North Atlantic Coast of Africa,
Off Cape Bajador, 1815
“TEN O’CLOCK!” CRIED THE MAN AT THE HELM. Through the fog, Captain Riley eyed the mainsail boom. It stretched far out to starboard, the ship running ahead of a strong breeze. The helmsman turned to port, and as the boom swung across the deck, Riley heard a roaring.
A squall? Startled, Riley glanced down the ship’s lee side. Through a hole in the mist, he glimpsed rough water foaming below. Breakers!
“All hands on deck!” he shouted.
Working fast, the men dropped anchor and hauled in the sails. The ocean roared around them as they struggled to slow the ship before it hit the rocks. Waves swept across the deck, knocking the sailors off their feet.
For days, fog had made it hard to fix their position, but until now Riley had no idea how off-course they were. The Commerce, an American brig loaded with cargo, was headed from Gibraltar to the Canary Islands. Now its young captain knew the worst — they had been blown up against the North African coast, where deadly breakers pounded the rocky shoreline.
Riley’s practical mind raced. The ship was beyond hope — pinned to the rocks and hammered by wave after wave. There was only one thing to do — save the crew before the vessel broke up and sank. The men worked quickly, knowing their lives depended on it. They grabbed all the water and provisions they could find, and threw overboard anything that would float. With luck some of it would wash ashore.
Riley fastened a sturdy rope to the ship’s side. He signaled to his first mate, Porter, and the two men climbed down into the ship’s small lifeboat, bringing the line with them. Waves broke over their bodies as they rowed desperately for the beach. A huge swell lifted their boat above the water, throwing them onto the sand. Riley scrambled for the line before it disappeared into the surf and tied it to a rock.
One by one the crew grasped the rope and lowered themselves out of the wreck, moving hand over hand along the line to shore. When the last exhausted sailor touched sand, they made a hasty camp on the beach. The ship’s longboat washed ashore, its side smashed. Then came trunks of coins from their cargo. The men quickly buried the money in the sand.
Stopping to catch his breath, Riley scanned the sand dunes for other human beings. He wasn’t in a hurry to see any. He knew that sailors shipwrecked on these shores were often captured and sold into slavery. Their best chance was to repair the leaky longboat and try their luck out at sea. The men set to work, until darkness forced them to quit for the night.
At first light, Riley’s fears were realized. Heads appeared over the dunes. Down the sandy hills sprinted a nimble gray-haired man, holding a spear. Younger men followed, armed with scimitars. Further off, Riley spotted more figures on camels approaching across the dunes. Soon they’d be surrounded!
Panicking, the sailors scrambled into the half-repaired longboat and rowed frantically back to the Commerce. From the wreck, Riley watched helplessly as the strangers plundered their camp. He gasped as one of them drove an axe into their casks, spilling the precious water onto the sand. Others dismounted from their camels and gathered the sea instruments and charts scattered across the beach. To Riley’s horror, they burned them in a pile. Around him the crew clung to the wreck, tightening their grips with each sweeping wave that threatened to wash them off.
Then, to Riley’s amazement, the men on the beach ran down to the water and put down their weapons at their feet. One of them held up a goatskin of water. Were they signaling peace?
The old man pointed to himself and then to the wreck. He wanted to come on board! He pointed to Riley and then to the beach. Riley understood: he was offering a trade — the captain for himself — to guarantee his safe return from the ship.
Riley quickly weighed their chances of getting out to sea through the pounding surf — slim indeed. They needed these people’s help to survive. On a sudden impulse, he grabbed the line and worked his way back to the beach. The old man took Riley’s place on the line and hauled himself toward the wreck. Once on board he looked around — for guns or money, Riley guessed.
Riley cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to Porter: “Don’t let him come back until they let me go!”
Porter put his hand to his ear and shook his head — he couldn’t hear the captain over the roaring surf! Riley kept shouting, but his cries were lost in the din.
Finding nothing, the old man started back.
“Stop him!” Riley cried. He shot forward to the line. Strong hands grabbed his arms, as two men pulled him out of the water. Riley looked down at the scimitars they pointed at his chest, the metal blades glinting in the sun. He was their prisoner.
By now the old man had reached the sand, and the men started dragging Riley by the arms toward the dunes.
Riley thought fast. With frantic gestures, he signaled that a stash of coins was buried on the beach. The men stopped. One group headed for the spot he’d pointed out and began scraping at the sand. Two others sat Riley down with his face to the sea and pointed their scimitars at him — one to his chest, one to his head.
When they find the money, they’ll probably shout, Riley thought. And my guards might look away for an instant. He’d have only one chance. Slowly, he drew his legs under him.
An excited shout was heard from behind. Riley’s guards jerked their heads around. In a flash Riley sprung out from under their weapons and dove for the beach.
Riley knew he was running for his life. Sprinting to the water’s edge, he felt his pursuers close on his heels. He plunged headfirst into the waves and pushed his way underwater with desperate strokes. He didn’t dare come up for a breath! Finally, his lungs bursting, Riley broke through the surface and gasped for air.
He stole a quick look around. The old man was close behind, up to his chin in the rough water. His arm was raised, his spear aimed at Riley. As he pulled back to let it fly, a huge surf rolled over both of them, hurtling the old man onto the beach.
Riley turned and swam furiously toward the wreck. Wave after wave broke over him. Each time he surfaced he glimpsed the crew on board, shouting and urging him on. At last he threw his arm up along the side, but a heavy surf pushed him down. Then he felt the grip of his mates’ hands hauling him up.
Riley collapsed on the deck, exhausted. Over him stood Savage, the second mate, watching the beach. “What’s happening?” Riley panted.
“Nothing — they’re just staring out over the water. They can’t believe you made it! Wait, now they’re dragging our cargo toward the dunes.” After a few moments, Savage shook his head. “I can’t see them anymore... they’re gone.”
But they’ll be back, thought Riley, pulling himself up. And there will be more of them. He gazed grimly at the rough sea. They wouldn’t survive for long out there in the shattered longboat. But what else could they do? The wreck would soon smash to pieces. And the beach meant either slavery or death.
The longboat was their last chance. The crew threw in what little provisions were still on the wreck — a small keg of water, some salt pork, and a few figs. The eleven men took their places in the leaky hull, and two started bailing out water.
Riley put it to a vote. They could take their chances out at sea, or they could stick close to the rocky coast — and risk another wreck or attack. The men all agreed. They’d take the sea.
Riley’s eyes were bleary from searching the horizon for a vessel. Six days at sea, and still nothing. Only the odd flash of lightning broke the gloomy haze. Under his feet the hastily patched boat creaked, and water seeped in constantly. He looked at the sunburned bodies of his crew, at the exhausted men who had to be prodded to keep bailing. His mouth was so parched that his orders came out in a hoarse whisper. How much longer would the water and pork hold out? As it was, their rations were barely giving them strength to row.
When the sun rose on the seventh day, Riley knew they couldn’t go on. Then a shout broke through his grim thoughts.
“Land!”
Hope swept through the boat as the men turned in the direction of their mate’s outstretched hand. Riley craned his neck — there it was! Far off, a perfectly smooth coast. No hill broke its straight line.
A desert, he realized, his heart sinking.
The men rowed for the coast. On shore Riley staggered from the boat and looked around. Jagged rocks loomed overhead, stretching as far as he could see in either direction. The men unloaded what was left of their water and salt pork and began to walk eastward along the coast — maybe they’d find a place to dig for water or get inland past the cliffs.
A fierce sun beat down on them. Hunger gnawed at Riley. He trudged onward, his eyes on the stony, red ground beneath him, baked hard by the sun. Spotting a few locusts, he grabbed them to stuff in his mouth, but they crumbled to dust at his touch.
I brought these men here, he thought. He stole a glance at young Horace, who was bravely keeping up with the bigger men. Riley had promised the cabin boy’s mother that he would take care of him like a son.
After sunset, a crewman named Clark suddenly pointed ahead. “I see a light!” he cried.
A campfire! Hope thrilled through Riley. He saw the same feeling on the faces of his crew, but he raised an arm to hold them back. “Let’s make camp for the night,” he said. The men began to protest, but he shook his head. “Whoever they are, we don’t want to alarm them by surprising them in the dark. Better to go in the morning.”
The men wet their mouths with their last drops of water and settled down to sleep on the sand, which was still hot from the sun’s rays. Riley lay awake, haunted by fears. They were unarmed, defenseless. Tomorrow they would probably be captured as slaves.
We must do what we can to stay alive, he told himself. Stay alive long enough to find a way, somehow, to get home.
Clambering over the dunes, Savage and Riley peered down into the valley nestled between sandy hills. Men and women milled around a well, fetching water for their camels — hundreds of them! Glancing up, a few men spotted the sailors and began to run toward them. At their sides, Riley could see the glint of steel in the sun — scimitars and muskets! Pulling Savage with him, he stepped forward.
The strangers wasted no time on words, and began to strip off the sailors’ clothing. More people came running, and the air filled with shouts and excitement. Fights broke out over the windfall of new slaves.
The sailors were dragged away by their new masters, and women drove them toward the well with sticks. His shoes gone, Riley found it hard to walk barefoot over the hot sand, but each sharp whack from the stick sent him forward. Riley turned to the woman behind him and opened his parched mouth, pointing to it. She drew water from the well and began filling bowls.
The sailors fell upon the bowls of water. Slow down! Riley told himself. It was dangerous to drink so much at once when you have been dying of thirst. But he couldn’t help himself. At last Riley raised his head from the bowl and, wiping his mouth, looked around.
The crowd was breaking up as each family moved off, its goatskins filled with water. We’re going to be split up, Riley thought with horror. Porter and five other mates were already being led away on camels, their eyes wide and terrified. Riley had time only to grasp their hands as they passed. An instant later they slipped through a crevice in the cliff wall, and disappeared out of sight.
Riley clutched at the camel’s hair, hanging on. His legs stretched painfully across the animal’s broad back. Its backbone is as sharp as the edge of an oar’s blade, thought Riley. Worst of all, the camel’s sides, bloated with water, were perfectly smooth. Riley kept sliding down toward the camel’s tail, then pulling himself back by its hair.
Frightened by the stranger on its back, the camel ran about, bellowing. Riley searched for a bridle or halter to guide it with — but found nothing. All he could do was hang on. Nearby, struggling in much the same way, were four of his shipmates — Savage, Clark, Horace, and Dick, the cook.
Up ahead their masters sat cross-legged on wooden saddles, their camels trotting across the flat landscape of sand and gravel. Women and children rode in huge baskets strapped to camels’ backs.
The sun beat fiercely on Riley’s bare skin and reflected off the sand, blinding him. Riley closed his eyes. His swaying camel felt like a small boat in a stormy sea.
Night came, and still there was no sign that the band of desert nomads would stop. The wind turned cold and cut through Riley’s skin.
I can’t take any more! he thought wildly. He looked down at the ground racing beneath him. If I fall off I could break my neck, he thought. But staying on was too painful. He let go and quickly slipped off the camel, tumbling to the ground. The group did not even pause. Riley scrambled on foot to keep up, the sharp stones cutting his unprotected feet.
At last the caravan stopped. The nomads milked the camels and gave the slaves a little to drink. Women quickly assembled tents for shelter from the cold night wind. Riley staggered toward a tent, but was beaten back with a stick. He and his crew were sent to lie down next to the camels. They collapsed onto the stony ground, where the desert wind swept over them unchecked.
Weeks passed in a blur of burning sun, swaying camels, and night winds. But Riley forced himself to stay sharp and listen to his masters’ talk. It reminded him of Spanish — ancient Arabic, he guessed. He even learned a few words, and by watching their faces and hands, could catch the drift of their conversations.
That was how he discovered they were turning back to the well where he and his men had been captured. They couldn’t survive any longer without water for the camels, whose milk was keeping them all alive.
Looking at the starved faces of his crew, Riley’s heart sank. We’re not going to make it there, he thought.
Riley panted in the shade of the tent — gratefully out of the midday sun. At his side lay Clark, barely conscious. Their masters had left early in the morning on their camels. The women had allowed the five slaves to rest near the tents in the meantime.
A month had passed since their capture, yet to Riley it seemed like years. He scanned the flat landscape that stretched in every direction. It’s like the sea, he thought, like a smooth sea, when there’s no wind. But the idea gave him no comfort.
His eyes grew heavy, but a movement on the horizon made him blink and open them wider. Two strangers on camels were approaching across the sand. As they came closer, Riley could see that their camels were loaded with goods and muskets that shone like silver in the sun. The riders stopped before the tent of Riley’s master and, making their camels lie down, dismounted. Then they sat on the ground without a word, looking the other way.
The women of the family leapt up and began to rig an awning for the strangers. To Riley’s surprise, his master’s wife turned and approached him. Slowly, she spoke to him for the first time. Riley followed her words and gestures closely, piecing together her meaning.
“Sidi Hamet,” she said, pointing to one of the strangers, “and his brother are cloth merchants from the Sultan’s lands.” She paused, then added in a low voice, “Perhaps he could buy you and take you there, where you might find your friends and kiss your wife and children.” Then she walked away.
Riley’s heart beat faster. He scanned the horizon again — no sign yet of his master. He snatched up a wooden bowl and ventured to the strangers’ tent. Crouching down under their awning, Riley held up the bowl and showed his parched mouth to them. The man called Sidi Hamet asked him a question, and Riley recognized the word for “captain.”
Riley nodded eagerly, “Yes, I am the captain.”
Gathering heaps of sand in his hands, Riley made a coast on the ground. Then he drew the shape of a boat, adding a stick for a mast. With words and signs he prayed would capture the merchant’s sympathy, Riley told the story of their shipwreck.
“I have a wife and five children back home... besides Horace, my son,” he added, remembering his promise to the boy’s mother. Hamet stared at him as he spoke, then turned his face away suddenly. Was he moved? How much had he understood? Riley wasn’t sure.
Hamet motioned to his brother to give Riley some water, but the brother sullenly shook his head. Hamet signaled to Riley to hold up his bowl, and he poured it himself.
Clear, perfectly clear water streamed into the bowl. It was the first fresh water Riley had seen since they left the boat, and for a moment he was afraid he would faint. He drank half and then, gesturing toward Clark, asked to take the rest to him. Hamet nodded.
As Riley propped Clark up to drink, his shipmate’s sunken eyes began to shine. Clark was mere skin and bones now, and Riley knew he would have to work fast.
The noise of approaching camels made Riley look up. Their masters were back. So soon! Riley felt sick with disappointment. His chance had slipped away — he did not dare approach the merchants again now. He’d have to watch for a chance to speak to them alone. In the meantime, his mind began to form a plan.
For days Riley shadowed the merchants as closely as he dared, terrified to take his eyes off them. They could be up and away at any moment.
Hamet feels sorry for us, he thought. I need to show him that helping us is worth his while! If he thinks there’s money in it — a lot of money — he might buy us and carry us off the Sahara. If only I could get him alone! But Riley’s master and his sons were never far away, and they glared ferociously at him whenever he lingered near the visitors.
Standing near the camels, Riley watched as his masters retreated from the afternoon heat into their tent. The two merchants moved back toward their own awning, Hamet trailing a little behind his brother.
This was his chance! Riley stumbled across the hot sand and fell to his knees before the merchant. With gestures and the few Arabic words he had practiced, he got his message across: “Carry me to the Sultan of Morocco, and my friend there will redeem me.”
Riley’s face fell as Hamet shook his head. The merchant stepped away, then paused.
“But,” he said, turning back, “how much will you give me if I take you to Mogadore?” Riley had never heard of the place. With hand signs Hamet described it as a walled town and a seaport.
A seaport! Riley’s heart raced. He made a pile of fifty stones. “That many dollars for myself and each of my men,” he said, pointing.
Again, Hamet shook his head, waving his arm in the direction of the crew. “Not the others,” he said. He jabbed a finger at the stones, then at Riley. “But how much more than that will you give me, if I buy you?”
Riley frantically counted out fifty more stones and added them to the first pile. “My friend will pay you as soon as you bring me to Mogadore,” he said. His heart pounded as he watched Hamet’s stony expression.
A moment passed in silence. At last Hamet nodded, pointing to Riley. “I will buy you then,” he said. “But remember, if you deceive me...” He made a cutting motion across his throat.
Riley swallowed and nodded.
“Say nothing to your master,” Hamet added as he turned to leave, “nor to my brother.”
In the days that followed, Riley shadowed Hamet, begging him to buy just one more of the men — perhaps his son, Horace?
“The ransom for all of us together would be even more,” he promised.
But Hamet shook his head. “Impossible to get you all across the desert — robbers will attack us for our slaves, and my brother and I cannot fight them off.”
Then Hamet pointed at Clark’s wasted body. “He will not live more than three days. If I buy him, I’ll lose my money!”
“I swear I will pay for him,” said Riley, lowering his voice, “whether he lives or dies.”
The merchants inspected the sailors from head to toe — parting their hair with sticks, frowning at their burned skin and blisters. They prodded their bones to see if they were in place.
Hamet’s brother stood back and shook his head in disgust. “You will make a big mistake, my brother, to buy any more of them.”
But one evening Hamet told Riley they would all leave at dawn. “I have used up all my goods buying the whole crew. My brother tried to talk me out of it,” Hamet said. “He doesn’t believe you have any rich friend who will pay for you.” Riley looked down.
“You had better not deceive me,” Hamet added, his tone menacing.
At first light they set off across the blowing sand. Savage muttered at Riley’s side, voicing all the doubts Riley had ignored until now. “How do we know they’re taking us where they say? And how on earth do you expect to pay them? There might not be an English consul — or any consul at all — at this seaport.”
Riley stared ahead.
“And if there is,” Savage went on, “you’ve promised too much! Who’s going to lend you that much money? We’re poor sailors, not rich men. Who pays a ransom for a poor man?” Riley was silent. Everything Savage said was true. He was taking a desperate gamble. And he remembered the penalty if he couldn’t pay — his life.
The five sailors stumbled forward under the fierce sun. Like sleepwalkers they followed the merchants’ swaying camels across endless stretches of sand. Riley had no idea how his wasted legs were able to keep moving, unless it was the new hope — a very slim one — that lay on the other side of the Sahara.
It took a moment for Riley’s groggy mind to recognize the signs. Beneath his stumbling feet he saw something green. Something ragged and parched, but growing. Plants — they were near the edge of the desert! Then came the sound of distant voices, and small huts on the horizon.
As they made camp that night, Hamet took Riley aside. “I will set out in the morning for Mogadore,” he said, “where I hope to arrive in three days. If your friend will pay the money for you and your men, you shall be free.”
He stared hard at Riley. “If not, you must die for having deceived me, and your men shall be sold for what they will bring. I have suffered hunger and thirst to restore you to your family, for I believe God is with you. I have paid away all my money on your word alone.”
“Take me with you,” Riley begged. Hamet shook his head.
“My brother will guard you while I’m gone,” he said firmly.
Riley looked down, but his new master beckoned to him. “Come, Riley. Write a letter.” He held out a scrap of paper, smaller than Riley’s hand. Riley took it, and Hamet gave him a little bit of black liquid and a reed.
Riley dipped the reed in the ink and held it for a moment over the shred of paper. All at once he saw how truly hopeless his scheme was. He had no “friend” in Mogadore, no idea if there was any consul there. Who would read his note? And if anyone did, why would they hand over so much money because of a scrap of paper from a stranger — a slave?
He glanced up and saw Sidi Hamet watching him. Taking a deep breath, he carefully began to write.
Sir,
The brig Commerce was wrecked on the 28 of August last. Myself and four of my crew are here nearly naked in slavery. I conjure you by all the ties that bind man to man... and by as much as liberty is dearer than life, to advance the money required for our redemption, which is nine hundred and twenty dollars. I can draw for any amount the moment I am at liberty...
Should you not relieve me, my life must instantly pay the forfeit.
Worn down to the bones — naked and a slave, I implore your pity...
James Riley, late Master of the brig Commerce
Riley folded the paper and paused. Who would he send it to? He dipped the reed in the little liquid that remained and scratched desperately,
To the English, French, Spanish or American consul, or any merchant in Mogadore
He silently handed the paper to Sidi Hamet and watched his master turn and walk away. He had done all he could. Now his life was in someone else’s hands.
Riley sat with his shipmates, watching the sun disappear behind the small huts that dotted the horizon. That makes it eight days since Hamet left for Mogadore, Riley thought grimly. Still they had heard nothing. He lay awake at nights, his mind swinging feverishly between hope and fear. He pictured Hamet searching in vain for someone who would read his letter — never mind pay the money! He must be angry by now, thought Riley. He must think I tricked him.
The sound of anyone coming — an opening gate, the trample of hooves — made Riley jump. He couldn’t wait for his master to return, and at the same time he dreaded it. It would be the moment that either set him free, or ended his life.
A voice from nowhere made Riley and his men leap to their feet.
“How de-do Cap-e-tan.”
English! Riley couldn’t remember the last time anyone but his crew had spoken to him in his own language. A man was walking toward them. Speaking in a mixture of English and Spanish, he explained that an Englishman had sent him from Mogadore. He handed Riley a letter.
Riley’s heart was in his mouth as he took it. His shipmates stared at the letter with wide eyes, knowing it spelled out their fate. With shaking hands, Riley unfolded the paper and began to read.
My dear and afflicted sir,
I have this moment received your note...
Riley’s eyes scanned down the page to the only words that mattered.
I have agreed to pay the sum of nine hundred and twenty 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...
…with the hope of a happy end to all your sufferings, I subscribe myself, my dear Sir,
Your friend,
William Willshire
Riley stared for a moment at the name he’d never heard before. The name of a stranger. A stranger who had saved him. Joy and wonder began to swell inside him. He raised a hand to his gaunt face, and felt that his cheeks were wet with tears.
When Captain Riley returned home to the United States he wrote a book about his adventures. Riley’s Narrative was read by over a million people, including a young boy named Abraham Lincoln. Some historians suggest that two events helped set the future American president’s mind against slavery. One was his visit to a slave market in New Orleans when he was 19. And the other, earlier experience may have been reading Captain Riley’s tale of slavery and escape.