Jefferson was in effect demanding deniability (before the term existed), and he was nullifying the reputation of the operative as irrelevant. That’s standard procedure for covert ops nowadays. Eaton was outraged that Jefferson wanted both deniability and moral high ground, and so have all the presidents ever since.
In his letter, Eaton recapped his situation of going on a solo mission, with almost no support, to find an outcast in Alexandria named Hamet and then to overthrow the government of Tripoli and thereby cripple Barbary piracy. “Though the adventure . . . be as forlorn, and, perhaps, as hazardous as any one ever successfully undertaken by an individual, I will carry it into execution or perish in the endeavour. I am convinced that our captives cannot [by any other means] be released without ransom; and, as an individual, I would rather yield my person to the danger of war in almost any shape, than my pride to the humiliation of [negotiating] with a wretched pirate for the ransom of men who are the rightful heirs of freedom.”
As the coastal breezes pushed the broad canvas and the woven ropes stretched and the frigate crested eastward, Eaton also found time to write a letter to his wife, one that was warmer than his previous ones, which had been harsh and businesslike. “We are now standing to sea before a beautiful breeze and under a full crowd of sail. And in about four hours I shall lose sight of the American shore. When I shall see again this land of freedom, or whether ever, is an event yet concealed in the bosom of infinite wisdom. You may rest assured that I shall use all my exertions to render my absence as short as possible.” He closed a bit more affectionately than had been his recent custom. “I wish you the smiles of Heaven, and am, Madam, with suitable consideration, yours, William Eaton.”
With not a cloud in the sky, steady breezes propelled the squadron of four U.S. frigates eastward for an uneventful two weeks. Restless William Eaton was confined to the hundred or so feet of deck space on the President, careful never to enter the windward side of the quarterdeck unless invited by Captain Barron. Eaton channeled his excess of energy into writing vitriolic letters to Federalist comrades, critiquing Jefferson as a loather of the military. With so much time to pass, Eaton copied passages out of his various books and into his notebooks. Under “Patriotism” he wrote: “Piristratides, going with some others [as] ambassador to the King of Persia’s lieutenants, was asked whether he came with a public commission or on their own to court? He answered, ‘If successful, for the public; if unsuccessful, for ourselves.’ ” And Eaton wrote just below the quotation: “Such, I think, may be my commission to the Barbary Coast.”
At 6:30 P.M., on July 11, aboard the Congress under Captain Rodgers, six men stood on the rope behind the main topsail yardarm, about 150 feet above the deck; they untied the points (plaited ropes) that held the topsail, when a gust of wind suddenly filled that sail. The men couldn’t hold their grip; three fell into the sea and drowned, though an instantly dispatched cutter searched for them. Three crashed onto the deck, two of them died. Many of the sailors now suspected that this voyage might be jinxed.
The extraordinary run of fair weather snapped abruptly on July 21 as the ships reached Pico in the Azore Islands; for the next forty-one days—except for a dozen hours near Gibraltar—contrary winds stymied their race to join Preble at Tripoli for a combined summer campaign.
Not only did headwinds force them to tack hundreds of miles off direct course, but a dead calm set in. The surface of the Mediterranean turned to glass; the ship did not rock. On August 20, off Cape De Gat, while some men fished, William Eaton performed an experiment. He took a “Queen’s Ware” plate, tied it to a log line, and lowered it into the water. He reported that the plate was clearly visible at a depth of 148 feet.
In this heat and calm on this stalled ship, William Eaton finally succeeded in gaining a private audience with Commodore Barron to advance his Hamet project. Barron, at forty-one, was Eaton’s contemporary in age, but Barron hailed from Jefferson country, Hampton, Virginia. And his military career, unlike Eaton’s, showed no disciplinary spikes, no major victories, just a steady climb through seniority. A calm demeanor, a demand for protocol, and a cautiousness seemed his dominant traits. He, like many fellow naval officers, showed a preoccupation with reputation.
For six shipboard weeks Eaton had refined his pitch, and he now came prepared with one dozen crisp reasons: half showing the benefits of backing Hamet and the other half showing the disadvantages of not backing him.
Eaton, in civilian clothes, addressed the commodore. In essence, this veteran of the United States Army was contrasting the benefits of a land attack to that of a naval bombardment. Eaton, though polite, was clearly impolitic in framing the argument that way and pitching it to a lifelong navy man.