The Black Galley

Produced by Michael Wooff
The Black Galley
A story by Wilhelm Raabe (1831-1910)
I. Along the walls of Fort Liefkenhoek.
It was a dark and stormy night in the first days of November of the year 1599 when the Spanish sentry in Fort Liefkenhoek on the Flemish side of the Scheldt sounded the alarm, urgent drumming woke the sleeping garrison and each man there, commander-in-chief and ordinary soldier alike, took up their posts on the fortress's walls.
The waves of the Scheldt were running high and often disgorging flecks of foam in the face of the shivering Southerners over the ramparts. A northeasterly wind whistled sharply down from the Provinces , and the Spaniards had already known for a long time that it was seldom that anything good came to them from that quarter.
In Fort Lillo as well, on the Brabant side of the river, the sticks of the drums were whirling and the horn was being sounded. One could hear quite clearly over the noise of the storm and the waters tossed by a tempest the sound of far-off cannon fire, which could only be emanating from a battle at sea at the mouth of the Scheldt.
The sea beggars were up to their old tricks again.
What did this race of amphibians care about darkness and storms? Were not nightfall and stormy weather their best allies? When had a sea beggar ever been afraid of a stormy sea and darkness when it came to annihilating the enemy, to outmanoeuvring his deadliest enemies, those who had laid waste to and oppressed his homeland won back from the waves.
The war, however, had taken a terrible turn for the worse.
This coming and going of the belligerents had lasted now for two and thirty years and there was still no foreseeable end to it. The sowing of the dragon's teeth had yielded a generous harvest—men of iron had indeed sprung from the blood-drenched earth and even women had had to forget what kindness and clemency were. There was now a younger generation who, for this very reason, did not long for peace because they had never known what peace was.