And now, after a series of heroic ventures which had raised the American
name to the highest point of honor, was to come another—the last, the
most glorious, and the most melancholy of them all. Three officers and
ten men enlisted in this enterprise, and offered the choice between life
and honor, each one of them chose the better part.
It had been known for some time that, as the season would soon compel
the American squadron to leave Tripoli for the winter, Commodore Preble
was anxious that one great and decisive blow might be struck before he
left. True, the Bashaw was anxious to negotiate, but Commodore Preble
was not the man to treat with pirates and brigands as long as four
hundred American captives were imprisoned in Tripolitan dungeons. He was
the more anxious to strike this great blow because he had discovered
that the Tripolitans were almost out of gunpowder—a commodity which, at
that time of general European warfare, was of much value and not always
easy to get. The Americans, though, were well supplied, and this put the
thought into Somers’s mind of attempting a desperate assault upon the
shipping and forts by means of a fire-ship, or “infernal.”
He first broached the plan to Decatur, the night after the last attack
on Tripoli. The two young captains were sitting in the cabin of the
Nautilus, Decatur having come in answer to a few significant words from
Somers. When the two were seated at the table, Somers unfolded his plan.
It was a desperate one, and as Somers lucidly explained it, Decatur felt
a strange sinking of the heart. Somers, on the contrary, seemed to feel
a restrained enthusiasm, as if he had just attained a great opportunity,
for which he had long hoped and wished.
“You see,” said Somers, leaning over the table and fixing a pair of
smiling dark eyes upon Decatur, “it is an enterprise that means liberty
to four hundred of our countrymen and messmates. Who could hesitate a
moment?”
“Not you, Somers.”
“I hope not. The beauty of my plan is, that it requires but the risking
of a few lives—two boats to tow the fire-ship in, four men in my boat
and six in another boat, and one officer besides myself—in all, twelve
men. Did ever so small a number have so great a chance for serving their
country?”
Decatur made no reply to this, and Somers went on to explain the details
of his scheme. Decatur aided him at every turn, advising and discussing
with a freedom that their devoted intimacy permitted. But, instead of
the gay impetuosity that generally characterized Decatur, Somers was
surprised to find him grave, and almost sad; while the sober Somers was
for once as full of enthusiasm as Decatur usually was.
After two hours’ conversation, and it being not yet nine o’clock, Somers
asked Decatur to go with him to the flagship, where the plan might be
laid before the commodore.
As soon as Commodore Preble heard that two of his young captains wished
to see him, he at once desired that they be shown into the cabin. When
Somers and Decatur entered, they both noticed the somber and careworn
look on the commodore’s face. He had done much, and the force under him
had performed prodigies of valor; but he had not succeeded in liberating
his old friend and shipmate Bainbridge and his gallant company.
When they were seated around the cabin table, Somers produced some
charts and memoranda and began to unfold his idea. It was, on the first
dark night to take the ketch Intrepid—the same which Decatur had
immortalized—put on her a hundred barrels of gunpowder and a hundred
shells, tow her into the harbor through the western passage as near as
she could be carried to the shipping, hoping that she would drift into
the midst of the Tripolitan fleet, and then, setting her afire, Somers
and his men would take their slender chances for escape.
Commodore Preble heard it all through with strict attention. When Somers
had finished, the commodore looked him fixedly in the eye, and said:
“But suppose for one moment the explosion should fail, the ketch should
be captured, and a hundred barrels of gunpowder should fall into the
hands of the Bashaw? That would prolong the war a year.”
“Have no fear, sir,” answered Somers calmly. “I promise you that, rather
than permit such a thing, I myself will fire the ‘infernal,’ if there is
no alternative but capture. And I will take no man with me who is not
willing to die before suffering so much powder to be captured and used
against our own squadron.”
“Are you willing, Captain Somers, to take that responsibility?”
“Perfectly willing, sir. It is no greater responsibility than my friend
Captain Decatur assumed when in that very ketch he risked the lives of
himself and sixty-two companions in the destruction of the
Philadelphia.”
“Old Pepper,” leaning across the table, suddenly grasped a hand each of
his two young captains.
“My boys,” he said with shining eyes, “the first day you sat with me at
this table the sight of your youth, and the knowledge of the duties you
had to perform, gave me one of the most terrible fits of depression I
ever suffered. I deeply regretted that I had assumed charge of such an
expedition with what I bitterly called then a parcel of schoolboy
captains. Now I can only say that you have all turned out the best boys
I ever saw—for I can not yet call you men.”
This outburst, so unlike Commodore Preble’s usual stern and somewhat
morose manner, touched both Decatur and Somers; and Decatur said,
laughing, but with moisture in his eyes:
“You see, commodore, it is because we have had such a good schoolmaster
in the art of war.”
The conversation that followed was long and animated, and when Decatur
and Somers left the ship and were rowed across the dark water the
commodore’s permission had been given. On the Enterprise, the very next
morning, the squadron being well out of sight of the town and at anchor,
the preparation of the ketch began.
The day was a bright and beautiful one, although in September, which is
a stormy month in the Mediterranean. The ketch was laid alongside of
“Old Ironsides,” and the transfer of the powder and shells was begun at
sunrise; for it was characteristic of Somers to do quickly whatever he
had to do, and time was of great consequence to him then. The men worked
with a will, knowing well enough that some daring expedition was on
hand. Wadsworth, Somers’s first lieutenant, with the assistance of
Decatur, directed the preparation of the fire-ship; while Somers, in the
cabin of the Nautilus, arranged his private affairs and wrote his will,
remembering well that he might never return from that night’s awful
adventure. He wrote several letters and sealed them, and then the last
one, inclosing his will, was to Decatur. The other letters were long,
but that to Decatur was brief. It only said:
“Herein is my will, which I charge you to see executed if I should
never come back. For yourself, dear Decatur, I have no words that I
can say. To other men I may express my affection, and ask their
forgiveness for any injury I may have done them; but between you and
me there is nothing to forgive—only the remembrance of our
brotherhood, ever since we were young and innocent boys. If I were to
think long on this it would make me too tender-hearted, and when this
thought comes to me, I can only say, Good-by and God bless you!
“Richard Somers.”
The golden noon had come, and as Somers glanced through the cabin
windows of the smart little Nautilus he could see the preparations going
on aboard the ketch. Anchored directly under the quarter of the splendid
frigate, men were busy passing the powder and arranging the shells,
doing it all with the cool caution of those accustomed to desperate
risks. Decatur’s tall figure was seen on the Constitution’s deck. He
paced up and down with the commodore, and was really unable to tear
himself away from the ship. Tears came into Somers’s eyes as he watched
Decatur. Somers had no brother, no father, and no mother, and Decatur
had been more to him all his life than he could express.
Meanwhile it was well understood on the other ships that, except the
first lieutenant of the Nautilus, Mr. Wadsworth, who was to command the
second boat, no other officer would be permitted to go. Although any and
all of them would have been rejoiced to share in the dangers of this
expedition, they knew it would be useless to ask—that is, all except
Pickle Israel, who marched boldly up to the commodore, as he was pacing
the deck, and, touching his cap, suddenly plumped out with—
“Commodore Preble, may I go with Captain Somers on the Intrepid
to-night?”
“Old Pepper,” coolly surveying Pickle, who was rather small for his
fourteen years, and reprobating the little midshipman’s assurance,
sternly inquired:
“What did I understand you to say, sir?”
The Commodore’s tone and countenance were altogether too much for
Pickle’s self-possession. He stammered and blushed, and finally, in a
quavering voice, managed to get out—
“If—if—you please, sir—m-may I go——” and then came to a dead halt, while
Decatur could not help smiling at him slyly behind the commodore’s back.
“May you go aloft and stay there for a watch?” snapped “Old Pepper,” who
suspected very shrewdly what Pickle was trying to ask. “Am I to
understand that is what you are after?”
“No, sir,” answered Pickle, plucking up his courage and putting on a
defiant air as he caught sight of Decatur’s smile; while Danny Dixon,
who had been sent on a message and had come back to report, stood
grinning broadly at the little midshipman—“No, sir,” repeated Pickle,
with still more boldness. “I came to ask if I might go on the Intrepid,
with Captain Somers, to-night.”
“Has Captain Somers asked for your services, Mr. Israel?” inquired the
commodore blandly.
“N—no, sir,” faltered Pickle, turning very red, and unconsciously
beginning to practice the goose step in his embarrassment.
“Very well, sir,” replied the commodore, still excessively polite,
“until Captain Somers asks for an officer of your age and experience, I
shall not request him to take you or any other midshipman in the
squadron.”
“The truth is, commodore,” said Decatur, who could not but respect the
boy’s indomitable pluck, “Mr. Israel has the courage and spirit of a
man, and he forgets that he is, after all, a very young gentleman.” A
very young gentleman meant really a boy.
The commodore smiled at this, and looking into Pickle’s disappointed
face he said:
“Never mind, Mr. Israel. Although I can not let you go on this
expedition, your gallant desire to go has not hurt you in my esteem; and
the day will come when your country will be proud of you—of that I feel
a presentiment at this moment.”
True it was, and sooner, far sooner than any of them dreamed at that
moment.
Pickle turned away, his eyes filled with tears of disappointment. As he
was going sadly below, he heard a step following him, and there was
Danny Dixon’s hale and handsome face close behind him.
“Mr. Israel, sir,” said Danny, touching his hat, “I wants to say as how
I likes your spirit; and when you’re a cap’n you’ll find the men mighty
willin’ to sarve under you, sir, for they likes a orficer with a spirit.
You oughter been in the fight with Cap’n Paul Jones, on the Bunnum
Richard.”
“I wish I had been, Dixon,” answered Pickle, almost crying with
vexation.
“Never you mind, Mr. Israel,” said Danny, with an encouraging wink, “all
the orficers and men knows you ain’t got no flunk in you; and if you
hadn’t been such a little ’un—beg your parding, sir—you’d ’a’ had a
chance at somethin’, sure.”
Pickle, not exactly pleased with being called “a little ’un,” marched
off in high dudgeon, angry with Danny, with the commodore, with
Decatur—with the whole world, in fact, which seemed bent on balking his
dreams of glory. However, after an hour or two of bitter reflection, it
suddenly occurred to him as a forlorn hope that he might yet ask Somers.
As if in answer to his wish, at that very moment he was ordered to take
a boat with a message to Somers, saying that at four o’clock—eight
bells—a call would be made for volunteers to man the boats.
Pickle swung himself into the boat with the agility of a monkey, and in
a few moments the stout arms of the sailors had pulled across the blue
water to where the lovely Nautilus lay, rocking gently on the long,
summer swells of the sea. Pickle skipped over the side and up to Somers
on the deck, like a flash of blue light, in his trim midshipman’s
uniform. His message was delivered in a few words, and then Pickle
artfully continued:
“And as there’s to be a call for volunteers, Captain Somers, I wish,
sir”—here Pickle drew himself up as tall as he could—“to offer my
services.”
“I am very much obliged, Mr. Israel,” answered Somers courteously, and
refraining from smiling. “Your courage now, as always, does you infinite
credit. But as only one officer besides myself is needed, I have
promised my first lieutenant, Mr. Wadsworth, that honor.”
Poor Pickle’s face grew three quarters of a yard long. He suddenly
dropped his lofty tone and manner, and burst out, half crying:
“That’s what all of the officers say, Captain Somers; and the next
thing, maybe, the war will be over, and I sha’n’t have had a single
chance of distinguishing myself—or—or—anything; and it’s a hardship, I
say—it’s a hardship!”
Somers put his hand kindly on the boy’s shoulder.
“But you have already distinguished yourself as one of the smartest and
brightest midshipmen in the squadron; and this gallant spirit of yours
will yet make you famous.”
Pickle turned away, and was about to go over the side, when Somers said:
“Wait a few moments, and see that there are others as brave and as
disappointed as you.—Boatswain, pipe all hands on deck, aft!”
The boatswain, who was ready, piped up, and in a few minutes every man
of the eighty that formed the company of the handsome brig was reported
“up and aft.”
Somers then, with a glow upon his fine face, addressed the men, the
officers standing near him.
“My men,” he said, “you see that ketch yonder—rightly named the
Intrepid, after the glorious use to which our brave Decatur put her. She
has on board one hundred barrels of gunpowder, one hundred shells, and
all the apparatus for lighting these combustibles; and to-night, if wind
and tide serve, she is to be taken into the harbor of Tripoli and
exploded among the shipping. I have obtained the honor of taking charge
of this expedition, and I wish my boat manned by four men who would
rather die than be captured; for the pirates are short of gunpowder, and
they can get no more from Europe, so that unless they capture this, it
will be easy work to reduce them next spring, when we shall take another
and a last whack at them. But—the Intrepid _must not be captured_! The
commodore, on this condition only, gave it me. I do not disguise from
you that the enterprise is one full of danger, but fuller of glory. No
man shall be ordered to go; but I want four men to volunteer who are
ready, if necessary, to die for their country this very night; and let
them hold up their right hands and say ‘Ay!’”
Every man in the brig’s company held up his hand, and their deep voices,
like the roar of the sea, shouted out, “Ay, sir!”
Somers shook his head and smiled but his eyes shone with pleasure at the
readiness of his brave crew.
“Ah,” he cried, “I might have known! My men, I can only take four of
you. I shall take the four that are most able-bodied, and who have no
wife or family.—You, Moriarity,” he said to the quartermaster, “I know,
are alone in the world. I want you.”
“Thankee, sorr,” answered Moriarity, stepping out of the line with a
grin.
“And you—and you—and you,” said Somers, walking along the line, as he
picked out three more men; and every man smiled, and said, “Thankee,
sir.”
“You understand perfectly well, then,” said Somers, addressing the four,
“that this is an undertaking of the utmost hazard. We may, in the
performance of our solemn duty, have to light the fire that will blow us
all into eternity. There will be twelve of us, and it is better that our
lives should be sacrificed than that hundreds, perhaps, of valuable and
gallant lives be required to subdue the pirates in a longer and severer
struggle. So, think well over your engagement; and if you are of the
same determined mind, follow my example, and leave all your worldly
affairs in order. And then, make your peace with Almighty God, for we
may all meet Him face to face before the sun rises on another day.”
Somers’s solemn words had a great effect on the men. While not in the
least dampening their enthusiasm, their tone and manner changed from the
jaunty gayety with which sailors meet danger to a serious and grave
consideration of their situation. Moriarity acted as spokesman:
“We thankee, sorr, for remindin’ us o’ what we has got to face. We’ve
done a heap o’ wrong, but maybe the Cap’n up above, if we has to report
to him to-night, ’ll say: ‘Them chaps died a-doin’ o’ their duty to
their country; mark their shortcoming off the list, master-at-arms!’ And
he’ll let us in, bekase we means to do our duty—don’t we, men?”
“We does!” answered the three sailors all together.
A hearty American cheer rang out at this, and Somers shook hands with
the four men. He then ordered his boat, and in a few moments, was
pulling toward the frigate.
Somers’s words had inspired another heart besides that of the four
sailors. Pickle Israel, with his dark eyes fixed on the bright horizon,
felt a longing, a consuming desire, tugging at his heart. A voice seemed
to be repeating to him the sailor’s words, “We means to do our duty.”
Pickle, being only a boy, could not exactly see the reason why he should
not be allowed to go on the expedition—and some strange and
overmastering power seemed impelling him to go. It was not mere love of
adventure. It was Moriarity’s untutored words, “Them chaps died for
their country.” Well, he had but one life to give his country, thought
Pickle, and there was no better time or place to give it than that very
night. However, Pickle said not one word more to anybody about his
disappointment; but his face cleared up, as if he had formed a
resolution.
On reaching the Constitution, the men were mustered, and Commodore
Preble made a short speech to them before calling for volunteers. “And I
consider it my duty,” he said, “to tell every one of you, from Captain
Somers down, that this powder must not be suffered to fall into the
enemy’s hands. For my own part, it is with pride and with fear that I
shall see you set forth; but, although I value your lives more than all
Tripoli, yet not even for that must the pirates get hold of this powder.
I have not asked this service from any of you. Every man, from your
captain down, has volunteered. But if you choose to take the honorable
risk, all I can say is, ‘Go, and God protect you!’”
As Commodore Preble spoke, tears rolled down his face, and the men
cheered wildly. As on the Nautilus, the whole ship’s company
volunteered, and six had to be chosen. To Danny Dixon’s intense chagrin,
he was not among them. When the men were piped down, Pickle Israel
caught sight of the handsome old quartermaster going forward with a look
of bitter disappointment on his face. Pickle could not but remember
Danny’s glib consolation to him only a few hours before; so he sidled up
to Danny, and said with a smile:
“Never mind, Dixon. If you weren’t so old you’d have been allowed to go.
All the officers know you haven’t got any flunk in you. And we—I mean
those that come back—will have some yarns to spin equal to yours about
Captain Paul Jones and the Bon Homme Richard!”
For answer, Danny looked gloomily in the little midshipman’s face, and
said, in a much injured manner:
“It do seem hard, sir, as when a old sailor, sir, as fought with Cap’n
Paul Jones, is disapp’inted in goin’ on a expedition, to have the young
gentlemen on the ship a-pullin’ his leg.”
“That’s the way you comforted me!” chuckled Pickle in high glee.
By sunset everything was ready. Decatur was with Somers on the Nautilus,
and just as the sun was sinking they stood together at the gangway. It
was a clear and beautiful September evening, with no moon, but a faint
and lovely starlight. Over the dark bosom of the sea was a light haze,
that was the thing most desired by Somers, to conceal the Intrepid as
she made her perilous way toward the city of the corsairs. A soft breeze
ruffled the water and gently rocked the tall ships. As the two friends
stood watching the dying glow in the west, Decatur was pale and
agitated, while Somers, instead of his usual gravity, wore an air of
joy, and even gayety.
“Does not this remind you, Decatur, of Delaware Bay, and the first
evening we ever spent together as midshipmen? The water is almost as
blue at home as it is here, and I can quite imagine that ‘Old Ironsides’
is ‘Old Wagoner,’ and that the Siren over there is your father’s ship,
the Delaware. It seems only the other day, and it is more than six years
ago.”
Decatur, unable to speak, looked at Somers with a sort of passion of
brotherly love shining out of his eyes. He felt, as sure as that he was
then living, that he would never see his friend again.
The boat being ready, Moriarity and his three companions were called
forward. As they advanced, Somers smiling, said to them:
“There is bound to be some disappointment among you. Each one of you has
come privately to ask that he may be the one to apply the match; but
that honor, my fine fellows, I have reserved for myself.”
Somers and Decatur then went down the ladder, followed by the four
seamen; and at the same moment, as if by magic, the yards of the
Nautilus were manned and three cheers rang over the quiet water.
The boat pulled first to the Constitution, where the second boat was
waiting. Commodore Preble was standing on the quarter-deck. Somers, with
an air of unwonted gayety, came over the side. Going up to the
commodore, he said pleasantly, “Well, commodore, I have come for my last
instructions.”
Commodore Preble could only clasp his young captain’s hand and say:
“I have given all that I have to give. I know your prudence and your
resolute courage. You are in the hands of the great and good God, and no
matter what the result of this night’s work may be, your country will
never forget you.”
As Somers, still wearing his pleasant smile, left the Constitution, the
men also manned the yards and cheered him. With Decatur he went on board
the fire-ship, to take one last look, and to wait for complete darkness,
which was now approaching. On the ketch were Captain Stewart and
Lieutenant Wadsworth, first, of the Nautilus, and these four spent this
last hour together. Wadsworth, a man of vigor and determination, like
Somers, was perfectly easy and cheerful. Stewart and Decatur, who were
to follow the ketch as far in the offing as was prudent, were both
strangely silent. Decatur had a terrible foreboding that he and Somers
would never meet again in this world.
Meanwhile the Constitution’s cutter had been lowered, and with the
Nautilus’s boat had been made fast to the frigate’s side, directly under
a port in the steward’s pantry. Somers having determined to wait another
half hour for the blue fog which was steadily rising on the water to
conceal him entirely, the men had been permitted to leave the boat.
Danny Dixon, taking advantage of this, was in the Constitution’s cutter,
making a last examination, for his own satisfaction, of the oars,
rowlocks, etc., when above the lapping of the water against the great
ship’s side, he heard a whisper overhead of—
“Dixon! I say, Dixon!”
Danny glanced up, and saw, poked out of the pantry window, in the dusky
half light, Pickle Israel’s curly head.
“Now, whatsomdever are you up to, Mr. Israel?” began Danny; but a
violent shaking of the head, and a “Sh-sh-sh!” checked him.
“Turn your lantern round,” whispered Pickle.
Danny turned the dark side round, and then drew the boat up close to the
port. When the boat was just below the port, and Danny had raised his
head to hear Pickle’s mysterious communication, the little midshipman
quickly wriggled himself out, and, swinging himself down by his hands,
landed silently in the boat.
Danny was so surprised that he could not speak a word, but he at once
suspected Pickle’s design—to go on the expedition.
“Now, Dixon,” said Pickle, in a wheedling voice, “don’t go and tell on
me. In fact, as your superior officer, I direct you, on leaving this
boat, to go immediately forward, and stay there unless you are sent
for.”
Danny grinned broadly at this, and grasping Pickle’s hand in his own
brawny one, he nearly wrung the boy’s arm off.
“I knows, sir—I knows!” said he, in a delighted whisper. “But I ain’t
a-goin’ to blow the gaff on you. I likes these ’ere venturesome
youngsters that’s allers ready for to risk their lives for their
country. That’s the sort as Cap’n Paul Jones loved. But, Mr. Israel,
I’ll have to git out o’ this ’ere boat, ’cause if any o’ them foremast
men seen me in here, when you is missed they’ll all say as how Dixon,
the quartermaster, was a-talkin’ with you, and then the Commodore will
take my hide, sure. But good-by, Mr. Israel, and God bless you, as the
commodore says; and if you ain’t but a little shaver, let me tell you,
sir, you’ve got a sperrit that’s fittin’ to sarve under the greatest man
as ever sailed blue water—Cap’n Paul Jones!”
With that Danny wrung the little midshipman’s hand again, and with a
spring he noiselessly gained the ladder and disappeared.
Pickle, being very small, crawled under the gunwale of the boat, where
there was an extra coil of rope, spare lanterns, and other things
necessary to repair damages, all covered with a tarpaulin. These things
he carefully distributed along the boat, under the gunwales, and then,
covering himself up with the tarpaulin, made himself as small as
possible in the place of the ropes and lanterns. He had left a little
hole in the tarpaulin through which he could see; and as he curled
himself up comfortably and fixed his eyes on this opening, there was
never a happier boy. He had succeeded perfectly, so far, in his scheme.
He thought, if any of the men suspected he was on board, they would be
inclined to wink at it, like Danny Dixon; and as soon as they cast off
and got the Intrepid in tow, there would be no earthly way, as Pickle
gleefully remembered, to get rid of him. At this idea he almost laughed
aloud; and then, he thought, when they came back in triumph, and Captain
Somers and Mr. Wadsworth were being congratulated and almost embraced,
on the Constitution’s deck, by the commodore and all the officers of the
squadron, and the men cheering like mad, as at Decatur’s return, then
would he be brought forward—Midshipman Israel! and his name would be in
the report sent home, and everybody would know what prodigies of valor
he had performed, and he would no doubt receive a sword like Decatur’s
and be made a lieutenant. Lieutenant Israel! How charming was the sound!
Pickle was so comfortable and so happy that unconsciously his eyelids
drooped. How faint were the stars shining in the quiet skies, and how
gently the boat rocked on the water! It was like being rocked to sleep
when he was a little boy, not so long ago, in his mother’s arms. And in
five minutes the little midshipman was sleeping soundly.
An hour afterward he was wakened by the boat drawing up to the side of
the fire-ship. Ahead, he could see the Constitution’s boat carrying the
towline. The mist was denser still on the water, through which the hulls
and spars of the ships loomed with vague grandeur. The Siren and the
Argus were getting under way; and standing at the low rail of the ketch
were two dark figures—Somers and Decatur.
Somers had taken a ring from his finger, and, breaking it in two, gave
one half to Decatur and put the other half in the breast of his jacket.
“Keep that, Decatur,” he said, “in case we should never meet again. I
need not ask you to remember me——” Here Somers could say no more.
Decatur put both hands on Somers’s shoulders, and his lips moved, but no
sound came. Utterly overcome with emotion, he turned silently away, got
into his boat, and was quickly on board his ship, where, in his cabin,
for a few moments he gave way to a burst of tears, such as he had not
known since he could remember.
Somers descended into his boat, the towline was made fast, and, with the
ketch’s sails set to catch the faint breeze, soon the “infernal” was
making fast through the dark water. The Siren and Argus, having got up
their anchors, followed the ketch at a distance, under short canvas.
The boats and the “infernal” were fast leaving the brigs astern in the
murky night, when Somers, who was sitting in the stern sheets, felt
something moving close by him, and, glancing down, he recognized in the
uncertain light Pickle Israel’s laughing eyes peering up mischievously
at him.
“Why—what is this?” he asked, amazed.
“Nothing, Captain Somers, only me,” answered Pickle, scrambling up from
under the gunwale. “I wanted to go, sir, very much, on this expedition,
just as I did on Captain Decatur’s, and nobody would let me; so I took
French leave, and came by myself.”
Somers, although vexed with the boy, and alarmed at having him on board,
yet could not but admire his pluck.
“Did any man on this boat help you to get aboard?” he asked.
“No, sir,” chirped Pickle gayly. “Not one of them knew I was aboard
until just now.”
“Please, sorr,” said Moriarity, who was sitting next Pickle’s
hiding-place, “I thought as how the lantherns and things was moighty
ristless under there, and wanst I thought I heard ’em snaze, but I sez,
sez I, ‘Moriarity, me man, yez never heard of a snazin’ lanthern;’ and
the next minute, here comes Misther Israel, and it warn’t the lantherns,
afther all!”
Somers could not help smiling at Moriarity and Pickle too; but he said
gravely to the little midshipman:
“Do you understand the terrible risk we run in this attempt, and that it
will be our duty, if in danger of capture, to blow up the ketch?”
“Perfectly, sir,” answered Pickle. He now sat up straight in the boat,
and his eyes were shining so that Somers could see them even in the
gloom. “I know that we have only a few chances for our lives; but—but—we
have a great many chances for immortality; and, Captain Somers, although
I am only a midshipman, and you are a captain, I am as willing, even as
eager, to risk my life for our country and for our shipmates in prison
as you are.”
“I believe you,” answered Somers, in a sweet and thrilling voice; “you
are a brave boy, and, be it life or death, we will be together.”
They soon entered the offing, and drawing rapidly ahead, helped by wind
and tide, they reached the western passage of the harbor. There they
rested for a few minutes. Before them, in the misty night, lay the black
masses of the town, and the encircling forts, over which the Bashaw’s
castle reared its pile of towers and bastions. They saw the twinkling
lights of the town, and those on the mastheads of the shipping in the
harbor. Near the entrance lay three low gunboats that looked unnaturally
large through the dim and ghostly fog that lay upon the water, but left
the heavens clear and darkly blue. Behind them they could see the
outline of the two American brigs, on which, as a precaution, not a
light was shining. The fire-ship, as black as midnight, was stationary
on the water for a moment. Somers, rising in his boat, uncovered his
head, and every man in both boats, understanding that he was making a
solemn prayer, removed his hat and prayed likewise. Little Israel, with
his midshipman’s cap in his hand, stood up, with his eyes fixed on the
stars overhead. He made his prayer briefly but reverently, and then,
pointing to a brilliant group of stars, that blazed with splendor far
down on the horizon, he said to Somers with a smile:
“The stars, I believe, mean glory. That is why we steer by them.”
The breeze had then died out, and the men took to their oars, which were
muffled. Like a black shadow moving over the water the ketch advanced.
The darkness of the night favored their escaping the gunboats. They
crept past the rocks and reefs, entered the western passage, and were
within the harbor of Tripoli. The lights of the town grew plain, and
they could still see the stars, although they seemed to be alone in a
world of fog.
Suddenly and silently three shadows loomed close upon them—one on each
side and one on their bows. The men, without a word, seized the towline
and drew themselves noiselessly back toward the ketch.
[Illustration: _Exploding the “infernal” at Tripoli._]
As the two American boats disappeared like magic, and as if they had
vanished from the face of the water, the Tripolitan gunboats closed up,
and in another moment the Americans found themselves surrounded on all
sides but one by the corsairs, and that one side was next the fire-ship.
The Tripolitans, with a yell of triumph, prepared to spring over the
side.
“Are you ready to stand to your word, men?” asked Somers, standing up in
the boat, with a lighted torch in his hand.
“Ay, ay, sir!” promptly answered every man in both boats, laying down
his oars.
“And I!” called out Wadsworth.
“And I!” said Pickle Israel, in his sweet, shrill, boyish voice.
“Then may God bless our country, and have mercy on us!” said Somers
solemnly, and throwing the torch upon the Intrepid’s deck.
The next moment came an explosion as if the heavens and the earth were
coming together. The castle rocked upon its mighty base like a cradle.
The ships in the harbor shivered from keel to main truck, and many of
them careened and almost went over. The sky was lighted up with a red
glare that was seen for a hundred miles, and the deafening crash
reverberated and almost deafened and paralyzed all who heard it.
Those on the American ships heard the frightful roar of the hundred
barrels of gunpowder that seemed to explode in an instant of time, and,
stunned by the concussion, they could only see a mast and sail of the
ketch as they flew, blazing, up to the lurid sky, and then sank in the
more lurid water.
To this succeeded an appalling blackness and stillness. Every light on
the shipping and in the castle and the town had been extinguished by the
force of the explosion. Not a cry, not a groan was heard from the
harbor, upon which the dense mist of the fog had again settled; but
floating on the dark bosom of the water were thirteen blackened and
lifeless bodies—the thirteen brave men who had cheerfully rendered up
their lives, when it was all they could do for their country.
All night, at intervals, a moaning gun was heard from the frigate, in
the vain hope that some of those heroic men might yet be living. All
night Decatur swung on the forechains of his ship, flashing a lantern
across the water, and listening vainly and in agony for some sound, some
token, from the friend he was never again to see. But the gray dawn
brought with it despair to him. For Somers and his brave companions had
another morning, and another and more glorious sunrise.
* * * * * * * *
Six years after this, one evening in September, 1810, the Constitution,
which had been standing off and on Tripoli for several days, approached
the town. Since her last visit the Tripolitans had been effectually
conquered, and peace had long prevailed; and so highly was the American
name respected, that an American officer could go safely and alone all
about the town and its suburbs.
The captain’s gig was lowered and manned, and Danny Dixon was its
coxswain. Presently Decatur, in the uniform of a post captain, came down
the ladder and seated himself in the stern sheets. The gig was then
rapidly pulled toward the beach at the end of the town. Here Decatur
left the boat, and, telling Danny that he would be back within an hour,
walked quickly along to a little clump of trees outside the wall.
It was just such an evening as that six years before. The sun had gone
down, and there was no moon, but, as if led by some invisible power,
Decatur walked straight along the path to where the few straggling and
stunted trees made a shadow against the white walls of the town and the
white sand of the beach.
When he reached the spot, he saw, by the light of the stars that glinted
faintly through the leaves, a little group of three graves, and farther
off a larger group. These were the resting places of Somers and his men.
At the first of the three graves together, there were four stones laid;
at the second, two stones; while at the third and smallest, in which
Israel, the little midshipman, slept, was only one stone.
Decatur stood with folded arms at the head of Somers’s grave. As in a
dream the whole of his early life with his friend rose and passed before
him. He remembered their boyhood together; then their happy days as
careless and unthinking midshipmen, and the great scenes and adventures
through which they had passed before Tripoli. That night, six years
before, they had parted to meet no more in this world. Every incident of
the night returned to him—the horror of the explosion, the long hours he
spent hanging in the brig’s forechains, the agony of daybreak, when not
a man or a boat or even a spar could be seen.
As Decatur stood by this lonely grave, he felt as if he were still
conversing with his friend.
“No one has ever been, no one could ever be to me what you were,
Somers,” he almost said aloud—“the bravest, the most resolute, and the
gentlest of men.”
He then stood for a moment by Wadsworth’s mound. “You, too, were brave
and generous, and worthy to die with Somers,” he thought. And then he
went to the head of the smallest grave of all. The tears were falling
from his eyes, but he smiled, too. He seemed to see the little
midshipman’s merry eyes, and to hear faintly, from the far-off world of
spirits, his boyish laughter. He thought that Pickle must have gone
smiling to his death, in his white-souled youth. “How can I feel sorry
for you?” thought Decatur, as he stooped and pulled some of the odorous
and beautiful jasmine blossoms that grew on the small grave, which was
almost hidden under their straggling leaves. “You lived purely and died
bravely. Your life, though brief, was glorious. You, too, were worthy to
die with Somers—the best and bravest!”
Decatur turned again to Somers’s grave, but he could not see it for the
mist of tears.
About an hour afterward a young moon climbed into the blue-black sky,
and just as its radiance touched the three graves, Decatur turned and
walked away, without once looking behind at the spot where slept his
friend.
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
--Silently corrected obvious typographical errors.
--Non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.