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[Illustration: The meeting of the two young captains.]
DECATUR AND SOMERS
by
M. ELLIOT SEAWELL
Author of Paul Jones, Little Jarvis, Midshipman Paulding, Children of
Destiny, Maid Marian, Throckmorton, etc.
Illustrated
[Illustration: D.A.&C.]
Third Edition
New York
D. Appleton and Company
1896
Copyright, 1894,
By D. Appleton and Company.
Electrotyped and Printed
at the Appleton Press, U. S. A.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
FACING PAGE
The meeting of the two young captains. _Frontispiece_
W. Granville Smith
The new master’s mate. 12
W. Granville Smith
The sinking of the French privateer. 23
J. O. Davidson
The Enterprise capturing the Tripolitan pirate. 51
J. O. Davidson
The expedition to destroy the Philadelphia. 108
George Gibbs
Exploding the “infernal” at Tripoli. 165
F. Cresson Schell
DECATUR AND SOMERS.
CHAPTER I.
The blue and beautiful Delaware Bay, bathed in a faint haze, looked its
loveliest, one evening about sunset, in June, 1798. The sky above was
clear, and, although there was no moon, the stars were coming out
brilliantly in the sky, that was of a darker blue than the water. The
sun had gone down, but the west was rosy yet. The green, low-lying
country around looked ineffably peaceful, and the only sound that broke
the charmed silence was the rattling of the capstan as a noble frigate,
lying in the stream, hove up her anchor.
Although the brief, enchanted twilight was over all the earth and sea,
the graceful outlines of this lovely frigate were clearly defined
against the opaline sky. She was stoutly sparred, but in such exquisite
proportions that from her rail up she had the delicate beauty of a
yacht. But one look at her lofty hull, and the menacing armament she
carried showed that she could take care of herself in a fight, as well
as run away when she had enough of it. Every rope and every spar was
“ship-shape and Bristol fashion.” Her bright work shone like gold, and
the rows of glistening hammocks in the nettings were as white as snow.
Everything about her was painted an immaculate white, except the hull,
which was a polished black. A gorgeous figure-head ornamented her keen
bows, and across her stern, in great gold letters, was her name—United
States. Such, indeed, was her official name, but from the day she had
first kissed the water she had been nicknamed “Old Wagoner,” because of
the steadiness with which she traveled. Other vessels might be delayed
by vexing calms, but “Old Wagoner” was pretty sure to strike a favoring
breeze that seemed specially reserved for her. And when old Boreas was
in a rage, it was in vain that he poured out all the fury of his
tempests upon her. She could go through a roaring gale like a stormy
petrel, and come out of it without losing a sail or a spar.
A little way off from “Old Wagoner” lay a trim and handsome little
sloop-of-war carrying twenty guns—the Delaware—a fit companion for the
great frigate. On both ships were indications of speedy departure, and
all the orderly bustle that accompanies making sail on a ship of war.
The boats were all hoisted in except the first cutter, and that was
being pulled rapidly through the fast-darkening water. In it was a very
young lieutenant, who was afterward to distinguish himself as Commodore
Stewart, and two young midshipmen, just joined, and each of the three
was destined to add something to the reputation that “Old Wagoner”
gained in after-years, of having been a nursery of naval heroes.
Both of these young midshipmen were about eighteen. One of
them—Decatur—looked older, from his height and strength, as well as from
his easy and confident address. The other one—Somers—seemed younger,
because of a singularly quiet and diffident manner. The lieutenant, in
the stern-sheets, engaged in steering the cutter through the mist upon
the water without colliding with any of the fishing smacks with which
the bay was dotted, yet found time to ask some questions of the young
midshipmen, with whom he had long been well acquainted.
“I think you two have always been together, have you not?” he asked,
keeping meanwhile a bright lookout.
“Yes,” answered Decatur, showing his white teeth in a smile. “We have
been together ever since we were born, it seems to me. We both remember
you when we were at school in Philadelphia, although you were so much
older than we.”
“I recollect you both perfectly,” answered Stewart, “although you were
such little fellows. Somers was the quietest fellow in the school, and
you, Decatur, were the noisiest.”
“I believe you,” said Decatur, laughing. “I could have gone with my
father on the Delaware,” pointing to the smart little sloop-of-war, “but
I could not think of leaving Somers alone to fight it out in the
steerage of the United States all by himself.”
At this Somers turned his eyes on Stewart, with a laugh in them. They
were very black and soft, and full of humor, although Somers neither
laughed nor talked much.
“Don’t mind Decatur, Mr. Stewart,” he said. “Captain Decatur didn’t want
him on the Delaware.”
“I should think not,” replied Stewart. “I can’t imagine anything more
uncomfortable than for a captain to have his own son among the junior
officers. Captains, you know, have to understand what to see and what
not to see. But a captain with his own son in the steerage would have to
see everything.”
“Just what my father said,” added Decatur; “and, besides, he really did
tell me he would like to keep Somers and me together for our first
cruise, because Somers is such a steady old coach that he is fit to be
the guardian of every midshipman in the navy.”
“I wish there were more like him, then,” said Stewart, with rather a
grim smile, remembering what a larky set of youngsters the steerage of
“Old Wagoner” harbored. “Let me give you each one piece of advice,” he
added, as they drew close to the frigate’s great black hull, that loomed
up darkly in the uncertain haze. “Decatur, do you be careful what you
say to your messmates—Somers, do you be careful what you allow your
messmates to say to you. Decatur will be too quick to take the other
midshipmen up, and you, Somers, will be too slow.”
“Thank you, sir,” said both Somers and Decatur together, who appreciated
Stewart’s few words of caution.
Just then the band on the poop of “Old Wagoner” burst into “The Girl I
Left Behind Me.” The music rang over the darkening water with a charming
sound, and the capstan rattled around at the liveliest possible rate,
while the men worked, inspired by the melody. The boat was quickly
brought alongside, and, just as Stewart and the two young midshipmen
stepped on board, the officer of the deck called out the quick order:
“Strike the bell eight! Call the watch!”
The boatswain, with his mates, had been standing ready, and as soon as
eight bells struck he piped up “Attention!” and was answered by all his
mates in quick succession. Then he blew a musical winding call, ending
suddenly by singing out, in a rich bass, “All the watch!” This, too, was
answered, every voice deeper than the other, and then the watch came
tumbling up the hatchways. The wheel and chain were relieved, the
officer of the deck perceived his own relief coming, and put on a
cheerful smile. While all the busy commotion of relieving the watch was
going on, Decatur and Somers were paying their respects to Commodore
Barry, who commanded the ship—an old Revolutionary officer, handsome and
seamanlike, who gloried in his beautiful ship, and was every inch a
sailor.
The wind had been stealing up for some little time, and as soon as the
anchor was lifted, “Old Wagoner” shook out all her plain sails and
shaped her course for the open sea.
Decatur and Somers, on going below, were introduced to their messmates,
Bainbridge, Spence, and others, and were shown where to sling their
hammocks. Decatur directed everything in their joint arrangements,
Somers quietly acquiescing—so much so that he overheard one of the
midshipmen say knowingly to the others, “I think our new messmate is the
sort of fellow who likes to be under the lee of the mizzenmast better
than any other place on deck.” Somers did not quite take in that he was
referred to, and went on very calmly stowing his traps away. Decatur did
not hear the remark.
Dinner was served promptly in the steerage, and by that time “Old
Wagoner” was dashing along in great style, with every sail drawing like
a windlass.
At dinner the prospects of their cruise were freely discussed. The
United States Government having on hand the _quasi_ war with France, the
frigate and the sloop of war were under orders to sail to the West
Indies, and to clear out the great number of fleet French privateers
that were playing havoc with American commerce. Each midshipman
expressed the conviction that “we’ll meet some of those rattling good
French frigates; and when ‘Old Wagoner’ barks up, they’ll either have to
leg it faster than she can, or they’ll be chewed up—that’s certain.”
Likewise all of them fully believed that they would return from the
cruise covered with glory, and with a hundred thousand dollars each in
prize money. The views of the older officers up in the wardroom were
more conservative; but with a lot of merry, reckless young midshipmen
the roseate hue always prevails.
Decatur, with his dashing manner, his fine figure, and his ready laugh,
became instantly popular. Somers’s quietness was not very well
understood, and before the day was out, Decatur was asked with the
frankness of the steerage, if “Somers wasn’t a little—er—rather a
milksop?”
“You think so?” answered Decatur, with a grin. “Very well. I’ve known
Somers ever since I was born. We went to our first school together—and
our last—and I tell you, for your own good, that you had better mind
your p’s and q’s with that sort of a milksop.”
Everything progressed very pleasantly for the first day or two, but it
was impossible that two new arrivals in the steerage could escape the
“running” which, according to the code prevailing then, makes a man of a
midshipman. Decatur achieved an instant popularity, so that the pranks
played on him were comparatively mild, and were taken with laughing good
nature. Somers was also amiable enough in regard to his “running.” In
fact he was too amiable, for his messmates rather resented his want of
spirit, as they mistakenly supposed. Therefore it was that, three times
in one day, Somers was told that he was “too fond of the lee of the
mizzenmast.”
“That means,” said Somers quietly, and looking the youngster in the face
who last made the remark, “that you think I haven’t much spunk? Very
well. We shall both be off duty until to-night. Couldn’t we go to some
quiet place in the hold where we could have it out?”
“Fighting is strictly prohibited on board ship,” sung out Bainbridge,
one of the older midshipmen, in a sarcastic voice.
“Squabbling, you mean,” chimed in another one. “That, I grant you, is
unbecoming an officer and a gentleman; but when two fellows have a
falling out in the steerage, why, the regulation squints exactly the
other way; it means that the two fellows _must_ have it out, like
gentlemen, and no bad blood afterward.”
“Just what I think,” said Somers; “and as I hate fighting, I want to get
through with all I shall have to do in that way in as short a time as
possible; so I will settle with two other young gentlemen to-day against
whom I have an account. Then, if I get my eye blacked, I will only have
one hauling over the coals for three scrimmages.”
“You don’t mean to fight three fellows in one day?” asked Bainbridge in
surprise.
“Yes,” answered Somers nonchalantly.—“Decatur, you settle the
particulars,” and he walked off, as composed as ever.
“I told you fellows what a Trojan Somers was when he was started,”
remarked Decatur, “and now you’ll see for yourselves. He is wiry and as
strong as a buffalo, and he is first-class with his fists, and—— Well,
you’ll see!”
As these little affairs were conducted strictly according to the code,
they were arranged in a very business like manner. Fair play was the
watchword, and all the midshipmen who were off duty assembled to see the
fun. When Somers had knocked the wind out of his first adversary and
brought him to apologize, it was proposed that the other affairs should
be postponed; but Somers, being in for it, and the exercise rather
warming his blood, invited his persecutor Number Two to “come on.” He
came on, with disastrous results in the way of a good, wholesome
pounding and a swelled nose. The third encounter following, Decatur
begged Somers to be allowed to take his place.
“Why, I’m like Paul Jones!” cried Somers, laughing, as he sponged off
his neck and head. “I haven’t begun to fight yet.”
True it was that Somers was then perfectly able to do up Number Three in
fine style. As he stood astride over his opponent, who frankly
acknowledged himself whipped, a mighty cheer went up from the
surrounding audience of midshipmen, and every one of them, including his
late opponents, came forward to shake Somers’s hand. The noise of the
cheer penetrated from the hold up to the wardroom, where some of the
lieutenants were sitting around. Stewart smiled significantly.
“I think I know what that means,” he said. “The fellows have been
running a rig on Somers, and I predict he has come out ahead. That
fellow has an indomitable spirit under that quiet outside.”
Some hours afterward, when Somers had to report on deck, he bore
unmistakable marks of his encounters. His nose was considerably larger
than usual, one eye had a black patch over it, and there was a bit of
skin missing from his chin.
Stewart, looking at him attentively, could scarcely keep his face
straight as he remarked:
“Falling down the ladder, I presume, Mr. Somers, from your appearance.
You should be careful, though, not to fall down too often.”
“Yes, sir, I did fall down,” answered Somers, very diplomatically,
without mentioning that, when he fell, a messmate was on top of him.
That day’s work established Somers’s popularity in the steerage, and the
three midshipmen whom he had pommeled became his staunch friends. “And
I’ll tell you what,” he announced, “this is the last fighting I’ll do
while I am in this mess. You fellows may walk over me if you like,
before I will take the trouble to lick any more of you.”
But nobody walked over him after that.
Decatur gave immediate promise of brilliancy as a seaman; but Somers was
not far behind, and his uncommon steadiness recommended him highly to
the lieutenants. Stewart, dining one night in the cabin with the
commodore, was giving his impressions of the junior officers to the
commander, who wished to appoint a master’s mate of the hold—a place
always given to the most reliable and best informed of the midshipmen.
“They are all as fine a lot of youngsters, sir, as I ever saw. That
young Decatur is a remarkable fellow. He finds out more than any of the
rest, because he never has to ask the same thing twice. Before he had
been on board a week he knew every rope and where each is belayed; and
the clever youngster writes with a pencil, behind the rail, everything
he is told. There’s a very good manual of seamanship written under the
starboard rail, and Decatur and Somers may be seen every day, when they
are not on duty, putting their heads together and studying it out.”
“And how about young Somers?” asked the commodore.
“Somers is the only one who rivals Decatur, and I must say I consider
him the best-balanced young fellow of his age I ever knew. His messmates
have nicknamed him ‘Old Reliable.’ He is not so brilliant a boy as
Decatur, but he is steady to the utmost degree. Nothing flusters him. He
is never too early, and never too late; he goes on his way quietly, and
I do not think he has had a reproof since he has been on board. And he
evidently studied seamanship thoroughly before he was commissioned—just
what I should expect of such a long-headed fellow.”
“Then Somers shall be master’s mate of the hold,” said the commodore,
decisively.
Next day Somers was sent for to the cabin and informed of the
commodore’s choice. He merely said: “Thank you, sir; I shall do my
best.” But Commodore Barry felt well assured that Somers’s “best” was a
good “best.”
Somers went down to the midshipmen’s dinner that day, and said nothing
of his appointment. Each of the reefers was eager to get the place of
trust, and they began talking of it. Somers wished to tell them of his
good fortune, but a kind of bashfulness restrained him. He turned red,
though, and became more silent than usual. Decatur, who sat next him,
looked keenly at him.
“Somers, something is up, I see; and I believe—I believe you are going
to be master’s mate,” he said.
Somers blushed more than ever as he answered: “I _am_ master’s mate. I
was appointed to-day.”
Decatur, with one stretch of his powerful arm, raised his chum up
standing.
“You good-for-nothing lubber, _you_ are made master’s mate, while
Bainbridge and Spence, and all the rest of us that are worth ten of you,
are passed over! I’m going to prefer charges against the commodore for
gross favoritism in giving you the appointment.”
Somers always submitted to this sort of horse-play from Decatur without
the slightest resistance, and the effect was very comical. Decatur,
after shaking him vigorously, plumped him back in his chair, when Somers
calmly resumed his dinner as if nothing had occurred.
“Mr. Somers,” said Bainbridge politely—who was the oldest midshipman on
board, and, as caterer of the mess, sat at the head of the table—“the
officers of this mess have very grave doubts of your fitness for the
place to which the unwarranted partiality of the commodore has elevated
you; and we desire to form some idea of how extensive are your
disqualifications. Suppose, sir, this ship were proceeding with a fair
wind, under all sail except one topmast studding sail, and you were
officer of the deck. Suppose again, sir, that the alarm were given, ‘Man
overboard!’ and you should perceive that _my_ dignified corporosity was
the man overboard. Now, please state to me, Mr. Somers, categorically,
what would be the first thing you would do in such an emergency?”
[Illustration: _The new master’s mate._]
Somers laid down his knife and fork, folded his arms and reflected for a
few moments, and finally answered:
“This is what I should do, Mr. Bainbridge: I should immediately order
the other topmast studding sail to be set, if she’d draw, with a view to
increase the speed of the ship.”
A roar of laughter succeeded this, which was repressed by Bainbridge
sternly rapping for order.
“Gentlemen, this is not the undignified cabin or the disorderly
wardroom. This—please remember—is the model mess of the ship, the
steerage mess, and order must be preserved, if I have to lick every one
of you to get it.”
“Spence,” said Decatur, holding out his plate and trembling violently,
“G-give me some of that salt horse. It may be the l-l-last time, dear
Spence, that we shall ever eat salt horse together. When the discipline
of this ship is so relaxed that Somers, who doesn’t know a marlin-spike
from the mainmast, is promoted, it’s time we were all making our wills.
Our time is short, Spence; so give me a good helping, old man.”
“I know more seamanship than all of you lubbers put together,” quietly
remarked Somers, going on with his dinner.
“Hear! hear!” cried Bainbridge. “Mr. Somers, you are facetious to-day.”
Decatur, at this, got up and went to the nook that he and Somers
occupied together. He came back with a black bottle labeled “Cherry
bounce.”
“Gentlemen,” said he, “Mr. Somers feels so acutely your kind expressions
of confidence in him, that he begs you will drink his health in this
bottle of cherry bounce which he has been saving up for this auspicious
occasion.”
Somers said nothing as his cherry bounce was liberally distributed,
leaving only a very small glass of the dregs and heel-taps for himself;
and his good nature under so much chaff made the reefers more jolly than
ever. His health, with many pious wishes that he might learn to know a
handy-billy when he saw it, was drunk with all honors; and as a great
favor he was permitted to drink his one small glass in peace. In the
midst of the jollity a commotion was heard overhead, and the cry of
“Sail, ho!” In another moment every midshipman made a dash for the
gangway and ran on deck.
Nearly every officer of the frigate was there too. Commodore Barry glass
in hand, watched from the flying bridge, a sail off the starboard
quarter. By the squareness of her yards and the symmetry of her sails
she was evidently a ship of war, and was coming down fast. The Delaware,
which sailed equally as well as “Old Wagoner,” was close by to
starboard. On sighting the strange and menacing ship, the Delaware was
seen to bear up and draw nearer her consort—for it was well known that a
contest with a French ship would by no means be declined by any American
ship. Commodore Barry, who was a veteran of the glorious days of Paul
Jones and the gallant though infant navy of the Revolution, was more
than willing to engage. Every moment showed more and more clearly the
character and force of the stranger. The day was bright and cloudless,
and, as they were in the sunny atmosphere of West India waters, objects
could be seen at a great distance. The frigate was remarkably handsome
and sailed well. The Americans counted more than twenty portholes, and
very accurately guessed her to be one of the great fifty-gun frigates of
which both the French and the English had many at that day. If she were
French, it meant a fight; and so nearly matched were the two frigates
that it would be the squarest sort of a fight.
The excitement on the ships was intense. Several of the more active
officers clambered up the shrouds, while the rigging was full of men
eager to make out the advancing ship, which was coming along at a good
gait; and all were eager to know what colors the commodore would show.
“Mr. Ross,” said Commodore Barry, turning to his first lieutenant, “we
will show French colors; if he is a ‘Mounseer,’ it will encourage him to
make our acquaintance.”
The quartermaster, Danny Dixon, a handsome, fresh-faced sailor of middle
age, who had served under the immortal Paul Jones, quickly produced
French colors, and amid breathless silence he ran them up.
The stranger was now not more than a mile distant. She had worn no
colors, but on seeing French colors run up at the American frigate’s
peak, in another moment she too displayed the tricolored flag of France.
At that an involuntary cheer broke from the gallant fellows on “Old
Wagoner.” Decatur, behind the commodore’s back, deliberately turned a
double handspring, while even the dignified Somers executed a slight
pirouette.
As for the men, they dropped down upon the deck like magic, and every
man ran to his station. Commodore Barry straightened himself up, and the
old fire of battle, that had slumbered since the glorious days of the
Revolution, shone in his eyes under his shaggy brows.
“Mr. Ross,” said he, turning to his first lieutenant, “we are in good
luck—in excellent good luck, sir. Signal to the Delaware to keep off. I
think the officers and men of this ship would feel hurt if we should mar
the beauty of the game we are about to play by having odds in our favor;
and call the men to quarters without the tap of the drum. The first man
who cheers until we have hailed will be sent below, to remain until
after the engagement. I desire to come to close quarters, without
telling any more about ourselves than our friend the enemy can find
out.”
In the midst of a dead silence the signal was made to the Delaware. Only
Decatur whispered to Somers, whose station was next his:
“Poor old dad! He’d give all his old boots if he could have a share in
the scrimmage.”
The Delaware then hauled off, making a short tack, and going no farther
away than she could help. The strange frigate, whose trim and ship-shape
appearance grew plainer at every moment, was now nearly within hail. The
American, preparing to bear up and run off as a preliminary to the
action, the first lieutenant, under the commander’s eye, stood near the
wheel, while Danny Dixon took the spokes.
In the midst of the breathless silence, while the strange frigate
continued to advance, shortening sail meanwhile, and with her men at
quarters and her batteries lighted up, Mr. Ross, watching the trim of
“Old Wagoner’s” sails, sung out:
“Give her a good full, quartermaster!”
“A good full, sir,” answered old Danny steadily, and expecting the next
order to be “Hard aport!”
But at that moment Commander Barry dashed his glass down with an
impatient exclamation. “We are truly unfortunate, gentlemen. She is
English. Look at her marines!”
At the same instant the stranger, discovering the American’s character,
quickly hauled down her French colors and showed the union jack. A loud
groan burst from the American sailors, who saw all their hopes of glory
and prize money vanish; and it was answered by a corresponding groan
from the British tars, who felt a similar disappointment, having taken
the American to be a Frenchman.
Commodore Barry then ordered her to be hailed, and the first lieutenant
called through the trumpet: “This is the American frigate United States,
forty guns, Commodore Barry. Who are you?”
“This is His Britannic Majesty’s ship Thetis, fifty guns, Captain
Langley.”
Both ships were on the same tack and going at about the same
speed, about half a mile apart. Commodore Barry then hailed again,
asking if the English captain had any news of two crack French
frigates—L’Insurgente and La Vengeance—that were supposed to be cruising
in that station. No answer was returned to this, although it was called
out twice. This vexed Commodore Barry, as it did every officer and man
aboard.
“Wot a pity,” growled Danny Dixon, the quartermaster, to his mates,
“that somebody hadn’t ’a’ axerdentally—jist axerdentally, you
know—pulled a lockstring and fired one o’ them starboard guns! The
Britishers ain’t the sort to refuse a fight; they would ’a’ fired back
cocksure, and we could ’a’ had a friendly tussle and found out which
were the best ship, and then it could ’a’ been fixed up
arterwards—’cause ’twould ’a’ been all a axerdent, you know.”
This was agreed with by all of Danny’s messmates, as they left their
stations and gathered forward. The two ships were now abreast of each
other, and the distance between them was being quickly decreased by
Commodore Barry’s orders, who himself took the deck. They were not more
than two cables’ lengths apart. The English frigate, which had taken in
considerable of her canvas, now took in her royals. The American ship
followed suit, so that in a little while both ships had come down to a
five-knot gait, although there was a good breeze blowing. They were near
enough to hear conversation and laughter on the English ship, and the
men gathered on the fok’sl of the Thetis called out loudly to each
other, as if to emphasize the rudeness of not returning the hails of the
American ship. In the midst of a perfect silence on the United States,
which was soon followed on the Thetis, Danny Dixon, who had a stentorian
voice, swung himself in the forechains and began to sing as loud as he
could bawl:
“Boney is a great man,
A soldier brave and true,
But the British they can lick him,
On land and water, too!”
This produced a roaring cheer from the British. The Americans, who knew
what was coming next, waited, grinning broadly until the laugh should be
on their side. The men gathered on the Thetis’s port side, and the
officers hung over the rail to catch the next verse. As soon as the
cheering was over, Danny fairly shouted, in a voice that could be heard
a mile:
“But greater still, and braver far,
And tougher than shoe leather,
Was Washington, the man wot could
Have licked ’em both together!”
At this “Old Wagoner’s” deck fairly shook with the thunders of cheers
from the Americans, the midshipmen joining in with leather lungs, the
grave Somers yelling like a wild Indian, while Decatur executed a
war-dance of triumph.
The Thetis, as if disgusted with the turn of affairs, set her royals and
all her studding sails, and began to leg it at a lively pace. “Old
Wagoner” followed her example, and the men sprang into the rigging and
set exactly the same sails. But they found within five minutes that the
American could sail better, both on and off the wind, as she followed
the Thetis in her tacks. The Thetis then, keeping her luff, furled sail
on the mizzen and took in royals and studding sails. The American did
precisely the same thing, and, as she still sailed faster, an old sail
containing kentledge was ostentatiously hung astern and acted as a drag,
keeping the two ships together.
This evidently infuriated the British, but they had found out that the
American could walk around the Thetis like a cooper around a cask. They
did not care to test it further, and the Thetis therefore sailed
sullenly along for half an hour more. The Americans were delighted,
especially Commodore Barry, who handled his trumpet as gayly as if he
were a midshipman on his first tour of duty as deck officer. He next
ordered the topsails lowered. This brought the American down very slow
indeed, and she rapidly fell astern of the Thetis. The English thought
that their tormentors were now gone. The Americans, suspecting some
_ruse_ of the commodore’s, were all on the alert. Presently the
commodore cried out jovially:
“Now’s the time for carrying all hard sail!” and in five minutes “Old
Wagoner” seemed literally to burst into one great white cloud of canvas
from truck to rail. Everything that would draw was set; and the breeze,
which was every moment growing stronger, carried her along at a
perfectly terrific pace. She shot past the Thetis, her gigantic spread
of canvas eating the wind out of the Englishman’s sails and throwing
them aback, and as she flew by another roaring cheer went up from the
Americans.
The fun, however, was not over yet. Having got well in advance of the
Thetis, “Old Wagoner” bore up, and, hauling her wind, dashed directly
across the forefoot of the English ship as the Englishman came slowly
on.
All the cheering that had preceded was as nothing when this neat
manœuvre was accomplished. The old Commodore, giving the trumpet back to
the officer of the deck, was greeted with three cheers and a tiger, and
every officer and man on board gloried in the splendid qualities of the
ship and her gallant old commander.
The brilliant visions of the midshipmen of yardarm-and-yardarm fights
with French frigates, with promotion, and prize money galore, failed to
materialize, although they had several sharp encounters with fleet
French privateers that infested the waters of the French West Indies.
With them it was a trial of seamanship, because, if ever a privateer got
under the guns of “Old Wagoner,” small was her chance of escape. But the
American proved to be a first-class sailer, and nothing that she chased
got away from her. Several privateers were captured, but the midshipmen
groaned in spirit over the absence of anything like a stand-up fight.
It did not seem likely that they would make a port for some time to
come. Early in February, cruising to windward of Martinique, they ran
across the French privateer Tartuffe—and Tartuffe she proved. She was a
beautiful little brigantine, with six shining brass guns, and her
captain evidently thought she could take care of herself; for when the
United States gave chase and fired a gun from her bow-chasers, the saucy
little privateer fired a gun back and took to her heels.
[Illustration: _The sinking of the French privateer._]
It was on a bright February afternoon that the chase began. The
midshipmen, elated by their triumph in sailing with the great English
frigate, thought it would be but child’s play to overhaul the Frenchman.
But they had counted without their host, and they had no fool to play
with. In vain did “Old Wagoner” crowd on sail; the Tartuffe managed to
keep just out of gunshot. All the afternoon the exciting chase
continued, and when night fell a splendid moon rose which made the sea
almost as light as day. Both ships set every stitch of canvas that would
draw, and at daybreak it was found that the frigate had in all those
hours gained only a mile or two on the brigantine. However, that was
enough to bring her within range of “Old Wagoner’s” batteries. The
American then fired another gun as a signal for the Frenchman to haul
down his colors. But, to their surprise, the Tartuffe went directly
about, her yards flying round like a windmill, and her captain
endeavored to run directly under the broadside of the United States
before the heavier frigate could come about. One well-directed shot
between wind and water stopped the Frenchman’s bold manœuvre. She began
at once to fill and settle, and her ensign was hauled down.
Commodore Barry, on seeing this, cried out:
“Lower away the first cutter!” and Decatur, being the officer in charge
of that boat, dropped into her stern sheets and pulled for the
Frenchman. Commodore Barry, leaning over the side, called out, laughing,
to Decatur:
“I wish you to treat the Frenchman as if he were the captain of a
forty-four-gun frigate coming aboard to surrender her. He has made a
gallant run.”
Decatur, bearing this in mind, put off for the brigantine. The sun was
just rising in glory, and as he saw, in the clearness of the day, the
plight of the pretty brigantine, he felt an acute pity. Her company of
sixty men crowded to the rail, while her captain stood on the bridge,
giving his orders as coolly as if his ship were coming to anchor in a
friendly port. Decatur, seeing that his boat would be swamped if he came
near enough for the men to jump in, called out to the captain, saluting
him meanwhile, and asking if he would come off in one of the
brigantine’s boats, while the Tartuffe’s helm could be put up, as she
was still able to get alongside the United States, and her people could
be transferred.
“Sairtainly, sir—sairtainly,” answered the French captain, politely, in
his queer English.
In a few moments the boat containing the captain came alongside the
cutter, and the Frenchman stepped aboard. He took his seat very coolly
by Decatur in the stern-sheets, and then, putting a single eyeglass in
his eye, he cried out, with a well-affected start of surprise: “Is zat
ze American flag I see flying? And am I captured by ze Americans?”
“Yes,” answered Decatur, trying not to smile.
“But I did not know zat ze United States was at war wiz France.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Decatur. “But you found out, probably, from the
American merchant vessels you captured, that France was at war with the
United States.”
At that the Frenchman laughed in spite of his defeat.
“I can stand a leetle thing like this,” he said. “I have had much good
luck, and when I tell my countrymen it took your cracque frigate
fourteen hours to catch me—parbleu, zey will not think I have done ill.”
“You are quite right, sir,” answered Decatur. “You gave us more trouble
to overhaul than a ‘cracque’ English frigate.”
The commodore and his officers all treated the brave French captain as
if he had been captain of a man-of-war; and as he proved to be a
pleasant, entertaining fellow, he enlivened the ship very much.
But Commodore Barry was anxious to get rid of so many prisoners, which
encumbered the ship, and he determined to stand for Guadeloupe, in the
hope of effecting an exchange of prisoners. He therefore entered
Basseterre Roads, on a lovely morning a few days after capturing and
sinking the Tartuffe. A white flag flying at the gaff showed that he was
bent on a peaceful errand. Everything, however, was in readiness in case
the men should have to go to quarters. Although the ports were open the
guns were not run out, nor were their tompions withdrawn. The French
captain, standing on the quarter-deck in his uniform, was easily
recognizable.
The beautiful harbor of Guadeloupe, with its circlet of warlike forts,
looked peculiarly attractive to the eyes of seamen who had been cruising
for many long months. “Old Wagoner” had been newly painted, and as she
stood in the Roads, under all her square canvas, she was a perfect
picture of a ship. Just as they came abreast of the first fort, however,
the land battery let fly, and a shower of cannon balls plowed up the
water about two hundred yards from the advancing ship.
“Haul down that white flag!” thundered Commodore Barry, and Danny Dixon
rushed to the halyards and dragged it down in a jiffy, and in another
minute the roll of the drums, as the drummer boys marched up and down
beating “quarters,” resounded through the ship. The French captain,
mortified at the treacherous action of the forts, quickly drew his cap
over his eyes and went below.
The United States then, with every gun manned and shotted, sailed within
gunshot of the first fort that had offered the insult, and, backing her
topsails, gave a broadside that sent the masonry tumbling about the ears
of the garrison and dismounting several guns. This was followed up by
another and another broadside, all accurately aimed, and knocking the
fort considerably to pieces. Then, still under short canvas, she slowly
sailed around the whole harbor, paying her compliments to every fort
within gunshot, but without firing a gun into the helpless town. And
when “Old Wagoner” drew off and made her way back to the open ocean, it
was conceded that she had served the Frenchmen right for their
unchivalrous proceeding.
The whole spring was spent in cruising, and it was the first of June
when, on a Sunday morning, the ship being anchored, the boatswain and
his eight mates, standing in line on the port gangway, piped up that
sound so dear to every sailor’s heart, “All hands up anchor for home!”
At the same moment the long red pennant, that signifies the ship is
homeward bound, was joyfully hoisted at the main, and “Old Wagoner”
turned her nose toward home. Just one year from the time they had left
the Delaware, Decatur and Somers set foot again upon the green shore of
the beautiful bay—happier, wiser, and better fellows for their year in
the steerage of the fine old frigate.