A northeaster, a gale. Alex returned to her room, her pulse racing. She found herself at her window, staring through the latticework of the shutters, which were nailed shut. She could just glimpse the sea, a collage of frothing whitecaps. The palm trees in the garden swayed in the raging wind. But she could not, of course, see Preble’s squadron. Although the palace was perched on the northern side of the neck of land facing the Mediterranean, her windows overlooked the sea east of the harbor, facing Alexandria.
She swallowed. They had already changed history by making good Xavier’s escape. Jovar had been executed in his place. Alex thought now about how Xavier had supplied incredibly intimate details of Tripoli’s defenses to Commodore Preble. There was going to be a war. As soon as the wind changed. Before her advent in Tripoli, Preble’s attack had been devastating. Now what would happen?
She was afraid.
Afraid for herself—and afraid they had changed world history too much.
August 3, 1804
The attack began at precisely 2:45 in the afternoon.
Alex heard the explosions first. Cringing, she froze. Boom! Boom! It sounded as if bombs were exploding just beneath the walls of the palace, perhaps even striking those walls. More explosions sounded—Boom!—even closer and louder than before.
Her bedroom rumbled beneath her very feet.
When there was a brief lull in what Alex realized must be broadsides fired directly at the palace, the afternoon was still filled with the hissing screams of mortars and the lighter sound of exploding firebombs and ceaseless pistol fire. She ran to the window. At first she could see nothing but the shimmering sea.
“Dammit!” She strained for a wider view.
And Alex glimpsed a huge brig flying the stars and stripes of America. It was cruising within six or seven hundred feet of the palace, dear God. As she stared at what might very well be the squadron’s flagship, she saw the bright red lights of numerous cannons firing simultaneously.Boom!The cannons, perhaps twenty of them, roared. And theywerefiring directly at the palace—directly, it seemed, toward her.
Alex dove to the floor.
The cannonballs hit hard. On the rooftops above her, on the walls outside, and inside the gardens. Explosions sounded furiously at once everywhere. Around her, overhead. Even beneath her. The walls of her bedroom shook visibly, but this time the frescoed ceiling cracked. A huge piece of marble crashed to the floor and splintered, sending up veils of dust.
Alex lay unmoving, panting, covered with sweat. Her arms shielded her head.
That same huge, deafening roar was repeated as the brig fired another round of broadsides at the palace. Alex remained unmoving, her heart lurching with dread.Boom!The floor shivered beneath her and she heard wood and stone and marble cracking violently again. She waited for her bedroom to collapse on top of her head.
But it did not. An eerie, deathly silence suddenly reigned, punctuated only by the more distant sounds of grapeshot, shelling, and firebombs.
Trembling, she waited for another broadside from the United States brig, but it did not come.
And through the other incessant sounds of war, Alex heard the men. Men shouting, men screaming—men in the throes of injury or death.
Cautiously Alex got up on all fours. She froze, waiting for another destructive round of cannon fire. When she did not hear the familiar roar of the god-awfully close broadsides, she scrambled to her door.
It had crossed her mind that her guards would have fled during the very first exchange of fire. Alex stood, pressing her ear to the wood, shaking violently, uncontrollably. She heard nothing. They were gone.
This was her chance to escape.Alex reached for the doorknob and pulled on it. It did not give.
Horrified, she realized she remained locked in.
And then she heard the roar she had so quickly come to dread.Boom!Alex dove to the floor, and an instant later a dozen cannonballs hit the palace, exploding loudly, simultaneously, this time causing Alex’s entire room to shake wildly, the way high-rises did during earthquakes in the motion pictures.
Alex prayed for her life.
***
Tripoli was ablaze. Preble’s attack was in its second hour. Bomb vessels continued to lob shells into the center of the city. Smoke was billowing from the western side of the city, and from the northernmost corner. Flames could be seen licking the minarets of the city’s highest mosques.
Meanwhile Preble’s flagship was cruising back and forth in front of the shore batteries and the bashaw’s castle, firing constant broadsides. Already the palace walls were crumbling jaggedly in places.
Xavier was commanding Gunboat No. 5. He had a job to do, but he could not shake from the back of his mind the fact that Alexandra was inside the palace Preble now so ruthlessly attacked. That she was inside the city Preble was determined to bring to its knees or destroy.
As Xavier gave the order to fire, his men’s pistols roared. The small cannon boomed. He was chasing his second Tripolitan cruiser, the first having capsized on the rocks just beneath the palace after a direct hit.
“Full sail!” he shouted. “To the oars!”
