“Oh, God.” Bliven laughed.
“And, young man, if I was not afraid of these people when I was eight years old, I am goddamned sure not afraid of them now.”
Tobias Lear looked toward the ship as it grew closer, a smile creasing his gaunt face.
“Mr. Lear, sir,” said Bliven, “this has all been very interesting and I am grateful to have had a part in it, but I am not certain how you arrived at a satisfactory conclusion.”
“Ah.” Lear raised a finger. “When dealing with a potential adversary, never present him only with a threat or only with an offer. Best to provide both, first making certain that you can make good on both the threat and the offer. In this case, the commodore was the threat, I was the offer. The result was as you saw. Your enemy will almost always take the offer.”
They made fast to the Constitution’s boarding ladder. “You go on up, Putnam,” said Preble. “I’ll be along.” Bliven scampered up the angle of the ship’s broad tumble home, and made it his first business to search out Preble’s cook, and had him prepare an egg and milk, which he took in just as the commodore was settling himself in his cabin.
“Thank’ee,” Preble sighed. It was not a full measure of thanks, which could have been taken to admit the growing seriousness of his infirmity. It was a contracted thanks in the new English fashion, that acknowledged the service yet lightened the moment.
For the next several days, Lear shuttled back and forth to Simpson, haggling terms with a deputation of the emperor’s divan. At length Preble’s wonted impatience began to take him over, nightly asking Lear what was taking so long.
“You must remember, Commodore, we are dealing with Arabs. Terms are almost never final with them. Every new occurrence can raise new obstacles, and everything is negotiable, and renewably negotiable. It is their culture.”
“Can I help?” Preble pressed. “How can I help?”
“Be here,” Lear assured him. “The presence of your ships here, silent, steady pressure, not too threatening, not too far, lends the weight I need.”
• • •
IT TOOK NEARLY TWO WEEKS before Lear boarded the ship with the renewed treaty bearing the emperor’s seal and tughra; he related that it had been signed with almost no ceremony at all, as though they were happy to be done with it.
“Thank God!” bellowed Preble. That very afternoon he and Lear wrote out the necessary letters, forwarding the treaty to the government for ratification, Preble outlining his situation, and suggesting that an occasional friendly letter from President Jefferson to the emperor could have its own salutary effect. He summoned Charles Stewart over from the Siren, loaded him down with the documents, and dispatched him to Gibraltar.
Preble made ready to sail the next day, but was startled by the arrival of two lighters, loaded to the rails with bullocks, sheep, and fowl, gifts from the emperor. They had lost the light by the time they divided the stock among the ships; morning brought the sight of an assembly gathering along the breakwater, the royal band playing such an exotic air as Bliven had never heard, hundreds of the emperor’s lancers sitting on their horses, and they estimated five to six thousand foot soldiers waving in farewell.
As capstans turned and sails dropped, the Tangier fortress saluted them with twenty-one guns, which Bliven was detailed to answer, firing his twelves all around the quarterdeck and reloading and firing nine. Peace, he concluded, provided a much finer pageant than war. Preble lifted his hat in salute as they sailed slowly by as if in review. “What a pretty send-off,” Bliven said to Lear as the passed.
“You think that, do you?” said Lear. “You know what that is? That is a show of force. Slimane is telling us, ‘You have the sea, but I have the land.’ He is saying, ‘Good-bye, nice to have seen you, don’t push your luck again.’”
Bliven looked again to see if they would seem different with this knowledge, and in a way, they did. He did not wish to be naïve, but neither did he wish to see the world with Lear’s cynicism, even when he was right. Knowing him was instructive, but he would be glad to leave him in Algiers.
Less than four hours in a following wind brought them to Gibraltar, where their first sign of trouble was the Siren’s pinnace, circling in the harbor until they saw where Constitution would anchor, then coming straight for them. Lieutenant Stewart scampered up the boarding ladder as soon as it was dropped.
Preble received him in his sea cabin and instantly perceived Stewart’s distress. “Stewart, what is amiss?”
“Sir, I am sorry to report three of my men either deserted when they were onshore or were taken by the British.”
“What do you mean ‘taken’?”
“Press-ganged, sir. I believe they were taken by force to serve on that big bastard seventy-four you see over there.”
“Have you applied to her captain to interview the men?”
Stewart snorted. “He has given us no satisfaction. Unctuous, arrogant, self-important blow of snot.”
“Have you applied to Governor Trigge?”
“He will not receive me.”
“Well, by God, he will receive me. When did this happen?”
“Last night.”
Preble sat and scratched out a note. “Take this to him and wait for a reply.”
Stewart returned in an hour and a quarter and handed Preble a folded paper.
Commodore, I regret that I am in possession of no facts relevant to the disappearance, or desertion, of the three seamen from the Siren. You are at liberty to call on H.E. Captain Lord Kington, commanding H.M. ship Hector, now in harbour, and see if you can advance your case there.
Very resp’y.,
Your obedient servant,
Trigge
“Well, fine. Do you have a trumpet in your boat, Stewart?”
“No, sir.”
Preble yanked open a cabinet and removed his brass speaking trumpet and followed Stewart out. The pinnace sliced smartly across the harbor to the looming seventy-four, her guns spread over three decks, her bow bearing a grotesque of a massive muscled human figure with the head of a bull. The boarding ladder offered a dizzying climb up to the spar deck, whence they were led down to the great cabin at the stern of the second gun deck, and then into the presence of Captain Lord Arthur Kington, R.N. He was a tall man, an angular man, wearing a powdered wig, though they were falling from fashion, which in Preble’s mind lent him a resemblance to the pictures he had seen of Captain Cook.
He heard Preble out placidly, looking down a stunningly long, aquiline nose. “I am sorry, gentlemen,” he said at last, “I know nothing of a third man, but two of your men approached one of my officers, claiming that they are subjects of His Majesty and desiring to be brought into my crew. I have done so, according to our regulations, and I regret that I cannot make them available.”
There was a smugness in it that Preble mistrusted, as deeply as he mistrusted all English officers. “Why in thunder not? I just want to talk to them.”
“That is why we promulgated regulations, to spare our seamen such intimidation.”
“Or to prevent them regaining their liberty,” swelled Preble. “I want to hear from them that this was their choice, and if it was, so be it.”
Kington rose. “I am sorry, I cannot help you. Good day. Bosun!” The door opened. “Conduct these gentlemen back to their boat, if you please.”
“Your admiralty will be hearing from our Navy Secretary. I will tell him that you acknowledge having two of the men on board under sequestration and denied a request to interview them. You have not heard the last of this.”
Kington smiled. “Again, good day.”
The pinnace bore them back to the Constitution in silence, until Preble growled, “Goddamned English sons of bitches.”
“Sir,” said Stewart, “why would not Governor Trigge help you?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he is scared
to cross the navy. Did you know well the missing men? Were they the kind to desert?”
“No, sir. Two ordinary seamen and one able. I have had few difficulties with any of the crew.”
“Well, I will initiate an investigation, but I hope our men did in fact choose this course for themselves, because if they did not it will likely be years before we can recover them. Damn haughty English bastards.”
“Do you want me to go see Trigge?” Lear asked Preble when he came back aboard.
Preble considered it. “No, I thank you. If he was willing or able to help us, he would have responded better to my note. I do not think you would find the English as susceptible to your administration of pressure as was the Moroccan emperor.”
“Oh, I can assure you, providing us with enough guns, they would be.”
Preble looked at him and saw he was not joking.
“I believe we are unsettling our English cousins,” Lear continued, “now that we can deploy squadrons as capable as their own. Give us a few ships of the line, we would unsettle them even more.”
“We are only here to fight the damned pirates. You’d think they would be grateful, since they haven’t found the masculinity to do it themselves.”
“Yes, but the British, like all diplomats, are looking more moves into the future. I think they sense trouble from a truly powerful American navy.”
“Good,” Preble snorted. “But, hell, now we must get you to Algiers. You should have been there a month ago.”
With the emperor’s bullocks chewing their cud in a pen rigged on the quarterdeck, and sheep and fowls below, there was no need to top off provisions and they put to sea early in the morning. Desiring to preserve what was left of their good will, Preble as he exited their bay saluted the fort thirteen guns, and was happy to hear them returned.
12.
THE LION’S MOUTH
October 1803
As soon as they were free of the harbor, Preble released the parts of the squadron to the points of the compass for the assignments long agreed upon. From Tangier they passed through the straits; Bliven watched the great white rock as they cruised by, and he was persuaded he could never tire of the sight. Perhaps one day he could show it to Clarity.
It was some five hundred miles due east to Algiers, which with a decent wind they covered in three days at just under eight knots. Lear had already prepared letters to send ashore requesting an audience, and information concerning Joseph Barnes and his daughter. Preble decided to forbear saluting the fort until he knew how they should be received; having not himself been to Algiers before, he could not be certain that the firing would not be taken as hostile.
He need not have worried, for Lear returned to the ship with a summons to an audience at two that afternoon. Preble was not pleased to see the dey’s palace high on the hill in the casbah; he was not ill but did not relish such a climb. He straightened his clothes and then had a sudden hope. He leaned out the cabin door. “Mr. Putnam.”
“Sir?”
“I do not expect such good luck, but I suppose it might just be possible that Mr. Barnes and his daughter will be released to us today. Ask Mr. Bandy to get dressed and come with us. They are Southerners, as he is. The girl may be helped by having someone who sounds like he is from home.”
“Right away, sir.”
“Lieutenant Bandy,” said Lear when he joined them, “part of the protocol of presenting my credentials is to give the dey some presents. Could you carry this little chest for me?”
“Certainly, sir, yes.” Bandy took from him a small, latched mahogany chest the size of a letter box.
They were all in their best as they landed at the foot of the mole, met by a platoon of janissaries and the dey’s black chamberlain. “Mr. Jonah, good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lear. How are you?”
“Very well, thank you. May I introduce Commodore Preble, and Lieutenants Bandy and Putnam?”
“Gentlemen, welcome to Algiers. My name is Jonah. I have the honor to serve as chamberlain to His Highness the Dey Mustapha the Sixth ibn Ibrahim.”
“Good Lord, you’re an American!” exclaimed Sam.
Jonah sagged with a smile and looked away, recognizing the deep Southern accent and what Sam’s preconceived notions of him must have been.
“Now, now,” said Lear, “Mr. Jonah hears that from almost every American who lands. We really can’t ask him to repeat his biography for everybody. It is a long walk, Mr. Jonah. Shall we be off?”
They passed down the arches of the bagnios, the cells emptied for the day’s labor, but they all knew what they were, and they entered the warren of rising and turning streets. Sam made his way to Jonah’s side. “Forgive me, but do you think you could bear to repeat the story one more time? I am beside myself with curiosity how you came to be here.”
“We will turn left at the next corner, gentlemen,” Jonah said before turning to look at Sam. “I can tell from your voice you are from deep in the South, is that correct?”
“Yes,” said Sam. “From South Carolina.”
“Ah.” He paused to frame his words. “I and my family were taken by Arab slave traders when I was a small boy. My village was south beyond Timbuktu; they were Moslem, we were not. They took us to the coast and put us on a ship for America, a ship that was more terrible than anything else I can remember. They took us to Virginia, where we were sold. My mother and my brothers and sister were all sold to others, I do not know what became of them. I did not go to a plantation. My master was a ship captain who needed a servant, and I became his cabin boy.”
“I am so sorry,” interjected Bliven. “That was very wrong and should not have happened to you. We do not all believe in slavery.”
Jonah turned and looked at him full in the face. “Thank you, Mr. Putnam, but you may spare me your self-righteousness. The ship that took me to America was from Boston.”
Sam shot Bliven a look that should have expressed vindication, but managed only shock.
“At any rate, I sailed with my master; we were taken by the Algerines. The owner of my master’s ship failed to ransom him, and he worked as a laborer for seven years before he died in the bagnio.”
“So,” said Sam, “he became a slave also.”
“Life does occasionally mete out a measure of justice, yes. Some men in the palace took pity on my situation. They educated me, and when it was found that I had an aptitude for learning, and I learned to speak Arabic, I was placed in the service of the dey. I rose through his departments. With the greater number of English and Americans at court, my usefulness increased. I became his translator, and now I am his chamberlain.”
“Oh, my.” Sam began to find himself short of breath, not so much from the climb as from the scope of Jonah’s story. “Do you still miss your home?”
“I remember very little of my home.”
“What of your home in America?”
Jonah stopped suddenly. “Why ever would I consider America home?” he said and began to walk on.
“Ah.” Sam was quiet as they turned to ascend another street before asking, “Do you ever think of escaping?”
“Why would I?”
“Despite your station, you are a still a slave, are you not?”
Jonah stopped again, surprised. “Mr.”—suddenly reaching to remember his name—“Mr. Bandy, yes, the one who bandies words, now I can remember. Mr. Bandy, slavery here is a different condition. I saw how the plantation workers lived in Virginia. ‘Hoe the corn, yes, Massa.’ ‘Pick the cotton, yes, Massa.’ ‘Fried po’k and cornbread, thank you, Massa.’ Here, I have a servant, I have a woman, I live in the palace. It has much to recommend it even as a chosen profession.” He turned away and led them on.
“Mr. Bandy,” said Lear, “at this rate we will never get there. Surely Mr. Jonah has gratified your curiosity.”
“Yes,�
�� said Sam. “Yes.”
And given him much to think about, thought Bliven.
They entered the confused maze of the casbah, and Bliven wondered briefly how he should ever find his way here again without an escort, but as they entered the square before the palace he realized that all the little streets radiated from it. Coming from the harbor, as long as one kept ascending up, one would arrive here, for it was at the top of the hill. Jonah conducted them through the chicane into the cool of the interior and up the marble staircase, and opened twin mahogany doors into a well-appointed and quite Western-looking drawing room. “Gentlemen,” said Jonah, “if you will wait here, I will let His Highness know that you are here.”
Preble waited until he was gone. “Look here, Lear, we’re not going to go through this kneeling business again, are we?”
“Ha. No, the protocol in a dey’s court is less severe than with the emperor. Now, mind you, old Mustapha knows his station, and he guards his prerogatives. In fact, it will not surprise me to learn that he feels himself underpaid. Of all the Berber lords, he is the oldest, he’s been on his throne the longest. He is not as grand as the emperor, nor as violent as the bashaw in Tripoli, but let me assure you he does not regard himself as their inferior in any respect.”
A pitcher of water and glasses reposed on a sideboard, to which they helped themselves, for they were thirsty from the climb and, in truth, nervous of the pending audience. The double doors swung open again and Jonah appeared. “Gentlemen, if you please, His Highness will receive you in the courtyard.”
October had begun to tame the heat of the Barbary Coast, and the sunlight in the courtyard was brilliant but not oppressively hot. Led by Jonah, they advanced to the dais in pairs, Preble and Lear followed by Bliven and Sam. Jonah mounted the dais, and at their introduction all the officers snapped to attention and saluted, which the dey acknowledged with an inclination of his head, and then spoke aside to Jonah. “You are welcome, gentlemen. But, tell me, what happened to the commodore from two years ago, Mr. Dale?”
The Shores of Tripoli Page 22