Chapter 8 -Of an Encounter with an Algerine Corsair

The Gannet was bowling along under easy sail some fifty miles south of Majorca. Three years of seatime had made a great difference in her appearance. Her speed was retarded by the presence of a thick vegetable growth on her bottom, her sails had lost their pristine beauty, while her sides, though often repainted, bore signs of the effect of torrid heat and the buffeting of the waves. Her crew, too, had undergone considerable changes; wounds and disease had reduced the number of her gallant men, while those who were left were now well-seasoned and disciplined.

Of the ship's officers only three had gone to their last account--the master, who had fallen a victim to the dreaded "yellow jack", and two of the midshipmen. Thus, including myself, there were but five midshipmen on board, all of whom were as efficient as Captain Poynings could desire.

I was now nearly seventeen years of age--bronzed, hardy, and well-grown--and would easily have passed for twenty.

On this particular day it was about noon when the lookout reported a sail hull down on our starboard bow. In less than an hour she had apparently sighted us, for she altered her course so as to make straight for us. Now this was an unusual occurrence, as the stranger must either be a hostile craft or else a ship in distress and wishing to communicate. Her speed was too great to justify the assumption that she was requiring assistance, so all hands were piped to quarters. After months of inaction the prospect of a fight acted like magic.

The officers held a consultation, and as it was well known that a Barbary corsair had been committing several acts of exceptional violence, hopes were entertained that the stranger would prove to be that particular vessel.

Our captain showed himself to be a tactician as well as a fighter. "If this be the Algerine," he said, "her speed will enable her to make off when she finds out who we are. It remains, therefore, to trick and entice her to us. See that all our ordnance is run in and the ports closed. Keep nearly all the men out of sight, and run the flag of Sicily up to the peak. And you, Master Bennet," he added, addressing our newly made master, "lay me the Gannet close alongside the stranger and your duty will be done. Now, gentlemen, to your stations, and God save His Majesty King Charles!"

The work of transforming the man-of-war into a seemingly peaceful merchantman was quickly performed, and long before the corsair (for such there was no doubt she was) came within range the Gannet was floundering along with yards badly squared, for all the world like a helpless trader, her course having been previously altered as if she were intent on running away.

But on board everything was different. At each of her guns on the starboard side were men lying prone on the deck, waiting for the signal to trice up the ports, run the guns out, and deliver a crushing broadside. Powder, shot, and buckets of water were placed close at hand, while boarding axes, pikes, cutlasses, muskets, and pistols were lying about ready to be seized when required.

The men themselves were in a state of suppressed excitement, talking softly to one another, and with difficulty restraining themselves from taking a view of their enemy and thus exposing our strength.

The officers, hidden under the break of the poop, had donned their buff coats, head- and back-plates, and plumed hats, and were as impatient as the men to get to quarters.

My station, with young Drake, was on the gundeck, yet I could not resist the inclination of creeping aft and looking at the Algerine through one of our stern ports.

She was now tearing along at a tremendous pace, barely a quarter of a mile astern. There was a stiff breeze blowing, and she was being propelled by oars as well as by sails; yet a stern chase is always a long one.

Thinking us an easy prey, she made no hesitation in showing her true colours, while groups of dark-skinned men, the sweepings of the Barbary ports, clustered on her high foc's'le, yelling and waving their arms in a truly terrifying manner. The sounds of the oars, the rattling of the chains of the miserable galley slaves, and the sharp crack of the whip of the merciless taskmaster could be distinctly heard, while ever and anon a gun would be fired, merely to impress upon us the fruitlessness of resistance.

At length she drew up about fifty yards from our starboard quarter, and even at that short distance they did not scent danger, their eagerness blinding them to the fact that twenty-five closed ports separated them from a death-dealing hail of iron.

I ran back to my station. The word was passed round to fire high and spare the slaves. All along the main deck there were groups of men standing in almost total darkness, waiting at the gun tackles for the signal to run out the guns. The feeble glimmer of the fighting-lanterns shone on the glistening arms and bodies of half-naked seamen, who stood in almost deathlike silence listening to the shouts of their unseen foes.

Suddenly came the order to fire. The ports were triced up, and brilliant sunshine flooded the gundeck. With the creaking of the tackles and the rumbling of the gun-carriage wheels, the muzzles of the iron monsters were run through the ports. There was no need to take aim, for the vessels were almost side by side. The volley that followed shook the Gannet from keel to truck and filled the deck with clouds of smoke.

Back ran the guns with the recoil, sponges and rammers did their work, and again the guns roared--this time in an irregular broadside.

Four times was this repeated, the guns' crews working as calmly as if at practice. How it fared with the pirate we knew not. Occasionally, between the clouds of smoke, we could catch a glimpse of her black sides, crushed and torn by our broadsides. A musket ball came in through an open port and struck a seaman fairly between the eyes. He fell without a sound, and this was the only casualty on the main deck. Seeing he was dead, two seamen dragged him across to the other side and pushed his body through a port. A bucketful of sand was sprinkled on the spot where he fell, and the gun at which he was stationed was run out again.

Suddenly there was a crashing, grinding sound. The master had laid us alongside the corsair.

"Boarders, away!" was the order, and, hastily closing the ports, to prevent our being boarded in turn, the whole of the men below poured on deck, armed with whatever weapon came first to their hands.

The vessels lay side by side, locked in an unyielding embrace. Our ordnance had wrought havoc on the corsair, her huge lateen yards lying athwart her decks, while heaps of dead and dying men encumbered her slippery planks. But the remnant still resisted, and for us the completion of our victory was to be dearly bought. We had already suffered considerably, many men having been slain on our fo'c'sle and poop, and now, headed by our gallant Captain Poynings, we threw ourselves upon the foemen's deck, where we met with a desperate resistance. The corsairs knew that surrender meant an ignominious death, and fought with the courage of despair, calling on Allah and Mohammed as they slew or were slain.

Inch by inch they were driven back, pistolled or cut down or thrust overboard, till there remained but one Moslem, a tall, wiry villain, armed with pistol and scimitar. Two of our men went down before him, one having his skull cloven by a lightning sweep of the corsair's razorlike blade, the other having his sword arm cut completely through at the wrist. Two more rushed at him; one he shot, the second received the discharged pistol full in the face. With that several men made ready to shoot him down; but our lieutenant called on them to desist, and he himself advanced on the redoubtable Moslem.

The combat was watched with breathless interest, for Geoffrey Weaver was a past master in the art of fencing, having acquired both the French and Italian methods, as well as having seen active service against Spaniards and Turks, and also in the Low Countries. In a measure he had an advantage, wearing his breastplate; yet as the scimitar is rarely used save for cutting, the armour did not serve him as readily as it would have done if he had been pitted against a man armed with a pointed sword.

Their blades met, and so quick was the swordplay that none could follow it. In a few seconds both were wounded, the blood trickling down the lieutenant's face from a nick on the forehead. Then, quicker than words, Weaver escaped a sweeping blow from the scimitar by jumping nimbly backwards, and the next moment his blade had passed through the Moslem's shoulder.

With this, thinking the fight at an end, we began to cheer lustily; but our triumph was shortlived, for, ere the lieutenant could disengage his weapon, the corsair seized him round the waist and sprang with him into the sea.

We rushed to the side, but only a few bubbles came to the surface. Carried down by the weight of his armour, Weaver sank like a stone, and his implacable foe, holding on with a relentless grip, shared his fate.

However, there was no time for vain regrets, and all hands were set to work to repair the damage done by the fight. Our losses were heavy: besides the lieutenant, two midshipmen, the bos'n, and sixteen men were killed, and the purser and thirty-three men wounded.

On the Algerine all her crew were accounted for, not one surviving; while, in spite of our care, the losses amongst the galley slaves were fearful. A few stray shots and a shower of splinters had wrought destruction on these helpless chained-up wretches, and the gratitude of the survivors when we knocked their fetters off was touching to witness. There were Spaniards, Genoese, Venetians, French, and Dutch, negroes, and one Englishman, a man from Hull--twenty-three all told, most of whom were wounded.

The prize was badly shattered, but little damage was done near the waterline. The Gannet suffered hardly at all, the corsairs, being unprepared for resistance, having neglected to use their two pieces of brass ordnance.

The bodies of the dead were committed to the deep, the wounded attended to, and the decks cleaned of their ghastly stains, while a party of seamen were placed on board the prize to rig jury masts.

When I went down below, to clean the grime of the powder from my face and hands, I found that I had received a slight cut on the calf of my leg. How or when it was done I could not remember, but it was too trifling to be attended to by the surgeon, so I dressed it myself.

While thus engaged I was sent for by the captain, and on reporting myself he said:

"Master Wentworth, I have been fully satisfied with your conduct in the fight, and although you are young in years you have a man's head on your shoulders. You will now have your first command, for I propose to put you in charge of the prize with seven men to work her. You must keep in company with the Gannet till off the Barbary coast, where you will have to shape a course for Tangier, which now belongs to His Majesty King Charles. Should we be compelled to part company, I will rely on you to work the ship into that port. You can, of course, use a sextant?"

I assented.

"Very well, here is a plan of the harbour of Tangier. This place," indicating the mole, "is where you must bring up. Now go to the master and get the necessary charts and instruments, and take charge of the prize as soon as possible."

I saluted and left his cabin, feeling inclined to dance for joy, yet having sufficient dignity left to walk sedately across the quarterdeck.

When I gained the gunroom I told the news with unrestrained enthusiasm, and my remaining companions, now reduced to two in number, Greville Drake and Alan Wood, though not slow in offering their congratulations, did not conceal the fact that my good fortune was their disappointment.

By nightfall the fitting of the jury masts was completed, the shot holes were plugged, and the working party was recalled. Then, with my seven men, together with two of the liberated slaves, I took possession of the prize, having, with Captain Poyning's permission, named her the Little Gannet.