Tim Severin - Corsair

The start whistle blew. The porters seized the first dozen frames and carried them at a run down the ladders into the dry dock. The shipwrights hoisted them into position and began to peg them into place. By the time the first frames were secure, the porters were already arriving with the next frames in the sequence. Hector had to admit that the skill and discipline of the workforce was astonishing. In less than half an hour every frame was fitted in its proper place, a task that would normally have taken fifteen days to complete. Then, without pausing, the carpenters turned to the task of laying in the deck beams and then the planks, bending and clinching the timber so adroitly that by noon the entire hull was finished, and the carpenters were kneeling on the upper parts, urgently pegging down the deck boards. Below them the teams of caulkers were hammering oakum into the seams. By then, the cacophony of hammering and sawing had risen to such a deafening crescendo that Gasnier’s rule against talking was unnecessary, for no one could have heard themselves speak. Only at dusk, when most of the woodworking was done, did the noise begin to subside as the carpenters withdrew, leaving the painters and carvers and gilders to add their decorative touches by the light of torches. By midnight the caulkers had begun to check their work, pumping water into the hull, then looking for leaks and plugging them before draining out the vessel, and applying a final underwater coat of tar. Even as the master caulker reported to Gasnier that the hull was watertight, his workmen were scrambling out of the dry dock to avoid the rising water, for the sluice gates had been opened and the dock was flooding. A priest came aboard to bless the vessel and was still saying his prayers as the galley was warped out into the harbour and alongside the quay.

By now Hector’s job was done, and no one paid him any attention as he stood, bleary-eyed and exhausted, watching the riggers step the masts and spars. ‘Just short of nine o’clock,’ said someone in the crowd beside him, as Dan’s colleagues from the armoury manhandled on to the fore deck the galley’s main armament, a 36-pound cannon and two smaller artillery pieces. The Arsenal’s porters were in a human chain, loading and stowing the galley’s ballast, munitions, oars and sea-going gear. There came the tramp of feet and the clank and rattle of iron. Along the quay marched five companies of galley men, fifty men in each company, all in new multi-coloured prison garb and their chains newly blackened. Reaching the galley, they halted. Their argousins blew a short blast on their whistles, and the oarsmen turned and ran up the gangplanks where they dispersed to their benches and then quietly sat while the argousins chained them to their seats.

Now, for the first time in thirty-six hours, Hector saw Gasnier relax and give a quiet smile of approval. The galley’s captain and officers, resplendent in their best uniforms, went aboard, and a lad unfurled the standard of the royal Galley Corps, the golden fleur-de-lis on a red field. A trumpet sounded, and the galley pushed off from the quayside. More blasts from the argousins’ whistles and the oarsmen laid in place their 38-feet-long sweeps, rose to their feet, and stood ready, hands on the oar grips. A drum began to beat and the oarsmen took up a steady deep-throated chant as the great oars began to move to the rhythm, dipping into the dirty harbour water, propelling the galley away from the dock. ‘Brodart promised His Majesty that the galley would be ready for sea trials before noon on the second day,’ said the same voice, ‘and he’s kept his word.’

Hector raised his arm to shade his eyes as he watched the newborn galley heading towards the harbour entrance. It was a beautiful sunlit morning, with scarcely a breath of wind, and another galley was inward-bound, entering between the guardian forts. As the two galleys passed, they saluted one another, dipping their ensigns as they passed. Hector saw that the arriving galley flew a flag whose badge was a red fork-tailed cross on a white field. ‘St Stephen’s Cross,’ said the longshoreman. ‘That must be our new recruit. That’s the St Gerassimus .’

FOURTEEN

‘WELCOME, CHEVALIER, your visit to the Arsenal is indeed an honour.’ Commissaire Batiste had a fulsome greeting for Adrien Chabrillan as the Knight of St Stephen was shown into his office. ‘Intendant Brodart asks me to present his sincere apologies that he cannot be here in person. He has had to leave on an urgent matter – an audience with His Majesty.’ The commissaire looked pleased with himself. ‘We launched a new galley yesterday, after building her in less than thirty-six hours, a most prodigious feat, don’t you agree? His Majesty wishes to hear the details from the Intendant himself.’

‘I saw the new galley,’ commented Chabrillan dryly. He suspected that Brodart, far from going to answer the King’s questions, was headed to court to make sure that as many people as possible knew about the successful demonstration.

‘Remarkable, truly remarkable,’ the commissaire added immodestly. He crossed to a table where a scale model of the galley was on prominent display. ‘One of our galeriens, a jeweller who got a little too free with his clients’ possessions, took more than eighteen months to produce this model. Yet our Arsenal craftsmen managed to build the full-sized vessel, 185 feet long and 22 feet beam at the waterline, in little more than a day. And no skimping on the materials either, finest Provençal oak for the knees and planks. Tough stuff to work. An exceptional achievement.’

He looked at his visitor, expecting a gesture of approval, and was unprepared for Chabrillan’s chilly response. ‘A galley is only as good as her crew, and I’ve come to you for more men. St Gerassimus had a brush with a Turkish brigantine on the way here. Nothing conclusive as the Turk fled, but I lost five banks of oarsmen from a lucky shot, and my galley was already under-strength. A tenth of my regular oarsmen were bonnevoles, volunteers, and they are accustomed to work for plunder not pay. Many of them have chosen not to enter the service of the King. I trust you will be able to make up the shortfall.’

‘These extra oarsmen you seek, would they be in addition to the Turks and demi-Turks who arrived from Livorno six weeks ago and are waiting to join your vessel?’

Chabrillan looked down his nose at the commissaire, not bothering to conceal his disdain. ‘Of course. Though I have no idea what you mean by a demi-Turk.’

‘A private joke of mine. A circumcised renegade,’ the commissaire explained. ‘There are two of them in the Livorno batch, a young Irishman who has proved useful as a storekeeper, and his foreign companion works as a gunsmith. They have received no training for the oar and may not be as strong as the Turks. But perhaps they would be adequate.’

‘If they are renegades then all the more reason that they serve aboard my vessel,’ Chabrillan replied. ‘On the St Gerassimus we pride ourselves on the number of backsliders who have been made to see the error of their ways. I understand that you received a chain from Bordeaux recently.’

The Chevalier was altogether too nosy, the commissaire thought, as he regarded the tall, dandified figure before him. Chabrillan had been ashore for only a few hours, yet already he had been making enquiries about the facilities available to him now that St Gerassimus was part of the royal Galley Corps. The commissaire disliked meddlesome galley captains. They were a distraction from the serious day-to-day business of profiteering from the operations of the Arsenal. Batiste was from a mercantile background and held his lucrative post because he was a first cousin to Intendant Brodart, and he mistrusted those commanders who were aristocrats and put on airs.