The Pirate Revolutionary

By Anthony Jenkinson

THE PIRATE REVOLUTIONARY is set in the late eighteenth century. Giles Morris, a naval offices in the service of mad King George of England, falls foul of the privileged nobility, who, in the main, run the Admiralty. Leading a mutiny, he turns to piracy, selling white slaves to cheating Moroccans who are, in turn, cheated of their gold. Liaising with French revolutionaries, he attacks British naval ships and army installations causing anger and humiliation to the Crown. Continuing activities in Ireland, he becomes involved romantically with three sensuous women who practice the occult , and curb his revolutionary ways.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 20, 2003
• ISBN: 9781524552480

Anthony Jenkinson

This is the first novel of the Author. Anthony Jenkinson was born in England in 1938, followed a career in Commercial Horticulture, serving as an offices in the Tanganyika Department of Agriculture after military service with the Royal Air Force in the Arabian Peninsula. After marrying her settled in England, entered the Teaching profession and raised two sons. With his wife her owned and managed two private nursing homes successfully, spent some time in southern Portugal and then moved to become a resident of the USA, where he and his wife and eldest son run a Sanctuary for unwanted dogs and wolf hybrids.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

After completing my term as Commander of Hawkmoth and returning to Portsmouth at the end of my leave of absence, I presented myself at Admiral Goonhilly’s quarters on his flagship. His aide, Flag Lieutenant Pomfret-Smeely led me into the Admiral’s stateroom where Admiral Goonhilly was seated at a desk, drinking brandy and signing documents. He looked up sharply as I was announced by his Flag Lieutenant.

So, you are back from your leave, I see. Sit down, Morris, I have to talk about your next appointment, he grunted, indicating the chair I was to sit on. The Apollo has need of a competent second in command to Captain Lambert. I know that you have been your own Commander on Hawkmoth, and have done very well, apart from the last unfortunate episode. I need you as First Lieutenant on Apollo when she leaves for Halifax on a short tour of patrol duty. The Apollo is due to leave Portsmouth at the end of the week. Your expertise in gunnery training will be extremely useful on this vessel. Do you know of Captain Lambert? You may find him rather prickly and short tempered. Personally, I do not like the man, but that is between us, Morris," Admiral Goonhilly confided.

I shall endeavor to carry out my duties on Apollo to the best of my ability and hope Captain Lambert will find me a satisfactory second in command, Admiral, I replied, noting that he was not going to offer me a glass of brandy.

"Good. If you make a good showing on Apollo,

I may be able to offer you a promotion. That is in the future. Go and make yourself known to Captain Lambert. When Apollo returns from this patrol, I will be talking to you again. Dismissed."

Admiral Goonhilly waved me away from his desk and resumed his document signing and brandy drinking. I saluted him and left his stateroom.

I hoped this Captain Lambert would not be difficult to work with.

The Admiral’s aide was hovering in the outer cabin. He appeared rather agitated.

Hello, Flags. Are you still sharpening the Admiral’s quills? I said jokingly to him.

He laid his hand on my arm and steered me out of the outer cabin and along the stern gallery.

Have you heard about the latest happenings over in France? There is talk of revolution and of a possible war with England. Has Goonhilly given you a new command? Is it a good one?

Pomfret-Smeely tended to behave like a fussy old maid at times but he was very good at being the Admiral’s aide.

I have been told to join the Apollo as second in command to a Captain Lambert. If I do not misbehave, the Admiral may reward my services with a promotion, I informed the Flag Lieutenant good humouredly.

"Oh dear, Morris. I take it that you do not know of Captain Lambert. Well, he is a bad tempered man who seems to hate everyone. Seems to think everyone is against him. He hates Goonhilly; thinks he blocked his promotion to Commodore of the Channel Squadron last year. He is hated by his crews. The best of luck to you. You are going to need it.

He shook my hand and grinned weakly. I nodded to him and left the flagship with very mixed feelings.

Later that day, I went aboard the Apollo and reported to my superior officer, Captain Reginald Lambert.

The Apollo was classed as a fourth rate Ship-of-the-Line warship with two decks of guns. Each gun deck had fifteen guns port and starboard, making a total of sixty for the ship altogether. The crew numbered five hundred, including officers. I was aware of an unpleasant atmosphere about the ship, many of the crew seemed sullen and full of grievance and Captain Lambert did nothing to allay my misgivings as I entered his gallery cabin to report.

Welcome to the Apollo, Lieutenant Morris. So, you are to be my First Officer on board, I understand. Well, I expect you to maintain a very strict discipline on this ship; we have a great many lazy shirkers amongst the crew who need to be dealt with smartly before they infect the whole crew with their lax behavior. Floggings, Lieutenant. Flog the lazy bastards until they come to understand that they are here to obey orders. My orders. Is that clear, Lieutenant?

Captain Lambert stood up with his eyes wide and staring and his face very red. He was twisting a quill pen in his hands rather agitatedly, making it snap in half.

Yes, Captain, perfectly clear, I replied, trying very hard not to speak my mind regarding his views on discipline.

Good. Please inform all the officers to be here for a meeting in one hour’s time. My cabin boy will show you to your quarters, he continued, shouting loudly the name of his cabin boy. His wiry, young cabin boy, known as Punch, soon appeared and I followed him out on deck towards my new quarters.

At the meeting of ship’s officers, I was introduced by the Captain as the new First Officer. The other officers were then made known to me. It was made even more apparent that this was not a happy ship. The Second Officer, a rather serious man of about my age, invited me to his cabin for a glass of wine before dinner. He carefully closed his cabin door before explaining some of the reasons responsible for our discontented crew. One member of the crew was going to receive a flogging for a very trivial breach of discipline and was to have fifty lashes. As was the custom, the entire ship’s company would be assembled tomorrow and witness the punishment. Our crew were not in favor with Captain Lambert’s merciless methods and felt that all the officers were as bad. They had heard of a man dying after receiving a severe flogging on another vessel where Captain Lambert had been in command.

The Second Officer introduced himself as John Sims and we shook hands. At the meeting of officers the Captain had introduced me as the new First Officer but did not allow me time to speak with them. John Sims poured me some more wine and we drank each other’s health. I began to take a liking to this man.

In the late eighteenth century the British navy was run with a brutish force. The ordinary seaman was subjected to floggings for the smallest breach of naval discipline. Myself and a few other officers in the Service did not like this and protested against it without success. The Admiralty was not interested. They considered the ordinary seamen no better than convicted felons.

During my twenty years of service as an officer in the British navy, I had grown to despise most of my fellow officers who cared little for the welfare and conditions of the men they commanded. There were a very few exceptions I could recall but they could be counted on the fingers of one hand. During my training as a midshipman I was often told by some instructors that a good officer should always be able to carry out any task better than his crew. I had always tried to adhere to that advice and it had served me well so far. By being scrupulously fair and giving praise as much as possible to the crews under my command, when appropriate, seemed to produce good results. With a Captain like Lambert it was going to be difficult for me to put my own methods into practice and I was not looking forward to the next few weeks at sea.

Eventually, our tour patrolling the waters around the Canadian and American borders, in the seas around the Canadian port of Halifax, came to an end. Having taken on fresh water and stores in that port, Apollo was now a day out from there and on course for Portsmouth, in England. The ship was under full sail to take advantage of the strong westerly wind. It was after the ship’s daily inspection by Captain Lambert that I finally decided something had to be done.

Captain Lambert was in his usual bad temper, finding faults where none existed and being thoroughly foul to everybody. One of the long guns on the main deck was found to have a piece of wadding still in the barrel. This caused the gunner’s mate responsible for that gun to be ordered to receive fifty lashes as punishment. This was to be carried out immediately after the daily inspection and the ship’s company was all to be assembled on the main and quarter decks to witness this punishment.

In due course, all Apollo’s crew assembled on deck and the unfortunate gunner’s mate was escorted between two marines to face the Captain.

Bo’ sun’s mate, come here! Captain Lambert shouted squeakily, and the unhappy-looking seaman made his way slowly towards the Captain.

The Boatswain’s mate was carrying a lash known as the Cat o’ Nine Tails in his hand. The two marines had tied the gunner’s mate by his hands and feet to an upturned grating and stripped the shirt from his back. One of the marines placed a small piece of wood between the man’s teeth. This was for him to bite on during the lashing when the pain became unbearable. The two marines stepped back to one side of the Captain.

Proceed with the punishment, snapped Captain Lambert, glaring at the boatswain’s mate.

There was a loud rumble from the assembled crew and cries of Bloody tyrant, and bastard officer among other expressions were clearly heard. The boatswain’s mate looked around him at the vast sea of faces and then turned helplessly towards Captain Lambert.

This ain’t right, Captain. E don’t deserve such punishment, he uttered, and threw down the lash at Captain Lambert’s feet. Some crew cheered.

The Captain’s face went purple with rage and he picked up the lash from the deck.

How dare you refuse an order from your Captain! Perhaps you need a flogging, too? I will flog the man myself and then flog you afterwards, he yelled dementedly in a high pitched voice as he walked over to administer the flogging of the gunner’s mate.

There was a low, angry hissing noise from the assembled men.

The crew began to surge towards the Captain and someone wrenched the lash from his hand. Looking around him wildly, he shouted to the two marines but they had melted into the crowd on deck.

Sergeant of Marines, come here, he shouted shrilly.

A red-coated Sergeant of Marines pushed his way forward with his musket and slammed to attention in front of Captain Lambert.

Sir! shouted the Sergeant of Marines at the top of his voice.

Get those mutinous scabs in irons at once! Lambert spluttered, shaking with a mixture of anger and fear.

Yes, Sir! replied the Sergeant of Marines, looking around him for his armed marines and seeing that they had sided with the crew.

Damn me, man! What are you waiting for? Arrest them and get them in irons, NOW! screamed the Captain, shaking all over.

The crew had now begun to surge forward causing the Captain to run up the stairway of the poop deck. He was quickly followed up there by the Sergeant of Marines and all of the assembled officers.

I decided that the time had come to intervene and stop this nonsense and so I quickly relieved the Sergeant of his musket and pushed him into the mass of seamen.

You go and join the lads, Sergeant, and please do not do anything stupid, I said, and then turned my attention towards the Captain who had skulked into the far corner of the poop deck.

Now then, Lambert, what a disgusting sight you are. Stand up! I shouted and pointed the Sergeant’s musket at him. I am taking over command of this ship as you are obviously not fit to continue as Commander. Walk down those stairs, I ordered him, knocking off his hat with the tip of the musket.

The crew watched open mouthed and shocked temporarily into silence. Lambert tottered towards the poop deck stairway and I noticed a wet stain appear on the front of his britches. My action toward him caused him to release his bladder in fright. He tried to utter something but I jabbed him hard in the back with the barrel of the musket. The crew watched this spectacle in awe and disbelief and I decided to act fast to rally them to me.

Right lads. Who is with me? I shouted at the crew.

The silence continued for a few seconds and then several hands shot up and shouts of support could be heard from the crew which gradually increased to a general roar of excitement. The boatswain came forward to stand by me and directed two sturdy seamen to hold Captain Lambert firmly by the arms. There were loud shouts of anger directed towards Lambert and many suggestions of throwing him overboard. I turned to look at the officers who had all congregated on the poop deck and was pleased to see John Sims come to stand with me. He was soon followed by the Third Officer, Martin Cox, and one of the young midshipmen. The remaining officers had clustered together in another corner of the poop deck, unsure of themselves. I ran up the poop deck stairs to make sure the helmsman was still holding the vessel on course. He was, and so I leaned over the poop deck rail and spoke to the officers and the boatswain who supported my actions.

Thank you, gentlemen, I said to them with a grin. Pleased to have your support. I turned to the boatswain. Relieve the rest of the officers of their swords and pistols and have them confined in the brig with Captain Lambert. Make sure they are all chained securely. Organize the crew into some groups with an able seaman in charge of each. Issue muskets, pistols and ammunition to these groups. They can keep order until we are in a better position to organize the ship.

I noticed that the crew members not joining us in the mutiny were being herded toward the forecastle at sword point. I decided to intervene before someone got hurt and made my way forward with the boatswain.

Let me speak with these men, bo’sun, I said, and proceeded to address them. Hold fast lads and listen to me. We are taking this ship to the south coast of Ireland, where all those not supporting us will be landed together with Captain Lambert and some of the officers. Captain and officers will be held secure in the brig until we reach Ireland but those of you not wishing to join us will be allowed to continue with your duties as usual, except in any supervisory capacity. We bear those of you not joining us no malice or ill will and understand that many of you have families to consider. If anyone feels that he cannot agree to these proposals then I suggest that he jumps overboard now. We shall not tolerate any interference with our plans. Any person who tries will be thrown to the fishes, I explained with deliberation.

Captain Lambert was being led below decks accompanied by those officers not joining us. He was shouting and raving like a madman as he passed by me with his escort of several menacing crew members.

You will be hung for this, Morris. Do not be a fool. What do you hope to achieve? shouted the Apollo’s surgeon as he shuffled past me after the Captain.

I ignored him. The procession was led below decks to the brig, where they would be chained up for the duration of the voyage.

The non-mutineers looked silently at this procession and I decided to reassure them again that nothing would happen to them provided they behaved themselves and carried on with their duties in the normal way. After doing this, I dismissed them.

I looked around the deck for the young midshipman who had joined with us in the mutiny. He was talking with one of the gun crews nearby and I called him to me.

Mister Young, a moment please, I shouted to him across the deck.

He stopped talking to the seamen at the gun and ran over to me, smartly coming to attention and saluting.

Yes, Captain? he said breathlessly.

I noted he had already promoted me to Captain, which pleased me.

We need a guard on the ammunition lockers and all arms accounted for and secured under lock and key. A twenty four hour armed guard will be necessary. Can you organize that? I asked him.

Oh yes, Sir. I can certainly do that, he answered with some pride and ran off calling for some of the marines to come with him.

I decided to have the Apollo’s crew assembled shortly as I needed to address them. They had to be informed exactly how we were now running the ship and the changes made due to non-mutineers having to relinquish their posts of responsibility. I would leave it to the boatswain to delegate seamen to these posts.

Bo’ sun, have the crew all assembled on the main and quarter decks in fifteen minutes. You will have to select suitable crew members for any posts of responsibility held by the non-mutineers, I will leave it to you, I informed him.

He nodded respectfully and called some crew members to him. I went aft to my gallery cabin. When the Apollo’s crew were again assembled on deck, I leant over the rail of the poop deck and spoke to them. The other three officers were standing with me.

You are all aware that Captain Lambert has been removed from command of this ship as he is totally unfit to act as Captain. You all know why. From now on, I am in command of the Apollo and there are going to be some changes. The officers you see with me are the First and Second Officers and Midshipman Young. The bo’sun continues as before and he will make sure that discipline is maintained in a civilized fashion. There will be no more floggings or beatings of any sort. Those crew members leaving the ship in Ireland will continue to be treated as normal but will not hold any posts of responsibility. They have agreed to carry out their duties without interfering with us and I do not expect to hear of them being mistreated in any way. Is that clear? Good. Mister Sims, please dismiss the ship’s company to their duties.

I had left my First Officer to see to the crew and went to my quarters in the stern gallery of Apollo, or rather, ex-Captain Lambert’s quarters. I found Punch, the cabin boy, and told him to remove all Lambert’s effects from the cabin and to fetch my things from my cabin. John Sims could now move into my old cabin and Martin Cox move into John’s cabin. The cabin sizes increased with seniority.

Punch busied himself moving Lambert’s effects from the various drawers, lockers and cupboards and I found a bottle of Madeira wine, opened it and poured myself a large glassful. There was a knock on the door which I opened to reveal the First Officer, John Sims.

Please come in Mister Sims, sit down and pour yourself a glass of Madeira, I said.

John Sims sat down and poured himself a glass of wine, sniffed at its bouquet appreciatively and sipped it with relish. He obviously appreciates good wine, I thought to myself.

John Sims had been in the navy for about twenty years, like myself, but had only sailed under Captain Lambert for this voyage. He was a quiet and serious man who seemed to carry much pent up anger, not all directed at the navy. He spoke little of his home life but I gathered that he had once been married but the marriage had not lasted. I did not pry. It was none of my business. He was a reliable and trustworthy officer and he was now going to run the ship to my direction.

We will be hung in chains if we land that bastard in Ireland. Let’s just throw him overboard with some iron weights tied to him? John uttered quietly, after downing his glass of wine rapidly.

I refilled our glasses.

Do you think all those seamen not joining us can be trusted? he continued.

I smiled and offered him a pipe of tobacco. We lit our pipes and puffed away contently for a few minutes.

I think they will behave themselves. They know what will happen if they don’t. I said, puffing my pipe.

That thought had been worrying me, too, especially as they numbered about one hundred.

We can land them off the southern coast of Ireland at a quiet place, use the launch and ship’s boats to ferry Lambert and the rest ashore. He can be gagged and blindfolded. If we drop anchor at sunset and have them rowed ashore in the dark, it will be safer. I know of a suitable place so do not worry. We have a good crew and a very good bo’sun and master gunner. Our sixty guns have well trained crews although some of the gun crews have joined the non-mutineers. We should have sufficient gun crews to deal with any ship that may challenge us, but I doubt if we will be challenged by any British ship as nobody will be aware of our mutiny, I exclaimed to John Sims.

He seemed satisfied with my explanation and drank another glass of Madeira.

What are your plans after we leave the coast of Ireland? asked John.

I had considered sailing south to the coast of West Africa and investigate the possibility of shipping black slaves to the West Indies or South America. We need to engage in some venture that will reward us well for our efforts, I replied.

John Sims nodded thoughtfully and sipped his Madeira.

Of course, I shall hold a meeting with our crew and have them vote on any such suggestion. They must be completely in favor of whatever we decide to do, I continued. There is a certain venture I have in mind but it needs us to make some money before attempting to carry it out. I intend to assist the organization known as the Movement, to replace the present unfair regime governing England. This will also involve the eventual removal of the Monarchy and all aristocratic privilege. As you may have guessed, I am not in favor of King George or his government. The American colonists broke away and there are many persons, intelligent and from all classes and professions, who think as I do. In fact, the Movement, which is a secret organization at the present, is gaining new members every day. I attended a large meeting of this secret Movement in London during my last period of leave. Many people are encouraged by what the American colonists achieved and many more see what is taking place in France as possible in England. Of course, it does not have to develop into bloody riots but the whole operation would need very careful planning. Absolute secrecy is essential and that is going to be very difficult.

I searched in the cupboards for another bottle of Madeira. There was a knock on the door and the Second Officer, Martin Cox entered, accompanied by a young midshipman.

Excuse me, Sir, but Midshipman Cross has just come down from the crow’s nest lookout and he is with us, he explained.

I turned to regard this young officer and bade him and Martin Cox sit down. I remembered that this young midshipman was famous for his keen eyesight and was always sent on crow’s nest lookout duty when the need arose. I offered the two newcomers some wine.

Welcome aboard, Mister Cross. I had quite forgotten you were up aloft. I take it you observed our mutiny, and obviously approve our actions. By the way, are you senior or junior to Mister Young? I asked him. I needed a Third Officer.

"I am senior to Mister Young by six months, Sir, he replied, sipping his wine slowly and with decorum.

You are henceforth promoted to Third Officer. Mister Sims will enlighten you as to your new duties and responsibilities, I told him, nodding to John Sims.

He nodded back his agreement with Mister Cross’s promotion.

Thank you very much, Sir, he replied gratefully.

I looked at my three officers and felt that all could be trusted.

"We now have no surgeon or a Master at Arms.

They are both Lambert’s cronies and chained in the brig," said John Sims.

Never mind, we will have to manage for awhile. That surgeon was useless in my opinion. All he seemed to do was lance boils and prescribe purgatives and he was rarely sober. He will be no loss, I retorted, somewhat humorlessly.

Mister Cross, perhaps you could ask the bo’sun to find out if any of the crew have any experience treating the wounded and would be willing to act in that capacity, if needed? I said.

My new Third Officer stood up and made for the door.

I’ll ask the bo’sun now, Sir, he replied, and went on deck.

Well then gentlemen, we can set our course for southern Ireland. John, please arrange for a new duty roster to be drawn up and new watches to be organized. Martin, please inform our cook that all officers will be dining with me in here this evening and tell all officers to be here at sunset for dinner.

CHAPTER TWO

We made a quick and uneventful crossing of the Atlantic to the coast of southern Ireland. I had written a letter to the Admiralty in which I gave the reason for the mutiny and the behavior of Captain Lambert which caused it. This letter I sealed and gave to a young midshipman who was leaving the Apollo with Lambert and the other officers. Although he had been put in the brig I felt able to trust him to deliver the letter. He had not wished to join the mutiny for fear of bringing disgrace on his family but I was aware of his support for our reasons. He would be discreet about the letter, too, and not show it to Lambert or any of the other officers.

The crew leaving the ship were taken ashore in the launch and ship’s boats. I had chosen a quiet and secluded beach in an isolated part of the coast for the landing, away from the sight of any dwellings.

When all were safely ashore, the ship’s launch and boats were stowed aboard and I ordered Mister Sims sail the Apollo on a southerly course.

Our officers now consisted of myself as Captain, John Sims as First Officer, Martin Cox as Second Officer, David Cross as Third

Officer and Rodger Young as the only Midshipman. We still retained the boatswain, boatswain’s mate, master gunner and his mates and the officers’ cook. The boatswain had arranged for other vacant posts of responsibility to be assigned to suitable able seamen.

The ship’s name, Apollo, needed to be obliterated from the stern and a new name re-painted. I decided on Le Chat Noir, as a suitable name and gave orders for it to be painted in place of the present name immediately. We would also fly the French flag and assume the identity of a French warship. Flags of other nationalities would be flown from our mast from time to time to confuse the Admiralty as to our whereabouts.

Le Chat Noir proceeded across the outer waters of the Bay of Biscay, making smooth progress with the help of a strong north westerly wind blowing the sails. Cape Finisterre was passed and we were soon sailing just in sight of the Portuguese coastline, still proceeding south. I had decided to make for the Moroccan port of Rabat where useful information and possible contacts could be made regarding the West African slave trade.

CHAPTER THREE

We anchored about a mile out from the port of Rabat. Leaving the First Officer in charge, I took Martin Cox with me in the launch together with the boatswain. Six seamen and a coxswain crewed the launch which was made fast to an iron mooring ring set in the wall at the bottom of a flight of ancient looking stone steps leading up to the quay. The coxswain and six seamen remained behind in the launch and the two of us and the boatswain climbed the steps. At the top of the steps we looked about us to get our bearings and were soon assailed on all sides by crowds of beggars of every description. Some were blind, some minus hands, or feet, or both. They were getting around on pads of material attached to their arms and knees.

We made our way towards an official looking building that looked as if it could be the port or customs office. The air around us was fragrant with rotting fish, stale urine, heady jasmine and pungent spices. Goats and small children were everywhere. Several black- robed women, their faces entirely covered with a black netting material attached to the hood of their robes, followed several paces behind a man who could be their husband or master.

I pushed open the heavy, iron-studded door of the building.

Inside the air was pleasantly cool. It was a large airy room with an interestingly carved wooden desk in the center. Sitting behind this desk was a fat, prosperous looking Arab wearing a white robe and turban. He glanced up from his studying of a massive ledger as we stood before him and rang a small hand bell on his desk.

Salaam aleikum, I said to him, bowing slightly from the waist.

Aleikum salaam, he replied, returning the bow.

He then spoke several sentences in rapid Arabic, thinking I was fluent in that tongue. The Arabic greeting was the full extent of my

Arabic vocabulary. He must have realized this and changed to fairly fluent French and I was able to understand him and began to converse in that language. I explained that we were traders looking for a cargo and were thinking of bartering for African slaves at places along the Slave Coast area of West Africa and what news might he have of this trade.

It appeared that he was the chief official in charge of the port, and that certain duties were charged on imported goods, including slaves. Yes, there was a slave market here in Rabat which handled slaves from all over, not just black Africans. If we should land a shipload of slaves the prices realized at the slave auction would be good, provided the slaves were in good condition and between the ages of twelve to twenty five for males and ten to twenty for females. This was for black slaves. If we could supply white slaves, mainly boys between the ages of eight to twenty and girls from eight to twenty five, a very much higher price could be obtained. Again, they must be in good condition with no diseases or deformities. He informed us that his cousin happened to be the chief auctioneer at the slave market and we could see him in action the next day if we wished. It was the day of the monthly slave auction.

We returned to his office the following morning at six o’clock. This time we left the boatswain on board ship. Leaving the launch moored at the quay with the seven crew members in charge, John Sims, Martin Cox and myself entered the office of the port official.

The official was smartly attired in a clean robe of pure white and wore a red turban on his head. Around his waist he wore a wide black belt with a gold buckle. A small, curved sword hung in a scabbard on his right side. He gave us a welcoming smile and then beckoned us to follow him along the street. The slave market was not far away and was crowded with Arab men, some clad in white and some in black robes and turbans. Many wore jewel encrusted daggers or short, curved swords from a waist belt and a few were carrying muskets. Several very tall, black men with bald heads and oiled bodies lined the front and sides of a raised dais at one end of the market area. These persons were naked to the waist and carried short, leather whips. The official explained to us in French that these were eunuchs, who were slaves in charge of presenting each new slave to be auctioned for inspection by the buyers. When sold, the eunuch would deliver the slave, still on a chain, to the new owner. The chain would be handed to the new owner when money had been paid to the auction clerk and the sold slave would be led away by his or her new owner.

We all began to watch the proceedings with much interest.

A bell was rung by a large, very fat Arab auction official and the prospective buyers stopped chattering. A eunuch led a young white boy on to the dais. The boy had an olive complexion and black hair and was probably or Greek or Italian origin, or from that part of the world. He looked to be about twelve or thirteen years of age. The eunuch removed the white robe covering the boy so he stood there completely naked. The Arab auctioneer began to list the best features of the boy, running his hands over the boy’s body to emphasis his description. Suddenly, the eunuch turned the boy upside down and two other eunuchs came forward to hold the boy’s ankles. The auctioneer inspected the boy for lice or any noticeable diseases, nodded with satisfaction at the boy’s cleanliness and snapped his fingers at the eunuchs. The boy was placed back on his feet and the auctioneer continued his verbal appraisal of the boy. There were some murmurs of approval from the crowd of prospective buyers. Next, the auctioneer turned his attention to the boy’s mouth, teeth, ears and hands. These were all carefully scrutinized and commented upon to the crowd. The bidding now began and a good deal of bids were made until a buyer was found. The boy was quickly re-robed and led away by a eunuch holding the chain, the end of which was fastened to an iron collar around the boy’s neck. The boy’s new owner was handing over gold coins to a clerk at a table in front of the dais. This clerk was writing in a ledger and discussing the details with the new owner of the slave. Another boy was led on to the dais and a similar procedure followed. This continued with another nine boys—all about the same age and color. Next, came the women. The first six were dark haired Latin types, with differing breast and thigh sizes. They all sold very quickly. Bidding was very brisk. I asked our Arab official how much the girls were sold for and he said the prices varied but not too much today as the girls were all well endowed with very saleable qualities. When he told me of the actual prices they fetched—in gold—an idea came to mind. I asked him how much he or his cousin would pay me for providing a cargo of similar white boys and women. He seemed very interested and suggested we meet with his cousin later that day to discuss the matter in detail. I agreed. John Sims and Martin Cox then left the slave market with me and we made our way back to the launch. Once back aboard Le Chat Noir, all three of us sat down with glasses of Madeira to discuss the events of the morning.

CHAPTER FOUR

Martin Cox went in search of our Third Officer, David Cross, and the Midshipman, Rodger Young. When he returned with them, I outlined an idea of mine, to sail our ship into the Mediterranean sea in an easterly direction, keeping well away from Gibraltar and as close to the African coastline as possible. We might be able to intercept other foreign vessels with cargoes of white slaves; the slaves could be transferred to our ship, quartered on the lower gun deck and we could dispose of the slave ship and her crew by gunfire. Then, we could head back here, to Rabat, and sell the slaves in the market. This would entail a short time at sea and quick profits for all of us. The crew would be able to receive a considerable share of the proceeds. The officers all agreed and thought that with our proficient gunnery training we should have no trouble taking prizes of this type. It seemed a much quicker method of making some good money than bartering for black slaves in West Africa, loading them, then sailing across the Atlantic to the West Indies or South America with all the dangers that presented.

I gave orders that all officers and men on night watch duty be extra vigilant. When the discussion with the officers finished, I suggested to John Sims that he and I should get some rest before leaving to see the official’s cousin later in the day.

Sometime later, around dusk, John Sims and myself left for the quay in the launch. We were met at the top of the quay steps by two armed Arabs and escorted to an open horse drawn carriage. The two Arabs stood up at the rear of the carriage and we sat down on the seats and were driven swiftly along the street to a walled villa. Some wooden doors set in the stone wall around the villa opened to allow the carriage access and we were brought to the front entrance of a most picturesque stone building. Fountains, ornamental ponds and many fragrant flowering shrubs surrounded the building; It was a most exotic setting.

A large black slave appeared from the interior of the building and indicated that we should follow him inside. It was pleasantly cool inside the villa and we followed the black slave into a big, airy room. The floor had blue tiles and the walls were adorned with many exotic carpets. Several large, comfortable looking cushions were arranged around the sides of the room. A brass hookah stood on the floor close to a small, carved wooden table on which several tiny cups were standing. There were some porcelain jars containing sweetmeats of many bright colors. A large dish of fresh dates was brought to this small table by a slim, black female slave, who then went to stand against the wall. Our Arab official appeared from a curtained doorway and bowed a welcome to us. I greeted him in French and he invited us to partake of the refreshments, mentioning that his cousin would be joining us very shortly. After he had clapped his hands together, the black female slave came forward to serve us, being joined by another female slave bearing a coffee pot on a tray. The small cups were then filled with coffee and handed to us by the slaves. The Arab then shooed them away and sipped at his coffee. The coffee tasted very strong, sweet but satisfying. We helped ourselves to the dates.

Here is my cousin, exclaimed the Arab, as the slave dealer entered the room.

The new arrival bowed low and he joined us by carefully sitting down on the large cushions. I recognized him as the auctioneer at the slave market earlier in the day.

The black slave girls came forward to serve him with coffee and prepared the hookah for him to smoke.

Please tell us of your proposal to supply us with white girls and boys to sell. My dear cousin and I can then discuss our terms and conditions of business with you, the auctioneer said with a wide grin which showed him to have many black and rotten teeth.

I outlined my simple idea of obtaining from my own resources, a supply of white slaves from European countries that bordered the Mediterranean sea. The two Arabs smiled at me and then nodded in agreement at each other.

You understand that we must have only the cleanest and healthiest girls and boys, who must also be fully fit. You must carry out a very careful selection and discard all but the very best. We will pay a fair price for each slave, a percentage of what is realized at the auction. Perhaps fifteen percent? he explained to us in fairly fluent French.

I did not think fifteen per cent nearly enough for us.

Fifteen per cent is not enough. Make it fifty per cent? I said firmly.

Twenty five per cent, he replied with a grin.

No! Fifty per cent or we cannot do business,

I said emphatically, looking at John Sims, who nodded in agreement.

Agreed. Fifty per cent, said the Arab with sigh.

We all shook hands.

CHAPTER FIVE

The crew of Le Chat Noir were told of the change in plan the following morning. They all seemed very excited at the prospect of some action and without the rigors of months at sea. A long time at sea would have been the case if we tried to buy and sell black slaves from West Africa and ship them across the Atlantic to sell in the West Indies. Alternatively, we could cruise around the coast of Cuba to waylay sugar laden ships bound for European ports; sugar was a high priced commodity but would be difficult to dispose of quickly and I put the thought from my mind.

Our supplies and provisions had been checked and fresh water and meat taken aboard the previous day. I gave orders for the ship to sail for the Mediterranean in the early hours of the following morning.

We sailed for two days, keeping the coastline of North Africa just in sight and keeping a careful lookout for British warships, too. However, on the morning of the third day, the sails of a British man-of-war were sighted about five miles off our port bow and on course for us. I had the crew stand-to at battle stations, gun crews closed up and sharpshooters up aloft on the yards. Mister Cross was ordered up to the crow’s nest lookout with a telescope and told to put his extraordinary powers of long sight to work. We were flying the French flag; the crew were told to remain silent if we were boarded. Mister Cross shouted from the crow’s nest that the vessel was indeed a British warship; a small brigantine, with twenty guns. I shouted to him through my speaking trumpet to come back down on deck. He then reported another sail on the horizon.

You had better stay up there, Mister Cross, and let me know as soon as you recognize what sort of vessel it is, I shouted back at him.

That brigantine is surely not going to stop us? We could sink him with a single broadside from our main deck guns, commented Mister Sims.

I agreed. It did seem very foolhardy of the brigantine’s commander to attempt stopping us, especially as we were flying the French flag. Our thoughts were justified when the brigantine fired a single shot across our bows, the universal signal to heave-to.

We will play along with him, and I will act the outraged French captain of a merchantman. If theybecome a nuisance or too inquisitive we shall kill their boarding party and sink their little ship with gunfire. I hope it does not come to that. We do not want to be forced to kill British seamen. Carry on, Mister Sims.

John Sims gave the order to heave-to and the anchors were let go and all sails furled.

The brigantine’s launch was soon alongside us and our gangway was lowered. A very young naval lieutenant clambered up the gangway, followed by two armed marines as escort. He seemed nervous as he came smartly to attention and saluted me. I faced him with hands on hips and pretended to be angry.

Bonjour, Monsieur Le Capitaine, he spluttered out in very bad French. Excusez-moi pour le, er, er…

I decided to help him out and so replied in halting, broken English.

Why you stop my ship? You have started the war with France, non? My ship is not the warship. It is trade ship, I shouted at him angrily.

Oh good! You understand English, he uttered, much relieved. I am sorry to interfere with your voyage, Captain, but we are looking for pirates, English mutineers who have stolen a British warship, he said most apologetically, his face going very red.

I continued to adopt an attitude of outraged indignation.

"Pirates! Mutineers! Do we look like English pirates? You, Sir, are the English pirates! How dare you to fire on my ship in this way. I shall