Spars—Horizontal timbers on which the sails are hoisted up the masts.
Speaking trumpet—A brass cone used to amplify the voice in hailing ship to ship.
Starboard—Pertaining to the right side of the ship, as in “a turn to starboard” or “located starboard side.”
Staysails—Triangular fore-and-aft rigged sails between the masts, which aid in more effective tacking; named for the mast and section from which they descend, as in “main topgallant staysail.”
Steep tank—A large barrel in which salt meat is soaked in freshwater to remove the salt and render it edible, typically requiring about four changes of water.
Stern—Pertaining to the rear of a ship.
Studding sails—Typically pronounced “stuns’ls,” sails hoisted on temporary extensions of the spars to gain extra speed, especially in a light wind.
Tacking—A sailing maneuver in which a ship turns her bow alternately to the port and starboard of a headwind, allowing her to sail more or less into the wind.
Tompion—A plug inserted into a cannon’s mouth to keep the inside of the barrel clean and dry when not in use.
Topgallants—The third-highest set of sails on a sailing vessel.
Topsails—The second-highest set of sails on a sailing vessel.
Xebec—A Mediterranean sailing ship typically used for piracy; similar to the polacca but smaller, with the addition of oars to allow propulsion in a calm.
Weather gage—The advantageous position of a ship in being upwind of the enemy.
FURTHER READING ON THE BARBARY WAR AND THE EARLY U.S. NAVY
Interest in the Barbary War has exploded in the past decade, as scholar
s assess its relevance to the United States’ current combat in the same region. The following general titles will be found of interest. I include a biography of Commodore Edward Preble because he died soon after these events. Biographies of other historical participants, such as Bainbridge and Decatur, will accompany the second volume in this series. I particularly commend Fenimore Cooper’s 1839 history of the navy. It may be a surprise to learn that this famous early American author of The Last of the Mohicans was also a lucid and compelling historian.
Cooper, James Fenimore. The History of the Navy of the United States of America. Lea & Blanchard, 1839.
Kilmeade, Brian, and Don Yaeger. Thomas Jefferson and the Tripoli Pirates: The Forgotten War That Changed American History. Sentinel, 2015.
McKee, Christopher. Edward Preble: A Naval Biography, 1761–1807. Naval Institute Press, 1996.
Office of Naval Records and Library, Navy Department. Naval Documents Related to the United States Wars with the Barbary Powers . . . Naval Operations Including Diplomatic Background. U.S. Government Printing Office, 1939–44.
Toll, Ian W. Six Frigates: The Epic History of the Founding of the U.S. Navy. W. W. Norton, 2006.
Tucker, Glenn. Dawn Like Thunder: The Barbary Wars and the Birth of the U.S. Navy. Bobbs-Merrill, 1963.
Wheelan, Joseph. Jefferson’s War: America’s First War on Terror, 1801–1805. Carroll & Graf, 2003.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James L. Haley is an award-winning author of numerous books on Native American, Texas, and Western history, as well as historical and contemporary fiction. His two biographies, Sam Houston (2002) and Wolf: The Lives of Jack London (2010), each won the Spur Award from the Western Writers of America. Passionate Nation: The Epic History of Texas (2006) won the Fehrenbach Award of the Texas Historical Commission. His most recent nonfiction is Captive Paradise: A History of Hawaii (2014).
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