Blood and Oak- Wolves Will Eat

by Garrett Bettencourt

  Melisande growled with impatience and drew her war club, ready to scout ahead. A large hand landed on her shoulder. She looked at Kelham. Big Paw pointed up at the tower, where a dark silhouette looked down at them from between the crenelation.

  “Lil Red!” Melisande whispered. “I knew she’d come through.”

  Kaitlin was hiding under the awning of a platform at the corner of the battery, a good twenty paces from the nearest guard. She made a secret signal with her hand. Wait. She pointed toward the beach.

  Smoke billowed out of a green-and-white-striped tent. Orange light spilled across the nearby sand, spreading through the peaks and valleys of dust churned up by horse hooves. Groups of pirates and Janissaries sitting around their campfires jumped up in alarm. Soon, men were shouting and racing toward the burning tent. Soldiers abandoned their posts on the shore battery and raced out to fight the blaze.

  A Janissary lieutenant on horseback was galloping up and down the beach, organizing a queue of men with buckets. Only half obeyed, while the other half swatted at the fire with blankets or clothes. Still others milled about, uncertain what to do in the chaos.

  Up on top of the wall, Kaitlin gave the signal to come. She tossed a rope between the crenelations, and it uncoiled down to the sand.

  “What are you waiting for, fellas?” said Melisande. “Let’s move.”

  Melisande climbed hand over hand, her feet walking up the wall. Kelham and the Marines followed close behind. The six of them were soon crouched on the narrow walkway at the northwest corner of the shore battery wall. Kaitlin had found a good place to hide among some haphazardly stacked barrels. South along this stretch of the wall, the four west-facing 12-pounder guns pointed across the lake.

  The courtyard below was little more than a long alleyway along the shoddy stone wall, crowded with tents and ramshackle lean-tos. It was obvious the bey invested little in the battery’s upkeep. The last of the soldiers were running through the open gate to fight the blaze. Melisande couldn’t fathom why they would leave the walls unguarded for one measly tent.

  Melisande nudged Kaitlin’s shoulder. “What was in that tent, anyway?”

  The warm breeze rising from the Mediterranean stirred Kaitlin’s cloak. “That tent belongs to the most important man in any Janissary regiment or pirate ship.”

  “Who?” Private Poole wondered.

  “The Janissary paymaster,” said Kaitlin.

  Beyond the south ramparts, they could see men throwing up unburnt tent flaps and grabbing boxes from inside. One Janissary officer was ranting and whipping looters with a cane. One soldier collided with another, dropping a small chest. The lid flew open, spreading coins across the sand. Paper notes fluttered up in the wind of the fire.

  “Ha!” Melisande tousled Kaitlin’s cowl. “You’re a Sully, all right, Lil Red.”

  “We should hurry,” Kaitlin said. “They’ll come back soon.”

  “Right.” Melisande pulled a hammer from her belt. She reached into her bandolier bag and produced a handful of thin steel spikes about the length of crochet needles. “We’ll each take a few guns. Let’s make this quick.”

  “Right,” whispered Sergeant Anderson as he took a handful of spikes. He handed a few to Miller and Poole, who were pulling iron hammers from their belts. “Marines, on me.” He led his men along the crenelations.

  “Here you go, Big Paw.” Melisande handed the towering youth a few. “You know what to do.”

  “Aye, Dufort,” said Kelham. His hammer looked like a child’s toy in his thick fingers. “Be careful, will you now?”

  “Don’t fret my lovely. I was born careful.” Melisande slapped Kelham’s shoulder, and he set off to find a gun.

  “What about me?” Kaitlin held out her hand.

  “Of course, Lil Red.” Melisande batted her eyes like an empty-headed socialite. “How silly of me to leave out one of the girls.”

  Kaitlin smiled as she accepted the tools.

  The group kept low and close to the crenelated wall. Like carpenters with nails, they went to each gun and hammered a spike into the touch hole. The big steel nails would prevent the guns from firing. They tapped gently, careful not to make too much noise. The cries of men, horses, and the poor donkey helped cover the sounds. The pirates’ mad scramble to save their wages had devolved into a brawl, with men fighting over coins while officers vainly shouted for order.

  The work went quickly—in a matter of minutes, Melisande’s crew had all sixteen guns disabled. They rendezvoused on the eastern guard platform, on the other side of the battery. Kaitlin was already securing her climbing rope to one of the intact crenelations. Waves crashed on the eastern side of the isthmus a quarter mile away. With their mission completed, it was time to rappel down to the sandy strip of land and head for the Carthaginian ruins. The small shore party could hide in the bones of the ancient city and await pickup on the banks of the Mediterranean Sea. With the gun battery silenced, it would be up to Sully and Ryland to get the ship through the canal. Melisande’s eyes drifted east, where the light of the approaching dawn gave the ocean a dim glow.

  Kelham was the last onto the platform. “All done, Dufort.”

  “Good job, Big Paw!” said Melisande. “I knew I could count on my Nyah-Gwaheh.”

  At the sound of his affectionate nickname, Kelham gave a big smile. On the Philadelphia, the other sailors had made fun of Kelham for his size and soft-spoken manner, taking him for a dimwit. But since he and Melisande had become friends, the young man had come alive and proven to be as brave as any man she knew—a thought that warmed Melisande’s heart.

  “All the guns are spiked, sir,” said Sergeant Anderson. “Ready to move out.”

  “Aye,” agreed Poole. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Melisande nodded. “You said it, Sarge.” The Janissaries and pirates had managed to put out most of the fire, and it wouldn’t be long before soldiers were back on the walls. She turned to where Kaitlin was working on the rope and said, “Lil Red, soon as you give us the…” Melisande trailed off when she saw the rope hanging over the ramparts and Kaitlin nowhere to be found.

  The men glanced about with the same look of surprise.

  “Where’s Lil Red?” Melisande scrambled to the eastern edge of the platform and looked over the wall. The rope dangled above a dune of sand, but there was no one. Melisande ran to the northern corner of the wall, which looked along the narrow isthmus separating the lake from the ocean. “Where is that girl?”

  “I don’t see her, Dufort,” Kelham offered unhelpfully.

  “She can’t have gone far,” said Private Miller.

  Melisande’s eyes traced along the grassy spit of sand, punctuated by the odd mound of bricks, to the edge of ruined Carthage. She squinted into the dim night. At first, she saw only a few broken pillars. Then, a flash of movement at least a hundred yards short of the ruins. The dark figure dashed across the dunes, barely more than a shadow. “Lil Red!”

  Sergeant Anderson followed Melisande’s gaze. “What the devil is she doing?”

  “I don’t know, but we gotta get out of here. Kelham, you first.”

  The giant nodded and threw a leg over the wooden bulwark.

  Melisande steadied the rope for Kelham, and he started to climb down. A crinkling at her bandolier caught her attention, and she found a paper under the belt across her chest. “What the bollocks?” She snatched the note.

  As Private Miller started down the rope, Melisande held the message up to a shaft of moonlight.

  “What does it say?” whispered Sergeant Anderson.

  “I…erm,” Melisande stammered. Her eyebrows pinched as she fumbled for what to say. The truth was, she couldn’t read. Grey Feather’s mother, as a sachem’s wife, placed a high value on clan leaders knowing the settlers’ written language. Despite Maman Fawn’s tutelage and Dominique’s nagging, Melisande had never gotten reading to stick. “Er, it’s too dark. I can’t make out the letters.”

  Poole went do
wn the rope next. Anderson reached for the note. “May I?”

  Melisande nodded and handed it over. As Anderson read, her eyes continued to follow the distant shape of Kaitlin moving toward the ruins.

  “M. Dufort,

  “Naim has something that belongs to my brother and me. Please don’t come after me. I’ll join you at the hideout when I can. By the time the battle is over, the job will be done.

  “Tell Johnny I had to do this. For Mam.

  “The Red Hart.”

  “Dammit, Red!” hissed Melisande.

  Boots were clunking on the wooden steps up to the ramparts, and Anderson touched Melisande’s shoulder. “Time to move.”

  A few minutes later, Melisande and the others were running across the isthmus. Kaitlin’s slip knot had allowed them to take the rope, leaving no immediate evidence of their presence on the shore battery. In the last minutes of darkness, the small landing party made their way to the ruins. They rested a moment amid the free-standing columns and broken walls, all of them breathing hard.

  Melisande regained her wind faster than the others, and was soon pacing.

  “I’m sure she’ll be all right, Mr. Dufort,” said Sergeant Anderson. “At any rate, we’ll need to set the signal rocket and head for the rendezvous point.”

  “Right. Good call, Sarge.” Melisande drew a rocket mounted on a wooden shaft from across her back. She planted the butt of the shaft in the sand, the point of the rocket angled skyward. “Anderson, you got the light?”

  “Aye.” The Marine was on the beach beside her. He pulled the striker from his satchel and lit the rocket’s long fuse. It was slow-burning and would take half an hour to burn down.

  “You chaps get to the hiding place,” said Melisande. “I’m going after Lil Red.”

  “What?” protested Anderson. “But you’ve no idea where she’s gone.”

  “Don’t matter.” Melisande was checking the war club at her belt, running her thumb over the hilt of her copper dagger, shaking her canteen. “No way I’m letting Sully’s sister face Ole Scruffy alone.”

  “I’m coming too.” Kelham rose to his full height, his hands balled into fists.

  “Not this time, Big Paw.”

  “Those ruins could be crawling with Janissaries,” protested Anderson. “Don’t be reckless.”

  “Something you’re gonna have to learn about me.” Melisande checked the pan of her pistol. “Reckless is what I do best. Your mission is done, Sarge. This one’s on me.”

  “I’m coming too!” repeated Kelham.

  “Mr. Kelham has the right of it,” said Anderson. “Five men and one brave lass landed on this beach. Five men and said brave lass are sailing away from this beach.” He looked at the two privates.

  Miller looked up, a chunk of hardtack in his mouth, shrugging mid-bite. Poole paused in the midst of dumping sand from his boot. Anderson picked up his musket and slung it over his shoulder. Kelham crossed his thick forearms.

  All four men were staring at Melisande. Going after Kaitlin was dangerous, and she had planned to be the only one risking her life. She thought of all the times she had followed her adopted brother into the wilderness, ignoring his warnings. She sighed. “Now I know how Grey Feather felt.”

  Chapter 58

  Liberated American Snow Brig

  Lake of Tunis

  Wednesday, September 14th, 1803

  Day 5, Sunrise

  John looked into the case and saw a triangle of red, white, and blue. He was staring into the binnacle box, in front of the ship’s wheel, where a patchwork flag rested against the brass compass. Crewmen worked all night piecing it together from red Marine jackets, white waistcoats, or blue kerchiefs. His hand hovered over the glass lid, shining bright with the light of dawn. Moments ago, Ryland called all hands, and now the entire crew gathered around.

  “Well, Lieutenant?” said Ryland.

  “What are you waiting for, John?” asked Ethan, standing at his side.

  The lid whined as John opened the binnacle box. The moment his hand touched the flag, he felt overcome with emotion. John had come to America as a castaway. Now, five years later, he knew where he belonged. When he got back to Philadelphia, as Ethan had long wanted of him, he would petition for United States citizenship. What he held in his hands, for him and every soul aboard, was the symbol of home.

  “Mr. Meadows,” said John, turning to the veteran sailor. “Assemble a detail and raise the ensign.”

  Meadows touched his forehead by way of salute, then lovingly accepted the flag. “Aye, aye, sir.” He turned to the others in his division. “Man the halyards!”

  As the sun rose over the Mediterranean, the American flag ascended alongside the spanker sail. The men and boys pulled off their hats and kerchiefs, watching in rapt silence. Dominique stood near the forward rails, forgetting her pipe as she watched the colors unfurl. The ensign rippled in the warm breeze, a splash of bright color trailing from the aft halyards.

  Ethan came shoulder to shoulder with John. “It is a beautiful flag, isn’t it?” said Ethan Auldon. “Not bad, for a surgeon’s needle.”

  John looked at Ethan, arms crossed. “You did the stitching?”

  “Only for a few of the stars. I gave up my best kerchief for part of the blue corner.”

  “I think you missed Pennsylvania.”

  “If I did, you can damn well sew it on.” Ethan held up a thumb full of needle pricks.

  John smiled and shook his head.

  “Have a look, Mr. Sullivan.” Ryland was pointing astern. “And please read the new name of our ship.”

  Meadows leaned close to John and whispered, “Nailed the letters on myself, sir.”

  “Very good, Mr. Meadows.” John leaned over the taffrail and looked down at the stern hull. Twelve carved white letters were nailed beneath the cabin windows. He turned toward the assembled crew. “The name reads, ‘Independence.’”

  The men gave a cheer.

  “And what do you make of our vessel’s new name, Mr. Sullivan?” asked Ryland.

  “I think the bey will be mad as hell,” said John.

  The crew burst into snickers.

  “And I think it’s beautiful,” John added more seriously. “Like her crew, our girl is finally free.”

  A silence fell over the onlookers. Some nodded their heads. A few raised a “hear, hear.”

  “It’s a fine name you’ve chosen, Lieutenant,” said Ryland. “A stroke of inspiration.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” said John. “But the idea came from a man who was American long before I.” John touched Ethan’s shoulder. The men returned curious looks, some of whom likely frowned on such gestures between men of different races. Nor did John give a damn. He and Ethan exchanged a warm, if brief, smile.

  Ryland addressed the assembled crew. “It’s a fine name. And it’s more than a name. It’s a declaration to our enemy.” Ryland walked through the crowd, exchanging glances with officers and sailors as he passed. “A few days ago, when the Allegheny fell to the pirates, we faced certain enslavement. When Independence rescued us from the Lake Fort, we faced something much less certain: a choice.” Ryland moved past the ship’s wheel. He looked toward the shapes of pirate ships scattered around the lake. He laid a hand on the shoulder of a Marine. “The same dire choice our countrymen faced at Concord, twenty-eight years ago. The choice to kneel to tyrants and live. Or to fight and risk all.” Ryland continued on through the crowd, an optimistic smile on his face. His eyes landed on Matthew Meadows. “It is true, the sun rises on a difficult day. Our odds are grim. But some of the men standing on this deck stood against far longer odds, against far more powerful foes. Isn’t that right, Meadows?”

  “Aye, sir,” said the old boatswain. “Went to sea against the Redcoats in ’75.”

  “And what advice can you give us for defeating a superior force at sea?”

  “When the enemy is firing broadsides, keep three things dry: The powder, the wadding, and the seat of your breeches.�
��

  The whole deck erupted in laughter and John along with them. They were surrounded by pirates and facing death, and yet they could still share a moment of brotherly cheer.

  “Well said, Mr. Meadows,” Ryland laughed. “Look around you men. We are brothers—and even sisters—in arms.” He gave Dominique a nod. “We are sons and daughters of liberty. Never again shall the oak under our feet answer to a tyrant. Never again shall it be wielded to put men in chains. Stand with me. Stand together. And I promise you, we will win this day. This ship is our sword and our shield. This ship…is our Independence.”

  The crew exploded into cheers. Men patted Ryland on the back. A few threw their kerchiefs from the rigging. John’s eyes wandered to the forecastle, where Dominique stood by the rail, pipe smoking in her lips. She smiled at John. He smiled back.

  “Now men,” said Ryland. “Man your stations. It’s time we show these Barbary scoundrels what an American tar is made of!”

  Another round of cheers.

  John looked up to the halyards near the spanker boom. The red, white, and blue ensign rippled in the freshening breeze. He smiled. It really was a magnificent flag.

  ###

  The Independence

  The Lake of Tunis

  Wednesday, September 14th, 1803

  Day 5, Dawn

  “Name them again,” said Ethan as he nailed down the corner of a canvas partition.

  Dominique Dufort closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the row of surgical tools was no less terrifying. Curved blades, hand-cranked drills, squiggly hooks, saws like butcher’s knives, all lined up on the surgical table. She pointed to each instrument. “Scalpel, bullet extractor, skull drill…”