In the Corsair Methods of Attack posts in this blog (posted February, 2018), we looked at how Barbary corsairs conducted their piratical enterprise and how, whenever possible, they avoided direct, violent conflict with their prey.
Barbary corsairs—like pirates in general— were predators, and like predators everywhere, they sought vulnerable victims. Whether you are a pirate, a cheetah, a weasel, or a trap-door spider, if you injure yourself attacking your prey, you are in trouble; if you injure yourself badly enough, your chances of survival are slim. So being a predator means playing a game of risk and reward. Successful corsair captains developed a very fine-tuned sense of what risks were worth taking and what were not.
Also, whatever else it might have been, the corso (as the act of raiding was often called) was a business enterprise. The corsairs’ overall aim was to gain booty to sell at a profit, so there was little point in destroying that booty when they encountered it—whether the booty was merchandise or human beings.
So Barbary corsairs made careful and limited use of the firepower available to them. Their aim was to intimidate their intended prey—to thoroughly cow the crew and passengers aboard any ship they intended to capture—rather than to engage in outright battle and destroy things. Every one of their own men killed or injured, every part of their own ship damaged reduced their chances of continued success. And every piece of ruined cargo aboard a captured ship, every potential captive killed or crippled represented lost profit.
All this means that the Barbary corsairs’ preferred modus operandi was intimidation and trickery rather than violent confrontation.
Much of the time, such intimidation and trickery seems to have worked. The third Corsair Methods of Attack post includes an excerpt from the autobiography of Thomas Phelps that presents a first-hand account of how successful such trickery could be.
Sometimes, however, intimidation and trickery failed.
We’re going to look at one of those times.
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In September of 1614, a galley arrived unexpectedly in the harbor at Algiers. It was an impressive vessel sporting flags and embroidered silk banners streaming in the wind. As it eased into port, trumpeters onboard announced its arrival with brassy fanfares.
The commander was the Caja (the Lieutenant) of the Bassa (the Ruler) of Tripoli. The Caja had come to Algiers on a particular mission: to purchase two hundred and fifty slaves on behalf of the Bassa of Tripoli. The Bassa, in turn, planned to send these slaves as a special gift to the Sultan in Constantinople.
It took time to buy slaves, though, and the Caja’s galley sat moored to the quay day after day as negotiations to buy slaves in the town slowly proceeded.
Meanwhile, Alli Pegelin, the head of the Taifa (from the Arabic taifat al-ru’asa, meaning the “community of the captains”) was preparing to launch one last cruise to end the season—with the onset of winter, ships stopped going out; the weather was too cold and rainy and conditions at sea too rough. The Taifa, a sort of combination union, ruling council, and political party, represented the interests of the corsair captains of Algiers and was a powerful force in the city. Its head was an important man. When Alli Pegelin went out on the corso, others wanted to go with him, for he had a reputation for not only being a tough and competent captain, but also lucky.
By the time everything was prepared, the expedition consisted of four oared galleys, manned by corsairs and janissaries, rowed by slaves chained to the oar benches.
The Caja from Tripoli, stuck aboard his splendid galley, twiddling his thumbs while negotiations for purchasing the two hundred and fifty slaves dragged on in the city, decided he could better occupy his time by accompanying Alli Pegelin on his corso expedition than languishing in port.
So the five galleys eased out of the Algiers harbor and went hunting.
After four days at sea, they encountered a large English merchant ship. Such vessels typically carried valuable cargo—and a lot of it. There was a problem with this particular ship, though. It was armed with something like forty cannons.
Alli Pegelin urged the other galley captains to attack immediately and overwhelm the English ship before it could organize any sort of coherent defense. The other captains held back. The idea of a direct assault on such a well-armed ship seemed too risky. The discussion turned into a heated argument that went on until nightfall with no clear resolution.
At which point, the English ship slipped quietly away to safety in the darkness.
Alli Pegelin was furious, but there was nothing he could do except berate the galley captains for what he saw as their timidity.
The next morning, the disgruntled corsairs sailed on in search of new prey.
Alli Pegelin’s vaunted luck did not hold. The five galleys quartered the Mediterranean as far as the waters around Majorca without seeing so much as a single sail on the horizon. When they finally did sight a ship, it proved to be a small coastal boat with only a handful of people aboard. Such a minnow was not worth their time to chase it down.
More argument ensued. Alli Pegelin accused the other captains of outright cowardice and blamed them for the expedition’s ill luck. The captains scowled and muttered sullenly among themselves. Finally, under Alli Pegelin’s irate goading, they all committed to attacking the next ship they spotted—no matter what sort of ship it might be.
Alli Pegelin smiled at this and said that now, finally, their luck would return.
It took a couple of days before they spotted another ship, but when they did, all the signs were good. It was a Dutch merchant vessel. Such ships were famous for being crammed with valuable cargo. It was manned by about forty men, a fairly large crew, but armed with no more than twenty cannons. Best of all, there was no wind, so the Dutch ship could not use its sails to escape, nor even to maneuver.
The Dutch ship was, as the old cliché goes, a sitting duck.
There was no argument among the captains this time.
The five galleys set about preparing themselves, readying everything so that they could swoop down upon the hapless Dutch ship in a pack and strip it of everything of value—merchandise and men.
To see how events unfolded, go to The Game of Risk and Reward – Part 2 here in this blog.
The Travels of Reverend Ólafur Egilsson
The story of the Barbary corsair raid on Iceland in 1627
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