The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue (Montague Siblings, #1)

by Mackenzi Lee

On the morning we are to leave for our Grand Tour of the Continent, I wake in bed beside Percy. For a disorienting moment, it’s unclear whether we’ve slept together or simply slept together. Percy’s still got all his clothes on from the night before, albeit most in neither the state nor the location they were in when originally donned, and while the bedcovers are a bit roughed up, there’s no sign of any strumming. So although I’ve got nothing on but my waistcoat—by some sorcery now buttoned back to front—and one shoe, it seems safe to assume we both kept our bits to ourselves. Which is a strange sort of relief, because I’d like to be sober the first time we’re together. If there ever is a first time. Which it’s starting to seem like there won’t be.

Then Percy lets out a grisly moan and I start to laugh for no reason. He takes a swipe at me and misses. “What?” “You sound like a bear.” “Well, you smell like a barroom floor.” He slides headfirst off the bed, gets tangled in the sheets, and ends up doing a sort of bent-waist headstand with his cheek against the carpeting. His foot rams me in the stomach, a little too low for comfort, and my laugh turns into a grunt. “Steady on, there, darling.” The urge to relieve myself is too strong to ignore any longer, and I drag myself up with one hand on the hangings. A few of the stays pop. Bending down to find the chamber pot under the bed seems likely to result in my demise, or at least a premature emptying of my bladder, so I throw open the French doors and piss into the hedges instead. When I turn back, Percy’s still on the floor, upside down with his feet propped on the bed. His hair came undone from its ribboned queue while we slept and it edges his face in a wild black cloud. I pour a glass of sherry from the decanter on the sideboard and down it in two swallows. Hardly any flavor manages to kick its way through the taste of whatever crawled into my mouth and died during the night, but the hum will get me through a send-off with my parents. And days in a carriage with Felicity. Lord, give me strength. “How did we get home last night?” Percy asks. “Where were we last night? It’s all a bit woolly after the third hand of piquet.” “I think you won that hand.” “I’m not entirely ...

I wrangle my waistcoat off over my head and drop it onto the floor. From his back, Percy points at my stomach. “You’ve something peculiar down there.” “What?” I look down. There’s a smear of bright red rouge below my navel. “Look at that.” “How do you suppose that got there?” Percy asks with a smirk as I spit on my hand and scrub at it. “A gentleman doesn’t tell.” “Was it a gentleman?” “Swear to God, Perce, if I remembered, I’d tell you.” I take another swallow of sherry straight out of the decanter and set it down on the sideboard, nearly missing. It lands a little harder than I meant. “It’s a burden, you know.” “What is?” “Being this good-looking. Not a soul can keep their hands off me.” He laughs, closemouthed. “Poor Monty, such a cross.” “Cross? What cross?” “Everyone falls in immediate, passionate love with you.” “They can hardly be blamed. I’d fall in love with me, if I met me.” And then I flash him a smile that is equal parts rapscallion and boyish dimples so deep you could pour tea into them. “As modest as you are handsome.” He arches his back—an exaggerated stretch with his head pressed into the rug and fingers woven together above him. Percy’s showy about so few things, but he’s a damned opera in the mornings.

“Mr. Lockwood,” Father says, “may I have a moment alone with my son?” As one, my muscles all clench in anticipation. On his way to the door, Mr. Lockwood pauses at my side and gives me a short clap on the shoulder that’s so firm it makes me start. I was expecting a swing to come from entirely the opposite direction and be significantly less friendly. “We’re going to have an excellent time, my lord,” he says. “You will hear poetry and symphonies and see the finest treasures the world has to offer. It will be a cultural experience that will shape the remainder of your life.” Dear. Lord. Fortune has well and truly vomited down my front in the form of Mr. Lockwood. As Lockwood closes the door, Father reaches toward me and I flinch, but he’s only going for the brandy on the sideboard, moving it out of my grasp. God, I’ve got to get my head on straight. “This is the last chance I’m giving you, Henry,” he says, a bit of the old French accent peeping through, as it always does when his temper is rising. Those soft edges on his vowels are usually my first warning, and I almost put my hands up preemptively. “When you return home, we’ll start in on the estate work. Together. You’ll come to London with me and observe the duties of a lord there. And if you can’t return to us mature enough for that, then don’t come back at all. There’ll be no place left for you in this family or any of our finances. You’ll be out.” Right on schedule, the disinheritance rears its ugly head. But after yea...

I swing myself into the carriage, and the footman shuts the door behind me. Percy’s got his fiddle case balanced on his knees and he’s playing with the latches. Felicity’s scrunched up in one corner, like she’s trying to get as far from us as possible. She’s already reading. I slide into the seat beside Percy and pull my pipe from my coat. Felicity executes an eye roll that must give her a spectacular view of the inside of her skull. “Please, brother, we haven’t even left the county, don’t smoke yet.” “Nice to have you along, Felicity.” I clamp the pipe between my teeth and fish about in my pocket for the flint. “Remind me again where we’re permitted to drop you by the side of the road.” “Keen to make more room in the carriage for your harem of boys?”

The great tragic love story of Percy and me is neither great nor truly a love story, and is tragic only for its single-sidedness. It is also not an epic monolith that has plagued me since boyhood, as might be expected. Rather, it is simply the tale of how two people can be important to each other their whole lives, and then, one morning, quite without meaning to, one of them wakes to find that importance has been magnified into a sudden and intense desire to put his tongue in the other’s mouth. A long, slow slide, then a sudden impact. Though the story of Percy and me—the account sans love and tragedy—is forever. As far back as I can remember, Percy has been in my life. We’ve ridden and hunted and sunbathed and reveled together since we were barely old enough to walk, fought and made up and run amok across the countryside. We’ve shared all our firsts—first lost tooth, first broken bone, first school day, the first time we were ever sweet on a girl (though I have always been more vocal about and passionate in my infatuations than Percy). First time drunk, when we were reading at our parsonage’s Easter service but got foxed on nicked wine before. We were just sober enough to think we were subtle about it and just tipsy enough that we were likely as subtle as a symphony. Even the first kiss I ever had, though disappointingly not with Percy, still involved him, in a roundabout way. I’d kissed Richard Peele at my father’s Christmas party the year I turned thirteen, and though I...

The great tragic love story of Percy and me is neither great nor truly a love story, and is tragic only for its single-sidedness. It is also not an epic monolith that has plagued me since boyhood, as might be expected. Rather, it is simply the tale of how two people can be important to each other their whole lives, and then, one morning, quite without meaning to, one of them wakes to find that importance has been magnified into a sudden and intense desire to put his tongue in the other’s mouth.

The great tragic love story of Percy and me is neither great nor truly a love story, and is tragic only for its single-sidedness. It is also not an epic monolith that has plagued me since boyhood, as might be expected. Rather, it is simply the tale of how two people can be important to each other their whole lives, and then, one morning, quite without meaning to, one of them wakes to find that importance has been magnified into a sudden and intense desire to put his tongue in the other’s mouth. A long, slow slide, then a sudden impact. Though the story of Percy and me—the account sans love and tragedy—is forever. As far back as I can remember, Percy has been in my life. We’ve ridden and hunted and sunbathed and reveled together since we were barely old enough to walk, fought and made up and run amok across the countryside. We’ve shared all our firsts—first lost tooth, first broken bone, first school day, the first time we were ever sweet on a girl (though I have always been more vocal about and passionate in my infatuations than Percy). First time drunk, when we were reading at our parsonage’s Easter service but got foxed on nicked wine before. We were just sober enough to think we were subtle about it and just tipsy enough that we were likely as subtle as a symphony. Even the first kiss I ever had, though disappointingly not with Percy, still involved him, in a roundabout way. I’d kissed Richard Peele at my father’s Christmas party the year I turned thirteen, and though I...

bystander(?)

The great tragic love story of Percy and me is neither great nor truly a love story, and is tragic only for its single-sidedness. It is also not an epic monolith that has plagued me since boyhood, as might be expected. Rather, it is simply the tale of how two people can be important to each other their whole lives, and then, one morning, quite without meaning to, one of them wakes to find that importance has been magnified into a sudden and intense desire to put his tongue in the other’s mouth. A long, slow slide, then a sudden impact. Though the story of Percy and me—the account sans love and tragedy—is forever. As far back as I can remember, Percy has been in my life. We’ve ridden and hunted and sunbathed and reveled together since we were barely old enough to walk, fought and made up and run amok across the countryside. We’ve shared all our firsts—first lost tooth, first broken bone, first school day, the first time we were ever sweet on a girl (though I have always been more vocal about and passionate in my infatuations than Percy). First time drunk, when we were reading at our parsonage’s Easter service but got foxed on nicked wine before. We were just sober enough to think...

A small shift in the gravity between us and suddenly all my stars are out of alignment, planets knocked from their orbits, and I’m left stumbling, without map or heading, through the bewildering territory of being in love with your best friend.

The waves are rough, and side by side, with our elbows upon the rail, Percy and I keep bumping shoulders. When we strike a rough patch and he nearly loses his footing, I seize the chance to grab him by the hand and haul him upright again. I have become a veritable scholar in seemingly innocent ploys to get his skin against mine. It’s the first time we’ve been properly alone together since Cheshire, and I’ve spent the whole while filling him in on the tyrannical restraints placed upon us by Lockwood and my father. Percy listens with his fists stacked atop each other on the railing and his chin resting upon them. When I’m finished, he wordlessly hands me the gin bottle. I snatch it with the plan to drain it, only to find he’s beat me to it. “Bastard.” He laughs, and I pitch the bottle into the gray water, where it bobs for a moment before the bow of the packet sucks it under. “How is it that we’ve landed the only bear-leader for hire who’s entirely opposed to the true purpose of the Tour?” “Which is . . . remind me.” “Strong spirits and loose women.” “Sounds instead like it’s going to be weak wine with dinner and handling yourself in your bedroom after.” “No shame in that. If the Good Lord didn’t want men to play with themselves, we’d have hooks for hands. Still, I’d rather not be keeping myself company from now until next September. God, this is going to be a disaster.” I look to him, hoping for some sort of despair that is at least on a comparable level with mine—I thought...

Three weeks in, Percy and I still haven’t managed to escape the eye of our tyrant cicerone for a night out on our own. There’s hardly an evening we aren’t dragged to readings and concerts and even the goddamn opera (though not the theater, which Lockwood tells us is breeding ground for sodomites and fops, and as such sounds more to my taste), which, paired with the early mornings, leave me too worn down to work up much excitement for midnight outings. The first nocturnal excursion we’re blessedly excused from is a scientific lecture Lockwood badgers us to attend, entitled “The Synthetic Panacea: An Alchemical Hypothesis,” but Percy pleads an afternoon headache and I plead being entirely occupied with watching him have said headache, and Lockwood seems to trust Percy’s word over mine. Instead of our usual communal meal in the dining room, we all sup at intervals. Percy and I take the meal in his room and then lie tangled upon his bed, drowsy and languid as the sky turns bruise-colored with sunset and smoke. The first time I rise all evening is to see if I can bully one of the staff into giving me some whiskey for his ague and my enjoyment. The lanterns haven’t been lit yet, and the hallway is so shadowy that I nearly smash into Felicity, who is pressed up against the wall with her shoes in her hand, wearing a plain Brunswick with the hood pulled up, like a bandit come to lift the silver. I’ve done enough sneaking out in my lifetime to know precisely what she’s up to. She st...

if Felicity is sneaking out, it’s about damn time Percy and I did so as well. “I think we’ll be attending that lecture tonight after all,” I say. “Oh. Oh!” He sits up. “You and Mr. Newton both?” “Yes,” I say, offering Percy an internal apology in case his headache was real. “We’ll get a coach to Montparnasse, so you needn’t come—you’re nearly dressed for bed. And we might have some supper after. So don’t wait up.” And bless his little cotton socks, he must truly believe in the transformative power travel can have over a young man, because he swallows it. As it turns out, it’s hardly even a lie—we do get a coach to Montparnasse, and we do have supper. It consists of a pint of baptized beer downed standing up in the corner of a smoky boxing ring, then spirits at a music hall after. The boxing is my choice, the music hall Percy’s—his condition for coming out with me in spite of the headache that was apparently very much real was that at least half of the evening would be spent somewhere men weren’t brutalizing one another and we can hear each other without shouting. But the music hall is packed and nearly as loud as the fights. The walls are plastered in moldering velvet and golden fringe, the ceiling painted with an elaborate mural of cherubs frolicking with naked women in foamy clouds—the cherubs seem to be there purely to keep it from being pornographic. Candles on the tables—sheathed in red glass—rouge the light. We spend our fights’ winnings on one of the private boxes i...

That single word sends a pulse up my spine like a struck lightning rod. Percy laughs and ducks his chin, suddenly shy. I mean to sit back and say something coy so we can play it off as a laugh—I swear to God, I do. But then he licks his lips, and his eyes flit to my mouth in a way that seems a little out of his control. And I want to. So badly, I do. Just thinking about it makes all the blood leave my head. And the drink has just enough of a hold on me that the part of my brain that usually steps in the path of terrible ideas and halts them with a sensible Steady on there, lad, let’s think this one through seems to have taken the night off. So in spite of being in possession of a full understanding of what a terrible decision it is to do so, I lean in and kiss Percy on the mouth. I truly intend to make it a peck, just a small one, like it’s only because of the rhyme and not because I’ve been going mad with wanting him for two years. But before I can pull away, Percy puts his hand on the back of my neck and presses me to him and suddenly it’s not me kissing Percy, it’s Percy kissing me. For perhaps a full minute, I’m so stunned that the only thing I can think is, Dear Lord, this is actually happening. Percy is kissing me. Really kissing me. Neither of us is sober, or even sober-adjacent, but at least I’m still seeing straight. And, damnation, it feels so good. As good as I’ve always imagined it would be. It makes every other kiss I’ve ever had turn to smoke and disappear. A...

“If I tell you something, you can’t mock me for it. And I don’t only mean now. You can’t whip this out and mock me for it at some later date when you’re feeling peevish.” “I’m not going to mock you.” She takes another huffy breath, nostrils flaring, then says, “I’ve been studying medicine.” “Medicine? Since when have you been interested in that?” “Since my whole life.” “Where do you learn about medicine?” “I read. I’ve been stripping the covers off amatory novels and swapping them with medical textbooks for years so Father wouldn’t find out. He’d rather I read those trampy Eliza Haywoods than study almanacs on surgery and anatomy.” I burst out laughing. “Feli, you glorious little shit. That’s the most devious thing I’ve ever heard.” She laughs too, and I remember suddenly we’ve got matching sets of dimples. It’s so rare that I see Felicity smile I’d forgotten we both inherited them from our father. “I’d rather study medicine than go to finishing school. That’s what I wanted. But they don’t let girls into universities. Girls go to finishing school and boys go to medical school.” “Not me. I’m supposed to run the estate.” I laugh, like it isn’t excruciating to be the punch line of your own joke, but Felicity’s face softens. “I didn’t know Father was so rough on you.” “Every father is rough on his sons. I’m not the only one.” “Doesn’t make it easier.” “I survived it, didn’t I?” “Did you?” She touches her forehead lightly to my shoulder, then sits up straight again. “What are y...

We find the bank on the high street. It’s a classical building with a marbled interior and rows of wooden-barred windows lining the perimeter, a wigged clerk behind each. The sounds of red heels and brass-tipped canes click like dice against the stone. “If we don’t act soon, they’re going to think we’re scouting the place for a robbery,” Felicity says after we’ve spent a half of an hour in the lobby, doing what can only be termed lurking. “We could tell them the truth,” Percy suggests. “Yes, but we’ve only one chance,” she replies, “and the truth is a bit too preposterous to be convincing. Alchemical puzzle boxes and all that.” I’m hardly listening to them—I’ve spent most of the while we’ve been loitering watching the clerk at the window nearest to the door, and after close scrutiny of his last few interactions, I’m fairly certain he and I have a big thing in common. When you are a lad who enjoys getting other lads in bed, you have to develop a rather fastidious sense for who plays the same instrument or there’s a chance you’ll find yourself at the business end of a hangman’s knot. And if this fellow and I had met at a bar, I would have already bought him a drink and put his fingers in my mouth. It’s a great risk—I’m not so much jumping to a conclusion as vaulting haphazardly to it—but, somehow, I know. “Stay here,” I say. “What are you doing?” Felicity hisses at me as I start across the lobby. “Helping.” I check myself in one of the mirrors lining the hall, ruffle my hair...

“Are you feeling well?” I ask him before I really think it through. He doesn’t open his eyes. “Don’t ask if you don’t care.” “God, Perce, of course I care.” “If you want me to say I’m fine so you’ll feel better—” “I—” Definitely was hoping that would happen, I realize, and my stomach twists. I take another long pull, then say as the smoke slips out, “Give me a chance.” Percy scrubs his hands along his breeches. “Fine. I feel horrid. I’m tired and I’m sore all over and the riding is making it worse, but if I say something, Felicity will get protective and we won’t be moving for days. I’m mortified you both had to see me like that. I haven’t been sleeping well, and sometimes when I don’t sleep it brings on fits, so I’m worried it’s going to happen again and every time I feel the least bit odd I get panicked it’s coming on and then we’ll have to hold everything on my account.” He turns to me, his chin tipped up. “That’s how I’m feeling. Aren’t you glad you asked?” I can feel him shoving me away, but I hold my ground. “Yes.” Percy’s face softens, then he turns away from me, his fingers working over his knuckles until they crack. “Sorry.” I draw another lungful of smoke, so deep I feel like my ribs are about to pop. “Does it hurt? When it happens.” “I don’t know. I never remember it. Thank God. It’s awful afterward, though. And the head examinations and cold baths and the bloodletting and whatever else the doctors feel the need to do. God, it’s miserable. My uncle hired a man t...

“I’d rather it didn’t matter. It’s not good, being ill, but I live with it. I wish my family cared for me enough to love me still. Not in spite of it. Or only if it went away. Maybe if they hadn’t already had to deal with me being dark-skinned . . .” He presses his fingers into his chin, then shakes his head a few times. “I don’t know, doesn’t matter. Can’t change it. Any of it.” “I could say something to your uncle.” “No.” “Why not? If he won’t listen to you—” “I know you think you’re being helpful when you say things like that, and when you defend me, and I appreciate it, I really do, but please, don’t. I don’t need you to stand up for me—I can do that.” “But you don’t—” “You’re right, sometimes I don’t, because I’m not the light-skinned son of an earl so I haven’t the luxury of talking back to everyone who speaks ill of me. But I don’t need you to rescue me.” “I’m sorry.” It comes out soft and meek, like the bleat of a lamb. Percy looks over at me, his face veiled by the twilight and impossible to read. Then he folds his hand into a fist and presses it against my knee, like a slowed-down punch. “Come here.” “I’m here,” I say, so quiet I almost don’t hear myself. “Lie down with me.” My heart hurtles, beating like frantic wings against the base of my throat. I stub out my rolled tobacco and toss it off the roof, then stretch out beside him. My knees crack rather spectacularly as I go. The tiles are still sun-warmed, and I can feel the heat through my coat, all the way to ...

I press my head backward against the shingles, arching my neck. “At least you’ll never have to run an estate.” I realize what I’ve said as soon as it’s left my mouth, and I fumble. “Wait. No, I’m sorry, that was . . . Damnation. Sorry. That was a horrible thing to say.” “Is managing your father’s estate truly the worst thing that could happen to you?” “Aside from the obvious things like famine and pestilence and losing my looks? Yes.” “So maybe it doesn’t seem like the best thing right now, fine. But someday you’re going to want to settle down, and when you do, you’ll have a home. And income and a title. You won’t want for much.” “That’s not really what troubles me about it.” “So, what is it?” I feel suddenly like an even greater ass than before for all the while I’ve spent moaning to him about my champagne problems while he’s being shipped off to a sanatorium, and yet here he is, lying beside me and pretending our futures are comparable. “Nothing. You’re right, I’m very lucky.” “I didn’t say lucky. I said you won’t want.” When I look over at him, he’s still got his eyes on the sky. We’re the inverse of each other, I realize, Percy desperately wanting to go home and not feeling he can, me wanting to be anywhere else but with nowhere to go. Perhaps he can’t understand it, the way that house will always be haunted for me, even if my father were gone from it. I can’t imagine living in it for the rest of my life, throwing parties in its parlors and filling the cabinets with my...

I flick a scale of tobacco off my breeches. “Lucky me. Someday I will have everything my father does. Perhaps I’ll even have a son of my own I can beat the shit out of.” “If I ever see your father again, I swear to God, I’m going to knock him out.” “Aw, Perce, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “I mean it.” “Hypothetically defending my honor. I’m touched.” I close my eyes and press the heels of my hands against them until my vision spots. “I shouldn’t complain.” “You aren’t complaining.” He lets his head tip sideways so it brushes my shoulder. Not quite resting there. But not quite not, either. “You aren’t like your father. You know that, don’t you?” “Course I am. A more imbecilic and disappointing version.” “Don’t say that.” “All boys are their fathers. Looking at your parents is akin to seeing the future, isn’t it?” “Is it?” He smiles. “Perhaps that’s how I’ll know mine someday, then.” “Better than a fiddle.” He raises his head. “You’re nothing like your father, Monty. For a start, you’re far more decent than he is.” I’m not sure how, after all the terrible things I’ve done, he can possibly mean that. “You might be the only person left on earth who thinks me decent.” Between us, I feel his knuckles brush mine. Perhaps it’s by chance, but it feels more like a question, and when I spread my fingers in answer, his hand slides into mine. “Then everyone else doesn’t know you.”

corsairs

corsair /ˌkôrˈser/ I. noun 1. ‹archaic› a pirate. 2. ‹archaic› a pirate ship. 3. ‹archaic› a privateer, especially one operating along the southern coast of the Mediterranean in the 16th–18th centuries. – origin mid 16th cent.: from French corsaire, from medieval Latin cursarius, from cursus ‘a raid, plunder,’ special use of Latin cursus ‘course,’ from currere ‘to run.’… Corsairs (French: corsaire) were privateers, authorised to conduct raids on shipping of a foreign state at war with the Kingdom of France, on behalf of the French crown. Seized vessels and cargo were sold at auction, with the corsair captain entitled to a portion of the proceeds. Although not French Navy personnel, corsairs were considered legitimate combatants in France (and allied nations), provided the commanding officer of the vessel was in possession of a valid letter of marque (lettre de marque or lettre de course, the latter giving corsairs their name), and the officers and crew conducted themselves according to contemporary admiralty law. By acting on behalf of the French Crown, if captured by the enemy, they could in principle claim treatment as prisoners of war, instead of being considered pirates. A statue of French corsair Robert Surcouf in Saint-Malo, Brittany Because corsairs gained a swashbuckling reputation, the word "corsair" is also used generically as a more romantic or flamboyant way of referring to privateers, or even to pirates. The Barbary pirates of North Africa as well as the Ottoman Empire were sometimes called "Turkish corsairs". Etymology edit The word "corsair" comes directly from the French phrase lettre de course, the word corsaire borrowed from the Italian corsaro. This derives from the Latin cursus, meaning "course" (as in journey or expedition).[1][2] The French word corsaire may have originated as a mispronunciation of the Arabic word قُرْصَان qurṣān;[3] the term pirate had been in use in French since the Middle Ages.[4] However, Sayyid Sulaimān Nadvī, an Indian Muslim scholar of Islamic studies, says that "Qarsan ... [may be] the arabicised form of 'Corsair'."[5] History edit The Return of the Corsairs in 1806 by Maurice Orange The corsairs were privateers working for the King of France attacking the ships of France's enemies. In France they did not need to fear punishment for piracy—being hanged—as they were granted a licence as combatants, the lettre de marque or lettre de course, a document which legitimised their actions to the French justice system and which they hoped gave them the status of a war prisoner in case they were ever captured. The corsair was ordered to attack only the ships of enemy countries, theoretically respecting those of neutral nations and his own nations. If he did not respect this rule, he was then treated as a pirate and hanged. The corsairs' activities also provided the King with revenue as the licence required them to hand over a part of their booty to the King. In common with privateers of other nationalities, however, they were often considered pirates by their foreign opponents, and might be hanged as pirates if captured by the foreigners they preyed on. The "corsair" activities started in the Middle Ages the main goals really being to compensate for the economic problems in war periods; and the ship owners did not accept that the war was an obstacle to their trade. Jean de Châtillon, who was a bishop, in 1144 gave the town of Saint-Malo the status of rights of asylum which encouraged all manner of thieves and rogues to move there. Their motto was "Neither Breton, nor French, but from Saint-Malo am I!". Saint-Malo, however, progressed and in 1308 the town was made into a free commune to encourage the commercial activities of craftsmen as well as merchants and ship owners. This did not really work out and later in 1395 the town became a free port. This situation continued until 1688. Between the early 1500s and 1713, when the signing of the Peace of Utrecht effectively put an end to the French corsair raids in the Caribbean, the guerre de course, as the French called it, took a huge toll on the Spanish treasure fleet's efforts to ship the gold and silver from Peru to Santo Domingo and Havana and then on to Spain. During this period, there was an intense drive to improve, not only the speed of the ships involved in this contest, but also their manoeuvrability and ability to sail into the wind (the close haul). It was a matter of life or death, and immense wealth was at stake. Jean d'Ango, father and son, came to be among the wealthiest and most influential men in France. In addition to those listed below, Giovanni da Verrazzano (namesake of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge) and Jean Fleury were among the principals in this era. The 1517 travel journal of Antonio de Beatis[6] described the ship of Fra Bernardino, known as the "Great Corsair" (operating against Turkish vessels) in Marseille: "His galleon is massively timbered, new and extremely well-fitted out, especially in point of artillery, carrying as it does twelve cannon, twelve falconets and a hundred arquebuses." The activities of the corsairs were so profitable that the Minister of the Navy used this in his strategy to make money. Moreover, the King used to take one-quarter or even one-third of the booty. The corsairs' activities weakened France's enemies; indeed, English trade losses were very important from 1688 to 1717. In a note based on an examination of Lloyd's List from 1793 to 1800, the anonymous author showed that British shipping losses to captures exceeded those resulting from the perils of the sea.[7] Losses to capture: 4314; recaptured 705; Net – 3639 Perils of the sea: 2385 plus 652 driven on shore, of which 70 recovered; Net – 2967. The relationship between the corsairs and the State changed as the power of the State grew. The rules became stricter and State control more and more present. At the end of the 18th century, the "course" started to decline until its legal death in 1856. The "course" disappeared in France with the Empire in 1804, but was officially ended only by the 1814 Treaty of Paris, where every major northern hemisphere nation except Spain, Mexico, and the United States, was present, and the 1815 Congress of Vienna… The Barbary corsairs, Barbary pirates, Ottoman corsairs,[1] or naval mujahideen (in Muslim sources)[2] were mainly Muslim corsairs and privateers who operated from the North African coast, known in Europe as the Barbary Coast, in reference to the Berbers.[3] Slaves in Barbary could be of many ethnicities, and of many different religions, such as Christian, Jewish, or Muslim.[4] Their predation extended throughout the Mediterranean, south along West Africa's Atlantic seaboard and into the North Atlantic as far north as Iceland, but they primarily operated in the western Mediterranean. In addition to seizing merchant ships, they engaged in razzias, raids on European coastal towns and villages, mainly in Italy, France, Spain, and Portugal, but also in Britain and Ireland,[4] and Iceland (commemorated as the Turkish Abductions).[5] A Sea Fight with Barbary Corsairs by Laureys a Castro, c. 1681 Barbaria by Jan Janssonius, shows the coast of North Africa, an area known in the 17th century as Barbaria, c. 1650 An Algerine pirate ship A man from the Barbary states A Barbary pirate, Pier Francesco Mola, 1650 While such raids began after the Muslim conquest of the Iberian Peninsula in the 710s, the terms "Barbary pirates" and "Barbary corsairs" are normally applied to the raiders active from the 16th century onwards, when the frequency and range of the slavers' attacks increased. In that period, Algiers, Tunis and Tripoli came under the sovereignty of the Ottoman Empire, either as directly administered provinces or as autonomous dependencies known as the Barbary states. Similar raids were undertaken from Salé (see Salé Rovers) and other ports in Morocco. The raids were such a problem that coastal settlements were seldom undertaken until the 19th century. Between 1580 and 1680, corsairs were said to have captured about 850,000 people as slaves and from 1530 to 1780 as many as 1.25 million people were enslaved.[4] However, these numbers are estimated and provided by only one historian, Robert Davis, and have been questioned by others like David Earle.[6] Some of these corsairs were European outcasts and converts (renegade) such as John Ward and Zymen Danseker.[5] Hayreddin Barbarossa and Oruç Reis, the Turkish Barbarossa brothers, who took control of Algiers on behalf of the Ottomans in the early 16th century, were also notorious corsairs. The European pirates brought advanced sailing and shipbuilding techniques to the Barbary Coast around 1600, which enabled the corsairs to extend their activities into the Atlantic Ocean.[5] The effects of the Barbary raids peaked in the early-to-mid-17th century. Long after Europeans had abandoned oar-driven vessels in favor of sailing ships carrying tons of powerful cannon, many Barbary warships were galleys carrying a hundred or more fighting men armed with cutlasses and small arms. The Barbary navies were not battle fleets. When they sighted a European frigate, they fled.[7] The scope of corsair activity began to diminish in the latter part of the 17th century,[8] as the more powerful European navies started to compel the Barbary states to make peace and cease attacking their shipping. However, the ships and coasts of Christian states without such effective protection continued to suffer until the early 19th century. Between 1801 and 1815, occasional incidents occurred, including two Barbary Wars waged by the United States, Sweden and the Kingdom of Sicily against the Barbary states. Following the Napoleonic Wars and the Congress of Vienna in 1814–15, European powers agreed upon the need to suppress the Barbary corsairs entirely. The remainder of the threat was finally subdued for Europeans by the French conquest of Algeria in 1830 and so-called "pacification" by the French during the mid-to-late 19th century. History edit The Barbary corsairs were active from medieval times to the 1800s. Muslim historical narratives edit Both Europeans (e.g., the Dum Diversas) and Muslims considered themselves to be waging holy wars against each other during this era. European and American historical sources bluntly consider these operations to be a form of piracy and that their goal was mainly to seize ships to obtain spoils, money, and slaves. Muslim sources, however, sometimes refer to the "Islamic naval jihad"—casting the conflicts as part of a sacred mission of war under Allah, differing from the more familiar form of jihad only in being waged at sea. Accounts of Andalusian Muslims being persecuted by the Spanish Inquisition—willingly abetted by the Catholic Monarchs of Spain, who (though inaugurating what would later become Spain's "Golden Age") were initially faced with the post-Reconquista necessity of binding their (hitherto-divided) territories together, and hence adopted a militantly Christian national identity[9]—provided more than enough justification, in Muslim eyes.[10] British captain witnessing the miseries of Christian slaves in Algiers, 1815 The Middle Ages edit In 1198, the problem of Barbary piracy and slave-taking was so significant that the Trinitarians, a religious order, was founded to collect ransoms and even to exchange themselves as a ransom for those captured and pressed into slavery in North Africa. In the 14th century, Tunisian corsairs became enough of a threat to provoke a Franco-Genoese attack on Mahdia in 1390 (also known as the "Barbary Crusade"). Moorish exiles of the Reconquista and Maghreb pirates added to the numbers, but it was not until the expansion of the Ottoman Empire and the arrival of the privateer and admiral Kemal Reis in 1487 that the Barbary corsairs became a true menace to shipping from European Christian nations.[11] 16th century edit Battle of Preveza, 1538 From 1559, the North African cities of Algiers, Tunis, and Tripoli, although nominally part of the Ottoman Empire, were autonomous military republics that chose their rulers and lived by war booty captured from the Spanish and Portuguese. There are several cases of Sephardic Jews, including Sinan Reis and Samuel Pallache, who upon fleeing Iberia attacked the Spanish Empire's shipping under the Ottoman flag.[12][13] During the first period (1518–1587), the beylerbeys were admirals of the sultan, commanding great fleets and conducting war operations for political ends. They were slave hunters, and their methods were ferocious. After 1587, the sole object of their successors was plundering, both on land and sea. The maritime operations were conducted by the captains, or reises, who formed a class or even a corporation. Cruisers were fitted out by investors and commanded by the reises. 10% of the value of the prizes was paid to the pasha or his successors, who bore the titles of agha or dey or bey.[14] The Barbary corsairs frequently attacked Corsica, resulting in many Genoese towers being erected. In 1544, Hayreddin captured the island of Ischia, taking 4,000 prisoners, and enslaved some 2,000–7,000 inhabitants of Lipari.[15][16] In 1551, Turgut Reis enslaved the entire population of the Maltese island of Gozo, between 5,000 and 6,000, sending them to Ottoman Tripolitania. In 1554, corsairs under Turgut Reis sacked Vieste, beheaded 5,000 of its inhabitants, and abducted another 6,000.[17] 17th century edit The work of the Mercedarians was in ransoming Christian slaves held in Muslim hands, Histoire de Barbarie et de ses Corsaires, 1637 In the early years of the 17th century, the Barbary states attracted English pirates, many of whom had previously operated as privateers under Queen Elizabeth I. Still, they found themselves unwanted by her successor King James VI and I. Whereas in England, these pirates were reviled, in the Barbary states, they were respected and had access to safe markets to resupply and repair their ships. Many of these pirates converted to Islam.[18] A notable Christian action against the Barbary states occurred in 1607, when the Knights of Saint Stephen (under Jacopo Inghirami) sacked Bona in Algeria, killing 470 and taking 1,464 captives.[19] This victory is commemorated by a series of frescoes painted by Bernardino Poccetti in the "Sala di Bona" of Palazzo Pitti, Florence.[20][21] In 1611, Spanish galleys from Naples, accompanied by the galleys of the Knights of Malta, raided the Kerkennah Islands off the coast of Tunisia and took away almost 500 Muslim captives.[22] Between 1568 and 1634, the Knights of Saint Stephen may have captured about 14,000 Muslims, with perhaps one-third taken in land raids and two-thirds taken on captured ships.[22] Ireland was attacked similarly. In June 1631, Murat Reis, with corsairs from Algiers and armed troops of the Ottoman Empire, stormed ashore at the little harbor village of Baltimore, County Cork. They captured almost all the villagers and took them away to a life of slavery in North Africa.[14] The prisoners were destined for a variety of fates—some lived out their days chained to the oars as galley slaves. At the same time, women spent long years as concubines in harems or within the walls of the sultan's palace. Only two of these captives ever returned to Ireland.[23][page needed] England was also subject to pirate raids; in 1640, 60 men, women and children were enslaved by Algerian corsairs who raided Penzance.[24][25] Another major figure was Moulay Ismail, the second ruler of the 'Alawi dynasty of Morocco. He was not a pirate himself, but encouraged and benefited from their operations, especially the slaves they captured and delivered.[26] More than 20,000 captives were said to be imprisoned in Algiers alone. The rich were often able to secure release through ransom, but the poor were condemned to slavery. Their masters would, on occasion, allow them to secure freedom by professing Islam. A long list might be given of people of good social position, not only Italians or Spaniards but German or English travelers in the south, who were captives for a time.[14] In 1675, a Royal Navy squadron led by Sir John Narborough negotiated a lasting peace with Tunis and, after bombarding the city to induce compliance, with Tripoli.[27] A French Ship and Barbary Pirates by Aert Anthonisz, c. 1615 A French Ship and Barbary Pirates by Aert Anthonisz, c. 1615 Battle of a French ship of the line and two galleys of the Barbary corsairs Battle of a French ship of the line and two galleys of the Barbary corsairs An action between an English ship and vessels of the Barbary Corsairs An action between an English ship and vessels of the Barbary Corsairs Lieve Pietersz Verschuier, Dutch ships bomb Tripoli in a punitive expedition against the Barbary pirates, c. 1670 Lieve Pietersz Verschuier, Dutch ships bomb Tripoli in a punitive expedition against the Barbary pirates, c. 1670 18th–19th centuries edit See also: First Barbary War and Second Barbary War Captain William Bainbridge paying tribute to the Dey of Algiers, c. 1800 Piracy was enough of a problem for some states to enter the redemption business. In Denmark: At the beginning of the 18th century, money was collected systematically in all churches, and a so-called 'slave fund' (slavekasse) was established by the state in 1715. Funds were brought in through a compulsory insurance sum for seafarers. This institution ransomed 165 slaves between 1716 and 1736.[28] Between 1716 and 1754, 19 ships from Denmark-Norway were captured with 208 men; piracy was thus a serious problem for the Danish merchant fleet.[28] Until the American Declaration of Independence in 1776, British treaties with the North African states protected American ships from the Barbary corsairs. During the American Revolutionary War, the Corsairs attacked American merchant vessels in the Mediterranean. However, on 20 December 1777, Sultan Mohammed III of Morocco issued a declaration recognizing America as an independent country, and stating that American merchant ships could enjoy safe passage into the Mediterranean and along the coast.[29] The relations were formalized with the Moroccan–American Treaty of Friendship signed in 1786, which stands as the U.S.'s oldest non-broken friendship treaty[30][31] with a foreign power. The Barbary threat led directly to the United States founding the United States Navy in March 1794. While the United States did secure peace treaties with the Barbary states, it was obliged to pay tribute for protection from attack. The burden was substantial: from 1795, the annual tribute paid to the Regency of Algiers amounted to 20% of United States federal government's annual expenditures.[32] In 1798, an islet near Sardinia was attacked by the Tunisians, and more than 900 inhabitants were taken away as slaves.[33] Bombardment of Algiers by Lord Exmouth in August 1816, Thomas Luny After the ending of the Napoleonic Wars in 1815, the Royal Navy no longer needed the Barbary states as a source of supplies for Gibraltar and their fleet in the Mediterranean Sea. This freed Britain to exert considerable political pressure to force the Barbary states to end their piracy and practice of enslaving European Christians. Treaties were made, but the treaty with Omar Agha the Dey of Algiers was broken by the massacre of 200 Corsican, Sicilian, and Sardinian fishermen who were under British protection. This resulted in the bombardment of Algiers (1816) by an Anglo-Dutch fleet under the command of Admiral Edward Pellew, 1st Viscount Exmouth. The following day when the allied fleet sailed back to renew the bombardment the Dey of Algiers capitulated. On the allied side casualties were 900 dead and wounded and the conflict was considered more ferocious than the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. The Barbary states had difficulty securing uniform compliance with a total prohibition of slave-raiding, as this had been traditionally of central importance to the North African economy. Slavers continued to take captives by preying on less well-protected peoples. Algiers subsequently renewed its slave-raiding, though on a smaller scale. Europeans at the Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle in 1818 discussed possible retaliation. In 1824, a British fleet under Admiral Sir Harry Burrard Neale was fired on and had to threaten to bombard Algiers again before the 1816 treaty was renewed.[34] French bombardment of Algiers by Admiral Dupperé, 13 June 1830 Corsair activity based in Algiers did not entirely cease until France conquered the state in 1830.[14] The Treaty of Larache was a treaty between Sweden-Norway, Denmark, and Sultan Abd al-Rahman of Morocco as a result of the Moroccan expedition of 1843–1845. The expedition was conducted by the combined navies of Sweden-Norway and Denmark to pressure the Moroccan sultanate into agreeing to the reversal of several old unfair treaties and to put a halt to the annual payment of tribute to Morocco in exchange for safe passage through the Mediterranean.[35] The final bombardment of a Moroccan city in retribution for piracy occurred in 1851 at Salé.[36] Barbary slave trade edit Main article: Barbary slave trade From bases on the Barbary Coast, North Africa, the Barbary corsairs raided ships travelling through the Mediterranean and along the northern and western coasts of Africa, plundering their cargo and enslaving the people they captured. From at least 1500, the corsairs also conducted raids along seaside towns of Italy, France, Spain, Portugal, England and as far away as Iceland, capturing men, women and children. On some occasions, settlements such as Baltimore, Ireland were abandoned following the raid, only being resettled many years later. Between 1609 and 1616, England alone had 466 merchant ships lost to Barbary corsairs.[37] Slave quarters edit At night the slaves were put into prisons called 'bagnios' (derived from the Italian word "bagno" for public bath, inspired by the Turks' use of Roman baths at Constantinople as prisons),[38] which were often hot and overcrowded. Bagnios had chapels, hospitals, shops and bars run by captives.[39] Galley slaves edit See also: Galley slave Conquest of Tunis by Charles V and liberation of Christian galley slaves in 1535 Although the conditions in bagnios were harsh, they were better than those endured by galley slaves. Most Barbary galleys were at sea for around eighty to a hundred days a year, but when the slaves assigned to them were on land, they were forced to do hard manual labor. There were exceptions: galley slaves of the Ottoman Sultan in Constantinople would be permanently confined to their galleys, and often served extremely long terms, averaging around nineteen years in the late seventeenth-century and early eighteenth-century periods. These slaves rarely got off the galley but lived there for years.[40] During this time, rowers were shackled and chained where they sat, and never allowed to leave. Sleeping (which was limited), eating, defecation and urination took place at the seat to which they were shackled. There were usually five or six rowers on each oar. Overseers would walk back and forth and whip slaves considered not to be working hard enough. Number of people enslaved edit The number of slaves captured by Barbary corsairs are difficult to quantify. According to Robert Davis, between 1 million and 1.25 million Europeans were captured by Barbary corsairs and sold as slaves in North Africa and Ottoman Empire between the 16th and 19th centuries.[41][42] However, to extrapolate his numbers, Davis assumes the number of European slaves captured by Barbary corsairs were constant for a 250-year period, stating: There are no records of how many men, women and children were enslaved, but it is possible to calculate roughly the number of fresh captives that would have been needed to keep populations steady and replace those slaves who died, escaped, were ransomed, or converted to Islam. On this basis it is thought that around 8,500 new slaves were needed annually to replenish numbers—about 850,000 captives over the century from 1580 to 1680. By extension, for the 250 years between 1530 and 1780, the figure could easily have been as high as 1,250,000.[6] Slave market in Algiers, Ottoman Algeria, 1684 Historians welcomed Davis's attempt to quantify the number of European slaves, but were divided as to the accuracy of the unorthodox methodology which he relied on in the absence of written records. The historian David Earle, author of The Corsairs of Malta and Barbary and The Pirate Wars, questioned Davis, saying "His figures sound a bit dodgy and I think he may be exaggerating." He cautioned that the true picture of European slaves is clouded by the fact that the corsairs also seized non-Christian whites from eastern Europe and black people from west Africa. He wouldn't "hazard a guess about their total". Professor Ian Blanchard, an expert on African trade and economic history at the University of Edinburgh, said that Davis's work was solid and that a number over a million was in line with his expectations.[6] Davis notes that his calculations were based on observers reports of approximately 35,000 European Christian slaves on the Barbary Coast at any one time during the late 1500s and early 1600s, held in Tripoli, Tunis and, mostly, Algiers.[43] Legacy The history of Muslim enslavement of white Europeans has been cited by some as contextualising the importance of subsequent European and American enslavement of blacks. Scholar Robert Davis noted that the larger picture isn't so one-sided: during a "clash of empires... taking slaves was part of the conflict," and at the same time 2 million Europeans were enslaved by Muslims in North Africa and the Near East, 1 million Muslim slaves in Europe.[44] As Dr. John Callow at University of Suffolk notes, the experience of enslavement by the Barbary corsairs preceded the Atlantic slave trade and "the memory of slavery, and the methodology of slaving, that was burned into the British consciousness was first and foremost rooted in a North African context, where Britons were more likely to be slaves was than slave masters…

greenhorn,

greenhorn /ˈɡrēnˌhôrn/ noun ‹informal› (chiefly N. Amer.) a person who is new to or inexperienced at a particular activity…. Greenhorn is a slang for an inexperienced person, and/or a slur against Portuguese people chiefly in New England, United States…

tars.

⁉️

xebec

xebec /ˈzēbek / zebec I. noun ‹historical› a small three-masted Mediterranean sailing ship with lateen and sometimes square sails. – origin mid 18th cent.: alteration (influenced by Spanish xabeque) of French chebec, via Italian from Arabic šabbāk… A xebec (/ˈziːbɛk/ or /zɪˈbɛk/), also spelled zebec, was a Mediterranean sailing ship that originated in the barbary states (Algeria).[3][4] It was used mostly for trading. Xebecs had a long overhanging bowsprit and aft-set mizzen mast. The term can also refer to a small, fast vessel of the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries, used almost exclusively in the Mediterranean Sea. Xebec A xebec with three lateens and oars Type Sailing vessel Place of origin Algeria[1][2] Service history In service 16th to mid-19th century Used by Mainly MENA states Sometimes used in Europe Specifications Mass 100–200 tons, in some cases up to 600 t Crew 90 to 400 Description edit Xebecs were ships similar to galleys primarily used by Barbary pirates, which have both lateen sails and oars for propulsion. Early xebecs had two masts while later ships had three. Xebecs featured a distinctive hull with pronounced overhanging bow and stern,[3] and rarely displaced more than 200 tons, making them slightly smaller and with slightly fewer guns than frigates of the period. Use by Barbary corsairs edit Greek-Ottoman xebec These ships were easy to produce and were cheap, and thus nearly every corsair captain (Raïs) had at least one xebec in his fleet. They could be of varying sizes. Some ships had only three guns[4] while others had up to forty.[5] Most xebecs had around 20–30 cannons, and the overwhelming majority had swivel guns equipped.[6][7] After the 18th century, galleys became increasingly outdated and xebecs became the preferred ships of Barbary pirates[8] thanks to their heavy and effective use of wind power, reduced need for slaves to row, ability to carry more cannons than a galley, and overall cheapness, speed,[9] and maneuverability.[10] Xebecs were generally faster than contemporary ship types until the introduction of steamships. Corsairs built their xebecs with a narrow floor to achieve a higher speed than their victims, but with a considerable beam in order to enable them to carry an extensive sail-plan. The lateen rig of the xebec allowed the ship to sail close hauled to the wind, often giving it an advantage in pursuit or escape. The use of oars or sweeps allowed the xebec to approach vessels which were becalmed. When used as corsairs, the xebecs carried a crew of between 90[4] and 400 men. The use of square rig among pirates was initially rare, although after the 1750s a mix between lateen and square rigs became much more widespread.[10] Use by European powers edit Some victorious xebecs of the Spanish Navy, about 1770 (see Antonio Barceló campaigns... in the Spanish version of the page of Wikipedia): Andaluz, 30 guns (4 × 8-pounders) Africa, 18 guns (4-pounders) Atrevido, 20 guns Aventurero, 30 guns (3 × 8-pounders) Murciano, 16 guns, 4 pedreros (light swivel guns) San Antonio Notable xebecs of the French Navy include four launched in 1750: Ruse, 160 tons, 18 guns Serpent, 160 tons burthen, 18 guns Requin, 260 tons burthen, 24 guns Indiscret, 260 tons burthen, 24 guns Sail plan for a polacre-xebec In the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, a large polacre-xebec carried a square rig on the foremast, lateen sails on the other masts, a bowsprit, and two headsails. The square sail distinguished this form of a xebec from that of a felucca which is equipped solely with lateen sails. The last of the xebecs in use by European navies were fully square-rigged and were termed xebec-frigates. The British brig-sloop Speedy's (14 guns, 54 men) defeat of the Spanish xebec-frigate El Gamo (32 guns, 319 men) on 6 May 1801 is generally regarded as one of the most remarkable single-ship actions in naval history. It was the foundation of the legendary reputation of the Speedy's commander, Lord Cochrane, which has in turn provided the inspiration for sea fiction such as Patrick O'Brian's Master and Commander.[11]

We are not broken things, neither of us. We are cracked pottery mended with lacquer and flakes of gold, whole as we are, complete unto each other. Complete and worthy and so very loved. “May I kiss you?” I ask. “Abso-bloody-lutely you may,” he says. And so I do.

Dear Father, As I write these words, I am sitting at the window of a small flat on a small island that is decidedly off the route you planned for me, having been dropped here by a group of pirates (though this lot are more aptly termed aspiring privateers) after fleeing Venice as a fugitive. I am not certain which of those will most horrify you. If you desire to be further scandalized, proceed. In the courtyard below me is Felicity, and she is looking rather happy—and here I was starting to believe her brow was permanently furrowed—and beside me is Percy, and were I not entirely occupied with this missive and he with his indestructible fiddle, I would be holding his hand. Perhaps even a bit more than hand-holding. I will absolutely be scratching that part out before I send this, but I needed to put it down in writing. I still can’t believe it’s real. I have become the Grand Tour horror story, the cautionary tale for parents before they send their boys off to the Continent. I have lost my bear-leader. I have been kidnapped by pirates and attacked by highwaymen. I have humiliated your good name before the French court, run naked through the gardens at Versailles, turned up corpses, and sunk an island—a whole bloody island. You must be at least somewhat impressed by all that. Also I’m now short one ear (I’m certain it will grow back, though Felicity seems less confident). But at least I didn’t gamble away my fortune, run away with a French girl, and then abandon her. Now, tha...