Of this last, dear child, I shall not speak, except to say that I had rather take my chances with a dozen red Robespierres than brave again the Terror of the Pest, the black flag of Bubonia. We were doubly desperate: by the day our three months’ grace expired (8 July, just after my 20th birthday), hundreds of Algerines & five American prisoners had expired also, and unspeakably. Daily we expected the pestilence to attack our little household. Barlow made his will. I wisht myself in Switzerland. Yet no word came from across the Mediterranean.

What came instead seem’d at first another setback, but proved a blessing in disguise. A new French consul arrived in Algiers to replace the old, bringing with him a gift to the Dey of such opulence that “ours” (which Monroe & Barlow had thot daringly extravagant) was put in the shade. To point up this disparity — and to remind us further of our tardiness with the ransom — Hassan Bashaw open’d his hairy arms to France, & would have nothing to do with us.

Prest by the Dey to ask some favor in return for his gift, the new French consul requested a loan of $200,000 in gold from the royal treasury, to defray the expenses of the French consulate! We thot the request an effrontery — the man was borrowing back more than he’d given, at a time when gold was so scarce in Algiers that even the house of Bacri had none to lend — but the Dey (a pirate after all, not a banker) granted the extraordinary loan at once. Now, it happened that Bacri’s own assets, like Barlow’s, were largely invested in French government bonds; after sharing with us his surprise that the Dey had made so improbable a loan, & his interest in anyone who had such access to the Algerine treasury, Bacri hit upon the happy idea of claiming that same $200,000 from the French consulate, in partial payment of what the Directoire owed him on those bonds, reciprocating with credit in that amount for the consulate to borrow against in its routine operations! The Consul agreed, it being more convenient for him to work thro Bacri’s banks than to be, in effect, in the banking business himself; Bacri was delighted that the French government now owed money to the Dey instead of to him; and Barlow — who by this time was heartily sorry he’d volunteer’d for the Algerine service instead of improving his own fortune in Paris — wisht aloud & sincerely he’d been born a Jew instead of a Connecticut Yankee.

“Better Yankee than yekl,” Bacri replied, by way of cordial acknowledgement that some New England traders are sharp indeed, and some Jews dull.

Now, I much admired Joseph Bacri myself, as a shrewd but reliable fellow who took every fair advantage, but fulfill’d his obligations faithfully, & who in addition was a man of culture & political detachment (all governments, he was fond of declaring, are more or less knavish, but just that fact made the more or less of considerable importance). For some reason — perhaps because his smile included me amongst the “Yankees”—I was suddenly inspired to out-Bacri Bacri in our ongoing project to Burlingame the Bashaw. Here was our chance — I declared to Barlow when our friend had left, still exulting in his coup de maître—to discharge Bacri’s debt to us for removing Cathcart. Bacri — who understood credit as the Dey did not — was as confident as we that, despite all the delays, Baring & Company’s letter of credit to Humphreys in Lisbon against their banks in Madrid & Cadiz would eventually be transfer’d to Bacri’s office in Leghorn & thence to Algiers. In that sense, our personal “credit” with Bacri was good, especially in the light of our past favors to him. Against this credit, then, why ought we not to borrow at once from Bacri the entire same $200,000 that the French Consul had borrow’d from the Dey, & buy with it the immediate release of the prisoners?

Barlow was incredulous. Why should the Dey accept his own money, so to speak, for the sailors’ ransom, especially as he would be relinquishing his best leverage for delivery of the frigate & payment of the rest of his demands? He need not know the source of the money, I replied; ’twas Bacri himself who routinely assay’d & certified, for a fee, the Dey’s revenues. As for that leverage, it should be pointed out to him that the plague was reducing it every day: $200,000 for 100 sick Yankee sailors was not a bad price; the Dey could always capture fresh hostages if “we” defaulted on the rest of the treaty. But Bacri, Barlow protested, slightly less incredulous but still shaking his head: What was in it for Bacri? I admitted that to be the harder question, for while our friend was most certainly not just a Jewish banker, neither was he just our friend. The best I could suggest was that we charter from Bacri himself a ship to fetch the sailors home in, and route it to Philadelphia by way of Livorno & Lisbon, where the captain — or one of us — might expedite delivery of the promist gold. Beyond that, we must (and, I added earnestly, we should) simply trust to Bacri’s goodwill.

It was this last touch, I believe, that persuaded Barlow in the 1st instance (who now hugg’d and waltzt about the room with me again, to the amazement of our Algerine house-servants) & Bacri in the 2nd, who did indeed drag his heels in indecision & astonishment at the audacity of our proposal, but at last agreed & took it upon himself to point out to the Dey that five percent of his hostages had succumb’d already to the plague. Mirabile dictu, the stratagem workt, with a celerity that startled even us: not 48 hours from the time we hatcht the plan, the prisoners were ransom’d with the Dey’s own gold & waiting aboard the ship Fortune (leased from Bacri, but crew’d & captain’d by themselves) for a fair southwesterly to carry them to Leghorn!

“Andrew Burlingame Cook the Fourth,” said Barlow, who had taken to teasing me with my full name, “you must go with them.” In one bold stroke, he declared, I had accomplisht the chiefest part of his mission. He himself must linger on until the gold arrived & the treaty was concluded. But much as he wisht my company & counsel, he wisht even more my being out of reach of the pest, & charged me now with a mission of more moment to him than his own welfare: I was to stop in Leghorn to ascertain that Bacri’s office there had received the letter of credit from Humphreys in Lisbon (we’d learnt, aghast, that Humphreys had sent it by the regular post instead of by express courier!) & to make sure that it was promptly negotiated & the specie shipt before Napoleon, who had open’d his great campaign against the Austrians in northern Italy, should close the port. I was then to go to his Ruthy in the rue du Bac, deliver to her his last will & testament along with letters of an equally intimate but less lugubrious character, assure her that she had no rivals amongst the pantaloon’d ladies of Algiers, & assure him, by return post, that she was similarly faithful. That is (he regarded me meaningly here: no libertine, he was no monk either, & had not been perfectly celibate all these months), that whatever shifts she might have devised to assuage her loneliness, they posed no threat to her love for him.

“And this inquiry you are to discharge with perfect tact,” he concluded, “as only you — or your father — could.” Except that, should the impulse take me, I was to consider myself free to stay aboard of the Fortune & visit the country to which I had just render’d a considerable service, perhaps even seeking out “Henry Burlingame IV” & settling once for all in my heart whether he was my father. For if he was not, or if no face-to-face accounting could justify his behavior to me, then he, Barlow, would be pleased to regard me officially as he regarded me already in his heart: as his own son.