“So the sheik eliminated his potential rivals by eliminating potential converts. He killed eleven men and sold off three women to slavery. And now no one will want to be converts, or even be seen with foreigners. Like us.”
Fyock raised an eyebrow, his eyes on the fortress on the hill. “Exactly. And the other locals probably blame Sharlton for starting it all in the first place.”
Wake returned his gaze to the shaking Coffre. “It’s now early April. When and how did Sharlton and the Americans leave? By ship?”
“No, monsieur. There were no ships. There seldom are. They left months ago along the coast road toward Tunis. The Bey of Tunis has good relations with Christians. They are safe there.”
“How long does it take to get there by this coastal road?”
Coffre gave a Gallic shrug. “Many weeks, monsieur. Maybe two months.”
“Two months! It’s only a few hundred miles east along the coast.”
Fyock intervened. “The road only goes along the coast for fifty miles or so, then it winds inland across the mountains. This little weasel just might be right on the time. Camels don’t go fast in a caravan.”
Now it was Wake’s turn to sigh. It appeared there was nothing more to do here—they were too late. But he thought he’d better check in with the authorities. “Why hasn’t the sheik sent an official to meet with us?”
“He has, monsieur. Me. I am his interpreter for foreigners. I greet the ships that come here, few as they are. I deal with the foreigners for the sheik.”
“Including missionaries.”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“So you are the one who told them of the sheik’s orders to kill their people, their newly converted Christians?”
“Yes. Then they left. It is as your officer here says. The missionaries told people here they were like fishermen looking to gather conversions to Jesus. Fishing for apostates.”
“And they just gave up?”
Another shrug. “The fish were scared away, monsieur. No fish means no mission for the missionaries.”
“I need to speak with the sheik.”
“He will not see you. He has nothing to say, other than if you are not buying any supplies, then you are to leave immediately. Since the missionaries left, foreigners are only allowed ashore if they will buy something.”
“Incredible.”
“Oui, monsieur. Incrédible. C’est l’Afrique.”
28
Staff duty
April 1874
So let me get this straight. All the Americans got out of Chetaibi alive and fled the area? I don’t have to worry about them anymore, right?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Wake, standing in front of Admiral Case at his desk aboard the Franklin. “I checked and found out they did make it to Tunis. Worse for wear, but they made it. They left there on April thirteenth, sir. Packet steamer to Málaga and then on to London.”
“Good. One less damn problem to worry about. I’ve got to get Alaska over to the Levant anyway. The Turks are in a lather about American merchant ships failing to pay some fee or something, probably a bribe.”
Wake had been back aboard the Franklin for a day. The surgeon stank worse than ever, the wardroom was still full of depressing talk, and the ship hadn’t moved from her anchorage in a month. He already missed Alaska’s freedom from the world of staff duty.
Case had been in a bad mood all morning. The Genovese merchants were clamoring for payments due on supplies for the squadron, the Spanish were reluctant to allow an American warship at Barcelona to evacuate U.S. citizens from the conflict, and then there was the American ambassador in Turkey pleading to Washington for a demonstration of force at the Dardanelles because the Turks threatened shipping that didn’t pay the newly raised “fees” there.
“All right. Decision time!” Case exhaled loudly.
“Alaska looks the most impressive, so she goes to Turkey and deals with that mess. Juniata has boiler problems—again—so she stays at Malta for a friggin’ month to get that damned thing fixed. Congress gets to go to Spain and play referee and rescue our brethren who are idiot enough to live there. The consulate at Venice wants a flag visit but they lose—that will have to wait until this summer. Franklin isn’t in shape for a cruise and we’re tapped out of ships.”
Wake didn’t see why the admiral was telling him this. This was for the chief of staff to consult about and the staff yeomen to record. He said, “Yes, sir,” and stood mute.
Case looked up from the three stacks of papers and studied Wake. “Hmm. I’ve got something else that came in while you were gone. Another missionary malady someplace down that way you just came from. Requires some show at investigation.” His hands went through the piles, scattering them across the desk. “Now where the hell did I put that? Ah, here it is. Through the miracle of modern communications it comes from the ambassador in Morocco to the powers that be in Washington to me—by telegraph in only a week. Amazing. Hmm, can you believe we even have an ambassador in Morocco?”
“Yes, sir,” offered Wake, trying to sound professional. He went on echoing what Fyock had told him about the Arab world of northern Africa on the voyage back from Chetaibi. “Morocco is the only independent nation left in Africa, besides Ethiopia on the other side. Never been conquered, though the French have big interests and influence there. I’ve heard the sultan there is directly descended from Mohammed. Sultan Hassan, I believe, sir.”
Case smiled. “Really? Sounds like you are just the man to solve this little problem, Lieutenant Wake, and keep me from bothering myself with it. I’ve got bigger fish to fry around here. I have a mission for you, which I’m afraid will take you away from the flagship yet again. I know how you hate that.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Wake acknowledged neutrally, though his insides were leaping at the
