The Shores of Tripoli

by James L. Haley

  Preble stepped forward. “Mr. Dale is retired, Your Highness, and he lives quietly with his family.”

  “Ah. A state much to be envied.”

  Bliven was struck by his age, and his being completely swathed in white cotton. Such simple dress made it the more surprising when he noticed that four of the wrinkled fingers bore magnificent rings. Following the introductions, a motion from Jonah brought another white man to mount the dais, from the rear.

  “Mr. Barnes?” said Lear, too soft and cautious for an exclamation, but in great surprise. He appeared well kept, his clothes laundered and pressed, his face shaven and his hair tidy. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, thank you. I am well treated.”

  “I am Tobias Lear, newly accredited consul to Algiers.”

  “I am glad you have come. I gather, then, that my letters have reached the right places, and our needs are known, to get on our way to Sicily?”

  “Indeed, they have. Your government is undertaking every effort to gain your release.”

  He saw the dey relate something to Jonah. “Is this not interesting? Algiers finds itself honored with the presence of two American consuls.”

  “One of whom,” Lear rejoined instantly, “I hope will soon be on his way to freedom, and I am here to present my credentials to Your Highness as your new American consul, at your service.”

  He handed his packet to Jonah, who held it out to the dey, who reached out and touched it. “We are pleased to welcome the new consul of the United States.”

  “Mr. Bandy?” Lear reached out and took the small mahogany chest from him. “It is my pleasure to present to you these small tokens of the esteem in which my country holds Your Highness, and the friendship of Algiers.”

  Jonah took it and opened its contents for the dey’s inspection, and he glanced inside. “We thank you for these . . . very small tokens indeed, but this is not the tribute that has been long expected.”

  “Highness?” Lear was surprised that the dey got to the heart of the matter so soon.

  “Your last payment of tribute was two years ago. Patiently we have been waiting, relying on our friendship with your country, that you would meet this obligation, to which you previously agreed. Our brother princes of North Africa have not hesitated to take what is due them, from your ships, but we have waited in friendship. May I believe that you have brought this tribute, and it awaits in your beautiful ship that anchors in our harbor?”

  Even for a diplomat, Lear was taken aback at his abruptness. “Highness, it is my government’s hope to reach a better understanding between our two countries, one that will include the benefits of culture and commerce, and not be dependent upon acts of illegal piracy.”

  “Mr. Lear, this is not a good beginning. Piracy is an honorable practice of the faithful, that we are permitted to carry out against infidels, to do with them as we choose. We have made this clear many times. We are willing to listen to proposals of a new arrangement, but because you have kept us waiting two years without payment, we now require an additional surety of your good faith.”

  “What has Your Highness in mind?”

  “Some years ago your government accorded to us a frigate as your annual tribute. As I am recognized as the overlord of Tunis and Tripoli, I will be satisfied to be presented with another. He held up his hand suddenly. “Not even one so large and fine as you arrived in, but a serviceable, and equipped, frigate.”

  Lear swallowed, and Preble bit his lip. “Of course, Your Highness. I do not have the power to grant this request, but I can assure you, I will make your exact desires known to my government.”

  The dey dropped his head tiredly, flattening his long white beard against his wraps. “Yes, all must begin anew. But we urge upon you, being two years tardy, to act with haste. I am known as a temperate man, but there is an end to my patience.”

  “I shall be happy to meet with Your Highness’s ministers and set down an exact accounting of what would satisfy your requirements, and how we may resume the friendly relations between our countries. But now touching upon the state of Mr. Barnes, and his daughter, who are held hostages . . .”

  “We think of them as our guests, Mr. Lear.”

  “I beg Your Highness to understand that all the usages of international law accord safe passage to diplomats, who are the necessary emissaries who represent their government to another government. Their function is indispensable, and their safety must be guaranteed.”

  The dey seemed wholly unimpressed. “Mr. Lear, I have learned that in your country you have a principle of business that I believe is a good one. If you begin a course of action that may be dangerous, you can make sure that your affairs will not suffer by paying a sum of money to a man who will bear the risk for you. You call this insurance. The English have been doing this for many years. Are you familiar with what I speak?”

  “Very well, sire, yes.”

  “There was a time when our relations were regular, and friendly. But your country has set us so much in doubt—you have taken the ships of my brother princes, you have compelled a treaty against the interest of my sovereign, the emperor, your warships prowl the sea like lions looking for prey. If I undertake a new round of talks with you, I must have some surety that you are not merely buying time, to bring more warships and do myself and my people harm. Surely this is not beyond your understanding.”

  Lear stood a little straighter. “Will my continued presence here in Your Highness’s court not be insurance enough of our good faith?”

  “I have better already,” said the dey with a tone of triumph. “I have Mr. Barnes.” He gestured behind him, to the top floor of the palace, which featured an overhanging, screened wooden balcony. “And I have his daughter.”

  Lear flushed. “Your Highness, my government takes the gravest possible exception to threatening innocent civilians—”

  “Please. We do not threaten them. As I said, they are our guests, but they shall remain here at our pleasure until we are satisfied of your intentions. We do not single you out for this method. We assure you, if the French or the British behaved in such a threatening manner as you have, sending an entire navy to our waters, we would resort to the same . . . surety.”

  Without meaning to, Bliven drew in his breath. He was no diplomat, but he had been around enough tough-minded men to know when a situation was taking on a dangerous tint. He leaned forward and said right into Preble’s ear, “Well, if he finally arouses the British lion where nobody else has been able to, he may well be sorry for it later.”

  “What?” The dey held up his hand and brought all else to a close until Jonah told him what the young officer had said, and smiled when he understood.

  When the dey finally spoke up on his own accord, addressing them directly, more audibly, his voice was old and soft, and somewhat effeminate. When he looked at Bliven there was a tenderness in his eyes that in a different circumstance one might have seen as possessive. Bliven felt certain that it was his physical qualities that were being appraised, not his bearing, but there was confidence in the old dey’s voice. As with the emperor, they learned that he understood more English than he had let on. “You speak very certainly of lions. Have you ever, yourself, seen a lion? Do you know lions, what they can do?”

  Bliven had been speaking metaphorically, but had to smile in appreciation that the dey had caught him blustering on a subject that he really knew nothing about. “No. Tell His Highness that I have never, myself, actually seen a lion.”

  The dey caught him smiling and smirked back. “Would you like to see a lion?”

  The American officers looked around among themselves, then to Preble. Any offer of hospitality must surely be a good thing. Preble nodded his assent. “Yes,” said Bliven finally. “Yes, we should like that very much.”

  The dey summoned Jonah closer and whispered privately to him for some minutes, occasionally laugh
ing softly. At length Jonah stepped back and bowed, and the dey made them a gracious gesture to dismiss them.

  “There is a menagerie beyond the garden,” said Jonah, “if you will come this way.”

  Thinking that he might not see this ancient courtyard again, Bliven looked around and then up. They were already standing on the second level of the palace, and he saw an outdoor stone stair ascending to the third story, one side of which was an open arcade from which there must be a view down to the city. In front of them, the third story divided, and projecting above it was a kind of mezzanine, not fully a fourth story, with no exterior entry. It had a wooden front and an evident balcony that looked down into the court from a wooden screen, decoratively pierced. As it arrested his eye one of its screens opened on hinges and he realized they were shutters. A veiled woman in red silk looked down on him, and when briefly she lowered her veil he saw she was white, with brown hair that fell about her shoulders. She was large, but quite pretty in the face, and when she was sure that his eyes had met hers, she nodded to him and he made a small bow. Again she lifted her veil and closed the shutter.

  “Lieutenant?” It was Jonah’s voice. “This way.”

  He led them to the stone stairway at the side of the courtyard, which they discovered had a mate beneath it that took them back to the first floor. At the bottom a short corridor led to what Bliven took for a banqueting hall, for there were long, low tables, too low to match any chairs, set with silver trays, but he saw rows of cushions set down each side and understood this must be how they dined. This hall opened onto a fine stone veranda enclosed by iron grilles, with a gate that led to a garden of greater tropical splendor of ferns and cycads than he could have imagined. Only after they entered did Bliven notice the wandering presence of small hoofed stock that he took for antelope, browsing in perfect serenity. Moslems, he had come to learn, shared a belief in the Garden of Eden; perhaps this was their representation of it.

  “Excuse me one moment, gentlemen.” Jonah unlocked and entered what looked like a storehouse. When he emerged he was bearing a short lance, impaled on the end of which was a joint of animal flesh—he could not discern what joint—weighing about twenty pounds. Jonah handed it to Bliven. “Come. Would you care to serve the first course, Lieutenant?”

  At the far end of the garden, but screened by greenery so they could not see it, were four large cages, each housing an enormous maned male lion.

  The one they approached had been lying on one side, but with his head up, watching their every move with amber eyes that moved hardly at all, but as they came near he pushed easily to his feet with a growl that seemed to make the very gravel dance on the path. Bliven had never heard a sound so low, so ominous. The floor of the lion’s cage was a yard above the ground, so that when he stood his belly was at their eyes’ level, and Bliven found himself looking up at his dark brown mane as he shook it. The mane extended down to a straight dark brown fringe under his belly, flecked with straw. When they were fifteen feet away he roared once, briefly but unnerving, and so deep that Bliven felt it as much as he heard it. The lion faced them, stock-still, as they came up to the bars.

  “If you please, Mr. Putnam,” said Jonah. “He is hungry.”

  Swallowing, Bliven inched nearer, selecting a point not nearest the lion but to his front, and, standing well back, slipped the meat through the bars on the point of the lance. In the flash of half a second the lion lashed out, its tawny paw opening out to the size of a dinner plate, extending claws the size and shape of the dagger he now kept in his cabin, and raked the meat from the end of the spear. In reflex Bliven started back and gasped. With a satisfied grunt the lion seized the flesh in his jaws, exposing straight yellow teeth that could have bitten into a man as easily as a doll. He circled to the back of his cage and lay down, and leisurely tore strips from the mass of meat.

  Jonah gestured to the caged monster. “Well, Lieutenant Putnam, now you have seen a lion. What do you think?”

  Bliven shook his head. “I am undone. He is magnificent. I had no idea, the size and power of such a beast. Part of me is sorry to see him caged up like this, but my God, what a terror he would be if he were free.”

  “I am glad to hear you say so,” said Jonah. “Because you see, gentlemen officers, there are in this world some beasts that you don’t want to let loose into the world. It is best to keep them fed, to keep them . . . pacified. I will wager that your commodore and your consul take my meaning, even if it escapes you.”

  “We understand perfectly,” Preble said sharply.

  “Very well, gentlemen officers, and we hope you will continue to bear in mind that the British lion is not the only one to be feared in this world. Now”—he led them to a wooden gate in the wall that he pulled up on a latch and swung open—“if you turn right down this street you will come to the palace square, and you can find your way down from there. Mr. Lear, no doubt you will want to go back to the ship and collect your things. Next time you come, we can help you find someone to get your consulate in order and you can move in. Good day to you.”

  He closed the gate behind them, leaving them alone to ponder the day’s events and how they might best proceed.

  13.

  NAPLES

  1803–1804

  Back on the Constitution, Preble poured them all glasses of sherry and indicated seats around his table. “Well, Lear, what are you going to do?”

  Lear shook his head. “There is nothing I can do for poor Barnes, at the moment. But his is one case where time can be on our side. It always takes at least two months to send a letter home and receive a reply. And I can stall a few weeks longer, I can haggle for a couple of weeks just over their initial demands, so each step of the process can take three months. For all we know, you could sweep the sea clean in three months.”

  Preble pressed his lips together. “Don’t think I won’t try.”

  “A clean defeat would solve everything.”

  “Well, first we have to square things with the Sicilians. I know they’re supposed to be putting together supplies and gunboats for us. Bandy, go find us a chart. How long do you think till we can get to Palermo?”

  “Actually, Commodore,” said Lear, “Palermo is out of it. The Bonapartists have suffered a defeat, and the king has moved his court back to Naples. But”—he shook his head and shrugged uncertainly—“by the time you get there, who knows? Naples has traded hands twice already. You might stop at Palermo on your way there and get the information before you go all the way to Naples.”

  “Indeed?” Preble held up the bottle of wine to offer more; Lear nodded and scooted his glass over. “Besides, if your cook has a use for marsala wine, that is a capital place to lay in a stock of it.”

  “What about you, Lear? You think you will be safe here?”

  Lear made a dismissive “Pah!” with his lips. “I think so. He certainly won’t harm me as long as he has a chance to make a new fortune. He’ll be expecting presents—a chest of gold and silver, a nice gilt coach.” He pointed a finger playfully at Preble. “A new frigate.”

  “Over my rotting body,” said Preble darkly.

  “Besides, I can work my way back into the diplomatic corps here. We all look out for each other, just as they have all been protesting Barnes’s detention, although they have taken no action. Anything too outrageous would complicate his ties to the other countries. So in sum, yes, I think I will be fine.”

  Bliven marveled again at the calculating Lear. Seemingly he could summarize in an instant who was involved and what their stake was, what moves they might possibly make or why they would not, what possibilities had already been exhausted and what remained. If he ever acted without an honorable motive, he could be a terrible force for ill.

  “And what of Mrs. Lear? Shall you keep her here?”

  “Oh, yes, I have no doubt she will be welcomed into the diplomatic community.”

  “W
here is Mrs. Lear?” asked Preble. “I’ve not seen her since we returned.”

  “Resting in her cabin. She sends her greetings.”

  “Is she game for all this?”

  “Very much so,” Lear said. “She is a spirited young lady.”

  Yes, thought Bliven. Lear could use her Washington name to knot himself into the good opinion of the other consuls and depend on her presence to possibly shield him from the worst that the old dey could do. Yes, she could be very useful to him. God, he thought, now he’s got me thinking like him.

  Preble poured himself another glass of sherry. “What do you know of the American consul to the Sicilies? I guess he’s had to stay over indefinitely while Barnes”—he slapped his hand down on the cork to secure it in the bottle—“has been corked up.”

  Lear appreciated the play. “Ha! Yes, David Barton, he’s a good man, everybody likes him. I admit there are intrigues within the diplomatic service”—he looked up dubiously over the rims of his spectacles—“but no more so than in the navy.”

  “Psh!” huffed Preble. “It’s a nest of snakes then.”

  Lear smiled briefly. “But Barton is very intelligent, very attentive to his duties, and he is a real, what the French call a bon vivant. You will guess this when you meet him, for he weighs at least twenty-five stone—the more noticeable because he is not very tall. He and his wife, Susan, are well matched, for she has the same appearance, but they appear healthy and are widely known to be kind and hospitable. This has helped us, for his nature coincides exactly with the king, who has made him a particular favorite. We owe Barton a great deal, for it is he who secured the king’s permission to borrow those gunboats and bomb scows you so covet to use against Tripoli.”

  As he spoke, Preble began unconsciously to rock just a little forward and back. His stomach hurt, and he knew he must drink no more wine that night. “That is very useful to know. I shall know exactly how to proceed with him.”