We will abandon for awhile Maison-Forte of the Baron des Anbiez, and the
little city of La Ciotat, in order to conduct the reader on board the
galley of the commander Pierre des Anbiez.
The tempest had forced this vessel to take refuge in the little port of
Tolari, situated on the east of Cape Corsica, a northerly point of the
island of the same name.
The bell of the galley had just sounded six o’clock in the morning.
The weather was gloomy and the sky veiled with black and threatening
clouds; frequent and violent squalls of wind were raising a strong swell
within the port.
On whichever side one might turn, nothing could be seen but the barren,
solemn mountains of Cape Corsica, at the feet of which the steep road
wound its way.
The sea was heavy in the interior of the basin, but it seemed almost
calm when compared to the surging waves which beat upon a girdle of
rocks at the narrow entrance of the port.
These rocks, almost entirely submerged, were covered with a dazzling
foam, which, whipped by the wind, vented itself in a soft white mist.
The sharp cries of sea-gulls and sea-mews scarcely rose above the
thundering noise of the sea in its fury, as it rushed into the channel
which it was necessary to cross in order to enter the road of Tolari.
A few wretched-looking fishermen’s huts, built on the beach where their
dried boats were moored, completed the wild and solitary scene. Tossed
by this heavy swell, _Our Lady of Seven Sorrows_, sometimes rising on
the waves, would strain her cables almost to breaking, and sometimes
seemed to sink into a bed between two billows.
Nothing could be severer or more funereal than the aspect of this galley
painted like a cenotaph.
A hundred and sixty-six feet long, eighteen feet wide, narrow, slender,
and scarcely rising above the level of the sea, she resembled an immense
black serpent, sleeping in the midst of the waves. In front of the
parallelogram which constituted the body of the galley, was scarfed a
sharp and projecting beak-head, six feet in length.
At the rear of the same parallelogram was a rounded stern, the roof of
which inclined toward the prow.
Under this shelter, called the stem carriage, lodged the commander, the
patron, the prior, and the king of the chevaliers of Malta.
The masts of the galley, hauled down at its entrance into harbour, had
been placed in the waist, a narrow passage which ran through the entire
length of the galley.
On each side of this passage were ranged the benches of the
galley-slaves. Below the stem carriage, attached to a black staff,
floated the standard of religion, red, quartered with white, and below
the standard a bronze beacon designated the grade of the commander.
It would be difficult, in our day, to comprehend how these slaves,
composing the crew of a galley, could live, chained night and day to
their benches,--at sea, lying on deck without shelter; at anchor, lying
under a tent of coarse, woollen stuff, which scarcely protected them
from the rain and the frost.
Let one picture to himself about one hundred and thirty Moorish, Turk,
or Christian galley-slaves, dressed in red jackets and brown woollen
hooded mantles, on this black galley, in cold, gloomy weather.
These miserable creatures shivered under the icy blast of the tempest
and under the rain, which deluged them notwithstanding the awning.
To warm themselves a little they would press close to each other on the
narrow benches, to which they were chained, five and five.
All of them preserved a morose silence, and often threw an uneasy and
furtive glance on the convict-keepers and the overseers.
These contemptible officers, clothed in black, and armed with a cowhide,
would go through the waist of the galley, on each side of which were the
benches of the crew.
There were thirteen benches on the right, and twelve on the left.
The galley-slaves, constituting the palamente, or the armament of
rowers, belonging to _Our Lady of Seven Sorrows_, had been, as was the
custom, recruited from Christians, Turks, and Moors.
Each one of these types of slaves had his peculiar physiognomy.
The Turks, sluggish, dejected, and indolent, seemed to be a prey to a
morbid and contemplative apathy.
The Moors, always excited, uneasy, and of ungovernable temper, appeared
to be continually on the alert to break their chains and massacre their
keepers.
The Christians, whether condemned or enrolled of their own will, were,
in their way, more indifferent, and some of them were occupied in
weaving straw, by which they hoped to reap a profit.
Finally, the negroes, captured from Barbary pirate vessels where they
rowed as slaves, remained in a sort of torpor, a stupid immobility, with
their elbows on their knees and their heads in their hands.
The greater part of these blacks died of grief, while the Mussulman and
Christians grew accustomed to their fate.
Among these last, some were horribly mutilated, as they belonged to the
class recaptured in their efforts to escape.
In order to punish them for attempting to escape, according to the law,
their noses and ears had been cut off, and even more than this, their
beards, heads, and eyebrows were completely shaven; nothing could be
more hideous than the faces so disfigured.
In the fore part of the galley, and confined in a sort of covered
guard-house, called rambade, could be seen a battery,--the five pieces
of artillery belonging to the vessel.
This place was occupied by the soldiers and gunners.
These never formed a part of the crew, but composed, if such a thing
may be said, the cargo of the vessel impelled by the oars of the
galley-slaves.
About twenty sailors, free also, were charged with the management of the
sails, with the anchorage, and other nautical manoeuvres.
The soldiers and gunners, considered as lay brothers and servants, wore
coats of buff-skin, hoods, and black breeches.
Sheltered by the roof of the rambade, some, seated on their cannon,
busied themselves in cleaning their arms; others, wrapped in their
hoods, lay on the deck asleep, while others still--a rare thing even
among the soldiers of religion--were occupied in pious reading, or in
telling their rosaries.
With the exception of the galley-slaves, the men on board this
galley, carefully chosen by the commander, had a grave and thoughtful
countenance.
Almost all the soldiers and sailors were of mature age; some were
approaching old age. By the numerous scars with which the greater number
were marked, it was evident that they had served a long time.
More than two hundred men were assembled on this galley, and yet the
silence of the cloister reigned through it.
If the crew remained silent through terror of the whip of the keepers
and overseers, the soldiers and sailors obeyed the pious customs
maintained by the commander Pierre des Anbiez.
For more than thirty years that he had commanded this galley of
religion, he had tried always to preserve the same equipment, replacing
only the men that he had lost.
The severity of discipline established on board Our Lady of Seven
Sorrows was well known at Malta. The commander was perhaps the only one
of the officers of the religion who exacted a strict observance of the
rules of the order. His galley, on board of which he received only men
who had been proven, became a sort of nomadic convent,--a voluntary
rendezvous for all sailors who wished to assure their salvation by
binding themselves scrupulously to the rigorous requirements of this
hospitable and military confraternity.
It was the same with the officers and young caravan-iflits.
Those who preferred to lead a joyous and daring life--which was the
immense majority--found the greater part of the captains of the religion
disposed to welcome them, and to forget everything in their union
against the infidels, as their mission of monk-soldiers was at the same
time that of saint and warrior.
On the contrary, the very small number of young chevaliers who loved,
for its own sake, this pious and austere life in the midst of great
perils, sought with eagerness the opportunity to embark on the galley of
the commander Pierre des Anbiez.
There nothing offended, nothing prevented their religious customs. There
they could give themselves up to their holy exercises without fear of
being ridiculed, or of becoming perhaps weak enough to blush for their
own zeal.
The master gunner, or captain of the mast of the galley, an old sunburnt
soldier, wearing a black felt jacket with a white cross, was seated in
the guard-house of the prow, or rambade, of which we have spoken.
He was talking with the captain of the sailors of _Our Lady of Seven
Sorrows_, whose name was Simon. The first speaker was Captain Hugues,
who, with his companion, had always sailed with the Commander des
Anbiez.
Captain Hugues was polishing with care a collar of steel net. Captain
Simon from time to time was looking through the opening of the rambade,
examining the sky and the sea, so as to prognosticate the end or the
increase of the storm.
“Brother,” said Hugues to Simon, “the north wind blows strong; it
will be several days before we arrive at La Ciotat. Christmas will be
past, and our brother commander will be grieved.”
Captain Simon, before replying to his comrade, consulted the horizon
again, and said, with a serious air:
“Although it is not proper for man to seek to divine the will of
the Lord, I think we may hope to see the end of this tempest soon:
the clouds seem not so low or so heavy. Perhaps to-morrow our ancient
companion, the old watchman on Cape l’Aigle, will signal our arrival
in the Gulf of La Ciotat.”
“And that will be a day of joy in Maison-Forte, and to Raimond V.,”
said Captain Hugues.
“And also on board _Our Lady of Seven Sorrows_,” said Captain Simon,
“although joy appears here as rarely as the sun during a westerly
wind.”
“Look at this furbished collar,” said the gunner, regarding his work
with an air of satisfaction. “It is strange, Brother Simon, how blood
will stick to steel. I have rubbed in vain: you can always distinguish
these blackish marks on the mesh!”
“Which proves that steel loves blood as the earth loves dew,” said
the sailor, smiling sadly at his pleasantry.
“But do you know,” said Hugues, “that it will soon be ten years
since the commander received this wound in his combat with Mourad-Reis,
the corsair of Algiers?” “I remember it as well, brother, as that
with one blow of the battle-axe I struck down the miscreant who had
almost broken his kangiar on the breast of the commander, who was
fortunately defended by that coat of mail. But for that, Pierre des
Anbiez would be dead.”
“So he still keeps this collar, and I am going to carry it to him
now.”
“Stop,” said the sailor, seizing the gunner by the arm, “you have
chosen an unfortunate time,--the brother commander is in one of his bad
days.”
“How?”
“The head cook told me this morning that Father Elzear wished to enter
the commander’s chamber, but there was crape on the door.”
“I understand, I understand; that sign suffices to prevent the
entrance of any person in the commander’s chamber before he gives the
order to do so.”
“Yet to-day is neither Saturday nor the seventeenth day of the
month,” said Captain Hugues with a thoughtful air.
“That is true, for it is only upon the return of these days that his
fits of despondency seem to overwhelm him the most,” said Captain
Simon.
Just at this moment a deep, hollow murmur was heard outside among the
crew.
There was nothing ominous of evil in this noise; on the contrary, it was
only an expression of satisfaction.
“What is that?” asked the gunner.
“Doubtless Reverend Father Elzear has just appeared on deck. At the
very sight of him the slaves think their lot less miserable.”