A Call to Arms (28 page)

T
HE WINDS
, at least, remained fair. Brisk northerly breezes filled the barge's two luglike sails and pushed the vessel hard to southward against the weaker northerly flow of the Nile. In just two and a half days they arrived at Bulac, the port city of Cairo, and left the barge behind.

The dusty road leading from the docks to the British consulate was thronged with Egyptian men sitting astride donkeys so diminutive that the riders' sandaled feet nearly touched the ground. Made skittish by what they had observed on the Nile, the Americans avoided eye contact as they marched along. They either stared ahead at the British contingent leading the way or looked at the buildings of the city that during the Middle Ages had played a central role in a highly lucrative Oriental spice trade. Major Misset explained that the wealth flowing to Arab merchants from caravan routes streaming through Cairo from Red Sea ports began to dry up in 1497 when the Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama discovered a more profitable ocean route to the Orient around the southern tip of Africa.

To Richard, Cairo looked more like Algiers than like Alexandria or Rosetta. Here there was no Greek influence. Islamic architecture dominated; above the center of the city towered the Cairo Citadel, a twelfth-century bastion that reminded him of the kasbahs he had seen in Algiers and other North African cities. Most buildings were two- or three-story affairs that shone blindingly white in the sun. Low-growing date palms and other attractive flora shaded the narrow streets. Veering off from
these better-traveled streets were narrower alleyways that seemed ideal for the purposes of thieves and cutthroats lurking in the shadows.

At the front door to the consulate, which was located on an attractive thoroughfare within a compound of other foreign consulates packed tightly together, Major Misset returned the stiff salutes of two armed sentries. The sentries parted to allow Misset, Richard, and Agreen to enter. Just inside the door an Egyptian wearing a loose-fitting robe, short jacket, and white
taqiyah
on his head bowed before them.

“This servant will show you to your quarters,” Missett advised Richard and Agreen. “We shall prepare accommodation for Mr. Corbett and Mr. Osborn, as well. Your Marines may bivouac, so to speak, in the barracks behind this building. There is plenty of room in there, and it's really quite comfortable. Are such accommodations acceptable?”

“Quite acceptable, Major,” Richard replied.

There was little for the Americans to do but wait during the days that followed. So wait they did, in ever-deepening impatience and anxiety as day after day accumulated into a week without any word from Hamet or any of the three couriers sent to find him. They walked about occasionally simply to have something to do, always alert for trouble and always keeping within sight of the consulate. No one had much appetite for sightseeing; the subject of the Pyramids or the Sphinx or other Egyptian landmarks was rarely broached.

“How long can we just sit here, Richard?” Agreen asked as the first week since leaving Alexandria became the second. They were lounging on a bench beneath the welcome shade of a broad banyan tree. Three Marines leaned against its trunks, their pistols and knives concealed within the robes they were wearing. “Reckon it's time t' send a messenger t'
Portsmouth
?”

Richard used one hand to hold back his thick blond hair while he wiped his brow with his sleeve. Soon after arriving in Cairo they had changed into less formal garb to blend in with the locals. It was far more comfortable in this dry heat than a tight-fitting naval uniform. Even so, their height and European features set them clearly apart from the local population; curious onlookers regarded them warily, and beggars followed them wherever they went.

“Let's give it two more days, Agee. If we've heard nothing by then, I'll ask the major to dispatch a messenger to Alexandria. If another week goes by and we still have no word, we'll rejoin the ship.”

“Can't happen soon enough for me. This place makes me miss home and family all the more.”

“I'm with you on that, Agee. I have no more love for this place than you do. And there's nothing worse than sitting around all day doing nothing, no matter where you are. But remember, I have a somewhat different perspective on all this. I'm the one who has to report to Captain Preble.”

“Hell's bells, Richard, Preble can't fault you. We've given this mission everything we had, and then some. I'll stand beside you a hundred times over.”

“I know you will, but that's not the point. This is likely our only opportunity to meet with Hamet. So much is riding on it, yet we're powerless to make it happen. We have to rely entirely on others.
Damn,
it's frustrating.”

“Can't Ali help?” Agreen probed. According to the British, Muhammad Ali had promised Hamet Karamanli safe passage should he venture to Cairo. He was pleased to do so, he announced, since whatever Hamet might discuss with the Americans would likely mean the Tripolitan's departure from Egypt.

“I doubt it. I don't know how far we can push Ali, and I don't know how much we can trust him either. Major Misset advised me not to make contact with him. That should tell you something.”

Agreen contemplated that, then said, “Hell, Richard, for all we know, Hamet may be dead, sprawled out in some dark alley with his throat slashed.”

“For all we know,” Richard had to agree.

Five days later, three days after a messenger had been dispatched north to Alexandria with orders to Lieutenant Lee to delay
Portsmouth's
departure, a small entourage appeared before the two sentries at the front steps of the British consulate. There was nothing unusual about that. Unexpected visitors appeared at the consulate at all hours of the day and night seeking personal or political favors. But these three men were ushered inside without the usual protocol, and their introduction to the majordomo ignited a flurry of activity among the consulate staff.

Richard heard the quick step of feet on the stairs leading up to his room on the second floor, followed by a firm rap on the door. He looked up from the daily journal he was keeping. “Enter.”

An Egyptian staff member opened the door. “You have visitors, Captain Cutler,” he announced in well-practiced English.

Richard's senses came alert. “Mr. Karamanli?” he asked.

“I believe so, sir.”

Richard put down his pen. “Inform Mr. Crabtree,” he said. “Tell him, dress uniform.” As quickly as the process allowed, he changed into his
own uniform, draped at the ready over a nearby chair. After a careful self-examination before a mirror and a quick adjustment to his black neck stock, he walked out of his room and down the stairway, forcing himself to move slowly, deliberately, as though he were attending to a routine matter.

In a large, well-appointed room immediately to the right of the front hallway Richard found Major Misset along with three men dressed alike in loose-fitting shirts, baggy pants, and yellow slippers. Each of the three men wore a turban-like headdress, and each had the hawklike features typical of North Africans, although one had darker skin. At first, Richard could not identify the prince among them. No one stood out as such. It was not until Major Missett made the introduction that Richard realized that the darker-skinned man was Hamet Karamanli.

At first blush he was not impressed. Hamet was tall but slightly built. His face was long and narrow with sunken cheeks and thin lips largely hidden by his ebony mustache and short-cropped beard. Hamet acknowledged the introduction to Richard Cutler with a polite bow but remained beside his two companions—bodyguards, Richard surmised—who stood mutely alert with arms folded.

Richard returned Hamet's bow. “Your Excellency,” he said, “I am, as you have heard from Major Misset, a captain in the United States Navy. I am here as a personal representative of my country.” After several moments of awkward silence, during which time Agreen Crabtree entered the room, Richard added, “My first lieutenant and I”—he motioned toward Agreen—“are informed that you have a certain command of the English language. Would it please Your Excellency to discuss the matter before us in English?” Hamet nodded. “In that case, you will understand me when I say that my president, Mr. Thomas Jefferson, sends you his respects and the respects of the American people. We as a united country wish to see you restored to the throne of Tripoli. It is your rightful place.”

Hamet bowed in response. “Thank you, Captain Cutler,” he said in clear but heavily accented English. “May I ask, where is Captain Eaton? I expected to see him here today.”

“I understand, Your Excellency. Captain Eaton sends you his respects as well. At the moment he is in Washington conferring with Mr. Jefferson. He will soon be returning to the Mediterranean. When he does, he will contact you directly.”

“I see,” Hamet said. Then, wasting no words, “Does Mr. Jefferson remain committed to my cause?”

Richard was not caught unaware by the question, but he was surprised that it was raised so quickly and in so curt a tone. No diplomatic niceties for this prince of Tripoli, he thought to himself. He was grateful when Major Misset bade everyone sit down—which everyone did save for the two Mamelukes—and offered refreshments. Hamet politely declined, and the Americans followed suit. The major bowed and left the room, closing the twin doors behind him.

Rather than answer Hamet's question directly, Richard steered around it by first asking Hamet about his affairs in Egypt, hoping to understand the man before trying to assess his leadership qualities. Hamet answered Richard's questions but offered few details. He displayed no emotion until the subject of his wife and children arose. Of all the reasons Hamet Karamanli had for hating his brother Yusuf, Richard quickly surmised, the upstart ruler's treatment of his family was first among them. Richard spoke briefly about his own wife and children, underscoring his love for them and swearing that he would move heaven and earth, if necessary, to free them from bondage. Hamet's stern face softened. He even offered a faint smile, a signal of solidarity between two men who despite vast differences in pedigree and lifestyle were husbands and parents first, and warriors second.

“I wish to know, Captain Cutler,” Hamet reiterated when Richard's questions had run their course, “the answer to my initial query. Does your country still support my cause? Or does it not?” This time he posed the question in a less strident tone.

“I am not in a position to answer you, Your Excellency,” Richard replied forthrightly. “It is not my place to speak for my president on such matters. Captain Eaton is more informed on that subject, and I am certain he will answer your question immediately upon his return to the Mediterranean.”

“Then can you tell me, Captain, what
is
your place, exactly? Why did you and your lieutenant wish to speak with me today?”

Richard did not hesitate. “To understand, Your Excellency, if
you
are committed to your cause.”

To Richard's surprise, Hamet laughed out loud. “That was nicely put, Captain Cutler, I must say! Nicely put indeed!” With those words the dove became an eagle. Hamet's mild voice hardened into the tones of a military commander. “Since you are honest with me, Captain,” he said, “I can be honest with you. I am not the only one committed to my cause. Others, many thousands of others, will fight for me. And I do not count among
them the legions of my countrymen who will rise to my banner when I cross from Egypt into Cyrenaica. Greek mercenaries skilled with cannon are prepared to do battle for me. And many others will swell my ranks. Mr. Farquhar informs me that once we are assured of your government's support, no one will be able to stop us.”

Richard winced at the mention of Farquhar. The Scotsman was already hard at work.

“You say you wish to see me restored to the throne of Tripoli? Let me assure you, Captain: your president has the power to make that happen. And once I am restored, I pledge that peace and friendship shall exist between our two countries for generations to come. The United States will never again go to war in the Mediterranean.”

Richard shot Agreen a glance and received a small nod in reply. The fundamental question of the day had just been answered to their mutual satisfaction.

As
THE AMERICANS
were leaving Cairo for Alexandria, Edward Preble in Syracuse received a dispatch from Navy Secretary Robert Smith. A fourth squadron, Smith advised, was gathering in Hampton Roads. The frigates
Congress, Essex,
and
John Adams
were preparing to sail from Virginia for the Mediterranean in late June.
President
and two brigs of war would follow two weeks later. Preble was at first elated, thinking that these ships were the reinforcements he had most earnestly requested from headquarters. But as he read on, his mood darkened.

USS
President,
the dispatch continued, would convey Capt. Samuel Barron to the Mediterranean. Preble knew Barron—and his reputation as a sea officer who never questioned orders on his steady rise up the promotion ladder. And he had seniority over Preble. Upon his arrival at Syracuse, Smith confirmed, Captain Barron would assume command of the Mediterranean Squadron.

Smith's dispatch included words of high praise for Preble's service to his country. Smith even quoted Admiral Lord Nelson's widely publicized remark that the burning of USS
Philadelphia
was “the most bold and daring act of the age.” But the American people had reached the limits of their tolerance for this war, Smith continued; and the president, the president's cabinet, and Congress viewed the current expansion of naval forces in the Mediterranean as a final initiative by the United States to force Yusuf to the bargaining table. If this initiative failed, the communiqué concluded, Consul General Tobias Lear was instructed to offer Tripoli twenty thousand dollars for making peace, plus five hundred
dollars per man for
Philadelphia's
officers and crew, plus ten thousand dollars in annual tribute. Preble bristled on reading those ludicrous terms. Had President Jefferson allowed political expediency to trump his oft-stated principles? Was the U.S. government now prepared to pay an annual tribute to Tripoli in addition to agreeing to crippling peace terms? Preble could not believe it.