Skeletons On The Zahara (35 page)

Willshire was commissioned to promote Britain's trade interests and to protect and assist her citizens. He was also, now that the war was over, once again an agent for America's consul in Tangier, James Simpson. Within certain limits, there were pools of money to draw from to ransom British sailors, namely from the Ironmongers' company, through the 1723 bequest of one Thomas Betton, which gave half his estate for redeeming British slaves in Turkey and Barbary. God bless him, thought Willshire; Betton had done more to relieve the worldly suffering of Christians than he would ever know.

Ready money was essential because by the time Western government officials could authorize expenditures for ransoms, it was often too late. The mistrustful Arabs raised their price with each meeting, requiring new authorizations, more delays, and eventually resulting in even loftier and more outrageous demands. He had seen men lost to this vicious cycle, either through their own despondency or from a complete breakdown in negotiations. America had no ready funds. Any ransom technically had to be approved by Simpson, who was loath to make a decision without the approval of the Secretary of State, James Monroe. Each round-trip trans-Atlantic communication took a minimum of eight weeks.

Willshire called an attendant. “Gentlemen, please excuse me briefly. Won't you enjoy a cup of tea in the drawing room while I attend to some urgent business?”

When his visitors had left, he turned to his tidy stack of back issues of the Gibraltar Chronicle, thumbed down to August, and began examining the weekly listings of port arrivals and departures. “There she is,” he said to himself, as he checked the arrivals in the August 12 edition and found the Commerce, “40 days from New Orleans.” She was an American brig, then, and captained by a clever man who must have suspected his letter would end up in the hands of an Englishman.

Willshire had a vested interest in seeing that Riley was not ransomed at the excessive rate he had negotiated. Not only Britain but other Western nations, especially the United States, desired to limit ransom payouts to $100 per man. Riley had agreed to pay double that for himself and two others and $160 apiece for two common seamen, as well as two double-barreled fowling pieces and various expenses. Willshire knew that paying this sum would set a bad precedent.

He considered stalling. It would take at least a month for him to receive word from Horatio Sprague, the Gibraltar merchant the letter listed, and probably weeks to hear back from Simpson. In the meantime, if he advanced the necessary funds, he would be out well more than $1,000 in specie and guns, for men whose trustworthiness and ability to repay him he could not be sure of. There were limits to what diplomats were authorized to spend in such situations and often labyrinthine systems for accessing the money, and there were limits to what even a fellow merchant could and should do. If Riley's promises turned out to be untrue, Willshire might well lose a tidy sum of money, at the same time he would be feeding the greed of the desert Arabs. Perhaps it would be prudent to tell the two men in the drawing room that he would need to write for authorization.

“Show Rais bel Cossim and the visitors back in,” Willshire told one of his servants. The deliberations went on for some time, with bel Cossim interpreting. At last they agreed that Sidi Hamet would remain in Swearah as a guest of Willshire while Sidi Mohammed guided Rais bel Cossim south to see Captain Riley and his men. Willshire gave instructions to his servants to prepare a number of items to be sent with bel Cossim. Finally, he wrote a note to Riley and handed it to the dependable Moor. “Rais, Godspeed,” he said. “Take your fastest mule and fly like the irifi to the house of Sidi Mohammed.”

On the night of the eighth day since Hamet and Sidi Mohammed had left for Swearah, the sailors heard footsteps outside the wall. Seid went out to see who it was and returned with Sidi Mohammed and another man, a Moor from Swearah. The two men approached the sailors, who were sitting on the cold ground in the yard.

When they reached Riley, the dust-covered Moor spoke, startling the sailors with his English. “How de-do, Capitan?” he said. The sailors jumped to their feet. Certain that this man was bringing the news that would determine their fate, Riley at first could not speak; his heart seemed to rise in his throat. Finally he took the man's hand and blurted out his questions: “Who are you? What news do you have from Swearah? Is Sidi Hamet with you?”

“¿Habla español?” the self-possessed Moor asked calmly. Riley nodded. Then, speaking Spanish, the Moor introduced himself as Rais bel Cossim. “Your letter has reached one of the finest men in Swearah, an Englishman and a friend of mine. Mr. Willshire has agreed to pay the ransom,” bel Cossim said. “He sent me straight away to deliver you from this place. I barely had time to kiss my wife good-bye,” he added, “and then I rode night and day to get here.”

Flushed with emotion, Riley told this news to the men. “Our souls were overwhelmed with joy,” he reported, “and yet we trembled with apprehension lest it might not be true: alas! perhaps it was only a delusive dream, or some cruel trick to turn our miseries into mockery.”

The Moor handed him a letter. Riley opened it, but he was too overcome by emotion to read it. His hands shook as he gave it to Savage to read out loud. Numb, Riley sank to the ground as Savage read by firelight:

Mogadore, October 25, 1815

My Dear and Afflicted Sir,

I have this moment received your two notes by Sidi Hamet, the contents of which, I hope, you will be perfectly assured have called forth my most sincere pity for your sufferings and those of your companions. . . .

I congratulate you most sincerely on the good fortune you and your fellow sufferers have met, by being in the hands of a man who seems to be guided by some degree of commiseration.

I can in some measure participate in the severe and dangerous sufferings and hardships you must have undergone; but, my dear Sir, console yourself, for, thanks be to God, I hope they will soon have a happy issue; for which purpose I devoutly pray the great Disposer of all things will give you and your unfortunate companions health and strength once more to visit your native land.

This letter will be delivered you by Rais bel Cossim, in whom you may place the fullest faith . . .

While Willshire commended the messenger, he went on to warn Riley to trust no one else. “I have agreed to pay the sum of nine hundred and twenty hard dollars to Sidi Hamet on your safe arrival in this town with your fellow sufferers; he remains here as a kind of hostage for your safe appearance.”1 Keep the transaction as secret as possible, he counseled, “for should the Moors suppose you able to pay more, they would throw difficulties in the way.”

Then came the words that were almost overwhelming: “I have the most sincere pleasure to acquaint you, you will be at liberty to commence your journey for this town on the receipt of this letter.” But Willshire begged them to “make what stages you please on the road” so as not to risk their health through “over-exertion and fatigue.” He also instructed Riley to “write me an immediate answer, stating every particular relating to yourself, your crew, and vessel, as I have given orders to the Moor to forward it to me without delay.”

Riley knew that his own letter had been a single flare fired into a dark night sky. Miraculously, it had been answered. As he and his men celebrated with the self-restraint dictated by their circumstances, they were sobered even further by the angry roar of Sheik Ali, who had now learned the facts of Hamet's negotiation from Sidi Mohammed. Ali railed at his fool of a son-in-law for ransoming the sailors at so low a price and for placing himself under the power of a “villainous Christian.” “Riley,” Ali bellowed, “will murder him, and steal his money as soon as he has these men in Swearah.”

As the mercurial sheik worked himself into a froth, Rais bel Cossim, sensing the danger of his escalating rage, intervened. In what Riley called a “very firm, but eloquent and persuasive tone,” the Moor addressed Ali, showing the quick thinking that gave Willshire confidence in him: “I bought the captain and his men with my own money,” bel Cossim said, though this was untrue. "I paid Sidi Hamet before I left Swearah. Sidi Hamet remained there voluntarily as security against my safe return with the slaves.

“We are all of the same religion,” bel Cossim soothed him. “We owe these Christian dogs nothing, and we have an undeniable right to make merchandise of them and use them as donkeys if we wish. That one,” he said, pointing accusatorily at Riley, “he calls himself the captain, but he is a despicable liar. He has deceived Sidi Hamet and you. He was nothing but the cook on board the ship. The captain has long been dead.”

Ali, a man well versed in the arts of subterfuge, glared at bel Cossim, smelling deceit. “If it were so, how could his note have convinced a stranger to pay so much money for him and the others?” he countered, despite having just claimed it was not enough. “No, he is a man of knowledge and standing. Perhaps you, though a Moslemin, have joined the Christians in a plot to rob and murder Sidi Hamet.”

“No, by Allah! I am incapable of such a betrayal,” bel Cossim declared. “Riley was indeed the cook. Look at him, he was stouter— fat, like a cook— and more able to endure. Look at the others. Give them paper, pen, and ink; they will show you they can write too, and better than Riley.” Bel Cossim's gambit to downplay Riley's status and thus his monetary value put Ali on his heels.

While the two sparred, Seid quietly glowered. Sidi Mohammed, now reinstated as master of his household and aware that nothing good could happen at this late hour, broke up the proceedings, as was his right to do in his own home.

Bel Cossim insisted that his slaves would stay with him and would no longer inhabit the cellar. The others protested but to no avail. Bel Cossim reasserted that he had paid a lot of money for the captives and made it clear that he did not intend to lose any of them. Sidi Mohammed led all of his guests to a mule stable, which, even though recently used by the beasts, was an improvement on the cramped cellar.

At one end of the stable, the Arabs gathered on a platform that Riley believed was made of ship timbers. Here they talked and slept. At the other end, bel Cossim revealed as discreetly as possible the contents of his saddlebags and a pannier he carried. Willshire had sent shoes and hooded woolen djellabas, much needed now that they were in the hills with winter approaching. Willshire had also sent food and strong drink, which did even more for their souls than for their famished bodies. Out of the bag came hard biscuits, boiled tongue, tea, coffee, sugar, and several bottles of rum. They unpacked a teakettle, teapot, cups and saucers, all remarkable luxuries given that they had been eating— when they were lucky— with their hands from shared bowls since landing on the desert.

In the lamplight, Riley parceled out slices of tongue and biscuits, along with neat tots of rum. “We all felt as if new life was infused into our hearts,” he recalled. They topped off this meal with a ripe watermelon.

Next the men slipped the soft leather shoes onto their toughened feet and wrapped themselves in the djellabas. Warmed inside and out, they lay down on the stable floor to sleep. But once again, even a moderate meal caused the sailors to writhe, according to Riley, with “such violent griping pains in our stomachs and intestines, that we could with great difficulty forbear screaming out with agony.” In the clutches of cramps and nausea they were unable to sleep and lay awake contemplating the opening salvos in the conflict between bel Cossim and Sheik Ali.

Early the following morning, bel Cossim roused Riley and told him to make tea. Riley gathered some sticks, lit a fire, and boiled water in the teakettle. Word had spread that Sidi Mohammed had returned from Swearah with a Moor, and the locals, most of whom had never left the area in their lives, began to arrive to congratulate Mohammed on his return and to see the stranger.

In a loud and condescending voice, bel Cossim directed Riley in serving each visitor a cup of tea well sweetened with sugar, cleverly ingratiating himself with the poor villagers and confirming his position as master, not rescuer, of the Christians. None of the guests had ever tasted tea, which had only recently been introduced in Morocco and was far from being the ubiquitous drink it would become, or seen a teacup, and many drank it reluctantly, pleased, at the same time, to be the recipients of the northerner's gifts. Riley served all the guests until they left. Then he poured his men strong tea, which made their stomachs feel better. Bel Cossim turned to Sheik Ali and said, “I told you before that Riley was the cook, and now you see with your own eyes that he is the only one that can wait upon us.”

Around eight in the morning, bel Cossim and the five sailors set off from the village. Their escort consisted of Sheik Ali, who insisted on accompanying them with two bodyguards, as well as Seid, Sidi Mohammed, and Bo-Mohammed. Bel Cossim had tried to buy mounts for all the sailors, but none had been available at any price. They would have to take turns on their insufficient collection of camels, mules, and donkeys. Horace had recovered enough to be steady on his feet. Only Burns was unable to walk and so occupied a mule the entire way.

As they traveled, Riley related to bel Cossim the story of their journey so far. At the end, bel Cossim responded: “Praised be the Almighty, the most high and holy, for his goodness. You have indeed been preserved most wonderfully by the peculiar protection and assistance of an overruling Providence, and must be a particular favorite of heaven: there never was an instance of a Christian's passing the great desart for such a distance before. Sidi Hamet is right. You are no doubt destined to do some great good in the world.”

They passed first southeast through a dry, sandy terrain of sporadic cultivated fields. When they were separated far enough from Ali, bel Cossim answered Riley's questions about the sheik, whose presence alarmed them both. Ali was the chief of a tribe living in the hills to the south on the edge of the desert. “Sidi Hamet married one of his daughters but has since been at war with him,” bel Cossim told Riley. “In the contest the sheik destroyed Hamet's town and took back his daughter but afterwards restored her again on making peace.” The ruthless sheik, it was said, could muster ten thousand men when needed. Bel Cossim believed Ali was scheming against them but told Riley: “Allah could turn his evil intentions to our good. The power that has protected you thus far will not forsake you until his will is accomplished.”