Old Corsair (eBook)

Prologue

Federal Hall

New York City

October, 1785

“Gentlemen!” the president shouted as he stood up from behind the desk vigorously rapping his gavel. “Gentlemen, please!”

Still ignoring the president’s plea for order, the delegate from Massachusetts continued to shout down his South Carolina colleague. “What sort of preposterous nonsense is this? The topic of discussion was how best to address the deficiencies of the Articles, Mr. Pinckney, not for you to go on another self-indulgent tirade!”

“When you are recognized by the president, Mr. Partridge, then shall I take up your outrageous assumption and not before. You do not have a salient interest in our merchant vessels’ ability to conduct their affairs in international waters free from harassment, to say nothing of your intolerable rudeness!” shouted the delegate from South Carolina as a growing restlessness took hold of the assembly. Parliamentary decorum dissolved rapidly as disparate conversations began to sprout up all over the room.

Continuing to slam the gavel so hard he nearly cleaved its sound block in two, the President of the Confederation Congress, Richard Henry Lee, was finally able to restore order to the unruly assembly. When the only sound heard was the repetitious pounding of his gavel, he stopped.

In the silence that followed, he glared at the verbal contestants. “Gentlemen, if cooler heads don’t prevail I shall adjourn this session. Do I make myself clear?” He surveyed the surprised assembly unaccustomed to such an outburst from so mild-tempered a man. Staring at the delegate from Massachusetts, he yielded the floor. “Very well. The chair once again recognizes the delegate from South Carolina.”

Taking his opportunity to put the Massachusetts delegate in his place, Pinckney said, “You sir, were never wronged by our British adversaries, so your opinion carries no weight!” His glaring eyes lingered upon the source of his anger before turning his attention and his speech to the general floor of the assembly. “Having suffered impressments at the hands of our former English brethren, our fellow countrymen are now under siege with no protections whatsoever from this body!” Hinting once again at his adversary, Pinckney tried unsuccessfully to check his emotions. “In deference to the concerns of Mr. Partridge, we must consider strengthening the common defense article of our confederation. In its current form, the requisite deficiencies of that article become clear when put into practice. Without a standing Navy, we have no sufficient safeguard against aggressive foreign nations in the shipping lanes of the Mediterranean. The European answer to the open piracy of Tunis, Tripoli, and Algiers is absolutely unacceptable. Their ultimatums, Mr. President, are outlandish on their face and insulting to the sovereignty of our young nation.”

Partridge jumped to his feet and said abruptly, “Mr. Pinckney, Massachusetts is all too aware of the cost borne by our countrymen, sir! The entire crew of our very own Betsy didn’t even make it past the Rock of Gibraltar! She was only two months out of Boston when she was taken off the African coast. And now comes word that our schooner Maria, with the inestimable James Cathcart aboard, was captured off the Cape of St. Vincent! This adversary was not British, Mr. Pinckney!”

Pinckney’s tepid reply was swift. “I understand well the cost you bear, sir, and you have my sympathies.”

“Do you, sir? Do you really? As we speak, they are doubtless being sold into slavery somewhere in Morocco!”

Now joining the fracas was Dr. Edward Hand. An ardent patriot and general of the Revolution, he served during the siege of Yorktown and crossed the Delaware on that fateful Christmas Eve with George Washington. At war’s end, he once again answered his nation’s call to service as a representative from Pennsylvania.

As Pinckney and Partridge were exchanging verbal jabs, a messenger delivered a letter to Hand that carried disturbing news of a fresh attack. The venerable politician was usually a calming influence on the junior members of the assembly, but this time, his measured reserve fell prey to his passions. He made a concerted effort to raise his voice over the rancor of their argument. “Gentlemen, I’ve just received word that our Brigantine, the Dauphin out of Philadelphia, was taken and her crew paraded through the streets of Tripoli! What do you suggest we do to address this latest outrage, Mr. Pinckney? Mr. Partridge?”

With that exchange, Lee rapped his gavel one final time. “That’s it, gentlemen! I am summarily placing this assembly in recess until tomorrow morning. Perhaps a brief pause will allow our constituent members the requisite time to contemplate a more thoughtful reserve when addressing each other in open assembly.”

With the notable exception of Partridge’s cursory, rage-infused stare at Pinckney, the members dispersed. They filed out of the room in small groups as they held hushed, individual sidebars. Seeking to know more about this latest revelation, Lee approached Hand for a brief sidebar of his own.

“Doctor Hand, a word with you, please.”

“Mr. Lee?”

“You caught me by surprise regarding the Dauphin, sir. Would you be so kind as to tell me what happened?”

“Of course,” said a more reasonable Hand. “Please forgive my outburst, Mr. Lee. It was uncalled for.”

“That’s quite all right. However, you do understand why I had to adjourn the session?”

“Oh, I heartily agree. It’s the president who has the ultimate responsibility for maintaining the dignity of the assembly. As to your question, sir, I must tell you I only just received a letter from a witness to the event who wishes to address the open assembly.”

“Can this witness make himself available for testimony?”

“According to his letter, he is expected to arrive in New York tomorrow morning. We could allow him some time to offer up his account?”

Lee considered the benefits of such testimony. “I believe that would not only be a good idea but should throw a bucket of water on the tempers of both Partridge and Pinckney.”

Hand only nodded at Lee’s reasonable accommodation.

The clamor of voices diminished when the door opened and the witness entered. The shocking appearance of the young man caused those who laid eyes upon him first to gasp audibly.

He wore the nautical uniform of his merchant vessel when it was attacked. His sailor’s bonnet was in his hands as he moved toward the president. The tongue of one shoe was torn out, its buckle missing. His patched white dungarees were ripped in several places with spots of blood spatter that ran from his thigh, along the left side of his light red waistcoat, and up the side of his white shirt sleeve. The blood-stained cravat partially covered the dressed wound on the left side of his neck. An angry gash crested the bridge of his nose as the bruises over his eyes were beginning to heal.

However, the mustard-yellow color of his healing eye sockets was not as distinguishing a feature as his left eye, the dark-hazel iris of which was so large the eggshell white sclera was almost nonexistent. The young man’s physical deformity and injuries notwithstanding, he approached the open floor near the president’s table with a determined bearing.

He searched the faces of his audience before locking eyes on Lee. “Gentlemen of the Congress, Mr. President.” With a hint of trepidation, he continued. “I can only tell you what I know. It was nearly three months ago now, on the thirtieth of July. We were half a day out of Lisbon before our vessel Dauphin was set upon by an Algerian squadron. Captain O’Brien did his best to veer us away, but its lead corsair still managed to draw up alongside us and fire. The first mate was lucky. He was killed with their first shot. Their second volley devastated the gunwale, took out our jackstaff, and snapped the foremast in two. Though the quarter deck suffered light damage, the two crew members standing on it at the time were not so lucky. Their injuries were so severe they later died. Shortly after their third volley, they boarded us with an overwhelming compliment of men.

“I managed to get off a shot from my pistol trying to thwart their attack when someone hit me from behind forcing me to the deck just as one of the blackguards leveled his cutlass at my head. The impact I sustained reduced his killing stroke to a glancing blow.” The young man reached up and touched the blood-encrusted bandage over his neck as he surveyed the registry of shock on their faces. “When the fight was over, they had sacked the wardroom, placed our surviving crew in chains and dragged us aboard their vessel. During the journey to their homeland, they took turns beating us with leather cudgels. They even accused my friend, Thomas Martinson, of trying to steal food and immediately cut off his right hand.”

No one said a word as they tried to digest what the young sailor, Vernon Tunney, had just told them.

Lee scanned the assembly. “Are there any questions for Mr. Tunney?”

It was Hand’s Pennsylvania colleague who stood first.

“If I may, how were you able to determine who was attacking you?” asked a skeptical James Wilson.

“We identified the jack as Algerian when the lead vessel came alongside us to bring her weapons to bear,” answered Tunney.

“Could you identify that particular vessel if you saw it...