In the ensuing minutes, men rummaged for more food and valuables to stuff into their pockets; officers filled satchels; marines guarded the liquor. But mostly, the crew and officers awaited the boarding by the enemy, and waited, as the water rose in the hold. And they waited. The enemy did nothing but lob the occasional cannonball over the rigging.
Captain Bainbridge eventually realized that the enemy—even though it had seen Ol’ Glory drop—didn’t believe the Philadelphia was surrendering.
In hard-fought battles, ships of certain nations had been known to raise the flag of surrender in order to lure a boarding party and then blow them up.
If the enemy did not board the Philadelphia soon, the crippled ship, with waters rising in the hold, might sink, and then many of the officers and crew would drown. Embittered William Ray might have his death by drowning after all.
Lieutenant Porter volunteered to take a boat under a white flag over to the enemy. As Ray caustically put it: “We sent a boat and persuaded them that it was no farce, no illusion, assuring them that our frigate had in reality struck to one gunboat, and entreated them to come and take possession of their lawful booty!!”
Finally, around sunset, the first boarding boats of the enemy arrived. The prospect of Barbary slavery grew all too real. As the orange disc descended into the western Mediterranean, a parade of Moslem officers and men climbed aboard, a fierce costume pageant of baggy pants, turbans, bright-colored vests, made all too real by the glint of scimitars and drawn daggers.
The officers intermixed Arabic commands to their men with Lingua Franca attempts to communicate with the Americans. The valuables aboard this prize frigate and on the persons of the captives incited a frenzy among the attackers. As boatloads of boarders arrived, fights broke out among the attackers over whom to rob. While Americans had drawn no blood, the men of Tripoli drew blood among themselves over plunder. The American Falstaffs slimmed down quickly. The frenzy wasn’t surprising, to veteran observers. While perhaps a Barbary captain might share in the profits from ransoming slaves or selling cargo, “most Barbary crewmen have no other means of drawing profit than stripping prisoners completely,” wrote an Italian, a Barnabas monk, who had been captured in nearby Tunis, around this time.
The words Romo kelb (“Christian dog”) and Senza Fede (“Infidel”) echoed along the chaotic decks. The Moslem officers separated out the thirty-plus American officers to go in the first three boats ashore; it was more than a three-mile pull ashore, with twenty men or more to a longboat. As the American officers climbed over the rail, the pillaging began anew. Someone tore Captain Bainbridge’s gold epaulets off his shoulders; that same man claimed Lieutenant Porter’s sword. The surgeon’s mate, Dr. Jon Cowdery, had his pocket picked of a $10 gold coin, then lost his surtout, a winter cloak. Dr. Harwood, an ill man, and Carpenter William Godby were wrestled to the bottom of one boat, then robbed. The captors forced the Americans to row. Near shore, someone smacked Cowdery hard on the side of his head. He then lost his surgeon’s instruments, his silver pencil, and a silk handkerchief from around his neck.
By the time the boat reached shore, swarthy hands had lightened the American officers of all watches, cravats, and money and had left them with only their trousers, shirts, and jackets. As they debarked at the stone steps of the castle in the harbor, the Americans expected the worst, having long been filled with Barbary pirate horror stories. Instead they were ushered into a room in the palace, where a long table had been set European style. Italian slaves served the surprised American officers a decent supper. “We are treated much better than I expected,” later wrote sailing master William Knight.
The 270 crewmen, however, ferried ashore in relays over several hours, found a harsher fate. In the boats, the enemy raised sabers over their heads while enemy crewmen stripped them down, in a tug-of-war where no American sailor dare put up any resistance. About fifty feet from shore, most of the Americans were yanked overboard to scramble through the October surf.
“At the beach stood a row of armed men on each side of us, who passed us along to the castle gate,” wrote William Ray. “It opened and we ascended a winding, narrow, dismal passage, which led to a paved avenue, lined with terrific janizaries, armed with glittering sabres, muskets, pistols, and tomahawks. Several of them spit on us as we passed. We were hurried forward through various turnings and flights of stairs, until we found ourselves in the dreadful presence of his exalted majesty, the puissant Bashaw of Tripoli.”
The Bashaw—Yussef Karamanli—enjoyed the notoriety of being the first foreign ruler ever to declare war on the United States. (Arabic lacks a “P” so the Turkish word pasha was pronounced bashaw on the north coast of Africa.)