A Call to Arms (27 page)

Once aboard the shallow-draft vessel and under way eastward, Richard stood at the taffrail and gazed astern at a city that was only a shadow of its former self. This sad reality had settled in during the previous three days
as he and his officers explored city streets and canals that had once been the site of the glorious baths built by Cleopatra, the Great Caesareum of Rome, and magnificent Greek Orthodox churches intermingling comfortably with grand Muslim mosques and Jewish temples. At the height of its glory, Alexandria had housed a million souls, including, in its northeast sector, the largest Jewish population in the world. But time had been cruel to the legendary city. Invaders and locals alike had pillaged its riches and antiquities, and their desecrations had exacted a terrible toll. Today, even the city's ruins lay in ruins.

The opposite held true in Rosetta, a bustling seaside town of attractive Ottoman architecture, cultivated gardens, and air heavy with the scent of orange and lemon trees. The Americans did not linger there, however. After spending a night in a Turkish inn they were up early the next morning in search of transportation southward beyond the bar of the Nile, where they were to meet up with Major Misset. It took some haggling before Richard managed to hire a local guide and a vessel for him to pilot: a 40-foot felucca with a towering single mast stepped at the foredeck and a small cabin built onto the afterdeck. The small but swift vessel carried them southward through the lagoons and lakes and wetlands of the 150-mile-wide coastal delta, past sand dunes along the shore and clay and silt islands in the river, until the vivid blue waters of the Mediterranean had yielded to a more reddish hue, the salty brine of the coast had yielded to a lush agricultural interior, and they were sailing on the Nile River.

Locating Major Misset was not difficult. Just south of a small riverside village five miles upstream from where the felucca broke free of the wetlands, they came upon a sturdy barge flying an oversized British ensign at the stern and a smaller one on the jack-staff at the stubby bow. She was armed with swivel guns, three on each side, mounted on top of the bulwarks with a y-bracket.

The felucca nosed in fifty feet astern of the barge and dropped her sail. Midshipman Osborn and three Marines jumped ashore and secured the bow and stern to bollards set into the sandy embankment. Richard paid the pilot, who set off to round up a crew to take back to Rosetta. As Richard walked down a short plank and onto the thin strip of white sandy beach, an officer decked out in the regimental red and white of the British Army did likewise. The two officers met halfway between the two vessels.

“Major Misset?” Richard inquired. When the British officer nodded, Richard offered a salute, which was answered.

“Captain Cutler, may I presume?”

“You may, Major.”

The two officers shook hands. The short, sinewy, rather sallow-faced bespectacled man transmitted strength and energy through his grip, and Richard was immediately drawn to him.

“How was your journey here, Captain?”

“Uneventful. Therefore pleasant.”

“That's probably better put than you realize, sir. These days in Egypt, one's satisfaction is normally measured by the absence of pain or peril rather than by any real pleasure.”

“So Mr. Briggs informed me.”

“And you still wish to proceed to Cairo?”

“Those are my orders, Major.”

“Yes, quite. I still had to inquire, Captain.”

Richard glanced to his right and noted two women toiling in an adjacent field under the hot sun, cutting and gathering a crop he could not identify. What struck him was not the nature of their work but rather what they were wearing. Their faces were largely covered, in Muslim tradition, but their head-to-toe garments with long narrow slits for the arms left their breasts fully exposed.

Misset noticed his surprise and grinned. “That's Egyptian women for you,” he commented dryly. “Cover your face from the eyes of Allah but leave your teats open to view. Allah may not approve of the fashion, but I daresay their men-folk do.”

“It's a good thing my third lieutenant isn't with us on this expedition,” Richard quipped. “Else we'd never leave here.”

Misset chuckled. “There's plenty more of that where we're heading,” he said, adding in a more official tone, “We shall depart in a few minutes. Cairo is a hundred miles upriver, and it's a gambler's bet how long it will take us to get there. We'll be fighting the current, which as you'll discover is not terribly strong. The prevailing winds are in our favor, and if they hold, we should arrive in three days. If we encounter strong headwinds, though, we shall have to put in to shore and muck around until the wind shifts back to the north. We cannot fight wind
and
current. How long do you expect to remain in Egypt, Captain?”

“If I'm not back aboard my ship in two weeks, my first lieutenant has orders to return to station off the coast of Cyrenaica.”

“I say! I mean no disrespect, Captain, but why would you order your ship to sail without you?”

“Because I know my officers, Major. And I know my crew. If we're not
back in the allotted time, without orders to the contrary they would come ashore searching for us. That is the
last
thing I want. If we encounter trouble, we'll deal with it on our own. Of course, if we're delayed for a good reason, I am hopeful I may rely on you to send a messenger ahead to delay her departure.”

“You may indeed, Captain. And I must say, that is most noble of you, looking out for your crew that way.”

“It's hardly noble, Major. It's merely practical. I don't see what is gained by endangering the lives of good men in what would surely become a wild goose chase in hostile territory.”

“Hmm, I see your point. You do understand, of course, that whilst you are in Cairo you will be under British protection.”

“I am most grateful for your protection, Major. But with respect, British protection in Egypt can only go so far.”

Misset's heavy sigh acknowledged the flaw within the omnipotent British Empire. “Unfortunately, Captain, I cannot disagree with that statement. But we will do whatever we can for you. We have already sent three couriers south of Cairo to locate Hamet Karamanli. Surely one of them will succeed.”

“Let's hope so.”

With that, the Americans boarded the British barge. In total, the party sailing south numbered twenty-two men and included seven British Army personnel serving as a personal bodyguard to Major Misset, plus four sailors whose job was to maneuver the barge.

On its slow slog southward against a current that reminded Richard of the Gulf Stream, the barge passed by agrarian scenes that he suspected had changed little since the dawn of Man. Egypt was a paradox—an immense desert with some of the most fertile soil on earth. Each year, during the rainy season, the Nile overflowed its banks and deposited rich black mud that remained when the waters receded. In that soil grew rice and fruit trees and wheat and melons and vegetables of all descriptions. Whether it was Allah who sent these life-saving floodwaters each year to the grateful Egyptians or the Christian God or perhaps Hapi, the ancient Nile god, they were heaven-sent, regardless.

“I have t' admit,” Agreen confessed as he watched the timeless spectacle pass by on both sides of the barge, “I never expected t' find anything quite like this.” He and Richard were standing on the larboard side, forward between the substantial foremast and stubby bowsprit. Although the other Americans were equally engrossed in the view, most of the British
personnel sat propped up against the bulwarks. Several of them were napping; they had seen it before.

Richard grinned. “What are you referring to, Agee? The bare-chested ladies?”

“Of course. What else?” Agreen shielded his eyes from the searing desert sun and looked eastward. In the far hazy distance he saw camels rise up like a mirage atop a gleaming sand dune. “Where are the Pyramids?”

“Near Cairo. Maybe we can manage a visit while we're there.”

“That'd be something to write home about.”

“It would. Just leave out the part about the bare-chested ladies. Lizzy would be offended. And peeved.”

“Yes, she would, but not as peeved as Katherine after I tell her just what you
did
with those bare-chested ladies.”

“Touché, Lieutenant.”

The waters of the Nile and the sand along its banks shimmered in the blistering noontime sun, its crushing heat blurring both vision and mental acuity. Richard pulled the front of his wide-brimmed straw hat lower over his brow, crossed his arms, and leaned back comfortably against the foremast. His eyelids grew heavy; he felt himself succumbing to the inevitable. Just for a moment, he promised himself, a moment; and then he drifted into the abyss of deep sleep. Some time later he felt Agreen nudging him.

“Sorry t' wake you, Captain,” he said in a low voice, “but we've got company. Have a gander.”

“What?” Richard mumbled, his senses muddled and confused. In his dream he was home in Hingham, laughing at something Katherine had said and sweeping her into his embrace. It took him a moment to pull himself back to North Africa. “What did you say, Agee? Company? Where?”

“There.” Agreen pointed abeam to larboard. Richard blinked. He shook his head, ousting the last vestiges of sleep, and looked again. A squad of men a-horse in flowing white garb was galloping in the direction of the river toward a small village that lay perhaps a quarter-mile ahead.

“I don't think those gents are herdsmen,” Agreen remarked.

Richard squinted. “Your eyes are better than mine, Agee.” He glanced at the midshipman standing nearby. He, too, had seen the horsemen and had cautiously approached his commanding officers. “Mr. Osborn,” Richard said to him, “please fetch me a long glass from Major Misset.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Richard raised the glass and brought into focus what appeared to be a cavalry charge against an unsuspecting enemy. He counted eleven . . . twelve . . . fourteen men galloping pell-mell toward the cluster of modest, mud-roofed homes. The harsh brilliance of the savage sun reflected off steel blades held high in the air.

“Major Misset!” Richard cried out. His shout brought everyone alert.

Misset strode forward. “What is it, Captain?”

“
That
!” Richard gave him the glass with his left hand and pointed ahead with his right.

Misset took a look. “
Shit
!” he muttered under his breath. “Brace yourselves, gentlemen,” he shouted out. “This will not be pleasant.”

The men in the barge watched in horror as the horsemen swept down on the village in a thunder of hooves. Villagers dashed from their homes and fields, darting this way and that, offering no resistance, just running. One man, slowed by age, stumbled and fell. As he struggled to get up, a horseman streaked past him, his scimitar flashing. In one flick of the rider's wrist the razor-sharp blade sliced through the man's neck as though it were a carrot top. Blood spurted into the air for a split second before the headless corpse collapsed in a heap.

“Who are those bastards?” Richard cried.

“Bedouins,” Misset answered him, his voice steady. “Or Albanian deserters. Or some local tribesmen. Who knows? Egypt is full of such renegades.”

“Can't we do somethin' t' help those poor people?” Agreen pleaded.

“We can do nothing!” Misset hissed gruffly, although he did order his bodyguard to man the larboard swivel guns—as a defensive measure only, he insisted. But even that action did nothing to dissuade the attackers. They paid no mind to the British flag. It was as though the barge wasn't there.

As the barge drew parallel to the village, half of the raiders began herding off the village cattle and water buffalo. The other half dispatched with brutal efficiency everyone who remained alive, including the women, some of whom, unlike their men, did offer resistance, verbally if not with weapons. One woman ran at a horse, seized the reins, and jerked them hard, throwing the rider off. When he hit the ground, she started beating him with a stick. Dazed from the fall, the black-bearded Arab curled himself into a fetal position, cowering before the blows. Another rider came in, dismounted, and unsheathed his sword. When the woman turned to face him, he ran the blade clean through her abdomen. She fell, writhing in pain. The Arab she had unhorsed got to his feet, found
his scimitar, and slashed down at her again and again, like a butcher cutting meat from a bone, until her screams subsided and she lay dead still.

“Jesus Christ Almighty,” Richard breathed. Instinctively he called for a musket. When Sergeant Mills handed him one, he took aim at the first Arab he found in his sights and began to squeeze the trigger. Before he could fire, he felt the barrel of his musket being forced down.

“Stand down,” Misset said quietly, his hand on the barrel. “Please, Captain, stand down and leave it be. There is nothing we can do for these people. Our intervention here would only serve to complicate our mission. And
your
mission, Captain.”

With a reluctance born of utter disgust, Richard handed the musket back to the Marine sergeant. As the barge sailed on past the carnage, he crossed to the starboard side and leaned over. For long moments he stared down into the murky water, unable to abide the horrific sights and sounds of the slaughter on the shore.