by Hunt N. Peck
Chapter the Sixth, or A Close Shave.
"As we are a-pretendin' to be nice peaceable Dutch persons," bellowed Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges, "it behooves yuz to learn yerselves a few words o' the lingo." He tapped the blackboard. "First word, o' course, be 'please', because we are polite Dutch persons, and that word is alstublieft, which is short for als het U belieft, meanin' 'if it you pleases '. Now you say it … alstublieft."
The crew, assembled in the waist and in the rigging, mumbled 'alstublieft' as best they could. There was little wind, and the sails hung, flapping occasionally when a stray cat's-paw of breeze caught them.
"Pay attention, shipmates," bellowed the Captain. "We are in the Gulf of Gabes, an' so we are in the waters o' the corsairs of Barbary, who are a parcel o' nasty buggers, and no mistake. Pirates they may be – and indeed they pays fees to use the ports o' the Spanish main – but they are not members o' the Free Brotherhood o' the Coasts, curse 'em, and they would surely take us prize as soon as look at us. Iffen they did that they would sell us all at the slave-market and we'd spend the rest o' our miserable lives pulling the oar of a galley."
The Captain paused for breath, and to run his cold grey eyes over the faces of the buccaneers.
"However, I knows that the admiral o' the Algerine fleet, Suleyman Reis, is actually a Dutchman, name of Salomo de Veenboer!"
There was a mutter of surprise from the crew.
"Strange, ain't it, mateys?" said the Captain, "but it be true. He was taken into slavery himself, but worked his way up through cunning and brutality, an' now he's the donanma komutani, which is to say admiral o' the fleet. He has recently squeezed the Dutch East India Company into givin' him much gold to let their ships be, an' some say he do yearn to go home, to the country o' his birth, and wishes to be seen in a favourable light, and so we be pretendin' to be Hollanders to take advantage o' his present benevolence to them. All this'll be for naught if yuz cannot learn yerselves a few words o' the lingo. Think o' the galley-oar iffen yuz finds yer minds wandering, and how many times ye has to pull it every day! Now says it again, you lubbers!"
"Alstublieft!" roared the crew.
"The next word is 'thankyou', or 'thank'ee', which is dank U wel or bedankt …"
This notion of the Captain's to bludgeon the crew into obedience with words works wondrously well, thought Blue Peter Ceshwayoo, but I pray that he does not over-use it. If he ever intends to give them lectures in the appreciation of water-colours I shall try and stop him. The sun was hot on his neck, and the still air oppressive, the sky a blue bowl from horizon to horizon. The Captain was still bellowing.
" … the Dutch for 'no' is nee, or neen in some parts. 'Yes' is ja. After me …"
There was a shout from the mainmast top. Blue Peter was jerked from a reverie about a plump Dutch lady he had once seen in a painting. The look-out at the main-top was pointing.
"Lesson over!" roared the Captain. "Do any of yuz lubbers speak any Dutch at all?" A few hands went up. "Yer must stay on deck, then. Enough crew in the rigging to trim sail iffen the wind stiffens, the rest o' yuz below. Cutlasses and guns ready. Cannon loaded and primed, but not run out. And be as quiet as little mice below, d'yuz hear me? As quiet as little mice!"
"Do you intend adopting Lord Mondegreen's stratagem of concealing the crew below decks?" said Blue Peter.
"Well, I do have the advantage that my crew will come up when I call them," said the Captain, "but I would rather convince any corsairs that we are a Dutch ship, and so not their prey. Peter, go and attend to your guns, then come back on deck. Your great size and fine uniform may impress them if we parley."
"I have no Dutch, Captain."
"Well then, look shy and mumble. I must go up and see for myself." The Captain strode from the quarterdeck and jumped up onto the ratlines. Blue Peter was briefly obstructed by the ship's carpenter wrestling the blackboard and easel down the companionway before he could get to the gundeck. The gun-crews were already loading and ramming the cannons, the gun-locks were out of their wooden boxes and fixed to the touch-holes, while the rest of the crew armed themselves in silence broken only by muttered curses and the clink of metal.
When Blue Peter returned on deck Captain Greybagges was climbing down from the shrouds.
"It is Algerines, blast 'em. A galley. With no wind we cannot even bring the guns to bear. If I launch a longboat to swing her round, then we don't look much like a peaceable Dutch ship that has its protection paid for. I shall have to brazen it out, Peter, unless a wind comes."
No wind came, and the galley came closer, until Blue Peter could see the massed corsairs on its deck and the glint of the bright sun on their scimitars and breastplates. The oars of the galley moved as one, like the wings of a bird, as it manoevred to approach the frigate from the prow, out of the line of fire of her broadside guns. There is something odd about those Algerines, thought Blue Peter, but I cannot place what it is exactly.
When the galley bumped gently into the becalmed frigate, its low rakish silhouette sliding easily under the bowsprit, corsairs clambered over the forepeak rail and flooded onto the ship. Captain Greybagges, Blue Peter and Bulbous Bill stood on the quarterdeck. An enormous corsair bearing a huge tulwar and a ferocious grin led the boarding-party up the steps to the quarterdeck and stood before them. They have no beards, thought Blue Peter, that is what is odd. They have turbans, curved scimitars and baggy pants, but they are all clean-shaven.
"Goed middag, heeren! Hoe ik u kan helpen?" said Captain Greybagges affably.
"Spraak-je 'Scheveningen!'" commanded the huge corsair, waving his tulwar menacingly.
"Wat? Scheveningen! Potverdomme! Bent-jou gek?" said the Captain, with surprise.
"Hie zijn en Engelsman!" said a voice, and a pale blue-eyed man stepped from behind the huge corsair.
"Hah! A cursed Englishman!" roared the corsair, waggling the tulwar. "Dank U wel, Jan!"
"Ik bent en Nederlander, zeker!" protested the Captain.
"Hah! Nobody but a true Hollander can pronounce the word Scheveningen correctly! You are caught, cursed Englishman!" the huge corsair laughed. "Did you think our mighty admiral Suleyman Reis is such a fool? He gives me his own quartermaster," – the blue-eyed man bowed – "to unmask such pitiful impostures. The Dutch East India Company have paid their tarifa, but you have not! Now you will pay, ho-ho-ho!"
"You speak English remarkably well," said the Captain.
"Hah! You think compliments will make me look upon you more kindly!" sneered the corsair captain. "How little you know! My father had an English slave whom he trusted, and the fellow swore that English schools were the best in the world, and so I was sent up to your cursed Eton College. Five years of hell! Drinking! Brutality! Endless dreary sermons! Foul food! Vile infidel depravities! I have loathed the filthy English ever since. You will find no mercy in me, Englishman!"
"Good Lord!" exclaimed the Captain, "I remember you! You were one of the warts who came up to school in my final year! You fagged for Stinky Bodfish!"
"Bismallah! I remember you, too … Greybagges, that is your name … you clean-bowled the foul cretin Bodfish out for no runs in the House matches, third ball of his first over, middle stump with a wicked slow bouncer! That will not help you! I laughed at the vile Stinky Bodfish when you did that, and he beat me cruelly with a leather slipper, the infidel fiend!"
"He was always a bully and a sneak, that Stinky Bodfish," said the Captain, shaking his head. "Always creeping around and peaching to the beaks."
"But wait!" said the corsair captain, "the Greybagges chap at school had fair yellow hair, and yet you have a brown beard!"
"Merely part of the imposture," said the Captain. He pulled a black handkerchief from his sleeve and rubbed carefully at his long beard. "There, green, can you see? I am not only the Greybagges who took Bodfish's wicket, I am also Greenbeard the pirate."
"Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Rahim!" said the corsair, lowering his huge tulwar, looking at the beard with awe. "This is a sad day! The buccaneering exploits of the fearsome Greenbeard are known even here – even as the name of Abu Karim Muhammad al-Jamil ibn Nidal ibn Abdulaziz al-Berberi is known in your neck of the woods, I dare say – and that was indeed a wonderful ball you bowled that day! I remember it now! There was so much spin on it that a little puff of dust went out sideways where it bounced and jinked behind foul Stinky's bat … so I would dearly love to have swopped tales with you over a glass of serbet or two, but my thirty-nine pirates and I have sworn a solemn oath to be the greatest thieves on land or sea until all infidels are driven from … from … well, from just about everywhere, actually. It's that kind of oath, it goes on a bit, you know? Until then we will not grow our beards, either. We follow the teachings of our mullah, Ali."
The corsairs parted, and a man stepped forward as if summoned by those words. He was small and wiry-looking, and his orange turban was the size of a prize-winning pumpkin. His shaven chin was as brown as mahogany, his nose was a blade like an eagle's beak and his eyes were as mad and yellow as a chicken's.
"I am Ali!" he spoke in a light musical voice, red light glinted from the large ruby that he wore on his orange turban. "Too many infidels infest the world! We shall sweep the infidels from the seas, and from the lakes, and from the rivers, and from the … and from all the rest of the places. Thieving is not thieving if it is from infidels! So we are thieves gladly! We have sworn not to grow beards until the task is done! I, Ali the Barber, have sworn an even mightier oath! I have sworn …"
He brought out an enormous cutthroat razor and opened it. It was as big as a scimitar.
"I have sworn that I shall shave every man who does not shave himself! I have sworn a mighty oath that it shall be so! So take your choice, captain of dogs, shall you shave yourself, or shall I, Ali the Barber, shave you?"
I have a pistol in my belt, thought Blue Peter, but my coat is buttoned over it. Can I wrench my coat open, ripping off the buttons, and get to the pistol before the big fellow splits me in twain with his tulwar? The tension in the hot air seemed suddenly to fizz and crackle. Out of the corner of his eye Blue Peter saw Captain Greybagges's green beard, still with a few patches of brown boot-polish upon it, wave slightly and shiver as though stirred by a breeze. Yet there was no breeze, he thought, and the hairs on the back of his neck lifted.
"You should be very careful before making such terrible oaths," said Captain Greybagges evenly. "Oaths which you cannot possibly keep."
"I shall keep this oath! I have sworn so! Your beard will be shaved one way or another!" hissed Ali the Barber, waving the enormous razor from side to side, glints of light sliding along its honed edge.
"That is not what I meant," said the Captain. "You swore that you would shave the beard of every man who did not shave himself, did you not?"
"I did! I, Ali the Barber, swore that! And it shall be so!"
"But who shaves you, Ali the Barber?" said the Captain, smiling reasonably.
"I shave myself, of course, you infidel fool!"
"But your oath, your mighty unbreakable oath, was that you would shave every man who doesn't shave himself, so how did you shave yourself without breaking the oath?" said the Captain, still smiling reasonably.
"I, Ali, …" The mad yellow eyes under the orange turban crossed slightly in thought. The thirty-nine corsairs and the corsair captain looked at each other in consternation.
"That's … that's nothing but a mere quibble!" shouted Ali at last.
"No, it is not," said the Captain. "You have broken your oath! Your mighty oath is broken and meaningless! You swore that you would shave every man who did not shave himself, then you shaved yourself and made your mighty oath into a lie!"
"I, Ali, do not shave myself. I get my servant to do it! I forgot that!"
"But then," said the Captain, again smiling reasonably, "you should have shaved yourself, because you swore to shave every man who did not shave himself, did you not?"
"I, Ali, …" the yellow eyes were now very crossed in frantic thought.
The captain of corsairs was looking down at Ali the Barber appraisingly, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed in thought.
"Captain Greybagges would seem to have the right of this," he said slowly. "Ali, you have misled us, I fear …"
"Are you sure you would not like a glass of fruit juice, Abu?" asked the Captain. He and the captain of the corsairs were seated comfortably in the Great Cabin, in the shade, by the open stern-windows.
"No, Captain Greybagges," said the big corsair, "a glass of cool beer will be perfect. Anyway, I find I am disillusioned with oaths and pledges just now. Call me Muhammed, if you will. Abu is more of a courtesy title, meaning 'father'."
"By all means, Muhammed. Please call me Sylvestre. We are no longer up at Eton, thank God, and need not use our sire-names."
There was a high-pitched shriek from the deck above, followed by a rumble of laughter.
"What are your men doing to the fellow?" asked the Captain, pouring beer carefully into his tilted glass.
"They are shaving his … his body hair with his own razor," said the corsair, leaving the last drops of beer in the bottle so as not to disturb the yeast-lees at the bottom. "Mmm, this is good ale! I haven't drunk its like since I left England. Your fellows are watching, and giving encouragement and advice. When they have had their fun I shall find an oar for him to pull. I dislike being made to look a fool."
"Ali the Barber speaks English very well," said the Captain.
"Winchester College," said the corsair.
"A Wykehamist! Why am I not surprised?" said the Captain.
"Yes, indeed! As some wise cove once said; 'You can always tell a Wykehamist, but you can't tell him anything much'." Muhammed al-Berberi, the captain of corsairs, sipped his beer and smiled the wolfish smile of a Barbary pirate, his teeth white against his sunburned face.
In the gloom of the gundeck Blue Peter was facing a minor mutiny, his gun-crews wished to go on deck and view Ali the Barber's humiliation.
"Gun-crews never see anything! It goes with the job, you know that, you lubbers! There's nothing to see through a gun-port except the side of another ship and clouds of smoke! Anyway, you've seen a fellow getting his nadgers shaved before. We do it to somebody every time we cross the Equator, don't we?"
In the end Blue Peter allowed the youngest gunners and the powder-monkeys to go on deck, but the remaining crew must stow the gun-locks, stopper the touch-holes with spiles and the bores with greased tompions, lash down the guns and sweep and water the deck first. Thorvald Coalbiter, a Dane from the Faeroe Islands, master of the starboard number-three gun Tordener, was still aggrieved, as he had wished to see the giant razor. Blue Peter made safe the powder-magazine, locked the copper-sheathed door then took the lantern from its glazed box on the magazine bulkhead and blew it out. He went on deck. The freshly-shaven Ali was being manhandled over the rail into the galley. The corsairs and the pirates were socialising warily, and bartering Ali's clothes and possessions. A corsair was washing suds and hairs from the giant razor in a bucket. He wiped it dry, oiled it and put it in a velvet-lined box. Blue Peter had a thought.
"Ali the Barber will not be needing that anymore, I think," he said to the corsair. The corsair had no English, so Blue Peter repeated it in Swahili, and was answered with a nod. After some negotiation Blue Peter acquired the huge razor for five gulden and a bottle of rum, the corsair insisting that the rum was not for drinking, but as liniment for his baridi yabisi. Blue Peter had not heard the words before, but the corsair's mimed pain suggested rheumatism. Yes, indeed, thought Blue Peter, liniment to be applied from the inside, but kept a straight face. The corsair stashed the coins in a fold of his sash and the bottle in his baggy shirt.
Blue Peter showed the razor to Thorvald Coalbiter.
"I have never seen one as big as that," said Thorvald wonderingly. "The engraving is very pretty, isn't it?"
The rectangular blade of the razor was as long as Blue Peter's forearm and as wide as his hand. The black-filled etching on the silver-steel blade showed a hunting scene in rolling countryside, the huntsmen and hounds in the middle distance with sly reynard in the foreground. The other side of the blade was etched with a pattern of curlicues and whorls around the words:
William Occam
fine cutlery
Sheffield, England.
"I think it must have been made to go in a shop window," said Blue Peter, "as an advertisement of the cutler's skill. It will make a good keepsake for the Captain, and we can use it for the next line-crossing merriments. Neptune's court will have some fun with it, I feel sure."
Blue Peter folded the blade back into the ebony-and-silver handle and put the razor back in its box.
"… and the Pipsqueak, what of that little devil?" asked Captain Greybagges.
"Ho! Billy Pitt! The fellow acquired a taste for old port wine and got gout! Only fifteen and he got gout!" said Muhammed, shaking his head.
"He always was an adventurous little scallywag." The Captain sipped his beer.
"Indeed! Pluck of a lion. Crafty as a fox, too. He was forever reading Demosthenes in Greek, looking for tips. The Philippics mainly, as I recall."
There was a knock on the door, and Bulbous Bill entered with the blue-eyed corsair. Bill's meaty hand rested on the Hollander's shoulder in a friendly way, but the corsair looked rattled nonetheless.
"I thought I'd bring myneer Janszoon down here, Cap'n. The crew was miffed he tricked you, like, and wished to shave him, too," fluted Bill.
"Sit you down, mister Janszoon! That was indeed a wily ploy! Scheveningen!" the Captain chuckled. "A shibboleth, 'pon my word, and I am caught alike to an Ephraimite! Does it indeed work for all who are not Dutch?"
"Ja, kapitein, even for Germans, who are by us in speech." The Dutchman grinned uneasily.
"I do love a subtle stratagem!" said the Captain. "Do not quake so! We captains of buccaneers do not bear grudges! We do not have the time for 'em, we be too busy killin' people! Har-har! … Jake! Bring some Hollands jenever for the quartermaster of Suleyman Reis!"
The Dutchman did not look entirely reassured, and downed the gin in one gulp.
"The wind do seem to be stiffening, too, Cap'n," said Bulbous Bill.
"Get the jacks back up the masts, then, Bill," said the Captain.
"In that case I shall go to my ship," said Muhammed al-Berberi, "but I will escort you into the port of Sfax myself, if you will permit me, and please consider my house to be your house for as long as you shall stay."
They went up on deck. Bulbous Bill started shouting orders to the foremast jacks. Jan Janszoon stayed warily close to the corsair captain.
"What do you seek in Sfax, Sylvestre?" the corsair captain asked. "I do not wish to appear inquisitive, but perhaps I may be able to aid you."
"I wish to ransom a fellow from slavery. A Mr Frank Benjamin," the Captain said.
The captain of corsairs nodded, then went to board his galley. The Dutch corsair hung back for a moment.
"The false name of your disguised ship, 'Groot Ombeschaamheid,' is chosen well, kapitein." The Dutchman smiled, then ran to catch up with Muhammed al-Berberi.
The wind was playful; gusting airs and small calms. The frigate would lead for a time, then the breeze would wane, its sails would flap, and the galley would pull ahead. As the ships passed the crews would shout cat-calls, and Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges and Muhammed al-Berberi exchanged friendly insults from their quarterdecks.
"If it were not for the slaves a galley would be a fine vessel," said the Captain admiringly. "They do indeed resemble a large bird in slow flight, as the ancient Greek coves used to say."
"The Greek triremes of old had hand-picked crews of volunteers," said Blue Peter. "If Thucydides wrote truly, then they could top eleven knots, and keep that up for a whole day and a night. The port of Piraeus to the island of Melos in twenty-four hours."
"I ain't fussed 'bout that Ali the Barber a-pulling on an oar, the tom-fool," piped Bulbous Bill, keeping an eye on the sails.
"Indeed, he was a klootzak," chuckled the Captain, "and now he has a shaved klootzak, har-har-har!" He saw his friends' incomprehension. "It means both 'idiot' and 'clot-bag' in Dutch, d'you see?"
"Blood and bones! They bain't be funny iffen yez has ta spell 'em out, Cap'n, and damn me for a lubber, else!" said Israel Feet.
"Arr! Izzie, an' thou art a klootzak, too! Get yerself about readyin' the barky to anchor, there be a smudge o' land on the horizon."
The pirate frigate Ark de Triomphe, masquerading as VOC schip Groot Ombeschaamheid, lay at anchor off the port of Sfax. The sun was setting behind the low hills and the first stars twinkled in the deep-blue sky. Captain Greybagges had changed into his customary all-black clothes and wrapped his long green beard in a black scarf, only his face and hands showed clearly in the twilight.
"Hear me, yez lubbers! We be havin' the goodwill of one Barbary pirate, mateys, but there be more than one, so I will keeps yuz gussied-up as Dutchmen whilst we be in these waters, and yez shall keep a sharp look-out, too. The Master Gunner has not drawn the charges from the guns, and yez will surely have espyed that we be not in the inner harbour, drawn up at the quay alike to a pie on a window-ledge, so yez can see that I be not a trustin' sort of cully. Yez'll be not missin' much by not goin' ashore, as there be no drink there, which being why they corsairs was so eager to buy your'n. If any little boats comes yuz must point muskets at 'em, not buy dates from 'em. I must go to parley with Muhammed al-Berberi. Keeps yer eyes peeled!"
Captain Greybagges waited while Loomin' Len Lummocks and the crew of bully-boys lowered a keg of beer into the longboat, then clambered down the side of the ship. There was a splash of oars and the longboat rowed away to Sfax. Blue Peter, leaning on the quarterdeck taffrail, watched them go. In the gathering gloom he could just make out the longboat tying up at the harbour wall, the bully-boys passing up the keg, then the darkness became too profound.
The Master Gunner, the sailing-master and the First Mate were sitting at a folding table on the foredeck drinking chocolatl and playing Puff-and-Honours with a deck of greasy dog-eared cards when Captain Sylvstre de Greybagges returned. The first bell of the middle watch had just struck, a muffled bong as the clapper was muffled with a rag; half past midnight A low whistle from the mainmast look-out told them a boat was approaching, then two whistles told them it was the Captain's longboat. Captain Greybagges joined them at the card-table and unwrapped the black cloth from his green beard. Mumblin' Jake brought him a mug of chocolatl. He laced it with a splash of rum and stirred it.
"Jake, gives Len and his bully-boys a mug o' this, and a double tot o' rum, when they has stowed the longboat."
The Captain took off his belt and black coat and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, placing his cutlass and pistols within easy reach.
"Shall I deals yer a hand, Cap'n?" said Bulbous Bill, shuffling the pack.
"Nay, Bill. I shall be for me bunk arter I sits awhile." Captain Greybagges yawned, slapped at a mosquito. "Muhammed al-Berberi is a fine gentleman, but still a slaver at heart, I fear. He wished to purchase the ship's carpenter from me."
"Har-har! Hello, sailor! Wi' a curse!" chuckled Israel Feet.
"No, I do not believe he is of that persuasion, else he could o' gotten Mr Chippendale for a bunch o' flowers an' a shy smile," said the Captain. "He cannot see a pair o' mighty arms an' wide shoulders alike to Chips and not wish to see 'em chained to an oar, is what. To see a man as though he were a horse be a failin', I finds, especially these days. When I were a brief I would have sold him, an' laughed as I spent the money, but a man changes as he do age, he do indeed." The Captain shook his head. "Muhammed is fine company, mind yez, he is fond o' an ale and he has a great love o' cricket, so I cannot find it in my heart to mislike him at all."
"Cricket be damned," said Bulbous Bill, dealing cards. "Did you sees any o' them hareem ladies, wif the baggy pants o' gauze and them curly-toes shoes, Cap'n?"
"Not a one. The only fellas allowed into the hareem be eunuchs, o' course, so's I thought it best not to pry. We was mostly talkin' business, anyways." The Captain drained his mug. "I be for me bunk. Keep look-outs posted, an' check that they be awake. Goodnight to yuz."
Captain Greybagges awoke suddenly, for no reason it seemed, a little before the change to the morning watch. Half-past three, by the pings of his repeater, he replaced the Breguet on the night-stand. A sense of unease prevented him from sleeping again. He got out of the hanging bunk, buckled his belt over his black nightshirt, slid two pistols into it then grabbed his cutlass and another pistol. As he went up the companionway he reached down and tapped on Blue Peter's cabin door with the tip of the cutlass.
He padded swiftly up the steps. In the dim glow of the stern-lantern he saw Israel Feet laying face-down on the quarterdeck, a figure in dark clothes crouched over him, preparing to hit him again with a club. Captain Greybagges shot him in the head, and he fell down. Other dark figures swarmed the decks. Captain Greybagges threw down the discharged pistol and ran down the steps from the quarterdeck, roaring, brandishing his cutlass and grappling at his belt for another pistol. Behind him came the sound of bare feet slapping the deck and Blue Peter joined him, armed to the teeth. They both fired pistols into the silent crowd; there was a cry, and also a clang, and a ricochetting ball whirred past the Captain's ear. They charged at the dark-clad men, and there was a brief melee, then their opponents seemed to vanish over the side of the ship like rats. The pirate crew of the Ark de Triomphe suddenly erupted from hatches carrying lanterns, muskets, pikes and cutlasses.
"Quiet, you lubbers!" roared Captain Greybagges. The crew were quiet. From the dark there was the faint sploshing of muffled oars. The Captain pointed.
"There! Fire!" he said, raising a pistol. There was a crackle of musketry, and several shouts and a clang from the dark.
"Cease fire! They be too far now."
On the quarterdeck Bulbous Bill Bucephalus was crouched over Israel Feet. He carefully turned him onto his side. The First Mate's eyes were shut, and there was a dribble of blood on the deck.
"He breathes. I better get him below," said the sailing-master, "it be too dark to see up here."
He picked the unconscious First Mate up in his arms, and carried him gently, resting on his substantial stomach, down the quarterdeck steps.
"Where is the fellow I shot?" asked the Captain. "I shot him in the head."
"Those fellows were wearing black turbans over steel helmets, I think," said Blue Peter. "You may have only stunned him."
"If I had shot the sod with your long-barrelled Kentucky pistol, Peter, he would be laying there still."
"Indeed, it is a lucky gun." Blue Peter handed the pistol to the Captain and pointed. There was a bright silver gouge deep into the blue'd metal of the lock. "One of those fellows ducked down, and came up at me from below with a rapier. The gun was in my sash, and it struck and caught on the lock-plate."
"A lucky gun, indeed!" said the Captain, turning it in his hands.
"When the fellow lunged he looked up at my face to see my moment of death, the dog, and I saw his blue eyes. It was Jan Janszoom."
The Captain was quiet for a while.
"Jan Janszoom van Haarlem, also known as Murat Reis," he said. "That makes sense. I won Muhammed al-Berberi's goodwill today – or yesterday, rather – but Janszoom will not be well pleased, nor will his master Suleyman Reis. If he wishes to be Salomo de Veenboer once more, and have his morning jenever and coffee on Warmoesstraat, then he will not appreciate us wicked buccaneers masquerading as Dutchmen on his patch. It complicates matters. Also, I wish to ransom Frank Benjamin from him. If this little caper had succeeded he would have Mr Benjamin and the ransom and my ship and my crew and me as well, to ask politely why I wanted Mr Benjamin in the first instance. I should have seen this coming."
"Should we raise anchor and leave, then?"
The Captain was again lost in thought for a while.
"No. They will not try again. The Barbery corsairs are not a navy, they are pirates alike to us. Admiral of the fleet or not, myneer Veenboer cannot antagonise his captains willy-nilly, and Muhammed has had me as a guest in his home – an invited guest, too – so he will lose face by this. If it had succeeded it would be a fait accompli, and Muhammed would have been obliged to keep still about it, but it did not succeed, so Veenboer will pretend he knew nothing of it, and will ransom Mr Benjamin tomorrow – sorry, today – as agreed. Poor Mr Benjamin will be roughed-up, I am sure, to find out if he knows why I want him, but he does not know why, so he cannot tell them. The ransom is substantial, though, so they will not do Mr Benjamin any permanent harm, I hope."
"Why do you want Mr Benjamin, Captain?" said Blue Peter.
Captain Greybagges winked and tapped his nose with a forefinger.
"I can only answer such questions when I have myself a banyan day, and I shall need one soon enough, I feel. Double the watches until we leave this place. I'm going to try and get another couple of hours of shut-eye. Tomorrow may be a trying day."
Blue Peter slept no more that night, and frankly admired the Captain's ability to do so. Israel Feet was still unconscious, a wound to the back of his head where he had been clubbed, but Bill said he could feel no bones moving in the skull and that both the pupils of his eyes were the same size.
"Where did you learn the surgeon's arts?" Blue Peter asked him.
"Boxing ring," said Bill. "The other three are not so bad. Lumps on their heads like goose-eggs, mind yer. The main-top look-out had come down from the mast, the stupid bugger, to wait for the end o' his watch, so they were all four on deck, and they came over the side real quiet and quick, all dressed in black wif they faces a-blacked-up, and a-clobbered 'em. Lucky the Captain heard something. They musta been wearing black breastplates, too, coz I heard the musket-balls bounce offen 'em, but I didn't see no glim."
"Old Spanish trick," said Blue Peter. "The breastplate is warmed over coals and pitch melted and smeared on to it. It can be done quickly, if a night attack is needed. Unless they were lacquered, of course, but that would make them hot in the sun of the broad day."
The sun of the broad day rose, and Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges awoke. Mumblin' Jake shaved his head, mumbling that maybe he should use that big razor, har-har! Then made coffee as the Captain dressed in black and armed himself.
"How is Izzie?" he asked, when Bulbous Bill and Blue Peter joined him for breakfast.
"Still out cold, but he be a-mutterin' and a-movin' a little. Others just have headaches and lumps, like." Bill attended to his bacon and eggs.
Captain Greybagges finished his plate, spread butter and marmalade on toast and poured himself another mug of coffee.
"Bill, I wishes you to bring the barky closer inshore, now it is daylight, so that Blue Peter's guns can cover the piece of flat ground next to the harbour wall. I will make the exchange there, not bringing the ransom on-shore until they produce Mr Benjamin in reasonable condition. Peter, load grape, chain and musket-balls. If there is any funny business and I am killed – for I have no mind to pull a galley-oar – then you must sweep the ground clear and make your escape as best you can. I hope the threat will be enough, though. When Mr Benjamin will be brought I do not know, but the later the better, as I intend to sail immediately he is aboard, and the closer to dusk that is, the happier I will be. A pursuit, even with galleys, is more trying in the dark, and the wind then will be strong from the shore. When I am ashore you must keep a watch on me with spy-glasses, at least two at all times, but do not neglect to keep a sharp look-out to seaward. Perhaps last night's caper will keep the crew a little more on their toes today. Who came down from the mast early from look-out?"
"Jemmy Ducks, Cap'n," sighed Bill.
"I will have to punish him, you know," said the Captain, "but do not scare him to death before I do that. A lump on the head and the ill-will of the rest of the crew are nearly punishment enough, perhaps, and he is young, so I will not be unduly harsh."
Blue Peter and Bulbous Bill watched the longboat as it went to the harbour wall, Blue Peter peering through a long Dolland spy-glass. Captain Greybagges clambered up onto the quay followed by Loomin' Len and four of the bully-boys. Two stayed in the longboat, cutlasses across their knees and pistols in their hands and their belts. Through the spy-glass Blue Peter could see the Captain clearly, but the field of view was narrow.
"Here comes Muhammed," said Bill.
Blue Peter shifted the spy-glass a trifle.
"Caramba! What a beautiful horse!"
Blue Peter watched as Muhammed al-Berberi rode to the Captain on a magnificent black horse. Four mounted corsairs in bright breastplates and white turbans followed him, but he waved them away, swung down from the horse before it had stopped, and strode to the Captain his arms held wide to show he was unarmed. The bully-boys were not impressed and moved to cover Captain Greybagges, but the Captain gestured to them and stepped forward to meet the corsair captain.
"Damn! Here's trouble!" squeaked Bill.
Blue Peter scanned with the spy-glass; a group of corsairs coming onto the open ground. He moved his view back to Muhammed; the corsair captain was shouting and pointing. He looked at the corsair party again; they were spreading out to occupy the ground, some with long matchlock jezails, some with scimitars, a squad with pikes were poking them into the scrubby bushes, the mounted corsairs were scouting the edges of the ground.
"I think it is alright, Bill. I think Muhammed is protecting our Captain." Blue Peter felt a sharp sense of relief, but he continued scanning with the spy-glass. He risks his life and pays much gold, thought Blue Peter, to get this fellow, and I do not know why. I have more confidence in him now, but I am still perturbed by his tale of monsters. The Captain slapped Muhammed on the back and clambered back into the longboat, leaving two bully-boys on the quay. The longboat came back to the ship. Captain Greybagges climbed aboard.
"Well!" he said, "I was right. Muhammed was affronted, and intends to prevent further capers. He says that Suleyman Reis smoothly denies all knowledge, and that Mr Benjamin will be brought along presently. He exacted a price, though, for his friendship. He wishes to play a game of cricket, corsairs against pirates, for a wager."
"What is the wager?" asked Blue Peter.
"A ha'penny. One half of an English penny. Peter, would you like to be captain? I feel it would be bad form for me to do it."
"Well, yes, I suppose I could…"
"Excellent! Go and pick another nine men. Volunteers, but I will give each man a sovereign if we win."
A bewildered Blue Peter went below, to find a cricket team.
"Bill, I will have to leave you in charge," said the Captain.
"S'alright Cap'n. I be more of a boxin', wrestlin' and racin' man, meself, like. I do like a bet, yer sees, but cricket be too long to wait for a result."
"The situation seems to have eased somewhat, and Muhammed seems to be my ally, but do still keep a very sharp look-out."
Captain Greybagges went below and came up with his cricket-bag, wearing his old straw hat. The longboat ferried the cricket team ashore in two journeys. Bulbous Bill Bucephalus watched, occasionally peering through the spy-glass, the pirate crew watched from the cross-yards.
What a tedious game cricket is, thought Bulbous Bill, but the lads do look fine in their grey trousers, red shirts and straw hats, and here is Muhammed al-Berberi's team, all in blue with orange turbans, they must be picked from his thirty-nine thieves. He peered through the spy-glass; yes, they are clean-shaven, but some with stubble today. But what is this? Jan Janszoom is with them, the dog! I am surprised he has showed his face. Why! He must be the captain of the corsair team; he and Blue Peter are tossing a coin.
The pirates went to bat, the corsairs spreading out as fielders. The clack of bat hitting ball was muted by distance, but still audible. Bill noticed that the noise came almost a second after the impact, and, brows furrowed, calculated an approximation of the velocity of sound; a little over six hundred knots, a prodigious and unimaginable speed. The morning passed. There was one alarm from the maintop when sails were seen on the horizon, but it was just a felucca. In the late morning Bill passed the spy-glass to one of the steersmen and went on a tour of the ship. All was in order, the gun-deck temporarily under the eye of Torvald Coalbiter, the cannon loaded, primed and laid to cover the ground. Bill returned to the quarterdeck.
On shore the game was at half-time. Muhammed al-Berberi's men had erected a marquee, and the teams were having refreshments. I should have liked to taste them sherbets, thought Bill, they say they are very tasty, especially with the sun high and hot, as it is. He peered through the spy-glass; the Captain and Muhammed were conversing, Captain Greybagges miming a stroke with a cricket-bat.
Play resumed with the corsairs in to bat. The afternoon wore on. Bill did not pay much attention to the game, except when Captain Greybagges was bowling to Muhammed al-Berberi. He ain't a-givin' him no mercy, thought Bill, that 'un were a scorcher, if I ain't mistook. Another sail on the horizon; another felucca with a lateen rig.
There was an outburst of ill-tempered chatter and a few groans from the crew, some sitting on cross-yards, some leaning on the shore-side rails.
"Whassup?" Bill asked a steersman. The pirate gave him a sideways look.
"The corsairs have won, curse 'em!"
Bill continued his watch on the shore. Well, I'll be damned! thought Bill, the dog Janszoon has gone to shake Blue Peter's hand, the tom-fool! Grinning like an ape, he is. Har-har! Blue Peter has crushed his hand! There he goes holding it, Muhammed laughing alike to a drain, the corsairs grinning. Har-har! Who is this arriving? It must be Suleyman Reis. Yes, that would be him, in the big turban. There is a man who drinks far more than is good for him, a nose as red as a beetroot. That must be this Mr Benjamin fellow. He has a black eye, but he still has his scrub-wig and his eye-glasses; they must have taken them off him before they clobbered him. The Captain is coming to the longboat with some of the cricket team.
The longboat came to the ship. The Captain went below with two bully-boys and returned on deck with a small wooden chest. The bully-boys lowered it into the longboat.
"Bill, I shall send back Mr Benjamin and the rest of the team," said the Captain, "and then return myself. Start raising the anchor when I'm on my way back, and we will set to sea straight away."
The longboat splashed away. Captain Greybagges and Muhammed al-Berberi stood on the quay.
"I am grateful for your help and support, Muhammed. I hope this will not bring you trouble from your admiral."
"Maybe, but I do not think it matters. Suleyman Reis or Salomo de Veenboer, he cannot decide which he wants to be, and it weakens him. He also lets his greed outgrow his wits. The treacherous assault on your ship was a mistake; what use is it to have persons to ransom if you cannot be trusted to make the exchange? Pah! You and I are pirates, Sylvestre, so we do bad things sometimes, but we are not bad men, not at heart. Suleyman Reis pretends to be a muslim. His mouth repeats words but he does not listen to what they are saying. He hears 'lâ hawla wa lâ quwwata illâ billâh' – 'there is no transformation or power except through Allah' – every day, but he still believes that who he is, Dutchman or Barbary corsair, is within his power to choose, and that he has power enough to order the world the way he would like it to be, but he cannot, so his time as admiral may be short."
"What will you do with Ali the Barber?"
"The crew still need a mullah, but first Ali Nasruddin will learn some humility at the oar."
"Will you grow your beard now?"
"Beard, no beard, I don't know. Maybe I shall shave my beard to the bottom of my ears … so … and grow a big moustache."
"That might suit you. Perhaps you will start a fashion throughout the whole Ottoman empire! The longboat comes, Muhammed. I must go. Thank you again for your help and your friendship. Oh! I nearly forgot. Here are your winnings."
The Captain solemnly gave Muhammed al-Berberi a ha'penny coin, shook him by the hand and climbed down into the longboat. As the rowers pulled towards the ship Muhammed al-Berberi called after him:
"Lâ hawla wa lâ quwwata illâ billâh! Remember that, Sylvestre! There is no transformation or power except through Allah!"