by Jay Worrall
When Charles lowered the glass he found Daniel Bevan standing beside him. “Weigh the bower, Daniel,” he said. “We’ll take soundings and chart them as we go. It might prove useful to somebody.”
Bevan relayed the orders to Winchester, standing officer of the morning watch; then turned back. “Do we offer a salute to the fort?”
‘Fort,’ was an overly generous term, Charles thought. Still, it was stone and had some sort of flag. He hated using even the minuscule amount of powder it would take for the gesture. “Five guns,” he decided. “I’ll be damned if I’ll waste more powder than that.” It was almost an insult to fire off so few, particularly if the residents were touchy about the subject, or if, on the longest chance, some royalty happened to be present; but he didn’t even know whose flag it was or what authority lay behind it except for Jones’s mention of Italian refugees.
Cassandra approached slowly under topsails braced tight as she clawed across the fitful morning breeze. The ship’s bell rang eight times to mark the beginning of the forenoon watch. Still a mile away, Charles watched the distant settlements. He wondered about the Italians, if that’s what they were, and how they had found themselves in this faraway place, fleeing the French or no. Genoa had fallen relatively easily to the advances of Napoleon Bonaparte’s army, and there was said to be considerable Republican sentiment there. It crossed his mind that they might in some way be connected to France’s designs on India, but it seemed a farfetched idea. In any event, he would soon know.
Raising his telescope again, he saw the figures of people—white skinned in European dress—beginning to gather at the near end of the town close by the fortification. There were a few women among them, he noted, with dresses down to their shoes and parasols for protection against the sun. He saw no one making an effort to man the redoubt. The construction along the harbor front was more extensive than he had thought earlier. In addition to a stone quay almost a cable in length, there were a number of substantial buildings rising, possibly for use as warehouses, judging by their size. What sort of trade could be carried on from this desolate part of the world that would require such facilities? A large number of native laborers were gathered at the far end of the quay under white supervisors, preparing no doubt for the day’s work. The place looked to be thoroughly hot, dry, and dusty, with an expanse of desolate scrub stretching several miles to the rising massif behind.
“You may show the colors,” Charles said to Sykes, already standing beside the halyard with the multi-crossed flag of the United Kingdoms of England and Scotland bent on. At once the bunting ran up the mast, breaking out to fly in the wind when it reached the mainmast truck. Charles nodded to Beechum. Simultaneously, the first of the six-pounders sounded out, the noise echoing back from the heights.
The boom of the first gun brought a flurry of activity from the settlement. Additional numbers appeared from some of the buildings, mostly men, some with muskets in their hands. A few ran toward the redoubt, but for what purpose he couldn’t guess since he could now see into the empty embrasures. They must have seen that Cassandra was British and not French, but that should have been more reassuring than otherwise. As the second of the guns fired its powder charge, Charles saw the flag at the center of the fortification dip and then lift, then dip and lift again. Since there were no cannon to return the salute, lowering and raising the flag was the only form of greeting available.
“Do you think they’ll send a pilot boat out?” Bevan asked with a grin.
Charles laughed. “I doubt they have a pilot, or a boat for that matter, other than what came with the ships. I think we should come to anchor at the head of the harbor about midway between the town and that Arab island. If you would have the launch prepared, I’ll take Winchester, Beechum, Ayres, and a dozen of his marines across for a call. Just in case, run out the starboard guns. That should impress them.”
Bevan spoke to Winchester about the orders. Charles glanced over the port rail at the little island with its sleepy Arab village. Hardly a soul stirred along its beach except for a few curious children drawn out by the sounds of the cannon fire. He saw no flag or any other sign of Ottoman authority. That was unusual, but perhaps the Turks just didn’t bother for such a distant and tiny outpost.
He saw Jones come onto the quarterdeck as the men were preparing to cast off the anchor. “I am going over to pay a visit to that settlement, Italians I think you mentioned,” Charles said. “I would be pleased to have you along.”
“Genovese,” Jones corrected him. “And, no, I can’t be bothered with their kind. I require a boat to take me there.” He pointed toward the Arab town. “See that it is arranged.”
Charles asked Bevan to prepare the jollyboat for Jones, and then slipped reluctantly into his best uniform coat and hat that Augustus had brought up from his cabin. “Thank you,” he said to his servant. Augustus would be part of the launch’s crew, he knew. “I would be pleased for you to come on shore when we land, just in case there is trouble.” He decided there were situations where he felt more comfortable with the man at his back.
“Yes, Cap’n,” Augustus said. Charles noted that he had already armed himself with a cutlass, which was hung from his belt. Shifting his gaze, he saw that numbers of the crew were gathering in the waist in anticipation. Some were looking out over the side, others up at the quarterdeck with questioning eyes. Of course, Charles realized, they would be expecting permission to go ashore. He had promised it to them at the first opportunity that arose. He looked more carefully at the Italian settlement, then the Arab. Both were minuscule places. Such a large influx of seamen would easily overwhelm them. He also doubted that the men would find much to satisfy them in either locale. He sighed in resignation, then spoke to Bevan. “Pass the word among the hands, if you will, that I have gone ashore to request leave for them to visit. I hope that serves.”
“Christ,” Bevan said. “There’s nothing there. Not of the sort they’ll be looking for anyway.”
Charles cast his eyes again with a growing sense of unease. “You might suggest that if this Massawa proves inadequate, there might be better pickings farther north.”
The master, Cromley, overheard this and chuckled. “Begging your pardon, sir, but there are no ports with much in the way of those services anywhere along the Red Sea. Jeddah on the Araby side, just maybe, but that’s close to the seat of their religion and they’d never allow it. Koessir and Suez is now French.”
Charles grumbled under his breath. Possibly, by some miracle, the Italians would be well stocked with alcohol and whores in anticipation of a British ship of war dropping by. Genoa certainly was; at least he could ask. Maybe the crew would be satisfied with an afternoon of innocent sightseeing, a comradely stroll up and down the quay. He could guess the answer to that too. “Tell them I’ve gone to inquire anyway,” he said to Bevan.
Charles followed his servant over the side and into the launch; Winchester, Beechum, and Ayres, with the marines, had already settled in. “Shove off,” he said to Malvern. “Smartly now.”
The marines filed up the wooden ladder onto the half-finished quay first, followed by the two lieutenants, then Charles, with Augustus behind. A sizable crowd greeted him as he stepped onto its flagged surface. Charles searched the faces and appearances among the women hopefully, but saw no one remotely identifiable as a practitioner of the world’s most elemental profession. The marines in their bright red coats and lacquered black hats were aligned in a file, their muskets at shoulder arms, as if on a parade ground. Three formally, if hastily, dressed men and a younger woman hurried forward. The delegation came to a halt in front of Charles. The elder of the men bowed in the continental fashion.
“Siamo onorati de ricevere sua eccellenza alls nuova Colonia di Massaua. Io sono il Governatore Giovanni Bellagio. Le posso chiedere a cosa dobbiarno l’onore della suo venuta in Massaua?”
Charles recognized the language spoken as Italian, but he understood almost none of it. He bowed politely in return
anyway. “What did he say?” he asked, looking hopefully to Winchester and Beechum, who between them at least spoke some French and Spanish.
Winchester shrugged. “Something about welcoming us to his dominions. He’s the governor, I think.” Beechum nodded sagely in agreement.
“He say that he is most honored by your arrival,” the woman interjected. “He is Signore Giovanni Bellagio, the governor of this Massawa Colony. He requests to know the purpose of your call.”
Charles looked at the speaker in surprise. She was a petite woman of slender frame with direct green eyes and a full mouth, probably about his own age. Strands of rich dark hair showed under a straw hat contrasting exquisitely with cream-colored skin lightly freckled by the sun. She smiled at him warmly.
Charles felt his pulse quicken in spite of himself. “Thank you, Signorina,” he said, using one of the few polite Italian words he knew. “May I know your name?”
“I am Signora Teresa di Correglia, and you?” She smiled prettily, which for her was not difficult. Her voice had a husky, strangely rhythmic quality. He made note of her emphasis on the term ‘signora’ rather than ‘signorina’-—she was, or had once been, married.
“Captain Charles Edgemont of His Majesty’s navy, at your service, ma’am,” he said and bowed stiffly. He wondered if he were expected to kiss her hand. He wouldn’t mind.
The woman merely bobbed her head in reply. “You are English, not so?” She pronounced it “Eeenglez.”
Charles nodded. He noticed that the three men accompanying her watched closely. The eldest, the one who had spoken first, coughed discreetly.
Signora di Corriglia turned and said something in her language, then introduced “Capitan Edgemont” to her companions. Bows were made, no hands offered or shaken. Bellagio, Charles recalled his name, was a stocky, muscular figure with a thick moustache and an unhappy expression. He wore a cavalry saber as his gentlemen’s sword. The names of the other two were given and forgotten. They wore no swords, but each had a pistol in his belt. In all, they were a hard-looking, cautious group in their late thirties or early forties.
In his turn, Charles introduced his officers. More bows were exchanged. The woman spoke to her companions. Bellagio answered at length, somewhat insistently, Charles thought. As to what they said, he had no idea. The word “Inglese” he noticed was repeated several times, and once “Mocha,” which he understood. The atmosphere appeared to lighten to the extent that the governor’s expression transformed from scowl to frown. The woman nodded her head in acknowledgement.
“You would be welcome to enter our poor house to relieve the heat of the day,” Signora di Correglia said, turning with a charming smile to Charles. “Regrettably, we can offer only coffee for refreshment, we have no tea. So few visitors such as yourself arrive to this place that I am afraid our manners are quite deficit.”
Charles stated his acceptance. He then turned to Ayres, “Stand your men down, but keep them vigilant. I don’t expect to be long.” The cluster of onlookers on the quay parted as he, Winchester, Bevan, and Ayres, with Augustus following, started toward a larger building facing the waterfront. As he passed, Charles noticed that most of those in the crowd were men. The great majority were of military age, and almost all were armed in one fashion or another. They tended to keep their distance while watching intently.
The signora walked closely beside him. “You have transported all the way from England?” she asked. “Or have you come from India?”
“England,” Charles answered. “We sailed almost six months ago.”
She touched his arm with her finger tips and looked up into his eyes. “Such a long time. And you have a family I would think, a wife perhaps? It must be hard for you to be away so long.” Not entirely against his will, the touch sent a shiver through him.
“I have family,” he answered reluctantly. He knew it was an ambiguous answer and could be interpreted in different ways, but he left it at that. For some reason he hesitated to bring up Penny or their possible child. To change the subject, he said, “And you, signora? Where is your husband?”
The Italian woman’s face took on a pained expression. “My Antonio died several years past. He was of the resistance to the French. We were young and not yet blessed with children. For this I will always hate the Frenchmen.”
Charles’ heart went out to her. It must be terrible to lose a loved one so young. He was too acutely aware that she was a handsome woman, very much in her prime. Unbidden, it passed across his mind that she must suffer certain frustrations.
The door to the building opened and they passed inside to a large room with a long table served with benches. The space was much cooler than the rapidly rising temperature outside. The English officers were shown to places at the table, the signora seating herself beside Charles. Governor Bellagio and several other Italians sat themselves near the table’s head. Augustus, Charles noticed, stood against the wall between two armed Italian men near the entrance. Once seated, Bellagio clapped his hands and shouted instructions toward a back room. He turned without smiling to Charles, “Perche siete venuto qui?”
“The governor welcomes you to Massawa warmly,” Signora di Correglia translated. “He asks what brings you to your happily visiting us?”
Charles was prepared for the question but unsure of how much he should reveal about his mission. He decided to tell them what they already knew. “My ship observed a French frigate in pursuit of one of the merchant ships in your harbor. We have fought this warship, but she escaped in the night. I thought it possible she had come here.”
The woman spoke in a short burst of rapid Italian. Words were exchanged among the men before Bellagio spoke at length. Signora di Correglia listened carefully; when he finished she turned to Charles.
“I am most sorry, but we know nothing of the whereabouts of this enemy. No French have come to this place as of yet. It is true that one of our innocent trading boats was chased after and almost captured by the ship you speak of.” She took a deep breath before continuing. Charles stared almost involuntarily as the fabric of her blouse stretched across a surprisingly ample bosom, then averted his eyes before anyone would notice. “The governor has asked me to express his bottomless gratitude for your intervention,” Teresa said seriously. “Our little colony is in constant fear that the hated French will attack us even here.” She spoke so earnestly, her eyes unwavering in their focus on his, that Charles knew he must do what he could to protect her and her companions. This little outpost of civilization in an untamed land would easily be overrun by the French for use as a way station for their descent on India. He told himself that he could not imagine the outrages that might be visited on the signora and the other women of Massawa, should they fall into enemy hands. Then, in the briefest of intervals as he gazed at her, he realized that he could imagine it quite easily. He felt beads of sweat under his uniform coat.
Bellagio spoke several forceful sentences, his fingers rapping out his points on the table’s top. The woman shook her head in the negative. The governor spoke again. This time she answered him tersely. Bellagio fell silent. Signora di Correglia laid one hand on Charles’ arm. “The governor is grateful for your protection,” she said. Charles felt his heart race. “We wish to make to you welcome here.”
Several servants appeared from the back room bearing trays with steaming cups of coffee and plates with biscuits and fruit. With the diversion, questions began to form in Charles’ mind, one on top of the other. How long had these people been at Massawa? Why did they come, and why to this place? He’d seen no fields for crops or pastures for cattle—all the land he could see to the edge of the mountains was desert—how did they survive? He assumed there were some sort of relations with the local tribes, since he’d seen African laborers helping to construct the port facilities, and black servants were much in evidence, but what about the Arab settlement on the island; and, for that matter, what about the Turks? Massawa was supposedly an enclave of the Ottoman Empire; what had
happened to them?.
And there was the woman. Who was she? How did she come to be, alone and unattached, in such a place? Did she, or had she, had a lover here? She certainly must have attracted attention. He thought this very interesting indeed.
The refreshments were placed around the table. Charles saw that the coffee was almost a light tan in color. He tasted the liquid and found it hot and richly mixed with milk. “How do you make this, Signora?” he said. He knew how it was done, but he wanted to extend his conversation with her.
She smiled at him, free for the moment from her duties as translator. “But please, you must address me as Teresa, not as Signora di Correglia. We may have friendship, no?” She emphasized this by running a fingertip across the back of his hand.
“Then you may call me Charles,” he answered, acutely aware of the contact between them.
“Carlo,” she said softly. “I will call you Carlo when we are speaking intimamente.” She removed her hand. “But I will answer your question. This we call caffelatte. It is one part the local coffee from the mountains and one equal part of the milk. Both are made heated before mixing together. It is how we prepare this drink in Genoa. It is the one pleasure which remains of my native land.”
Since she was speaking freely, Charles decided to ask about some of the other things of which he was curious. “Tell me about this colony of yours—how did you come to be here?”
“Oh, it is no secret,” she said, sipping at her drink then touching her lips with a cloth. “One year ago and a half we came from Genoa in the three boats you see in the harbor. We wish only a new life with freedom from the domination of the French, and to bring civilization to the savages. We are having with them economico . . . what do you say, tradings. We are a small number of simple peoples wanting to be prosperous in peace with all humanity. This place was nothing when we came, only the few heathens on the island. After hard labors and many obstacles, we have already achieved much. The fine harbor here is nearly completed, and we have made an industry for the salt manufacture behind the town. In the hills before the mountains there is much agriculture and pastures. It is very beautiful and the air is sweeter and cool. We have great plans for our future. Already we have achieved good trade up and down the sea. Everything is possible for us.”