Voyage of Slaves

“What’s going on, are we going to fight now?”

Abram called to Ben, “Keep him out of the way, all three of you stay back there by the stairs!”

As Ben pulled the younger boy back, he heard Abram talking to the older gunner. “Just sink it, Caleb, don’t blow it to smithereens or kill anybody aboard. Can you do it?”

Caleb’s weathered face creased into a broad grin. “Aye, if that’s what our cap’n wants. Leave it to me!”

Al Misurata watched his ship arcing in toward the White Ram. He waved encouragement to Ghigno, who was standingin the prow signalling orders to his steersman. It was a foregone conclusion, the smaller vessel could not escape.

Baarrrrooooommmm.

There was a crash like thunder bursting overhead. The stern of the small craft that held Al Misurata vanished in a cascade of splinters and seaspray. He found himself suddenly floundering in the bay, shocked and gasping for breath as he spat out gouts of salt water. The remainder of the boat disappeared beneath him, and sudden terror had him screeching in panic.

“Eeeyaaah! Save me, Ghigno! Save meeeeeee!”

It is a known fact that some seamen cannot swim, despite having spent most of their lives sailing the main.

Al Misurata was one such seaman.

Ned lay flat, with both front paws covering his ears. “Ben, have we been hit, mate?” Luckily it was a thought, because no voice would have been heard in the echoing, smoke-filled space where the cannon had discharged its ball.

With stars flashing before his eyes and thunder echoing in his ears, Ben staggered through the gunpowder-fogged space. He joined Joshua, who was peering down the cannon barrel, yelling enthusiastically.

“Hahaha, good shot, Caleb! You did it, the big ship’s having to halt and come about to rescue that rascal in the water. I wish there were some hungry sharks about, that’d teach him a lesson, eh, Ben!”

Ned pushed his head between the shoulders of both boys. “Hoho, does my doggy heart good to see a sight like that! I bet that was the old fellow’s idea. You tell Joshua that his grandad’s a genius, Ben!”

Al Misurata was scrabbling about like a madman, alternately sinking and clawing his way up. He was clutching frenziedly at the two guards and the rowers, who were struggling to get away from him as they fought to save themselves. Choking on seawater, the pirate screeched like a demented animal as the Sea Djinn hastened to his aid.

“Heeeelp! Ghignooooo! Heeeeeeeelp!”

The Corsair was urging a boat crew to hurry themselves, whilst other crewmen began flinging ropes and cane fenders from the decks. It was a scene of total chaos.

Ben shook Joshua’s hand heartily. “Your grandfather is a hero, and a very wise old man!”

Leaving the Sea Djinn to her rescue mission, the White Ram drifted calmly off. After awhile she cleared the bay, heeling slightly as a lively breeze sent her scudding out under full sail into the open Mediterranean Sea. Accompanied by Caleb the master gunner, Ben, Ned and Joshua hurried out into the fresh air of the open deck. Ben and Ned joined Eli, who was acting as steersman, but Joshua and Caleb linked their arms about the shoulders of Ezekiel, Abram, Zachary and other crewmen, who had formed a circle. They danced slowly around, stamping their feet and singing.

 

“ Yayla ho hah! Yayla ho hah!

The House of Shimon is mighty,

and fearless stands each son,

each daughter fair and comely,

like lilies of Sharon.

 

“ Yayla ho hah! Yayla ho hah!

We wield the sword or sickle,

the chariot or the plough,

we breathe the air of freedom,

and to no tyrant bow.

 

“Yayla ho hah! Yayla ho hah!

My sheep graze in the pastures,

my grape bloom on the vine, no cruel inquisition

will steal this land of mine.”

Old Eli patted Ned and winked at Ben. “What white ram ever headed a flock like mine!”

19

CAPE PASSERO OFF THE SOUTHERN TIP OF THE SICILIAN COAST.

THE MAN SHOOK A SMALL BOX OF corn grains, watching the pigeons circling overhead. Whistling softly to the birds, he spread a few grains on the sill of the loft. One by one they began landing, pecking at the corn before entering through the light wire grill.

He whistled and clucked patiently, biding his time until his champion homing bird, a fine, big, bronze-feathered pigeon, came to perch on the sill. Immediately it had entered the loft, the man went inside and retrieved it. He stroked its head gently against his cheeks, making soft, soothing clucks as he removed a tiny cylinder which was attached to its leg.