The main principle of Charles II.’s policy in foreign as in domestic affairs was to avoid friction. Indolent, unambitious, and a hater of everything likely to disturb the even flow of his voluptuous existence, the Merry Monarch would sooner have surrendered his rights than have taken the trouble to defend them. No prince ever stood less upon his dignity; perhaps because no prince ever had less dignity to stand upon. In the course of their protracted struggle for the conquest of Candia, the Turks repeatedly pressed English ships into their service. Cromwell had opposed vigorously all encroachments of the sort; but the representatives of Charles, after some feeble and ineffectual protests, not only acquiesced tamely, but bitterly blamed those captains who ventured to resist; and, while the Grand Signor violated the neutrality of England, the English Secretary of State overwhelmed him with assurances that his Majesty “does inviolably observe his peace with the Grand Signior.”[22] Nor were these empty assurances. Individual Englishmen might assist the Venetians in what contemporary Christendom regarded as a holy war, but, unlike the French, whose volunteers passed on in a steady stream from Paris itself to reinforce the garrison of Candia, they did so at their own risk and peril without the least countenance from their Government. Indeed, such crusaders were so few and far between that Ahmed Kuprili commented on the fact that he did not find “soe much as an English seaman amongst his enemies att Candia.”[23]
To these general conditions which at the time rendered our Embassy unusually comfortable for any tenant of average tact, must be added an event that secured for Sir John Finch’s person special consideration.
Soon after his appointment, an English ship, the Mediterranean, on her passage from Tunis to Tripoli, had been met by the redoubtable corsair Domenico Franceschi—a Genoese by birth, but then domiciled at Leghorn and holding a privateering commission from the Great Duke of Tuscany. Normally an English vessel had nothing to fear from a Tuscan man-of-war; but the Mediterranean happened to carry the retiring Pasha of Tunis, homeward bound with his family and the spoils of his province, and, as the Duke was at perpetual war with the Sultan, Domenico could not well forgo such a chance of serving his sovereign and enriching himself. The Mediterranean managed, before the corsair could come up with her, to set the Pasha with some of his belongings ashore at Tripoli, but she was captured, taken to Malta, and pillaged of the bulk of the Pasha’s treasure, including his women. The incident was serious: it was one of those incidents which often strained Turkey’s relations with Western Powers in those days; and with no Western Power more often than with England. Not to dwell on remoter instances,[24] only a year before some other Turkish passengers on another English ship, the Lyon, whilst sailing from Tunis to Smyrna, had been carried off with their goods by the same pirate. At that time Sir Daniel Harvey addressed to the home Government an energetic protest against “the insolence and piracy” of a person in the service of a friendly prince, pointing out that his exploit endangered the safety of the English colonies in Turkey, and, if not taken notice of, might be an encouragement to him and others to do likewise.[25] But nothing was done, and the late Ambassador’s prediction had now come true even beyond his anticipation. For in that case the victims were Turks of very humble rank (a cap-maker with his two servants, and two old men who had just been redeemed at Malta, one after 48, the other after 50 years’ captivity), and the booty a trifle—3 chests of caps, 3 bales of blankets, and 3 boxes of botargoes.[26] This time the victim was a high functionary of the Porte, and the loot enormous. The Turks’ wrath was proportionate. They threatened that, if the property was not restored, the loss should be made good by the English residents; the Porte’s position always being that a Frank nation was collectively responsible for any Turkish passengers or goods that fell into the hands of pirates whilst travelling under that nation’s flag. Matters were not improved by the fact that the Mediterranean had offered no resistance, but was seen sailing away in the corsair’s company with every appearance of being a willing captive.
The directors of the Levant Company in London were not slow to realise the gravity of the situation. As soon as official reports from the Consuls at Leghorn and Tripoli reached them, they petitioned the King to write to the Great Duke and to demand complete restitution of the Pasha’s property and reparation for damages, with due punishment of “so notorious an offender.”[27] The King hastened to indite an epistle in that sense to the Duke,[28] and, at the same time, instructed Sir John Finch, then on his way out, to repair to Florence and make the necessary representations to his Highness by word of mouth. These instructions found Finch at Genoa; and he applied himself to the task with energy, anxiety for his own future in Turkey lending a spur to his concern for the public good.
In order to simplify matters, he procured, before leaving Genoa, the banishment of the corsair from that State, and then proceeded to Leghorn. There he found an Aga whom the Pasha of Tunis was sending to England as his Procurator on that very business. When he heard of Finch’s arrival, the Aga thought to save himself the journey to London by laying his case before him. Finch made the most of this lucky encounter. Concealing from the Aga his instructions, he gave the affair a totally different turn. The Mediterranean, he argued, was not an English ship. It is true that her Master, Captain Chaplyn, was an Englishman; but he had changed his religion, renounced his country, and, having for ten years lived at Leghorn and married there, had become a Tuscan subject, so that his Majesty of England was no longer concerned in him. With these “and other motives” (a delicate euphemism for the motive vulgarly known as bribery), the Ambassador prevailed on the Aga to give him a declaration in writing, attested by public notaries, that he had no claim upon Captain Chaplyn or any other Englishman; only, as Finch was accredited to the Porte, it would be taken very kindly of him if he would assist a Pasha in distress, the more as he lay under no obligation to do so. Having had this document signed and sealed, the resourceful diplomat approached the Duke in another way—the way dictated by the facts of the case and his instructions.
In that quarter also, Sir John’s efforts, thanks to his long connection with the Tuscan Court, met with success. At Florence itself he recovered 5000 dollars in ready money and a portion of the stolen goods. Then, armed with letters from the Duke, and accompanied by the Aga and Captain Chaplyn, he went on to Malta, where he managed, though not without great difficulty, to obtain the restitution of 75 more bales of goods and the redemption of seven captives, among them the Pasha’s sister-in-law, whom the Pasha afterwards made his wife. At Smyrna, where the Ambassador, still accompanied by the Turkish Aga and the English Captain, landed on the 1st of January 1674, he caused the former to give him before the Cadi of that place an official receipt for all the recovered goods—30,000 dollars—and a full discharge to Captain Chaplyn.[29]
We are told that the Turks expressed boundless admiration at this action—an action without a parallel in the annals of piracy: who had ever heard of a corsair being made to disgorge? They applauded the Ambassador’s skill and regarded his success as a manifest proof of his sovereign’s influence over foreign Governments. They were also impressed by his luck—no small recommendation to a superstitious people in an astrologically-minded age. Had not his landing on Turkish soil synchronised with the celebration of the holiest of Moslem feasts—the Feast of the Bairam?[30] As to the English Factory, its sixty members (merry young blades most of them) manifested their joy at the sight of their long-expected Ambassador after a fashion which must have made it a little difficult for his Excellency to maintain the reserve and gravity proper to his exalted station.
From Smyrna Sir John continued his journey to Constantinople, arriving there about the end of March; and some two months after, in the absence of the Grand Vizir, he had audience of the Vizir’s Kaimakam, or Deputy. On this occasion the new Ambassador gave the first evidence of that meticulous devotion to forms which made up then an enormous, and still makes up a very considerable, part of the complete diplomat’s mentality. Before going to audience he took care to find out how many kaftans, or robes of honour, the Kaimakam meant to present him and his suite with. “I was offerd’,” he says, “But 15: no English Ambassadour ever having had more from the Chimacam: But understanding the Venetian Bailo had 17, I would abate nothing of what he had had.” After a tug of several weeks, he wrested the two extra vests from the Turk.
One or two other features of that ceremony remain on record.