The Pirate Coast(56)
The Bashaw was, of course, furious when he discovered American designs on his castle. His irritation mounted even higher when he learned—probably from a spy in Malta—that some Americans were in Egypt trying to find his older brother to bring him to launch a civil war. Ever cunning, the Bashaw ordered his middle son to marry Hamet’s twelve-year-old daughter, who was still a hostage. The marriage was celebrated on December 21, 1804, and humiliated Hamet in the eyes of the people of Tripoli. Now she would show her loyalty to her husband’s family and battle lines in a civil war would be blurred.
When Captain Bainbridge somehow learned of Eaton’s plans to vault Hamet onto the throne, he, too, sprang into action. He wrote several long letters in lime juice to Consul General Tobias Lear, expressing his outrage. Flames brought the invisible words to life. “I can’t conceive that the least benefit could derive to the U.S. from pecuniary or other aid given to the poor effeminate fugitive brother of the Bashaw of Tripoli.”
Bainbridge, from his prison keep, reported that the people of Tripoli despised Hamet. “He was placed by his Brother in Command at Derne, the most favorable province for his attempting a Counter Revolution. The present Bashaw suspecting that he was not conducting himself properly, drove him from that situation, only by an Order without sending troops against him. What can be expected from such a pusillanimous being?”
Just before Christmas the desperate prisoners had convinced Captain Bainbridge to garnish their future wages to pay Danish consul Nissen to cater a Christmas feast. Nissen, a genuinely generous soul, had rushed his orders to the butchers and the bakers. His own wine cellar held the cask. All had appeared so promising . . . but now on Christmas morning, with the Bashaw still irate over the theft, the 275 American prisoner-slaves, along with about 50 Neapolitans, moped in their jail. The feast was nixed. The slaves wistfully daydreamed of home and family and of ample meals. The ill-clad men in the warehouselike prison sprawled on their cots, which had been ingeniously slung one on top of another, five levels high. Then a surprising thing happened. The Bashaw’s investigator found the stolen ropes and supplies in a Tunisian’s warehouse. The merchant admitted buying the cordage from Selim, the Bashaw’s son-in-law.
Though late, Christmas dinner was served to the Americans; the cask of wine arrived. William Ray certainly enjoyed every mouthful. Camel or lamb, it tasted good.
By nightfall, the prisoners, with a gut full of wine, were singing songs. The crewmen were perched upon their bunks—lamps glowing. Ray wrote down the lyrics of one song that he had adapted from the rousing tune of “Madam, You Know My Trade Is War.”
The men, many bearded and unwashed, exhausted and enslaved, sang with all their hearts. Ray was moved. The song was called “Adieu, Blest Liberty.”
In helpless servitude, forlorn,
From country, friends and freedom torn,
Alike we dread each night and morn,
For nought but grief we see;
When burdens press—the lash we bear,
And all around is black despair,
We breathe the silent, fervent prayer,
O come, blest Liberty!
And when invading cannons roar,
And life and blood from hundreds pour,
And mangled bodies float ashore,
And ruins strew the sea;
The thoughts of death or freedom near
Create alternate hope and fear!
Oh! when will that blest day appear,
That brings sweet Liberty?
Just after dawn on December 26, the American sailors trudged to work as usual; their hopes and dreams rested on the U.S. Navy fleet arriving in springtime, or on a negotiator coming with sacks full of money. They had no idea about the machinations of Jefferson’s secret agent.
CHAPTER 11
Reeling In Hamet
WILLIAM EATON STUBBORNLY waited in Grand Cairo for a message from elusive Hamet. Rumors poured in: Hamet had an army of Arabs; he had no army; he was a prisoner of the Mameluke beys; he was dead. After three long weeks Eaton was convinced that a messenger would arrive any moment; he and the others had given up sightseeing. They often spent days in the vicinity of the British consul’s house, listening for the clip-clop of a rider or for a courier pounding on the gate. “I confess I do not feel altogether at my ease remaining so long in a state of uncertitude,” wrote Eaton to Hull on December 29, characterizing the feeling as “something worse than suspence.” He conjectured that maybe Hamet, after being tantalized so many times by promises of American aid, simply doubted their commitment and refused to respond.
Eaton knew, as they all did, that at some point Captain Hull’s patience would have to run out, that he couldn’t endlessly feed an idle crew in port, and that he would then order his navy officers back to ship, leaving Eaton in Egypt to pursue his quest alone. He informed Hull that if no message arrived soon, he would indeed head south, try to cross the Turkish lines, and slip into the Mameluke camp. “The undertaking will be hazardous,” he wrote with customary bravado, “but this is a world of adventure, in which little is to be expected without enterprize and perseverance, and not a great deal to be realized with them.”