(This post is a continuation of The Adventures of William Okeley: A Captive’s Tale – Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, & 5. If you haven’t done so already, it’s best to read those posts before continuing on here.)
As soon as we were met altogether at the appointed place, we began to think of executing our long intended design. We were, however, divided in our counsels as to where to begin our work. This had been a question propounded before, and we thought we had fully resolved upon the place. But at our meeting, we were strangely discomposed. There were two places which stood in competition, each pretending good conveniences for our end. The one was a hill, about half a mile from the sea. The other was a valley, encompassed by two hedges, about a furlong from the hill, but of the same distance from the sea. The valley was a place of more secrecy and privacy, less obvious to view, but we might there be surprised, and seized by our enemies before we should notice them. The hill was a better place from which discover danger and make provision to avoid it.
We all agreed in advance to put our boat together upon the hill, promising ourselves much advantage from its situation. But when we were met, we altered our resolution—without any visible reason—and carried it for the valley.
We had hid several of our materials near the top of the hill, though. There also grew a small fig-tree there, which we had marked with our eye, as judging it would be useful to strengthen the keel of our boat. Two of our company were immediately dispatched to saw down this fig tree and bring it, and the parcels of our boat there deposited, away with them. They were hardly come to the place, however, but we heard dogs bark about the top of the hill. Indeed, two men with dogs came very near them, but our men lay close and still, and so escaped discovery. They then bestirred themselves and brought away the fig tree and the other materials and returned to us.
Now we brought the scattered limbs of our boat into one place. We were so nigh some that were at work in the neighboring gardens, however, that we could hear them speak, and therefore we must needs suppose they might hear us too. Therefore, we acted by signs and pointed and pulled and nodded, as if we were all mutes.
The two parts of our keel we soon joined. Then, taking the ribs, which had already one nail in every joint, we groped for the other hole and put its nail into it. Then we opened them at their full length, and applied them to the top of the keel, fastening them with rope yarn and small cords. Thus we served all the joints to keep them firm and stable. Then we bound small canes all along the ribs lengthways, both to keep the ribs from wearing, and also to support the canvas very stiffly against the pressing water. Then we made notches upon the ends of the ribs wherein the oars might sit. Having tied down the seats, and strengthened our keel with the fig-tree, we lastly drew on our double canvas case, already fitted.
This done, four of our company took it upon their shoulders and carried it down towards the sea, which was about half a mile off. As we went along, they that were in the gardens heard us passing by and called to us, “Who comes there?” But it was dark, and we had no mind to prate, and therefore, without any answer, we silently held on our way.
When we came to the seaside, we immediately stripped ourselves naked, and, putting our clothes into the boat, carried it and them as far into the sea as we could wade. This we did lest our tender boat should be torn against the rocks. Then all seven of us got into her. But here we soon found how our skill in calculating the lading of our vessel failed us, for we were no sooner embarked but she was ready to sink under us, the water coming in over the sides.
So once again we must entertain new counsels. At last, one whose heart most failed him, was willing to be shut out and rather hazard the uncertain torments of the land than be drowned at sea. We then made a second experiment, but still our boat was so deep laden that we all concluded there was no venturing out to sea in it. At length, another of us went ashore, and then our vessel held up her head very stoutly, and seemed hearty enough for our voyage.
It was time now to commit and commend ourselves to our vessel. Taking our solemn farewell of our two companions, whom we left behind, and wishing them as much happiness as could be hoped for in slavery, and they to us as long a life as could be expected by men going perhaps to their graves at sea, we launched out upon the 30th day of June in the year of our Lord 1644.
We were now out at sea, without helm or pilot, without anchor, tackle, or compass. Our number was small, our work great, and we could not afford one idle hand—not one idle finger. Four of the company continually wrought at the oars, and indeed we rowed for our lives. I can truly say I never saw strength so strained. The employment of the fifth man was more easy, but no less necessary, which was to free the boat of the water, which constantly leaked through our canvas.
We labored the harder that night because we would gladly be out of the ken of our old masters by day. But when day appeared, we were yet within sight of their ships in the harbor. But our boat being small, and lying close and snug upon the sea, either was not discovered, or else seemed something that was not worth bothering about. A little hope in the midst of great fears made us double and redouble our diligence, and we hauled at the oars like those chained to the galleys.
We soon discovered our want of forecraft, for our bread, which was to be the staff of our decayed strength, had lain soaking in the saltwater and was quite spoiled. Our freshwater in the bottles stank. Yet still hope hovered over us. We complained for three days. But then pale famine (which is the worst shape death can be painted in) stared us in the face. Water indeed we might have, either cold or hot. We had choice, but it was a hard choice: either the cold saltwater out of the sea, or that warmer water which had been strained through our bodies.
Several more things added to our misery, for trouble seldom comes solitary.
First, we had the wind for some time full against us, which increased our labor and then defeated it. We grew so dispirited, that we debated whether it were not better to go back to Algiers with ease than so painfully make towards freedom. However, we resolved that whilst we still had life and breath, we would struggle on.
A second great inconveniency was that our labor was without intermission, though we advanced not forwards at many strokes, cessation would have allowed the wind to drive us backwards. We had none to take the toil off our hands and give us respite. We might shift our places, but not our pains.
A third great evil that lay sore upon us was the extremity of the heat by day. The season was raging hot, being the beginning of July. We lacked fresh water to cool us but were engaged in continual exhausting labor.
Our hope, like a candle burnt down to the socket, began to blink rather than burn.
To find out how events unfolded from here, go to The Adventures of William Okeley: A Captive’s Tale – Part 7 —the final installment in this tale.
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Narratives from the Age of the Barbary Pirates
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The Travels of Reverend Ólafur Egilsson
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