by Dean King
Ten days after leaving the Valley of the Locusts, they crossed the St. Cyprian wadi, reaching the coast just north of Cape Barbas. Robbins had come full circle, in more ways than one. Neglected by Meaarah, he found his health had begun to deteriorate. It would continue to decline over the next month, until Robbins hit his lowest state since arriving on this shore in the longboat. His diet of hard-boiled blood and locusts made him severely costive. "I was completely dried up; and the skin was contracted and drawn tight around my bones," he said. The combination of his chafing clothes and sleeping on the hardpan had rubbed the skin and flesh off his hips so that he could touch his hipbones on both sides. He was "now literally reduced to a skeleton."
The end, one way or another, seemed near.
PART FOUR
A Slow Rush to Swearah
chapter 16
Sheik Ali
Was God with Riley? Or was that just a wishful conceit that he and Sidi Hamet shared? Clearly these two men from different cultures and different religions drew the conclusion that a divine power was watching out for the captain. Hamet had risked everything he owned on Riley and his men, when he could have already sold them at a profit with much less risk or hardship. Instead, he had fought even his own brother to secure the independence of this Christian, a man in whom he recognized great integrity and who he came to believe was blessed by Allah. Despite their differences, Riley and Hamet both believed in a higher being, whether called God or Allah, and found unity in his presence in their relationship. Still, they were engaged in a dangerous transaction for earthly rewards— freedom and fortune— and both dreaded failure.
Riley had, in fact, reached a physical, mental, and moral crisis. He spent the night before Hamet and the old man, Sidi Mohammed, were to depart for Swearah in "a state of anxiety not easy to conceive." Having bluffed his way this far north, he now had to produce real evidence that he had not been lying all along. "To whom should I write?" he fretted. "The Englishman Renshaw, who might or might not still be there? I know no one at Mogadore." And what should he say to procure the aid of whoever received the letter?
Riley recollected the vivid dream he had had the night the Arabs held a council to divvy up the sailors. To this point, the dream had proved true. He had survived all the hardships the desert had thrown at him. He had to keep faith: it was all he had.
Early in the morning, the Arabs woke the sailors and drove them inside Sidi Mohammed's gates. Riley was groggy from the sleepless night outside, but he was determined to persuade Hamet to allow him to go to Swearah too. "Come, write a letter," the Bou Sbaa enjoined him, handing him a ragged piece of paper, eight inches long and the width of his palm, and a reed with some inky black liquid.
Riley hesitated only slightly. He looked his good master in the eye. "Sidi Hamet, please take me with you," he said, "I beg you, sir. I will leave my son, whom I love with my whole heart, here as a hostage, as well as my three men." The boy was still recovering from Seid's abuse.
"I cannot," Hamet replied emphatically. "It is useless to plead." The decision had been made that he and Sidi Mohammed would travel on alone. Hamet had another serious matter to discuss, and he changed the subject. "Rais, the amount that you have agreed to pay is not enough," he said. "You must tell your friend, in the letter, to pay two hundred dollars for yourself, two hundred for Horace, and two hundred again for your mate Aaron. For your men Burns and Clark, one hundred and sixty dollars each. You have promised me a double-barreled gun, and you must give one to Seid too," he continued. "He is a hard man, but he has helped save your life."
Hamet's tone convinced Riley not to argue. He had learned that when two Arabs disagreed on a course of action, he could potentially affect the outcome in his favor, but when two Arabs agreed on a plan, there was nothing a Christian could do to change it. Hamet had obviously struck a deal with Seid and Sidi Mohammed and there was no reversing it now. Riley took the pen, steadied his hand, and began to scrawl the letter that would determine his and his shipmates' fate:
Sir,
The brig Commerce from Gibraltar for America, was wrecked on Cape Bajador, on the 28 August last;
Suspecting that at best his letter would fall into the hands of an Englishman and not knowing what degree of assistance he might expect so soon after the war, he deliberately worded it so as to make his own nationality obscure. When the small crowd of Arabs who had gathered around saw him write Arabic numerals, they were amazed. Since Hamet and Seid denied teaching him, one of them suggested that Riley must have been a slave before, a smart and helpful one, and had thus been taught by his former master despite laws that forbade it.
With the Arabs gazing on intently, he continued:
myself and four of my crew are here nearly naked in barbarian slavery: I conjure you by all the ties that bind man to man, by those of kindred blood, and every thing you hold most dear, and by as much as liberty is dearer than life, to advance the money required for our redemption, which is nine hundred and twenty dollars, and two double barrelled guns: I can draw for any amount, the moment I am at liberty, on Batard, Sampson, & Sharp, London— Cropper & Benson, Liverpool— Munroe & Burton, Lisbon, or on Horatio Sprague, Gibraltar. Should you not relieve me, my life must instantly pay the forfeit. I leave a wife and five helpless children to deplore my death.
Eager to set off, Hamet looked over Riley's shoulder and hurried him. After establishing his commercial relations, Riley insisted on another scrap to write on. When it was produced, he saw that it was part of a Spanish bill of lading. He continued writing:
My companions are Aaron R. Savage, Horace Savage, James Clark, and Thomas Burns. I left six more in slavery on the desart. My present master, Sidi Hamet, will hand you this, and tell you where we are— he is a worthy man. Worn down to the bones by the most dreadful of all sufferings— naked and a slave, I implore your pity, and trust that such distress will not be suffered to plead in vain. For God's sake, send an interpreter and a guard for us, if that is possible. I speak French and Spanish.
James Riley, late Master and Supercargo of the brig Commerce.
Riley folded up his note. He was unwilling to gamble on addressing it only to Renshaw. Consuls came and went. He could not risk having Hamet think his friend was abroad, even temporarily. As for the hope of finding an American representative there, it was unlikely. America's poorly funded, extemporary network often used merchants from other nations as agents, some of whom were not even permanently based in the port they served. Unsure even of which nations kept consuls in Mogadore, let alone who might be present at the time, he addressed it to the "English, French, Spanish, or American consuls, or any Christian merchants in Mogadore or Swearah."
Rightly figuring that they were in a race against time and fate, Sidi Hamet and Sidi Mohammed sped off to the east on mules. Others more powerful than they had divined that the Christian slaves were in the village and had begun scheming to take them. A steady parade of curiosity seekers from the village— Moorish and black Arabs armed with long knives or scimitars and their black slaves— came to the yard where Seid and Bo-Mohammed kept watch. One Arab, grabbing a button on Savage's pants, demanded, "Button, cut it wit a nif," startling the Americans, who had not met an Arab who spoke English, but it was all he could say in English other than a few profanities. While the villagers sat on a mat observing them, the sailors kept to the shade as far as possible, sitting in the unavoidable manure of cattle, sheep, and donkeys. As promised, they were allowed to drink as much water and eat as much as they wanted, barley bread twice daily and lhasa once. Still, they remained weak, all suffering from dysentery and severe hemorrhoids. "Our bowels seemed to ferment like beer," Riley said, "and we were tortured with cholics." While their skin healed in delicate patches, their wild hair, bushy beards, and filthy clothes harbored lice, which became a constant irritant.
The villagers tried to coax the sailors into helping with carpentry, shoemaking, and smithing, but Riley insisted that he and his men had been raised as sailors since chi
ldhood and knew nothing else. Previously, he had asked his men to cooperate to gain the best treatment, but here he reached the same conclusion that Robbins had and warned them that showing aptitude in any of the crafts Christians were known for would only increase the chance of their being kidnapped or sold to a master willing to pay handsomely for skilled labor. When Riley was taken to frame a door at a new house, he pretended he could not understand the instructions for measuring the posts. He hacked at the timbers randomly with an adze, splintering the wood. The Arabs argued over Riley's incompetence. "By far the greater part of them were of opinion that a smart application of the whip would put my mechanical powers into complete operation," Riley observed. One who was not fooled fetched a cudgel, but Bo-Mohammed had no interest in seeing Riley beaten and stopped him.
At night, the sailors now slept in a dingy cellar, a crawl space beneath the floor of the house, which was supported by a mast, a boom, and other ship's wood. Seid and Bo-Mohammed turned a key in the iron lock behind them and slept outside the door with loaded weapons at their sides.
Riley soon learned how the villagers had acquired the ship's timber that some of them had used in their houses when a villager showed him official papers from the Spanish schooner Maria dated 1812 and 1814. Others produced clothing taken from her crew and repeated Spanish curses they had picked up. From what they told him, Riley pieced together the Maria's story. The schooner had come to the coast to fish and trade. Sneaking alongside her in boats at night, the Arabs had climbed on board and killed her captain and three of her sixteen-man crew. After ransacking the vessel, they ran her on shore and made the crew dismantle her for the wood. One old man told Riley that five more of the sailors had died since that night and that the other eight had been traded off to the desert. Others claimed the survivors had gone to Swearah to be ransomed, but Riley believed the old man.
On the sixth day after Hamet's departure, an unexpected visitor hailed at the gate in the afternoon and demanded to be let in. Seid opened the door hastily, and a dark, six-foot Moor swaggered in on the back of a stout horse. From his saddle, Sheik Ali, Hamet's father-in-law, examined with obvious disgust the squalor around him and the scabby Christians lying about like beasts.
Ali's air of superiority as well as Seid's sudden transformation from sullen brute to obsequious servant indicated to the sailors the degree to which their fortunes had just changed. Ali promptly moved into Sidi Mohammed's house, imposing upon Seid and Bo-Mohammed to an extraordinary degree. His aura of command, Riley observed, surpassed even that of the most domineering sea captain. Sheik Ali was also beguiling and remarkably charismatic.
Ali's reputation was such that the villagers immediately began to seek him out to settle their disputes. His summary decisions were handed down with such authority and grace that neither party dreamed of protesting. He was at times, Riley admitted, the most eloquent man he had ever heard. "Open mouths seemed to inhale his honied sentences," the captain effused, explaining that Ali spoke with such "perfect emphasis" that the "elegant cadence so much admired in eastern oratory seemed to have acquired new beauties from his manner of delivery; his articulation was so clear and distinct, and his countenance and actions so intelligent and expressive, that I could understand him perfectly, though he spoke in the Arabic language."
But Ali's moods changed rapidly. Radiant and charming one moment, he was suspicious and conspiratorial the next, and then shouting furiously, terrifying Seid and Bo-Mohammed, who did everything possible to appease him. When he spoke, no one dared move or utter a sound.
It was inevitable that the sheik would turn his attention to Riley and his men, and when he did, looking them over and conferring in low tones with Seid, the captain felt an ominous chill. Ali summoned him and questioned him about his worth, his family, the shipwreck and the dispersal of its contents. He wanted to know how much money and what kind of goods the attackers at Cape Bojador had taken. "What crime was committed to induce these Moslemin to kill one of your men?" he asked.
It was clear that the sheik, to whom Hamet was in debt, was assuming an interest in their future and that his presumption knew no bounds. He examined their bodies carefully as if he were considering buying— or selling— them. Finding the cross tattooed on Clark's arm, Ali pronounced him a Spaniard and declared that he could not be ransomed. Clark, he announced, would go to the mountains and work for him. This was an unsettling verdict, given that, as Riley put it, "every thing that this man said seemed to carry with it a weight that bore down all opposition."
With Seid and the other Arabs, Ali cleverly began to plant the seeds of a dispute. He let it be known that he thought Riley was an "artful fellow . . . capable of any action either good or bad." One minute he was sure Riley was lying to Hamet about having a friend in Swearah; the next he was certain that the captain's friends could raise a great deal more money to ransom him than Hamet had demanded. Seid was only too happy to hear this. The calculating Ali decided that he would stay until Hamet returned.
On the seventh day came a new arrival. A dark, fierce-looking stranger, sporting a brace of horse pistols, a pair of knives, and a scimitar, and carrying a long musket, rode up to the wall on horseback. He hailed Seid by name and said, "Open the gate immediately." When Seid asked him who he was, he replied that he was Ullah Omar and that he had just arrived from Swearah.
As he led his powerful mount into the yard, no executioner could have looked more the part. Riley studied the formidable man, who wore a white turban, a haik, and yellow leather slippers with long iron spurs attached to them. In addition to the weapons, he had two powder horns and a leather pouch with musket balls slung about his neck. Sheik Ali knew him and shook his hand warmly. After greeting the others, Omar inquired which was Riley and approached him.
"I have seen your friend Sidi Hamet one day's ride this side of Swearah," he reported. "He told me that Allah had prospered his journey because of you. I hope that your friend in Swearah will be as true to you as Hamet is." Hamet, he suggested, might return as soon as the next day. But Omar had no more news. He addressed the sailors, who could not understand him, but took heart in his attention and, when Riley translated, in the prospect of Hamet's imminent return.
Seid served Omar a bowl of "cous-koo-soo," as Riley learned the Moroccan dish was called, covered with slices of squash and well peppered. "This dish," he added, "which is made of small balls of flour, boiled with fowl and vegetables, looked (for I had not the pleasure of tasting it) like a very nice dish." Ullah Omar, who carried a pipe and tobacco in his shot pouch, gave the sailors a handful of good tobacco, seeming "exceedingly pleased to have it in his power to administer comfort to such miserable beings." After his meal and prayers, the cryptic messenger departed as suddenly as he had arrived.
Riley could not sleep that night, buffeted by waves of panic. Omar's presence had been reassuring to a degree, but Riley had learned nothing material other than that he had maintained Hamet's goodwill up to the gates of Swearah. The death sentence still stood, and in a literal sense Riley was guilty as charged. He lay awake second-guessing his pledge. It had been an easy decision— he and his men would have traded their lives for a swallow of Connecticut water then— but it did not look so clear now that skin covered his bones again and he had shelter to hide in. On the Sahara, his life had not been worth living. Now he was reminded of his family and former existence.
"My desire to live kept pace with the increase of my comforts," he lamented. "I longed for the return of my master, and yet I anticipated it with the most fearful and dreadful apprehensions . . . I calculated on the moment of his arrival as decisive of my fate. It would either restore me to liberty, or doom me to instant death." Each arrival in the village and opening of the gate caused Riley to shudder.
He prayed to God that he had not come so far to suffer death in the animal filth of the courtyard, to widow his wife, to leave his children without prospects, and to have his companions and his adopted son shipped back out onto the hopeless blazing
wasteland.
chapter 17
The Captain Has Long Been Dead
Striding in deep thought before the formidable walls and turrets of Swearah with minarets rising behind him, Rais bel Cossim nearly collided with the two dusty but dignified-looking Arabs entering the city's eastern gate. Bel Cossim, a Moorish sea captain and man of affairs, was struck with curiosity. Traders who had just crossed the desolate hills around Swearah would have brought goods, but these two had none. "Salem alikoom," he addressed the leading man, whom he recognized as an Oulad Bou Sbaa. "Where do you come from, Son of a Lion?"
"Alikoom salem," Hamet replied to the Moor, who he could see was a man of status and of some perception. "I have come from Souss and before that from the Sahara, a long way. I have come to see Sidi Consul."
"Tell me your business, friend," bel Cossim said, swallowing a laugh. "Perhaps I can guide you." Hamet told him that he had a note to deliver to Sidi Consul from an English captain who had wrecked at Cape Bojador.