Читать книгу Pirate Princes and Yankee Jacks - Daniel Henderson - Страница 7

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"If you can climb masts as well as you can climb poles," said Alexander, "there's no doubt that you'll be a fine sailorman!"

"He'll do no mast-climbing!" said Dr. Eccleston. "One sailor in the family is enough. His climbing will be confined to the steps of a pulpit. I am training him for the ministry!"

Alexander looked at me quizzically. I winked at him. He and I had agreed from childhood that ours should be a seafaring life. My brother had boldly carried out his intention to follow father's example, but I, seeing that the rector had set his heart upon my adopting a shore career, had postponed making my declaration. I was immensely fond of the rector; I did not care to be the means of bringing further sadness to him, so I bided my time.

Commodore Barney heard the rector rebuke Alexander and saw my wink. Bless me, behind the minister's back, he winked too. He had told me that, when the United States began to build her navy, he expected to obtain a place for me on a frigate. "America's prosperity on the sea is just beginning," he said. "Don't turn your back on your natural calling. One voyage in a privateer in one of the wars that are on the horizon will make your fortune. I'll take you to sea with me. Let the dominie look elsewhere for his recruits!"

The rector and the commodore were great comrades, but on the subject of a career for me they never agreed.

Commodore Barney had been a hero to Alexander and myself as far back as we could remember. He was a part of our lives from the first—an unofficial second guardian. I have heard him declare that he was on his way to our house to adopt us when he met the rector coming out with one of us clinging to each hand. Dr. Eccleston had told him then, the commodore stated, that a seafaring man was no fit guardian for children.

The commodore was a burly, pink-cheeked, big-hearted man. What a dandy he was! When on shore he wore a cocked hat, a coat with large lace cuffs, and a cape cut low to show his neck-stock of fine linen cambric. His breeches were closely fitted with large buckles. He wore silk stockings and large buckled shoes. No one who saw him sauntering along Market Street would take him to be a sailor, although his tongue betrayed his calling. Nautical terms, strange oaths, shipping topics were forever on his lips. His clothes spoke of the ballroom, but his language had the tang of the ship's deck and the salt wind.

He was fond of the ladies. It often amused us to see him dancing attendance on a maid who minced along in brocade or taffeta, with her skirts ballooning from the hoops underneath, with bright-colored shoes peeping out from beneath her skirts, and with an enormous plume in her big bonnet that waved towards the commodore's cocked hat. The hooped skirts seemed to be trying to keep her escort at a distance, while he struggled manfully to pour his words into her ear.

Murad was still hovering around us. Evidently anxious to appease the commodore, he had begun to talk to him on sea topics. The commodore, in turn, started to draw out the Egyptian as to opportunities American shippers might have to sell cargoes of American goods to Mediterranean cities.

"In Barbary, Egypt and beyond," said Murad, "will lie your country's chief market. The ports of the Mediterranean are eager for your goods. Lads like these——" he fixed glowing eyes on Alexander and myself—"will live to make their fortunes in the Mediterranean."

"I don't know but what you're right," said the commodore, "if someone will kindly sweep those Barbary buccaneers out of the way. Looks as if we'll have to build a squadron to do what the navies of Europe have failed to do through all these centuries. Matters are coming to a head between our country and the pirate nests of Barbary. I've heard reports of American ships being captured by ships sent out by the ruler of Algiers. It may take us a little time to wake up, but in the end we're going to stop that!"

"That," said Murad suavely, "is nothing new. If you lived in the Orient, my dear commodore, you would think little of it. It's merely the way the rulers of the Barbary countries have of notifying your new country that it's America's duty to pay them toll—ships and jewels and gold. All of the nations of Europe pay them for protection, and of course, in justice to themselves and those who pay them tribute, they cannot exempt America. If I were your President, I would send liberal presents every year to the princes of Algiers, Tunis, Tripoli and Morocco. Then, sir, American ships and sailors would have nothing to fear in the Mediterranean."

"Just so!" said the commodore. He cast a long look at the Egyptian, glanced around at us to see how we took this proposition, and chewed his tobacco with fierce energy. Then he exploded:

"I'd blow every one of those pirate nests out of the water before I'd pay one of those bloody Bashaws a sixpence!"

"I'D BLOW EVERY ONE OF THOSE PIRATE NESTS OUT OF

THE WATER BEFORE I'D PAY ONE OF THOSE BLOODY

BASHAWS A SIXPENCE!" SAID THE COMMODORE.

"Then!" said Murad, "I'm afraid American commerce will find itself barred from the Mediterranean! I have no interest in the corsairs. I was merely trying to point out a way by which your skippers could find new markets over there without being attacked or imprisoned."

"Well, just belay that advice when you're talking to a man who has fought for, and still will fight for the honor of his country!" growled the commodore.

We followed the old sailor.

"That fellow's in this land for no good!" the commodore said to the rector. "The last time I attended a session of Congress, I saw him listening to the debates. I reckon he's keeping the rulers of Barbary informed of what's going on over here. Those fellows want to know how rich our country is, so that they can tax us all that our finances can stand. I wouldn't be surprised, either, if Murad's not sending advices of our sailings, so that those pirates can be on the watch for our ships!

"Both England and France want to bar us from the trade of the Orient, and their agents will convey to them there Bashaws any news this sneaking Murad sends them. Christian convert—my aunt! Once a Moslem always a Moslem! A trapper of Christians—that's what I think him!"

Murad went on his way and we went ours. I was to have plenty of occasion to reflect on the commodore's opinion of the Oriental.

Alexander stayed with us for two months after his return from England. Then he hurriedly shipped on a schooner bound for Boston. Its skipper, when he returned to Baltimore, brought us a note from my brother. In it he advised us that he had shipped on board the schooner Marie sailing from Boston for Cadiz. This was in April, 1784. Over a year passed without bringing tidings of my brother. I had begun to fear that his ship had gone down, although the good rector, to comfort me, grumbled that there was a special Providence that took care of fools.