Swords From the Sea

by Harold Lamb

In that moment I knew Nassau was a coward, and all the more dangerous because of that. Some plan had come into his head, when he agreed to go. John Paul turned to me.

  "Stuppai, Ivak," he said. "Forward!"

  How did he know I would understand his meaning? Nay, he could not have known. But God gave me eyes of the mind to see the truth and I lowered the saick with the help of my comrades, climbing down the ladder and taking the oars as soon as it was in the water.

  Nassau swore-I could hear him-when he realized what sort of craft was waiting for him. But John Paul stood at the ladder top, and smiled, mockingly. An hour ago the American had been a man of honey; now he was a man of stone. The prince came down the ladder, and plumped down into the stern of the little skiff. John Paul made him climb over me to the prow where the Prussian sat, wedged like a fish between the sides of the boat. Then the admiral took the tiller and I the oars, so that the lights of the Vladimir began to grow smaller. We steered toward the fleet of the Turks, which could not be seen because the light mist hung over the surface of the water-enough to obscure the stars.

  The oars made no sound except a little drip, being wrapped with rags where they rubbed on the gunwale. I rowed on, watching the outline of John Paul's head and the glitter of his eyes, until he held up one hand and I raised the oars. He stretched his head to one side and shut his eyes, listening like a horse in the steppe when a wild beast is rustling the grass near at hand.

  Presently I, too, heard the rasping of oars, coming up behind us from where the Vladimir lay. The oars were being moved swiftly and, by the catch in his breath, I knew that Nassau had become aware of this other boat that was following us. Perhaps he had been listening for it, so quiet he was.

  Motioning to me to row on, John Paul turned the tiller, sending the skiff to one side, out toward the main channel. The men in the boat behind could not hear us and we would have slipped away if Nassau had not called out clearly-

  "To the left!"

  As he spoke the words, John Paul swung the tiller sharp to the other side. The little skiff dodged like a flying fish, and made a circle until we were speeding in the other direction. Several long strokes I took, then lifted the oars and glided silently. Aye, we could hear the oars of the other boat pulling like mad for the place we had left.

  John Paul leaned forward and whispered across my shoulder in French. I do not know what he said, but Nassau did not cry out again. We sat still until the boat from the Vladimir could be heard no longer. T-phew! We were trapped! Because now we heard other oars, coming from the Turk ish side-some patrol boat making its rounds. If we went on we would run into the accursed Moslems; if we turned back, there was the Vladimir's barge in waiting like a tiger.

  Nassau must have ordered it to follow us. Perhaps he planned to go from the skiff into the barge and fire a volley at us-claiming afterward that a mistake had been made in the dark; perhaps he would start up a quarrel and throw us out for the fish or the Turks to find. I do not know.

  But John Paul sat still, and I crossed myself, breathing a prayer to the Father and the Son. It happened that the boat from the Moslem fleet passed us by, the wash from it rocking our skiff, and went elsewhere, though for a long time I listened to the creak of its twelve pairs of oars and the American did likewise, for he often turned his head and bent down toward the water where the sound was clearest.

  We rowed again and now Nassau began to protest in a low voice, without receiving an answer. By and by he stopped because the lights of the enemy's craft showed ahead of us. Still we went on, John Paul turning the tiller this way and that, making the skiff wind in and out among the vessels. They were galleys and gunboats for the most part and there were many of them.

  Their masts stood up like a forest, and by the time we had reached the last one inshore the night had grown a little brighter. The mist cleared and the stars shone down on us. I heard Tatars talking together in the waist of the last galley, and someone playing upon a fiddle. They had good eyes those Tatars because presently they hailed us, asking for vodka. Nassau repeated the words to John Paul, who went closer, until the sheer of the stem was nearly over us.

  He tossed up a flask that he carried and someone caught it.

  "Allah reward the giver! Are you going to the captain-pasha with an order?"

  I could hear Nassau breathing heavily, but John Paul made not a sound. He waited patiently and God put into my head the words of his command spoken on the Vladimir: Ask for the countersign-the admiral wishes to learn it.

  "Nay," I made response boldly in their tongue, "we are taking salt to the ship of the captain-pasha."

  "But do you know the countersign?"

  So far I was following the right path; if I had said we were carrying dis patches they would have expected us to know the password. I began to grunt like a burlak.

  "How could we know it? We came from the island."

  If I had asked for it they would have felt suspicion. It had not come into their heads that any but friends of the Turks would be here; yet a small stone may make a man stumble.

  "The Turks might send bullets through you," they said.

  "The -! Then tell us the countersign, so we will not have the bullets."

  They talked among themselves, and the vodka gurgled. My throat was beginning to dry up when one flung out careless-

  "Stamboul!"

  "Stamboul!" I repeated, to make certain, and Paul Jones said one word, the one he always spoke-

  "Forward."

  I thought he meant to go back, but he steered forward and we went on, passing close, under the ramparts of the great Turkish fort so that we could see the dark patches which were embrasures for cannon. For the last time doubt of John Paul assailed me, and I thought:

  "May the dogs eat me! Does he mean to turn over Nassau to the Turks? Is this American playing a double game, after all?"

  Nassau's teeth were clicking together, but he dared not say a word for fear of being overheard by the sentries who were visible, when they moved, against the stars.

  A great mass towered up over us. This was the Turkish flagship, the one of seventy guns, and as we rounded its prow we saw many lights in the rump of it, and small craft clustered around the ladder. Officers were passing about on the deck, and all was stir and bustle.

  "What boat is that? Give the countersign!" a voice hailed us at once.

  "Stamboul!" responded John Paul without hesitation.

  "What are you about?"

  "We are Tatars from the galley," I said, not daring to take time to think. "We came to look at the flagship and the officers."

  "May dogs litter on your graves! Don't you skulkers know that all men who stray from their ships are to be shot? The dawn of the day after the morrow the whole fleet advances against the unbelievers."

  The sentries on the ship cursed us again, and perhaps they would have loosed muskets at us but refrained for fear of bringing out the officers who were shut up in the after cabins, debating together. We rowed away then and John Paul steered the skiff for quite a while to one side until the oars caught in seaweed and the gleam of phosphorescent salt was to be seen, flickering along the shore. That is what the Russians call it, but we Cossacks know that it is the spirits of the drowned running along the edge of the waves seeking a resting place.

  No fort or house was near, and after John Paul had listened a little he made me change places with him. Then he began to speak to Nassau in a low voice.

  The prince sprang to his feet and answered vehemently, laughing without any merriment at all. Then he peered at the American, who had begun to take off his coat.

  "Sotnik!" Nassau cried, at me. "This foreigner is mad-no doubt of it. After leading me though all the Turkish fleet he threatens me with a duel in a boat. Help me disarm him-seize him from behind."

  I caught my breath and stared at the two officers.

  "Why should his Excellency, the admiral, wish to fight with your honor?" I asked. "Nay, it is some jest."

  This I said to dig out t
ruth behind Nassau's words, for he was a skilled liar. Yet the natures of men appear unmasked in a moment of danger, and the prince was no longer the same officer who sat in Strelsky's room not long ago. His nerves were quivering after the ride through the fleet of the enemy.

  "The admiral swears that I have plotted against his honor; he accuses me of hiring men to waylay him. As God is holy, sotnik-"

  Nassau stopped, suddenly remembering who I was, and what he had wanted me to do. Strelsky must have confessed the whole affair to John Paul, to shield himself a little; but Nassau believed of course that I had told John Paul of the plot.

  "This mad American," he went on while John rolled up his right sleeve, "accuses me of holding Lieutenant Edwards prisoner. What do I know about that? He demands that the Englishman be given back to him. Aid me, Cossack, and a purse of a thousand rubles is yours-nay, ask what you will!"

  When he heard me laugh he knew that I would not aid him. Once he glanced at the shore, as if thinking of flight; but the Turks were all around. The soft gleam of the shining salt crust looked like the teeth of a great mouth, open to swallow a man. Ekh, the skin crawled up and down my back!

  A little breeze made the boat rock in the scum of seaweed, as if the hands of the dead were reaching up at us. John Paul kept his balance easily, his feet wide apart, the rapier poised in his hand. As I live, not a lance length separated the two, although Nassau had drawn back far into the prow. All at once the prince cursed fiercely and whipped out his blade, thrusting up from the hip like a flash.

  He gave no word and no salute, and such was a coward's stroke. Yet John Paul had good eyes and parried. The glow of the stars and the shimmering of the salt made the rapiers visible as they clashed and twisted and ground together, while Nassau panted.

  Ekh! That was swordplay! Steel in the dark; blade feeling blade; eye peering into eye; arm straining against arm! The blood boiled in my veins and I was young again. For Nassau was no mean swordsman; nay, a fine hand with the weapon had he, quick and wary and merciless. Neither could draw back. Twice the hilts clashed together, as if the rapiers had been sabers.

  Once, John Paul staggered and the skiff swayed. Nassau laughed grimly in triumph, until John Paul caught himself and warded a thrust at the throat, forcing the prince's blade up-up if as if it been an eagle's feather. Eye glared into eye while the blades were locked, and suddenly the American took a step forward.

  A great cry came out of Nassau's strained throat and he tumbled out of the skiff into the floating seaweed. I stood up in readiness to leap after him or not-judging him badly wounded-as John Paul should command. He gave no command, but after a moment reached down and caught at something beneath the tangle of weed. It was the arm of the prince that he hauled into the skiff, and after it the body.

  He let Nassau lie in the bottom of the boat and presently the injured man began to choke, writhing as if a hundred fiends were in him. He belched out salt water and soon-though it was hard to believe-I heard him whimpering and snuffling like a girl.

  I have said that John Paul could be a man of stone. He made no move to staunch Nassau's wound, but sat down in the stern and took the tiller, motioning for me to row back. He steered through the ships of the Turks and found the lights of the Vladimir again. Still he paid no heed to Nas sau, who lay between my legs, often bumped, of necessity, by the oar ends, and shivering, as I could feel.

  Flares were lighted as we pulled up to the ladder. John Paul, having donned his coat again, walked up to the deck and was greeted by many officers who stared at him curiously. But they stared more at Nassau, who came up on my arm. His gray-and-gold coat was green with slime; his sword and hat were missing and his wig was somewhere back on the beach for the Turks to wonder at.

  He was able to stand, and I saw no blood flowing at any place. Nay, it was long before I understood the truth. Nassau was not hurt. Not in the flesh, not by steel. But his spirit had suffered; something within him had given way that night. He walked to his cabin, speaking to no man.

  So it happened that John Paul gave order to hoist his admiral's flag, and though Alexiano grumbled, it was done as he commanded. Then he stood before the officers and spoke, and afterward I asked one of the Russians what he had said. He had told them that the Turkish fleet would advance within hours, and that he would hold a council of the ships' officers in the fleet.

  Still Nassau issued no word, and after a while it was clear even to Alexiano that John Paul was in command. He was given a cabin, and, their nature being such, the Russians thronged into it with many compliments and questions on their tongues. Nay, John Paul sent out all except old Ivak. When we were alone and the door shut he sat down in a chair, his cheeks pallid and his eyes burning. With one arm he tried to draw off his coat, until I sprang to his aid and saw for the first time that he was wounded in the upper chest near the armpit. The blood had run down under the coat where it was hidden and had not yet soaked through his breeches.

  Together we bound it up, after washing out the hole where Nassau's weapon had entered. The bleeding was all outward and I saw that the American meant to conceal it, because when the bandage was in place he grinned at me and closed one eye-so!

  And that, my brothers, is how old Ivak brought an admiral to the Russian fleet. Aye, he was a man, that Pavel, as I like to name him. Deuce take it, he was my kunak, my comrade, a galliard.

  What of the battle? Nay, that tale is told by others; how John Paul scattered the Turks and burned their ships and how ill the Russians rewarded him. Am I one to read what men have written in books? I brought a leader to men who lacked a leader, and what honor had I thereby?

  One gift was given me. Behold, my brothers, this Damascus dagger, with the gold inlay in the hilt and the writing in jewels. I have been told what that writing says:

  Pavel to his friend, the Cossack Ivak.

  Who would not be content with such a gift?

  Chapter I

  For they'll harken to such a man through all the swish and the sweat, Through rattle and rumpus and raps, and the kicks and cuffs that they getThrough the chatter and tread, and the rudders wash, and the dismal clank

  Of the shameful chain which forever binds the slave to the bank.

  Big Pierre was the last man to leave the bark, except the apprentice lad and the master. Lowering himself by the mizzen chains, he dropped to the river and struck with a resounding smack. He was all of a hundred and ninety pounds of bone and sinew, and he had landed on solid ice.

  There was a ladder running from the waist of the bark, but Big Pierre was in a hurry. For one thing, three silver crowns jingled in his pouch, faintly but cheerfully-and he meant to set about the spending of them as quickly as possible. It had taken him a half hour to pry the silver coins out of the master of the bark, who was a Hollander; so the other members of the crew had gone ahead to seek out the taverns of St. Petersburg.

  "him for a Dutch dog," muttered the sailor, "who would drink till cockcrow on copper copecks. Bon sang, but it is cold! " He turned his back on the wind that cut through his wool jerkin and short jacket. His greased boots and leather cap were Dutch, but Pierre Pillon was a son of Provence to the core, and he swayed across the slippery ice of the Neva as if it were the wet foredeck of a ship.

  Little did he relish the cold breath of the northern seas; he had the swarthy skin and black mustache of the men of Toulon, who live under a blazing sun. His long hair, clubbed with a ribbon at the nape, was yellow as ripe wheat.

  His wide, sloping shoulders and corded arms were shaped for strength. His hands were noticeable, being scarred and hooked and swollen. The Dutch skipper had looked at those hands when he paid over the silver, thinking that with them Big Pierre might tear a man's throat out.

  At Toulon six months ago Pierre Pillon had shipped on the bark that was bound for Muscovy with wines and hemp. In that autumn of 1787 the river Neva froze early and the pack of the Gulf of Finland came down, putting an end to navigation and catching the bark still at her anchorage.


  The master swore in three languages, and set the crew to work, taking in the sails, boarding up the ports, and housing the deck. That morning he let them go ashore with a few coins and the promise of their wages in a week.

  Pierre's wide-set brown eyes glowed with pleasant expectation. It was a feast day; perhaps there would be a procession of the saints' images; certainly there would be girls to talk to and warm wine to quaff. He meant to see everything in this big village on the northern sea.

  He reached the jetties of the dockyards and cast a glance to windward. Bare hulks of ships, housed in and blanketed with snow; the gray ribbon of the river, stretching away to the forest on the horizon; a gray sky, shot with a single yellow gleam over the swaying pine tops; smoke curling up from log huts on the flat shore; dogs roaming among the deserted wharfs, but not a man to be seen.

  Marking the position of the bark, he went on, with a shrug at the forbidding scene.

  "Faith, 'tis a land God looks on only at night."

  As soon as he turned a corner, a boy appeared around the bow of the bark and hurried after him, yet without making any attempt to catch up. It was easy to keep Big Pierre in sight because he walked down the middle of the snow-covered streets; and it was a simple matter to follow him without being seen, because he never looked back.

  Swinging along at a round pace he waved his cap at the horses, three abreast, that raced up to him, drawing sleighs, and forced them to turn out. When the drivers cursed he grinned back cheerfully and shouted out his marching song:

  When Big Pierre sang from an open throat, there were many who turned to listen and some who waved back. He had a weather eye out for a tavern all the while, and stared admiringly at the great doors of the churches, painted with amazingly colorful demons and angels-a sight that brought the cap from his head with a fine flourish. Then, at a side street he paused abruptly and ended his song on an unfinished note.

  A gun limber was being driven along slowly, three men tied by the wrists to the cart-tail. They were naked, their skin blue with the bite of the wind. Behind them walked three grenadiers, swinging knouts-short staffs to which were attached leather thongs tipped with iron.