CHAPTER 11

Reeling In Hamet

WILLIAM EATON STUBBORNLY waited in Grand Cairo for a message from elusive Hamet. Rumors poured in: Hamet had an army of Arabs; he had no army; he was a prisoner of the Mameluke beys; he was dead. After three long weeks Eaton was convinced that a messenger would arrive any moment; he and the others had given up sightseeing. They often spent days in the vicinity of the British consul’s house, listening for the clip-clop of a rider or for a courier pounding on the gate. “I confess I do not feel altogether at my ease remaining so long in a state of uncertitude,” wrote Eaton to Hull on December 29, characterizing the feeling as “something worse than suspence.” He conjectured that maybe Hamet, after being tantalized so many times by promises of American aid, simply doubted their commitment and refused to respond.

Eaton knew, as they all did, that at some point Captain Hull’s patience would have to run out, that he couldn’t endlessly feed an idle crew in port, and that he would then order his navy officers back to ship, leaving Eaton in Egypt to pursue his quest alone. He informed Hull that if no message arrived soon, he would indeed head south, try to cross the Turkish lines, and slip into the Mameluke camp. “The undertaking will be hazardous,” he wrote with customary bravado, “but this is a world of adventure, in which little is to be expected without enterprize and perseverance, and not a great deal to be realized with them.”

An edginess seemed to infect the entire party. The restless Americans passed the time gambling, playing billiards, drinking, visiting brothels. A 42-gallon cask of Madeira and a 72-gallon cask of wine showed up on the expense account for Cairo.

On the night of December 29, in a run-down billiard hall, as outcasts from a dozen nations looked on, Robert Goldsborough of the U.S. Navy and Richard Farquhar, the ambitious Scot, played several games of billiards; the bet was a half-pint bottle of attar of roses, a perfume easily available in Cairo.

Goldsborough, a cocky young man from a prominent Maryland family, had arrived in Cairo to deliver a query from Hull and had stayed to await a definitive reply from Eaton. The two billiards players, both drinking, argued over the tally in the game; they insulted each other. A choice word from Farquhar provoked Goldsborough, who threw the first punch. Standing toe to toe, they exchanged blows, with each man receiving a black eye. Then Farquhar wrestled Goldsborough to the floor and began pounding him. The crowd, apparently deciding that the American was in the wrong, was ready to let the Scot “break his bones” as one witness later put it. But Selim, the jack-of-all-trades Janissary hired by Eaton, jumped in and rescued the young American officer.

Eaton was not at the billiard hall and so only learned of the “fisticuffs” the following morning. Eaton interrogated various officers and found out that Goldsborough was probably guilty of much more than one single brawl. He was accused of cheating at cards at “the most respectable Christian house in Grand Cairo,” and also of drunkenly wandering the streets of Cairo lifting the veils of women. (It’s a minor miracle that a jealous husband or brother hadn’t killed him.)

Goldsborough was apparently willing to risk his life to view beautiful plump women. “Her face is like a full moon,” ran one Egyptian proverb on beauty, “her haunches are like sofa cushions.” This metropolis, coveted by so many foreign conquerors, had another proverb, germane to the next accusation against Goldsborough: “Choose a blond woman for your eyes; choose an Egyptian for pleasure.”

Eaton wrote that Goldsborough, the Argus’s purser, was also accused of “what is somewhat more base, [that is,] of bilking his Courtezan in a Brothel.” Eaton was mortified that the first appearance of American officers in the famed city of Cairo should result in such boorish behavior. “Good God,” wrote Eaton, “when will our young men learn the weight of respect which ought to attach itself to a Uniform and a Sword?”

Goldsborough, when he found out the exact charges, denied everything. Eaton, although he was not Goldsborough’s superior officer, strongly advised the young man to return to Alexandria the following day, which happened to be New Year’s Eve. Goldsborough reluctantly agreed. (He would later demand an apology from Eaton, who instead would recommend him for court-martial.)

Eaton decided that he had better show Captain Hull some progress of some kind, so he dispatched Richard Farquhar to go to Alexandria with a ragtag bunch of recruits, lined up in Cairo for the Hamet mission. He gave Farquhar orders to feed them and retain them “conditionally,” and to look for more “conditional” Christian troops in Alexandria.

In addition, Eaton around this time signed up another recruit, an extremely unusual fellow. Thirty-six years old, a muscular 5'9", he told them he had already led many lives under many names: He claimed to have served in the Austrian, French, and Turkish armies and deserted from all three; he said he had run a British coffee house in Cairo, had joined the Capuchin monks, had become a Moslem dervish after publicly circumcising himself, and had visited Mecca. No one knew whether any of it was true, but Jean Eugene, as he now wanted to be called, spoke many languages, and he was enough of a military engineer to know about land surveying. Perhaps every covert op needs a multilingual, pathological liar.

While Eaton lingered in Cairo, it looked as though the war might come to him, just not the right war. The Nile-drenched valleys in Upper Egypt had finally dried, and the Mameluke army was reported “approaching Cairo with imposing strides.” As hoarding began, shortages hit the city; a huge camel caravan full of supplies coming from Suez was waylaid by Bedouin, worsening the situation. On Wednesday, January 8, Eaton received another impatient letter from Hull. “At all events it is time to determine on something, for it is impossible for us to remain here long.” The Argus was running out of food, he wrote, and no cash remained to buy any more. He politely suggested that if Eaton needed any more money, he should draw on the U.S. Navy or the State Department but not on Isaac Hull or the Argus. “I do not think I have any authority to draw money for any other purpose than paying [the Argus’s] disbursements.”

Hull, however, didn’t relish hamstringing Eaton. “You will pardon the hints I have given in this letter.” Eaton dashed off a reply. He stated he planned to leave Cairo in two days—not to return to Alexandria—but rather to head south with Presley O’Bannon and try to survive “wild Arabs,” “Arnaut Turks,” and Mameluke beys. “If we fail . . . , you will do us the justice to believe us Martyrs to a cause in which we feel the honour and interest of our Country deeply involved—Release of our Prisoners without Ransom and peace without the disgraceful condition of Tribute.”

Whatever Eaton’s love of glory, he returned time and again to this root motive for his mission: The honor of the United States demanded zero toleration of extortion and insult by Tripoli.

(Eaton didn’t realize it, but on that exact day, one-third of the way around the world in Washington City, Thomas Jefferson was reaching a more pragmatic conclusion. After a Cabinet meeting, he wrote in his notes: “Not to give a dollar for peace. [However], if the enterprise in the Spring does not produce peace & delivery of the prisoners, ransom them.” The president, though, clearly wanted to test the military option first.)

Standing at the front gate of British House, Eaton sent off the courier to carry his letter to Hull in Alexandria. He was forcing himself to envision the prospect of a long, dangerous trek south.

Moments later, an Arab, dusty from the desert, arrived at the gate . . . with a message from Hamet. Finally. Eaton rushed to find Selim to translate it from Arabic. (Hamet spoke Arabic, Turkish, and some Italian; Eaton spoke English, French, and some Italian.) It turned out that only by the thinnest of margins had one of Eaton’s letters reached Hamet. The Maltese couriers, disguised as Arabs, had been captured as spies by the Mameluke troops, who sentenced them to die on the following morning; that night, they slipped liquor to their Moslem guards, who became drunk. They were able to escape and found Hamet the next day.

Hamet’s encouraging letter read:

To our friend, the very good friend of our Highness, the American General, Mr. Eaton:

We have received your letter and . . . gave thanks to God for having preserved your health. Know that I am ever the same as you knew me at Tunis, my friendship is constant and uniform, but you have been tardy—We must however make the delay serve a good purpose. From the date on this [28 Ramadan/January 3] I leave this [place] for Behira [a region in the northeast that includes Alexandria] and shall take quarters at the house of the Arab Chief Abd’el giver el-Be Kourchi, where I propose to you to meet me.

I have written to my subjects and to my minister Mahmoud Kogea and also to the Governor of Police, Muhamed, son of Abdelrahman, that they may treat [negotiate] with you; and whatever you conclude with them will be ratified by me.

Your operations should be carried on by sea; mine by land; and may God assist us to re-establish peace and harmony . . .

Hamet Bashaw, son of Alli Bashaw Caramale

Eaton was, of course, thrilled. “I cannot but congratulate you,” he immediately wrote to Hull, “and felicitate myself after so much apprehension, doubt and solicitude, that we now calculate with certainty on the success of our expedition, we are sure of the Bashaw.” Eaton noted that he would now dispatch the Bashaw’s secretary to carry another copy of the viceroy’s passport to him and would advise Hamet to meet him in Alexandria instead of Rosetta. (Like all things Hamet, setting up a rendezvous would prove surprisingly difficult.) Eaton didn’t mention that he was sending money to Hamet as well.

It was indeed prescient that Eaton sent some cash. In a private letter that Hamet sent to his negotiator, the governor of police, Muhammed, he revealed his financial quandary. “You’re well aware that when we left Tunis [in 1803], we had nothing and that which we acquired in Derne, all of it was lost, and therefore this mission will require much troops and money for camels and horses and other goods and the Bedouin are now like the Turks and want money. As for my own needs, I do not demand anything now but in due time, my needs will be around 15,000 ‘Tolari’ [presumably, dollars]. You must advise the American general of that amount so that we will receive it when we arrive at the house of Abed Elearu Bagosi in Behira . . . I pray that you make an agreement with the General to prepare the 15,000 dollars, that you give him your solemn promise and take a similar promise from him.”

Hamet knew that Eaton had once paid a fortune to ransom an Italian slave girl; he expected very deep pockets. Eaton had sent one-tenth of the desired amount, that is, 1,500 “pesos duros” (approximately equal to a dollar) to Hamet. And even to muster that sum, he had been constrained to take advantage of a line of credit granted to him by the Briggs Brothers of Alexandria; he promised to repay the loan “by drafts on Leghorn, Naples or Department of the Navy.” Since Eaton had no established credit with any of those three entities, he was basically bluffing and gambling that he would be able to repay Briggs after a successful mission.

On Thursday, January 10, Eaton and his small cadre of American officers returned to the palace to take leave of the viceroy. (No Egyptians lined up to gawk this time, especially after Goldsborough’s shenanigans.) More pipes were smoked, coffee drunk, and attar of roses misted about. Each man this time, though, received a superb saber, worth about $200, and Eaton collected one for Captain Hull in Alexandria. After having spent thirty-five days in Cairo, he made preparations to depart on the Nile to return to Alexandria.

Meanwhile, Captain Hull on the coast had not yet received the good news of the Hamet letter. He seriously weighed leaving but decided to wait for one more messenger from Cairo.

Now Hamet began his slow trek north from Minyeh. The Mameluke beys allowed him to leave, but to make sure that he did not lure any troops to him, they imprisoned thirty Arab sheiks who might have been loyal to Hamet. The Arab mercenaries were the wild card in the battle of Turk versus Mameluke. Each side craved sheiks.

On Saturday, January 12, Hamet, perennially broke, received the money from Eaton and made his way to a village called Ohu’isa. His bedraggled entourage headed north from the war zone into the desert on their way to the oases of Lake Fayyum. A recent influx of deserters added to the area’s harshness. Fresh foods and sturdy beasts proved scarce. Hamet’s newly found money barely paid for some wretched horses and camels . . . no doubt Hamet also had debts to pay. Now he drew up a list of supplies he wanted Eaton to deliver to a village called Abu Sir (a day trip south from Cairo): ample provisions for men, camels and horses, three or four large tents, clothing for his officers.

Hamet, on the same day that he petitioned Eaton, also wrote privately in the tone of a petulant prince to one of his Cairo negotiators, Minister Mahmud. “The money that was given me by the general was very little and this displeased me but at the moment I could say nothing. . . . So tell the general he must have courage with respect to expenditures . . . make him understand this is war and whoever wishes to make war must spend without thought and take no account of money.” (Since copies of these letters wound up among Eaton’s papers, it’s safe to assume that through some guile he was reading Hamet’s private communications.)

Hamet ended his note almost forlornly. His men are in rags, he has no saddles for horses or camels and is surrounded by mercenary Arabs. “We are in the desert and we do not know what to do. I hope God will do well for us.” His courier mounted his camel and proceeded north to Cairo; the delivery fee of four dollars was to be paid on arrival.

While Hamet dawdled and Hull fretted, Eaton moved forward.

William Eaton left Cairo with his companions on Saturday at 3 P.M. aboard a marche and traveled downstream, reaching Rosetta on Monday at 11 A.M. The journey with the Nile current was typically uneventful, but as they arrived, they saw storm clouds. Eaton sought shelter at British House just as heavy winds and rain pounded the coast and made the Bogaz, the nearby bar of the Nile, too unpredictable to pass. Eaton wrote to Hull by foot messenger that he was especially eager that the three of them—Hull, Eaton, and Hamet—sit down and plot out military plans for the expedition against Derne and Bengazi.

On Saturday, January 19, Eaton finally reunited with Hull aboard the Argus in Alexandria harbor. Neither man recorded the conversation, but Hull had been cooling his heels in Alexandria for almost two months. He certainly conveyed his impatience to Eaton. The following day, Eaton received another message from Hamet; however, this one turned out to be a reply to the first note Eaton had sent way back on November 28. Communications in the early nineteenth century were haphazard at best. In war-torn places such as Egypt, and even in countries with established postal services, letters almost always began . . . “Having received yrs of such-and-such date, I now . . .”

This reply from Hamet, which predated the one Eaton had received in Cairo, stated that Hamet expected to meet Eaton at the house of “Bagosi” near Lake Fayyum on the border of the desert, about 180 miles south of Alexandria. Exasperated at this seeming change of plans, Eaton instantly decided that he could take no chances and prepared to depart for Fayyum.

Monday was spent looking for supplies and especially horses. They found a few decent steeds, but they wound up forced to rent two dozen mill horses. Freed from their endless circular drudgery, these broken-down mounts hardly cut a dashing figure. The Americans bought overpriced provisions, cleaned their pistols, and sharpened their cutlasses. On the morning of Tuesday, January 22, Eaton mounted up, along with two navy officers, Lieutenant Joshua Blake and Midshipman George Washington Mann, as well as a motley Christian force of twenty-three recruits and his interpreter, Selim Comb. They began the trek south.

The odd cavalcade—which included two officers in U.S. Navy uniforms but which did not fly the American flag—accomplished 75 miles through the rich delta in two days. On Thursday evening, they stumbled into a detachment of five hundred Turkish Albanian soldiers. These fierce-looking troops, wearing a kind of chain mail across their chests and knee-high buskins, stopped them. The commanding officer, the Kourchief, promptly arrested Eaton and company.

Eaton found himself a prisoner in Demanhour, an overgrown village that thrived on cotton manufacture. Beautiful cultivated fields stretched out in every direction, but despite this prosperity, most houses were built of earth or rough brick.

Since Eaton was a prisoner, he found plenty of time to write a long description of his ongoing adventure to his friend Commodore Preble. (The account captures the personality of Eaton as much as his efforts to manipulate his Turkish adversary.)

No Argument I could advance could at all modify the severity of his first resolution not to let me pass his lines; though in every thing else he treated us with distinction and great hospitality. However mortifying the concession, I cannot but applaud the correct military conduct of this chief: for it was, in itself a suspicious circumstance that a body of armed unknown foreigners should be found shaping a course for his enemy’s rendezvous with no other pretext than to search for a refugee Bashaw!

Our situation here was somewhat perplexing and vastly unpleasant. I do not recollect ever having found myself on a ground more critical. To the natural suspicion of a Turk this General added a fierce and savage temper—of course proud and arrogant. I soon found my point of approach—I passed high compliments on the correctness of his military vigilance and conduct; said it was what I . . . certainly would have done myself in similar circumstances, but, knowing . . . the magnanimity of his soul, I was . . . in full confidence that he would aid a measure so purely humane & so manifestly to the Turkish interest in Egypt.

Eaton showed to the officer the viceroy’s passport for Hamet, and then added that he might be able to offer the man a “douceur,” that is, a bribe. The Kourchief seemed to awaken at that moment. He said Eaton’s “confidence should not be disappointed,” and he called into his tent the sheik of the “Eu ed Alli” [Aulad Ali], a group of Bedouin tribes that had often been banished from their homelands in Tripoli since Yussef came to power.

“I asked [the sheik] if he could give any account of Hamet Bashaw? The young chief, in an extacy, exclaimed that he Knew every thing! He [said] that twenty thousand Barbary Arabs were ready to march with him from this border to recover their native country and inheritence; repeated that he knew our plan; and, now that he had seen me, he would plight his head to the Turkish General to bring me Hamet Bashaw in ten days—The Turk accordingly dispatched him with a companion on this [mission] the next morning.”

Eaton, however, sensed that the Turkish officer was still suspicious, so he offered to send his armed troop and their mill horses back to Alexandria while he would remain “with only the gentlemen in company and our Servants” until the Bedouin returned with Hamet. The Turk seemed pleased and ordered a small feast for Eaton and his officers. The next morning he escorted Eaton and the handful of men to a house in Demanhour.

Eaton, a bit naïve, was now confident that he had properly analyzed his captor and that suspicion had been banished. Au contraire. The following morning, Sunday, January 27, once Eaton had sent off his small armed force, the Kourchief increased the guards surrounding Eaton, Blake, Mann, and their servants. Sentries now stood on the terrace next door, at the courtyard gate, and even inside the house. The guards explained they were placed there “to prevent intruders.”

Over the next few days, Eaton learned more about the man holding them prisoner. The Kourchief was then trying to collect taxes in the rich region of Behira, but half the villages were refusing to pay, expecting some new conqueror to arrive soon.

“The Kourchief,” wrote Eaton, “in a little excursion to gather contributions has cut off between fifty and sixty peasants’ heads for no crime but poverty, and just without the eastern gate of the village a gallows is now erecting to hang a child of twelve years old, the only son of the chief of the village Rahonania, because the father cannot pay the contribution levied on him! God! I thank thee that my children are Americans.”

The sight of Eaton’s little band had apparently given hope to the peasants that he might be leading an advance force for the British. Although Eaton tried hard to dispel that notion, he found Frenchmen everywhere ready to confirm it. Two Frenchmen, dressed in full Turkish garb, were officers for the Kourchief. Indeed, hundreds of castaways from Napoleon’s invading army of 1798 had stayed on as “renegades,” serving as mercenaries for the Mamelukes and Turks. A visitor to Cairo around this time met a shoemaker from Toulouse, France, who had risen in the Turkish Army. “Nothing could be more amusing,” wrote Vicomte Chateaubriand, “than to see Abdallah of Toulouse take the strings of his caftan, lay them about the faces of the Arabs and Albanians who annoyed him, and thus clear a wide passage for us through the most populous streets.”

Eaton, for his part, was hardly amused when the Frenchmen at Demanhour spread rumors about him. The Kourchief confided to Eaton that the French consul in Alexandria, Drovetti, had sent a note denouncing them as “British spies.” Eaton wrote Preble that he planned on punishing that “savage” for exposing them to being hanged for espionage.

(Drovetti was also making mischief for them in Alexandria. He sent the governor a tip that the Americans were secretly recruiting soldiers in his city and that Eaton’s troop had raised the American flag at Demanhour. Captain Hull instantly disbanded the Christian troops who were doing nothing anyway and called on the governor to calm the man.)

Eaton—despite being a prisoner and not having rendezvoused with Hamet—sent a letter to Hull that they should start planning the expedition. “[Derne & Bengazi] will be . . . an easy conquest and will give an honorable and advantageous termination to our expedition . . . the recruits at Alexandria will be useful in the execution of the plan—Some small field Pieces should be sought for and conditionally be stipulated for.”

Also Eaton denied raising the American flag, although he did concede that they enjoyed showing it in private. He advised Hull to expect that he and Hamet would reach the Argus on Wednesday or Thursday. “Everything is tranquil with us, it will be so with you when the truth of facts shall have expelled the mist of misrepresentation.”

A messenger from Hamet arrived in Demanhour on Sunday, February 3, at 3 P.M. He reported that Hamet was traveling with an entourage of only forty people. To prove he truly represented Hamet, he carried with him Eaton’s first letter to Hamet, which had an Arabic translation on the back. Eaton found that fortunate, because the note affirmed that Americans had great respect for the Grand Sultan of the Ottoman Empire and that Hamet should take no steps which might damage the relationship between the two countries. The Kourchief read the note and seemed to relax; he was also relieved that Hamet had no army.

The Kourchief then invited Eaton to ride out and dine with him at his camp. He also offered to send troops to escort Hamet into Demanhour and to provide soldiers to convoy him safely to Alexandria. Not so coincidentally, Eaton around this time dashed off a note to Hull that he needed $1,000 in small local currency in order “to clear out from this [place].” Omnia vincit argent. Money talks. Eaton promised the mounted courier a big tip if he could rush the message to Alexandria and race back with a reply within two days. The man arrived on the Argus at midnight, achieving 75 miles in about eight hours.

Hull wrote back that he distrusted the authorities in Alexandria, and he thought it too risky to send the $1,000. However, a miscommunication must have occurred, or perhaps O’Bannon stepped in, because another courier did indeed carry $500 in small coins to Eaton.

On Monday, February 4, at 4 P.M., Hamet and his weary entourage, who had tramped five days through mostly desert from Fayyum, reached the outskirts of Demanhour. The endless foreplay seemed at an end.

An escort of twenty Turkish cavalrymen rode out six miles to greet him and conducted him with fanfare to a grand tent. An infantry honor guard, commanded by the Kourchief himself, saluted him.

William Eaton, who had waited years for this moment, walked over to Hamet. The thirty-nine-year-old ex-Bashaw, with his long beard and colored turban, looked older than his age; a decade of exile had battered him. Of medium height, not thin, he was a prince without a kingdom, a walking acknowledgment of his own disgrace. But Hamet, whatever his faults, was an endearing and gracious man, and the two allies greeted each other warmly in broken Italian and snippets of Arabic. As soon as Eaton gained a moment alone with the prince, he swore to him by whatever Hamet held holy that he would place him back on his rightful throne or that he would die trying.