I
“Destroyer approaching, sir, two points on the starboard bow!" On receiving this information from the lookout the officer on the bridge of the British battleship opens his spyglass. It is of the same type as the one Nelson raised to his blind eye when, disregarding the signals of his superior, he sailed in to "Copenhagen" the Danish fleet. The strange craft is rapidly drawing near; she is only making 40 odd knots. Soon the Britisher recognizes the colors flying from her signal mast, the bright tricolor of the Risorgimento bearing in its center a white cross on a red shield. The cross is the emblem of the Knights Hospitallers of Saint John of Jerusalem, an emblem that has flown from many a galley commanded by a Count of Savoy. The proud device of the Kings of Italy is still the acrostic FERT: Fortitudo Ejus Rhodum Tenuit. The customary salutes are grudgingly exchanged; then, after describing a neat circle around the slower British vessel, the Italian disappears to the south as rapidly as he had appeared.
"I wonder where he came from," muses the British officer as he notes the occurrence in the log. A glance at the chart shows that Tripoli, the home port of many a raider in bygone days, lies nearly due south. The ink has barely had time to dry on the page of the log book before the Italian Admiralty knows the name of the latest British warship bound from Malta to Egyptian waters.
Conversation in the wardroom was unusually animated that evening. It began with a reference to Barbary piracy and ended with a discussion as to whether certain North African ports really did constitute a serious menace to Britain's trade route. It was a pleasant relief from the interminable arguments as to the why and wherefore of the Ethiopian war. Let us leave "current events" for a while, however, and indulge in a few reminiscences the near-by Barbary coast has suggested.
Those of us whose musical recollections extend back a generation or two will recall an opera by the French composer Lecocq which delighted the simple tastes of our forbears, "Girofle-Girofla," now completely forgotten. The plot was a simple one. An impecunious nobleman whose charming twin daughters are betrothed, one to the son of his principal creditor, the other to some outlandish chief to whom he is beholden, discovers on the eve of the wedding that one of the twins has been carried off by Barbary pirates. The remaining daughter dutifully assists her father in "stalling" until the two suitors grow suspicious, compare notes, and come to the conclusion that one of the two is being imposed upon. Summoned to produce both fair ones simultaneously, he is saved from the dire results of his imposture by the timely return of the kidnapped child. Tableau, and double wedding chimes!
Fantastic as the story seems it did not impress the French public of 1874 as entirely improbable. Parisian audiences could still remember General Yussuf, one of the strange characters in which the Second Empire abounded. The son of some minor official of Napoleon's court at Elba, he and his mother, apparently a woman of great beauty, were captured by Tunisian rovers while en route from Elba to Leghorn. His mother was sold to some harem and disappeared from view. The boy was more fortunate. Purchased by an agent of the Bey, he gained the favor of that potentate, who had him educated and given rank in the beylical cavalry. A promising career now seemed open to him when, with true Gallic spirit, he was rash enough to engage in an affair with one of the Bey's numerous wives. Of course envious tongues were quick to lay the evidence before the master. Yussuf did some rapid thinking. He availed himself of his French birth, claimed the protection of the French consul, de Lesseps, the father of the canal builder, and was smuggled out of the country to the French army of occupation which had just affected a landing at Sidi Ferruch. Employed first as an interpreter, later as a leader of native cavalry, Yussuf ended his days a full-fledged French general shortly before the debacle of Sedan. To his dying day he never ascertained his family name, Yussuf being merely the Arabic for Joseph.
"The perils insured against, they are of the sea, of pirates and rovers...." These words, which might well have been included in the Litany, are from so prosaic a document as Lloyd's Standard Marine Insurance Policy. Piracy has been so completely eradicated today that it is hard to understand the part it once played. Some future generation may have the same difficulty understanding our "gangsters," "high-jackers," "racketeers," or the "bad men" of the Wild 'Western era. But a very real peril these Mediterranean pirates were. The terror they inspired is attested by the countless watch towers to be found all over the Mediterranean, of which the elaborate system on the Island of Majorca offers probably the best-preserved specimens. The Algerine corsairs are said to have captured 600,000 Christians in the course of three centuries. The number of captives in Algiers often ran as high as 30,000, Cervantes having been one of them. Between 1674 and 1680 England alone lost 350 ships and 6,000 prisoners. In 1789 Tunisian corsairs carried off the entire population of a small island near Sardinia, some thousand souls. As late as 1825 Denmark, Portugal, and Naples were paying for protection. The outstanding performance, however, was that of Murad Reis, a Dutchman who "took to the turban" and married a Moslem wife, without ceasing to frequent his Dutch wife and family whenever he put into Veere to refit or to recruit. As a token of affection toward his first family, this tender-hearted pirate arranged to have his daughter visit him while he was governor of Sale. His adventures carried him into distant seas. In 1631 with a squadron of three ships he sacked Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland, and Baltimore in Ireland, returning safely to Algiers where he sold many hundred of these wretched islanders into slavery. This Murad, whose real name was Jan Jansz, is not to be confused with another Murad who a few years previously successfully raided the Canaries and seized the wife and the daughter of the Spanish governor. Many thousand of these unfortunates were cared for, even ransomed, by the Trinitarians, or "Mathurins," an order founded for that purpose, whose activities remind us of the war relief organizations with which we have lately become so painfully familiar.
My interest in pirates and rovers is not limited, however, to light operas and tales of daring. In my childhood I was fascinated by the "Penon de Argel," the "rock island" at the entrance of the harbor, which gave Algiers its name. I tried to visualize the fleet of 100 vessels which in the seventeenth century made the city the "Scourge of Christendom." In later years I have sat of an evening in the now peaceful Kasbah of the Oudaias at Rabat and gazed out across the shallow bay on Sale. Many a "Sallee Rover" has anchored under the protection of these guns, most of them an unwilling present from the Portuguese. If it is a Friday the women of Rabat will soon be coming out to roam about the old cemetery which covers the gentle slope from the Kasbah to the ocean, silent, submissive figures hooded and swathed in white. Ere it sinks into the Atlantic, the low sun casts its red-tinged rays on the crumbling walls, though time has given them a hue that hardly needs that added splendor. Linking fancy to fancy, I wonder what manner of men these old ruffians really were who now lie buried before me near the sea they so often scoured. From the western coast of Morocco where the Atlas range looks out across the broad Atlantic to Tripolitania where the mountains disappear in the haze of the Lybian desert, a mighty race of seafaring men has been bred to strive and struggle. For what? Surely it must require something more than the lure of plunder to keep a people at the hard task of continual fighting for centuries.
Whatever these Arab sailors may have been, this much is certain: they had nothing in common with the tawdry, opera bouffe orientalism some Americans are wont to picture. This romantic misconception of the East is one of the most naive manifestations of Main Street. A dear old lady in one of our seaboard cities, on taking her afternoon drive recently, was surprised to find the streets swarming with a host attired in fezzes, embroidered boleros, scarlet sashes, baggy trousers, and other paraphernalia for which, I believe, the correct technical term is "full regalia." "James," she said in all seriousness to her chauffeur, "drive down to the harbor. I want to see the Turkish man-of-war."
Are we being quite fair to these people in not taking them more seriously? Could it be that they fought for something which to them was dear, even sacred? Let us turn back the pages of history and see what was the background of these people who adopted the sea.
II
The origin of the Barbary guerre de course, to use a dignified name, is to be found in the expulsion of the Moors from Spain. Into a narrow strip of territory skirting the southern Mediterranean, barely able to support a small population of farmers, artisans, and merchants, several hundred thousand "refugees" were suddenly cast. The task of providing for the shifting of races after the World War was simple in comparison. A bitter, angry crowd they must have been, turned out of the fair garden they had labored for seven centuries to embellish and to fructify. They knew that their kinsmen who had been left behind would be the victims of a stupid, bigoted, and cruel persecution whose avowed object was the obliteration of their civilization and the suppression of their religion. To make matters worse, the conquerors now proposed to cross the Straits of Gibraltar and attack the remaining strongholds of Islam in northern Africa. In short, we have a typical "lost province" situation such as the late Mr. Frank H. Simonds excelled in expounding.
Before the need of finding a livelihood for thousands of "demobilized" warriors compelled the Barbary rulers to look to the sea, the Arab conception of that element had been well summed up by one of the generals of the Caliph Omar who reported to his master from Egypt, which he had just conquered, that the sea was "a huge beast which silly folk ride like worms on logs." Necessity, however, is the mother of invention. Able-bodied men, burning with a desire of revenge and possessing a knowledge of the enemy's coast, were now available in large numbers. Did not an American naval hero once make use of a similar knowledge of the British Isles?
Although at first directed toward halting further advance by the Spaniards, the Moorish counterattack soon became a fight against all Christendom rather than against anyone nation. The strategic importance of Barbary sea power as a phase of Ottoman naval policy has not, it seems to me, been given the importance it deserves. The Barbary States undoubtedly contributed to the rise of Turkish power, shared in its zenith and continued the fight, unaided, long after Turkey proper had entered into a decline.
Leaving strategy to wiser heads, let us permit the actors to tell their own story. The star role fell to one of the most picturesque figures in history, Keyr-ed-Din, surnamed Barbarossa, a curious and somewhat mysterious character. His parentage is uncertain. Moslems assert that his father was one of the followers of Mohammed II who settled in Lesbos; Christians claim that he was the son of a Sicilian renegade; Brantome assures us that he and his brother Uruj were French-knights who, after serving Venice, turned to Islam as offering better opportunities for promotion. In any event, he was a man of education, courage, and great cunning. His surname Barbarossa has probably nothing to do with the reputed color of his beard but was a corruption of the Arabic words Baba Aroudj, meaning "the elder." In furtherance of the project to carry the "Holy War" into Africa, Ferdinand the Catholic had occupied Oran, Bougie, and Algiers and had reduced the local rulers to the state of vassals. On the death of Ferdinand in 1516, the Algerines revolted. They called to their aid Uruj, who had already established his fame as a corsair. Charles V now began a vigorous campaign to recover the lost territory, defeated and killed Uruj, only to find himself opposed by Uruj's successor, the formidable Barbarossa. In short order Barbarossa established his sway over all of Algeria with the exception of Oran and was confirmed in his tenure by the Sultan.
The piratical warfare against all Christendom now began in earnest. The coasts of Spain and The Two Sicilies, as well as the Balearic Isles, were plundered as a mere matter of routine. Occasionally families of "Moriscos," or Moors held in slavery by the Spaniards, were rescued, for a consideration. An amusing incident occurred on one of those expeditions. Desiring to show his appreciation to the Sultan Soliman for the viceregal honors conferred on him, Barbarossa decided to send a present which "the Magnificent" would surely relish. The present was to be nothing less than Julia Gonzaga, Duchess of Trajetto, the most beautiful widow in Europe, so at least the poets tell us. A sudden nocturnal raid on the lady's castle at Fondi came perilously near being successful. The lovely duchess had scarcely time to mount her steed and escape with one knight as escort. Unfortunately for the knight, the lady was in decidedly Godiva-like disarray when she took to flight, a fact which tempted the cavalier to indulge in a familiarity for which he afterwards paid with his life.
More serious claims to his sovereign's gratitude awaited Barbarossa. The rough school of sea fighting through which he had passed had made him the ablest commander in the empire. He was now called to the Golden Horn to reorganize the Ottoman navy. "He who rules the sea will shortly rule on land also." This remark, which might well have emanated from the pen of Mahan, was addressed to the Sultan Soliman by Barbarossa at his first audience. The admiral proceeded to demonstrate it by winning the Battle of Prevesa (September 28, 1538) over the combined Venetian, Spanish, and Papal fleets commanded by Andrea Doria, himself a sailor of no mean ability. The prize, as ever, was the trade of the Levant, the scene, the old naval dueling ground which had seen the Battle of Actium and was to witness the Battle of Lepanto and, in modern times, the Battle of Navarino.
Among the seventeen captains who had accompanied Barbarossa to Stamboul was a certain Dragut, an Anatolian and one of the few leaders of the Turkish navy not to be born a Christian. His debut in his profession was not fortunate. After some successes as a raider, he was captured by "the Religion," as the Knights of Malta were then called, and spent the next four years chained to the oars of his own galley. The Grand Master of the order, Jean de la Valette, on inspecting his fleet noticed Dragut in irons on a rowers' bench. "Usanza de guerra," said the Master. "Y mudanza de fortuna," philosophically answered the captain. The play on words is preserved by the free translation "Chance of war," "And change of fortune"; the grim humor lies in the fact that in his youth la Valette had been captured by the Turks and had likewise spent several years on a rowers' bench. Barbarossa finally ransomed his subordinate who thereupon resumed his campaigns against the hereditary enemy. A cruel and relentless war if ever there was one. Dragut was destined to die in harness, losing his life at the famous siege of Malta in 1565 in which Jean de la Valette immortalized his name and his order. A promontory on the island of Malta perpetuates Dragut's name.
No notion could be more unfair or erroneous than to suppose that in this fight to a finish the Christian powers were any more considerate of their enemy than were the Mohammedans. In 1535 Charles V recaptured Tunis which a few years previously had fallen to Barbarossa. When the city surrendered, over 20,000 men, women, and children were massacred and 10,000 sold into slavery, a performance which probably constitutes "an all time high" and furnished ample provocation for the reprisals which were to follow. It is small wonder that the Jews of Algiers, on seeing Charles' fleet approach in 1541, assembled in their synagogues to pray Jehovah for the success of Moslem arms. That prayer was abundantly answered. In spite of the fact that the fleet was commanded by Andrea Doria and the army by the Duke of Alva, the expedition ended in a disastrous failure. With great difficulty did Charles V make good his escape with his shattered forces.
The death of Soliman in 1566 marked the zenith of Turkish power. Thoroughly alarmed by the loss of Cyprus in 1571, Venice, Spain, and the Papal States once more launched an offensive, this time commanded by one of the greatest admirals of history, Don Juan of Austria. But Barbarossa was no more, having died in Stamboul at the ripe old age of 90. His incompetent successors, although disposing of a superior fleet, went down to crushing defeat at Lepanto (October 7, 1571). Ninety-four Turkish vessels were sunk and 130 captured. The Turkish losses have been estimated at 30,000, besides 15,000 Christian galley slaves liberated. Although mutual jealousies robbed the allies of the full fruits of victory, the spirit of the Turkish navy was definitely broken and Ottoman sea power entered on its decline.
III
Occupying an unbroken stretch of territory extending from Oran to the Egyptian border, abounding in practically impregnable fortresses, the Barbary States were in an admirable position for a war of commerce destruction. Nothing daunted by the elimination of the Turks as a first-class naval power, they proceeded to carry on the fight with their own resources. That a harassing war is the inevitable recourse of a power whose main fleet cannot hold the sea is axiomatic. Such tactics never can win a war but they do furnish an invaluable diversion which can draw the lightning away from the main citadel. To the Barbary navies belongs the distinction of having extracted the maximum of effect such a war can yield and of having pursued it longer and more intensively than any other navy in history. It was noidle boast when the Tripolitan Ambassador in London said that "Turkey, Tripoli, Tunis, and Algiers were the sovereigns of the Mediterranean, and that no nation could navigate that sea without a treaty of peace with them." A rather extensive "war zone," even judged by modern standards, into which belligerents could venture only at the risk of finding themselves "spurlos versenkt" in some Moorish jail!
Practically every nation tried a "punitive expedition" or two. A typical illustration was that of Duquesne in 1683 when 6,000 shells, the entire supply of the fleet, were fired into Algiers, killing 8,000 persons. The enraged defenders, as a reprisal, took to loading their guns with French subjects, the first victim being the venerable Vicaire Apostolique, JeanLe Vacher. Twenty more such human projectiles were fired. The French fleet withdrew but returned five years later, on which occasion 48 Frenchmen were hurled over the heads of their fellow-countrymen. In the Musee de la Marine in Paris can be seen the mortar from which the French Consul was propelled; it is called "La Consulaire." Obviously France was getting nowhere; all that was being done was to furnish justification for the subsequent dictum of Thomas Jefferson that naval bombardments were "much like breaking glass windows with guineas." Remembering the disastrous defeat of Charles V under the walls of Algiers in 1541, Christian nations hesitated to land armies on African soil, yet in no other way could the menace be effectively disposed of. To be sure the young American Navy accomplished creditable results and achieved undying fame, but by that time Barbary sea power had dwindled in the face of the increased armaments of Europe developed during the Napoleonic Wars. When in 1830 France decided to make an end of Algiers, once and for all, the difficulties to be overcome were military rather than naval. Mutual rivalries prevented any concerted action. Great Britain's apparent indifference to a situation that was damaging her commercial rivals caused Benjamin Franklin to say that "if there were no Algiers, it would be worth England's while to build one." Strangely enough, the British were saying the same thing of the Dutch in the very same words.
One of the pressing problems confronting these states was the financial one. The proverbial precariousness of the Ottoman exchequer made help from that quarter out of the question. Consequently, the war must be made to "pay for itself"; truces could only be granted if paid for. "If I were to make peace with everybody," said the Dey of Algiers to the American representative, "what would become of my corsairs? They would take my head off ... not being able to live on their miserable allowance." Besides fending for themselves financially, they actually contrived to replenish the treasury of the home government. One of the humiliating tasks which fell to Captain Bainbridge, commanding the frigate George Washington, was the carrying of tribute from the Dey of Algiers to the Sublime Porte in 1800.
The Barbary rulers were but following the example of their archenemy, the Knights of Malta. No matter what truces other powers might make with the Turks, the usual "caravans," as the Knights' raiding squadrons were called, must go forth. How else could the order live up to its statutes, the minimum number of "corsos" required of a candidate for the Grand Cross being eight? The revenue thus collected has been estimated at 125,000 livres annually. Nor were the rights of neutrals any more respected by "the Religion" than by the Arab cruisers. When not at war with the Porte, Venice carried on a thriving trade with the Levantine ports. The galleys of the Knights invariably considered Venetian vessels carrying Turkish merchandise, even though bound for a neutral port, as fair prizes, denying that "the flag covered the cargo." Sixtus V had to use considerable pressure to compel his belligerent order to observe his decree that such trade was not to be interfered with, and in spite of his orders thirty Maltese privateers operated in 1669. One Grand Master went so far as to "farm out" the business to the highest bidder! One of the reasons which impelled the Turks to undertake the difficult siege of Rhodes in 1523 and that of Malta in 1565 was the hope of ridding themselves of an enemy who, while flying the pious motto "Vias Tuas Domine Demonstm Mihi," was indulging in precisely the same type of warfare the Barbary states excelled in. No conscientious scruples were allowed to interfere with so lucrative a business. When in 1637 the schismatic German knights offered three galleys to the order, the council ruled that "even when coming from a Protestant or heretical body, this could only redound to the service of God and the exaltation of his Holy Name and to the satisfaction of the Pope and the other Christian princes." One of the characters of Spanish comedy is a swashbuckling buffoon called "Matamoro," the "Moor-killer." Behind the blatant boasts of this extravagant personage lies a tradition nevertheless. Moor-baiting was for centuries an international sport.
All things considered, it is not to be wondered that, disregarding diplomatic niceties, the Barbary rulers put all Christians in the same class. In so doing, however, they failed to recognize the fact that some nations, the Scandinavian countries and ourselves for instance, had no quarrel with them; an unfortunate blunder which greatly increased their difficulties in the matter of ships' stores and brought down on their heads the ire of one young nation which at that time had some drastic notions concerning the rights of neutrals.
A defense of the methods of the Barbary states is probably impossible. That they championed slavery can possibly be overlooked as many Christian nations were addicted to it. The British and the Popes frequently resorted to the Maltese slave market. Moreover, at that period the distinction between slaves and prisoners of war was very shadowy. To the crime of slavery, however, they added that of white slavery, which to our way of thinking is abhorrent. In their defense it should be said that they were fighting for institutions their religion tolerated. An age which knighted Drake and Morgan and showered honors on Cortez and Pizarro can hardly point the finger of shame at the Moslem. As a stationary civilization, unable to read the changed spirit of the times, the Barbary States will continue to suffer in the judgment of history. This, however, should not blind us to the courage and resourcefulness they gave proof of in the defense of their faith and culture.
The assistance Barbary sea power had been to Islam is best illustrated by what occurred once that power was broken. For the first time in centuries Christian nations could hear the cries of their coreligionaries suffering under Turkish misrule; they were no longer drowned out by the wails of Christian captives languishing in African dungeons or groaning in Moorish galleys. The front, which had been fairly stable since the capture of Belgrade by Prince Eugene of Austria in 1688, now began to crumble. The Greek War of Independence opened the first breach, closely followed by the rise of the Balkan States. Turkish power, in spite of formidable land forces, was henceforth dependent for its existence on the fear Russia's Panslavic program was causing in European chancelleries, rather than on the strength of its arms. It cannot be claimed that the collapse of Barbary sea power was solely responsible for the result. Other powerful forces were at work. The spirit of nationality derived from the Napoleonic Wars and the growing venality and incompetence of the Turkish government would, sooner or later, have brought about the inevitable downfall. It should be borne in mind, however, that coincidences are extremely rare in history, cause and effect are the dominant factors. Viewed from this angle, the synchronization of the two events is rather convincing.
The year 1930 witnessed two centenaries in Paris, the centenary of Romanticism and the one hundredth anniversary of the capture of Algiers. In the exhibition held in the Petit Palais for the latter, the curious could gaze on the "chasse-mouche," or "fly-swatter," with which Dey Hussein struck the French consul in the course of an altercation concerning some obscure claim for wheat furnished the French revolutionary government. In so doing he set in motion a movement quite as romantic as that launched by Victor Hugo when he presented "Ernani" to a bewildered and excited audience. What will the next hundred years of French occupation bring forth? Is it possible that in the new empire into which Algiers, Tunis, and Morocco are being absorbed a place may be found for the successors of Barbarossa and Dragut? Will the Italians find in Tripoli the spirit of the men who captured that city from "the Religion"? To be sure it is a far cry from the xebec with its lateen sails, such as Sert is want to portray in his decorative panels, to a modern submarine. Military equipment is somewhat different from the turbans and scimitars which have inspired many an exotic design by Bahkst. Can the people who named our navigational stars and defined their astronomical functions find a place in modern sea power? Time alone will tell; in the meantime it behooves us to remember that the word admiral is but a transmutation of the Arabic title "the Ruler of the Sea." The imposing fortifications the Moors built are again becoming arsenals and it is quite possible that future wars may reveal a return to the system of "unrestricted warfare" of which these somewhat underestimated Barbary navies have given an impressive demonstration.
The advantages and benefits accruing to the Porte from the hostilities by them committed on the Christians were far from being inconsiderable. They merited some indulgence since it was they alone who curbed the Western Infidel, standing as so many impregnable bulwarks in the very jaws of the king of Spain, an invincible enemy to the Mussulman name.
This haughty reply of the Dey of Algiers to a timid Sultan in 1627, when urged by that monarch to curb the zeal of his captains, is typical of the spirit of the offensive animating the Barbary navies. During the World War the term "Barbary Piracy" was freely applied to the tactics of the German raiders. Intended as an epithet, the words may have embodied a prophecy. In some future war will the descendants of the intrepid African corsairs again be found at the post of honor and danger? One thing is certain; that post belongs to them by right of inheritance.