have been... No, it was a magnificent building."
"Yes, indeed it was," John replied but gave no explanation as to how he knew that.
More silence. The wind had picked up and was blowing across the courtyard. A fine brown powder seemed to be coming from under the marble slab. The silence was broken again, only this time by Walker.
"Father, do you think John is really buried here?
"No, my son, he is not."
"You say that with such confidence. How do you know?"
"I told you. I am John and..."
"Yes, but you must have a reason other than being named after him."
Just then, the rhythm of horse’s hoofs could be heard coming up fast to the ruined basilica. An Ottoman midshipman and a sailor came pouring through the ancient main gate. Their horses were in a lather.
The midshipman jumped off his horse before he had come to a complete stop and saluted. "Dr. Walker. Lady Whitney. Captain Smith," he said in surprisingly good English, "sends his compliments and requests you join him immediately."
"Where is the Captain?" Walker asked.
"The last I saw of him, he was at the docks at Pamucak. You take our horses. Osman here will drive me back in your wagon, but you must leave now."
"What is it? What’s happened?" Susan asked, alarmed.
"My lady, a mail packet arrived late last night from England. France has declared war on your country."
Walker rushed to his horse. Susan paused, however, and turned around to say good-buy to the old monk; but he raised his hand in the sign of a blessing and spoke first.
"God’s hand is on you, my child, and on your friend, and your captain."
"Father, who are you?"
"I am John twenty-one, twenty," he cryptically replied. Then he turned, and walked away.
***
The small boat carrying Walker and Whitney approached the ship from the stern where they could read her newly painted name, the Swallow . She was a xebec and the strangest ship Walker had ever seen.
She was a coastal vessel, about 80 feet long with long sleek lines and a very shallow draft. Her hull was pure white except for the top few rows of strakes, which were painted pitch black. Four gun ports, trimmed with yellow paint, were cut into each side. But easily the most distinctive things about her were her sails. The Swallow had three masts, with the foremast raked forward at a sharp angle and a poop deck that hung out over the stern like a small theater stage. The masts were fitted with lateen sails and, about three-quarters of the way up each, was a very long spar—twice the normal size—that was connected at a 45-degree angle. From each of those spars hung a huge triangular sail that gave the xebec it’s distinctive look.
Xebecs were famous for their speed, maneuverability and their ability to sail both close to the wind and close to shore. For those reasons, they were very much favored by Mediterranean pirates and very much detested by Royal Navy captains. Simply put, they were faster into the wind than any ship in the British fleet. That meant they could quickly catch up to almost any prey and just as quickly escape from any foe.
Neither Walker nor Whitney had the slightest idea what Smith was doing with the thing and it would be over an hour before they would find out.
The Swallow got underway as soon as the two were aboard and the boat hoisted in. On deck all seemed to be in chaos. Smith stood on the elevated quarterdeck; megaphone in hand, giving orders to what seemed to be an all-British crew. Physically they all looked like experienced seamen; but they were stumbling around like raw "lubbers" trying to figure-out how to work the lateen sails. Orders were being shouted left and right, men were bumping into each other, and at one point
"Yes, indeed it was," John replied but gave no explanation as to how he knew that.
More silence. The wind had picked up and was blowing across the courtyard. A fine brown powder seemed to be coming from under the marble slab. The silence was broken again, only this time by Walker.
"Father, do you think John is really buried here?
"No, my son, he is not."
"You say that with such confidence. How do you know?"
"I told you. I am John and..."
"Yes, but you must have a reason other than being named after him."
Just then, the rhythm of horse’s hoofs could be heard coming up fast to the ruined basilica. An Ottoman midshipman and a sailor came pouring through the ancient main gate. Their horses were in a lather.
The midshipman jumped off his horse before he had come to a complete stop and saluted. "Dr. Walker. Lady Whitney. Captain Smith," he said in surprisingly good English, "sends his compliments and requests you join him immediately."
"Where is the Captain?" Walker asked.
"The last I saw of him, he was at the docks at Pamucak. You take our horses. Osman here will drive me back in your wagon, but you must leave now."
"What is it? What’s happened?" Susan asked, alarmed.
"My lady, a mail packet arrived late last night from England. France has declared war on your country."
Walker rushed to his horse. Susan paused, however, and turned around to say good-buy to the old monk; but he raised his hand in the sign of a blessing and spoke first.
"God’s hand is on you, my child, and on your friend, and your captain."
"Father, who are you?"
"I am John twenty-one, twenty," he cryptically replied. Then he turned, and walked away.
***
The small boat carrying Walker and Whitney approached the ship from the stern where they could read her newly painted name, the Swallow . She was a xebec and the strangest ship Walker had ever seen.
She was a coastal vessel, about 80 feet long with long sleek lines and a very shallow draft. Her hull was pure white except for the top few rows of strakes, which were painted pitch black. Four gun ports, trimmed with yellow paint, were cut into each side. But easily the most distinctive things about her were her sails. The Swallow had three masts, with the foremast raked forward at a sharp angle and a poop deck that hung out over the stern like a small theater stage. The masts were fitted with lateen sails and, about three-quarters of the way up each, was a very long spar—twice the normal size—that was connected at a 45-degree angle. From each of those spars hung a huge triangular sail that gave the xebec it’s distinctive look.
Xebecs were famous for their speed, maneuverability and their ability to sail both close to the wind and close to shore. For those reasons, they were very much favored by Mediterranean pirates and very much detested by Royal Navy captains. Simply put, they were faster into the wind than any ship in the British fleet. That meant they could quickly catch up to almost any prey and just as quickly escape from any foe.
Neither Walker nor Whitney had the slightest idea what Smith was doing with the thing and it would be over an hour before they would find out.
The Swallow got underway as soon as the two were aboard and the boat hoisted in. On deck all seemed to be in chaos. Smith stood on the elevated quarterdeck; megaphone in hand, giving orders to what seemed to be an all-British crew. Physically they all looked like experienced seamen; but they were stumbling around like raw "lubbers" trying to figure-out how to work the lateen sails. Orders were being shouted left and right, men were bumping into each other, and at one point
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