Introduction - Leatherneck

Image courtesy of Edward Moran

“Millions for defence, but not one cent for tribute.”

Robert Goodloe Harper

How to Begin

I recently read that a warrior’s path is two-fold. There is the aspect that should be apparent, that of the sword. Another piece is just as important, but lies dormant in most. This is the path involving the pen.

I’m old now, so the way of the sword isn’t exactly my go-to. That being said, I can readily look back on the things I’ve done in my life and see where they went wrong. Or perhaps where they went less right than I’d hoped for.

When I read this old samurai’s teachings, I’m not entirely sure of what he meant by the way of the pen. It’s said he was a great calligrapher, so maybe he was just referring to artistry. They also say he was a lover of knowledge and a forever student. Perhaps the pen simply meant to continue research. Whatever he meant by it, I’m going to take it as my cue to jot down my story before old age steals the critical details from my mind.

How to begin…

Every life has several key moments in it. Sure, you could argue that there are more than that, but in my experience there are less than ten that would truly be considered key moments in a person’s life. I’m going to start with one of the big ones in my own time on this earth, and if I need to backtrack then so be it.

Semper Fidelis

My name is Calder Wulf.

In the year 1800, I was a private in the recently reinvigorated United States Marine Corps and assigned to the U.S.S. George Washington. At twenty years old, I was headstrong and carefree, and this might have gotten me into more trouble than I should have. But it was nothing I couldn’t handle.

The U.S.S. George Washington departed from Philadelphia on August 8th, 1800 to make its way across the Atlantic for the city of Algiers. The ship was a frigate with a crew of two-hundred and twenty officers and enlisted men. It had twenty-four cannons capable of firing nine-pound shot and another eight cannons for six-pound balls. She was a fine ship, and many of us were proud to be on board. None more so than her captain.

Captain William Bainbridge stood at six feet tall, just a few inches above myself, and had a personality to match the height. He was loud, boisterous, and held himself in high regard. I suppose that could be said for a lot of men at twenty-six years of age, but he agitated me more than the typical commander.

As a naval officer, Bainbridge commanded not only the sailors but the Marines on board the vessel as well. He walked with a bounce as he inspected what everyone did, the curls atop his head quivering with each step.

I was cleaning the barrel of my musket when he came to a sudden stop. I continued on as if I hadn’t noticed the big man staring down where I sat on the bench. Slowly, I put my rag aside and looked up with a hearty smile. His eyes, spaced apart like one of those African lizards, narrowed swiftly.

“Private,” Bainbridge began. He clenched his jaw so his massive sideburns flared ever so slightly. “Private, just why do you think you can skip out on the duties of this vessel?”

“Whatever do you mean, Captain?”

“This deck needs to be swabbed, and I see only sailors doing as much. Your sergeant and the other three privates on board have all done their duties, but you always seem to find something else to occupy your time.”

I glanced over at the men swabbing. Not a single one of them had so much as a stain on their perfectly white uniforms. My eyes widened involuntarily at the realization, and Bainbridge must have taken it for some kind of sarcastic reply at having seen other men engaged in work while I cleaned my musket for the nth time that day.

“Private Wulf!”

“Sir?” I replied, also involuntarily. My back went completely straight and rigid as I met Bainbridge’s gaze. Not all of my insubordination could stick, Marine Corps training made sure of that.

“Wipe that surprised look off your face, put the musket down, and pick up a mop.”

“Aye, sir.”

Truth be told, that musket was more than clean. I usually just watched others or looked out over the sea while I rubbed a rag over it. We weren’t even doing any practice shooting while at sea, so there was no powder to truly dirty the insides anyway. As a Marine, though, you are expected to maintain a perfect weapon. I used that as an excuse for daydreaming, obviously, but Bainbridge’s chameleon gaze saw right through that.

The deck was more than clean too, if we’re honest. Captain William Bainbridge wouldn’t have it any other way. He had his reputation to uphold.

When he was a teenager, Bainbridge had served aboard a merchant ship. Apparently the others didn’t really like their captain too much, because they started a mutiny that was only quelled with the support of our wonderful William. He didn’t come through unscathed, but that actually benefited him in the long run. The merchants who owned those vessels took pity on the boy and gave him his own ship to command after his wounds healed.

It was in 1798 that Bainbridge joined the U.S. Navy as a twenty-four year old lieutenant. He found promotion quickly to master commandant, and ultimately captain, in spite of a pretty big blunder he’d committed during the Union’s Quasi-War with the French.

“You just can’t help making waves everywhere you go, huh?”

I temporarily ignored my friend’s voice as I dipped my mop in the bucket and brought it back out, streaming murky water to slop onto a clean deck.

“It comes natural,” I replied with a smirk.

James shook his head. A fellow Marine, James Tomas was a paradox. He was a German-American with a good head for following orders, yet he possessed a great ear for listening to me explain why some of them were stupid. He’d been my best friend since recruit training.

“We need him more than he needs us, I think,” James said. “The Marines are just a token force on this trip.”

“Someone has to show some muscle, Jimbo,” I said, ensuring that my own flexed in my white shirt as I mopped with a bit more gusto.

James laughed. “You really think that’ll work with these Algerines?”

I stopped mopping for a moment and dropped my sarcasm for a temporary tone of severity. “That’s the only thing they understand.”

I was still swabbing that immaculate deck as we passed through the Strait of Gibraltar. At first glance, one would think that everything on either side of that strait was made by the same great creator. And maybe there are plenty who do believe that. The rocky mountains and green landscape peppering them look to be painted by the same artist, but truth be told each side has very different notions about creators and beliefs. That portion of the world acts as a division between two very different societies in spite of the fact that it’s only eight miles wide. One can stand at either side to clearly see the other. Standing at the northern end you can look south to see the spread of Africa in all its wild glory. Standing on the southern end and gazing north you can see Europe in its rigid conformity to rules and structure.

All right, maybe you can’t really see all that, but you get the point.

The Strait of Gibraltar has always been critical for trade because it acts as a passageway to both European and African markets. It leads into the Mediterranean Sea, the birthplace of ancient cultures that have still managed to retain their relevance in the world through trade in exotic goods.

Gibraltar itself is a port on the northern side. Even though it’s attached to Spain, “The Rock” is actually owned and operated by the British Crown. Now in 1800, the Union had a decent relationship with Britain so there were no worries passing through there. Seeing three ships at anchor did little to warrant any attention when the colors flown were British or Danish. The true worry would actually come from our final destination on this voyage.

Algiers was a key component of the Barbary States of northern Africa. The Barbs, as we called them, all had their territories on the southern edge of the Mediterranean Sea. So placed, they had access to the sea and everything sailing in it. Their “privateers” raided ships that housed anything of value as long as they were not backed up by a massive armada that could do something about it. They only went after nations too small to stand up for themselves.

And that included us.