Kingfisher by Christopher C. Tubbs

Author:Christopher C. Tubbs [Tubbs, Christopher C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-04T16:00:00+00:00

Fire Ship

The next morning overmanned and stocked with flammables, the Femke left the Bay of Naples. This time they turned south past the island of Capri and followed the coast. A day and a half later they came to the Messina Strait. Not trusting the wind, Ralph took to the oars. As he had so many men and they needed work, he changed rowers every two hours.

The Bay of Tripoli lay two hundred- and eighty-five-miles due south once they reached the island of Capopassero with its distinctive fort. The fort, built just ninety years before, was well armed and manned by the Neopolitan army to combat the ever-present threat of the Barbary pirates. Ralph thought it a waste of time.

The wind wasn’t a rank muzzler but too fine on the bow for the galiote to sail against. Ralph had sufficient men to put them two to an oar and still run two watches. He put the mids on each watch to manage the stroke. The added beef had them cutting through the water at eight knots which was excellent progress. They would be rowing four on four off for thirty-two hours.

After sixteen hours, a storm came up and the men got a break as the best they could do was sit tight and ride it out. It was impossible to row as the ship pitched and rolled. The wind swung from south to east to north in six hours. The good thing was with the wind from a point or two east of north they could sail south. The bad thing was they had no idea where they were. The sky was obscured by cloud and there was no way they could take a sun or star shot.

‘Land Ho!’

‘Where away?’

‘Off the starboard bow.’

Ralph went to the chart where the master was already poring over it.

‘Any idea where that could be?’ Ralph asked.

‘Well, as we were blown north and west my guess is Malta. Wherever it is we need to keep heading south.’

They passed a French caravel and hailed them.

‘Well, that answers that. Malta it is,’ Ralph said.

‘Is that what he said? I couldn’t understand a word of it.’ Gill snorted.

‘The skipper was probably from Marseille; they have a strong dialect, but he said it was Malte which is what the French call Malta.’ Ralph laughed.

‘I didn’t know you spoke French.’

‘I can get by, but that’s about all. My Italian is better having been taught Latin.’

Two hours later the crew were back on the oars. A day later they were off the coast of North Africa near to Sharqi Island. The current had carried them further west than they had anticipated.

‘We will work our way along the coast until we reach this headland where we will wait so we can time our attack on Tunis to be at false dawn,’ Ralph told his assembled officers crowded around a chart.

‘Good idea,’ the master said. ‘Which ship of the two will we take?’

‘Both if they are still there,’ Ralph said.

‘But we don’t have the men to take both carracks and sail the Femke.

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