Jefferson's War
Page 34
He complained that the shipment of tribute contained too little gunpowder and cable, and ordered it sent back. In its place, he demanded an instant substitution payment of $27,000 cash. He brusquely informed Lear that as soon as he paid it, he must pack up and leave Algiers. This came as a rude shock to Lear, who hadn’t foreseen expulsion, although he had been conscious of the steady erosion of respect for America during the Navy’s long absence from the Mediterranean, going on five years now. Lear tried desperately to avert the diplomatic breach that now confronted him, while arguing that $27,000 wasn’t what the treaty stipulated as annual tribute. Hadji smoothly explained that he observed the briefer Ramadan year, not the Gregorian 365-day year. Since 1795, the additional Ramadan calendar days and weeks had added up, and they now must be reckoned with. Pay the $27,000 now, the dey warned, or he would seize the Alleghany and enslave its crew and every American in Algiers. If Lear paid, the Americans would have three days to leave. Lear wangled a twoday extension, but nothing more. Lacking $27,000 in ready cash, he was forced to borrow from the Bacri money house—it had survived David Coen Bacri’s beheading a year earlier—and agreed to pay a stiff 25 percent premium.
Lear, his wife and son, and three other American residents of Algiers sailed away on the Alleghany on July 25. The ship happened to reach Gibraltar simultaneously with the news that America had declared war on England. The British instantly took possession of the brig, clapped the crewmen in irons, and sent them to England on a prison ship. Lear and his family were permitted to sail to Cadiz and then home. As he sat down to write his report to Secretary of State James Monroe, Lear predicted that America one day would avenge Algiers’s abusive treatment and rid itself of tribute “and an imperious and piratical depredation on their commerce. If our small naval force can operate freely in the sea, Algiers will be humbled to the dust....”
Before there could be any U.S. retaliation against Algiers, America had to face Britain, the world’s supreme naval power, with more than 600 warships to the U.S. Navy’s 17. In addition to this seemingly insurmountable disadvantage, the U.S. Navy was burdened with the memory of the Revolutionary War, when the British had destroyed or captured 34 of the Continental Navy’s 35 ships, while losing only 5 of their own. And John Paul Jones, dead twenty years now, was responsible for two of the British losses, the Drake and Serapis. But in 1812, the United States had far better ships and the leadership of “Preble’s Boys,” the Barbary War’s junior officers who had risen to commands in the fleet: Isaac Hull, Stephen Decatur, Jr., William Bainbridge, James Lawrence, Isaac Chauncey, David Porter, Charles Stewart, and Thomas Macdonough. As the U.S. Navy’s “super frigates” entered the Atlantic to face the daunting British war fleet, Algerian cruisers prowled the Mediterranean for U.S. merchantmen. Weeks after Lear’s departure from Algiers, the Edwin was snapped up.
On August 12, the Edwin, a brig from Salem, Massachusetts, with Captain George C. Smith and ten crewmen aboard, was captured between Malta and Gibraltar. At about the same time, Algerians stopped a Spanish ship and removed an American, a Mr. Pollard, and he became Algiers’s twelfth American prisoner. They would be the last; the war kept the U.S. merchant fleet home for nearly three years. The Madison administration authorized M. M. Noah, the U.S. consul in Tunis, to offer up to $3,000 ransom per man. Hadji spurned the offer. “My policy and my views are to increase, not to diminish the number of my American slaves; and not for a million dollars would I release them.” Britain, desperate for fresh seamen, offered to buy two of the Edwin crewmen, and Hadji sold the British the two most unproductive prisoners for $2,000 apiece.
Washington threw a naval ball on December 28, 1812, presided over by First Lady Dolley Madison. Hundreds of candles illuminated the battle flags of two British warships, the HMS Guerriere and the HMS Alert, captured during the halcyon first months of the war. At midnight, as the orchestra struck up “Hail Columbia,” a midshipman appeared as if by magic, striding purposefully across the room toward Mrs. Madison. The naval officers and their wives broke into loud cheers when they saw what he was carrying. The midshipman laid the object at the First Lady’s feet. She picked it up and unfolded it. It was a third British battle flag, belonging to the HMS Macedonian. The triumph belonged to Captain Stephen Decatur, Jr., and the United States. The idea for the dramatic presentation of the battle flag to the First Lady was Decatur’s, too. Like his frigate’s performance in the Atlantic, Decatur’s bit of theater was a smashing success.
A blend of dash, raw nerve, and perfectly calibrated instincts, Stephen Decatur had first burst into the public consciousness as the electrifying hero of the Philadelphia and the Battle of the Gunboats. He became the U.S. Navy’s youngest captain at twenty-five. Because of his striking good looks, competence, and aura of success, a legend had grown up around him. By 1812, Decatur, for whom cities and towns would be named, was a national celebrity. Arguably the Navy’s best combat officer, he had made a brilliant marriage to intelligent, beautiful Susan Wheeler. They were an extremely well-matched, well-connected Washington couple, with the Madisons among their close friends. Nothing, it seemed, was impossible for Stephen Decatur.
Decatur had met the Macedonian in the middle of the Atlantic about 500 miles west of the Canary Islands on October 25, 1812. The 38-gun British frigate was commanded by Captain John Carden, a peacetime friend of Decatur’s. Because Carden was somewhat of a martinet, the Macedonian had a reputation as a crack warship. But not only was Carden outgunned by the 44-gun United States, whose 42-pound carronades could wreak havoc at close range, he was facing a gunnery zealot in Decatur, as Carden well knew. Decatur believed gunnery alone could win battles—without need for boarding parties. He and Carden even had debated the subject over dinner and drinks one night in Norfolk. Carden had been happy to point out that Decatur’s view ran counter to established doctrine. While it was true that believing in the primacy of gunnery placed him in the vanguard of naval theory at the time, Decatur was so sure he was right that he put his belief into practice by drilling his United States crew in rapid firing and target practice until they were lethally quick and accurate.
Decatur proceeded to demonstrate his crew’s deadly skill against Carden’s ship when they met in the Atlantic. His gunners, firing two shots for every one shot fired by the Macedonian’s gun crews, flattened the British frigate’s mizzenmast. When the United States got within carronade range, the gunners raked the British frigate’s hull and turned the decks into scenes of appalling slaughter. By the time Carden offered Decatur his sword, there were 105 British killed and wounded, compared with just 12 American casualties.
Decatur brought the prize into New London in January 1813, but then couldn’t put to sea again, as British cruisers were blockading Long Island Sound. After fruitless maneuvering and waiting in vain for an opening to escape to sea, he went to New York in 1814 to take over the frigate President, his unluckiest command ever.
He encountered the same problem in New York that he had in Long Island Sound: British warships blocked the harbor continually. Months passed without a break in the blockade. And then, in January 1815, a storm drove the British ships out to sea. Seizing his chance, Decatur set out in the President. Disaster befell her immediately; she struck a sandbar and hung there for nearly two hours before the crew got her off, with a damaged keel and sprung masts. Decatur tried to return to port, but the tide was against him, and he hugged the Long Island shoreline, waiting for the tide to turn.
British warships, however, returned before the tide. The battered President was compelled to fight. While her maneuverability was crippled, there was nothing wrong with her gunnery. In a two-hour running battle with the 40-gun Endymion, the American gunners mauled the British frigate at long range, forcing her to break off the fight. But the President still was far from port, and three British warships overtook her before she made it safely home. With one-fifth of the President’s crew dead or wounded and three of her five lieutenants gone, Decatur reluctantly struck his flag.
Madison was sending the fleet to the Mediterranean to settle up with Algiers. Hadji Ali had declared war in 1814, betting that the British would drub the Americans. On February 23, 1815, just five days after news of the Treaty of Ghent reached Washington, Madison recommended that Congress declare war on Algiers, whose opportunism cried for reprisal.
The U.S. Navy was battle-tested, formidable, and ready for a fresh fight. Its 17-ship fleet of 1812 by 1815 had ballooned to 64 ships mounting 1,500 guns. Algiers hadn’t been idle, either. Its navy had 5 frigates, 6 sloops of war, and a schooner, for a total of 12 ships carrying 360 guns. Its harbor forts were defended by another 220 cannons. That would have been enough to repel the American squadron of 1801, when Commodore Dale entered the Mediterranean with 4 ships, or to give pause to Preble in 1804, when the Constitution was the only American frigate in the sea. But the U.S. Navy had sloughed off its awkward adolescence while fighting the world’s most powerful navy. The fleet’s officers and crews were competent, its frigates big and fast.
Nineteen ships in two squadrons were to go to the Mediterranean under Decatur and Captain William Bainbridge, who had atoned for surrendering the Philadelphia by defeating the heavy frigate HMS Java off Brazil on December 29, 1812. Decatur’s ten ships sailed from New York on May 20, 1815; Bainbridge was to follow from Boston six weeks later.
Aboard the Guerriere was the new Barbary consul general, William Shaler, who was authorized to negotiate peace, as were Decatur and Bainbridge. But the squadron’s officers and men hoped to serve Algiers hot iron and steel first.
The squadron reached Gibraltar on June 15, minus the brig Firefly, forced to turn around with a sprung mast. There was no time to rest and refit at Gibraltar. There were reports that the Algerian squadron, returned to the Mediterranean from cruising in the Atlantic, had just sailed for Cape de Gatt on Spain’s southern coast. Decatur went after the Algerians.
Lookouts sighted several sails off Cape de Gatt the next night. Decatur flashed the signal to the Macedonian, his one-time Britsh prize, and several smaller ships to give chase. By the following morning, the Constellation had spotted a large frigate flying the penndant of Algiers’s admiral, Reis Hammida. The Constellation, Guerriere, and sloops-of-war Epervier and Ontario closed in.
Hammida’s flagship was the 44-gun Meshuda—but not the Tripolitan cruiser of that same name that Commodore Dale had trapped in Gibraltar in 1801. Decatur signaled his harriers to raise British flags, hoping to lure the frigate closer with the false colors of an ally. But the Constellation bumblingly raised the Stars and Stripes instead. The Meshuda, well-crewed and a fast sailer, bolted for the Algerian coast with the four American warships in pursuit.
Through strenuous sailing, tacking, and trimming, the Constellation tried to make up for her blunder, slowly closing the distance to the flying Meshuda. Soon, the Constellation was within range with her bow guns, and opened fire. The Meshuda veered off to the northeast and raced flat-out for Cartagena, Spain. But she couldn’t shake her three other pursuers. The Guerriere, Epervier, and Ontario boxed her in expertly.
As a boy, Hammida had arrived penniless in Algiers from his birthplace in the rugged Jurjura Range of Adrar Budfel—the “Mountain of Snow,” where he was reared among the Berber Kabyle tribe. He signed on as a sailor and succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. Through brains, drive, and ability, he had risen through the ranks of the Algerian navy to become grand admiral. Now, hemmed in by four warships crewed by battle-hardened veterans, he faced a supreme test.
Using all of his cunning, Hammida tried to break out of the trap, but the Americans foiled him. Badly wounded when the Constellation raked the Meshuda’s quarterdeck, he continued to give orders while propped on a divan, bleeding. Then the Ontario crossed the Meshudds bow, and the Guerriere gave her two broadsides that wreaked awful carnage. Hammida was cut in half with a 42-pounder.
Master Commandant John Downes boldly brought his 18-gun Epervier in close and blasted the Meshuda with nine broadsides, and the Algerians struck their flag. Thirty Algerians, including the grand admiral, lay dead on the Meshudds decks. Four hundred six of their fellow crewmen, many of them wounded, became American prisoners. Enemy fire killed only one American and wounded three others; a bursting gun on the Guerrierewas deadlier, killing three crewmen and wounding seven. Just two days after reaching the Mediterranean, Decatur’s squadron had sliced off the Algerian navy’s head.
Two days later, June 19, the squadron spotted a warship off Cape Palos. It took to its heels, spurring the Americans to action. The Epervier, Spark, Torch, and Spitfire gave chase, and soon were in a running gun battle with what they could see was an Algerian brig. In shoal water off the Spanish coast, she ran aground. Some of the crew took to their boats and headed for shore, and the Americans sank one of them. Navy crewmen seized the 22-gun Estedio. Twenty-three bodies were strewn about her decks, and eighty crewmen were taken prisoner. The prisoners and prize were sent to Cartagena. The squadron turned back toward Algiers to confront the dey.
Months earlier, Omar the Terrible had succeeded Hadji, and his short tenure had been rocky. Locusts ravaged the countryside, and Omar had inherited wars with America and Holland. On June 28, nine U.S. warships massed outside Algiers harbor, and Omar knew that his tribulations were just beginning.
Decatur raised a white flag and the Swedish pennant, a signal for the Swedish consul, John Norderling, to whom the expelled Lear had entrusted U.S. affairs, to boat to the Guerriere under a flag of truce. Norderling was accompanied by the captain of the port. Decatur asked the captain where the Algerian squadron had gone. When the captain smugly replied that it undoubtedly was in a safe port somewhere, Decatur informed him the Meshuda and Estedio were now American prizes. The port captain didn’t believe him—until Decatur produced a Meshuda prisoner, a lieutenant, who described the captures of the Meshuda and Estedio, and Hammida’s gory death. Decatur recorded the port captain’s reaction to the news: “The impression made by these events was visible and deep.”
Norderling delivered a letter to the dey from President Madison, announcing that America was at war with Algiers, yet expressing a desire for peace, but not on the old terms of tribute and bribes: “... peace, to be durable, must be founded on stipulations equally beneficial to both parties, the one claiming nothing which it is not willing to grant the other; and on this basis alone will its attainment or preservation by this government be desirable.” A second letter, drafted by Decatur and Shaler, stated they would negotiate only on equal terms and would not obligate the United States to pay any tribute.
The dey invited them ashore to negotiate, but Decatur and Shaler said negotiations must be conducted on the Guerriere. They formally outlined to Norderling and the port captain the treaty terms that would be acceptable to them: abolition of tribute forever; release by both parties of all American and Algerian prisoners; $10,000 compensation for the Edwin and other confiscated American property; and freedom for any Christian slave who managed to escape to an American warship. Captives in any future U.S.—Algerian war would be prisoners of war, and not slaves.
Omar did not want to fight the American squadron, but knew if he conceded all of Shaler and Decatur’s demands without re
ceiving anything in return, he might well feel the silk strangulation cord tightening around his own throat. He said he would agree to the terms if the Meshuda and Estedio were returned. Shaler and Decatur did not object. As far as they could see, the vessels would be of no use to the United States; it was doubtful whether they would even survive an Atlantic crossing. They would return the vessels, they said, but not as part of the treaty. Omar had to sign the treaty before he would get back his ships.
The dey requested a three-hour truce to think about it. Decatur emphatically said no. “Not a minute; if your squadron appears in sight before the treaty is actually signed by the Dey; and the prisoners sent off, ours would capture them.” Only when a boat left shore flying a white flag and with the Edwin’s crew aboard would Decatur suspend hostilities, he said. As the dey was chewing over this uncompromising response, American ships spotted an Algerian corvette in the distance, filled with Turkish soldiers from Tunis. Decatur ordered the squadron into action. The corvette and the Americans’ preparations evidently were witnessed by the dey’s officers as well, because at that moment a boat set out across the harbor, with a white flag fluttering. The Edwin prisoners were aboard.