White Gold

by Giles Milton

  Sir Edward Pellew was the right man to tackle the slave traders of Barbary. Bullish and resolute, he was prepared to use overwhelming force to achieve his goal. He had set his sights on Algiers, the most troublesome city in North Africa, fully aware that the defeat of the city’s corsairs would send an unmistakable signal to Tunis, Tripoli and Morocco. Pellew wanted nothing less than the total capitulation of every corsair and slave trader in North Africa.

  His formidable fleet arrived off Algiers at the end of August 1816. He anchored his flagship, the Queen Charlotte, in the bay of Algiers and sent an uncompromising message to the ruling dey, Omar Bashaw. Omar was given one hour to capitulate unconditionally, release his slaves and renounce forever the trade in captured Europeans. When the dey failed to answer, Pellew declared war.

  His fleet made a most impressive sight as it maneuvred into battle positions. He had eighteen men-of-war—some armed with more than 100 big guns—and his forces were bolstered by a squadron of six Dutch vessels. But his optimism about the battle ahead was tempered by the knowledge that Omar Bashaw was a shrewd military tactician, who had strengthened the city defenses in anticipation of attack and had called upon the services of thousands of war-hardened fighters.

  Each commander was aware that he was playing for the very highest stakes. If Pellew won the battle, the white slave trade would finally be brought to an end. But if he lost, the prestige of the Barbary corsairs would be hugely enhanced. The 3,000 slaves still being held in North Africa would be condemned to perpetual captivity, and European merchant vessels would once again be in danger of attack.

  The battle began with a single shot fired from a land battery close to the shoreline. Whether or not it was fired accidentally will never be known, but it wrung a terrible response from the furious Pellew. He had already informed his various captains of the signal for action. Now, standing proudly on the deck of his flagship, he raised his hat high above his head, held it still for a moment, then swung it down toward the deck. As he did so, there was a thunderous roar as all the ships of his fleet opened fire. His own ship, the Queen Charlotte, heeled to port as her twenty-four-pounders blasted their first broadside at the city defenses. In the maintop and foretop, the twelve-pounders also let rip, each gun unleashing 300 musket balls at the defending corsairs. As the townspeople of Algiers dived for cover, the other ships of Pellew’s fleet discharged broadside after broadside, sending hundreds of cannonballs crashing into forts, batteries and armed houses. The American consul William Shaler left a graphic account of the destruction wrought by Pellew’s big guns. “The cannonade endures with a fury which can only be comprehended from practical experience,” he wrote. “Shells and rockets fly over and by my house like hail.”

  The dey’s forces put up a stiff resistance, firing an increasing number of cannonades at Pellew’s fleet. The commander of the Impregnable reported that he had lost 150 killed or wounded, while the Glasgow was hit by dozens of rounds. Even more alarming was the accuracy of Omar’s snipers and sharpshooters. A group of them were hiding in the mole-head battery, from where they were able to pick out the finely uniformed officers on the decks of the British ships. Several had their sights on Pellew, aware that his death would be a devastating blow to the attacking forces. Two musket shots passed clean through Pellew’s clothing but—miraculously—left him uninjured. A third smashed the telescope he was clutching under his left arm. As the heat of battle intensified, a large splinter of wood was embedded in his jaw and a spent shot struck his leg.

  Omar’s forces grew increasingly confident as the day wore on. They were wreaking havoc on Pellew’s fleet, shattering timbers with their heavy shot and disabling rigging and sails. “Legs, arms, blood, brains and mangled bodies were strewn about in all directions,” wrote Lieutenant John Whinyates. “You could scarcely keep your feet from the slipperiness of the decks, wet with blood.” Yet Pellew refused to withdraw to safety, for he believed it was his sacred duty to fight to the death. “The battle was fairly at issue between a handful of Britons in the noble cause of Christianity,” he wrote, “and a horde of fanatics.”

  As dusk descended over Algiers, the tide of battle slowly began to turn. By ten o‘clock, the British forces had rained down more than 50,000 cannonballs on Algiers, reducing the main town batteries to rubble. Pellew could now turn his attention to the great corsair fleet in the harbor. He unleashed firebombs and shells into the tightly packed vessels, with devastating effect. “All the ships in the port … were in flames,” he wrote, “which extended rapidly over the whole arsenal, storehouses and gunboats, exhibiting a spectacle of awful grandeur and interest no pen can describe.” By one o’clock in the morning, everything in the marina was on fire, and the fireball was rapidly fanning out toward the city.

  When dawn broke the next morning, Consul Shaler rubbed his eyes in disbelief when he saw the extent of the destruction. Much of the city lay in ruins, including his own consulate, and entire quarters of Algiers had ceased to exist. “The city has suffered incredibly,” he wrote. “There is hardly a house without some damage, and many are ruined.” The harbor presented an even more awesome sight. “The bay was full of the hulks of their navy,” wrote Pellew’s interpreter, Abraham Salame, “smoking in every direction.” He added that “the most shocking and dreadful sight was the number of dead bodies which were floating on the water.” More than 2,000 Algerines had been killed—many of them corsairs—and an even greater number were fatally injured. The British, by contrast, had suffered 141 dead and 74 wounded.

  Pellew was anxious to restart hostilities at first light, but he soon found that there was no need for further action. The dey of Algiers made a brief survey of his once-glorious capital and realized that he could no longer continue the fight. He surrendered unconditionally—a humiliating blow to his pride—and agreed to all of the British commander’s demands. These included the release of all the remaining slaves in Algiers, and the abolition—forever—of Christian slavery.

  The 1,642 slaves being held in Algiers could scarcely believe that their ordeal was finally at an end. During the battle they had been chained together and moved to an underground cavern on the hillside above the city. When they learned of Pellew’s victory—and discovered that their guards had fled—they tore free from their shackles and burst out of their temporary prison. “We rushed out of the cave,” wrote the French slave Pierre-Joseph Dumont, “and dragging our chains, pushed forward through brambles and thickets, regardless of the blood streaming from our faces and bodies. We simply did not feel our wounds any longer.”

  Abraham Salame was shocked at the condition of the newly liberated slaves. “When I arrived on shore, it was the most pitiful sight to see all those poor creatures, in what a horrible state they were.” But for the slaves themselves, this was the moment they had dreamed of for many years. They cheered, they sang with joy and then—with one exultant cry—they shouted, “Long live the English admiral.”

  Pellew himself was immensely proud of his role in destroying Algiers, and even more gratified when he was brought the news that Tunis, Tripoli and Morocco had also renounced slavery. The great slave auctions were to be closed in perpetuity, and all of the remaining captives were freed without further ado. “To have been one of the humble instruments in the hands of Divine Providence,” wrote Pellew, “ … and destroying forever the insufferable and horrid system of Christian slavery, can never cease to be a source of delight and heartfelt comfort.” Pellew’s name was feted across Europe, and many of the nations that had suffered from the white slave trade showed their gratitude for his triumphant victory, making him a knight of the Spanish Order of King Charles III and a knight of the Neapolitan Order of St. Ferdinand. The Netherlands also gave him an honorary knighthood, as did the island of Sardinia. The Pope was so delighted by the news that he presented Pellew with a rare and extremely valuable cameo.

  When Pellew finally returned home to his native Cornwall, he was given a hero’s welcome. For the first time in centuries, th
e local fishermen and traders could put to sea without any risk of being captured and held as slaves. Ministers in London were no less grateful, showering Pellew with honors. He was elevated to a new rank in the peerage and rewarded with a fabulous addition to his coat of arms. Henceforth, the heraldic shield of the Pellews was emblazoned with a Christian slave clutching a crucifix and breaking free from his fetters. It was a fitting symbol for a family that had a deep personal experience of the horrors of the white slave trade.

  SALÉ, SEPTEMBER 2002. A salty squall is shearing off the sea and the wind is wet with spray. On the exposed Atlantic strand, it stings the eyes and batters the ears. But in the lee of the gale—sheltered by a casemate in the shoreside ramparts—the air feels as clammy as a sponge.

  At the mouth of the Bou Regreg river, froth-laced breakers are heaved onto the sandy bar. Two skiffs are struggling through the foam. The waters of the estuary are turbulent and treacherous, and many a Salé mariner has been sluiced beneath the waves while within sight of the welcoming lights of home. It was here that Captain Ali Hakem and Admiral el-Mediouni lost their ships. This, too, was where Thomas Pellow flailed in the surf before being plucked from the sea by his captors.

  I clamber up from the oozy banks of the estuary and enter the walled city of Salé through the Bab Mrisa, one of the eight defensive gates that puncture the thick stone ramparts. Three centuries ago, this was the path trodden by wretched European slaves—men, women and children whose steps were slowed by the weight of their iron chains and shackles. Black slave-drivers hauled them to the place of auction, which was held each week in the Souk el-Kebir.

  I retrace their footsteps to doom, jostling through the crowded alleys that weave toward the marketplace. Everyone in Salé seems to be heading in the same direction, and the city’s heart is a dense mass of pushing, bellowing, elbowing, yelling humanity. Babies are squeezed tight to their mothers’ breasts; a donkey is shoved through the crowds. A press of bodies surges us forward; we tighten into a bottleneck. There is the graveolent stench of a butcher’s stall, the whiff of cumin and the tang of crushed mint. In the midst of this stifling chaos, where elbows are used like oars, traders are peddling their wares. A plump silvery mackerel is plucked from a basket; a water seller jingles his bell.

  The European slaves were punched, pushed and harassed through these narrow alleys. A final kick propelled them into the Souk el-Kebir, where all of the city’s tortuous alleys conjoin. The marketplace is not much changed from how it looked in the seventeenth century. A few sad trees provide shade from the midday sun; a fountain seeps water on to the flagstones. You can buy anything in the Souk el-Kebir—plastic colanders, a spit-roasted chicken, a spray of chintz carnations. Three hundred years ago, the only item on sale—at a cost of about £35 each—was white slaves.

  Thomas Pellow and his comrades were to meet an even worse fate than the captives who were auctioned in Salé. Transported to the half-finished palaces of Meknes, they found themselves constructing their epitaph in pise, a necropolis so vast that neither earthquake nor warfare has managed to expunge it from the landscape. There is something awesome about this panoply of ruined pleasure palaces. The sultan conceived his imperial capital on a scale that still has the power to leave a lasting, haunting impression.

  For Morocco’s bards and chroniclers, this was the crowning triumph of Moulay Ismail’s reign; they wrote paeans in praise of the city’s magnitude and resplendence. “We have visited all the ruins of the Orient and Occident,” wrote one, “but we have never seen its equal.” The same chronicler added: “Our sultan has not restricted himself to constructing one palace, nor ten, nor twenty. There are more monuments in Meknes than there are in the rest of the world put together.”

  As dusk slips into the ruined alleys and thoroughfares, I stray into the deserted outer reaches of this imperial folly—long-abandoned chambers that once formed the domed mansions of the sultan’s eunuchs and viziers. This was where the black guard strutted haughtily through the North African sunlight; this was where they beat and flogged the European slaves under their charge.

  These crumbling walls cost the lives of countless thousands of captives—men, women and children from across Christendom. No one will ever know the exact number who died here, nor how many of their corpses were immured in the great pise battlements. They have vanished forever, burned to ghosts by the quicklime.

  Sultan Moulay Ismail knew that dead men tell no tales. What he failed to foresee was that Thomas Pellow would survive twenty-three extraordinary years of slavery and adventure—and make it home alive.

  Rule, Britannia, rule the waves.

  Britons never will be slaves.

  James Thomson, “Rule, Britannia”

  (early eighteenth century)

  We have been forced to draw carts of lead with ropes about our shoulders … [and] have carried great barrs of iron upon our shoulders. I believe all Christian people have forgotten us in England, because they have not sent us any reliefe … since we have been in slavery.

  John Willdon, British slave

  (early eighteenth century)

  Also by Giles Milton

  The Riddle and the Knight

  Nathaniel’s Nutmeg

  Big Chief Elizabeth

  Samurai William

  Giles Milton is the author of Samurai William, The Riddle and the Knight, Big Chief Elizabeth, and Nathaniel’s Nutmeg. He lives in London.

  NOTES AND SOURCES

  White Gold has been drawn largely from unpublished letters and journals, as well as from contemporary published accounts written by European ambassadors, padres and the slaves themselves. The Arabic sources include seventeenth- and eighteenth-century chronicles, works by Moroccan historians, and letters written by Moroccan courtiers as well as by Sultan Moulay Ismail. All the Arabic sources have been consulted in French or English translations.

  A full reference for each title will be cited when it is first mentioned. The place of publication is London unless otherwise stated. I have not sought to give page references for the many hundreds of quotations that appear in White Gold. Only those considered to be particularly illuminating—or hard to find—have been given precise references. A useful list of accounts written by slaves, along with those by other travelers and adventurers, can be found in Robert Playfair and Robert Brown, A Bibliography of Morocco from the Earliest Times to the End of 1891, 1892.

  The manuscript original of Thomas Pellow’s account is no longer extant, nor are any of the letters or notes that Pellow may have written during his twenty-three years in Morocco. Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas James, who served in the Royal Regiment of Artillery, claimed in his 1771 book, The History of the Herculean Straits, 2 vols., to have seen a manuscript written by Pellow. This is the only reference to the existence of such a manuscript.

  Pellow’s work was first published in 1740 under the prolix title The History of the Long Captivity and Adventures of Thomas Pellow, in South Barbary. Giving an Account of his being taken by two Sallee Rovers, and carry’d a Slave to Mequinez, at Eleven Years of Age: His various Adventures in that Country for the Space of Twenty-three years: Escape, and Return Home. In Which is introduced, a particular Account of the Manners and Customs of the Moors; the astonishing Tyranny and Cruelty of their Emperors, and a Relation of all those great Revolutions and Bloody Wars which happen’d in the Kingdom of Fez and Morocco, between the years 1720 and 1736. Together with a Description of the Cities, Towns, and Public Buildings in those Kingdoms; Miseries of the Christian Slaves; and many other Curious Particulars. Written by Himself.

  I consulted this work alongside two more recent editions. The first was published in 1890 under the title The Adventures of Thomas Pellow, of Penryn, Mariner. It was edited by Robert Brown, whose excellent notes did much to verify the authenticity of Pellow’s narrative. All quotations cited in White Gold are taken from this edition. A more recent publication is Magali Morsy’s splendid La Relation de Thomas Pellow, published by Editions Recherche sur les Ci
vilisations, Paris, 1983. This has an excellent introduction and detailed footnotes. It also lists the paragraphs that Pellow’s editor plagiarized or adapted from other works.

  None of the other documents concerning Thomas Pellow’s shipmates has been published. Most of them—including letters and petitions—are held in The National Archives (PRO) in Kew. Full references are given below.

  Prologue, See here

  See here: The sultan’s love of pomp, ceremony and courtly protocol is documented by many European ambassadors to the court. Their numerous reports and journals are detailed in the notes below. The most perceptive English-language account is John Windus, Journey to Mequinez, 1725. Windus, who accompanied Commodore Charles Stewart’s 1720—21 mission to Meknes, was fortunate enough to see the sultan’s extraordinary chariot while taking a tour of the palace.

  See here: my notes to chapters 5 and 9 for more details about seventeenth- and eighteenth-century descriptions of Meknes palace. When I visited Meknes in 1992, my “guide” was the French padre Dominique Busnot whose excellent book was published in English in 1715 under the title The History of the Reign of Mulay Ismael, the present king of Morocco, London. His work, Histoire du règne de Moulay Ismail, Rouen, was originally published in French in 1714.