A Call to Arms (38 page)

“Good morning, Sydney,” Richard replied. He sketched a grin to camouflage the real reason he had arisen so early in recent days—ever since his son Jamie had insisted that he and Private Whittier return to camp to advise Captain Eaton of the state of affairs. After so many weeks of worry, he had finally held his son in the relative safety and abundance of his frigate at anchor in the Bay of Bomba, only to see him gallop off into the sunrise. At least, he thought, this time around he would have ample provisions. And he could not gainsay the pride he felt in his son's commitment to duty.

“Shall you be dining alone this morning, Captain? Or will Mr. Crabtree be joining you?”

Before Richard could answer, a faraway voice sounded through the open skylight.

“Sail ho!”

“Where away?” inquired the much louder voice of George Lee standing a few feet from the skylight on the quarterdeck directly above.

“Fine to nor'west, sir.”

“Is she making for us?”

“That she is, sir. And I see one . . . two . . . three sets of sails, sir.”

“Very well. I shall inform the captain.”

“Belay that, Mr. Lee,” Richard called up through the skylight. “The captain has heard the report and is coming on deck.”

Richard shrugged on the undress uniform coat Simms held up for him. “Breakfast will have to wait, Sydney,” he said as he collected his bicorne hat. “But I'll take along a cup of your coffee. No one brews it better.”

“Thank you, Captain. I shall have breakfast for you whenever you desire it. Eggs, toast, bacon, and fried potatoes, cooked to your usual specifications.” Simms handed his captain a cup of coffee. “And I shall prepare enough for two, just in case.”

On the quarterdeck Richard returned the salutes of Lieutenant Lee, Lieutenant Meyers, and Midshipman Sterne. He took a sip of coffee, then shaded his eyes with his free hand and glanced aloft at the American ensign. Five knots from the east-northeast, he calculated the wind. A quick glance ashore revealed an empty beach strewn with green seaweed and edged by steep headlands except on the extreme eastern end, where a walkway of sorts provided a manageable pathway from the beach to high ground.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “What do we have?”

“
Argus,
she looks to be, sir,” Lee responded. “In company with
Hornet
and
Nautilus.
We'll have positive identification in a few minutes.”

“I daresay you are correct, Mr. Lee,” Richard said. “That being the case, all we need do now is await the arrival of General Eaton's army.”

That happened two days later.

A
T SIX BELLS
in the forenoon watch, William Eaton, wearing a crisply pressed general's uniform, was piped aboard USS
Portsmouth.
Despite the trials and tribulations of his march across desert sands in the company of often unwilling and sometimes mutinous Arab allies, he appeared to be, as Agreen Crabtree later put it, in remarkably fine fiddle. As Agreen accompanied Eaton aft to meet the ships' officers and commanders gathered on the quarterdeck, boats from
Argus, Nautilus,
and
Hornet
were making for shore laden with fresh provisions for the army.

“I have brought with me from Syracuse seven thousand Spanish dollars,” Isaac Hull informed Eaton after introductions were exchanged and the general was seated. “Commodore Barron has placed these funds at your disposal.” As captain of the brig
Argus,
Isaac Hull served as co-commander with Richard Cutler in this expedition, just as they had done during the war with France in a raid on the island of Marie-Galante in the West Indies. The conversation paused while Sydney Simms served a dinner of mutton chops, fresh beans, and curried rice complemented by two bottles of Bordeaux.

When the table was in order, Eaton said, smiling, “That is most kind of him, Captain. I have certain . . . obligations due our Arab friends. ‘Mercenaries' is hardly the word to describe these fellows. ‘Bandits' serves better, ‘extortionists' perhaps better still. The greater the perceived inconvenience or danger, the higher the wages they demand. I have had no such trouble with my European soldiers, even as their Arab allies were receiving higher payments or promises of payments. From that simple observation you may deduce your own conclusions about Arab versus Western culture. I can assure you, gentlemen, that these Arabs drew their own conclusions about us long ago. It grieves me no end, since I once admired the Arabic culture. I even taught myself several of its dialects and pestered my friend Pickering to appoint me consul to Tunis.” He cut off a slab of mutton and chewed contemplatively before taking a sip of wine. “My Lord, this is delicious.” He dabbed at his lips with a cloth napkin. “I haven't tasted such fine food in many months. My compliments to your steward, Captain Cutler. And to your son for agreeing to be my liaison officer, knowing full well the gastronomic sacrifice he was making.”

Richard smiled. “Midshipmen don't normally eat this sort of fare, General. Unless they pay for it themselves, which few can do on a midshipman's wage. Except for the wine, which was drawn from my personal stores, this dinner is compliments of the United States Navy.”

“As is your son,” Eaton observed quite sincerely. “I predict he will go far in the service if that is his chosen profession. James is an exceptional young man. I would be hard-pressed to do without him. You must be very proud of him.”

“His mother and I are both very proud of him,” Richard said softly.

Lt. John Dent, the burly, dark-haired captain of the schooner
Nautilus,
asked into the ensuing silence, “General, apart from what you just said, how do you find our Arab allies? Specifically, how will they respond in battle? Can we rely on them?”

“You raise excellent questions, Lieutenant,” Eaton replied. “Since I haven't had occasion to test them in battle, I can only speculate. However, along the march it was my great fortune to come upon a Bedouin tribe. They are local warriors, Tripolitans, and they despise Yusuf Karamanli.
Their
courage is not in question, and I have several hundred of them in my cavalry. I shall rely upon the ferocity of these Bedouins coupled with the discipline of the Europeans, the grit of our Marines, and the support of our Navy when I get to Derne. If I have those four elements, I could not care less how the Egyptians perform.”

“As to naval support,” Richard Cutler cautioned, “we may not be able to bring all our guns to bear at all times. I have studied the harbor at Derne, and I have interrogated the masters of captured merchantmen. The waters of the harbor are shallow, a fathom or two at best, for almost a quarter-mile from shore. My thought is to lighten
Nautilus
and
Hornet
as best we can and position them in close.
Argus
and
Portsmouth
can provide covering fire from farther out. Our guns won't be as accurate at that distance, but so be it.”

“Agreed,” Hull said without hesitation.

“Is that why,” queried Lt. Samuel Evans, the bold-faced captain of
Hornet,
“the shore battery at Derne has only eight cannon facing seaward?”

Richard nodded. “Yes. The Tripolitans believe that Derne cannot be effectively attacked by sea.”

“Then so be it, as you say, Captain Cutler.” All eyes turned to General Eaton, who sat there smiling. “What you are telling us simply means we shall have to attack Derne by land, which has been my intention all along. For us to declare victory we must not just raze the town, we must take control of it.” He held up his glass of wine as if in a silent toast to victory. “By the bye, I have a serious need of fieldpieces. I have Greek cannoneers in my army but no cannon for them to service. Might any of you have several to spare?”

Richard glanced at Hull, who said, “My understanding, General, is that
Constellation
is carrying fieldpieces for you. Unfortunately, it's been a fortnight since Commodore Barron or I have heard from Captain Campbell, so we must assume that he has been delayed. I had assumed you would make such a request, however, and I propose we offload several guns from one of our vessels.” He shifted his gaze to
Hornet's
captain. “May I suggest a pair of your brass 6-pounders, Sam? They are the lightest of the guns in our squadron, and as such we'd have the least difficulty getting them ashore and up a cliff, if need be. And offloading two of
your guns would lighten your sloop. Of course, it would also reduce your number of guns to eight.”

“Eight guns will suffice,” Evans said.

“Well spoken, Lieutenant,” Hull remarked. He glanced at Eaton. “Is this acceptable to you, General?”

“Most acceptable, Captain Hull,” Eaton replied. “And thank
you
most cordially, Mr. Evans.” His tone turned animated. “I've had some experience with brass 6-pounders, in the Northwest Territory while serving under General Wayne at the Battle of Fallen Timbers. You have heard of it? Well then, I can tell you that I should no more wish to be on the business end of one of those cannon than were the Shawnee and other tribes of the Western Confederacy. Those cannon won the day for us. I will be most pleased to deliver the same message here as I did there.”

“When, exactly, do you intend to do that, General?”

“On the twenty-seventh, Lieutenant Dent, three days hence,” Eaton replied. “Tomorrow, at the quickstep, we should reach Derne by late afternoon. That gives us the next day to reconnoiter, secure the cannon, and decide on our battle plan. I cannot finalize my plan until I have a chance to assess the town's defenses. But here is my thinking as of today, based on what Hamet Karamanli and others have told me about Derne . . .”

B
Y THREE BELLS
in the afternoon watch, massive cumulonimbus clouds were joining forces on the eastern horizon and the barometer was falling. Of greater concern to Josiah Smythe, there was a feel to the air and a look to the sea that augured wind, and a lot of it. Richard Cutler sensed the danger too and ordered Eaton rowed to the beach. He then signaled the other vessels in the squadron that he was making sail to put distance between
Portsmouth
and a lee shore.
Argus, Nautilus,
and
Hornet
acknowledged and followed in her wake once they had their boats aboard and secured to their chocks.

Ashore, the allied army moved inland to where the terrain was less rocky and more permeable. As they had since the first day of the march, Europeans and Arabs pitched their tents well apart from each other. Dawn the next morning broke warm and cloud-free after heavy rains and winds had pummeled the two campsites overnight. A quick breakfast of rice and beans, and the Marine drummer struck his familiar tattoo. Soldiers formed in ranks, and the army marched at double-time for much of the day. Late that afternoon their efforts were rewarded by the sight of high,
undulating hills that Hamet confirmed marked the eastern boundary of the valley at Derne.

Eaton studied the crests of the hills. As best he could determine, and as scouts riding ahead soon confirmed, there were no enemy spotters stationed there.

“No doubt,” Eaton commented that evening to Presley O'Bannon as they were about to review the next day's tactics, “the royal governor believes that Derne can no more be attacked by land than by sea.”

“And why shouldn't he?” the Marine lieutenant responded. “What general in his right mind would march an army 450 miles across a harsh, barren desert to attack his town?”

“No general I know,” Eaton replied with a laugh.

Early the next morning, Midshipman Cutler, Sergeant Campbell, and the two Greek army officers rode northward to a promontory that Jamie's father had recommended as the only location along the coast east of Derne where a 1,500-pound fieldpiece might be hauled up a twenty-foot cliff using man and horse power. Also to be hauled up: supplies of gunpowder, musket balls, flannel bags of grapeshot, and twenty round shot.

Eaton, Hamet Karamanli, and Lieutenant O'Bannon, meanwhile, climbed the highest hill on the eastern boundary. Lying flat on their bellies, they surveyed the town of Derne. What they saw below them surprised both Eaton and O'Bannon, despite what Hamet had previously told them. The valley—perhaps a mile and a half long and half a mile wide—was surrounded by hills on three sides and seemed even more fertile than the valley of the Eu ed Alli. To their right, against the harbor to the north, lay the town of five thousand citizens. To their left, from the town's southern limits to the hills in the far distance, stretched green fields of vegetables and fruit orchards. Eaton noted the lack of permanent walls around the town—Hamet had told them there weren't any because Derne had not been threatened by anyone in anyone's memory—but on the eastern edge of town, the one immediately below them, they noted a series of long stone buildings, one ending when the next began. The buildings formed a natural barrier and ended on a parallel with the most impressive building of them all, a majestic marble structure of ornate architecture with two minarets and tiers of grand terraces fringed with multicolored flora. On the two highest tiers—one facing northward, the other southward—two large cannon had been turned with tackle and handspikes to aim eastward.

“The governor's palace?” Eaton asked Hamet.

“Yes,” Hamet confirmed. “Those cannon weren't there when I was governor.”