June 1799, Calabrian Coast of Southern Italy
The night was a moonless black and the mountainous shore could only be seen by noting a lack of stars in one direction. They took two boats and a cutter. Hamilton lead one, with Zuberi along to translate, while Ahmar lead the other. The cutter had only a minimal crew, as it was expected there would be many captives to ferry back to the ship. The boats were run up onto the small beach easily and a pair of men left to stand guard. Hamilton organized the rest of the men in a rough column and started inland. The twins Almas and Akouta were sent forward as scouts, each with a pair of muskets slung over her back, and a pistol in her belt.
Hamilton shook out his hat, now with a Jacobin cockade, and put it on. He had insisted, over the objections of Katherine, that the bandages on his head be removed. Rachel Palmer had added rich epaulets and other garish flourishes to his jacket. At his side was the sword given to him by the Pasha-Bey of Tunis. The entire result was not right for French naval officers, but he hoped that in the darkness and confusion it would be close enough for townspeople who would only have seen the occasional French Hussar.
The town of Belvederi was only two miles from shore, but it was a hard two miles up steep, twisting paths. After crossing the second hill they could finally see an outline of the town against the faint glow of a dozen flickering lamps inside the walls. There were two gates into the town, neither of which seemed to guarded well, if at all. Hamilton split his small force in two and sent axmen to the front. The gates was cracked open after a few heavy blows, and within less than a minute, they were inside, shouting and firing off muskets to wake the sleeping town.
Hamilton stood in the town square ten minutes later as the leading citizens were brought out, most still in their nightshirts. Only a few men in the town had tried to resist, two of them taking musket bullets, but no one had been killed. The assault had been so swift and unexpected, most were more confused than anything else.
"Tell him I want women brought out," Hamilton said, speaking quietly to Zuberi.
Zuberi spoke the local dialect well enough to be understood. The town leaders mumbled to themselves until one man stepped, hesitatingly, to the front. He answered Zuberi.
"He wants to know who you are and why he should do this," Zuberi said.
"Ahmar, send ten men and go round to those buildings, along that street where the lamps are lit. Look for suitable women and bring them out." Hamilton gestured wildly but spoke quietly. He didn't trust his rudimentary French and it would be a disaster if the townspeople found out he was English.
The town's mayor put his hands together and pleaded, as tears streamed down his face. Hamilton walked up to the man, then slowly pulled out his pistol and pointed it at his head.
The desperate man froze in terror, his eyes crossed as he looked at the muzzle less than a foot from his forehead. He cried out, "Prena aviri medere! Latru! Non sciavo sacrifiziu lu cori citadina!"
"He begs you to stop," Zuberi said. "You are a thief and taking slaves will destroy this town."
Hamilton pulled back on the hammer slowly, the sharp metal clicks seemed louder in the still night air, but it did not stop the mayor from frantically pleading, "Nave degli sciavi! Devu pagari ora pi' favuri!"
"He wants to pay a ransom."
Hamilton glanced at Zuberi and then pulled his pistol back and carefully set the hammer back down. He watched the mayor with narrow eye, then shook his head and threw up his hand in a dismissive gesture, trying to act the part of a haughty French revolutionary.
There was a scream from the far side of the plaza. Ahmar and his men brought forth a dozen young women and herded them into the square. Hamilton congratulated him on his fine catch. He looked down at one of the dark haired beauties and reached out for her face. She spat on his uniform. One of the sailors instantly grabbed her, but Hamilton stopped him from slapping her. He turned back to Zuberi and the mayor.
"Tell him, that Mor Cuanaich demands one hundred beautiful women," Hamilton whispered. "Make sure he knows that fighting for the liberty of Italy requires gold, and that these slaves will help pay for the defense of the great Parthenopaean Republic. He will be making a noble sacrifice."
Zuberi did. They mayor began to plead, "Troppu grandi!" over and over.
Hamilton felt a droplet sliding down the side of his face. He touched it and saw, to his disgust, that his head wound was bleeding again. The mayor's pleading was giving him a headache. Hamilton glared at the frightened mayor, then fired his pistol over the man's head. The mayor flinched and ran back, frightened by the crazed man with blood streaming down his face. Zuberi yelled and the man stopped running.
"Tell him one hundred women in the next ten minutes -- one hundred beautiful young women -- or I will burn the town."
Thirty captives were rounded up quickly. Almas and Akouta managed to find a pair of hidden storerooms where a dozen more had been sent to hide. Twenty minutes later eighty slaves were huddled between musket wielding men in the town square. The sailors had bound the women's arms behind their back and taken small lines, knotted once, for use as gags. In some cases hobbles were tied to the captive's ankles, but most of the women were too terrified to do anything but obey.
"This will be enough for us," Hamilton whispered. "But tell him that he is to send one hundred slaves down to Straca Marina at dawn. If he fails, then both towns will be turned over to Mor Cuanaich's men and the French dragoons."
Zuberi told the shocked men, who stood frozen.
"Secure lanterns from these people, we'll use them on the way back." Hamilton ordered. "Ahmar, keep five men and the twins behind our column to make sure they don't try to follow us."
The line of captives set out, slowly winding down the narrow tracks back towards the beach. Five of the women managed to escape in the dark, but the rest were placed on board the cutter or distributed to one of the boats. It was crowded, though none of the men minded being pressed tightly against one of the frightened women. By dawn the slaves had placed in one of three makeshift cages built in the
Tigress'
lower decks.
"Up anchor!" Hamilton shouted once the boats were secure.
The orders were given and the men, tired but very pleased with their catch, hauled round the capstan. The anchor cable tightened and soon it was lifted from the water and catted.
"Hands aloft to make sail!" Hamilton yelled.
Zuberi called out the orders in Arabic and Turkish and the men ran aloft, those on the mizzen mast following behind the agile twins.
"Mr. Ahmar, shake the reefs from the tops'ls and make ready to set courses. We'll bend east-by-south and when we clear the first mile we shall set t'gallants and stays'ls. I want as much canvas as she'll take, so make ready with stuns'ls."
"As you wish, Captain," said Ahmar, "I will add preventer stays fore and main."
"Very good, Mr. Ahmar." Hamilton turned and shouted to the crew, "man the sheets and halyards! Stand by! Stand by, lads! Avast and let fall!" Hamilton watched the sails as they unfurled and took the wind. The evolutions for making sail were clear enough to the experienced sailors that Zuberi's translation wasn't really needed. "Quartermaster, out the wheel two points starboard and a half! On deck there! Tend the lee braces! Haul taut! Handsomely, now! Handsomely! Belay!"
A cry came from the maintop.
"He sees smoke, Captain," Zuberi said. "He says it is from Straca Marina. He says... Captain, he says he sees the beached war galley in flames!"
"I would imagine those people we met last night are not favorability disposed towards Mor Cuanaich."
There was laughter and the
Tigress
moved off the southern Italian coast, heading east towards Greece.
##
The ship was rolling harder, when night came again. Hamilton had ordered the bulkhead separating his cabin and the smaller fore-cabin to be struck and the large table from the wardroom placed inside. He invited Van Schoonhoven and the officers, such as they were, to celebrate their outwitting of Mor Cuanaich and the capture of 75 attractive female slaves.
"To Captain Hamilton, yes, yes, a great man!" Van Schoonhoven said as a toast. There were smiles all around, some drinking from a case of French wine while others preferred Turkish raki.
"A clever ruse, Captain," Ahmar said with a half-smile. "Mor Cuanaich will be angry."
"This is not a time to worry about such things!" Van Schoonhoven bellowed. "We drink! We sing! We fuck the women, yes?"
"You are both right, gentleman," Hamilton said. "I will say this, though. It will be a day, perhaps two, before he makes good on the loss of supplies from his Italian haven. That should be more than enough time for us to sprint to Corfu or Paxos."
"Do not the French control those islands now?" Van Schoonhoven's tone shifted instantly to concern. "That Corsican of theirs, this Bonaparte, he is everywhere! He swallowed Venice, yes?"
Ghanashyam, called Ganny by those who could not pronounce his name, a Hindu who acted as the purser and secretary, nodded his head. "That is true, Pieter, but the French were driven from Corfu and the rest of the Ionian Islands not more than one hundred days ago."
"The Russian fleet was there," Ahmar added.
"Yes," Ghanashyam laughed, "the Russians helping the Turk, who would believe it!"
"Exactly, gentleman. In six weeks it may be different, but now, the western islands of Greece will be filled with ships hostile to those renegade pirates. It will be a simple cruise." Hamilton looked around the room at the men, all now with much more confidence in his leadership. He smiled, although he doubted the remainder of the voyage would be uneventful. Mor Cuanaich was almost certain to catch sight of them as they rounded the Peloponnese.
