The Nautical Chart Part 16

X.

The Coast of the Corsairs You put your life within three or four fingers" width of death, the thickness of the ships wood hull. DIEGO GARCIA GARCIA DE DE PALACIOS PALACIOS, Instruction nautica para navegar Instruction nautica para navegar The east wind was blowing onsh.o.r.e, though it turned as soon as the sun rose a little above the horizon and they were again heading directly into it. It wasn't very strong, barely ten or twelve knots, but enough to change the heavy swell into rough, choppy waves. Pitching and propelled by the motor through a spray that sometimes left traces of salt on the c.o.c.kpit windshield, the Carpanta Carpanta pa.s.sed to the south of Malaga, reached parallel 3630 and then set a course due east. pa.s.sed to the south of Malaga, reached parallel 3630 and then set a course due east.

At first Tanger showed no sign of being seasick. Coy watched her sitting quietly on one of the wood seats affixed to the rail at the stern, wrapped in El Piloto's warm slicker with the lapels turned up to hide half her face in the darkness. A little after midnight, when the swell grew stronger, he took her a self-inflating life jacket and a security harness and fastened the carabiner to the backstay himself. He asked her how she was; she replied fine, thank you, and he was amused remembering the box of Drama-mine he'd just seen tying open on the bunk El Piloto had a.s.signed her in a stern cabin when he went to get the jackets and harnesses. Sitting where she was, the night breeze in her face would make her feel less queasy. Even so, he told her she would be better off sitting on the port fin, farther away from the exhaust fumes. Tanger said that she was just fine where she was. He shrugged and returned to the c.o.c.kpit. She held on another ten minutes before moving.

At four in the morning El Piloto took over, and Coy went below to rest. In his narrow stern cabin, which hardly had room for a bunk and a locker, he lay down, still dressed, on his sleeping bag and minutes later, rocked by the waves, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep in which blurred shadows like ships floated through a phantasmagorical green darkness. Finally he was wakened by a ray of sunlight beaming through the porthole, rising and falling with the waves. He sat up in his bunk and rubbed his neck and injured eye, feeling the rasp of his beard on the palm of his hand. A good shave wouldn't hurt, he thought. He went down the narrow pa.s.sageway toward the head, peering into the other cabin on the way. The door and porthole were open to let in the air, and Tanger was sleeping on her stomach in the bunk, still wearing the life jacket and harness. He couldn't see her face because her hair had fallen across it. Her feet, still in her tennis shoes, hung over the edge of the bunk. Leaning against the door frame, Coy listened to her breathing, punctuated by an occasional sharp intake or a moan. Then he went to shave. His swollen eye wasn't too bad, and his chin was painful only when he yawned. Considering everything, he mused, consoling himself, he'd come through the conversation at Old Willis reasonably well. Animated by that thought, he connected the water pump to wash up a little, then heated coffee in the microwave. Trying to keep from spilling, he drank one cup and carried another up to El Piloto. He found his friend sitting in the c.o.c.kpit, a wool cap on his head, his beard gray against his coppery skin. The Andalusian coast was visible in the mist two miles off the port beam.

"You'd no more than gone to bed when she vomited over the side," El Piloto told him, taking the hot cup. "She lost everything. That was one sick girl."

Proud b.i.t.c.h, Coy thought. He regretted having missed the show-the queen of the seas and wrecks, all flags frying, hanging onto the taffrail and tossing her cookies. Wonderful.

"I can't believe it."

It was obvious he did believe it. El Piloto looked at him thoughtfully.

"Seemed she was just waiting till you got out of sight." "No doubt about that."

"But she never complained. Not once. When I went over to ask if she needed anything, she told me to go to h.e.l.l. Then when she was a little calmer, she went below to bed like a sleepwalker."

El Piloto took several sips of coffee and clicked his tongue, the way he did every time he reached a conclusion.

"Don't know why you're smiling," he said. "That girl has cla.s.s."

"Too much, Piloto." Coy's brief laugh was bitter. "Too much cla.s.s."

"She even felt her way leeward before she heaved________ She didn't rush, just made her way calmly, never losing her cool. But as she went past me, I saw her face in the light from the cabin. She was bone white, but she found enough voice to tell me good evening."

Having said that, El Piloto was silent for a while. He seemed to be reflecting.

"Are you sure she knows what she's doing?"

He offered Coy the half-empty cup. Coy took a sip and handed it back.

"The only thing I'm sure about is you." El Piloto scratched his head beneath the cap and nodded. He didn't seem convinced. Then he turned to study the vague outline of the coast, a long dark blotch to the north. It was difficult to see clearly through the mist.

THEY pa.s.sed few sailboats. Tourist season on the Costa del Sol hadn't yet begun, and the only pleasure craft they sighted were a French single-master and later a Dutch ketch, sailing with the wind free toward the Strait. In the afternoon, nearing Motril, a black-hulled schooner headed in the opposite direction pa.s.sed by a half-cable's length away, flying an English flag atop the spanker of the mainmast. There were also working fishing boats to which the pa.s.sed few sailboats. Tourist season on the Costa del Sol hadn't yet begun, and the only pleasure craft they sighted were a French single-master and later a Dutch ketch, sailing with the wind free toward the Strait. In the afternoon, nearing Motril, a black-hulled schooner headed in the opposite direction pa.s.sed by a half-cable's length away, flying an English flag atop the spanker of the mainmast. There were also working fishing boats to which the Carpanta Carpanta frequently had to give way. The rules of navigation demanded that all ships keep their distance from a fishing boat with lines in the water, so during his turns on watch-he and El Piloto relieved one another every four hours-Coy disconnected the automatic pilot and took the wheel to avoid the trawlers and drift nets. He did not do so happily, because he had no sympathy for fishermen; they were the source of hours of uncertainty on the bridge of the merchant ships he'd sailed on, when their lights dotted the horizon at night, saturating the radar screens and complicating conditions of rain or fog. Besides, he found them surly and self-interested, remorselessly eager to drag every inch of the sea within reach. Bad humored from a life of danger and sacrifice, they lived for today, wiping out species after species with no thought of anything beyond immediate gains. The most pitiless among them were the j.a.panese. With the complicity of Spanish merchants and suspiciously pa.s.sive marine and fishing authorities, they were annihilating the red tuna in the Mediterranean with ultramodern sonars and small planes. Fishermen were not the only guilty parties, however. In those same waters Coy had seen finbacks asphyxiated after swallowing floating plastic bags, and whole schools of dolphins crazed by pollution beaching themselves to the while children and volunteers weeping with impotence tried to push them back into a sea they refused. frequently had to give way. The rules of navigation demanded that all ships keep their distance from a fishing boat with lines in the water, so during his turns on watch-he and El Piloto relieved one another every four hours-Coy disconnected the automatic pilot and took the wheel to avoid the trawlers and drift nets. He did not do so happily, because he had no sympathy for fishermen; they were the source of hours of uncertainty on the bridge of the merchant ships he'd sailed on, when their lights dotted the horizon at night, saturating the radar screens and complicating conditions of rain or fog. Besides, he found them surly and self-interested, remorselessly eager to drag every inch of the sea within reach. Bad humored from a life of danger and sacrifice, they lived for today, wiping out species after species with no thought of anything beyond immediate gains. The most pitiless among them were the j.a.panese. With the complicity of Spanish merchants and suspiciously pa.s.sive marine and fishing authorities, they were annihilating the red tuna in the Mediterranean with ultramodern sonars and small planes. Fishermen were not the only guilty parties, however. In those same waters Coy had seen finbacks asphyxiated after swallowing floating plastic bags, and whole schools of dolphins crazed by pollution beaching themselves to the while children and volunteers weeping with impotence tried to push them back into a sea they refused.

It was a long day of maneuvering among unpredictable fishing vessels, which might plow straight ahead one moment and then turn suddenly to port or starboard to lay out or pull in their nets. Coy steered among them, changing course with professional patience, thinking of how sailors acted with considerably less circ.u.mspection aboard merchant ships in less carefully governed waters. Sailboats and working fishing vessels had theoretical right of way, but in practice they were well advised to keep a wide berth from merchant ships moving at top speed, with their Indian, Filipino or Ukrainian crews cut back to save money, commanded by mercenary officers and with a flag of convenience, a course set as straight as possible to economize on time and fuel, and sometimes, at night, with a minimal watch on the bridge, unattended engines, and a sleepy officer relying almost completely on onboard instruments. And if by day the engines or wheel were seldom touched to alter speed or course, at night such a ship became a lethal threat to all small craft crossing its path, whether or not they had legal priority. At twenty knots, which is more than twenty miles an hour, a merchant ship beyond the horizon could be upon you in ten minutes. Once, en route from Dakar to Tenerife, the ship Coy was second officer on had run down a fishing boat. It was five minutes after four in the morning, and Coy had just ended his watch on the bridge of the Hawaiian Pilot, Hawaiian Pilot, a seven-thousand-ton traditional cargo ship. As he was going down the companionway toward his cabin he thought he heard a m.u.f.fled sound from the starboard side, as if something had sc.r.a.ped the ship from stem to stem. He went back on deck just in time to see a dark shadow capsizing in the wake, and a faint glimmer that looked like a low-wattage lightbulb dancing crazily before suddenly going out. He rushed back to the bridge, where the first officer was calmly checking the set of the gyroscope. I think we just sank a fishing boat, Coy sputtered. And the first officer, a phlegmatic, melancholy Hindu named Gujrat, stood there looking at him. On your watch or mine? he asked finally. Coy said that he'd heard the noise at 0405 and seen the light go out. The first officer stared at him a little longer, moughtful, before stepping out on the wing bridge to take a quick look toward the stern and check the radar, where the echoes of the waves showed nothing special. Nothing new on my watch, he concluded, again giving his full attention to the gyroscope. Later, when the first officer reported Coy's suspicions to the captain-an arrogant Englishman who made lists of the crew separating British subjects from foreigners, including officers-he approved the fact that the incident had not been entered in the logbook- We're in open waters, he said. Why complicate life? a seven-thousand-ton traditional cargo ship. As he was going down the companionway toward his cabin he thought he heard a m.u.f.fled sound from the starboard side, as if something had sc.r.a.ped the ship from stem to stem. He went back on deck just in time to see a dark shadow capsizing in the wake, and a faint glimmer that looked like a low-wattage lightbulb dancing crazily before suddenly going out. He rushed back to the bridge, where the first officer was calmly checking the set of the gyroscope. I think we just sank a fishing boat, Coy sputtered. And the first officer, a phlegmatic, melancholy Hindu named Gujrat, stood there looking at him. On your watch or mine? he asked finally. Coy said that he'd heard the noise at 0405 and seen the light go out. The first officer stared at him a little longer, moughtful, before stepping out on the wing bridge to take a quick look toward the stern and check the radar, where the echoes of the waves showed nothing special. Nothing new on my watch, he concluded, again giving his full attention to the gyroscope. Later, when the first officer reported Coy's suspicions to the captain-an arrogant Englishman who made lists of the crew separating British subjects from foreigners, including officers-he approved the fact that the incident had not been entered in the logbook- We're in open waters, he said. Why complicate life?

AT ten in the evening they reached 30 longitude west of Greenwich. Except for brief appearances on deck, always with the air of a somnambulist, Tanger spent almost every moment secluded in her cabin. When Coy went by and found her asleep, he noticed that the box of Dramamine was quickly being depleted. The rest of the time, when she was awake, she sat at the stern, still and silent, facing the coastline slowly pa.s.sing on the port side. She barely tasted the food El Piloto prepared, although she agreed to eat a little more when he told her it would help setde her stomach. She went to sleep almost as soon as it was dark, and the two men stayed in the c.o.c.kpit, watching the stars come out. They headed into the wind all night, forcing them to use the motor. That meant they had to go into port at Almerimar at six the next morning, to refuel, take a break, and restock provisions. ten in the evening they reached 30 longitude west of Greenwich. Except for brief appearances on deck, always with the air of a somnambulist, Tanger spent almost every moment secluded in her cabin. When Coy went by and found her asleep, he noticed that the box of Dramamine was quickly being depleted. The rest of the time, when she was awake, she sat at the stern, still and silent, facing the coastline slowly pa.s.sing on the port side. She barely tasted the food El Piloto prepared, although she agreed to eat a little more when he told her it would help setde her stomach. She went to sleep almost as soon as it was dark, and the two men stayed in the c.o.c.kpit, watching the stars come out. They headed into the wind all night, forcing them to use the motor. That meant they had to go into port at Almerimar at six the next morning, to refuel, take a break, and restock provisions.

THEY cast off at two that afternoon, with a favorable wind: a fresh south-southeaster mat allowed them to shut down the motor and set first the mainsail and men the Genoa almost as soon as they rounded the buoy at Punta Entinas, on the starboard tack with the wind on her quarter and at reasonable speed. The swell had reduced, and Tanger felt much better. In Almerimar, where they had docked next to an ancient Baltic fishing boat refitted by ecologists for following whales in the sea of Alboran, she had helped El Piloto hose down the deck. She seemed to hit it off with him, and he treated her with a mixture of attentiveness and respect. After lunch at the seamen's club, they had coffee in a fishermen's bar, and there Tanger described to El Piloto the vicissitudes of the day's run of the cast off at two that afternoon, with a favorable wind: a fresh south-southeaster mat allowed them to shut down the motor and set first the mainsail and men the Genoa almost as soon as they rounded the buoy at Punta Entinas, on the starboard tack with the wind on her quarter and at reasonable speed. The swell had reduced, and Tanger felt much better. In Almerimar, where they had docked next to an ancient Baltic fishing boat refitted by ecologists for following whales in the sea of Alboran, she had helped El Piloto hose down the deck. She seemed to hit it off with him, and he treated her with a mixture of attentiveness and respect. After lunch at the seamen's club, they had coffee in a fishermen's bar, and there Tanger described to El Piloto the vicissitudes of the day's run of the Dei Gloria, Dei Gloria, which had been following, she said, a route similar to theirs. El Piloto was interested in details of the brigantine, and she answered all his questions with the aplomb of someone who had studied the matter down to the last particular. A clever girl, El Piloto commented as an aside, when the three of them were on their way back to the boat, loaded with food and bottles of water. Coy, who was watching her as she walked ahead of them along the quay-in jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, her hair blown by the breeze, a supermarket bag in each hand-agreed. Maybe too clever, he was about to say. But he didn't. which had been following, she said, a route similar to theirs. El Piloto was interested in details of the brigantine, and she answered all his questions with the aplomb of someone who had studied the matter down to the last particular. A clever girl, El Piloto commented as an aside, when the three of them were on their way back to the boat, loaded with food and bottles of water. Coy, who was watching her as she walked ahead of them along the quay-in jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, her hair blown by the breeze, a supermarket bag in each hand-agreed. Maybe too clever, he was about to say. But he didn't.

She didn't get seasick again. The sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon behind them. The Carpanta Carpanta was moving under full sail past the Gulf of Adra, showing four knots on the log and with the wind, now veering toward the south, abeam. Coy, whose swollen eye was considerably better, was watching the bow. In the c.o.c.kpit, with hands expert at mending nets and sails, El Piloto was sewing up the jacket ripped during the incident at Old Willis, never missing a st.i.tch despite the rolling of the boat. Tanger's head appeared in the companion; she asked their position and Coy told her. After a moment she came and sat between them with a nautical chart in her hands. When she unfolded it in the protection of the small cabin, Coy saw that it was number 774 of the British Admiralty: Motril to Cartagena, including the island of Alboran. For long distances, the smaller-scale English charts, which were all the same size, were more manageable than the Spanish ones. was moving under full sail past the Gulf of Adra, showing four knots on the log and with the wind, now veering toward the south, abeam. Coy, whose swollen eye was considerably better, was watching the bow. In the c.o.c.kpit, with hands expert at mending nets and sails, El Piloto was sewing up the jacket ripped during the incident at Old Willis, never missing a st.i.tch despite the rolling of the boat. Tanger's head appeared in the companion; she asked their position and Coy told her. After a moment she came and sat between them with a nautical chart in her hands. When she unfolded it in the protection of the small cabin, Coy saw that it was number 774 of the British Admiralty: Motril to Cartagena, including the island of Alboran. For long distances, the smaller-scale English charts, which were all the same size, were more manageable than the Spanish ones.

"It was here, and more or less this hour, when they sighted the corsair's sails from the Dei Gloria," Dei Gloria," Tanger explained. "It was following in their wake, gradually gaining. It could have been any ship at all, but Captain Elezcano was a distrustful man, and it seemed strange to him that the other ship would begin to approach after leaving Almeria behind, just when there was a long stretch of coast ahead that offered no refuge for the brigantine- So he ordered them to put on more sail and keep a close watch." Tanger explained. "It was following in their wake, gradually gaining. It could have been any ship at all, but Captain Elezcano was a distrustful man, and it seemed strange to him that the other ship would begin to approach after leaving Almeria behind, just when there was a long stretch of coast ahead that offered no refuge for the brigantine- So he ordered them to put on more sail and keep a close watch."

She indicated the approximate position on the chart, eight or ten miles to the southwest of Cabo de Gata. Coy could easily imagine the scene-the men gazing astern from the sloping deck, the captain on the p.o.o.p, studying his pursuer through his spygla.s.s, the worried faces of the two priests, Escobar and Tolosa, and the chest of emeralds locked in the cabin. Suddenly the yell, the order to lay on sail that sent sailors scurrying up the ratlines to set more canvas, the jibs flapping above the bowsprit before straining with the wind, and the ship heeling a couple of strakes more as she felt the additional sails. The wake of foam straight over the blue sea and behind her, and toward the horizon, the white sails of the Chergui Chergui now openly giving chase. now openly giving chase.

"It was close to nightfall," Tanger continued, after glancing toward the sun, lower and lower off the stern. "More or less like right now. And the wind was blowing from the south, and then the southwest."

"Here's what's happening," said El Piloto. He had finished st.i.tching the jacket and was observing the dancing waves and the look of the sky. "It's going to veer a couple of quarters astern before nightfall, and we'll meet a fresh lebeche lebeche when we double the cape." when we double the cape."

"Fantastic," she said.

The navy-blue eyes moved from the chart to the sea and the sails, expectant. Her nostrils were dilated, and she was taking deep breaths through half-open lips, as if in that moment she were contemplating the sails and rigging of the Dei Gloria. Dei Gloria.

"According to the report of the ship's boy," Tanger continued, "Captain Elezcano at first hesitated to hoist all the sails. The ship had suffered damage during the storm in the Azores, and its upper masts weren't to be trusted."

"You're referring to the topmasts," Coy informed her. "The upper masts are called topmasts. If you say they weren't in good shape, too much canvas could finish springing them. If the brigantine had a wind abeam the way we do, I suppose she'd be carrying her jibs, lower staysails, main course, fore course, and perhaps the main topsail and the fore topsail, well braced to leeward, and reserving the upper sails, the topgallants, to avoid risk. At least for the moment."

Tanger nodded, and studied the sea behind them as if the corsair were there.

"She must have flown across the water. The Dei Gloria Dei Gloria was a swift ship." was a swift ship."

Coy, in turn, looked back. 'Apparently the other ship was too."

Now he transported himself in his imagination to the deck of the corsair. According to the details of the ship Lucio Gamboa had described to them in Cadiz, the Chergui, Chergui, a polacre-rigged xebec, would have had all sails set, the enormous lateen on the foremast swollen with wind and hauled to the bowsprit, the sails on the mainmast set, lateen and topsail on the mizzenmast, cutting through the waves with the slender lines of a ship constructed for the Mediterranean, her gunports closed but the battle-trained crew preparing the guns. And that Englishman, that Captain Slyne, or Misian, or whatever the SOB's name was, would have been standing on the high, slanting p.o.o.p, never taking his eyes off his prey. The stern chase would be long, as the brigantine he was pursuing was also swift. The crew of the corsair would be calm, aware that unless the prize damaged something they wouldn't close on her until after dawn. Coy could imagine the crew of renegades, the dangerous sc.u.m of the ports. Maltese, Gibraltarians, Spaniards, and North Africans. The worst from every rooming house, wh.o.r.ehouse, and tavern, skilled pirates who sailed and fought under the technically legal cover of letters of marque, which in theory kept them from hanging if they were captured. Desperate, daring, and cruel rabble with nothing to lose and everything to gain, under the command of unscrupulous captains who operated as privateers with letters from Moorish tribal kings or His Britannic Majesty, with accomplices in any port where complicity could be bought. Spain, too, had people like that-officers dismissed from the Navy, stripped of their t.i.tle or fallen into disgrace, adventurers seeking their fortune or some way to find their way back to walk the deck of a ship-of-the-line, who served at the orders of anyone who would have them, and the commercial alliances that fitted out ships and sold the booty calmly through normal channels. In another time, Coy reflected with deeply personal sarcasm, a dishonored officer like him without a berth might have ended up on a corsair himself. With the vagaries of the sea, he might just as well have found himself on board the prey as on the hunter, sailing those same waters under full sail, with the dark silhouette of Cabo de Gata visible on the horizon. a polacre-rigged xebec, would have had all sails set, the enormous lateen on the foremast swollen with wind and hauled to the bowsprit, the sails on the mainmast set, lateen and topsail on the mizzenmast, cutting through the waves with the slender lines of a ship constructed for the Mediterranean, her gunports closed but the battle-trained crew preparing the guns. And that Englishman, that Captain Slyne, or Misian, or whatever the SOB's name was, would have been standing on the high, slanting p.o.o.p, never taking his eyes off his prey. The stern chase would be long, as the brigantine he was pursuing was also swift. The crew of the corsair would be calm, aware that unless the prize damaged something they wouldn't close on her until after dawn. Coy could imagine the crew of renegades, the dangerous sc.u.m of the ports. Maltese, Gibraltarians, Spaniards, and North Africans. The worst from every rooming house, wh.o.r.ehouse, and tavern, skilled pirates who sailed and fought under the technically legal cover of letters of marque, which in theory kept them from hanging if they were captured. Desperate, daring, and cruel rabble with nothing to lose and everything to gain, under the command of unscrupulous captains who operated as privateers with letters from Moorish tribal kings or His Britannic Majesty, with accomplices in any port where complicity could be bought. Spain, too, had people like that-officers dismissed from the Navy, stripped of their t.i.tle or fallen into disgrace, adventurers seeking their fortune or some way to find their way back to walk the deck of a ship-of-the-line, who served at the orders of anyone who would have them, and the commercial alliances that fitted out ships and sold the booty calmly through normal channels. In another time, Coy reflected with deeply personal sarcasm, a dishonored officer like him without a berth might have ended up on a corsair himself. With the vagaries of the sea, he might just as well have found himself on board the prey as on the hunter, sailing those same waters under full sail, with the dark silhouette of Cabo de Gata visible on the horizon.

"We will never know whether it was a chance encounter," Tanger said.

She was gazing pensively at the sea. A chance raid by a corsair in search of chance booty, or a black hand reaching from Madrid to guide the Chergui Chergui to intercept the to intercept the Dei Gloria, Dei Gloria, sabotage the Jesuits' maneuver and seize the shipment of emeralds? Someone could have been playing a double game in the cabinet of the sabotage the Jesuits' maneuver and seize the shipment of emeralds? Someone could have been playing a double game in the cabinet of the Pesquisa Secreta. Pesquisa Secreta. But that might be one mystery that could never be solved. But that might be one mystery that could never be solved.

"Maybe they followed them from Gibraltar," said Coy, tracing a horizontal line across the chart with his finger.

"Or maybe they were hiding in some cove," she proposed. "For several centuries that coast was a hunting ground for corsairs. They often hugged the coastline, sheltering on hidden beaches to protect themselves from the winds or replenish water supplies, and especially to lie in wait for prey. You see?" She pointed to a place on me chart between La Punta de los Frailes and La Punta de la Polacra. "This cove here, the one mat is called Los Escullos now, was still called the cove of Mahommed Arraez at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and that's what it's called on the charts and atlases of the day. An arrdez, arrdez, among other things, was the captain of a Moorish corsair ship. And look here, this place is still called Moro island. Moors again. That's why all the towns were built inland, or on a promontory, to guard against raids by pirates." among other things, was the captain of a Moorish corsair ship. And look here, this place is still called Moro island. Moors again. That's why all the towns were built inland, or on a promontory, to guard against raids by pirates."

"Moors on the coast," El Piloto said, referring to the old saying for danger.

"Yes. That's the origin of that phrase. The coast was lined with watchtowers, manned by lookouts charged with alerting the citizenry."

The sun, lower and lower at the stern, was beginning to tinge ' her freckled skin. The breeze whipped the nautical chart in her hands. She was observing the nearby coast with avid concentration, as if its geographic features held ancient secrets.

"That afternoon of February 3," she continued, "no one had to alert Captain Elezcano. He knew the dangers all too well, and he must have been forewarned. That's why the corsair couldn't surprise them, and why the pursuit took so long." Now Tanger traced the sh.o.r.eline on the chart in an ascending line. "It lasted all night, with a following wind, and the corsair was only able to attack when, in setting more sail, the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria sprang her foremast." sprang her foremast."

"Undoubtedly," Coy commented, "because at last he decided to set the topgallants. If he did that despite damage to the rigging, it's because the corsair was upon him. A desperate measure, I'd guess." He consulted El Piloto. "Too much tophamper."

"He would have been trying to reach Cartagena," was El Piloto s opinion.

Coy observed his friend with curiosity. His habitual phlegm seemed to be giving way to an interest Coy had rarely witnessed. He too, Coy thought with amazement, was being infected by the atmosphere. Gradually, as fascination with the mystery intensified, Tanger was enlisting a strange crew, seduced by the ghost of a ship enveloped in murky green shadows. Nailed to the stump of the rotten mast, Captain Ahab's gold doubloon beckoned them all.

"Right," Coy agreed. "But he didn't get anywhere." "So why didn't he give up, instead of fight?" As usual, Tanger had an explanation.

"If the corsairs were Berbers, the captured sailors would have been forced into slavery. And if they were English, the fact that Spain was at relative peace with England would have made things worse for the crew of the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria_____ That kind of action tended to end with the elimination of witnesses, in order not to leave evidence. And besides, there were the emeralds. So it isn't strange that Captain Elezcano and his men would fight to the end."

With wineskin in hand, El Piloto studied the chart. He took a drink and clicked his tongue.

"They don't make sailors like them anymore," he said.

Coy was of the same mind. Added to the relentless cruelty of the sea, and to the infamous conditions on board, the sailors of that era faced the perils of war such as broadsides and boardings. It was terrible enough to face a storm at sea, but how much worse an enemy ship. He remembered his training on the Estrella del Sur, Estrella del Sur, and shuddered just to imagine climbing the swaying rigging of a ship to furl a sail in the midst of grapeshot, cannonb.a.l.l.s, severed halyards, and wood splinters flying everywhere. and shuddered just to imagine climbing the swaying rigging of a ship to furl a sail in the midst of grapeshot, cannonb.a.l.l.s, severed halyards, and wood splinters flying everywhere.

"What they don't make anymore," Tanger murmured, "is men like them."

As she gazed at the sea and the Carpanta's Carpanta's sails billowed in the wind, Tanger's voice throbbed with nostalgia for all she had never known, for the enigma contained in old books and nautical charts, alerting her, like the distant flash from a lighthouse across the waves, that there were still seas to be sailed, shipwrecks to be found, and emeralds and dreams to bring to the light of day. Framed by the hair lashing her face, her eyes appeared to see listing decks, dashing waves, the foaming wake, and the chase that seemed to come to dramatic life before her eyes and to drag the sailor without a ship and the sailor without dreams along with her. And suddenly Coy understood that on that distant evening of February 3, 1767, Tanger Soto would have wanted to be aboard one of those ships. What he wasn't sure of was whether she would have preferred being the hunted or the hunter. But maybe it was all the same. sails billowed in the wind, Tanger's voice throbbed with nostalgia for all she had never known, for the enigma contained in old books and nautical charts, alerting her, like the distant flash from a lighthouse across the waves, that there were still seas to be sailed, shipwrecks to be found, and emeralds and dreams to bring to the light of day. Framed by the hair lashing her face, her eyes appeared to see listing decks, dashing waves, the foaming wake, and the chase that seemed to come to dramatic life before her eyes and to drag the sailor without a ship and the sailor without dreams along with her. And suddenly Coy understood that on that distant evening of February 3, 1767, Tanger Soto would have wanted to be aboard one of those ships. What he wasn't sure of was whether she would have preferred being the hunted or the hunter. But maybe it was all the same.

As El Piloto had predicted, the wind shifted astern when they doubled Cabo de Gata at dusk, with the sun below the horizon and the beam from the lighthouse periodically illuminating the rocky cliffs of the mountain. So they hauled down the mainsail and continued toward the northeast, the loose sheet of the jib hauled now to port. Before it was completely dark, the two sailors prepared the boat for night sailing-lifelines along both sides, self-inflating life jackets with safety harnesses, binoculars, lanterns, and white flares within easy reach. Then El Piloto fixed a quick supper, primarily fruit, turned on the radar, the red light over the chart table, and the running lights for sail, and went below to sleep a while, leaving Coy on watch in the c.o.c.kpit.

Tanger stayed with him. Rocked by the rolling boat, with her hands in the pockets of Piloto's slicker and the collar turned up, she watched the lights dotting the craggy outline of the coast of Almeria in the distance. After a while she mentioned that she was surprised to see so few lights, and Coy told her that from Cabo de Gata to Cabo de Palos was the one stretch of the Spanish Mediterranean sh.o.r.e still free of the cement leprosy of tourist development. Too many mountains, the rocky coast, and a scarcity of roads were miraculously keeping that coast nearly virgin. For the moment.

Farther out to sea, a few dots of light beyond the horizon betrayed the presence of merchant ships following courses parallel to the Carpanta's. Carpanta's. Their headings, more to open water than the sailboat's, kept them at a distance, but Coy tried not to lose sight of them, and took mental sightings of their respective positions at intervals. A constant bearing and closing range, according to the old marine principle, meant certain collision. He bent over the binnacle to verify course and speed. The bow of the Their headings, more to open water than the sailboat's, kept them at a distance, but Coy tried not to lose sight of them, and took mental sightings of their respective positions at intervals. A constant bearing and closing range, according to the old marine principle, meant certain collision. He bent over the binnacle to verify course and speed. The bow of the Carpanta Carpanta was fixed at 400 on the compa.s.s, and she was making four knots. Propelled by a quiet was fixed at 400 on the compa.s.s, and she was making four knots. Propelled by a quiet kbeche, kbeche, with the sound of the water against the hull, the boat was gliding easily across the choppy water under a dark dome now filled with stars. The polestar was in place, the immutable sentinel of the north, vertical on the port bow. Tanger followed his upward gaze. with the sound of the water against the hull, the boat was gliding easily across the choppy water under a dark dome now filled with stars. The polestar was in place, the immutable sentinel of the north, vertical on the port bow. Tanger followed his upward gaze.

"How many stars do you know?" she asked.

Coy shrugged before answering that he knew thirty or forty. Those indispensible for his line of work That was the master star, the polestar, he said. To its left you could see Ursa Major, which looked like an upside-down comet, and a little above it Cepheus. That group in the form of a W was Ca.s.siopeia. W for whiskey.

'And how can you tell them apart from the others?"

'At any given hour, and according to the season of the year, some are more visible than others_______ If you take the polestar as a beginning point and trace imaginary lines and triangles, you can identify the princ.i.p.al ones."

Tanger looked up, interested, her face barely illuminated in the reddish light from the companion. The stars were reflected in her eyes, and Coy remembered a song from his childhood: There was a girl I taught to sing....

He smiled in the darkness. Who would have thought, some twenty years later.

"If you form a triangle of the polestar and the two lowest stars in Ursa Major," he said, "there in the third corner... see?... you find Capella. There, above the horizon. At this hour it's still very low, but it will climb in the sky because those stars rotate west around the polestar."

'And that glowing little cl.u.s.ter? It looks like a bunch of grapes."

"Those are the Pleiades. They'll shine brighter once they're higher."

She repeated "the Pleiades" in a low voice, gazing at them for a long time. The light in her pupils, Coy thought, makes her look surprisingly young. Again the snapshot and the dented cup floated through his memory, enfolded in the old song: I'd like to know the names of the stars.

"The one that's shining so bright is Andromeda." He pointed. "It's there beside the Great Square of Pegasus, which the ancient astronomers pictured as a winged horse seen in reverse________ And up there, a little to the right, is the Great Nebula. See it?"

"Yes... I see it."

There was soft excitement in her voice, the discovery of something new. Something impractical, unexpected, and beautiful.

What a night that was, when I gave a thousand names to every star.

Coy sang very quietly. The rolling of the boat and the night growing ever darker, along with Tanger's nearness, put him in a state very close to happiness. You go to sea, he thought, to live moments like this. He had handed the 7x50 binoculars to Tanger, and she was observing the sky-the Pleiades, the Great Nebula, looking for the luminous points he was naming.

"You still can't see Orion, which is my favorite_________ Orion is the Hunter, with his shield, his belt, and the scabbard for his sword. His shoulder stars are called Betelgeuse and Bellatrix, and his left foot is called Rigel."

"Why is he your favorite?"

"He's the most impressive constellation in the sky. More spectacular than the Milky Way. And once he saved my life." "Really? Tell me."

"There isn't much to tell. I must have been about thirteen or fourteen. I had gone out fishing in a little sailboat, and some bad weather blew up. It was very cloudy, and night fell before I got home. I didn't have a compa.s.s and couldn't get oriented________________ Suddenly the clouds opened for a moment and I recognized Orion. I set a course and got back to port."

Tanger didn't say anything. Maybe she's thinking about me, Coy hazarded. A little boy lost at sea, looking for a star.

"The Hunter, and Pegasus." She was again searching the sky. "Do you really see all those figures up there?"

"Sure. It's easy when you've been looking for years and years. At any rate, it won't be long before stars shine above the ocean for nothing, because men won't need them anymore to find their way."

"That's bad?"

"I don't know whether it's bad. I do know it's sad."

There was a light in the distance, off the starboard bow, that appeared and disappeared beneath the dark shadow of the sail. Coy gave it a close look. Maybe it was a fishing boat, or a merchant ship sailing close to the coast. Tanger was watching the sky and Coy thought a moment about lights-white, red, green, blue, or any other color. Someone who didn't know the sea could never suspect what they meant to a sailor. The intensity of their language of danger, warning, and hope. What it meant to look and identify them on difficult nights amid high seas or even during calm approaches to port, the binoculars pressed to your eyes, trying to distinguish the flash from a lighthouse or a buoy from thousands of hateful, stupid, absurd lights on land. There were friendly lights, murderous lights, and even lights tied to remorse, like that time when Coy, the second officer aboard a tanker en route from Singapore to the Persian Gulf, had thought that he saw two red flares in the distance at three in the morning. Even though he wasn't completely sure they were distress signals, he had wakened the captain, who came up to the bridge half-dressed and sleepy-eyed to take a look. But there had been no further flares, and the captain, a dry and efficient man from Guipuzcoa named Etxegarate, had not thought it expedient to alter course. They had already lost too much time pa.s.sing the Raffles lighthouse and fiendishly busy Malacca Strait, he said. Coy spent the rest of his watch that night with one ear tuned to channel 16 of the ship's radio, to see if he could capture the call of a craft in distress. There was nothing, but he had never been able to forget the two red flares. Perhaps it was the emergency signal some desperate sailor shot off in the darkness, his last hope.

"Tell me," said Tanger, "what that last night aboard the Dei Gloria Dei Gloria was like." was like."

"I thought you knew everything there was to know."

"There are things I can't know."

The tone of her voice was different from any he'd heard before. To his surprise, it sounded very near, and almost sweet. That made him shift uncomfortably on the teak bench, and at first he didn't know what to say. She was waiting, patient.

"Well," he said at last. "If the wind was the same as what we have new, almost steady astern, the logical thing is that Captain..." "Captain Elezcano," she prompted.

"Yes, that's it. That Captain Elezcano would douse the jibs and stow the staysails, if he was tarrying them. He would surely have left the mainmast without canvas, so that the driver didn't force the rudder or mask the wind from the fore-topsail and foresail; or maybe he just struck the driver and left the main topsail. He might also have set his foretopmast or lower studdingsails, although I doubt he would have done that at night. The one sure thing is that, knowing his ship, he got her ready to make the best possible time without putting on canvas that would spring a mast."

The wind freshened slightly, always astern, kicking up a slight swell. Coy glanced at the anemometer and then studied the enormous shadow of the sail. He put the crank in the slot of the starboard winch, hauled in the sheet a couple of turns, and the Carpanta Carpanta heeled a few degrees, picking up a half knot heeled a few degrees, picking up a half knot "According to what you told me," he continued after returning the crank to its place and coiling the tail of the sheet, "the wind must have been a little stronger than what we're experiencing. There's sixteen knots of true wind. Possibly they had twenty or so, which would be force 5 or 6. Enough to move them along, for sure. They'd be traveling faster than we are, heeling slightly to starboard, with a steady wind astern."

"What were the men doing?"

"They weren't getting much sleep, especially your two priests. Everyone must have had the pursuing ship on their minds, which they would barely have been able to make out at night. If there was a moon, they may have sighted the shadow of her sail astern from time to time_____ Both of them would have been running without lights, in order not to betray their position. The men on watch would be gathered at the foot of the masts, dozing a little or standing at the gunnels with worried faces, waiting for the order to go aloft again and adjust the canvas. The others would be close to the guns, warned to be at the ready if the corsair suddenly overtook them. The captain would never have left the p.o.o.p, his attention on the drama behind him and the creaking of the rigging and flapping of sail overhead. A man at the helm, maintaining course...No question that the best of them would have been at the helm that night."

'And the ship's boy?"

"Near the captain and the navigating officer, awaiting their orders. Copying down in the logbook the orders, times, maneuvers ... He was young, wasn't he?"

"Fifteen."

Coy noted a tone of commiseration in Tanger's voice. Just a boy, it meant. At least, Coy thought, he had lived to tell the tale.

"In those days they went to sea at ten or twelve to learn the trade- I suppose he would have been excited by the adventure. At that age you're not easily frightened. And that boy was already a veteran. At the very least he had crossed the Atlantic in both directions."

"His report was very precise. He was a clever boy. We can reconstruct approximately what happened thanks to him. And you." Coy grimaced.

"I can only imagine how what you tell me happened."

The reddish light from the companion still glowed on Tanger's face. She was avidly listening to Coy's words, with an attentiveness she had never paid him on land.

'And the corsair?" she asked.

Coy tried to evoke the situation on board the xebec. Professional hunters hot on the chase.