which was extreme. But about eleven o'clock the Pomone ranged up under
her lee and poured in a broadside, while the Tenedos was closing in
on the weather quarter, and the Majestic was within gunshot astern.
The President hauled her colors down, and Decatur offered his sword
to Captain Hayes of the Majestic, the ranking officer present. It was
refused in the same noble words which Decatur had used toward Captain
Carden: "I cannot accept the sword of a man who has so bravely defended
his ship."
Decatur was taken to Bermuda, where he was received with the highest
distinction by the great Admiral, Lord Cochrane, and all of the British
officers. At a splendid dinner given him by the British naval officers,
some one was tactless enough to allude to the capture of the President,
at which Lord Cochrane promptly said,--
"The President was mobbed, sir,--simply mobbed."
Decatur and his officers were soon paroled, and sent home in a special
frigate. Peace was declared a few days after, and at New London, where
Decatur was landed, there was a grand celebration of the treaty of
peace, on the 22d of February. The British frigate in which he had been
returned took part in the celebration, and the British and Americans
united, as generous enemies who have become friends should in observing
the glorious occasion.
After the peace, Decatur hoisted his broad pennant on the
Guerrière,[14] and commanded a fine squadron in the Mediterranean,
where his name was always a power. On his return from this cruise he
was made one of the three navy commissioners who were at the head
of the Navy Department in those days. He had amassed a comfortable
fortune, and built a fine house in Washington, near the White House,
and had apparently entered upon a long career of peace and prosperity;
but it was not to be.
It is distressing to chronicle the melancholy end of so glorious
a life. In those days duelling was thought justifiable and even
obligatory on occasions. Decatur lost his life in March, 1820, near
Washington, in a duel with Commodore Barron, concerning some things
he had said about Barron many years before. His death and the manner
of it were universally deplored, and when the anxious multitude who
surrounded his house in Washington was told that he was no more, Reuben
James, the old sailor who had once saved Decatur's life at the risk of
his own, cried out, "The navy has lost its mainmast."
Decatur was the author of that patriotic saying which is heard from
many American lips and is deeply engraved in every American breast: "My
country, may she always be right; but, right or wrong, my country!"
RICHARD SOMERS
The name and fame of Richard Somers will always be of tender and
regretful interest. His gentle and lovable character, his quiet,
undaunted courage, the daring enterprise in which he lost his life at
the early age of twenty-four, all unite in making him one of those
young heroes who are never forgotten. As he died young, so must he ever
remain, a figure of heroic youth, untouched by age or time, illumined
by a melancholy glory. Few circumstances of Somers's early life are
known. Of a singularly modest and reserved nature, he seldom spoke of
himself, and beyond the bare facts of his boyhood and young manhood,
little has been gleaned by his various biographers. His father was a
man of standing and importance, and represented his district in New
Jersey in the Colonial Congress. Somers Point, opposite Cape May, was
the family property. Richard Somers, the youngest of his father's
children, was born in Philadelphia in 1779, whither his family had
removed. It is said that his father was a firm friend and supporter of
General Washington from the beginning of his command of the Continental
army, and that Washington bestowed much kindly notice upon the lad,
Richard Somers. Among Somers's possessions was a ring, which he valued
highly, containing the hair of Washington.
[Illustration: Richard Somers]
The boy went to a "dame's school" in Philadelphia with Stephen Decatur;
and there began that devoted friendship which lasted through Somers's
brief life. No two natures were ever more contrasted than Somers and
Decatur. Somers was mild in the extreme, of the gentlest manners,
silent, and somewhat reserved. Decatur was a young volcano in energy,
and pursued all his objects in life with a fire and impetuosity almost
inconceivable. The affection between the two seemed to be something
deeper and stronger than brotherhood, and joined with it was a
professional rivalry that only such an affection could have prevented
from becoming enmity.
Somers was left an orphan when a lad not more than twelve years old. He
had, however, an uncle who was a second father to him, and he inherited
a respectable property. There is no record of Somers having gone to
sea before he received his appointment as midshipman, of the same date
as Decatur's, 1798. But a number of circumstances indicate that he
was already a capable seaman when he got his midshipman's warrant to
the United States, frigate of forty-four guns. He was made master's
mate of the hold almost immediately on joining the ship, a place given
the steadiest and readiest of the midshipmen, and it is assumed that
he would not have been selected had he not known something of his
profession.
The United States, which wore the broad pennant of Commodore Barry, was
engaged in active cruising in the West Indies during the hostilities
with France in 1799-1801, but never came to close quarters with a
ship of her own size during the cruise. Somers seems to have won the
goodwill of every one on board, including Commodore Barry and the
future Commodore Stewart, who was the first lieutenant. Somers's
mildness seems to have been misunderstood for weakness, and on
hearing of some aspersions upon him, Somers determined, in his cool
and deliberate manner, to show the stuff that was in him. Duelling
was then a common practice among officers of the army and navy, as
well as among all those who classed themselves as gentlemen. Somers
therefore challenged three of his tormentors among the midshipmen, and
arranged that the three duels should be fought one immediately after
another. Decatur was to be his second in all these affairs, and it is
a grotesque circumstance that the origin of the reflections cast on
Somers was from the unresenting way with which he put up with Decatur's
chaff.
In the first two duels Somers received two slight wounds which
prevented him from standing up. Decatur eagerly insisted upon being
allowed to take Somers's place after the first hurt received by
Somers; but Somers refused, and exchanged shots for the third time,
sitting on the ground and held up in the arms of Decatur. It was
the first and last time that his courage was ever doubted, and his
peace-loving and gentle nature was esteemed at its true value ever
afterward.
In 1801 the United States returned home, and Somers's next orders
were to the Boston, of twenty-eight guns, in which, at the age of
twenty-two, he found himself in the responsible situation of first
lieutenant. The Boston was commanded by Captain Daniel McNeill, an old
Revolutionary captain, who was one of the characters of the old navy.
He was a fine seaman and a man of resolution and integrity, but not
very amenable to authority. The Boston was ordered to proceed to Europe
with Chancellor Livingston, who was to arrange terms of peace with
France. They encountered heavy weather, and Captain McNeill carried
sail in such a way as to astonish his young officers; but he had in his
first lieutenant a man almost as well versed in seamanship as himself.
Perhaps no young officer in the navy of that day was so well adapted,
by his conciliatory and amiable manners, to be the first lieutenant of
such a man as Captain McNeill. The Boston had been ordered to report
to Commodore Richard Dale, who was Captain McNeill's senior in rank,
although much his junior in age. But Captain McNeill seems to have had
no notion of putting himself under the orders of a man so much younger
than himself, and although he cruised for nearly two years in the
Mediterranean, ostensibly hunting for the flagship, he managed by the
greatest adroitness never to set eyes on her. He was meanwhile very
actively engaged in his duty, and gave convoy to American vessels,
frightened off the piratical vessels of the Barbary powers, and even
blockaded Tripoli for a time; but he was always just a little too
late or a trifle too early to join the flagship. The cruise afforded
a multitude of amusing anecdotes about this doughty but eccentric
captain, whose character and attainments commanded respect, in spite
of his oddities. Once, at Malaga, at a grand dinner given to Captain
McNeill and his officers, as also to some Swedish officers of high
rank, the American captain was seated between two Swedish admirals. At
nine o'clock a midshipman entered the room, according to orders, and
reported to Captain McNeill that his boat waited. "What did you say?"
asked the captain. The midshipman repeated his announcement, Somers and
the other American officers present waiting in agony for what Captain
McNeill would say or do next. The captain again asked the midshipman
what he said, bawling out, "These bloody Swedes keep up such a
chattering I can't hear what you say!"
Another one of Captain McNeill's adventures was when, lying in a
French port, he wished to test how quickly his ship could be got under
way. Three of his own officers were on shore, but three French naval
officers happened to be on board; so, coolly remarking that he would
hold on to the French officers to keep up his complement, he put to
sea. It was several months before the Frenchmen could return to France,
and meanwhile they had been published as deserters.
At another time, taking a fancy to a regimental band which came
aboard the Boston in an Italian port, he sailed for America with the
musicians, and it was several years before they were all returned to
Italy.
The Boston soon after this returned to the United States, and the
administration of the navy winked at Captain McNeill's peccadilloes, in
view of the actual service he had done during his memorable cruise.
It was at this time that the government determined to send a force out,
under Commodore Preble, to crush Tripoli. Somers got the command of
the Nautilus, one of the four small vessels that were built and sent
out, Stewart getting another, and Decatur a third. Somers was now in
his twenty-fifth year, handsome, well made, and his naturally dark skin
still darker from wind and sun. His manners were polished, and he was
as prepossessing, in his quiet way, as the dashing Decatur. Somers's
black eyes were noticeably melancholy, and after his untimely death
those who loved him fancied they had always seen in his countenance
some premonition of his doom.
The officers who were to command these little vessels superintended
their building, as there were then no regular navy-yards in the
country. The Nautilus, under Somers's command, was the first to
sail, and the first to arrive at Gibraltar, in July, 1803. She was
a beautiful little schooner, of twelve guns, with a crew of nearly
a hundred men. She was, however, very small to cross the Atlantic,
and several times during the voyage Somers was hailed and offered
assistance by friendly shipmasters, who thought the gallant little
vessel must have been blown out of her course.
Somers was one of the boy captains whose youth so disgusted Commodore
Preble when he met them first on their arrival at Gibraltar. But the
commodore found in Somers, as early as with any, the stuff of which
these young officers were made. Somers was very actively engaged in the
labors and cruises which occupied the winter of 1803-4, preparing to
attack Tripoli in the summer. He sympathized ardently with Decatur in
the splendid exploit of the destruction of the Philadelphia. He was
anxious to assist him with the Nautilus, but Stewart's superior rank
and larger command entitled him to support Decatur, which he did in the
Siren. Decatur's success inspired every young captain in the squadron
with a noble desire to equal it, and none more than the quiet and
self-contained Somers.
The preparations for the bombardment of Tripoli continued, and on the
3d of August the first attack took place. Commodore Preble gave the
command of the right division of gun-vessels to Somers, and the left to
Decatur. Somers was supposed to be Decatur's senior at the time, but
the post-captain's commission which the Congress had given Decatur as
a reward for the destruction of the Philadelphia was then on its way,
and arrived a few days after; while the same ship brought Somers's
promotion to a master commandant.
The story of those splendid attacks has been told in the biographies
of Preble and Decatur.[15] On the memorable 3d of August, when the
captives of the Philadelphia in the Bashaw's dungeons first heard from
the guns of the squadron the thundering demand for the release of the
prisoners, Somers, like Decatur, performed prodigies of valor. The
harbor of Tripoli is crossed by a great reef, above the water, and on
which forts and batteries were mounted. At the western end is a narrow
opening of about two hundred yards, while within the reef the rocks and
shoals were so numerous and so difficult that the best seamanship and
the greatest courage were necessary for an attacking enemy. The guns
from the forts and ships nearer the town, too, could be concentrated
on any small craft which passed through this western passage. These
desperate risks did not deter Somers and Decatur, who went inside and
fell upon the Tripolitan gun-vessels with the fury of fiends. On the
3d of August, while Decatur was engaged in his terrible encounter
with the Tripolitan, Somers in a single small gun-vessel held at bay
five gun-vessels, each larger than his own, and fought with savage
determination. The wind was driving him straight on the rocks, and he
had to keep backing his sweeps to save himself from destruction, while
fighting like a lion. The Constitution, seeing his critical position,
came to his support, and, opening her batteries on the Tripolitans,
succeeded in driving them still farther within the reefs, while Somers
brought his gallant little gun-vessel out in triumph.
Four of these dashing attacks were made, in every one of which Somers
and Decatur commanded the two boat divisions. Both had many narrow
escapes. Once, while Somers was leaning against the flagstaff of
his little vessel, as she was on her way to attack, he saw a round
shot coming. He jumped aside, and the next moment the flagstaff was
shattered just at the point where his head had rested. His knowledge of
the interior of the harbor, where the Tripolitans had a large number of
vessels at anchor, inspired him with the design of leading a forlorn
hope,--to strike one great blow, and, if necessary, to die for his
country the next moment. At last he got Commodore Preble's permission
to carry out the daring attempt, which, heroic in its conception, yet
makes one of the saddest pages in the history of the American navy.
The plan was to fit up as a fire-ship, or "infernal," the ketch
Intrepid, in which Decatur had won immortality in the same harbor, take
it in, and explode it among the Tripolitan fleet. Somers earnestly
begged Commodore Preble for the honor of leading this desperate
expedition, and the commodore at last agreed. It would be necessary
to pour one hundred barrels of gunpowder into the hold of the ketch
in order to make it effective as a fire-ship, and before consenting
to this, the Commodore warned Somers that so much powder must not be
allowed to fall into the hands of the Tripolitans. It was during the
Napoleonic wars, powder was in great demand, and the Tripolitans were
supposed to be short of it. After this interview Somers expressed the
determination to be blown up rather than to be captured.
The details of the attack were worked out most carefully. Besides the
powder, the Intrepid was to carry a large stock of splintered wood; and
about two hundred shells, with their fuses prepared, were laid on her
decks, to add their horrors to the explosion. The brave adventurers
had two chances for their lives, in having two boats in which to
escape from the ketch. One of them was a very fast four-oared boat
from Somers's own vessel, the Nautilus, and the other was a six-oared
cutter from the Constitution. Somers was to be in his own boat, while
Lieutenant Henry Wadsworth[16] commanded the Constitution's cutter. Ten
sailors were to be taken along, making twelve persons in all; but the
number was increased to thirteen by a little midshipman, Joseph Israel,
who smuggled himself into the Constitution's boat.
Somers had consulted at every step his bosom friend Decatur,
and Charles Stewart, with whom he had begun his naval life
in "Old Wagoner." Decatur, in his own vessel, the Argus, and
Lieutenant-Commandant Smith, of the Vixen, and Somers's vessel, the
Nautilus, under the command of his first lieutenant, Washington Reed,
were to support the dauntless party in the boats as far as possible.
Everything being ready, on the day after the desperate boat attack
of the 3d of September, in the afternoon, Somers appeared on the deck
of his vessel, and, having the crew piped up, addressed them, telling
frankly the hazardous nature of the attempt he was to make, and calling
for four volunteers who would go with him to advance one step ahead of
the line. For answer, every man and boy on the Nautilus advanced two
steps. This brave spirit was deeply gratifying to Somers, and he was
forced to make a selection. He chose four of his best seamen,--James
Simms, Thomas Tompline, James Harris, and William Keith.
On the Constitution the same spirit was shown, and Lieutenant Wadsworth
selected the six men he needed from the hundreds who were eager to go.
The Constitution's sailors were William Harrison, Robert Clark, Hugh
McCormick, Jacob Williams, Peter Renner, and Isaac Downes. The names of
these humble men deserve to be recorded, for each one was worthy to do,
to dare, and to die with his officers,--Somers, Wadsworth, and Israel.
When the last preparations were made, on the afternoon of September
4, 1804, and the men were assembled on the Nautilus's deck, with the
boats lowered, Somers addressed the ten sailors. He told them that he
wanted no man with him who would not rather be blown up than surrender
to the Tripolitans. The men responded with a cheer; and it was found
that each one had privately asked Somers for the dangerous honor of
applying the match when the time for the explosion came. They then said
good-bye to their shipmates, and indicated what they wished done with
their belongings if they should never return. Somers was accompanied
to the Intrepid by Decatur and Stewart, who remained with him until
the dusk of the September evening warned them that the solemn hour had
come. On parting from them, Somers, who was as tranquil as ever, took a
ring from his finger, and, breaking it in three parts, gave one piece
to Decatur, one to Stewart, and kept the third. The last man over the
Intrepid's side was Lieutenant Reed, who, as Somers's first lieutenant,
was to command the Nautilus.
The night had fallen when the Constitution's boat joined the ketch, and
in it was found the little fifteen-year-old midshipman, Israel, who had
pleaded to go, and, being refused, had smuggled himself into the boat.
There was then no way of getting rid of him, and, admiring his bold
determination, Somers welcomed him on the ketch. There was a light blue
haze on the water, and the night was murky as the "infernal" stole upon
her way. She entered the harbor silently, while outside, in the offing,
the Nautilus, the Argus, and the Vixen stood in as close as they dared.
Presently, in the darkness, the Siren was observed to flit past them.
Stewart, in his anxiety for Somers, had implored Commodore Preble to
let him be near the scene of action, and the commodore had consented.
The Siren ventured farther into the offing than the other vessels,
and Stewart and his officers, like every officer and man on all of
the ships, was intent upon the black shadow of the fire-ship, as she
crept in among the rocks. She was soon discovered, in spite of the
darkness, and a few grape-shot were thrown at her. Stewart was standing
in the Siren's gangway, with one of his lieutenants, anxiously watching
through his night-glass the progress of the Intrepid, when the officer
cried, "Look! see the light!" A light, like a lantern, was seen to
flash across the Intrepid's deck. The next moment a roar as if worlds
were crashing together shook the castle and forts, and rocked the ships
in the offing; a red glare hideously illumined the sea and sky; the
masts and sails of the ketch rose up in the burning air for a moment,
then fell into the fire-lit waves, and all was over. A frightful and
unearthly silence and darkness succeeded. The brigs and schooners
cruised about, their officers and men in anguish over the fate of their
brave companions. The Constitution fired minute-guns all night, so that
if any survived that awful explosion they might know they were not
forgotten. When sunrise came, thirteen blackened bodies floated ashore
at Tripoli. They were so disfigured that the officers could only be
told from the men by the softness of their hands. Bainbridge and his
officers were taken from their captivity to identify the remains of the
thirteen brave souls who had given life itself to hasten the release of
the Philadelphia's gallant company. Not the slightest damage was done
to the Tripolitan ships or forts, or to the town itself.
The ten sailors were buried together near the beach, while the three
officers were laid in the same grave on a plain a little southward of
the castle. Whether Somers blew the ketch up, in his conception of his
duty, or whether the powder was accidentally ignited, can never be
ascertained. All that is known, however, is that he did his duty, as
did every officer and man lost in that perilous attempt. Of each of
them may be said as is written after the name of the little midshipman,
Israel, in the records of the navy, "Died, with honor, in the service,
September 4, 1804."
His country honored Somers by naming for him a beautiful little brig;
but like him it was doomed to misfortune. One of the most terrible
tragedies that ever occurred in the American navy took place upon the
deck of the Somers, and it was afterward lost at sea, going down, as
Somers did, in the darkness and silence of an unfathomed mystery.
ISAAC HULL.
The American navy has produced many men great in the handling of
sailing-ships; but no more capable seaman ever trod the quarter-deck
than Isaac Hull. In all of his achievements his faculty of handling
his vessel, whether great or small, to the utmost possible advantage,
was the most considerable factor in his success; and his tremendous
popularity with seamen, who were always eager to ship with him, came
from their conviction that in time of stress and danger they had a born
sailor to look out for them.
[Illustration: Isaac Hull]
Hull was the son of a Revolutionary officer, and was born at Derby,
Massachusetts, in March, 1775, shortly before the affairs at Lexington
and Concord. His father was taken prisoner and died on one of the
Jersey prison ships, and Isaac was adopted by an uncle, General Hull.
The means and station of the Hull family were such that a liberal
education was within the lad's reach, and he was destined for a course
at Yale College. But he early developed a passion for the sea; and
his uncle, seeing the boy's determined bent, concluded to let him
carry it out. The Continental navy had passed out of existence, and
the reorganization did not take place until 1797-98, so that a naval
career was not open to him at the start. General Hull, however, did
the next best thing possible for the boy, by sending him to sea in a
fine ship owned by a friend of the Hull family. Isaac proved himself
capable and industrious from the start, and by the time he reached his
twenty-first birthday was in command of a small vessel. The desire to
hold a commission in the regular navy possessed him, and in March,
1798, he got a fourth lieutenant's commission, which was dated on his
twenty-third birthday.