Chapter 430: War Reparations
Lefebvre looked at the Iris flag fluttering atop the coastal fortress in Annaba's port, a satisfied smile on his face as he shook the reins of his horse.
He hadn't expected the campaign to go so smoothly. In just two and a half days, they had captured all of Annaba. Considering the marching speed of the Tunisian army, it would have taken nearly two days just to cross the entire Annaba territory. This meant that in just a few more days, he could return to Europe and join the major battles in Silesia.
A company commander rode up to Lefebvre, saluting as he reported, "Colonel, we've discovered a large number of heavy cannons in the Algerians' fortress!"
"Oh?" Lefebvre waved dismissively, not particularly interested. "Algerian cannons aren't worth much."
Given the casting quality in North Africa, even a 32-pound coastal cannon would be less effective than an 18-pound European cannon.
The captain quickly added, "Sir, these cannons are British-made. There are three 32-pounders and eight 24-pounders. We haven't finished counting the lighter ones yet."
Lefebvre's eyes lit up immediately. If they were British-made, then this haul of heavy cannons was a real treasure!
Indeed, it was a windfall—years earlier, the Duke of Leeds had spent over 10,000 pounds building Annaba's coastal defenses, only for it all to fall into the hands of the Guards Corps without a single shot being fired. Some cannons still even had their original factory seals.
As they spoke, another rider approached, reporting that they had found a large stockpile of flintlock muskets in the port warehouse, including Prussian Potzdam 1740s, Dutch AI muskets, and some British Brown Bess muskets. The total count wasn't finalized yet, but there were at least 7,000 weapons.
These guns were part of the second batch of British aid intended for the Algerian Janissaries, but due to the Algerians' delays, they had yet to be distributed and now were Lefebvre's to claim.
Suddenly, Lefebvre felt that perhaps missing out on the Silesian campaign wasn't so bad—just capturing so much valuable equipment should earn him commendation from the General Staff.
He turned to his adjutant and said, "Arrange to send some of these fortress cannons to Constantine, and then we can head back."
Constantine, a city south of Annaba, served as a strategic point controlling the route from Algeria into Tunisia. With the support of these 24-pound cannons, the Tunisian army would be better equipped to defend Annaba in the future.
…
Tunis.
Ksar es-Saïd Palace.
Chandarli, the envoy of the Dey of Algiers, anxiously paced the corridor. He had already resolved that if he didn't meet the French negotiators by the next day, he would sail for Paris himself.
Thankfully, the French envoy had finally arrived. All he could hope now was that General Kahler would hold out for a few more days, giving him enough time to negotiate peace with the French.
Soon, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor as the French negotiator, Count Ségur, approached with several officers from the General Staff.
Chandarli hurried to greet them, placing a hand on his chest and bowing respectfully as he spoke in Arabic.
Ségur barely acknowledged the translation of his words and walked straight into the hall, taking the head seat at the long table. Following the French custom now popular in Tunisia, those with status no longer sat on rugs to discuss matters.
Chandarli awkwardly followed him in, and after some time, finally found an opportunity to speak during a lull in the Frenchmen's conversation. He quickly said, "Honored envoy, I am the Agha of the Algiers Divan and the Dey's appointed representative for these negotiations…"
The Divan was the governing council of Algiers, and the Agha served as its chairman.
Ségur glanced at him and slowly asked, "Oh, and what do you wish to discuss with me?"
Chandarli immediately replied, "Envoy, we must discuss a ceasefire in the Annaba region…"
Ségur cut him off with a wave of his hand and a cold smile, "There's no need for that. The battle of Annaba ended two days ago."
He turned to one of the officers, "Major Adrien, our troops should already be on their way to Constantine, correct?"
Of course, given the current international situation, France had no actual plans to invade Constantine, but that didn't stop Ségur from using the threat to intimidate the Algerians. With Algeria's remaining forces, the French could march all the way to their capital, Mitidja, if they wished.
Chandarli's pupils contracted in shock. While he hadn't yet received any official reports, he knew the French wouldn't lie about the outcome of the battle.
Panicking, he stammered, "Actually, there's no need for conflict between Algiers and France. War benefits neither side…"
Ségur's cold response cut him off once again: "The war began the moment the Algerian Janissaries invaded Tunisia."
Internally, Chandarli cursed the British countless times. They had promised full support for Algiers' invasion of Tunisia, but the moment the French appeared, the British had vanished.
"That… that was a misunderstanding, a misguided attempt to fulfill an obligation to the Tunisian Janissaries," he conceded helplessly. "We realize it was a mistake and are willing to make amends to restore peace between our nations."
Ségur replied with blunt efficiency, "France incurred costs exceeding 200,000 riyals in response to the Algerian invasion. These losses must be compensated by Algiers."
Two hundred thousand riyals was roughly equivalent to 440,000 livres. While this demand wasn't excessive by Joseph's standards, it was likely the maximum Algiers could afford, given its population of just over two million.
Ségur continued, "Additionally, Annaba, as the gateway for the invasion of Tunisia, will henceforth be under French control. The neighboring city of Constantine will serve as a buffer zone and cannot host any military forces."
"This… these demands seem rather steep…" Chandarli protested weakly.
"This is the King's decision," Ségur replied with a sideways glance. "You are free to refuse, but in that case, we'll continue our negotiations in Mitidja."
"No, no! We can negotiate these terms…" Chandarli hurriedly agreed.
…
Tunisia.
Sousse Province.
Sfik stood staring blankly at the low hills behind his tribe, the sound of cannon fire still echoing in his mind.
Suddenly, a group of tribesmen armed with swords and spears stormed toward the road running beside the tribe, cursing loudly.
Someone grabbed Sfik's arm, urging him along, "Come on, Sfik, let's go teach that sheriff a lesson!"
"That bastard let ten whole carts of olive oil pass without collecting a single penny in tolls."
"And last time, he allowed those fur traders into the tribe…"
"Do you know how much money we've lost lately? I'm going to kill that scum!"
"Yeah, let's kill him!"
"Sheriff?" Sfik muttered, suddenly remembering the sheriff's white uniform—so similar to the French soldiers he had seen in Annaba. Panic gripped him as he shouted, "Are you crazy? You can't attack the sheriff!"
Seeing that he couldn't stop the tribesmen, Sfik sprinted to his uncle, the chief's, home, bursting into the room.
"Uncle, you have to stop them! Attacking the sheriff will bring the army down on us!"
"The army?" The chief sneered, "What of it? Our warriors can drive them away."
"No, no, that's impossible…" Sfik stammered, his eyes wide with fear. "Have you ever seen the Algerian Janissaries?"
"Hmm? No."
"They're demons! Demons that can tear a person apart in an instant!"
"What are you talking about?"
"And those soldiers…" Sfik swallowed hard, his face pale. "They're gods of war who can tear apart demons! No one can stand against them. If we don't stop them, the tribe will be finished!"
Meanwhile, on the road beside the tribe, more than twenty men who had been to the Annaba battlefield were desperately trying to disperse the angry tribesmen, terrified that they might harm the sheriff in any way.
(End of Chapter)
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