  The blue and beautiful Delaware Bay, bathed in a faint haze, looked its loveliest, one evening about sunset, in June, 1798. The sky above was clear, and, although there was no moon, the stars were coming out brilliantly in the sky, that was of a darker blue than the water. The sun had gone down, but the west was rosy yet. The green, low-lying country around looked ineffably peaceful, and the only sound that broke the charmed silence was the rattling of the capstan as a noble frigate, lying in the stream, hove up her anchor. Although the brief, enchanted twilight was over all the earth and sea, the graceful outlines of this lovely frigate were clearly defined against the opaline sky. She was stoutly sparred, but in such exquisite proportions that from her rail up she had the delicate beauty of a yacht. But one look at her lofty hull, and the menacing armament she carried showed that she could take care of herself in a fight, as well as run away when she had enough of it. Every rope and every spar was “ship-shape and Bristol fashion.” Her bright work shone like gold, and the rows of glistening hammocks in the nettings were as white as snow. Everything about her was painted an immaculate white, except the hull, which was a polished black. A gorgeous figure-head ornamented her keen bows, and across her stern, in great gold letters, was her name—United States. Such, indeed, was her official name, but from the day she had first kissed the water she had been nicknamed “Old Wagoner,” because of the steadiness with which she traveled. Other vessels might be delayed by vexing calms, but “Old Wagoner” was pretty sure to strike a favoring breeze that seemed specially reserved for her. And when old Boreas was in a rage, it was in vain that he poured out all the fury of his tempests upon her. She could go through a roaring gale like a stormy petrel, and come out of it without losing a sail or a spar. A little way off from “Old Wagoner” lay a trim and handsome little sloop-of-war carrying twenty guns—the Delaware—a fit companion for the great frigate. On both ships were indications of speedy departure, and all the orderly bustle that accompanies making sail on a ship of war. The boats were all hoisted in except the first cutter, and that was being pulled rapidly through the fast-darkening water. In it was a very young lieutenant, who was afterward to distinguish himself as Commodore Stewart, and two young midshipmen, just joined, and each of the three was destined to add something to the reputation that “Old Wagoner” gained in after-years, of having been a nursery of naval heroes. Both of these young midshipmen were about eighteen. One of them—Decatur—looked older, from his height and strength, as well as from his easy and confident address. The other one—Somers—seemed younger, because of a singularly quiet and diffident manner. The lieutenant, in the stern-sheets, engaged in steering the cutter through the mist upon the water without colliding with any of the fishing smacks with which the bay was dotted, yet found time to ask some questions of the young midshipmen, with whom he had long been well acquainted. “I think you two have always been together, have you not?” he asked, keeping meanwhile a bright lookout. “Yes,” answered Decatur, showing his white teeth in a smile. “We have been together ever since we were born, it seems to me. We both remember you when we were at school in Philadelphia, although you were so much older than we.” “I recollect you both perfectly,” answered Stewart, “although you were such little fellows. Somers was the quietest fellow in the school, and you, Decatur, were the noisiest.” “I believe you,” said Decatur, laughing. “I could have gone with my father on the Delaware,” pointing to the smart little sloop-of-war, “but I could not think of leaving Somers alone to fight it out in the steerage of the United States all by himself.” At this Somers turned his eyes on Stewart, with a laugh in them. They were very black and soft, and full of humor, although Somers neither laughed nor talked much. “Don’t mind Decatur, Mr. Stewart,” he said. “Captain Decatur didn’t want him on the Delaware.” “I should think not,” replied Stewart. “I can’t imagine anything more uncomfortable than for a captain to have his own son among the junior officers. Captains, you know, have to understand what to see and what not to see. But a captain with his own son in the steerage would have to see everything.” “Just what my father said,” added Decatur; “and, besides, he really did tell me he would like to keep Somers and me together for our first cruise, because Somers is such a steady old coach that he is fit to be the guardian of every midshipman in the navy.” “I wish there were more like him, then,” said Stewart, with rather a grim smile, remembering what a larky set of youngsters the steerage of “Old Wagoner” harbored. “Let me give you each one piece of advice,” he added, as they drew close to the frigate’s great black hull, that loomed up darkly in the uncertain haze. “Decatur, do you be careful what you say to your messmates—Somers, do you be careful what you allow your messmates to say to you. Decatur will be too quick to take the other midshipmen up, and you, Somers, will be too slow.” “Thank you, sir,” said both Somers and Decatur together, who appreciated Stewart’s few words of caution. Just then the band on the poop of “Old Wagoner” burst into “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” The music rang over the darkening water with a charming sound, and the capstan rattled around at the liveliest possible rate, while the men worked, inspired by the melody. The boat was quickly brought alongside, and, just as Stewart and the two young midshipmen stepped on board, the officer of the deck called out the quick order: “Strike the bell eight! Call the watch!” The boatswain, with his mates, had been standing ready, and as soon as eight bells struck he piped up “Attention!” and was answered by all his mates in quick succession. Then he blew a musical winding call, ending suddenly by singing out, in a rich bass, “All the watch!” This, too, was answered, every voice deeper than the other, and then the watch came tumbling up the hatchways. The wheel and chain were relieved, the officer of the deck perceived his own relief coming, and put on a cheerful smile. While all the busy commotion of relieving the watch was going on, Decatur and Somers were paying their respects to Commodore Barry, who commanded the ship—an old Revolutionary officer, handsome and seamanlike, who gloried in his beautiful ship, and was every inch a sailor. The wind had been stealing up for some little time, and as soon as the anchor was lifted, “Old Wagoner” shook out all her plain sails and shaped her course for the open sea. Decatur and Somers, on going below, were introduced to their messmates, Bainbridge, Spence, and others, and were shown where to sling their hammocks. Decatur directed everything in their joint arrangements, Somers quietly acquiescing—so much so that he overheard one of the midshipmen say knowingly to the others, “I think our new messmate is the sort of fellow who likes to be under the lee of the mizzenmast better than any other place on deck.” Somers did not quite take in that he was referred to, and went on very calmly stowing his traps away. Decatur did not hear the remark. Dinner was served promptly in the steerage, and by that time “Old Wagoner” was dashing along in great style, with every sail drawing like a windlass. At dinner the prospects of their cruise were freely discussed. The United States Government having on hand the quasi war with France, the frigate and the sloop of war were under orders to sail to the West Indies, and to clear out the great number of fleet French privateers that were playing havoc with American commerce. Each midshipman expressed the conviction that “we’ll meet some of those rattling good French frigates; and when ‘Old Wagoner’ barks up, they’ll either have to leg it faster than she can, or they’ll be chewed up—that’s certain.” Likewise all of them fully believed that they would return from the cruise covered with glory, and with a hundred thousand dollars each in prize money. The views of the older officers up in the wardroom were more conservative; but with a lot of merry, reckless young midshipmen the roseate hue always prevails. Decatur, with his dashing manner, his fine figure, and his ready laugh, became instantly popular. Somers’s quietness was not very well understood, and before the day was out, Decatur was asked with the frankness of the steerage, if “Somers wasn’t a little—er—rather a milksop?” “You think so?” answered Decatur, with a grin. “Very well. I’ve known Somers ever since I was born. We went to our first school together—and our last—and I tell you, for your own good, that you had better mind your p’s and q’s with that sort of a milksop.” Everything progressed very pleasantly for the first day or two, but it was impossible that two new arrivals in the steerage could escape the “running” which, according to the code prevailing then, makes a man of a midshipman. Decatur achieved an instant popularity, so that the pranks played on him were comparatively mild, and were taken with laughing good nature. Somers was also amiable enough in regard to his “running.” In fact he was too amiable, for his messmates rather resented his want of spirit, as they mistakenly supposed. Therefore it was that, three times in one day, Somers was told that he was “too fond of the lee of the mizzenmast.” “That means,” said Somers quietly, and looking the youngster in the face who last made the remark, “that you think I haven’t much spunk? Very well. We shall both be off duty until to-night. Couldn’t we go to some quiet place in the hold where we could have it out?” “Fighting is strictly prohibited on board ship,” sung out Bainbridge, one of the older midshipmen, in a sarcastic voice. “Squabbling, you mean,” chimed in another one. “That, I grant you, is unbecoming an officer and a gentleman; but when two fellows have a falling out in the steerage, why, the regulation squints exactly the other way; it means that the two fellows must have it out, like gentlemen, and no bad blood afterward.” “Just what I think,” said Somers; “and as I hate fighting, I want to get through with all I shall have to do in that way in as short a time as possible; so I will settle with two other young gentlemen to-day against whom I have an account. Then, if I get my eye blacked, I will only have one hauling over the coals for three scrimmages.” “You don’t mean to fight three fellows in one day?” asked Bainbridge in surprise. “Yes,” answered Somers nonchalantly.—“Decatur, you settle the particulars,” and he walked off, as composed as ever. “I told you fellows what a Trojan Somers was when he was started,” remarked Decatur, “and now you’ll see for yourselves. He is wiry and as strong as a buffalo, and he is first-class with his fists, and—— Well, you’ll see!” As these little affairs were conducted strictly according to the code, they were arranged in a very business like manner. Fair play was the watchword, and all the midshipmen who were off duty assembled to see the fun. When Somers had knocked the wind out of his first adversary and brought him to apologize, it was proposed that the other affairs should be postponed; but Somers, being in for it, and the exercise rather warming his blood, invited his persecutor Number Two to “come on.” He came on, with disastrous results in the way of a good, wholesome pounding and a swelled nose. The third encounter following, Decatur begged Somers to be allowed to take his place. “Why, I’m like Paul Jones!” cried Somers, laughing, as he sponged off his neck and head. “I haven’t begun to fight yet.” True it was that Somers was then perfectly able to do up Number Three in fine style. As he stood astride over his opponent, who frankly acknowledged himself whipped, a mighty cheer went up from the surrounding audience of midshipmen, and every one of them, including his late opponents, came forward to shake Somers’s hand. The noise of the cheer penetrated from the hold up to the wardroom, where some of the lieutenants were sitting around. Stewart smiled significantly. “I think I know what that means,” he said. “The fellows have been running a rig on Somers, and I predict he has come out ahead. That fellow has an indomitable spirit under that quiet outside.” Some hours afterward, when Somers had to report on deck, he bore unmistakable marks of his encounters. His nose was considerably larger than usual, one eye had a black patch over it, and there was a bit of skin missing from his chin. Stewart, looking at him attentively, could scarcely keep his face straight as he remarked: “Falling down the ladder, I presume, Mr. Somers, from your appearance. You should be careful, though, not to fall down too often.” “Yes, sir, I did fall down,” answered Somers, very diplomatically, without mentioning that, when he fell, a messmate was on top of him. That day’s work established Somers’s popularity in the steerage, and the three midshipmen whom he had pommeled became his staunch friends. “And I’ll tell you what,” he announced, “this is the last fighting I’ll do while I am in this mess. You fellows may walk over me if you like, before I will take the trouble to lick any more of you.” But nobody walked over him after that. Decatur gave immediate promise of brilliancy as a seaman; but Somers was not far behind, and his uncommon steadiness recommended him highly to the lieutenants. Stewart, dining one night in the cabin with the commodore, was giving his impressions of the junior officers to the commander, who wished to appoint a master’s mate of the hold—a place always given to the most reliable and best informed of the midshipmen. “They are all as fine a lot of youngsters, sir, as I ever saw. That young Decatur is a remarkable fellow. He finds out more than any of the rest, because he never has to ask the same thing twice. Before he had been on board a week he knew every rope and where each is belayed; and the clever youngster writes with a pencil, behind the rail, everything he is told. There’s a very good manual of seamanship written under the starboard rail, and Decatur and Somers may be seen every day, when they are not on duty, putting their heads together and studying it out.” “And how about young Somers?” asked the commodore. “Somers is the only one who rivals Decatur, and I must say I consider him the best-balanced young fellow of his age I ever knew. His messmates have nicknamed him ‘Old Reliable.’ He is not so brilliant a boy as Decatur, but he is steady to the utmost degree. Nothing flusters him. He is never too early, and never too late; he goes on his way quietly, and I do not think he has had a reproof since he has been on board. And he evidently studied seamanship thoroughly before he was commissioned—just what I should expect of such a long-headed fellow.” “Then Somers shall be master’s mate of the hold,” said the commodore, decisively. Next day Somers was sent for to the cabin and informed of the commodore’s choice. He merely said: “Thank you, sir; I shall do my best.” But Commodore Barry felt well assured that Somers’s “best” was a good “best.” Somers went down to the midshipmen’s dinner that day, and said nothing of his appointment. Each of the reefers was eager to get the place of trust, and they began talking of it. Somers wished to tell them of his good fortune, but a kind of bashfulness restrained him. He turned red, though, and became more silent than usual. Decatur, who sat next him, looked keenly at him. “Somers, something is up, I see; and I believe—I believe you are going to be master’s mate,” he said. Somers blushed more than ever as he answered: “I am master’s mate. I was appointed to-day.” Decatur, with one stretch of his powerful arm, raised his chum up standing. “You good-for-nothing lubber, you are made master’s mate, while Bainbridge and Spence, and all the rest of us that are worth ten of you, are passed over! I’m going to prefer charges against the commodore for gross favoritism in giving you the appointment.” Somers always submitted to this sort of horse-play from Decatur without the slightest resistance, and the effect was very comical. Decatur, after shaking him vigorously, plumped him back in his chair, when Somers calmly resumed his dinner as if nothing had occurred. “Mr. Somers,” said Bainbridge politely—who was the oldest midshipman on board, and, as caterer of the mess, sat at the head of the table—“the officers of this mess have very grave doubts of your fitness for the place to which the unwarranted partiality of the commodore has elevated you; and we desire to form some idea of how extensive are your disqualifications. Suppose, sir, this ship were proceeding with a fair wind, under all sail except one topmast studding sail, and you were officer of the deck. Suppose again, sir, that the alarm were given, ‘Man overboard!’ and you should perceive that my dignified corporosity was the man overboard. Now, please state to me, Mr. Somers, categorically, what would be the first thing you would do in such an emergency?” The new master’s mate. Somers laid down his knife and fork, folded his arms and reflected for a few moments, and finally answered: “This is what I should do, Mr. Bainbridge: I should immediately order the other topmast studding sail to be set, if she’d draw, with a view to increase the speed of the ship.” A roar of laughter succeeded this, which was repressed by Bainbridge sternly rapping for order. “Gentlemen, this is not the undignified cabin or the disorderly wardroom. This—please remember—is the model mess of the ship, the steerage mess, and order must be preserved, if I have to lick every one of you to get it.” “Spence,” said Decatur, holding out his plate and trembling violently, “G-give me some of that salt horse. It may be the l-l-last time, dear Spence, that we shall ever eat salt horse together. When the discipline of this ship is so relaxed that Somers, who doesn’t know a marlin-spike from the mainmast, is promoted, it’s time we were all making our wills. Our time is short, Spence; so give me a good helping, old man.” “I know more seamanship than all of you lubbers put together,” quietly remarked Somers, going on with his dinner. “Hear! hear!” cried Bainbridge. “Mr. Somers, you are facetious to-day.” Decatur, at this, got up and went to the nook that he and Somers occupied together. He came back with a black bottle labeled “Cherry bounce.” “Gentlemen,” said he, “Mr. Somers feels so acutely your kind expressions of confidence in him, that he begs you will drink his health in this bottle of cherry bounce which he has been saving up for this auspicious occasion.” Somers said nothing as his cherry bounce was liberally distributed, leaving only a very small glass of the dregs and heel-taps for himself; and his good nature under so much chaff made the reefers more jolly than ever. His health, with many pious wishes that he might learn to know a handy-billy when he saw it, was drunk with all honors; and as a great favor he was permitted to drink his one small glass in peace. In the midst of the jollity a commotion was heard overhead, and the cry of “Sail, ho!” In another moment every midshipman made a dash for the gangway and ran on deck. Nearly every officer of the frigate was there too. Commodore Barry glass in hand, watched from the flying bridge, a sail off the starboard quarter. By the squareness of her yards and the symmetry of her sails she was evidently a ship of war, and was coming down fast. The Delaware, which sailed equally as well as “Old Wagoner,” was close by to starboard. On sighting the strange and menacing ship, the Delaware was seen to bear up and draw nearer her consort—for it was well known that a contest with a French ship would by no means be declined by any American ship. Commodore Barry, who was a veteran of the glorious days of Paul Jones and the gallant though infant navy of the Revolution, was more than willing to engage. Every moment showed more and more clearly the character and force of the stranger. The day was bright and cloudless, and, as they were in the sunny atmosphere of West India waters, objects could be seen at a great distance. The frigate was remarkably handsome and sailed well. The Americans counted more than twenty portholes, and very accurately guessed her to be one of the great fifty-gun frigates of which both the French and the English had many at that day. If she were French, it meant a fight; and so nearly matched were the two frigates that it would be the squarest sort of a fight. The excitement on the ships was intense. Several of the more active officers clambered up the shrouds, while the rigging was full of men eager to make out the advancing ship, which was coming along at a good gait; and all were eager to know what colors the commodore would show. “Mr. Ross,” said Commodore Barry, turning to his first lieutenant, “we will show French colors; if he is a ‘Mounseer,’ it will encourage him to make our acquaintance.” The quartermaster, Danny Dixon, a handsome, fresh-faced sailor of middle age, who had served under the immortal Paul Jones, quickly produced French colors, and amid breathless silence he ran them up. The stranger was now not more than a mile distant. She had worn no colors, but on seeing French colors run up at the American frigate’s peak, in another moment she too displayed the tricolored flag of France. At that an involuntary cheer broke from the gallant fellows on “Old Wagoner.” Decatur, behind the commodore’s back, deliberately turned a double handspring, while even the dignified Somers executed a slight pirouette. As for the men, they dropped down upon the deck like magic, and every man ran to his station. Commodore Barry straightened himself up, and the old fire of battle, that had slumbered since the glorious days of the Revolution, shone in his eyes under his shaggy brows. “Mr. Ross,” said he, turning to his first lieutenant, “we are in good luck—in excellent good luck, sir. Signal to the Delaware to keep off. I think the officers and men of this ship would feel hurt if we should mar the beauty of the game we are about to play by having odds in our favor; and call the men to quarters without the tap of the drum. The first man who cheers until we have hailed will be sent below, to remain until after the engagement. I desire to come to close quarters, without telling any more about ourselves than our friend the enemy can find out.” In the midst of a dead silence the signal was made to the Delaware. Only Decatur whispered to Somers, whose station was next his: “Poor old dad! He’d give all his old boots if he could have a share in the scrimmage.” The Delaware then hauled off, making a short tack, and going no farther away than she could help. The strange frigate, whose trim and ship-shape appearance grew plainer at every moment, was now nearly within hail. The American, preparing to bear up and run off as a preliminary to the action, the first lieutenant, under the commander’s eye, stood near the wheel, while Danny Dixon took the spokes. In the midst of the breathless silence, while the strange frigate continued to advance, shortening sail meanwhile, and with her men at quarters and her batteries lighted up, Mr. Ross, watching the trim of “Old Wagoner’s” sails, sung out: “Give her a good full, quartermaster!” “A good full, sir,” answered old Danny steadily, and expecting the next order to be “Hard aport!” But at that moment Commander Barry dashed his glass down with an impatient exclamation. “We are truly unfortunate, gentlemen. She is English. Look at her marines!” At the same instant the stranger, discovering the American’s character, quickly hauled down her French colors and showed the union jack. A loud groan burst from the American sailors, who saw all their hopes of glory and prize money vanish; and it was answered by a corresponding groan from the British tars, who felt a similar disappointment, having taken the American to be a Frenchman. Commodore Barry then ordered her to be hailed, and the first lieutenant called through the trumpet: “This is the American frigate United States, forty guns, Commodore Barry. Who are you?” “This is His Britannic Majesty’s ship Thetis, fifty guns, Captain Langley.” Both ships were on the same tack and going at about the same speed, about half a mile apart. Commodore Barry then hailed again, asking if the English captain had any news of two crack French frigates—L’Insurgente and La Vengeance—that were supposed to be cruising in that station. No answer was returned to this, although it was called out twice. This vexed Commodore Barry, as it did every officer and man aboard. “Wot a pity,” growled Danny Dixon, the quartermaster, to his mates, “that somebody hadn’t ’a’ axerdentally—jist axerdentally, you know—pulled a lockstring and fired one o’ them starboard guns! The Britishers ain’t the sort to refuse a fight; they would ’a’ fired back cocksure, and we could ’a’ had a friendly tussle and found out which were the best ship, and then it could ’a’ been fixed up arterwards—’cause ’twould ’a’ been all a axerdent, you know.” This was agreed with by all of Danny’s messmates, as they left their stations and gathered forward. The two ships were now abreast of each other, and the distance between them was being quickly decreased by Commodore Barry’s orders, who himself took the deck. They were not more than two cables’ lengths apart. The English frigate, which had taken in considerable of her canvas, now took in her royals. The American ship followed suit, so that in a little while both ships had come down to a five-knot gait, although there was a good breeze blowing. They were near enough to hear conversation and laughter on the English ship, and the men gathered on the fok’sl of the Thetis called out loudly to each other, as if to emphasize the rudeness of not returning the hails of the American ship. In the midst of a perfect silence on the United States, which was soon followed on the Thetis, Danny Dixon, who had a stentorian voice, swung himself in the forechains and began to sing as loud as he could bawl: “Boney is a great man, A soldier brave and true, But the British they can lick him, On land and water, too!” This produced a roaring cheer from the British. The Americans, who knew what was coming next, waited, grinning broadly until the laugh should be on their side. The men gathered on the Thetis’s port side, and the officers hung over the rail to catch the next verse. As soon as the cheering was over, Danny fairly shouted, in a voice that could be heard a mile: “But greater still, and braver far, And tougher than shoe leather, Was Washington, the man wot could Have licked ’em both together!” At this “Old Wagoner’s” deck fairly shook with the thunders of cheers from the Americans, the midshipmen joining in with leather lungs, the grave Somers yelling like a wild Indian, while Decatur executed a war-dance of triumph. The Thetis, as if disgusted with the turn of affairs, set her royals and all her studding sails, and began to leg it at a lively pace. “Old Wagoner” followed her example, and the men sprang into the rigging and set exactly the same sails. But they found within five minutes that the American could sail better, both on and off the wind, as she followed the Thetis in her tacks. The Thetis then, keeping her luff, furled sail on the mizzen and took in royals and studding sails. The American did precisely the same thing, and, as she still sailed faster, an old sail containing kentledge was ostentatiously hung astern and acted as a drag, keeping the two ships together. This evidently infuriated the British, but they had found out that the American could walk around the Thetis like a cooper around a cask. They did not care to test it further, and the Thetis therefore sailed sullenly along for half an hour more. The Americans were delighted, especially Commodore Barry, who handled his trumpet as gayly as if he were a midshipman on his first tour of duty as deck officer. He next ordered the topsails lowered. This brought the American down very slow indeed, and she rapidly fell astern of the Thetis. The English thought that their tormentors were now gone. The Americans, suspecting some ruse of the commodore’s, were all on the alert. Presently the commodore cried out jovially: “Now’s the time for carrying all hard sail!” and in five minutes “Old Wagoner” seemed literally to burst into one great white cloud of canvas from truck to rail. Everything that would draw was set; and the breeze, which was every moment growing stronger, carried her along at a perfectly terrific pace. She shot past the Thetis, her gigantic spread of canvas eating the wind out of the Englishman’s sails and throwing them aback, and as she flew by another roaring cheer went up from the Americans. The fun, however, was not over yet. Having got well in advance of the Thetis, “Old Wagoner” bore up, and, hauling her wind, dashed directly across the forefoot of the English ship as the Englishman came slowly on. All the cheering that had preceded was as nothing when this neat manoeuvre was accomplished. The old Commodore, giving the trumpet back to the officer of the deck, was greeted with three cheers and a tiger, and every officer and man on board gloried in the splendid qualities of the ship and her gallant old commander. The brilliant visions of the midshipmen of yardarm-and-yardarm fights with French frigates, with promotion, and prize money galore, failed to materialize, although they had several sharp encounters with fleet French privateers that infested the waters of the French West Indies. With them it was a trial of seamanship, because, if ever a privateer got under the guns of “Old Wagoner,” small was her chance of escape. But the American proved to be a first-class sailer, and nothing that she chased got away from her. Several privateers were captured, but the midshipmen groaned in spirit over the absence of anything like a stand-up fight. It did not seem likely that they would make a port for some time to come. Early in February, cruising to windward of Martinique, they ran across the French privateer Tartuffe—and Tartuffe she proved. She was a beautiful little brigantine, with six shining brass guns, and her captain evidently thought she could take care of herself; for when the United States gave chase and fired a gun from her bow-chasers, the saucy little privateer fired a gun back and took to her heels. The sinking of the French privateer. It was on a bright February afternoon that the chase began. The midshipmen, elated by their triumph in sailing with the great English frigate, thought it would be but child’s play to overhaul the Frenchman. But they had counted without their host, and they had no fool to play with. In vain did “Old Wagoner” crowd on sail; the Tartuffe managed to keep just out of gunshot. All the afternoon the exciting chase continued, and when night fell a splendid moon rose which made the sea almost as light as day. Both ships set every stitch of canvas that would draw, and at daybreak it was found that the frigate had in all those hours gained only a mile or two on the brigantine. However, that was enough to bring her within range of “Old Wagoner’s” batteries. The American then fired another gun as a signal for the Frenchman to haul down his colors. But, to their surprise, the Tartuffe went directly about, her yards flying round like a windmill, and her captain endeavored to run directly under the broadside of the United States before the heavier frigate could come about. One well-directed shot between wind and water stopped the Frenchman’s bold manoeuvre. She began at once to fill and settle, and her ensign was hauled down. Commodore Barry, on seeing this, cried out: “Lower away the first cutter!” and Decatur, being the officer in charge of that boat, dropped into her stern sheets and pulled for the Frenchman. Commodore Barry, leaning over the side, called out, laughing, to Decatur: “I wish you to treat the Frenchman as if he were the captain of a forty-four-gun frigate coming aboard to surrender her. He has made a gallant run.” Decatur, bearing this in mind, put off for the brigantine. The sun was just rising in glory, and as he saw, in the clearness of the day, the plight of the pretty brigantine, he felt an acute pity. Her company of sixty men crowded to the rail, while her captain stood on the bridge, giving his orders as coolly as if his ship were coming to anchor in a friendly port. Decatur, seeing that his boat would be swamped if he came near enough for the men to jump in, called out to the captain, saluting him meanwhile, and asking if he would come off in one of the brigantine’s boats, while the Tartuffe’s helm could be put up, as she was still able to get alongside the United States, and her people could be transferred. “Sairtainly, sir—sairtainly,” answered the French captain, politely, in his queer English. In a few moments the boat containing the captain came alongside the cutter, and the Frenchman stepped aboard. He took his seat very coolly by Decatur in the stern-sheets, and then, putting a single eyeglass in his eye, he cried out, with a well-affected start of surprise: “Is zat ze American flag I see flying? And am I captured by ze Americans?” “Yes,” answered Decatur, trying not to smile. “But I did not know zat ze United States was at war wiz France.” “Perhaps not,” replied Decatur. “But you found out, probably, from the American merchant vessels you captured, that France was at war with the United States.” At that the Frenchman laughed in spite of his defeat. “I can stand a leetle thing like this,” he said. “I have had much good luck, and when I tell my countrymen it took your cracque frigate fourteen hours to catch me—parbleu, zey will not think I have done ill.” “You are quite right, sir,” answered Decatur. “You gave us more trouble to overhaul than a ‘cracque’ English frigate.” The commodore and his officers all treated the brave French captain as if he had been captain of a man-of-war; and as he proved to be a pleasant, entertaining fellow, he enlivened the ship very much. But Commodore Barry was anxious to get rid of so many prisoners, which encumbered the ship, and he determined to stand for Guadeloupe, in the hope of effecting an exchange of prisoners. He therefore entered Basseterre Roads, on a lovely morning a few days after capturing and sinking the Tartuffe. A white flag flying at the gaff showed that he was bent on a peaceful errand. Everything, however, was in readiness in case the men should have to go to quarters. Although the ports were open the guns were not run out, nor were their tompions withdrawn. The French captain, standing on the quarter-deck in his uniform, was easily recognizable. The beautiful harbor of Guadeloupe, with its circlet of warlike forts, looked peculiarly attractive to the eyes of seamen who had been cruising for many long months. “Old Wagoner” had been newly painted, and as she stood in the Roads, under all her square canvas, she was a perfect picture of a ship. Just as they came abreast of the first fort, however, the land battery let fly, and a shower of cannon balls plowed up the water about two hundred yards from the advancing ship. “Haul down that white flag!” thundered Commodore Barry, and Danny Dixon rushed to the halyards and dragged it down in a jiffy, and in another minute the roll of the drums, as the drummer boys marched up and down beating “quarters,” resounded through the ship. The French captain, mortified at the treacherous action of the forts, quickly drew his cap over his eyes and went below. The United States then, with every gun manned and shotted, sailed within gunshot of the first fort that had offered the insult, and, backing her topsails, gave a broadside that sent the masonry tumbling about the ears of the garrison and dismounting several guns. This was followed up by another and another broadside, all accurately aimed, and knocking the fort considerably to pieces. Then, still under short canvas, she slowly sailed around the whole harbor, paying her compliments to every fort within gunshot, but without firing a gun into the helpless town. And when “Old Wagoner” drew off and made her way back to the open ocean, it was conceded that she had served the Frenchmen right for their unchivalrous proceeding. The whole spring was spent in cruising, and it was the first of June when, on a Sunday morning, the ship being anchored, the boatswain and his eight mates, standing in line on the port gangway, piped up that sound so dear to every sailor’s heart, “All hands up anchor for home!” At the same moment the long red pennant, that signifies the ship is homeward bound, was joyfully hoisted at the main, and “Old Wagoner” turned her nose toward home. Just one year from the time they had left the Delaware, Decatur and Somers set foot again upon the green shore of the beautiful bay—happier, wiser, and better fellows for their year in the steerage of the fine old frigate. |
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