Skeletons On The Zahara (8 page)

They secured what was easy first. They found Riley's chest of silk veils and handkerchiefs, and this was most pleasing. They made turbans of the veils and festooned their arms and legs with the colorful handkerchiefs. Not knowing what to make of the feather bed, they slashed it and laughed as the powerful wind carried away the sodden feathers.

Seething and heartsick, the sailors watched as these strange people reveled. Riley tried to convince his humiliated men to attempt to befriend the natives, but it was all he could do to keep them from a violent reprisal. Then one of the plundering youths handed the cold, wet, miserable sailors fire, a good turn that neither Riley nor Robbins tried to explain in their memoirs but that underscores just how differently the Western sailors and the Sahrawis perceived their positions and circumstances. What the sailors saw as robbery, the Sahrawis viewed as accepted, even expected, behavior on the desert. For the moment, this sympathetic act averted a confrontation.

Now that they had abandoned the Commerce, Riley privately questioned his legal authority over the crew, though outwardly he remained in full control. By U.S. law, the master of a vessel held the power to command his men as a father would his children. As late as 1880, a Maine court wrote that three classes of people are rightly governed in this manner: children in families and schools, lunatics in asylums, and sailors on ships. However, Riley now had no ship.

While the Sahrawis came and went over the dunes with their booty, Riley calmly turned his attention to repairing the longboat, which had suffered both from neglect and from the beating it had taken in the surf. He found damaged planks on the verge of springing and nails so corroded by rust that they were shearing off. He hesitated even to turn the boat over to work on its bottom, afraid that it would collapse under its own weight.

Some of the crew followed the captain's lead and came to help, while others gave in to despair. Tired of the futile waiting, Porter volunteered to swim out to the brig to get tools and supplies to make repairs. He was a strong swimmer, and when the wind lulled in the afternoon, he made it to the hull and searched around. He returned to shore again with a marlinespike, a foot-long pointed metal rod useful for hammering as well as splicing, and some badly needed nails. Riley and some of the men set to work on the boat. Horace and Savage pitched in, along with, Riley noted laconically, “one or two more,” probably Robbins and Porter, who helped turn the boat over and filled the hull's loose seams with oakum.

The rest, apparently including first mate Williams, tended to the fire and tapped a cask of wine and drank to dull their fear. They seemed unconcerned that they were weakening themselves in case of attack. Riley later chose not to identify those who had discredited themselves, perhaps because by that time any further punishment would have been redundant. Riley stationed the drinkers, armed with handspikes, around the camp as much to keep them occupied as to dampen the ardor of the thieving Sahrawis. But the former persisted in guzzling wine and the latter in snatching things and carrying them off. After the Sahrawis took the first of the two sails that composed the makeshift tent and then tried to grab the second, Riley rose to his full six feet and indicated with his hands that they must stop. The jackal and his band unsheathed their weapons and held them up menacingly but Riley refused to be intimidated. He did not flinch, and they backed off, eventually leaving with their haul.

That night, using the dried spars and timbers of previous wrecks for their fire, the sailors roasted a chicken that had drowned in the wreck and washed ashore. Their last hot meal for a while also included salt pork and bread and butter. The jackal had indicated to Riley that he and his band would be back in the morning. The captain set a watch of two men, instructing them to keep a fire burning with the withered debris they had gathered on the beach. The rest of the men fell asleep on the sand.

Except for Riley. To the lament of waves crashing on desert sands, he reflected painfully on the fate of his wife and— by now, God willing— five children. Who or what would prevent them from falling into “indigence, degradation, and ruin”? he wondered. Beneath the resplendent sky, the Milky Way an arc of angels' breath from the southwest to the northeast, he felt a swell of regret at the unfettered pursuit of wealth practiced in his country, “a land called Christian it was true,” he later wrote, “but where avarice taking possession of the soul leaves little for the unfortunate widow, the fatherless child, or helpless orphan to expect save a bare existence.”4 And, it went without saying, where men were sent on long and dangerous voyages for the sake of profits.

The night sky was perfect and he wished he could share it with his family, fearing that they might never share another. After midnight, the waning quarter moon rose at the tip of the upper horn of Taurus, near Orion in his eternal dance with the Pleiades. Higher up, red Mars simmered. In the northwest, Vega, Altair, and Deneb glistened brightly like children's eyes. Elegant Cassiopeia crowned the northeast, while Hercules was setting in the west. These were his signposts in the sky, his map of the planet. Shuddering in the cold wind, Riley begrudged them their constancy. He could do nothing for his family now. He was like the lost Pleiad: separated from his family for eternity. He looked over the sleeping crew. “It was a sacred duty assigned me by Providence,” he concluded, “to protect and preserve their lives to my very utmost.” He could only try to keep himself and his men alive, and pray for a miracle.

Shortly after sunrise, the Sahrawis returned. This time there were no pretenses. Their leader, the jackal, brandished a colossal spear over his shoulder, cocked and ready to throw. Jabbing his free hand at the sea and braying, he demanded that the sailors go to the wreck and bring more things to shore. Then he pointed to a drove of camels and camel riders approaching from the east. The women ran down the beach ululating, stooping to gather sand and tossing it in the air to attract the riders.

The jackal advanced on the tent, thrusting his absurd-looking spear— an iron head on a spliced shank about twelve feet long— at the sailors. Riley ran to the surf and grabbed a long spar. Using his size advantage, he parried the Sahrawi “with the most consummate coolness,” according to Robbins. As he did, he ordered the crew to launch the small boat.

The men dragged it into the sea beside the hawser still fastened to the wreck. Riley kept the Sahrawi back as they piled in haphazardly. But before the captain could get in, the nervous men capsized their one seaworthy craft in the crashing surf. The boat filled almost instantly and sank. Spilling out, the men scrambled onto the beach, reassembling behind Riley. Together they shifted farther ashore, stumbling in the sand as they went. The jackal scurried along with them as deftly as a crab, heading them off. He and two armed boys drove the sailors back toward the sea. With grunts and gestures, he threatened them. Despite his crude methods, his message was clear: The men on camels had guns and would kill them.

Riley ordered his crew to ready the longboat for launching. He could only hope that the repairs would allow it to reach the wreck. The sailors ran the boat into the sea and this time, following Riley's instructions, boarded in an orderly way, over the stern one at a time. In their rush, however, they had failed to bring the oars. Grabbing a broken board, they paddled the heavy vessel through the surf.

The boat was half swamped by the time they reached the wreck, but Riley was determined to keep it afloat. He and one of the crew stayed behind while the others climbed on board the Commerce and handed down a bucket and a small keg for bailing.

Then came an unexpected arrival. The pig, as loyal as a dog, paddled up to the wreck. The sailors shoved it on board.

On shore, two of the camel riders, probably Arabs, who were armed not with the threatened firearms but with scimitars, reached the sailors' bivouac and joined in the plunder. They made the camels kneel and loaded them with barrels of bread and salt beef, sails, spars, and the other useful items the sailors had hidden in their tent. These discoveries seemed to inflame the Sahrawis' passion. The jackal pranced about feverishly, staving in the casks of water and wine with an ax, defiantly spilling their contents on the sand. The campfire quickly became a bonfire, the Sahrawis zealously piling on everything they could not carry. The sailors watched dejectedly from afar as their trunks, chests, navigational instruments, books, and charts went up in flames. At last, some of the youths drove the loaded camels over the dunes.

Riley conferred with the crew. They had nothing left to feed or comfort themselves with. There was no escape on shore. They would likely be washed off the wreck and drowned at night when the tide came in. And if not, a rising sandbar behind the brig would allow the Sahrawis to approach them at the next low tide. They found a few bottles of wine and some salt pork left on board. With these, they decided to head out to sea in the longboat.

As they shoved off, a wave crashed over the bow. The boat reeled backward, filled, and began to sink. They hit the brig stern-first. Some of the sailors scrambled up onto the deck. Two grabbed the boat's painter and stern line and steadied it, preventing it from smashing against the brig again. Two others bailed furiously.

The Sahrawis watched dumbfounded from the shore. The idea that the sailors would escape in a boat was almost as ridiculous as the possibility that they might run away on the desert. There was no place to go. Nonetheless, they were vexed by the sailors' attempt to flee and began gesticulating to convince Riley to return. The jackal shouted at the youths, who with their weapons hustled over the dunes. The remaining Sahrawis bowed to the ground, rose smiling, and calmly beckoned with their hands. On the brig, the sailors scoffed at them. After a while, the jackal sent the others away. He took up a goatskin filled with water and held it over his head, offering it to the sailors. He then waded with it into the ocean up to his chest.

Judging their chances in the longboat to be slim, Riley had no choice but to try to establish some sort of rapport with the old man and hope for a change of heart. He lowered himself over the side by the hawser and crawled along it to the shore, where the Sahrawi handed him the skin. Riley thanked him and carried it back to the brig. The Sahrawi now indicated that he wanted Riley to return to the shore while he went on board the brig.

Riley explained to his reluctant crew that he thought their only chance lay in befriending the man and submitting to the will of the Sahrawis. He was going to return to the shore and allow him to come out. The jackal's clan hiding behind the dunes now returned to the beach unarmed. The half-naked women and naked youths sat on the sand near the water with pacific expressions. They looked up to heaven to show their kind intentions. The jackal greeted Riley in the Sahrawi way: “Allahu akhbar!” God is great!5 He then made his way out to the brig.

Riley sat down among the family. Grinning, they pulled the hat from his head and passed it around, trying it on one another and laughing. They stroked his trousers, his hands, his hair, and his sodden leather “feet,” fascinated by the unfamiliar textures. Some intertwined their fingers with his while others shamelessly rifled his pockets. He could smell their dusty unwashed bodies and matted hair, and he could sense his own fear in his twinging nostrils and knotted intestines. Their sudden change in demeanor did not fool him. Their treachery was palpable. He rose to his feet, waved his arms desperately, and shouted to his men, but the noise of the surf swallowed his words. What he was trying to communicate could not be signed. He wanted them to hold the jackal until he had been allowed to leave the beach.

Meanwhile, the sailors grabbed the jackal's arms and lifted him onto the wreck, where he demanded their guns and money. The sailors denied having either. He rummaged around the cluttered deck and peered into the flooded hold. Finally, finding nothing, he dived back into the sea. As the jackal neared the beach, Riley started to rise to his feet. The two cameleers, who had quietly positioned themselves on either side of him, seized him by the arms. Daggers suddenly appeared in the Sahrawis' hands. To struggle, it was clear, meant death.

Riley did what came naturally to a good captain under stress. He feigned unconcern. “The countenance of everyone around me now assumed the most horrid and malignant expressions,” he later wrote. “They gnashed their teeth at me, and struck their daggers within an inch of every part of my head and body.”

All at once, the jackal was at his throat. He yanked Riley's head back with his hand and raised a scimitar. At that moment, Riley believed he would be beheaded and suffer the further ignominy of providing a meal for this barbarous gang. The jackal slowly drew the blade across Riley's shirt collar, slicing it and letting him feel the metal on his skin. But he wanted silver, not blood. He let go of Riley's head and ordered him to make his men bring the ship's money to shore.

On the brig, the seamen had watched this scene unfold. When it appeared that their captain would be executed, they had vowed to avenge his death by arming themselves as best they could, rushing to shore in the boat, and killing as many Sahrawis as they could before they paid with their own lives. Now, to their surprise, Riley hailed the brig. His voice did not carry over the surf. Savage lowered himself down to the sea by the hawser and made his way toward the shore.

“Bring the money,” Riley called to him, when he was within shouting distance. Savage immediately returned to the brig, not hearing Riley's final words, “Do not give it to them until I am fairly released.”

The old man had not found any money on board the Commerce because it was still hidden in the sailors' clothes. The men now pulled out roughly a thousand dollars and tossed it into a bucket. Porter made the strenuous trip to shore, pushing the bucket lashed to the hawser along in front of him.

Fearing that the Sahrawis planned to take Porter hostage as well, Riley yelled to him not to come ashore. Porter complied, and one of the cameleers went out into the surf to get the bucket. All the while, the jackal held his scimitar point to Riley's throat.