“I did not think you played at cards.”
“I do not, sir.”
“Ha! How has she found the cuisine on your vessel? Not happy with tea and biscuits, I’ll wager.”
“Actually, sir, we liberated some fresh provisions on our way back to the ship. I’ll put it in my report.”
“Which you will attend to presently.”
“Yes, sir, right away. But to answer your question, Miss Barnes took command of the galley first day. She has done the bulk of the cooking, and she has done rather better than tea and biscuits. She did accept help when some of the men offered it—and she was offered a great deal of help.”
Preble squinted. “I trust there has been no question of improper fraternizing?”
Bliven shrugged in a helpless sort of way. “I had to sleep sometime. But I cautioned the crew, and we did make a kind of latch lock for her cabin door. Otherwise, I believe she is most capable of defending herself.”
“Heh! Scimitar and all that. Well,” Preble sighed, “let’s get them ashore—if you are not too tired?”
“I am fine, sir.”
“Good. Take the jolly boat to the wharf. Get to the consulate and tell Barton of their arrival and their needs. I will send the cutter over to your ship to fetch them, and they will follow. Have Barton send his carriage down for them.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And then when you get back to your Defender, get your things together and come back over here.”
“Oh.” Bliven was unable to mask his disappointment.
Preble noted it. “Acquired a taste for command, have you?”
“Yes, sir, I confess that I have.”
“Well, I have certified her as a prize, and you shall have a commandant’s share of the proceeds, but I need to find her a permanent crew and I can’t do without you here.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“You will have commands, Putnam, but be patient. I am recommending you for lieutenant commandant, so change your epaulette over when you have the opportunity.”
Bliven backed up a step and saluted, but stopped even as he turned to go. “Oh, I almost forgot, sir. We also have that sort of court chamberlain from Algiers, you know, the former slave who is so well spoken? What shall we do with him?”
Preble’s eyebrows flew upward. “He came willingly?”
“Indeed, sir. He stole away from the palace, unlocked gates, made arrangements to aid in the Barneses’ escape. He is responsible for our success, and really he has nothing but the clothes on his back. Should we deposit him at the consulate as well?”
Preble considered it. “That—could be problematical. They are all Virginians. How do we know they would not take him back to work on a plantation?”
“I see your point, sir. I did promise him that we would take him to a place in the United States that was free soil.”
“If they take him to the South, someone will surely claim he ran away from them. More like half a dozen people will claim him. He wouldn’t have much of a chance.”
“No, sir, he would not.”
“Well, when you are through with everything else, bring him over here with you. At least if we take him to Boston he can make a living for himself, being so educated and all.”
“Yes, sir. I am glad to hear you say it.”
“Maybe we can berth him with Bandy. Heh! I would pay money to watch that arrangement for a month.” Preble saluted quickly. “All right, be off with you.”
“Aye, sir.”
Constitution’s jolly boat took him into the quay, and from there Bliven well remembered the direction to the American consulate. He received no answer when he knocked on the consulate door, but, passing around to the rear garden, he surprised Susan, cultivating flowers on her hands and knees. She wore a very plain blue printed smock, her hair in a ruffled cap, her shoes old and very scuffed. She looked up as she heard footsteps approaching. “Great heavens, Lieutenant Putnam!” She got to her feet and found her balance after a few seconds’ vertigo. “You know, if you had put forth a little effort, you might have caught me in an even less elegant moment.”
“I apologize to have taken you so by surprise. Mrs. Barton, you are looking very well, and your garden is beautiful.”
“Well”—she surveyed the tidy parterres—“the early ones are blooming, but we must plant now to keep some color on into the fall. You must have only just arrived; we’ve had no word of it.”
“Yes, ma’am. We dropped our anchor not two hours ago.”
“And may I hope that congratulations are in order, that you had a successful mission?”
“Happily so, ma’am. That is why I am here. I have the new consul to the Two Sicilies, Mr. Barnes and his daughter, on board.”
“Oh!” Her hands flew to her lips. “That means we can go home.” There was an ardor and a longing in her voice that he never suspected might lurk there.
“They are rather the worse for wear from their many months of captivity. They want clothes and are much in need of decent food and rest. May we entrust them to your care?”
“Of course, yes! Did they come away with no things?”
“No, ma’am. My understanding is that they had the use of their trunks during their captivity, but the nature of our escape was such, they really brought nothing with them.”
“When are they coming?”
“They are on their way now, in fact.”
“Heavens! Walk with me.”
The villa’s carriage house and stable lay on the far side, giving Bliven an unexpected transit through a part of the garden he had not seen before, lower and shaded by poplar trees. “Does it not grieve you to be leaving all this?” he asked.
Susan stopped, surprised. “Yes, but rather no. We have enjoyed our years here, but in truth, the thought of going home, to Virginia, and family—if a ship sailed tomorrow I would try to find a way to be on it. But the fact is there is much business to attend to, we probably can’t leave for some weeks. Now I have to think about what size clothes for the girl. Tell me about her.”
“She is sixteen,” said Bliven, “well grown for her age. In fact, if you have a spare dress or two to lend her, that should suffice until you can take her to a milliner.”
“Excellent. What about him?”
“Well, he is about my breadth, perhaps four inches taller—that’s a different case. I don’t think Mr. Barton’s clothes would fit him.”
“No.” Susan laughed. “Mr. Barton wears a size all his own. But what you describe is about the size of the English consul. I will arrange something.”
“Luigi!” Susan called their driver out of his room at the rear of the carriage house. “Hitch up the carriage and take Lieutenant Putnam down to the wharf. Wait there for a man named Barnes and his daughter; bring them back here.”
“Sì, signora.” As he harnessed the team, Susan started suddenly. “Oh, I nearly forgot, come with me.” She led him into the villa through its kitchen door in the rear, down a passage, and through a paneled door into the public area of the house. From a table in the entry hall she handed him a large parcel of letters. “The post arrived this morning; these are addressed to men on various of your ships, through the care of the consulate. Could you take these and see them safely delivered?”
“Gladly, yes, of course.”
Susan saw him up into the carriage. “Bring your commodore back for dinner at eight. Mr. Barron has important dispatches for him.”
“I understand that Mr. Barron is quite unwell.”
She nodded. “And has been for some time. Mr. Preble has been acting in his place, and he is always welcome.”
That having the ring more of a summons than an invitation, Bliven directed the jolly boat back to the frigate to alert Preble, then over to the Defender to collect his things. He found the Constitution’s cutter already
there, with Barnes and his daughter preparing to disembark. The captain’s cabin on a Tripolitan schooner was no palatial accommodation; still, it was an island of privacy that he had come to enjoy, and he looked about for a last time.
Back on the frigate he deposited his sea bag in his former berth, inspected his books, and spied Sam Bandy taking his leisure in the wardroom as soon as he emerged. “Sam!”
“Oh, my goodness—” He shot out of his chair and they took hands. “Welcome back. I assume you wearied of riding your camel?”
“Lord, I think I still have sand in my shoes.”
“And I hear you founded a whole new school of gunnery—firing ramrods, was it not?”
“Oh, don’t you start. Beware of Greeks who say they can fire cannons. But look here, Mrs. Barton gave me this pile of letters for the squadron. Can you take a minute to help me sort them by ship?”
They divided the bundle, and ten letters down from the top of Bliven’s stack, his heart leapt as he saw his name elegantly written on the outside of a thick letter, returnable to Miss C. Marsh, Litchfield, Connecticut. Deftly it went into his pocket. He would not read it now; he would savor the anticipation as it built all evening. Five letters further down he handed one to Sam. “This one is for you.”
Bliven just had time to unpack, and obtain a needle and thread from the purser to cut the epaulette from the left shoulder of his coat and sew it—he could hardly think how clumsily he must be doing it—to the right.
David Barton met them on the porch of the consulate as they approached, round-faced and good-natured as Bliven remembered, and conducted them inside, where they discovered Barnes and Rebecca in much better appearance—Barnes in a suit borrowed of the British consul, and Rebecca in a dark blue dress that he assumed was Susan’s. He was also surprised to find General Eaton, who said he had come up on the Nautilus after his having been summarily disengaged after capturing Derna.
“Commodore, a word privately for a moment,” said Barton, “if you all will excuse us.” Susan conducted the rest into the drawing room until they returned, with Preble having not quite finished searching out pockets in which to tuck a wealth of dispatches.
After the dishes were cleared away from dinner, Barton announced that he had received a copy of the terms on which peace had been reached with Tripoli. He unfolded several sheets of paper with close-packed writing.
“Some of it I’m sure we can guess,” said Eaton. “The United States is going to continue to recognize Yusuf the Usurper as bashaw of Tripoli?”
Barton paused to judge what he might say to reflect his greatest sympathy. “Yes, General, that is one of the provisions. Howbeit, I know it is a consideration unpleasing to you, and to which you are not reconciled.”
It was obvious that Eaton had more to say on the subject, but clenched his teeth to prevent it. “What else,” he said at last.
“The first clause is that we assume the status of most favored nations with respect to mutual trade, the second provides for an exchange of prisoners. Now, it also provides that since we are holding about one hundred prisoners, and they are holding about three hundred Americans—”
“That will be Bainbridge and his crew,” said Preble.
“Yes, since they hold three times as many prisoners as we do, we will pay them sixty thousand dollars for their return.”
“What?” the color drained from Eaton’s and Barnes’s faces simultaneously. Eaton held his hand out to Barton. “That cannot be. May I see?”
Eaton perused the paper. “This is”—he took a deep breath—“this is so. We fought a war! Americans died, to win the freedom of the sea, to not pay ransom—and the first thing we do in making peace is . . . pay them ransom? It is inconceivable! It is outrageous!”
“May I see?” asked Barnes. He read the page quietly; he did not sob or in any way alter his tone of voice, but all could see tears spilling out of his eyes. “So all that we have been through, and yes, all that—I—have suffered, is of no account. No justice, no vindication, no reparation for their evil conduct, we just call it all off and agree to play together henceforward like nice children. This is dishonorable to a degree that I cannot fathom. I cannot believe that my country could strike such a heinous bargain as this.”
He looked at the last page and read softly, “Done at Tripoli in Barbary, the fourth day of June, in the year one thousand eight hundred and five, corresponding with the first day of the sixth month of Rabia, twelve hundred twenty.” Signed for the United States, by Tobias Lear. Quietly he handed the paper back to Barton; Susan looked helplessly upon these men who purportedly held some station of trust with their government, now reduced to such shock.
“I should have stayed another week,” said Preble, “and reduced Tripoli to cinders.”
“By God, I do not accept this,” hissed Eaton. “I am not done with this. Lear!”
“General Eaton?” Bliven’s tone of voice showed the greatest sympathy and solicitude. “I venture to say this only because we served such a long adventure together, and you can have no doubt of the high—very high—esteem in which I hold you.”
“What is it, Putnam? Speak freely.”
“When I was with Mr. Lear in Tangier, and Algiers, he said some things to me that I shall probably never forget. One was that the object in politics, whatever that object is, is always distinct from the means, that when you wish to bend another to your will, you should present him both a threat and an offer. If your enemy knows you can deliver on both, he will likely take the offer, at which time the threat becomes expendable. It seems to me that in his making peace with Tripoli, you and Hamet Pasha were the threat, which by your skills and determination you made a very real and present threat. And so Yusuf Karamanlis took the offer.”
“And so General Eaton’s service is expendable,” said Barnes bitterly.
Bliven looked up at Eaton and found his large blue eyes staring at him coldly. He dabbed his lips with his napkin, slowly; his hands were shaking and it was apparent from his ironclad self control that he was so angry he could barely form words. “Tell me, young Mr. Putnam, when Mr. Tobias Lear was so sagely giving you his tutorial in statecraft and diplomacy, what, may we know, did he say of the national honor?”
Bliven felt Eaton’s stare run him through like a saber, and he looked almost in fright down at the table. “General Eaton, sir, I never heard Mr. Lear speak of honor.”
“Ah.” Eaton looked around the table. “Thank you. There I will rest my case, for the evening. But in future I shall take this matter to the government, and I will see to it that it sticks to them like a blister!”
“All of this is well spoken,” erupted Preble. “But it is not what weighs most heavily on my mind.” When all eyes were on him he continued, “We went to war with these people because they were taking our ships and cargoes, and enslaving our citizens, even as they have done to Europeans for centuries. They say freely that their religion gives them the right to do this. I greatly fear that simple defeat”—he pointed at the treaty—“even if this could be called a defeat, will not answer the case. They should have been reduced, utterly, perhaps even destroyed. If this is where we leave it, we will have to fight them, again and again. I fear that his agreement is but a larger case of General Eaton’s camel drivers. No price is final with these people. When circumstances improve, they will demand more.”
“Gentlemen”—Barton shook his head—“gentlemen. I respect all the sentiments expressed here, and I feel myself honored to sit here in company with men who have carried themselves with gallantry and honor. Yet I feel bound to risk saying, there were other factors at play in making the peace that you may not be aware of.”
The look that Eaton shot him was itself a challenge. “Such as?”
Barton nodded. “His Majesty King Ferdinand has forbidden any further supply of munitions to our ships. If you had marched on Tripoli itself the squadron could no
t have supported you, and you could not take Tripoli without them. Were you aware of this?”
Eaton’s stare bore a hole through him. “I was not. Why has he done this?”
“It was not from lack of friendship to us, but his own defenses were becoming depleted in the face of the continuing threat from Bonaparte. He has been chased out of Naples before and he does not care to repeat the flight to Palermo.” Barton let this register for a moment. “And moreover, young Mr. Putnam has a point. Yusuf the Usurper”—he paused in amusement at his unintended alliteration—“has been suing for peace for a couple of months. The feeling in the American government is that you have administered enough of a lesson for its effect to last. And, as long as they leave our ships and people alone, it is not worth more American treasure, let alone one single additional American life, to punish them just for the sake of grinding them beneath our heels. This is their part of the world and they have their way of life, and so long as they respect the international laws of nations, then the United States will have no more quarrel with them.”
Eaton was crumbling but only slowly. “And what of the sixty thousands in ransom paid to recover Bainbridge and his crew? Is that honorable?”
“General Eaton,” Barton asked, “do you come from a large family?”
Eaton was both dismounted by the change of subject and cognizant that his anger had come to dominate the evening. He was willing to speak of more pleasant things. “Yes, sir, I have twelve brothers and sisters, and with my dear wife I have two sons, three daughters, a stepson, and a stepdaughter.”
“And may I gather that you are, say, about forty years old?”
“I am forty-one.”
“Then you are yet in the prime of your life, and have a future. I am well past mine, although I live well and happily, but if I were young and had much to live for, I think I would try to put such a monstrous injustice behind me, and enjoy the remaining years God gave me, especially if I knew that vindication was uncertain, and even if it was obtainable at all would take years of more anger to achieve.”
The Shores of Tripoli Page 36
