Miracles and Massacres by Glenn Beck Page A

ship’s store of gunpowder and jumped back aboard the ketch.
    Whether it was called the Philadelphia or The Gift of Allah , the once-mighty warship, now burning from bow to stern, would soon be of no further use to anyone.
    U.S. Capitol
    Washington, D.C.
    March 26, 1804
    The president appeared to be enjoying himself at this most unusual party. Two years ago, supporters had sent Thomas Jeffersona twelve-hundred-pound block of cheese. Today, starting at noon, Jefferson—with the help of an equally massive loaf of bread and an open invitation to the public—expected to finally finish it off.
    Guests at the Capitol ranged from farmers to fishermen, politicians to proletarians, and slaveholders to, according to one senator, their slaves. Some came for the cheese, which had become famous, others came for the alcohol, which was in great supply, but William Eaton was there for something else.
    â€œMr. President,” said the former consul to Tunis, several hours into the festivities, “if I could just have a moment of your time.”
    Jefferson, Eaton knew from watching closely, had already enjoyed a few drinks. Maybe a few too many. But perhaps, he thought, the president’s temporary reduction in inhibitions might work to Eaton’s advantage. Perhaps he had caught Jefferson at just the right time.
    â€œOf course,” said the self-styled president of the common man. Hearing from his people was, along with the consumption of the large block of cheese, the purpose of today’s party. If he was looking down on Eaton, it was only because his excitable guest was six inches shorter.
    After a brief introduction, Eaton jumped right into the matter on his mind. “Sir, the capture of the Philadelphia is the latest outrage in a war we are losing.” If Jefferson was taken aback by Eaton’s abruptness, he didn’t show it. He had, after all, read equally blunt appraisals of the war effort.
    â€œOur navy doesn’t have enough ships to win this war,” Eaton continued. “And our commodores don’t have enough boldness. The last commodore spent seventeen months in the Mediterranean but only nineteen days before the enemy’s port! A fleet of Quaker meetinghouses would have done just as well!”
    The president tried to interrupt Eaton, but he was just getting warmed up. Interspersing his passionate plea with lines he had delivered to congressmen a month earlier, Eaton told Jefferson, “There is no limit to the avarice of the Barbary princes. Today Tripoli demands three million dollars. Next year the Pasha will want ten million. Like the insatiable grave, they can never have enough. The solution is not to be found in blockades and bribes but in a change of regime!”
    Jefferson, even in his state of mild inebriation, appeared skeptical.Eaton pushed. “The project is feasible! I have met a man named Hamet Qaramanli, who is the rightful Pasha.” Nine years earlier, Hamet’s younger brother, Yussef, locked Hamet out of his own palace in Tripoli. In one day, he had lost his throne, his country, the loyalty of his brother, and the company of his wife and children, who had become Yussef’s first hostages.
    â€œHe is an enemy of piracy,” Eaton continued. “He is a friend of America. He belongs on the Tripolitan throne. And with your support, I can put him there.”
    â€œIs that so?” asked a still-doubtful president.
    â€œI can march with Hamet Qaramanli from Cairo to Tripoli. His people will rally to his flag. With an Arab army, we can attack by land and put a true friend on the throne. He will release the men of the Philadelphia and swear to never kidnap Americans. Nor will he demand a dollar of tribute from the United States. I need only some money and Marines.”
    Jefferson knew the naval war was producing no results and he understood the public’s anger over the capture of the Philadelphia . He was angry, too.
    It might be the