Upon the return of the squadron to Syracuse, preparations went on
vigorously for the attempt upon the Philadelphia. Decatur’s first plan,
which he held to eagerly, of going in boldly and cutting out the
frigate, was flatly forbidden by Commodore Preble as being too rash.
Decatur’s second plan—going in with the ketch, disguised, and destroying
the frigate—was approved of by Commodore Preble, who had, in fact, first
suggested the idea to Decatur. He and “Old Pepper” spent many long hours
in the cabin of the Constitution perfecting the details of this glorious
but hazardous expedition, and the commodore’s respect for his “schoolboy
captains” increased every day that they served under him. Particularly
was he gratified at the spirit of instant acquiescence they showed when,
after the keenest rivalry among them all for the honor of supporting
Decatur, the privilege was accorded Captain Stewart, in the Siren, which
was the fastest and most weatherly of the brigs and schooners. Somers
felt the deepest disappointment, but, with his usual calm good sense, he
allowed no impatient word to escape him. On the day that the use of the
ketch was determined upon, Commodore Preble said to Decatur:
“And now, Captain Decatur, what shall be the name of this craft?”
“The Intrepid, sir,” answered Decatur promptly.
“Good!” was the commodore’s instant reply.
When Decatur and Somers were together that night—for no day passed
without their seeing each other—Decatur spoke of the name of the ketch.
“Do you know,” said Somers, thoughtfully, “that was the very name that
occurred to me?—and as I, too, long for a chance for glory, when you
have returned in her I shall ask for her to carry out a plan of mine. I
will not tell you of it until you come back—and you _will_ come back,
that I feel; but then you must give me all your time and abilities to
help me with _my_ scheme.”
“I will,” answered Decatur, “and I warrant it is something ten times
more difficult, more desperate, than what I shall attempt; for, when it
comes to taking chances, I know of no man who takes such odds as you,
Dick Somers, for all your long face and continual preaching to me.”
The ships were to remain at Syracuse all winter. Meanwhile every effort
was made to communicate with Captain Bainbridge and his officers
imprisoned at Tripoli. A large reward was offered for the conveyance of
letters to and from the prisoners, and two letters were thus conveyed to
Captain Bainbridge, and answers received.
One afternoon, as Decatur and Somers were strolling along a mountain
path that led to the famed fountain of Cyane, above the city, a man
wearing the costume of a Sicilian peasant came up to them, and, touching
his cap, said, in the _lingua franca_ which both Somers and Decatur
understood:
“Signors, are you not American naval officers?”
“Yes,” answered Decatur, while Somers eyed the man closely.
“Then I have a communication for you from the American captain now held
at Tripoli.”
“Give it to us, then,” said Decatur.
“It is not here,” answered the man, with a sly look. “But if you will
come to-night, at nine o’clock, to the tavern of the Three Doves, up a
little higher beyond the fountain of Cyane, I will introduce you to a
pilot, brother of Salvatore Catalano, who is employed by the American
squadron. This other Catalano is a pilot too, and, wishing to oblige the
Americans, as you have taken his brother into your service, he managed
to communicate with the American captain. He has a letter for you, from
him, and he will bring it to the Three Doves to-night, at eight. Shall I
tell him you will be there?”
“Certainly, without fail!” replied Decatur.
The Sicilian then touched his cap again, and disappeared in a path by
the side of the mountain road.
“Do you know,” said Somers, who had taken no part in the colloquy, “that
I have much doubt whether such a person as Catalano’s brother exists?
and I am perfectly certain that our peasant friend is really a sailor.”
“Why?” asked Decatur, surprised.
“First—well, I can only say, as the sailors do, ‘by the cut of his jib.’
Besides, he did not bow, as these peasants do here; and the way he
touched his cap was very like a salute. And you perceive he made no
demand for money. Now, that is the only thing that would induce these
people to take the risk of communicating with Captain Bainbridge.”
Decatur stopped in his walk, much struck by what Somers said.
“And did you notice,” continued Somers, “that although he was dark and
had black eyes, like the Sicilians, he was of altogether different
build? He was larger and stouter, and his features were aquiline. His
eyes were of a sleepy black, like a Turk’s—not soft and bright, like
these handsome peasants about here.”
“At all events,” said Decatur, “we can not refuse to keep our
appointment, for it is possible that these suspicions may be only
suspicions after all, and we could not lose the chance of hearing from
Captain Bainbridge.”
They determined, however, to seek out the pilot, Catalano, and ask if he
had a brother such as the Sicilian described. But on inquiry they found
that the pilot had got a few days’ leave, and had gone into the country
to visit his family.
Somers and Decatur, however, concluded that it would be only prudent to
go armed upon such an expedition, as Sicily was then much infested with
brigands. About seven o’clock they started. The evening was warm and
murky, and a fine mist shrouded the town and the water. They could only
see the Constitution looming up like a great black shadow in the harbor,
while the smaller vessels were mere patches of darkness.
As they were making their way, in the gloomy half-light, up the rocky
path that led through a straggling wood of ilex trees, they suddenly
came upon Macdonough and Pickle Israel, coming down the mountain from
the little tavern for which Decatur and Somers were bound. It was a
resort of the better kind, and not much frequented by seafaring men of
the Salvatore Catalano class.
Somers stopped the two young midshipmen and made some inquiries,
mentioning at the same time that they were in hopes of getting news of
Captain Bainbridge. After parting with them, Decatur looked back and saw
the midshipmen following them at a respectful distance.
“Look at those two fellows!” said Decatur to Somers, laughing. “They are
afraid we will get into mischief, and they are following us—to protect
us, I suppose!”
Somers, too, could not help laughing at the idea of little Pickle, who
was not much more than four feet high, imagining he could protect
anything. Macdonough was, indeed, a stalwart fellow, and might be of
service. Somers called out, half joking:
“So you young gentlemen are dogging our footsteps, so as to take care of
us.”
Macdonough did not know what to say, but Pickle, coming up the path at a
run, answered in his shrill boyish treble:
“Yes, sir. We thought something might happen——”
“And you’d be there with that brawny arm of yours to help us out, eh?”
asked Decatur. “Very kind of you, I’m sure; so come along. After we get
the letters at the tavern we will have some supper, and will get on
board ship before ‘lights out.’”
As they were toiling up the slippery path Decatur remarked to Somers:
“This seems like a safe enough sort of business, but yet I wish I had
brought my dirk with me instead of my sword.”
Somers said nothing, but in his heart he echoed the wish. He, too, was
only armed with his sword.
“I’m a prudent fellow, I am,” cried little Pickle, wagging his head
triumphantly. “I brought _my_ dirk; I always wear it, Captain Somers,
and here it is.”
Pickle took out his midshipman’s dirk and flourished it around.
“Hide that thing,” said Somers. “I hope we sha’n’t have to murder
anybody on this expedition.”
They were still some distance away from the tavern, from whose low
windows, half a mile higher up, they could see a faint gleam, and the
two young midshipmen who had fallen behind were concealed by a turn of
the path, when some one stepped out of the bushes, and said quietly:
“You are the _Americanos_, are you not?”
Both Somers and Decatur recognized their acquaintance of that afternoon.
“Yes,” answered Somers, “and we have come to receive the letter from the
American officers at Tripoli that Catalano, the pilot, has brought.”
In the meantime four men had approached silently and surrounded the two
American officers. Somers, coolly putting his back to a stone wall that
ran along the path, said:
“Where is Catalano?”
“One moment,” said the supposed Sicilian with a wolfish smile. “Have you
ever heard of Mahomet Rous?”
“Yes,” answered Decatur—“the Tripolitan captain who hauled his colors
down three times and then threw them overboard.”
“And when he got back to Tripoli the Bashaw rode him through the town on
a jackass and gave him the bastinado,” added Somers.
Scarcely were the words out of the young captain’s mouth before the
supposed Sicilian made a dash at him, and, as in a flash, both Somers
and Decatur realized that they were caught in a trap. Decatur, whose
powerful frame made him a match for two ordinary men, turned and
grappled with Mahomet Rous, and the two men rolled over, fighting
together on the ground. Somers, with his back to the wall, was set upon
by the three; but at that moment the two young midshipmen, hearing the
clash of swords in the darkness, rushed forward. Macdonough went to
Somers’s assistance, while Pickle Israel, seeing Decatur struggling
desperately with the Tripolitan pirate, drew his dirk, and with one
well-directed blow pinned the arm of Mahomet Rous to the earth. Decatur,
thus freed, rose. The other brigands were being well taken care of by
Somers and Macdonough, and seeing Decatur on his feet, concluded they
had had enough of it, and took to their heels, disappearing quickly
among the shadows of the stunted ilex trees. Mahomet Rous, half killed
by Decatur’s powerful arm, lay on the ground swearing frightfully at all
“_Americanos_.” The people from the tavern, hearing the noise of the
brawl, came out with lanterns and torches; but the four young officers,
glad to escape from such an adventure, ran down the mountain path as
fast as their legs would carry them. As soon as they reached the
outskirts of the town they stopped for breath, and to repair damages as
far as they could. While Pickle Israel was industriously rubbing the mud
off Decatur’s back he could not forbear saying, with a mischievous grin:
“Well, Captain Decatur, I—I—believe we did manage to look out for you
and Captain Somers.”
“You did, indeed,” answered Decatur, laughing. “That dirk of yours did
good service. You left it sticking in the pirate’s arm, but I’ll give
you another one that will always be a reminder of this night.—Somers, we
shall have to learn from these cautious reefers how to take care of
ourselves.”
“We will indeed,” answered Somers gravely.
Macdonough was old enough not to take this chaff seriously, but Pickle
fairly swelled with pride as he marched along through the town at the
heels of the two young captains.
The general plans of Decatur’s expedition were now known among the
American officers and privately discussed. “Old Pepper” gave Decatur one
last warning.
“You may dream, Captain Decatur, that you could bring out a frigate of
the Philadelphia’s draft through that tortuous harbor at night, under
the fire of every battery in the town, of the castle, and the whole
fleet in the harbor. Very well, sir; if you attempt it and get out
alive, you shall be sent home at once under charges; for, look you,
Captain Decatur, it is as dangerous to do too much when you are under my
orders as it is to do too little.”
Decatur very wisely held his tongue, and realized that the destruction
of the ship was all he could aim at.
It was known that a draft of officers was to be made from the
Constitution, and the wildest excitement prevailed in the steerage,
where every midshipman thought himself cocksure of being one of the
lucky ones to go. Pickle Israel, in his anxiety to curry favor with
Decatur, who had the selection of the officers, stopped at nothing. At
the same time he felt convinced—from his prowess on the night of the
adventure with the brigands, and from Decatur’s present to him of a
beautiful dirk to replace the lost one—that he would undoubtedly be
permitted to go. Whenever Decatur came on board the Constitution, the
first object he would see would be Pickle, who would bow to the deck and
make the most insinuating inquiries about his health. Decatur was sure
to find Pickle, cap in hand, at every turn. The other midshipmen saw
through it, and determined to get a “rig” on Pickle. One day, at dinner,
therefore, Laws, one of the older midshipmen, casually remarked that he
had seen Captain Decatur on shore that day with a box of frogs and
lizards. “And you know,” said he, turning half round so that Pickle
might not see him winking at the rest, “Captain Decatur has a craze for
frogs and lizards. He’s making a collection to take home with him. I
gave him a tree-toad to-day, and you’d have thought from the way he
thanked me that I had given him a forty-four-gun frigate. The fellows
that want to go on the Intrepid can take the hint.”
That was enough for Pickle. The next day he got shore leave, and in the
afternoon, as the result of his day on shore, he returned with a box
about a foot square full of frogs and snails and lizards. This, he
himself took on board the Enterprise, and, asking to see Captain
Decatur, was very much disappointed to find that the captain was not on
the ship. He left his box, though, and returned to the Constitution.
Again, at dinner, more tales were told respecting Decatur’s extravagant
fondness for frogs, and Pickle chuckled to himself on his astuteness in
sending the captain a whole boxful. At last he burst out with—
“I tell you what it is, fellows, I’ve got ahead of all of you! I went
ashore to-day, and I got a dozen of the biggest bull-toads you ever
clapped your eyes on, and I sent ’em to Captain Decatur with my
compliments!”
“Pickle,” remarked Laws solemnly, “something ails you that doesn’t often
afflict a midshipman: you’re too long-headed by half.”
“Yes,” said Morris, another of the midshipmen, “and soon we’ll see the
effect of Pickle’s sharpness. Captain Decatur will say to himself: ‘Now,
there’s that little Pickle Israel, he’s a very sharp fellow—knows a
lizard when he sees one, and isn’t afraid of a jumping frog. Likely as
not he isn’t afraid of a jumping pirate either. He’ll be a good fellow
to have on the Intrepid, so here goes!’ Then the captain will take out
his list and put your name down, and you’ll go and cover yourself with
glory as with a mantle, and get promoted to be lieutenant, and be at the
top of the list, ahead of all us poor devils, and all on account of
sending Captain Decatur a box of frogs.”
Pickle could not forbear grinning with delight at this pleasing
prospect, but thought it proper to disclaim his future distinction by
cocking his head knowingly, and saying:
“Oh, well, you fellows stand just as good a chance as I do, but it _was_
pretty clever of me to do that frog business so neatly!”
Pickle waited in vain for a note of enthusiastic thanks from Decatur,
including an invitation to dinner, but none came. At last, about a week
afterward, Decatur being on the Constitution’s deck one day, and Pickle,
as usual, hanging around, he turned to the little midshipman with a very
quizzical smile, and said:
“I think, Mr. Israel, that some one has been playing a joke at your
expense. I received, the other day, a box of frogs and lizards and what
not, with your compliments. Of course I had them dumped overboard, and
determined to ask you about them.”
Pickle’s black eyes grew wide with amazed disappointment.
“I heard, sir—I heard you liked frogs,” he managed to stammer, and then
stopped short, appalled by the reflection that perhaps, after all, he
had injured his chances of going in the Intrepid.
“And suppose I do like frogs,” said Decatur, laughing; and then, eyeing
the boy closely, he continued: “I know now, Mr. Israel, that some one
has been playing on you. I understand you are very anxious to go upon
the expedition to Tripoli.”
“Yes, sir,” cried Pickle, eagerly, “I want to go more than I can say,
though all the other fellows want to go too; but, Captain Decatur, if
you’ll take me——”
Decatur put his hand kindly upon the boy’s shoulder.
“Now, my young friend, dismiss the idea from your mind. You are entirely
too young——”
“I’m fourteen, sir,” cut in Pickle, straightening himself up, “and I
look as old as some fellows at sixteen.”
“Nevertheless it is not my intention to take any of the very young
midshipmen. If I did, I should certainly take you, for I have perfect
confidence in your determination and coolness. But remember, we expect
to have a hand-to-hand fight with the Tripolitans; and although they are
neither good seamen nor even tolerable gunners, they are superb as
hand-to-hand fighters, and for that reason I shall choose the strongest
and oldest of the midshipmen. I feel sorry for you”—for Pickle’s eyes
had begun to fill with tears—“but your turn will come some day, and then
I have not the slightest doubt you will give a good account of
yourself.”
The expedition was to start about the 1st of February, and during the
last days of January the excitement among the junior officers was
intense as to which would have the honor of being selected. Decatur
consulted with Somers, and with his help, after much deliberation, made
out a list of the officers he desired, which he submitted to the
commodore. The men of the Argus were to compose the crew, and they were
to be asked to volunteer. Decatur found himself unable to make a choice
among his three lieutenants—Lawrence, Thorn, and Bainbridge, the nephew
of Captain Bainbridge—and felt obliged to take them all.
Somers and Decatur were constantly together during these last days, and
Decatur was ably assisted by Somers’s extraordinarily good judgment in
matters of detail, especially regarding the disguising of the ketch and
her company. Every officer and man was to be provided with a jacket and
trousers such as the Maltese sailors wear—for the Intrepid was to steal
in as a fruit-laden vessel from Malta. At last, every preparation being
well forward, on the afternoon of the 3d of February, Decatur, with
Somers, was pulled to the Constitution, where they found Stewart. Every
officer and man in the ship, by some strange mental process, knew that
the choice of officers was to be made that day, and all were on hand, so
as not to miss the chance of going upon an expedition of so much glory.
Decatur went immediately to the commodore’s cabin, when he submitted his
list, and every name was approved. As he appeared upon the quarter-deck
with the commodore, he could not but smile at the ill-concealed
eagerness of the officers, who could scarcely restrain their
impetuosity.
The commodore looked around and smiled. Not an officer was missing. He
took his station near the gangway, and an instant hush fell upon them.
The boatswain’s call to “Attention!” was a mere form.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “you perhaps know that it is in contemplation to
send an expedition, under the command of Captain Decatur, to Tripoli,
for the purpose of destroying the Philadelphia, which has been raised,
refitted, and now flies the Tripolitan colors. Captain Stewart, of the
Siren, is to support Captain Decatur with his whole force. The ketch so
gallantly captured by Captain Decatur is to be used, as being of a build
and rig often seen in Mediterranean ports, and therefore not likely to
excite suspicion. She has been fitly named the Intrepid. Her ammunition
is now aboard of her, and she sails at daylight. Captain Decatur has the
selection of his brave assistants. I can only say that his choice, like
mine, of the ships and the captains to do the work, will be made solely
upon the ground of availability. If willingness to go were the only
test, there could be no choice; but in other respects there is a choice,
which Captain Decatur has made with my approval.”
The commodore then read off the first name, “Midshipman Izard.”
An electric thrill seemed to run through the group of midshipmen as the
names followed in quick succession: “Midshipmen Morris, Laws, Davis, and
Rowe.”
The older officers looked acutely disappointed; many of them had hoped
to go, but they gave the lucky five a rousing cheer, while the
“stay-at-homes” among the midshipmen joined in, and all shook hands
cordially with their more fortunate messmates. Decatur could not but
notice little Israel, the boy’s face was so doleful. He turned to the
lad and said kindly:
“Mr. Israel forgets that his stature is not as great as his spirit; but
some day he will have a chance, and no doubt he will make glorious use
of it.”
These kind words consoled Pickle a little, but except the lucky five, it
was a disappointed lot of reefers who stood on the Constitution’s
quarter-deck and magnanimously cheered the more fortunate of their
number.
The ketch was anchored close in shore, with the red flag flying at her
fore, showing that she was taking on powder. Decatur then ordered his
boat, and said farewell to the commodore and the assembled officers. He
directed the midshipmen to report on board the Intrepid at daylight, and
then, inviting Somers and Stewart to go to his ship with him, all three
were pulled to the Argus. It was about four o’clock on a lovely
afternoon in February, which is a springlike month in Sicily. On the
Argus, too, there was the tension of expectation, as they knew from the
state of forwardness in the preparations of the ketch that the time of
adventure was at hand.
The three young captains came over the side together, and immediately
Decatur ordered the boatswain and his mates to pipe “All hands to
muster!” Almost before the sound had died away the men crowded up the
hatchways, and the officers quickly ranged themselves on the
quarterdeck. “All up and aft!” was reported, and Decatur advanced with
the list in his hand.
“Gentlemen,” said he to his officers, in his usual impetuous way, “you
know, perhaps, that an expedition leaves at daylight to-morrow morning,
in the ketch Intrepid, to destroy the Philadelphia in the harbor of
Tripoli. I have the honor of commanding the ketch, while Captain
Stewart, in the Siren, commands the supporting force. I have selected
the officers to accompany me from the Constitution and the Argus. My
selection was governed by expediency only. All will wish to go”—a murmur
of assent was here heard—“but all can not go. Hence I select those who
seem to me best adapted to bear the hardships and to withstand the
peculiar fighting methods of the Tripolitans. I have concluded to make
no choice among my lieutenants, but to take them all, and Midshipman
Macdonough and Dr. Heerman, surgeon.”
A rousing cheer, as on the Constitution, greeted this announcement, and
the five officers were warmly congratulated. Decatur then turned to the
men:
“Of you, my men,” he said, “I will name one who may go—the pilot,
Salvatore Catalano. I wish sixty-one men out of the ship’s company, and
I shall take the first sixty-one that volunteer. Let each man who wishes
to go advance two steps.”
As if moved by a common impulse, every man and boy on the ship,
including two or three just out of the sick-bay, who had not yet
reported for duty, advanced two steps.
Decatur stood looking at them, his fine face lighted up with pleasure.
“My men,” he said, “it is impossible that all should go. Let those who
are not physically strong, and those under twenty and over forty, step
back.”
Not a man moved. In the midst of the dead pause Danny Dixon spoke up,
touching his hat:
“Please, sir,” he said, “ain’t none of us more’n forty or less’n twenty.
And ain’t a one of us that ain’t jist as healthy and strong as a bull
whale.”
Decatur managed to take this without smiling, but replied: “Very well;
pipe down, boatswain! Within an hour I shall have a list made out of
sixty-one men that I wish to accompany me.”
Summoning Lawrence, his first lieutenant, Decatur, with Stewart and
Somers, disappeared in the cabin, and the men were dismissed.
Next morning, at daylight, the five officers from the Argus, the five
midshipmen from the Constitution, the sixty-one petty officers and
seamen, and the pilot Catalano, were assembled on the deck of the ketch.
The accommodations were bad, and not more than one half the officers
could sling their hammocks at one time; but not a word of complaint was
heard. Early as it was, Somers was on hand to bid his friend good-by.
Just as the pale pink flush of dawn lightened the dark water, the
Intrepid, hoisting one lateen sail, got under way, and Somers, wringing
Decatur’s hand, dropped into his boat alongside. As the ketch caught the
morning breeze and began to glide rapidly out toward the offing, Decatur
ran aft and waved his cap at Somers, standing up in the boat, who
returned it, and then pulled away to his own vessel. The Siren, being a
fast sailer, did not leave until the sun was well up, when she, too,
spread her white wings and flew.
Several days of delightful weather followed. The officers amused
themselves with rehearsing the proposed strategy by which they were to
make the Tripolitans believe them to be Maltese sailors and the ketch a
Maltese trading vessel. Catalano was to do the hailing, prompted by
Decatur, when they had got, as they hoped, to the Philadelphia’s side.
Except a few men, the vessel’s company was to remain below, but ready at
a signal to leap on deck. The Intrepid proved to be a better sailer than
was thought at first, and on a lovely afternoon, four days after leaving
Syracuse, anchor was cast about a mile to windward of Tripoli. The Siren
followed some distance behind. She, too, was disguised, her ports being
closed, her guns covered with tarpaulins, and her sails daubed with
lampblack, and patches painted on them to represent old and worn canvas.
Nothing could disguise the beauty of her lines; but for want of paint on
her hull, and by devices of various sorts, she looked like a staunch
American or English merchantman after a long voyage. Having got the
Intrepid in a good position without being discovered, Decatur was eager
for night to fall, that the desperate adventure might be made. Right out
before them lay the large though dangerous harbor of Tripoli, the
frowning castle, and the numerous forts that protected the town. Among
all the shipping collected at the mole, the dark and towering hull of
the Philadelphia was most conspicuous, and from her peak flew the
crescent of Tripoli.
“There she is, my men!” cried Decatur, as he pointed her out. “All her
guns are kept double shotted, and when we make a bonfire of her she will
give the rascals a broadside that will make them squeal.”
While waiting for the brief twilight of Africa, Decatur noticed a boy
about twelve years old standing by the mast. Two or three of the boys on
the Argus had been brought along to act as helpers, and who could be
left in the ketch while the rest of the crew made the proposed dash for
the Philadelphia. Decatur, passing by at the time, was struck by the
little fellow’s bright face, and stopped to ask him what he wished to
say.
“Please, sir,” said the boy, in a piping treble, “I belongs to the
Argus, but because I was so little they never put my name on the ship’s
books. I hear ’em say, sir, for’ard, as how there’ll be a big lot o’
prize money to divide arter we has blowed the Philadelphy up; and Mr.
Dixon, the quartermaster, sir, says as I won’t get no prize money unless
my name is entered reg’lar; and so I axes you to enter me.”
“Certainly I will,” replied Decatur, laughing at the boy, who was
evidently a victim of fok’sl wit, but who had the spirit to ask for what
he thought his due. “What is your name?”
“Jack Creamer, sir, apprentice boy.”
“Very well, Jack Creamer, apprentice boy, you shall be regularly entered
in the ship’s books, and you’ll get your share of whatever goes round.”
The wind had been rising for some little time, and just then it blew
violently from the southwest. The sky became overcast, and suddenly
darkness seemed to envelop them. This Decatur thought rather favorable
to his scheme; but Catalano, the pilot, who knew every foot of the
harbor, came up at that moment.
“Sir,” he said in fluent English, but with a strong Italian accent, “it
will be impossible to take the ketch in to-night. The water is no doubt
now breaking clear across the reef of the western passage, and even if I
could get in, there would be no chance of getting out. I know this
harbor well, sir, and the water must be moderately smooth before it is
safe to go near the reefs.”
Decatur was of too impetuous a nature to accept all at once this
decision.
“I will have the cutter lowered, and I desire you, with Mr. Morris, to
go and examine the entrance, and, if possible, the ketch shall go in
to-night,” he said.
The cutter was lowered and manned, and pulled away in the fast gathering
darkness. They could see at a little distance that the Siren’s boats
were hoisted out and manned and only awaited the signal to advance. But
every moment the wind increased, and at last Decatur began to feel
seriously uneasy regarding the absent cutter. It was obviously
impossible to attempt the attack that night, and the Intrepid
accordingly so signaled the Siren. After a while the cutter was seen
approaching, tossed about on the great waves, and every man in her
drenched to the skin. The storm was now on them, and the cutter was
brought up with difficulty, and her company clambered into the ketch;
but in hoisting the boat in she was dashed violently against the ship,
and her side completely stove in. This was a trifle; but when the anchor
was weighed it was found to be broken in three pieces. The wind had now
become a roaring gale, and soon the Intrepid was stretching out to sea.
It was observed, though, that the Siren was having trouble with her
anchor, too. She was rolling her gunwales under water, and the anchor
held firmly on the bottom.
“Stewart is well able to look out for himself, while it is as much as we
can do to take care of ourselves,” said Decatur, as he gave orders to
claw off the land.
For six days the storm raged. The brig, which had finally been obliged
to leave her anchor and cable, managed to keep in company with the
ketch, which threatened to founder at every moment. Their provisions
were soaked, and in cold and wet and hunger these brave men weathered
the gale. But at last, on the morning of the 15th of February, the
weather moderated, the wind fell, and a bright sun shone. The ketch and
brig found themselves in the Gulf of Sydra. Good weather promising for
some days, Decatur signaled the Siren to bear away for Tripoli, and
began to make his preparations for the attack.
Toward evening they found themselves in sight of the town, with its
circle of forts crowned by the frowning castle. The great hull of the
Philadelphia, larger than any in the harbor, stood out in bold relief,
her masts and spars clearly defined against the dazzling blue of the
African sky. Two frigates, anchored about two cables’ lengths apart, lay
between her and the castle, while nineteen gunboats and a few galleys
lay near her. From the castle and the batteries one hundred and fifteen
guns could be trained upon an attacking force; but the bold tars on the
Intrepid took all chances cheerfully, and even gayly. Every man had been
instructed in his duty, and the crew was not mustered, for fear of
awaking distrust. The watchword “Philadelphia” was passed around. The
men quietly took their places below the hatches, while half a dozen
officers sat or lay about on deck. Catalano took the wheel, while
Decatur, in a common sailor’s jacket and fez, stood by him.
The breeze had become light and baffling in the offing and the Siren,
which kept well away from the Intrepid in order to avoid suspicion, was
evidently unable to get any nearer until the wind should change; but at
the entrance to the harbor it was very fresh, and carried the ketch
forward at a lively rate. Decatur saw that his best hope was to make a
bold dash then, without waiting for the gallant little brig, which was
almost becalmed. At the moment when the steersman made straight for the
western entrance of the harbor, Decatur addressed a few last words to
his officers and men.
“You see,” he said in a firm, clear voice, perfectly audible to all,
although not loud, “that Stewart and his gallant crew can not assist us.
Very well; the fewer the number, the greater the honor. Our brave
shipmates now in prison have been forced for many months to see the
shameful spectacle of an American frigate wearing the colors of her
pirate captors. Please God, it shall be so no longer after this night.
Let every man think of this—let him think of his country; and though we
can not hoist ‘Old Glory’ at the Philadelphia’s peak, we can at least
send her to the bottom, rather than let her float disgraced by a pirate
flag!”
A half-suppressed cheer greeted Decatur’s brave words, and every officer
and man felt himself possessed by that noble enthusiasm which works
miracles of courage. Jack Creamer allowed his voice to get so far the
better of the instructions given him to keep quiet, that he screeched
out a boyish cheer, for which Danny Dixon came near chucking him
overboard.
It was not desired to get in before ten o’clock, but at the rate they
were going, under a good breeze, would have got them in before sunset.
Afraid of attracting attention by shortening sail, Decatur had all the
vessel’s buckets, spare sails, etc., towed behind, so that she moved
very slowly through the water. About nine o’clock, when they were a mile
off the town, a brilliant moon rose trembling in the heavens. Decatur
noticed it.
“Just the light for us,” he said.
The scene was one of perfect peace and beauty. All the shipping in the
harbor lay quietly at anchor, and the water was so smooth that their
lights were as stationary as those that twinkled in the town and the
Bashaw’s castle.
The Intrepid stole quietly in, leaving the Siren farther and farther
astern. The moon was now high, flooding the sea with glory, and making
the harbor lights mere twinkling points of flame. The Intrepid steered
directly for the Philadelphia’s bows, and this caused her to be hailed
while still a considerable distance off. A number of Tripolitans were
seen lounging about the Philadelphia’s decks, and an officer smoking a
long pipe leaned over the rail and called out:
“What vessel is that?”
“The ketch Stella, from Malta,” responded Catalano in Italian, which is
the _lingua franca_ of the East. “We were caught in the gale and nearly
wrecked. We lost our anchors, and our commander would like the favor of
riding by you during the night.” Decatur, in his round jacket and fez,
lounged near Catalano, and whispered to him what to say.
“Your request is rather unusual,” replied the officer.
“Bananas and oranges, with a few bales of raw silk,” answered Catalano,
pretending that he had understood the Tripolitan to ask what the
Stella’s cargo was. The ketch continued to draw rapidly near, and from
the Philadelphia could be seen the supposed Italian mariners moving
lazily about and gesticulating to one another.
“Mule-head and son of a jackass,” cried the Tripolitan, “it is nothing
to me what you are laden with! I say it is dangerous to have you dogs of
Christians made fast to us. If you get on board, you will steal anything
you lay your hands on.”
“That’s not a very pleasant way to meet men who have been in a whole
gale for six days, with all our provisions spoiled, and on short
allowance of water, and expecting every moment to go to the bottom. On
the voyage we met with a xebec of your country with her captain ill and
half the crew down with scurvy. We broke our cargo to give them fresh
fruit, and took the captain on board and landed him at Tunis.” So
answered Catalano, in an injured voice, the ketch still advancing
steadily.
“Then you may lie by us until daylight,” answered the officer. At the
same time he ordered a boat with a fast to be lowered. Then he called
out again, his voice resounding over the smooth water, now lighted by
the moon, that had climbed high in the deep blue of the night sky:
“What vessel is that in the offing?”
“The Transfer,” answered Catalano, prompted by Decatur.
This was a small frigate lately purchased of the British at Malta, and
which the Tripolitans were anxiously looking for.
“Good!” said the officer.
“The wind died out before she could get in,” continued Catalano, “and
she asked us to report her.”
Not the slightest suspicion had yet entered the minds of the Tripolitans
that the Intrepid was anything but a trading vessel, and luckily enough
for Decatur and his dauntless company; for at that moment a puff of wind
came, the Intrepid’s head fell off, and she drifted directly under the
Philadelphia’s broadside.
At this appalling moment the least hint of the Intrepid’s real character
would have meant death to every man on board. Decatur, with his
unshakable coolness, ordered a boat out, with Lawrence and three seamen,
carrying a hawser, which they quietly fastened to the forechains of the
Philadelphia. The ketch meanwhile was drifting under the port batteries
of the frigate, toward the stern, where, if she had escaped the guns on
broadside, the stern chasers could have annihilated her. But every man
on board shared Decatur’s calm self-possession at this critical moment.
The frigate’s boat containing the fast had now put out. Lawrence, rowing
back to the ketch, met the Tripolitan boat.
“Give us your fast,” he said, “so we can let go another hawser. We lost
our best cables with the anchors, and our hawsers are so small that it
will take two to hold us in case the wind should rise during the night.”
The Tripolitans handed out the fasts, which Lawrence coolly carried on
board the Intrepid. The men on deck, catching hold of the fast, then
drew the ketch close to the frigate’s huge black hull, and were soon
breasting along under her port side.
The shadow cast by the Philadelphia’s hull was of immense help to the
Intrepid’s men, but near her stern was a great patch of white moonlight,
and any object passing through this glittering and shimmering belt could
be seen as plainly as in daytime. As the ketch glided steadily along and
into this brilliant light, her anchors, with their cables coiled up,
were seen on her decks.
“Keep off!” shouted the Tripolitan officer, suddenly taking the alarm;
“you have deceived us—you have not lost your anchors, and we do not know
your character,” and at the same moment he ordered men with the axes to
cut the fasts. But, as if by enchantment, the deck of the Intrepid was
alive with men, whose strong arms brought her grinding up against the
frigate’s side in a moment’s time. Then a great yell went up from the
frigate:
“_Americanos! Americanos!_” cried the Tripolitans.
The next instant Decatur, who was standing ready, made a powerful
spring, and jumped at the Philadelphia’s chain-plates, shouting at the
same moment:
“Board!”
Morris and Laws, two of the midshipmen of the Constitution, were at
Decatur’s side clinging to the frigate’s plates. Morris and Decatur both
sprang at the rail, and Morris, being little more than a boy, and very
lithe and agile, his foot touched the quarter-deck first. But Decatur
was second. Laws had dashed at an open porthole, and would have been the
first on the frigate, but his boarding belt, with his pistols in it,
caught between the gun and the port, so that he was third.
Instantly, in the dazzling moonlight, turbaned heads appeared over the
rail and at every port. The Americans came pouring over the side, and as
the Tripolitans rushed above they found the quarter-deck already in
possession of the “Americanos.” The Tripolitans ran forward and to
starboard. The Americans, quickly forming a line across the deck, and
headed by Decatur, dashed at them, and, caught between an advancing body
of resolute seamen and the ship’s rail, those who were not cut down,
after a short but desperate resistance, leaped overboard. The Americans
were more than a match for them in hand-to-hand fighting, at which they
excelled, and they fought in disorder. In five minutes the spar deck was
cleared and in possession of the Americans.
Below there was a more prolonged struggle. The Tripolitans, with their
backs to the ship’s side, made a fierce resistance, but were clearly
overmatched from the beginning; and as it is their practice never to
fall alive into the hands of an enemy, those who were not cut down on
the spot ran to the ports and jumped overboard, and within five minutes
more there was not a Tripolitan on the frigate except the dead and
wounded. Not until then did the batteries, the castle, the two frigates
moored near the Philadelphia, and the gunboats, take the alarm.
The ketch, however, fastened close under the overhanging quarter-gallery
of the frigate, and completely in the shadow, still escaped detection.
Lights began to flash about from the ships and the batteries, but not
enough could be discerned to justify the Tripolitans in firing upon
their own ship. Warning had been given, though, and it was now only a
question of a few moments how long the Americans could work undisturbed.
Decatur now appeared upon the quarter-deck to have the powder on the
ketch rapidly transferred to the frigate. Lawrence was with him. When
the moment came that Decatur must give the order for the destruction of
the frigate, his resolution to obey orders almost failed him.
He turned to his lieutenant, and, grasping him by the shoulders, cried
out in an agonized voice:
“Ah, Lawrence, why can not this gallant ship be cut out and carried off,
a glorious trophy of this night?”
“She has not a sail bent nor a yard crossed,” answered Lawrence firmly.
“The tide will not serve to take so large a ship out now; and remember,
it is as dangerous to do too much under Commodore Preble’s orders as to
do too little.”
“I care nothing for that——”
“Then, if you value your reputation, give the order at once to hand up
the powder!” exclaimed Lawrence. “See! the frigate off the port quarter
is lighting up her batteries.”
For a moment or two, as Lawrence watched Decatur’s agitated face, he
almost feared that his young captain literally could not give the order
to destroy the ship, so intense was his desire to bring her out. But
after a moment or two Decatur recovered himself; the opposition of so
fearless a man as Lawrence convinced him, against his will, that it was
impossible; and by a powerful effort he gave the order, and the men
began rapidly hoisting the kegs of gunpowder over the side and carrying
them along the decks. In a few moments the gun-room, the magazine
scuttle, the cockpit, and the forward storerooms were filled with
combustibles, and smoke was already pouring from the ports on the gun
deck before those in the lower parts of the ship had time to get up.
They ran to the forward ladders, and when the last firing party reached
the spar deck the men were jumping into the ketch—all except Decatur and
a small party of his own. Two eighteen-pounders, double shotted, had
been dragged amidships and pointed down the main hatch, in order to blow
the ship’s bottom out; and a port fire, with a train of powder, had been
started so as to fire these two guns with certain effect. The sailors
then, seeing their glorious work well done, dropped quickly over the
side into the ketch, the officers followed, and Decatur, taking one last
look at the doomed frigate, now enveloped in curling smoke, was about to
leave her deck—his the last foot ever to tread it—when he saw little
Jack Creamer trying to drag a wounded Tripolitan across the deck. But
the boy was scarcely able to do it, and the man, who was large and
heavy, was too badly wounded to help himself, and Decatur stepped
forward to assist.
“I found him under the hammock netting,” Jack gasped, “and I took him,
sir—I captured him.”
“Bear a hand here!” shouted Decatur, cutting Jack’s magnificent claim
short; and the next moment Danny Dixon’s brawny arms were around the
wounded man, while Jack Creamer hopped lightly into the ketch. And
then—the frigate being quickly enveloped in fire and smoke, with little
tongues of flame beginning to touch the rigging—Decatur leaped from the
Philadelphia’s deck into the ketch’s rigging, and, the sixteen sweeps
being already manned, the order was given to cast off. At that very
moment the guns from the Bashaw’s castle, half gunshot off, boomed over
the heads of the Americans.
In this instant of triumph, though, they incurred their greatest danger
of that perilous night. The headfast having been cast off, the ketch
fell astern of the frigate, out of whose ports the flames were now
blazing. The Intrepid’s jigger flapped against the blazing quarter
gallery, while on her deck, just under it, lay all her ammunition, only
covered by a tarpaulin. To increase their danger, the sternfast became
jammed, and they were fixed firmly to the blazing frigate, while the
ships as well as the shore batteries now opened a tremendous fire upon
them.
There was no axe at hand; but Decatur, Lawrence, and the other officers
managed, by the most tremendous efforts with their swords, to cut the
hawser; and just as they swung clear, the flames rushed up the
tar-soaked rigging of the Philadelphia, and the two eighteen-pounders
roared out their charges into the bottom of the burning ship.
The Intrepid was now plainly visible, in the light of the blazing
Philadelphia to every man on board the aroused fleet and batteries, and
of the crowds collected on the shore. Then the thunder of a furious
cannonade began. And now, after this unparalleled achievement, the
Americans gave one last proof of their contempt of danger. As the
Intrepid worked out in the red blaze that illuminated the whole harbor,
a target for every gun in the Tripolitan batteries, the men at her
sweeps stopped rowing, every officer and man rose to his feet, and with
one impulse they gave three thundering American cheers.
When this was done they settled down to getting out of the way.
[Illustration: _The expedition to destroy the Philadelphia._]
As they drew farther from the shore they were in more and more danger
from the batteries; but although every shot threw showers of spray over
them, the Americans only gave back derisive cries and cheers. A rapid
count showed that not a man was missing. Jack Creamer, however, shouted
proudly:
“Cap’n Decatur, please, sir, besides capturin’ that there man, one o’
them wuthless Turks throwed his pistil at me and knocked me down, and I
expects some smart money for this ’ere cut.”
Here Jack displayed with great satisfaction a small cut, that would not
have hurt a baby, behind his left ear. A roar of laughter from the men
followed, while Decatur smiled, and said:
“You shall have your smart money, sure.”
As they pulled with powerful strokes toward the offing, where they could
see the vague outline of the Siren and her boats, fully manned, lying
like black shadows on the water, the harbor and town were as light as
day with the reflection from the blazing frigate and the silvery
radiance of the moon. The Philadelphia seemed to be burning in every
spot at the same moment. Flames poured from her ports, and her fifty
guns, all double shotted, began to go off in every direction as her
blazing hull drifted helplessly with wind and tide. Many of the shot
from her guns crashed into the fleet around her, while at almost every
turn she poured a furious cannonade into the castle. As her decks fell
in, the guns were lowered at the breech, and their hot shot went farther
and farther, even into the town itself. One shot from the castle passed
through the to’gallant sail of the ketch; but the men only laughed,
while Catalano, the pilot, sang out in his Italian-English:
“Eet ees a peety we can not get a piece of Meester Bashaw’s trousers for
to mend our sail! Next time we come to Tripoli, Meester Bashaw, we will
get you, and your trousers too, sair.”
They were now well out of the range of firing, and close to the launch
and cutter of the Siren. Decatur hailed the cutter, which was very fast.
“Bring up alongside,” he cried, “and take me aboard!”
The cutter quickly drew alongside. Decatur jumped on board, and the boat
shot ahead of the slower ketch. As they neared the Siren, Decatur by the
light of the moon perceived Stewart at the gangway anxiously peering
into the darkness. Stewart could only see the officer in command of the
boat in uniform, and he did not recognize Decatur disguised in the
jacket of an Italian sailor. When the boat got near enough, Decatur made
a spring at the hawser that hung astern, and in another moment he had
sped along the deck and clapped Stewart on the shoulder.
“Didn’t she make a glorious bonfire?” he cried, “and we came off without
losing a man!”
Stewart, astonished, turned round, and recognizing Decatur, could only
wring his hand, while the other officers crowded around and overwhelmed
Decatur with congratulations. In a little while the Intrepid neared them
and hailed, asking that the wounded Tripolitan be taken aboard the
Siren, as there was no place on the ketch in which he could be made
decently comfortable.
The man was hoisted on board, and as Jack Creamer claimed the honor of
capturing him, the boy was allowed to be one of the helpers. The
Tripolitan had kept so quiet that Dr. Heerman, who had come with him,
flashed a lantern into his face to see if he were alive or dead, and
Decatur, who was looking on, to his surprise recognized Mahomet Rous.
Mahomet opened his eyes and shut them again quickly, but there was no
doubt that he was very much alive.
“He’s a-playin’ possum, sir,” said Jack Creamer, who was holding up the
Tripolitan’s head. “When he s’rendered to me——”
An involuntary shout of laughter followed this, as Jack’s little figure
was contrasted with Mahomet Rous’s brawny form.
“When he s’rendered, sir,” kept on Jack stoutly, “he was bleedin’ from a
wound in the leg, and one arm was hangin’ down like ’twas broke, and if
I hadn’t captured him when I did he’d ’a’ jumped overboard, as sure’s my
name’s Jack Creamer. He give me his sword and pistil, leastways,” Jack
added, blushing. “I took ’em from him, ’cause he couldn’t hold on to ’em
no longer, and I’ve got ’em hid in a pork-barrel on the ketch, and I
axes, sir—” turning to Decatur and Stewart, who could not help laughing
at him—“if I can’t be allowed to keep ’em, and I’ll take ’em instid o’
smart money for my wound, if I can’t have both.”
Jack here gravely displayed his scratched ear, which Dr. Heerman
examined with equal gravity.
“I’ll tell you what you ought to do for this ear: go and wash it,” said
the surgeon; at which Jack, unable to stand the laughter of the officers
and the grins of the men, dropped Mahomet’s head and disappeared
forward. But Decatur called after him:
“You shall have the sword and pistol, and the smart money too.”
The wind still held, and, the Siren getting up her anchor, Decatur took
Jack Creamer with him and returned on board the ketch, and all sail was
made for Syracuse.
On the morning of the 19th of February, just fifteen days after they had
left Syracuse, the Intrepid and the Siren stood into the harbor.
Stewart, from motives of delicacy, kept his fast-sailing brig astern of
the ketch. The Nautilus lay farther out than the Constitution, and
Somers, taking his morning walk on the quarter-deck, saw the ketch and
the brig approaching, and the next moment the lookout sang out, “Sail,
ho!”
Instinctively Somers knew that it was Decatur and Stewart. The morning
was one of those clear, brilliant days when the earth and sea seem like
paradise. In the bright blue air he could see the white canvas of the
brig, now cleaned and fresh, and the low hull of the ketch with her
lateen sails. Soon they were near enough to be hailed, and, with a joy
and thankfulness not to be described, Somers saw Decatur standing on the
bow of the ketch, waving his cap—a signal meaning success, that had been
agreed on between them.
The next instant they were seen from the Constitution, and as soon as it
was certain that they were observed an ensign was run up to every
masthead on the Intrepid. This was enough—it meant complete success. At
once the commodore gave orders for a salute to be fired, and the guns of
the Constitution roared out their welcome. This was taken up by the
Nautilus, and by the Sicilian forts on shore—for Sicily, too, had her
grudge against Tripoli. In the midst of the thundering salutes, and in a
cloud of blue smoke, the brig and the ketch came to anchor. Somers had
ordered his boat lowered, and had made for the Constitution, in order to
be the first to meet Decatur. His boat and the Intrepid’s, which carried
Decatur and Lawrence, came to the ladder at the same moment. Decatur
sprang out and caught Somers in his arms, and they hugged each other
very much as they had done in their midshipman days, when both were
larking together in “Old Wagoner’s” steerage. Somers then went over the
side, in order that he might witness Decatur’s triumphal entry. The
commodore and all the Constitution’s officers were waiting at the
gangway to salute Decatur. Somers greeted the commodore and the other
officers hurriedly and walked aside, as Decatur stepped upon the
quarter-deck, followed by his first lieutenant. Decatur wore a perfectly
new naval uniform, with a handsome sword. His fine black eyes were
sparkling, and he had a happy air of success. He bowed low to the
commodore. “Old Pepper” grasped Decatur’s hand warmly, and, taking off
his cap, cried:
“If every plank in the Philadelphia is destroyed, you shall have my best
efforts to make you a post-captain for it!”
“Every plank is destroyed, sir; every gun is burst and at the bottom of
the harbor; and the ship, after burning to the water’s edge, exploded,
and you could not have told the place where she lay,” answered Decatur,
in a quiet voice.
At this a mighty hurrah went up from the officers and men on the
Constitution.
“Not a man was lost——” continued Decatur, but at that another storm of
cheering cut him short. Somers, the quietest and most self-contained man
on the squadron, was cheering wildly, and literally dancing in his
excitement. The commodore hurried Decatur into the cabin to get the
particulars. Lawrence told the glorious story on the quarter-deck; while
Danny Dixon, who was coxswain, got permission to leave the Intrepid’s
boat, and to a listening crowd of blue-jackets on the fok’sl he narrated
the noble adventures of the Intrepid.
When Decatur returned to the deck to get into his boat he found the
rigging full of men, and as he left the ship, taking Somers with him,
that they might have their usual long and intimate talk, the yards were
manned, and three rousing American cheers shook the Constitution’s deck
in honor of the Intrepid’s young commander.
Amid all the felicitations on the outcome of the expedition, the modesty
and calmness of Decatur under his weight of splendid achievement were
remarked upon—especially as he was so young and so impetuous. But when
he and Somers were alone in the cabin of the Argus, they suddenly threw
aside their dignity and acted like a couple of crazy schoolboys. They
hugged and pounded each other, they laughed, they cried, they joked,
they sang, and at last the only thing that quieted them was the usually
grave Somers shoving Decatur into a chair and shouting:
“Now, you lucky rascal, don’t dare to move from that chair until you
have told me all about the fight!”