It was a mild evening on the Mediterranean, the wind light,
the sea smooth, the temperature--though the season was that
of midwinter--summer-like in its geniality. Into the harbor
of Tripoli slowly glided a small, two-masted vessel, all her
sails set and moderately well filled by the wind, yet moving
with the tardiness of a very slow sailer. A broad bay lay
before her, its surface silvered by the young moon whose
crescent glowed in the western sky. Far inward could be
dimly seen the masts and hull of a large vessel, its furled
sails white in the moonlight. Beyond it were visible distant
lights, and a white lustre as of minaret tops touched by the
moonbeams. These were the lights and spires of Tripoli, a
Moorish town then best known as a haunt and stronghold of
the pirates of the Mediterranean. All was silence, all
seemingly peace. The vessel--the ketch, to give it its
nautical name--moved onward with what seemed exasperating
slowness, scarcely ruffling the polished waters of the bay.
The hours passed on. The miles lagged tardily behind. The
wind fell. The time crept towards midnight. The only life
visible in the wide landscape was that of the gliding ketch.
But any one who could have gained a bird's-eye view of the
vessel would have seen sufficient to excite his distrust of
that innocent-seeming craft. From the water-side only ten or
twelve men could be seen, but on looking downward the decks
would have been perceived to be crowded with men, lying down
so as to be hidden behind the bulwarks and other objects
upon the deck, and so thick that the sailors who were
working the vessel had barely room to move.
This appeared suspicious. Not less suspicious was the fact
that the water behind the vessel was ruffled by dragging
objects of various kinds, which seemed to have something to
do with her slowness of motion. As the wind grew lighter,
and the speed of the vessel fell until it was moving at
barely a two-knots' rate, these objects were drawn in, and
proved to be buckets, spars, and other drags which had been
towed astern to reduce the vessel's speed. Her tardiness of
motion was evidently the work of design.
It was now about ten o'clock. The moon hovered on the
western horizon, near its hour of setting. The wind was
nearly east, and favorable to the vessel's course, but was
growing lighter every moment. The speed of the ketch
diminished until it seemed almost to have come to rest. It
had now reached the eastern entrance to the bay, the passage
here being narrowed by rocks on the one hand and a shoal on
the other. Through this passage it stole onward like a
ghost, for nearly an hour, all around being tranquil,
nothing anywhere to arouse distrust. The craft seemed a
coaster delayed by the light winds in making harbor.
The gliding ketch had now come so near to the large vessel
in front, that the latter had lost its dimness of outline
and was much more plainly visible. It was evidently no
Moorish craft, its large hull, its lofty masts, its tracery
of spars and rigging being rather those of an English or
American frigate than a product of Tripolitan dock-yards.
Its great bulk and sweeping spars arose in striking contrast
to the low-decked vessels which could be seen here and there
huddled about the inner sides of the harbor.
A half-hour more passed. The ketch was now close aboard the
frigate-like craft, steering directly towards it. Despite
the seeming security of the harbor, there were sentries
posted on the frigate and officers moving about its deck.
From one of these now came a loud hail in the Tripolitan
tongue.
"What craft is that?"
"The Mastico, from Malta," came the answer, in the same
language.
"Keep off. Do you want to run afoul of us?"
"We would like to ride beside you for the night," came the
answer. "We have lost our anchors in a gale."
The conversation continued, in the Tripolitan language, as
the ketch crept slowly up, an officer of the frigate and the
pilot of the smaller vessel being the spokesmen. A number of
Moorish sailors were looking with mild curiosity over the
frigate's rails, without a moment's suspicion that anything
was wrong. The moon still dimly lit up the waters of the
bay, but not with light enough to make any object very
distinct.
As the ketch came close a boat was lowered with a line, and
was rowed towards the frigate, to whose fore-chains the end
was made fast. At the same time the officer of the large
vessel, willing to aid the seemingly disabled coaster,
ordered some of his men to lower a boat and take a line from
the stern to the ketch. As the boat of the latter returned,
it met the frigate's boat, took the line from the hands of
its crew, and passed it in to the smaller vessel.
The ketch was now fast to the frigate bow and stern. The
lines were passed to the men lying on the deck, none of whom
were visible from the frigate's rail, and were slowly passed
from hand to hand by the men, the coaster thus being
cautiously drawn closer to the obliging Moorish craft.
All this took time. Foot by foot the ketch drew nearer, her
motion being almost imperceptible. The Moors looked lazily
over their bulwark, fancying that it was but the set of the
current that was bringing the vessels together. But suddenly
there was a change. The officer of the frigate had
discovered that the ketch was still provided with anchors,
despite the story that her anchors had been lost in a gale.
"What is this?" he cried, sternly. "You have your anchors!
You have lied to me! Keep off! Cut those fasts there!"
A moment afterwards the cry of "Amerikanos!" was raised in
the ship, and a number of the night-watch drew their knives
and hastened fore and aft to cut the fasts.
The crew of the Mastico--or the Intrepid, to give it its
proper name--were still more alert. At the first signal of
alarm, their cautious pull on the ropes was changed to a
vigorous effort which sent the ketch surging through the
water to the side of the frigate, where she was instantly
secured by grappling-irons, hurled by strong hands.
Up to this moment not a movement or whisper had betrayed the
presence of the men crouched on the deck. The ten or twelve
who were visible seemed to constitute the whole crew of the
craft. But now there came a sudden change. The stirring cry
of "Boarders away!" was raised in stentorian tones, and in
an instant the deck of the Intrepid seemed alive. The
astonished Moors gazed with startled eyes at a dense crowd
of men who had appeared as suddenly as if they had come from
the air.
The order to board had been given by an officer who sprang
at the same moment for the frigate's chain-plates. Two
active young men followed him, and in an instant the whole
crew were at their heels, some boarding the frigate by the
ports, others over the rail, swarming upon her deck like so
many bees, while the Moors fell back in panic fright.
The surprise was perfect. The men on the frigate's deck ran
to the starboard side as their assailants poured in on the
larboard, and constant plunges into the water told that they
were hastily leaping overboard in their fright. Hardly a
blow had been struck. The deck was cleared in almost a
minute after the order to board. The only struggle took
place below, but this lasted little longer. In less than ten
minutes from the time of boarding all resistance was at an
end, and the craft was an undisputed prize to the Intrepid's
crew.
And now to learn the meaning of this midnight assault. The
vessel which had been so skilfully captured was the frigate
Philadelphia, of the American navy, which had fallen into
the hands of the Tripolitans some time before. For years the
Moorish powers of Africa had been preying upon the commerce
of the Mediterranean, until the weaker nations of Europe
were obliged to pay an annual tribute for the security of
their commerce. The United States did the same for some
time, but the thing grew so annoying that war was at length
declared against Tripoli, the boldest of these piratical
powers. In 1803 Commodore Preble was sent with a fleet to
the Mediterranean. He forced Morocco to respect American
commerce, and then proceeded to Tripoli, outside whose
harbor his fleet congregated, with a view of blockading the
port.
On October 31 Captain Bainbridge of the Philadelphia, while
cruising about, saw a vessel in shore and to windward,
standing for Tripoli. Sail was made to cut her off. The
chase continued for several hours, the lead being kept
constantly going to avoid danger of shoals. When about a
league distant from Tripoli it became evident that the
fugitive craft could not be overtaken, and the frigate wore
round to haul off into deeper waters. But, to the alarm of
the officers, they found the water in their front rapidly
shoaling, it having quickly decreased in depth from eight to
six and a half fathoms. A hasty effort was now made to wear
the ship, but it was too late; the next instant she struck
on a reef, with such force that she was lifted on it between
five and six feet.
This was an appalling accident. No other cruiser was near.
The enemy was close at hand. Gunboats were visible near the
town. The moment it was discovered that the frigate was in
trouble these dogs of war would be out. Captain Bainbridge
gave orders to lighten the ship with all speed. All but a
few of her guns were thrown overboard. The anchors were cut
from the bows. The water-casks in the hold were started, and
the water pumped out. All heavy articles were thrown
overboard, and finally the foremast was cut away. But all
proved in vain. The ship still lay immovable on the rocks.
The gunboats of the enemy now surrounded her, and were
growing bolder every minute. There was nothing for it but
surrender. Resistance could only end in the death of all on
board.
But before hauling down his flag, Captain Bainbridge had the
magazine drowned, holes bored in the ship's bottom, the
pumps choked, and every measure taken to insure her sinking.
Then the colors were lowered and the gunboats took
possession, three hundred and fifteen prisoners being
captured. The officers were well treated by the bashaw of
Tripoli, but an enormous ransom was demanded for them, and
all signs of an inclination to peace disappeared.
Captain Bainbridge's efforts to sink the Philadelphia proved
ineffectual. During a high wind the prize was got off the
reef, her leaks stopped, and she taken in triumph to the
city. Her guns, anchors, and other articles were raised from
the reef, the ship was moored about a quarter of a mile from
the bashaw's castle, and her injuries repaired, it being the
intention to fit her for sea as a Tripolitan cruiser.
These were the events that preceded the daring attempt we
have detailed. Lieutenant Stephen Decatur had volunteered to
make an effort to destroy the vessel, with the aid of a
recently-captured ketch, called the Mastico. This, renamed
the Intrepid, manned with a crew of seventy-six men, had
entered the harbor on the evening of February 3, 1804. What
followed, to the capture of the frigate, has been told. The
succeeding events remain to be detailed.
Doubtless Lieutenant Decatur would have attempted to carry
off the prize had it been possible. His orders, however,
were to destroy it, and the fact that there was not a sail
bent or a yard crossed left him no alternative. The command
was, therefore, at once given to pass up the combustibles
from the ketch. There was no time to be lost. The swimming
fugitives would quickly be in the town and the alarm given.
Every moment now was of value, for the place where they were
was commanded by the guns of the forts and of several armed
vessels anchored at no great distance, and they might look
for an assault the instant their character was determined.
With all haste, then, officers and men went to work. They
had been divided into squads, each with its own duty to
perform, and they acted with the utmost promptitude and
disciplined exactness. The men who descended with
combustibles to the cockpit and after-store-rooms had need
to haste, for fires were lighted over their heads before
they were through with their task. So rapidly did the flames
catch and spread that some of those on board had to make
their escape from between-decks by the forward ladders, the
after-part of the ship being already filled with smoke.
In twenty minutes from the time the Americans had taken
possession of the ship they were driven out of her by
flames, so rapidly had they spread. The vessel had become so
dry under those tropical suns that she burned like pine. By
the time the party which had been engaged in the store-rooms
reached the deck, most of the others were on board the
Intrepid. They joined them, and the order to cast off was
given. It was not an instant too soon, for the daring party
were just then in the most risky situation they had been in
that night.
The fire, in fact, had spread with such unexpected rapidity
that flames were already shooting from the port-holes. The
head fast was cast off, and the ketch fell astern. But the
stern fast became jammed and the boom foul, while the
ammunition of the party, covered only with a tarpaulin, was
within easy reach of the increasing flames.
There was no time to look for an axe, and the rope was
severed with swords-blows, while a vigorous shove sent the
Intrepid clear of the frigate and free from the danger which
had threatened her. As she swung clear, the flames reached
the rigging, up which they shot in hissing lines, the ropes
being saturated with tar which had oozed out through the
heat of the sun.
The Intrepid did not depend on her sails alone for escape.
She was provided with sweeps, and these were now got out and
manned with haste, a few vigorous strokes sending the vessel
safely away from the flaming frigate. This done, the crew,
as with one impulse, dropped their oars and gave three
rousing cheers for their signal victory.
Their shouts of triumph appeared to rouse the Moors from
their lethargy. So rapid and unlooked-for had been the
affair, that the vessel was in full flame before the town
and the harbor were awake to the situation. There were
batteries on shore, and two corsairs and a galley were
anchored at no great distance from the Philadelphia, and
from these now the boom of cannon began. But their fire was
too hasty and nervous to do much harm, and the men of the
Intrepid seized their sweeps again and bowled merrily down
the harbor, their progress aided by a light breeze in their
sails.
The spectacle that followed is described as of a beauty that
approached sublimity. The ship, aflame from hull to peak,
presented a magnificent appearance, the entire bay was
illuminated, and the flash and roar of cannon were constant,
the guns of the Philadelphia going off as they became
heated, and adding to the uproar. She lay so that one of her
broadsides was directed towards the town, thus returning the
enemy's fire, while the other sent its balls far out into
the harbor. "The most singular effect of the conflagration
was on board the ship, for the flames, having run up the
rigging and masts, collected under the tops, and fell over,
giving the whole the appearance of glowing columns and fiery
capitals."
The Intrepid moved on down the harbor, none the worse for
the cannon-balls that were sent after her, and continued her
course until she reached her consort, the Siren, which
awaited her outside the harbor. Joining company, they
proceeded to Syracuse, where the fleet then lay.
The exploit we have here described was one of the most
notable in the annals of the American navy. It was one that
needed the utmost daring combined with the most exact
attention to details, and in both these respects there was
nothing wanting to insure the success of the enterprise. The
hour was well chosen, as that in which the foe would most
likely be off their guard, and to this we must ascribe the
slowness of their assault on the Americans and the
uncertainty of their aim. The mode of approach to the
frigate, the skill with which the ketch was laid alongside
without exciting suspicion, and the rapidity and
completeness with which the destruction of the prize was
prepared for, were all worthy of high commendation. As for
the boldness of the enterprise, one has but to consider what
would have been the fate of the Americans had the attack
failed. Directly under the frigate's guns, and in a harbor
filled with gunboats and armed cruisers and surrounded by
forts and batteries, escape would have been impossible, and
every man in the Intrepid must have perished. The greatest
courage, coolness, and self-possession, and the most exact
discipline, alone could have yielded success in the daring
project, and these qualities seem to have been possessed in
a high degree.
The success of this exploit gave Lieutenant Decatur a
reputation for gallantry which had its share in his
subsequent elevation to the highest rank in the navy. The
country generally applauded the feat, and the navy long
considered it one of its most brilliant achievements, it
being deemed a high honor among sailors and officers to have
been one of the Intrepid's crew. The writer of these pages
may add that it is to him a matter of some interest that the
first man to reach the deck of the Philadelphia on that
memorable night was a namesake of his own, Midshipman
Charles Morris. For the credit of the name he is also glad
to say that Mr. Morris in time become a commodore in the
navy, and attained a high reputation as an officer both in
war and peace.