On the morning of the 3d of August, 1804, began that immortal series of
five assaults on the town, the fortresses, and the fleets of Tripoli
that were destined to forever destroy this piratical and barbarous
power. The force of the Americans was but little. With one heavy
frigate—the glorious old Constitution—three brigs, three schooners, two
bomb vessels, and three gunboats, manned by one thousand and sixty
officers and men, Commodore Preble stood boldly in to attack the town
defended by the Bashaw’s castle, not less than a dozen powerful forts, a
fleet of three cruising vessels, two galleys, and nineteen gunboats,
manned by twenty-five thousand Turks and Arabs. The harbor was,
moreover, protected by a line of shoals and reefs perfectly well known
to the Tripolitans, but very imperfectly known to the Americans, and
which the Constitution could not approach very closely without incurring
the fate of the unfortunate Philadelphia. But whatever “Old Pepper”
lacked in ships and guns he made up in men; for every soul in the
American fleet was worthy to serve under the flag that flew from the
mastheads.
In considering the claims of his different officers in leading the
attack, Commodore Preble had at last determined upon Decatur and Somers.
The larger vessels were to cover the advance of the gunboats, which were
to do the real fighting, and these gunboats were divided into two
divisions—the first under Decatur, the second under Somers. Besides the
natural fitness of these two young captains for this dangerous honor,
the commodore knew their perfect understanding of each other and the
entire absence of jealousy between them; and with two officers acting in
concert this harmony of ideas and feelings was of great value. But few
officers were to be taken in the gunboats, and none of the midshipmen
from the Constitution were permitted to leave her. The frigate’s
situation would not be nearly so exposed as the boat divisions, yet she
was the force to support them all, and would require much and skillful
manœuvring. Commodore Preble, therefore, had use for all his officers.
These brave young men accepted the inevitable, and only little Pickle
Israel begged and pleaded unavailingly with both Somers and Decatur to
take him.
“Now, Captain Decatur,” said Pickle, in a wheedling voice, finding
himself in the cabin of the Nautilus with both Somers and Decatur the
morning of the attack, “I’m nearly fifteen years old, sir.”
“And a great help you’d be,” cried Decatur, laughing, and much amused by
Pickle’s persistence. “If a strapping great big Turk were to board us, I
should at once sing out: ‘Where is Mr. Israel? Let him tackle this
fellow; he’s too much for me!’”
Pickle looked very solemnly into the laughing faces of the two young
captains, and then gloomily remarked:
“I’m afraid you’re joking, Captain Decatur.”
“Not at all,” answered Decatur, winking at Somers. “Didn’t that little
apprentice boy, Jack Creamer, capture a whole live Tripolitan by himself
the night of the destruction of the Philadelphia?”
As Jack Creamer’s claim of having captured Mahomet Rous was a joke in
the whole squadron, Pickle did not feel Decatur’s remark as any
encouragement. So he turned to Somers, and said earnestly:
“Well, Captain Somers, if Captain Decatur won’t let me go with him——”
“That’s very ungrateful of Decatur, too,” interrupted Somers, quite
seriously, “considering the way you and Macdonough came to our
assistance the night of our adventure with the brigands at Syracuse. And
Macdonough is going in the boats.”
Here Decatur, seeing that the little midshipman was really in earnest,
thought they had amused themselves at his expense quite enough; so he
said kindly:
“Now, Mr. Israel, let us talk common sense. You are as brave a little
fellow as ever stepped—both Captain Somers and I know that—but you could
be picked up and thrown overboard like a handspike by any full-grown
man. Macdonough is several years older than you, and as strong and able
to take care of himself as any lieutenant in the squadron. Never you
mind, though. Just as soon as your body grows up to your spirit, you
will have your chance at distinction.”
“And then,” added Somers, looking at the boy with a strange interest,
“every officer who has a desperate enterprise on hand will want you.”
Poor Pickle had to go back on the Constitution fortified only by this
promise.
James Decatur, Stephen’s younger brother, was put in Somers’s division,
which consisted of three gunboats, while Decatur’s consisted also of
three boats, and each was armed with a single long twenty-four-pounder.
The two friends had spent many days and weeks in perfecting their plans,
and when, at noon on the 3d of August, the Constitution flung out the
signal of battle, each knew exactly what was to be done.
It was a beautiful August day, and the white-walled city, with its
circle of grim forts, its three smart cruisers lying under the guns of
the castle, crowned with heavy mortars, and its fleet of gunboats,
manned by sailors in quaint costumes, made a beautiful and imposing
picture. The American fleet looked small to grapple with such a force,
but, although it was estimated as about one to five of the Tripolitans’
force, every man went into action with a coolness and determination not
to be excelled.
At half past twelve o’clock the Constitution ran in, with a good breeze,
about three miles from the town. She wore ship, with her head off the
land, and signaled to the brigs, schooners, gunboats, and bomb vessels
to prepare for the attack, and at the same moment the frigate herself
was cleared for action.
It was seen that the Tripolitan batteries were manned, and the cruising
vessels had lifted their anchors, so that the Americans knew that they
would have a warm reception. At the moment that the Constitution wore
with her head pointing out of the harbor, the Bashaw of Tripoli was
watching the fleet with a glass from one of the windows of the castle,
and haughtily remarked:
“They will mark their distance for tacking. These Americanos are a sort
of Jews, who have no notion of fighting!” But Captain Bainbridge and his
officers and men, who watched the scene with the eager eyes of prisoners
hoping for release, knew perfectly well that every manœuvre made by the
Americans that day would be only to get closer to the enemy.
By half past one o’clock the gunboats were manned, and separated into
two divisions. Somers led the first, with young James Decatur commanding
the boat next him, while Stephen Decatur led the second division. Danny
Dixon was, as usual, acting as coxswain, and with him was a brawny young
sailor, Reuben James, who had captivated Danny by his admiration for
Captain Paul Jones. Danny had, in consequence, recommended him highly to
Decatur. “For, cap’n,” he said, “a man as thinks as highly o’ Cap’n Paul
Jones as Reuben James does, and kin listen oncet in a while to my yarns
’bout the fight between the Bunnum Richard and the S’rapis, is apt to be
a mighty good sailor. And if one o’ them murderin’ pirates was to do for
me, sir, I’d like to think there’d be a good man to take my place. I’m
a-thinkin’, Cap’n Decatur, this ain’t goin’ to be no picnic, but good
hard fightin’. ’Course ’twon’t be like fightin’ the Britishers on the
S’rapis——”
“I’d rather fight the Britishers ten to one,” answered Decatur, cutting
short Danny’s reminiscences, which otherwise would have been
interminable. “The British are seamen and gentlemen, while these
wretches are corsairs and pirates. But Reuben James may be with you, if
you want him.”
“Thanky, sir,” responded Danny; and Reuben was the first man Decatur saw
when he stepped aboard the gunboat.
Somers had for his coxswain Moriarity, who, while waiting for his young
commander, remarked, with a wink to his messmates who were resting on
their oars:
“Begorra, although ould Oireland is a good counthry, Oi’m roight glad,
Oi am, that I was born and bred in Ameriky. There’s goin’ to be great
doin’s this day, and Misther Somers—or Cap’n, as I should say—is one o’
them young gintlemen as has a grip like a bulldog on a enemy. And Oi
promise ivery wan of yez that if yez follows Misther Somers—or Cap’n, I
should say—ye’ll git into a warm place, shure; and ye won’t come out of
it, nayther, as soon as ye’d like; for Misther Somers—or Cap’n, I should
say—for all he be as soft as a May mornin’, is got more fight in him nor
any murtherin’ Turk as iver smoked a poipe or tould a lie.”
Which was perfectly true.
As the two divisions of three boats each formed and pulled away, they
saw two divisions of Tripolitan gunboats, much larger, stronger, and
more fully manned, pull slowly out from behind the line of reefs. The
windward division consisted of nine gunboats, and the leeward of five,
while a reserve of five others lay just inside her harbor, protected by
the reefs.
As Somers took his place in the gunboat he said to the man at the
tiller:
“Do you see that division of five boats to leeward? Steer straight for
it and within pistol shot of it, when I will give you further orders.”
The breeze was easterly, and the one lateen sail drawing well, the boat
was soon covering the distance between her and her enemies across the
blue water. The firing had begun, and a terrific roar, as the
Constitution barked out all her great guns in broadside, showed that the
ball was opened. Somers watched until his boat was abreast of the
Tripolitan’s, when, himself sighting the long gun amidships, he fired,
and saw the shot had instant and terrible effect. Just then Moriarity
leaned over and whispered in his ear:
“Sorr, the flagship is showin’ a signal of recall.”
“Moriarity,” answered Somers quietly, and without turning his head, “I
thought you had too much sense to see a signal of recall in action!”
“Thrue for you, sorr,” said Moriarity, with a grin, “but I jist
mintioned it to you, sorr, so you wouldn’t turn your head that way. Why,
it’s a mishtake, be the powers! but Cap’n Blake, in the next boat, seen
it—bad luck to it!—and he’s gone and obeyed it.”
Somers turned around, and, carefully avoiding looking toward the
flagship, saw the next boat to his, under Lieutenant Blake, a brave
young officer, drawing off, obeying the signal of recall; and the very
next moment the third boat, commanded by James Decatur, caught a puff of
wind that brought her head round and carried her directly into the other
division of boats, which was dashing forward to attack the nine
Tripolitan gunboats.
“Very well,” said Somers, with his usual calm smile, “as Decatur says,
‘The fewer the number the greater the honor!’ So we’ll go ahead, boys.”
The sailors gave a cheer, and in another moment they were under the fire
of the five gunboats. The situation of Somers was now critical in the
extreme, but he gave no sign of it in his manner, which was as cool as
if he were exercising at boat drill. He opened a steady and
well-directed fire, that soon began to weaken the attack of the
Tripolitan boats, and not one of them dared to come near enough to
attempt boarding him. Still, he was drawing nearer and nearer the
batteries. Commodore Preble, who was watching him from the
Constitution’s quarter-deck, exclaimed:
“Look at that gallant fellow Somers! I would recall him, but he will
never see the signal.”
At that the commodore heard a boyish voice at his elbow, and there stood
little Pickle Israel.
“If you please, sir,” said he, with the air of one making a great
discovery, “I don’t believe Captain Somers _wants_ to see any signal.”
“You are right, my boy!” cried “Old Pepper,” who was in high good humor
over the gallant behavior of his “schoolboy captains;” “but, at least,
he shall be supported.”
With that he gave orders, and the ship, advancing slowly but as steadily
as if working into the roadstead of a friendly port, delivered a
tremendous fire upon the batteries that were now trying to get the range
of the daring little boat.
In spite of Somers’s efforts to keep from drifting too far toward the
reefs and the reserve squadron by backing his sweeps astern, he soon
found himself directly under the guns of one of the larger forts. The
Constitution was thundering at the forts, but this one was a little too
near, and her shot fell over it. The situation of Somers was now
desperate, but his indomitable coolness stood him in good stead.
“If we can knock down the platform that holds those guns, my men, we
shall be all right,” he cried, “and see, it is very rickety!”
Then, ordering a double charge put in the long gun, he sighted it
himself. A shot went screaming over the water, and immediately a cloud
of dust, bricks, and mortar showed that it had struck the right spot.
The platform was destroyed, and the battery tumbled down among the
ruins.
Somers then turned his attention to the five gunboats, that he could now
drive still closer to the reef, and on which every shot was telling. At
this moment Moriarity whispered anxiously in Somers’s ear:
“For the love of Heaven, sorr, don’t look toward the flagship! They’re
flyin’ a signal as you’d be mighty onwillin’ to see, sorr.”
“Thank you, Moriarity,” answered Somers, smiling, who knew that the
coxswain meant that the signal of recall had been sent up—this time in
earnest. But, feared as Commodore Preble was by his young captains, he
could not make them retire under the fire of an enemy.
“Look at Decatur over there!” cried Somers, pointing to the southern
entrance to the reef, where there was heavy firing and a terrible
struggle going on. “If we leave these gunboats, they will at once
re-enforce their windward division; and Decatur already has as much on
his hands as he can manage.”
And so, for an hour longer, did the little American boat, with her one
gun, her resolute young captain, and her brave crew, hold in check a
force of five times her own; and not until a general recall was ordered
did she leave her perilous position, and retire under the guns of the
frigate.
As Somers was unexpectedly weakened, so Decatur was unexpectedly
strengthened by James Decatur’s boat. Decatur, under sails and sweeps,
and making for the nine gunboats advancing to meet him, saw Somers’s
desperately gallant attempt, and, turning impetuously to his men,
shouted:
“Do you see, men, how Somers has turned like a lion on a whole division
of gunboats? We must do our best this day, or else Somers and his boat
will reap all the glory!”
The Tripolitans advanced boldly, keeping up a hot fire of grape and
musketry, which Decatur returned with interest. In the midst of the
smoke from the vessels and the batteries the Tripolitans could not quite
make out where the _Americanos_ were; but suddenly a boat was laid
alongside of the first Tripolitan gunboat, and Decatur’s voice was heard
ringing out, “Board!” and then they knew indeed where the _Americanos_
were.
The Turkish gunboat was divided into two parts by a long, open hatchway
extending from her port to her starboard side. The Tripolitans, taken by
surprise, rushed to the farther end of the hatchway, while Decatur,
joined by his lieutenant, Thorn, and his favorite midshipman,
Macdonough, made a dash for them. Now, these pirates were celebrated for
their hand-to-hand fighting, at which they were considered almost
invincible; but they could not withstand the steady charge of the
Americans, and the boat was carried with the first rush. Scarcely were
the Tripolitan colors hauled down and the captured boat taken in tow,
when in the midst of the drifting smoke an American gunboat was found to
have ranged up directly under the stern of Decatur’s boat.
“What is the matter?” shouted Decatur.
“Lieutenant Decatur is wounded!” answered Midshipman Morris, the one
whose foot had first touched the Philadelphia’s deck. He was standing on
the gunwale of the boat, and the instant Decatur saw his agitated face
he knew that his brother was desperately injured.
“Severely wounded?” asked Decatur, turning pale.
“Yes, sir,” answered Morris in a low voice.
“Mortally?” asked Decatur.
To this Morris made no answer for a moment; then he said huskily:
“He had boarded a Turkish boat yonder, and the flag had been hauled
down, when, as he advanced across the deck, the Tripolitan captain drew
a pistol and shot him. We carried him to our own boat. The Turk escaped,
and there is his boat now within the enemy’s line.”
Decatur knew his duty to his country and to the brave men under
him—whose lives and reputations depended upon his judgment and
coolness—too well to spend a moment indulging his private grief.
“I can not go to him yet,” he cried in an agonized voice; “but I can
punish the treachery of the wretch who shot him!”
The Tripolitan boat was now well in the line of the rest, a few hundred
yards away; but the Americans, bending to their sweeps and unshipping
their bowsprit, in a little while had reached the boat and had run
aboard of it. They could see that it was strongly manned, and its decks
were crowded with turbaned heads. Decatur had put his pistol in his
pocket, and had taken a boarding pike in his hand to parry the Turkish
scimitars. As the two boats neared each other, Decatur—whose heart was
torn with grief for his brother, and filled with the determination to
punish the enemies of his country—recognized the treacherous Tripolitan
captain, a man of gigantic frame and ferocious countenance, standing
near the bow. The next moment he noticed the young sailor, Reuben James,
at his side, who threw with unerring skill a grappling iron aboard of
the Tripolitan boat, and the Americans, dragging on the chain, drew the
boat toward them. There was no need to call away the boarders. Every man
that could be spared from the sweeps was up and ready to spring. Next
Decatur stood Macdonough, and immediately behind him were Danny Dixon
and Reuben James. Before the boats had touched, the Americans leaped
over the side and found themselves on the Tripolitans’ deck, surrounded
by twice their number of enemies.
Then began a hand-to-hand fight to which all that had gone before was as
child’s play. The Americans, keeping together as much as possible,
fought from one end of the deck to the other, while Decatur made a dash
for the Turkish captain. Decatur was a tall and athletic fellow, but the
Turk was a giant. As the young American captain charged with his pike,
the Turk caught it and wrested it out of his hands. The Turk then
standing up on tiptoe to bring the pike down with terrific force,
Decatur had time to draw his sword. The blade flashed over his head for
a moment, and then the heavy iron pike, descending, broke it short off
at the hilt. Decatur felt the sharp point of the pike enter his breast,
but tearing it out in a moment, covered with blood, he suddenly clinched
with the Turk, who, although a much larger and stronger man than
Decatur, was taken by surprise, and went down on the deck, locked with
Decatur in a mortal embrace.
Seeing the desperate plight of their young captain, the Americans
rallied around him, but they were followed by the Tripolitans, and were
forced to defend themselves at every step. Fifty scimitars were leveled
against them, and the noise and clash of arms were deafening. In the
midst of it, Reuben James, who was almost surrounded, saw a Tripolitan
raise his curved blade above Decatur, lying prostrate on the deck and
struggling with the pirate captain. There was no time for the young
sailor to use his cutlass, but dashing forward he threw up his left arm
and caught the descending blow. It nearly cut the arm in two, but it
saved Decatur’s life.
Meanwhile Decatur, almost overmastered by the brawny Tripolitan, managed
to put his hand in his trousers pocket, and, drawing his pistol cocked
it and fired into the captain’s shoulder. With a scream the Tripolitan
relaxed his hold, rolled over, and Decatur sprang to his feet. That was
the turning point. The Americans, seeing their captain on his feet, and
having been kept together by the coolness of Macdonough and the
steadiness of Danny Dixon, now charged the Tripolitans. This last
onslaught was too much for them. They retreated, fighting to the last,
and when driven into the after part of the boat, were disarmed. The
reserve of the Tripolitan gunboats, inside the reefs, then tried to come
out, but the Constitution, hauling her wind, poured a heavy fire into
the opening in the rocks through which they attempted to make their way,
and they were driven back. The brigs and schooners also kept up the
cannonade, and at half past four o’clock, the Tripolitans having drawn
off, the American gunboats and their captured prizes were towed out into
the offing.
Somers’s boat was the first to reach the frigate’s side when he heard of
James Decatur’s mortal wound. Somers loved James Decatur like a younger
brother, and was deeply distressed at the news. Commodore Preble had his
own barge manned, and as soon as Decatur reached the Constitution and
reported on deck the commodore said:
“Captain Decatur, there is my barge. Take any officer you wish, and
bring your brother on the Constitution.”
Decatur, too overcome to reply, bowed silently, and motioned to Somers.
The two friends, without speaking a word, got into the barge together.
Decatur unconsciously gripped Somers’s hand hard, as he had often done
in the old days when they had been schoolmates together, and in this
hour of grief Somers seemed closer to him than ever before.
They soon reached the gunboat, and found James Decatur lying on the
deck, where he had gallantly fallen, still alive but unconscious. His
handsome boyish head was supported by Midshipman Morris, of whom he had
been very fond, and around him the sailors gathered in sympathetic
silence, and showing in their humble way the grief they felt at the
death of their brave young commander.
The sailors then, lifting James Decatur tenderly, placed him in the
Constitution’s barge. Morris followed and still supported him, helped by
Somers, while Decatur for the first time gave way to his grief, and,
holding his brother’s fast-chilling hand, sobbed aloud. James Decatur
did not seem to be in pain as his breath grew fainter and fainter.
Somers looked apprehensively at Morris, who shook his head sadly in
response to Somers’s glances of anxious inquiry. The men, although worn
with the labors of that glorious day, pulled with a will. They were
about fifty yards away from the frigate, when James Decatur opened his
eyes, and they rested on his brother for a moment. A faint smile passed
over his face, and he said in a pleasant voice, “Good-night,” and with
one gasp all was over.
Decatur was the first to realize it. Neither Somers nor Morris could
restrain his tears; but Decatur, regaining his composure, said, “I loved
him so much that I would rather see him as he is than living with any
cloud upon him.”
In a few moments James Decatur’s body was carried on board the frigate
by the sailors, and followed by Decatur, Somers, and Morris. The bodies
of thirteen other brave men who had died gloriously for their country
that day, were also taken on board; and the Constitution, after having
inflicted terrible damage on her enemies, hauled off, and in company
with the rest of the squadron ran out of gun-shot.
The frigate was much cut up aloft, and had lost her main royal yard, but
otherwise the tremendous onslaught of her guns upon the enemy had
brought no corresponding injury to herself. The brigs, schooners,
gun-vessels, and bombards had also escaped comparatively unharmed; while
the Tripolitans had had three gunboats sunk, three captured, one of
their strongest batteries destroyed, and all the defenses much battered.
At sunset the whole squadron came to anchor three leagues from the town.
The bodies of the thirteen seamen, and James Decatur, the only officer,
were decently dressed in uniform, covered with ensigns, and laid upon
shot-boxes arranged on the quarter-deck. All during the short August
night Decatur watched by the body of his brother, and Somers kept that
solemn vigil with him. As the hours passed on, with the silence of the
star-lit August night, broken only by the regular step of the deck
officer and the occasional striking of the ship’s bells, Somers began to
say some things that had long dwelt in his heart.
“Why should we pity him, Decatur?” he asked, pointing to the body of
James Decatur, wrapped in the flag, “Can you imagine a better death than
to die for one’s country and for the good of humanity?—for the conquest
of these pirates will save many innocent lives, and release many
thousands of prisoners who are suffering like our own countrymen. The
feeling has been on me for a long time that there is but one thing worth
living for or fighting for, and that is our duty. You love pleasure
better than I; and, so many things that you value seem worthless to me.
I acknowledge an ambition to leave an honorable name behind me, and to
do something for my country that will be remembered; and if, in trying
to do this, I should lose my life in this far-off land, recollect I lose
it willingly.”
Somers spoke in a prophetic voice; and as Decatur, in the shadowy
half-light, looked into his friend’s eyes, he saw an expression there as
if Somers were already gazing into another world.
Just as the radiant sunrise turned the blue Mediterranean into a sea of
gold, the solemn call resounded through the Constitution, “All hands to
bury the dead!” The ensign flew at half-mast, the yards were set
cock-a-bill, the sails half furled, the ropes hung in bights; everything
was arranged to express mourning and distress. Commodore Preble himself
read the service at the open gangway; and as the awful words were
uttered, “We therefore commit their bodies to the deep, looking for
their resurrection when the sea shall give up its dead,” the bodies of
James Decatur and the thirteen gallant seamen who were his companions in
death as in glory slid over the rail and sank swiftly into the sapphire
sea. In another moment the drums beat a double roll, the bugler sounded
a cheerful call; as if by magic the yards were squared, the sails were
clewed up, the ropes hauled taut, the flag hoisted; for among men who
put their lives daily and hourly in peril at the service of their
country it is considered that those who die gloriously are not to be
mourned, but envied. So felt Somers, as, taking Decatur’s arm, he said
to him with strange prescience:
“Let no one mourn for me if it should be my fate to die bravely, like
your brother. Rather let those who love me rejoice that so noble an exit
was permitted me.”
Only a breathing-spell of a few days was allowed the squadron, but in
that time the tone of the Bashaw changed wonderfully. He wanted the
Americans to send in a flag of truce; but this Commodore Preble refused,
with the menace that, if a hair of the heads of the imprisoned Americans
should be injured, the Bashaw should be made to pay such a price for it
as he would remember the longest day of his life.
On the 7th of August, repairs having been completed and the captured
Tripolitan boats refitted, another attack was made, about two o’clock in
the afternoon. The gunboats, of which there were now nine, were again in
two divisions, commanded by Somers and Decatur. Covered by the guns of
the brigs and schooners, they dashed boldly in. Immediately a terrific
cannonade was opened on them from the forts, the castle, and the
Tripolitan fleet of gun-vessels that were ranged directly across the
harbor. The Americans, however, returned it warmly, and over five
hundred solid shot and fifty shells were fired at the forts. The
batteries were very nearly silenced, the gunners driven away from their
guns, and the masonry almost demolished.
The Tripolitan gunboats no longer gave the Americans a chance to board
them, but remained at a prudent distance within the reefs, preferring to
fight at long range. While the divisions were advancing, Somers, who was
leaning against the flagstaff of his boat, turned around as Moriarity,
the coxswain, uttered an exclamation. The second boat in Decatur’s
division had been struck by a Tripolitan shell. It exploded, and for a
moment or two the unfortunate vessel and her brave crew were lost in a
cloud of smoke and the water thrown up around it. When the boat became
again visible the after part was already shattered and under water. Upon
the forward part, which still floated, were a young midshipman and
eleven men. They had been engaged in reloading the long
twenty-four-pounder she carried, and at this terrible moment the gun
captain, under the midshipman’s orders, was coolly applying the match.
“That’s Mr. Spence, sorr,” said Moriarity, pointing to the little
midshipman.
The gun roared out, and the shot struck the muzzle of a gun in the
battery of Fort English, breaking it into a hundred pieces. The bow of
the boat was beginning to sink, but, before thinking of saving
themselves, the men, led by the midshipman, gave three hearty American
cheers. Then Decatur’s boat approaching, they leaped into the water, and
were hauled on board.
“Hurrah!” shouted Somers, standing up and waving his cap at Decatur, who
was doing the same thing at him.
Hardly were the words out of his mouth, when he suddenly felt himself
seized around the waist by Moriarity’s strong arms and thrown down on
the deck. The next moment a shot struck the flagstaff against which
Somers had been leaning and cut it off short at the very spot where but
a moment before his head had been.
“Beg your parding, sorr,” said Moriarity, as the two scrambled to their
feet, “but I seen her comin’, and ’twarn’t no time for to be axin’ what
the regulations is ’bout gittin’ a orficer’s head out o’ the way when a
shot is a-comin’ straight for it, sorr.”
“No apologies are necessary,” cried Somers, shaking Moriarity’s hand,
“for saving a man’s life as you did mine.”
The attack was so spirited, and so much damage was done, that on the
next day came an offer from the Bashaw to surrender the officers and
crew of the Philadelphia for five hundred dollars each.
“Tell your master,” said Commodore Preble to the envoy, “that I will yet
have every officer and man belonging to the Philadelphia, but without
paying one dollar of ransom for them.”
This was supplemented by a night attack on the 18th of August, which
Somers and Decatur both urged upon the commodore. But finding that it
was more risky and not so effective as the day attacks, Commodore Preble
told his two young captains that thereafter the attacks would be by
daylight.
The Tripolitans now began to be very much alarmed, and made several
offers to treat; but Commodore Preble would listen to nothing but the
unconditional surrender of the officers and crew of the Philadelphia.
On the 24th and 28th of August two more attacks were made, which as
usual were led by Somers and Decatur. After every attack came renewed
offers from the Bashaw; but Commodore Preble meant to destroy, at once
and forever, the power of this barbarous nation of pirates and corsairs.
In the first days of September another attack in force was determined
upon. It was the third in which the Constitution had taken an active
part, and the magnificent way that the stout and beautiful frigate
withstood the bombardment of all the guns of the forts and vessels,
gained for her the name of “Old Ironsides”—a name she has now borne
gloriously for nearly a hundred years. At daylight on the 4th of
September the Tripolitans were awakened by the roar of a cannonade, and
the eyes of the captive officers and men of the Philadelphia were
gladdened by seeing the gunboats advancing boldly in the first flush of
dawn, supported by the brigs and schooners, while Old Ironsides was
standing in, her men on the yards shortening sail as deliberately as if
she were working into a friendly port. Arrived at a point opposite the
mole, she backed her topsails and then let fly her thirty great guns in
broadside. In vain the forts pounded her. Moving slowly, and
occasionally throwing her topsail aback, she skillfully avoided being
raked, and, except for some slight damage aloft, she came out of the
action without injury and without losing a man.
Meanwhile the Tripolitan gunboats had advanced to the reefs, and just as
the sun rose the divisions under Somers and Decatur went at them
fiercely. The brigs and schooners also directing their fire toward the
Tripolitan flotilla, Commodore Preble was sanguine that it would be
utterly destroyed. The Tripolitans, though, whose vessels drew less
water than the Americans’, and who knew the intricate maze of reefs and
shoals perfectly well, ran into shoal water, where they could not be
followed. Somers sank two boats, while Decatur managed to bring off
three. As soon as the frigate hauled off and made for the offing, the
gun-vessels were towed off, and when they were well out of gunshot the
whole squadron came to anchor, about three o’clock in the day.
Somers was the first captain to report on board the flagship. As soon as
he caught sight of “Old Pepper” on the Constitution’s quarter-deck he
knew that something had gone wrong. The commodore, while fighting his
own ship, could give but little attention to the boat divisions, but
seeing the Tripolitans almost surrounded by the American boats, with the
brigs and schooners closing up, he had expected the whole flotilla to be
captured. When, therefore, he saw it making back into the harbor with
the loss of only five boats, and not knowing the shoalness of the water
at that point, he could not understand the conduct of the American
boats, and was deeply disappointed for the first time in his “boy
captains.” As Somers approached and made his report in a few words, he
was received in angry silence, and the only words the commodore said
were, “I shall have something to say on this matter when Captain Decatur
reports.”
Somers, although annoyed, yet knew that, when the circumstances were
explained, the commodore would do both Decatur and himself justice—for
Commodore Preble’s heart was as just as his temper was fiery. But
knowing Decatur’s high spirit, he could not but be fearful of a meeting
between the two in “Old Pepper’s” state of mind. He had but little time
to think, though, for at that instant Decatur stepped over the side. He
had on a short jacket, in which he had been through the fight, and he
was grimed with powder, besides being stained with blood from a slight
wound he had received. Advancing with his usual alert step to the
commodore, he raised his cap and said quietly, “Well, commodore, I have
brought you out three of the gunboats.”
At that, “Old Pepper” suddenly seized him with both hands by the collar,
and, shaking him violently as if he were a refractory boy, cried out:
“Ay, sir, and why did you not bring me more?”
The officers stared, paralyzed with astonishment. Decatur involuntarily
put his hand on his sword; and the next moment the commodore turned on
his heel and went into the cabin.
Decatur, pale with anger, walked to the gangway. Somers caught him by
the arm and cried earnestly:
“Decatur, where are you going?”
“Away from this ship,” answered Decatur in a voice of suppressed rage.
“No,” said Somers, holding him, “you must not—you shall not go! The
commodore has misunderstood what you have done to-day. He met me with
almost equal anger; but you know how excitable he is—but how just,
brave, and magnanimous. Do nothing that is insubordinate, and I’ll
warrant the commodore will make you every amend.”
Somers could always exercise a powerful influence over Decatur, whom he
actually held to prevent from leaving the ship. The other officers
gathered around, trying to reason with Decatur, who, although a captain,
was still only a boy in Commodore Preble’s eyes. Just then the
commodore’s orderly appeared with a message.
“Commodore Preble desires Captain Decatur’s presence in the cabin.”
“I will not go!” was Decatur’s determined answer.
Somers gave the man a significant look, which meant that he was not to
repeat the message, and then began pleading with Decatur. He led his
friend to one side, and said to him solemnly:
“You know what is planned for four nights from this? Remembering that
this may be my last request of you, I ask you, therefore, to go to
Commodore Preble, and not to sully by one single act of disobedience the
glorious record you have made.”
The appeal touched Decatur deeply, and he could not say No. Somers went
with him to the cabin door, saw him enter, and the door close after him.
Fifteen minutes passed, and Decatur did not return. Somers, whose
anxiety was by no means over when he had brought these two impetuous
spirits together, began to be very unhappy. He walked back and forth,
uncertain what to do; but at last, remembering that his rank gave him
the right to seek the commodore even when not sent for, and taking his
courage in both hands, he knocked gently at the cabin door. No reply was
made, but he ventured to open the door slightly.
Seated near each other were the gray-haired commodore and his young
captain, both in tears. Somers, softly closing the door, moved off
without being noticed. Half an hour later, when the commodore appeared,
he was leaning affectionately upon Decatur’s arm.