With a lot of mock despair, the men piled into the boats and rowed back to the sloop. Whatever they might say, this last game was better fun than shifting cargo. Their morale had risen since the rocking attempt had begun. The boat returned and a sling from the yard-arm rigged to sway the round shot aboard. Then the crew reassembled on the quarterdeck, each man loaded with 24 pounds dead weight. The load was too much for two of the boys, whose load was halved, Delancey taking a full load himself.
“Once more!” he shouted. “One—two—three—GO!” This time he ran with the rest, arriving very short of breath on the forecastle. “GO!” he shouted again and found himself on the quarterdeck with his lungs about to burst. Setting an example was all very well but he felt that he had gone too far. . . . His next “GO!” was in more of a conversational tone, and the one after that was no more than a whisper. By the fourth rush, this time aft, he had given up all hope of success.
Then, quite suddenly, it happened. The deck heaved beneath his feet, the whole ship wobbled and shuddered and everyone knew that she was afloat. There were spontaneous cheers, which ended only when Delancey had breath enough to order the manning of the boats.
The Venturer was pulled stern-first off the stonework by which she had been trapped. Once she was in deep water her anchor was dropped and a fothered sail pulled over the place where the leak had been found. The men were too exhausted to do more, so Delancey thanked them and announced the splicing of the mainbrace. The pumps had to be kept going and the boats had to row guard, but the crisis was over and most people could sleep.
There was silence ashore and no native craft so much as put to sea. Delancey invited his officers and Dr Rathbone to join him in a glass of wine. They drank his health with words of congratulation. His salvage operation, said Mather, had been a miracle of seamanship. “More credit goes to Mr Stirling,” he replied, “whose raid had been the turning-point.” He thought inwardly that he himself deserved no praise from anyone. It was his fault, indirectly, that the Venturer had been wrecked in the first place. Looking up, he found that Dr Rathbone was looking at him curiously as if he had guessed his train of thought. “May I suggest, captain, that we do not judge a man’s quality from the way he wins a victory but from the way he recovers after a defeat.”
“I am entirely of your opinion, doctor. I only wish we could go fishing again for classical sculptures!”
“I wouldn’t dream of suggesting it, sir, God knows your men have done enough.”
“We shall be tolerably busy tomorrow and will do well if we can put to sea by nightfall. Let’s agree to come here again in time of peace.”
It was a long day of effort before the Venturer’s cargo had been shipped again but the task was completed somehow and the ship fitted with a foremast. A few casks were placed in the two smaller prizes and filled with sand taken after dark from the beach. They were each then topped up with about an inch of gunpowder. After being shown this treasure trove, the old Alcayde was taken ashore and released with a great show of politeness. With a look of bitter hostility, he disappeared among the trees, leaving young Gosling to complain about the loss of his casks. He was told that his supply of water could be replenished at Tetuan, which would be the next port of call.
Soon afterwards the Merlin made sail, heading northward with the Venturer astern and the Santa Catarina bringing up in the rear. The Algerine coast was soon lost to sight and Delancey expressed the hope, inwardly, that he would never be in such a position again.
After three days’ sail along the African coast there was more shipping to be seen. The shores of Spain and Africa were now closer together, converging on the Straits of Gibraltar, squeezing the traffic into what would become a single shipping lane. Anxious for news, Delancey spoke with a Danish brig, from which he learnt that Admiral Linois had been seen off Cartagena, heading south, and could not be very far away. This intelligence was confirmed by a Portuguese coaster and again by a privateer out of Gibraltar. But the privateer had other news, having spoken to a British sloop the day before. “She was the Speedy,” said the privateer captain, “commanded by a lord with a Scots accent. She is well named, I should say, for she carries a big spread of canvas. Which way? She was heading south but in search of a Spanish merchantman. I could not help him there and might not have wanted to. I have my own living to make.” Later the same day, the Merlin fell in with an American brig. She had actually been intercepted by the Speedy and two of her men had been impressed as deserters from a British man-of-war. “Were they? It would be hard to say. They all tell lies, don’t they?”
Delancey pored over the chart, marking his own position and course and lightly pencilling in the possible track of the French squadron. He had many doubts and queries but had already decided that his approach to Tetuan would have to be in darkness. The ease with which he obtained news about Linois would be matched by the ease with which Linois would have gained intelligence about the Merlin.
Luckily, the Frenchman was less likely to be interested, presumably being intent on reaching Cadiz. It sounded as if Cochrane was taking risks but then he always did. When another sail was sighted, Delancey swore to himself. Ships were jostling each other like pedestrians at Charing Cross.
Next morning, July 3rd, yet another sail was sighted, a cutter with the mails from Gibraltar to Minorca. The news she brought was second-hand, obtained at daybreak from a Maltese coaster. Some Spanish merchantmen had been driven ashore near Alicante and had been set on fire. One of them was laden with oil and had blazed all the previous night. Delancey asked the cutter’s master whether it was a British man-of-war that had burnt them. Seemingly it was, said Delancey’s informant. There had certainly been a sloop in the vicinity. It was Cochrane again, Delancey thought, and he had failed to learn from example when it came to burning a prize with cargo unknown.
Going back to the chart he drew a semicircle with thirty miles’ radius and with centre at Alicante. Then he drew another semicircle with the same centre and fifty miles’ radius. Then he prolonged the estimated course he had pencilled in for Linois, finding that it cut both semicircles. After a few more calculations involving wind direction and speed, he came to the conclusion that Linois must have seen the blaze and that the Speedy would still be within the larger semicircle. On paper Cochrane’s chances of escape looked very slight. He was, of course, a magnificent seaman and had every chance of knowing that a French squadron was in the area. He would escape if anyone could, but the wind was failing and might die away to nothing.
Then came the sound which Delancey had been expecting; the distant rumble of gunfire. The sound came from the north-west and was spasmodic, single guns firing and the occasional broadside. People not on duty came on deck to listen and Delancey found that Dr Rathbone was among them. The old scholar asked him whether a battle was in progress.
“Not a battle, doctor; perhaps a pursuit.”
“Should we not expect then, that the sound of gunfire would approach or die away?”
“What would you say was happening?”
“Why, sir, I picture a single ship trying to escape from a squadron.”
The distant thunder dwindled, resumed fitfully, came and went. After about four hours, the sound came to a climax with a series of broadsides. Then the firing ceased abruptly and there was silence. “He was too self-centred,” thought Delancey “and too cocksure.” He hoped at the same time that Cochrane had not been killed. He thought, on the whole, that he was the sort of man who would survive.
Shortly before nightfall, Delancey intercepted a small Spanish coaster, releasing her again as valueless. She was heading eastwards and her master had seen the recent action. He spoke a Catalonian dialect, knowing only a few words of Castilian, but eked out his story with gestures and a rough diagram.
He conveyed the idea of three big ships hunting a small one which twisted and turned in its efforts to escape. In the end, he indicated, the small ship had been taken. Yes, she was English and about the same size as the Merl
in, maybe a little smaller. Her pursuers were French sail of the line, one flying a Rear-Admiral’s flag. Had the sloop been greatly damaged? The Catalan thought not. Her sails and rigging, yes, but not much otherwise. The conflict had been so unequal that he and his men had wanted to see the English escape even if they were not Christians, for the French these days were not Christians either. Avoiding any theological discussion, Delancey thanked his informant and made him a present of a captured barrel of wine.
Delancey now kept closer to the African coast, not wanting to share Cochrane’s fate. Next day he was off Mellila with an easterly wind and every hope of reaching Tetuan by daybreak on the following day. He sent for Isaac Sulman, who had been sick for most of the voyage, and told him that he was nearly home.
“Tell me about the watering place.”
“Yes, captain. You should anchor off the river Boosega or St Martin and fire three guns as a signal to the British Vice-Consul, a relative of mine. You will then be eighteen miles from Tetuan and six miles from the custom house and fort. While you are watering, it would be wise to call on the officer who commands at the fort. The Vice-Consul, a very good man, will be there to meet you. If the Governor is in residence the Vice-Consul will arrange for you to visit him. The captain at the fort will expect, as a present, a cartridge of powder.”
“How long will it take to water the ship?”
“Two days or a little longer. You will perhaps allow me, meanwhile, to show you round the city? It is a good place for silverwork, leather and saddlery.” Delancey accepted the invitation with pleasure, he and Dr Rathbone questioning Sulman about the sights and looking forward to going ashore.
Early next morning, the Merlin was nearing the coast with a stiff breeze and Delancey surveyed the wild landscape with interest. There were high mountains inland, formed of barren rock but clothed with undergrowth on the lower slopes. In the foreground the foothills were green and dotted with occasional buildings, all white or nearly so. Delancey thought that he would some day like to paint the scene, which had a dreamlike beauty in the early light.
Sulman came on deck to act as pilot, pointing out the river mouth and indicating the usual anchorage. The sails were furled smartly, the anchor dropped, and three guns were fired which echoed back from the hills. Delancey turned to Sulman with a word of thanks as he watched the Venturer and Santa Catarina drop anchor in turn. He made a mental note that Langford and Northmore had both done extremely well.
“Well, here we are, Mr Sulman,” said Delancey “You have had your setbacks, but you are safely home at last.”
“Home?” repeated Isaac Sulman sadly, “I and my people have no home.”
Chapter Eight
SLAVE MARKET
DELANCEY’S journey to Tetuan began from the custom house, where he met with Mr Levi Manasseh, Vice-Consul to Mr Matra, Consul at Tangier. Landing with Delancey were Dr Rathbone, Mr Sulman, Mr Midshipman Topley as A.D.C., Luke Tanner and John Teesdale. Delancey would have liked to take a lieutenant with him but Mather was needed to command the ship in her captain’s absence and Stirling was needed with the watering party, now ashore under canvas. After a meal at the custom house of roasted fowls and fried sardines, they were mounted on horses and their luggage strapped on mules. Each horse had an enormous high-peaked saddle and bucket-shaped stirrups. Delancey’s horse was a grey and distinguished by a scarlet saddle cloth.
Returning with them to Tetuan, Mr Manasseh rode an easy-paced mule and was attended by a servant, similarly mounted. The road was abominable but the country was very attractive, with pastures along the winding river backed by plantations of olives, as also (rather surprisingly) by vineyards. Above all were the sunlit mountains, across which cloud shadows chased each other. Ahead lay the walled city, looking like an illustration to the Arabian Nights. There were eighty thousand inhabitants, the Vice-Consul explained, and a fourth part of them were Jews, who were made to live in their own quarter. The Governor, under Muley Solyman, Emperor of Morocco, was Sidi-Ash-Ash, whose authority extended to Tangier. He was not at the moment in residence.
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Delancey. “I have brought a present for him: four barrels of gunpowder.”
“It will not be needed,” said Mr Manasseh. “It will, however, have a ready sale.”
“It is sold already,” said Mr Sulman. “I will pay whatever price the Vice-Consul considers fair.” Some discussion followed and the price was agreed at what seemed to Delancey an unusually high figure. The powder had come from one of the prizes left at Cherchell and its value could be added to the amount of prize-money which would come from selling the Santa Catarina when she was condemned at Gibraltar.
Delancey had been told that the city was wealthy but he could at first see no sign of it. The streets were narrow and filthy, the houses were so many blank walls, almost joining overhead, and the only buildings of note seemed to be the mosques and a castle or citadel sited on high ground and commanding the city centre. No particular notice was taken of the Europeans and Delancey presumed that they were often seen there while purchasing supplies for Gibraltar, but one or two pebbles were thrown at Sulman by jeering urchins. He took no notice and presently led them to the Jewish quarter, entered by another gateway which was shut, he explained, each night.
His own home looked like all the rest but his wife, who greeted her guests at the entrance, was able to show them a luxurious interior. Sulman answered Delancey’s compliments by saying, “Ah, we were rich, some of us, before Muley Yazid plundered us ten years ago.” His wife was a beautiful woman and some of the other womenfolk had fine features and clear complexions. Among those who greeted Sulman, congratulating him on his safe return, was an Arab called Ali ben Ismail who seemed to be his partner.
Delancey had been invited, with his party, to dine at the Vice-Consul’s but it was now agreed that he should first visit the markets and shops. Setting out again, this time on foot, and guided by Sulman, Delancey was taken to the central bazaar, thronged with people and offering, among other things, silks and carpets. Distinct from this was a produce market with meat, poultry and vegetables for sale and distinct again was the Socco, used for sales by auction.
Delancey passed through these colourful scenes with an appreciative eye but aware of possible theft. He was carrying an unusually large sum of money, received from Sulman and decided to entrust this to Luke Tanner as a precaution against pickpockets. After admiring cattle, sheep, horses and mules, the party was brought to a momentary halt by Sulman.
“I hope you will forgive me, captain, if I take you a little out of the main street. There is a mosque just ahead of us. As a Jew I am compelled to pass it barefoot. So I usually follow this lane to the left, rejoining the shopping streets a little further down. Would you mind . . . ?”
Delancey had no objection and they passed through an almost deserted alley, which echoed to their footsteps. They turned right, then left and right again and presently came into a square, through which they had to pass to regain the high street. People were collecting there on the shady side, as if to watch a performance staged under the hot sun. Sulman made a gesture of annoyance.
“I did not know that there was to be an auction here today. It is not a place for visitors. How stupid of me!”
“Why don’t you bring visitors here?” asked Delancey with amusement.
“Well, captain, this is the Basistan or slave market. Visitors must be shocked at something so uncivilised. It won’t be too difficult, however, to push our way through, especially if I make Ali ben Ismail go first.”
“What slaves are sold here?” asked Dr Rathbone.
“Poor creatures from other parts of Africa—a few Berbers and a few black men brought across the desert.”
As if to prove the truth of this, the auctioneer’s men led in the first slaves for sale, arranging them on a paved area higher than the pathway and forming a kind of permanent stage. The luckless slaves were made to walk up and down, to show their paces. Others were half
starved or ill and squatted listlessly where they were put. Dealers and possible buyers came to the front and the auction began.
“What a terrible sight!” exclaimed Dr Rathbone.
“Heathen goings-on!” growled Luke Tanner.
“Poor creatures!” muttered coxswain Teesdale.
Disapproval was unanimous among the Europeans but nobody made a move, all being fascinated. Rather reluctantly Sulman began to explain how the auction was planned.
“The cheapest are sold first. Then come the stronger slaves, thought to be good workers, the more valuable household slaves, and last of all, the women who might do for the harem. Slaves of the better sort are usually bought by dealers known as tego-rarini, who fatten them up for sale to particular clients.”
“Are there Christians among them?” asked Dr Rathbone.
“Sometimes,” Sulman admitted. “After prizes have been captured. I doubt if there will be any today.”
“You say that dealers sell to particular clients,” asked Delancey. “In what way are they particular?”
“Well,” began Sulman hesitantly, “there are people who are known to have certain tastes. They like young girls with no experience or else they are cruel, or perhaps they prefer boys.”
“Monsters!” groaned Dr Rathbone, but he too was rooted to the spot.
As the auction proceeded, Delancey identified the dealers who chatted to each other, finding little of interest even among the household slaves. Their attention was caught, however, by the appearance of a strikingly beautiful woman with a fair skin, clad like the others in a rough piece of sacking.
“Is she Christian?” asked Delancey sharply.
“Oh, no,” Sulman replied. “With that colour and those eyes she surely comes from Mequinas. Women from Fas are fairer still but less lively. I don’t know how she comes to be a slave but she will bring a high price.”
Bidding was brisk and the girl was knocked down to a dealer, who instantly paid in cash. Doing mental arithmetic, Delancey thought she had fetched the equivalent to five and a half barrels of gunpowder. To judge from her bright eyes, he guessed that she might be about as explosive.
Touch and Go Page 13