White Gold

by Giles Milton

  After admiring the workmanship of the slaves, Stewart and Windus were taken to the Dar el Makhzen palace—an agglomeration of buildings that covered a far greater area than the Dar Kbira. This part of the palace was crowded with retainers and ministers, all of whom were anxious to catch a glimpse of Commodore Stewart and his entourage. “We went through divers large and neat buildings, now and then passing gates guarded by eunuchs, who beat away all but those who were to conduct us.” They crossed another sunken garden, “very deep, having a great deal of clover in it, for the horses of the palace.” On the farthest side were yet more palaces, “supported with neat piazzas [colonnades],” as well as ornamented steps winding down into the garden.

  Stewart and Windus were completely confused as to their whereabouts. They guessed that they had been led back into the heart of the imperial palace, for the adornments became increasingly lavish and ostentatious. Snow-white stucco was scooped into swirling arabesques; spandrels and corbels were adorned with starbursts and curlicues. The mosaics, too, became ever more complex—a geometric interplay that fooled the eye and dazzled the senses. “We came to the most inward and beautiful part of the palace,” wrote Windus, “which also has a garden in the middle, planted round with cypress and other trees.” This edifice must have cost a veritable fortune to construct, for “all the pillars of this building, which is of a vast length, are of marble, and the arches and doors of the apartments very finely workt.” Windus was informed that the pillars were Roman and had been brought to Meknes from Salé but it is more likely that they had been pillaged from the ruined city of Volubulis, which the men had visited just a few days earlier.

  Their tour had by now lasted for several hours, and their spirits were beginning to flag. It was scorching hot in the midday sun, and they were suffering from parched throats and blistered feet. They were therefore relieved when their guide suggested they rest for a while before continuing with their visit. “One of the queens sent us a collation of dates, grapes, melons, almonds and raisons, figs and sweetmeats of their making,” wrote Windus, “with an apology to the ambassador because there was nothing better, it being Ramdam.”

  The men were more than satisfied with these platters of juicy fruit: “[It] was very welcome, for walking had made us dry, so we sat down under the piazzas, and were attended by the maids of the palace.” Windus was enchanted by these pretty women—slaves—whose filigree jewelry clinked and jingled as they served the figs and grapes. “[Their] jetty skins received the embellishment of shining bracelets and silver trinkets, which they wore in great plenty upon their legs and arms.” They also had chunky chains of gold slung around their necks, as well as “monstrous large earrings and other African ornaments.”

  Stewart and Windus rested for several hours and continued their visit only when the worst heat of the day had subsided. They were taken to inspect underground cisterns, treasuries and gun rooms, where the quantity and variety of weaponry was startling. “In these magazines may be seen bills, battle-axes, and warlike instruments of all sorts; a great many blunderbusses of different sizes, with brass barrels, helmets in boxes and wrapped up in paper.” There were flintlocks and harquebuses, halberds and hatchets. Windus noted that many of these came from European arms manufacturers and must have been seized on the battlefield or sold to the sultan by unscrupulous dealers. “After we had seen a much greater store of arms than any of us imagined this prince had,” he wrote, “we were led into the inside of an apartment.” This was Moulay Ismail’s private chamber, which housed his enormous bed. Having studied its dimensions, Windus reckoned it “would hold about twenty people.”

  The ambassadorial tour of the palace continued for much of the day. Each time the men thought they were ending their visit they would turn a corner and stumble across an entirely new collection of palaces. Windus found the koubbas, or domed sanctuaries, to be particularly beautiful. One ceiling was “finely painted of a sky colour, with golden stars representing the heavens and a golden sun in the middle, of curious workmanship.” Another koubba was filled with gifts presented by European monarchs, “among which were seven or eight coaches … and his choicest goods; in one of them were hung up the fine glass sconces that His Majesty, King George had sent by the ambassador.”

  The men passed one “massy” building whose unfinished facade lacked any adornment. This, Windus was told, was where Moulay Ismail intended to be laid to rest. “In the inside, they say, there is a chain that is let down from the middle of the roof, by which he intends his coffin shall hang.”

  There were many plots of vacant land inside the palace complex, as yet devoid of buildings. One of these open spaces was crawling with “large ratts … [that] ran about so thick that the ground was almost covered with them.” On the far side of this space was a fragrant pomegranate garden, linked to the palace by a strong bridge. This was joined to a “causeway’ or alley—still inside the palace complex—that ran for three miles toward the stables.

  John Windus tried to take stock of all he had seen. He calculated that the main living quarters of Moulay Ismail and his wives were “about four miles in circumference” and stood on the highest ground. The external walls were built of mortar that was “in every part very thick.” Windus reckoned that each section of wall—there were too many to count—was approximately one mile long and twenty-five feet thick, enclosing many “oblong squares a great deal bigger than Lincoln’s Inn Fields,” some of which were entirely decorated in mosaic tiling. Several contained sunken gardens of astonishing depth and were planted with “tall cypress trees, the tops of which, appearing above the rails, make a beautiful prospect of palace and garden.”

  Beyond the private quarters of the palace lay the ongoing building works of the Madinat el-Riyad—home to Moulay Ismail’s viziers and courtiers, as well as his black guard, horses and huge stockpiles of grain. Although Windus tried to work out the total area of ground enclosed by the palace, he found it impossible since entire sections were continually being remodeled or enlarged by the sultan. He nevertheless calculated that if the various buildings were lined up, one next to the other, they would “by a moderate computation” stretch from Meknes to Fez—a distance of some forty miles.

  His incredulity at the scale of the palace was tempered by the fact that it had been built entirely by Christian slave labor, aided by bands of Moroccan criminals. “It is reported that 30,000 men and 10,000 mules were employed every day in the building of the palace,” wrote Windus. He added that such figures were “not at all improbable, seeing that it is built of hardly anything else but lime, and every wall worked with excessive labour.”

  After two days spent visiting the building works, Commodore Stewart felt it was time to try to free the British and colonial American slaves. He had brought scores of presents with him and now began to distribute them to the sultan’s courtiers. More than fifty palace retainers were to be presented with gifts, including “the king’s head cut-throat” and an English renegade named John Brown, who was one of the guards employed to oversee the Christian slaves. Stewart had even brought a gift for “the man that carrys the umbrella over ye king” and another set of presents for “the people that carry the king’s spare cloaths.” All of these costly gifts were handed to the sultan, in the hope of speeding up the release of the slaves. But Moulay Ismail warned that little could be done until the end of Ramadan. It was a frustrating time for Stewart and Windus. They could achieve nothing without the sultan’s help, yet Moulay Ismail spent the greater part of each day in prayer. “This is,” sighed an exasperated John Windus, “the most religious age that ever was in Barbary.”

  Ramadan finally came to an end on 15 July and was celebrated with much festivity and pageantry. The sultan led public prayers to mark the beginning of the great feast, followed by colorful processions to which the British retinue was cordially invited. The principal parade was to take place outside the city walls, and it was suggested that Stewart and Windus should watch the unfolding extravaganza from the
walls adjoining the Spanish infirmary, where “the prior had built a handsome scaffold for us.”

  At exactly ten o’clock, the procession could be heard approaching, “great numbers of foot firing, and horse cavalcading, some with launces and others with firelocks.” The soldiers discharged their guns with a careless abandon that shocked Windus: “They sometimes set their turbants on fire, and burnt their faces in a desperate manner.” As the pall of gun smoke drifted from the parade ground, a burst of sunlight lit up the colorful proceedings. Stewart and Windus glimpsed “eight or nine blacks in a row, carrying large colours, with great gilt balls on the top of their staves.” The brilliant costumes of these bukhari made a splendid sight, yet they were followed by an even more flamboyant troop of guards and kaids. First came one of the emperor’s sons, flanked by a mounted sentry. There was a stately calash, led by six black women, and an imperial guardsman carrying “a large red standard with an half moon in the middle.” Close behind was a most magnificent troop of foot-guards, “cloathed all in leopard and tyger skins,” along with “a guard of young blacks with launces and firearms intermixed.” All were firing their guns into the air, filling the parade ground with the acrid stench of burning powder.

  Finally, the sultan himself arrived in the square. He clutched a gun in his hand, “his umbrellow kept all the way twirling over his head, and the negroes continually fanning and beating the flies from his horse.” As he neared Stewart and Windus, who were standing on the viewing platform, he lifted his gun and aimed the muzzle at a Moroccan spectator who was standing too close. Windus was horrified, but before the sultan could shoot the man, “the guards seized him,. hawling him away perhaps to be executed for his presumption.”

  Moulay Ismail was surrounded by his most loyal horsemen, who were decked “in armour, some gilt all over, others only their helmets.” They were followed by a most impressive array of foot soldiers, carrying spears and standards, battleaxes and bills.

  Windus was astonished at the spectacle unfolding before him; the pomp and pageantry was unlike anything he had ever seen in London. He was even more amazed when the sultan’s horses came into view, “with saddles of beaten gold set with emeralds and other stones, some of which were very large.” Bedizened with sequins, tinsel and pompoms, they made a most colorful if gaudy spectacle.

  The procession was by no means over, but as all of the dignitaries had already passed, Commodore Stewart decided to depart. The morning’s ceremony had made him hungry, and he was looking forward to the hearty feast promised by the Spanish prior. He quickly found himself disappointed. “The prior … did his best,” wrote Windus, “but his cooks being Spanish, the victuals were sadly drest for our taste, and his wine very bad.” Once lunch was over, and the last of the pageantry came to a close, Stewart and Windus returned to their lodgings to await the summons of the sultan.

  Moulay Ismail had been giving much thought to the matter of the British slaves. He knew that it would be hard to evade releasing them now that he had signed the treaty. He was also in need of the ransom money, which was on its way to Morocco. But when he declared to the court his intention of freeing them—and word of his decision reached the slave pens—he found resistance from a most unexpected quarter. Many of the other Christian captives in Meknes, particularly the Spanish, were “not desirous that so many English should be carried away.” They feared that they would have to fill their places in the labor teams “and have a double portion of work.”

  Envy, too, played its part. The other slaves were “grieved to see the king of Great Britain so careful in endeavouring to release his subjects out of slavery, whilst they lay neglected and without hopes of redemption.” They sent a letter to the sultan explaining their woes and—much to their surprise—learned that Moulay Ismail was in agreement. He had become increasingly concerned about losing several hundred masons and carpenters, and sent a message to Stewart, warning him to return to England immediately. His only concession was that the ambassador could take with him the nine slaves he had already been given. This extraordinary volte-face left Stewart reeling. He was disgusted by such treatment, particularly as his gifts were now in the sultan’s hands. Yet such behavior on the part of Moulay Ismail was by no means unusual. A master of caprice, and chimerical to boot, he enjoyed running rings around visitors to his court.

  Stewart, wondering whether the sultan would ever release his British slaves, asked Moses ben Hattar for advice, and was told that his best hope was to ask one of the sultan’s favorite wives, Queen Umulez Ettabba, to intercede on his behalf. Stewart did exactly that, writing a long letter of explanation to the queen. His exasperation at the turn of events is clear; he begged the queen to help and asked her to “represent these things to the emperor, and use your interest [so] that I may be dispatched in what I have requested.”

  The queen went straight to Moulay Ismail and appealed to him on Commodore Stewart’s behalf. She found the sultan in quixotic mood; he expressed his total willingness to comply with the ambassador’s demands and told her that “never came [a] Christian of more judgement and goodness” to his court. His only concern was that he had no idea how many British captives were being held in the slave pens, since a large number had either apostatized or died.

  In the third week of July Commodore Stewart received word that the deadlock was about to be broken. “The emperor ordered all the English captives to be drawn together in his palace,” wrote Windus, “and at the same time sent for the ambassador.” There had been so many delays and setbacks that Stewart had begun to fear he would return to England empty-handed. Now, the tables had turned once again, and the commodore felt confident of success for the first time. “We went with the musick playing as before,” wrote Windus, “and found the emperor sitting under some piazzas.”

  As Stewart approached the sultan, Moulay Ismail clambered on to his horse and said, “Bono, bono.” He was as disingenuous as ever, but proved the very model of courtesy. He apologized to Stewart for any misunderstanding and assured him that there was no question of the British and American slaves remaining in Meknes. He pointed to a large group of wretched men, signaling that these were the only slaves to have survived their long and terrible ordeal. Then, “waving his hand to the captives, he bad them go home along with the ambassador into their own country.”

  Few of the men dared to believe what they were hearing. They had waited six years for this moment and had prayed they would be released before they died of disease or starvation. Some of their colleagues had been butchered by the sultan himself. Many more had been battered by his monstrous black guard. These hardy survivors had mourned too many deaths during their years of captivity. Captains, masters and mariners: all had succumbed to the rigors of hard labor; on Thomas Pellow’s vessel, the Francis, four of the men had died. Only Lewis Davies, George Barnicoat and Thomas Goodman remained alive. The crews of the other vessels had experienced an even greater death toll. Many hundreds of British mariners had been captured over the past six years, yet a mere 293 remained alive.

  Moulay Ismail’s words had a peculiar effect on each and every one of the men assembled in the palace courtyard. Suddenly spontaneously, “they all fell prostrate, crying out ‘God bless thy power.”’ They lay in the dust for some minutes, each man wondering if he dared to believe that his captivity was really over. There had been too many false dawns; now, at long last, their hellish existence seemed to be at an end.

  When the men finally picked themselves up from the ground, they were warmly embraced by Commodore Stewart, who was anxious to leave Meknes as soon as possible, before the sultan could change his mind. He bade farewell to Moulay Ismail and began to lead the newly freed captives toward the great gates of the palace. As he did so, Moulay Ismail called out “that he loved the ambassador and all the English, because he knew they loved him and his house.” He added that “there should not be an English man a slave in his empire, for he would set them all at liberty in what part soever they were.” Then, with a dramatic flo
urish, “[he] galloped away with a launce in his hand, his guards running close behind him.”

  When Moulay Ismail was out of sight, Commodore Stewart greeted the men properly and checked on their condition. He had every reason to congratulate himself, for he had managed to liberate all of the British and colonial American captives being held in the Meknes slave pens. But he had failed to free any of the women in the harem—if they were still alive—nor had he released the captives being held elsewhere in Morocco. One other group had also escaped his attention. Not a single British renegade was set free, even though many of these slave-servants had apostatized against their will and were desperate to return to their homes and families.

  Among them was Thomas Pellow, who had acted as interpreter and adviser to the commodore, and who was present at all times during Stewart’s stay in Meknes. The exact details are frustratingly vague; Pellow “passed it by in his journal” because he knew that Stewart was intending to write his own account of the mission. But he certainly advised the commodore on his “entrance, behaviour, usage and return” and also played a pivotal role in winning the delivery of the slaves. His reward was to be abandoned to his fate—left to the whim of the dangerous and capricious sultan. Pellow was distraught, for he had hoped and prayed that he might be released. He now knew that if he was ever to be reunited with his family in Penryn, his only option was to escape.