The Corsair

Th e C o r s a i r Abdulaziz Al-Mahmoud Translated by Amira Nowaira

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Chapter 1

Plym o u th

P

lymouth’s old harbour area was still called the Barbican even though the fortified gate and battlements that had encircled the port in medieval times had given way to a large fish market and a motley array of squat fishermen’s cottages, merchants’ homes, inns and public houses – all vying for space in a maze of alleyways. The residents were similarly diverse: one could tell their place in society with a glance at their clothes, from the rags of the fishermen and cabin boys, to the loosefitting slops and rugged wide-legged trousers favoured by sailors, to the unimaginative but practical attire of the merchant class. Only the luxurious garments of the well-heeled and the landed gentry were distinctly absent from the Barbican’s cobbled alleyways.

The well-to-do could be glimpsed only fleetingly as their carriages tore down the lanes on their way to or from the docks.

Indeed, the coachmen driving the carriages instinctively picked up speed when they entered the Barbican as though fearing the pervasive smell of rancid fish and open sewage would offend the delicate sensibilities of their passengers. Even on the hottest days of summer, unsavoury pools collected everywhere. The coachmen would whip their horses almost to a frenzy and gallop wildly through the tortuous alleyways, with little more than a 1

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hurried shout to warn pedestrians to seek cover from the resulting spray.

On this particularly hot summer’s day an ornate carriage entered the Barbican. Alerted by the sound of thundering hooves and shouts, several pedestrians moved swiftly to the sides of the lane by the fish market and watched the carriage fly by in a golden blur. The full beauty of the vehicle could only be appreciated later when, after its dash through the labyrinthine town and its harbour area, it came to rest by the docked HMS Eden. The coat of arms of the aristocratic Loch family was visible on both sides of the carriage. As the door facing the ship swung open, the family shield glinted in the sun and reflected a deep yellow glow.

Plymouth had played a pivotal role in Britain’s conquest of the world ever since Sir Francis Drake had sailed out of the Barbican with his fleet to confront the Spanish Armada in the sixteenth century. In the intervening two and a half centuries, the kingdom had gone from strength to strength and its maritime power was firmly rooted in its ports, in the merchantmen that imported and exported goods from the outer reaches of the colonies and in the men-of-war that protected trade and sought out new markets, by force when necessary.

Captain Francis James Erskine Loch stepped out of the carriage and put his cocked hat firmly on his head. He filled his lungs with the pungent air of the docks, gazed briefly at his beautiful ship in her berth and then turned to offer his hand to his wife, Lady Jesse, to help her out of the carriage. She opened a parasol to protect herself from the sun and walked daintily, her hand on her husband’s arm, as they made their way on board the ship.

Loch was just a little past his thirtieth year, a man not much given to compliments. He was born into a wealthy family and 2

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both his father and uncle had served in the Royal Navy. The family owned a great deal of land in the north of England and Scotland and had high-level connections both in His Majesty’s Government and in the colonies across the world.

As soon as they stepped on board the Eden, a shrill whistle sounded and an officer bellowed, ‘Captain on board!’ As one, the entire crew of sailors and marines in their military uniforms stood to attention on deck. The officers saluted their new captain, who promptly reciprocated, while the captain’s ensign was hoisted to rest just below that of the Royal Navy.

All eyes were on Loch. HMS Eden was to be dispatched to fight in distant lands, and her 120-strong crew took in the features of the man who would be in charge of their lives for the next months, perhaps even years. The marines waited to be inspected by their new captain in the time-honoured tradition, and were visibly disappointed when Loch nodded perfunctorily towards them and instead headed straight for his quarters.

He entered his cabin on the quarterdeck followed by two officers who took off their caps and waited for him to notice them. When his eyes finally fell on them, he smiled as he registered the features of Lieutenant John Mansen.

‘My dear John,’ Loch said warmly. ‘Good to see you, old chap.’

They shook hands and Mansen turned to kiss Lady Jesse’s hand. ‘How do you do, ma’am?’

The captain patted him on the back and teased, ‘How have you managed to stay so young after all these years?’

‘Thank you, and a pleasure to see you, sir,’ said Mansen with a grin. ‘The messages you sent to the Admiralty bore fruit and they agreed to transfer me from the second fleet to the Eden.’

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The captain flicked his right hand as though chasing away a fly. ‘The Admiralty, indeed,’ he said with a nod. ‘Took me a full fortnight to convince them to assign you to me.’ Loch chuckled and spoke to his wife. ‘Our friend Mansen is deemed the brightest officer in the entire navy.’ He turned to the lieutenant. ‘The second fleet was certainly most unwilling at first to see you leave them to come with me.’

‘I have always wished to serve under your command again, sir,’ replied Mansen formally and, with a sweep of his arm, introduced the second officer in the cabin. ‘This is your number two, Lieutenant Duncan Williams, who has just arrived from London.’

Loch peered at the lieutenant and offered him a thin smile.

‘Williams, yes – good to have you on board. The Admiralty talked a lot about you as well,’ he said, adding cryptically, ‘I hope we will be in agreement during the journey or else I might have to feed you to the whales as I usually do with those I dislike.’

Williams was unsure whether to take this as a joke or a veiled threat. He opted for a wan smile and said, ‘You’ll never doubt my loyalty, sir.’ He, too, bowed as he reached down to kiss Lady Jesse’s hand, while looking furtively at Mansen. His first meeting with the captain seemed to have got off to an inauspicious start and he searched the other officer’s face for any cues.

The captain moved to a sideboard where he found a bottle of brandy. He poured himself a glass and gestured vaguely with his finger for the officers to help themselves. Mansen complied straight away, but Williams hesitated: the captain had not explicitly offered them a drink, thereby ignoring the unwritten code of conduct.

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Mansen had become acquainted with the captain during a long voyage on HMS Mistral and the two had managed to overcome their differences. Owing to his aristocratic breeding, Loch regarded those around him as little more than servants; in truth, had it not been for his family’s position, he never would have acquired his commission in the navy. From Loch’s perspective, sailors were just sailors because their minds had been created that way, and all social distinctions were divinely ordained.

Mansen had learned to accept that the captain rarely paid much attention to the crew, even though good relations on board were essential for morale on long journeys at sea. He knew the captain would often remain in his cabin for days on end, writing his log and talking to no one, acknowledging the crew’s salutes with little more than a nod whenever he emerged on deck. Mansen had come to forgive this brusqueness because Loch was not devoid of positive traits. The captain was brave in combat and a skilful strategist. He would treat his men kindly after having tested them for a long, seemingly endless period.

Mansen poured a glass for himself and one for Williams, urging him with his eyes to accept. Mansen downed his drink in one gulp, the veins in his neck and face bulging and then relaxing. Taking his cap in his hand, he tapped Williams’ arm to signal the meeting was over. ‘With your permission, sir, we’ll be on our way,’ Mansen said.

The captain glanced at his wife, who was busy unpacking.

‘Yes. Let’s call it a day. We have a long journey ahead of us.’

The men saluted and turned smartly on their heels. As Williams was leaving, his eyes fell on Lady Jesse, and he thought of the scent of the perfume on her hand when he had kissed her.

Once outside and out of earshot, Williams asked, ‘Do you really like the captain?’

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‘Yes, I do. Why do you ask?’

Williams shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t you say he was, um –’ he struggled to find the appropriate word, ‘unusual?’

Mansen was amused. ‘The man has several personalities. The worst is the one you just saw, but you’ll see other personalities that may be better. My advice to you is to pray that he will come to like you. Once he does, this journey will be like child’s play.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’ Williams asked.

‘Then you should pray we don’t encounter any starving whales.’

They emerged on deck and Mansen reminded him that, as the deputy, it was the lieutenant’s duty now to give the order to weigh anchor.

There was a flurry of activity as soon as the order was given; scurrying like ants, everyone knew where to go and what to do.

The crew pulled on ropes to unfurl the sails and the ship slowly slipped out of her berth at Plymouth, opening her sails to the wind like a seagull that had come to perch on top of the crow’s-nest.

As darkness fell, Loch opened the captain’s log, dipped his pen in the ink bottle and stared at the blank page. This was the first of what would be many logs and he paused to reflect and imagine the reams that he would no doubt write over the course of this difficult mission.

He began with his name, the date and a brief inventory of the ship: I am Francis James Erskine Loch, Captain of His Majesty’s Ship, Eden, weighing four hundred and fifteen tons, with one hundred and twenty souls on board and twenty-four cannon.

We set sail from Plymouth at one o’clock in the afternoon on 6

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this ninth day of June, one thousand eight hundred and eighteen. The winds were favourable.

Loch was not sure he liked Williams – time would tell if he would ever warm to him – but at least he had succeeded in securing Mansen, who had proved his reliability and friendship on board the Mistral. He would need all the loyalty of his crew on this voyage.

Loch closed the logbook, lit his pipe and blew out the candle on the desk. Enveloped in darkness, he heard his wife’s voice from the adjoining cabin.

‘Don’t you want to get some sleep, Francis?’ she called out.

He drew on his pipe and gazed into the night. The Eden was setting sail for one of the most remote and hazardous locations in the world. Soon enough, she would be plying the waters of the Persian Gulf, looking for pirates who had taken to blocking sea routes and plundering British ships that travelled to and from Asia.

When Lady Jesse repeated her question, he replied, ‘Yes, in a while. I’m thinking of the pirates we’re going to meet, my dear.’

‘Which pirates do you mean?’ she asked.

In the darkness his wife was little more than a black silhouette.

He placed his pipe in his mouth once again and said, ‘The pirates of Arabia, those who block sea routes and plunder ships travelling to and from Asia. They are the reason for our journey.’

Even his officers did not yet know the nature of the mission.

He did not know how they would react, though many would be grateful they were not heading for South America, with its mosquitoes and endemic diseases.

‘Arabia?’ said Lady Jesse with distaste. ‘You know how I hate going to these places. I’m told they’re suffocating and hot, and 7

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their people are backward and barbaric. You simply had to accept this damned mission.’

‘Good night, dear,’ he said curtly as he emptied his pipe into an ashtray. They had discussed this subject on several occasions and he did not feel inclined to talk about it now. He looked forward to dropping his wife off in Muscat before any actual fighting took place.

But Lady Jesse was not so easily dismissed. ‘Always thinking of invading and killing so that you can be called a hero and attain higher military honours. I would remind you that we’re the ones going to them while they haven’t thought of coming to us.’ She paused. ‘Hardly a chivalrous endeavour.’

Loch opened a porthole and stuck his head out for a breath of fresh air. He loathed the stagnant smell of ship cabins.

These were difficult years for him, but they were necessary if he was to advance within the Royal Navy. This was an assignment of singular importance, and he had seized on it to strengthen his military career. A success in Arabia could translate into a position of vice-admiral. But first, he had to ensure the safety of British trade by removing the threat from the Arabian buccaneers.

The Eden sailed in a southwesterly current towards the West African coast, and Loch was still brooding when he caught sight of dolphin fins shining in the moonlight in the ship’s wake.

He smiled at this good omen.

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‘Strikingly authentic...there is an attention to detail here that places The Corsair alongside the likes of Patrick O’Brian’s Master and Commander’ The National

The Corsair

by Abdulaziz al-Mahmoud