The Pirate Coast(14)

Sending an American operative to abet civil war in a foreign country is not something thoughtful men such as Jefferson or Madison would do lightly. Madison in an earlier letter to Eaton, then consul in Tunis, had revealed some of the administration’s logic. “Although it does not accord with the general sentiments or views of the United States to intermeddle in the domestic contests of other countries, it cannot be unfair, in the prosecution of a just war, or the accomplishment of a reasonable peace, to turn to their advantage, the enmity and pretension of others against a common foe.” (August 22, 1802)

Dispatching Eaton marked the first time that the U.S. government ever sent an “agent” or a “covert force” to try to help overthrow a foreign government. It would not be the last: President Madison would finance a team on a secret mission to Spanish Florida; other presidents would tinker covertly to acquire Texas and California. But it was only after World War II, with the birth of the CIA, that the United States began to launch numerous covert operations in countries all around the world: the Philippines, Iran, Guatemala, Vietnam, Cuba, Laos, Afghanistan, to name a few. These murky events—often denied for decades—generally become best known when they fail, such as John F. Kennedy’s aborted effort in 1961 at the Bay of Pigs to dislodge Castro. Rarely do covert ops go as smoothly as when the CIA and British intelligence teamed up to reinstall the Shah in Iran in 1953 so as to keep the oil fields open to foreign companies and prevent—or rather postpone—an Islamic fundamentalist regime.

The people of the United States almost seem in denial about the existence of these operations. Secrecy and duplicity are regarded—perhaps wishfully—as un-American.

Eaton’s mission marked the first tentative steps by a deeply idealistic government trying to wrestle with ugly problems overseas. When is secrecy justified? What about assassination? What about government deniability? Later generations of politicians and spymasters would grow far more cynical about pursuing American interests abroad.

Jefferson and Madison decided that they should show compassion for the foreign leader who would become embroiled in American plans. They knew that covert operations often fail.

Madison added to Eaton: “Should this aid be found inapplicable or thy own personal object unattainable, it will be due to the honor of the United States and to the expectations he [Hamet] will have naturally formed to treat his disappointment with much tenderness and to restore him as nearly as may be to the situation from which he was drawn.” Madison concluded that in the event of a treaty with the current Bashaw Yussef of Tripoli “perhaps it may be possible to make some stipulation formal or informal in favor of the brother.”

Eaton received one key added incentive by taking this assignment. Secretary of State Madison and the auditor at Treasury apparently agreed to hold off from finalizing Eaton’s disastrous accounts from Tunis; for Eaton, victory by Hamet and a regime change in Tripoli might open their eyes to his arguments.

Eaton, revived, a man with a mission, hurried to Baltimore to learn details about his new job from Secretary of the Navy Robert Smith, a forty-six-year-old civic-minded lawyer. Eaton would soon become personal friends with Smith, and later describe him “as much of a gentleman and soldier as his relation with the administration will suffer.”

Eaton was told he would receive the vague title of “Navy Agent of the United States for the Several Barbary Regencies.” Since the new squadron would need at least a month for outfitting and supplies, Eaton had time to squeeze in a quick celebratory visit home before returning to North Africa.

At least twice during their marriage, Eaton had come home in disgrace, the first time after his court-martial, and more recently after being exiled from Tunis and accused of squandering government money. Now this headstrong man was a secret agent, animated by his patriotic mission to rescue 307 American men and boys held hostage in Barbary.





CHAPTER 3





American Slaves in Tripoli City





I know not what will become of the crew; I suspect very few will ever see home again.





—COMMODORE EDWARD PREBLE





UNLIKE THE OFFICERS, THE crewmen of the Philadelphia on the evening of Bainbridge’s surrender were given nothing to eat. They spent a miserable restless night in an outdoor courtyard. William Ray wrote that every clank, every creak set fear that the guards would come to take some of them away to be auctioned. Sleeping aboard ship was cramped and warm in swaying hammocks; that night, hungry, scared men in damp clothes slept on cold hard tile.



At 8 A.M., an effeminate, wrinkled, hunched old man suddenly entered the courtyard, banged his staff three times on the ground, and ululated in victory (“bu-bu-bu-bu” it sounded to Private Ray). It was the holy marabout. Since Bashaw Yussef was convinced the marabout had cast spells to beach the Philadelphia, he rewarded him with a very early glimpse of the new slaves. (Yussef’s faith in the man’s advice ran so deep that he once borrowed pig shit from the American consulate to mix into the royal horses’ feed to try to stop a fatal distemper.)