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 Somerswantsto 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 theAmericanoswere; 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 theAmericanoswere.
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.
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.”
“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.