  Never had the blue Mediterranean and the quaint old town of Syracuse and its fair harbor looked more beautiful than on a certain sunny September afternoon in 1803. The green shores of Sicily stretched as far as the eye could reach; the white-walled town, with its picturesque and half-ruined castle, lay in the foreground; while looming up on the farthest horizon was the shadowy cone of Etna with its crown of fire and smoke. The harbor contained a few fishing vessels, most of them with their white lateen sails furled, and motionless upon the water. A large pleasure boat, with a gay red awning, moved lazily across the “lesser harbor,” while two or three fruit-laden vessels were beating in or out of the offing under a “soldier’s wind”—that is, a wind which enables a ship to go in any direction she wishes. But in the midst of all this placid beauty lay a war ship—the majestic Constitution—the darling frigate of her country, looking as if she commanded everything in sight. Never was there a more warlike-looking ship than Old Ironsides. Her towering hull, which was higher than the masts of most of the vessels in the sunlit harbor, was, like all American ships, painted black. In contrast to this were her polished decks, her shining masts and spars, and her snowy canvas, whose whiteness was visible although tightly clewed up. Her ports were open to admit the air, and through them could be seen a double row of wicked-looking muzzles, like the grin of a mastiff. The other vessels rocked with the tide and wind, but the great frigate seemed to lie perfectly still, as if defying both wind and tide. Her colors, too, caught some wandering puff of air, and “Old Glory” fluttered out proudly, while the other flags in sight drooped languidly. At anchor near her were two small but beautiful schooner-rigged vessels, which also flew American colors. They were precisely alike in their lines, their rig, and the small but serviceable batteries they carried. On the stern of one was gilded “Nautilus,” while on the other was “Siren.” These were indeed the gallant little vessels that Somers had written to Decatur about, and his dream was realized. He commanded the Nautilus, while Decatur commanded the Argus, a sister vessel, which was hourly expected. The perfect quiet of the golden afternoon was broken when around the headland came sailing another small but beautiful cruiser, schooner-rigged, and wearing American colors. As soon as she had weathered the point of land, and had got fully abreast of the Constitution, her guns barked out a salute to the commodore’s pennant flying on the Constitution, which the frigate acknowledged. The schooner had a handsome figurehead, and on her stern was painted, in gold letters, “Argus.” She came to anchor in first-class man-of-war style, close under the Constitution’s quarter, and in a wonderfully short time her sails were furled, and her anchor had kissed the ground, the cable emitting sparks of fire as it rushed out of the hawse-hole. In a quarter of an hour her gig was lowered, and her young commander, Stephen Decatur, stepped into the boat and was pulled toward the Constitution. At that time neither he nor Somers was turned of twenty-four, although both were commanding officers. As the boat shot past the Nautilus, Decatur stood up and waved his cap at the officers, but he observed that Somers was not among them. A captain’s gig, though, looking like a mere speck under the great quarter of the Constitution, made Decatur surmise that Somers was at that moment on board the flagship. The two had parted only six weeks before, when, Somers’s vessel being ready in advance of Decatur’s, he had sailed to join Commodore Preble’s squadron in the Mediterranean. The prospect of seeing Somers again raised Decatur’s naturally gay and jovial spirits to the highest pitch, and he tried to distinguish among the officers scattered about the Constitution’s decks the handsome, lithe figure of his friend. While watching the frigate as he advanced toward it, he saw another boat come alongside; an officer stepped out and ran lightly up the ladder, while the boat pulled back to the shore. Decatur was struck by the fact that this officer, who was obviously a young man, wore two epaulets. In those days only flag officers were allowed to wear two—all others wearing but one. Commodore Preble was, in fact, the only man in the whole American fleet then in European waters who was entitled to wear two epaulets. Decatur was much puzzled by the officer’s uniform, and the only explanation that occurred to him was that the gallant Preble had been superseded—an event which would have filled him with regret. Although the commodore was a stranger to him, Decatur had conceived the highest respect for his abilities, and had heard much of his vigor and enterprise, to say nothing of his untamable temper, which at first the officers chafed under, but had soon come to regard as “Old Pepper’s way,” for so the midshipmen had dubbed Commodore Preble. The deck was full of officers, standing about enjoying the lovely afternoon, and they all watched with interest the Argus’s boat, knowing it contained Decatur. While it was still a hundred yards off Decatur recognized the figure of Somers running down the ladder, and in a few minutes Decatur literally jumped into Somers’s arms. Their affectionate way of meeting amused their shipmates very much, and even Danny Dixon, who was Decatur’s coxswain, grinned slyly at the men in the boat, and whispered, as the two young captains went up the ladder together, their arms entwined like schoolboys: “They’re lovyers, them two be. They keeps locks o’ each other’s hair, and picters in their bosoms!” The officers greeted Decatur warmly, among them Macdonough, now a tall young fellow of eighteen; but Decatur noticed that all of them seemed convulsed with laughter. Lieutenant Trippe, who was officer of the deck, laughed to himself as he walked up and down. A little way off, Moriarity, who was quartermaster, was standing just as near the dividing line between the quarter-deck and the forecastle as the regulations allowed, his mouth stretched from ear to ear, and even the stolid marine who stood guard at the hatchway wore a broad smile. Two or three midshipmen loitering about grinned appreciatively at each other. “Why, what’s the meaning of this hilarity, Somers?” cried Decatur, observing a smile even on his friend’s usually grave countenance. “Matter enough,” responded Somers, bursting out into a shout of laughter. “The commodore needed a surgeon’s mate for this ship, so he succeeded in getting a little Sicilian doctor for the place. He was entered on the ship’s books regularly under an acting appointment and ordered to prepare his uniforms and outfit and report on board this afternoon. Well, just now he came aboard, in full regalia, with cocked hat and side arms, but instead of having one epaulet, he has two; and the commodore isn’t the man to permit any equality between himself and a surgeon’s mate. The little fellow has gone below, and—ha! ha!—we are waiting for the explosion.” There was one of the midshipmen, though, the youngest and smallest of them all, a bright-faced lad of fourteen, who laughed as much as the rest, but who looked undoubtedly a little frightened. “Mr. Israel, there,” continued Somers, still laughing, “was the officer to whom the doctor applied for instructions about his uniforms, and we are apprehensive that the commodore may call upon Mr. Israel for an explanation.” “I—I don’t know what I shall do,” faltered the little midshipman, “if old Pep—I mean the commodore—should ask me. I’m sure I’d never have the nerve to own up, and I certainly can’t deny that I did tell the doctor he’d look well in a cocked hat and two epaulets.” “Never mind, Pickle,” said Macdonough, clapping the boy on the shoulder, “you’re always in mischief anyhow, so a little more or less makes no difference.—Captain Decatur, we in the steerage do our best to reform Mr. Israel, but he has a positive genius for getting into scrapes.” “Queer thing, that, for a midshipman,” answered Decatur, with a wink. “That was the way with Captain Somers when we were midshipmen together on ‘Old Wagoner.’ If it had not been for my watchful eye and discreet judgment, he would have been in trouble all the time.” This was so conspicuously to the contrary of the truth, that Somers did not condescend to deny it, merely remarking: “A likely yarn, that.” Scarcely were the words out of Somers’s mouth before a wild yell was heard from below. The next moment the unlucky Sicilian dashed out of the cabin, hotly pursued by Commodore Preble himself. The commodore was six feet high, and usually of a grave and saturnine countenance. But there was nothing grave or saturnine about him then. He had been in the act of shaving when the surgeon’s mate with the two epaulets appeared, and he had not taken time to wipe the lather off his face or to take off his dressing-gown, nor was he conscious that he was flourishing a razor in his hand. The Sicilian, seeing the razor, and appalled by the reception he had met with, had taken to his heels; and the commodore, determined to have an explanation, had followed him, bawling: “What the devil do you mean, you lubberly apothecary, by appearing before me in that rig? Two epaulets and a cocked hat for a surgeon’s mate! I got you, sir, to pound drugs in a mortar—not to insult your superiors by getting yourself up like a commodore. I’ll have you court-martialed, sir!—no, sir; I’ll withdraw your appointment, and take the responsibility of giving you the cat for your insolence!” The poor Sicilian darted across the deck, and, still finding the enraged commodore at his heels, suddenly sprang over the rail and struck out, swimming for the shore. Commodore Preble walked back to where the officers stood, who had watched the scene ready to die with laughter, and shouted: “Mr. Israel, I believe you were the midshipman, sir, that I directed that miserable little pill-maker to go to for information respecting his uniforms?” “Yes, sir,” answered Pickle in a weak voice, the smile leaving his countenance. The others had assumed as serious an expression as they were able, but kept it with difficulty. Not so poor Pickle, who knew what it was to fall into the commodore’s hands for punishment. “And did you, sir, have the amazing effrontery, the brazen assurance, to recommend that little popinjay to have two epaulets and a cocked hat?” roared the commodore. “I—I didn’t recommend him, sir,” replied Pickle, looking around despairingly, and seeing Decatur, Somers, Macdonough, and all the others with their handkerchiefs to their mouths, “but he asked me if I thought two epaulets would look well on him, and I said ‘Y-yes’—and—” “Go on, sir!” thundered the commodore. “And then I—I told him if he had two epaulets he ought to have a cocked hat.” “Mr. Israel,” said the commodore in a deep voice, after an awful pause, “you will go below, and remain there until I send for you!” Poor Pickle, with a rueful countenance, turned and went below, while Decatur, advancing with Somers, managed to recover his composure enough to say: “Commodore Preble, I have the honor of presenting myself before you; and yonder is my ship, the Argus.” It was now the commodore’s turn to be confused. With his strict notions of naval etiquette, the idea that he should appear on the quarter-deck half shaved and in his dressing-gown was thoroughly upsetting. He mumbled some apology for his appearance, in which “that rascally apothecary” and “that little pickle of a midshipman” figured, and, asking Captain Decatur’s presence in the cabin in a few moments, disappeared. As soon as the commodore was out of hearing the officers roared with merriment. “That’s the same old Preble,” said Decatur, laughing, “that I have heard of ever since I entered the navy.” “Yes,” answered Somers. “At first we hated him. Now, there is not an officer in the squadron who does not like and respect him. He is a stern disciplinarian, and he has a temper like fire and tow. But he is every inch a sailor and a gentleman, and all of us will one day be proud to say, ‘I served under Preble at Tripoli!’” “Yes,” broke in Trippe. “On the outward voyage, one very dark night, we found ourselves suddenly about half a cable’s length off from a large ship of war. We hailed her, but got no answer. After a very little of this, the commodore sent the men to quarters, had the guns run out, and took the trumpet himself. Then he shouted: “‘This is the United States frigate Constitution, forty-four guns. This is the last time I shall hail, and if you do not answer I will give you a shot. What ship is that?—Blow your matches, boys!’ “This brought an answer, you may be sure, and a voice out of the darkness replied: “‘If you give us a shot, we will give you a broadside! But since you are so anxious to know, this is His Britannic Majesty’s ship Donegal, razee, eighty guns!’ “‘I don’t believe you!’ bawled back old Preble; ‘and I shall stick by you until daylight to find out what you are!’ “The men gave a great cheer then, and the officers joined in—for we couldn’t help cheering a man who with a forty-four gives the lie to another man with an eighty-gun ship. In a little while, though, a boat came alongside with a very polite explanation. The ship really was the Maidstone frigate, thirty-eight guns, and the delay in answering our hails came from suspecting that we might be French, and therefore they wanted to get their people at quarters. After that we all felt differently toward ‘Old Pepper,’ as the steerage fellows call him, and we know his heart is all right if his temper is all wrong.” The conversation then turned upon the distressing news of the loss of the frigate Philadelphia, the handsomest in the world, and the capture of all her company by the Tripolitans. While commanded by Bainbridge, Decatur’s old captain in the Essex, the Philadelphia had run upon a rock at the entrance to the harbor of Tripoli, and, literally mobbed by a Tripolitan flotilla, she was compelled to surrender. All her guns had been thrown overboard, and every effort made to scuttle her, when the Americans saw that capture was inevitable, but it was with grief and shame that the officers of the Constitution told Decatur that the ship had been raised, her guns fished up, her masts and spars refitted, and she lay under the guns of the Bashaw’s castle in the harbor, flying the piratical colors of Tripoli at her peak. If anything could add to the misery of the four hundred officers and men belonging to her, it was the sight of her, so degraded, which they could not but witness from the windows of their dungeons in the Bashaw’s castle. Her recapture had been eagerly talked over and thought over, ever since her loss; and it was a necessary step in the conquest of the piratical power of the Barbary States, for she would be a formidable enemy to any ship, even the mighty Constitution herself. When Decatur entered the cabin, nothing could have been a greater contrast to the scene he had lately witnessed. Commodore Preble was handsomely shaved and dressed, and was a model of dignity and courtesy. He made no allusion to what had just happened, but at once began questioning Decatur as to their present and future plans. “I have a plan, sir,” said Decatur, after a while, with a slight smile—“just formed since I have been on this ship, but nevertheless enough developed for me to ask your permission. It is, to cut out the Philadelphia as she now lies in the harbor at Tripoli. I hear that when Captain Bainbridge was compelled to haul down his flag he ordered the ship scuttled. Instead of that, though, only a few holes were bored in her bottom, and there was no difficulty in patching them and raising her.” As Decatur spoke, some inward voice seemed to cry out to him, “Hold on to this plan, for that way lies immortality!” His dark eyes gleamed with a strange light, and he seemed to hear such words as “Glory! immortality!” thundering in his ears. As soon as he spoke, Commodore Preble answered him quickly and firmly: “Certainly, the ship must be destroyed, for the honor of the flag, and it will also be a measure of prudence in the coming campaign against the fleet and town of Tripoli. But as to cutting her out, that is an impossible thing.” “I think not, sir,” answered Decatur, with equal firmness. “You think not, Captain Decatur, because you are not yet twenty-five years old. I think to the contrary, because I am more than forty. The flag will be vindicated if the Philadelphia is destroyed, and never permitted to sail under Tripolitan colors. Anything else would be quixotic to attempt.” “At all events,” said Decatur, “I may ask the honor of being the one to make the attempt. My father was the Philadelphia’s first commander, and if I can rescue her it will be glory enough for a lifetime.” “No doubt all my beardless captains will ask the same thing,” answered the commodore with a grim smile; “but as you have spoken first, I shall consider you have the first claim.” “Thank you, sir,” answered Decatur, rising. “Whenever you are ready to discuss a plan I shall be gratified.” He then went on deck again. As Decatur felt obliged to return to his ship, Somers went with him, and saying good-by to the officers on the Constitution, with the hope that the little midshipman would get off from the commodore’s wrath, the two friends were soon pulling across the placid harbor. The last rays of the sun were reflected on the water, turning it all red and gold, while in the sky a pale opaline glow still lingered. The two friends had only been separated a few weeks, but they had much to talk about. At dinner, as they sat opposite each other in the cabin, with a hanging lamp between, Decatur, who was overflowing with spirits, noticed that Somers was more than usually grave. “What ails you, man?” cried Decatur. “Those lantern jaws of yours have not opened with a smile since we left the flagship. Are you disappointed about anything?” “Yes,” answered Somers, continuing his dinner with a very rueful countenance. “You will be the one to go upon the Philadelphia expedition. The rest of us will have to hang on to our anchors, while you are doing the thing we all want to do.” “How do you know about that?” asked Decatur, with sparkling eyes and a brilliant smile. “Oh,” answered Somers, resignedly, pushing his plate away, “I had a presentiment as soon as you went down in the commodore’s cabin. Here are the rest of us, who have been wanting to speak of this thing for weeks, and watching each other like hawks, but all afraid to beard the lion in his den; when you, with your cool impudence, just arrived, never saw the commodore in your life before, you go and plump out what you want at your first interview, and get it too. Oh, I guessed the whole business as soon as I saw you come out of the cabin!” “You are too prudent by half, Dick,” cried Decatur, laughing at Somers’s long face. “Now, if I had taken your advice about prudence I never would have got the better of you. The commodore, too, has enough and to spare of prudence—that beggarly virtue. When I offered to go into the harbor of Tripoli with the Argus and bring the Philadelphia out, he said No, she must be destroyed, as it would be too risky to attempt to cut her out. Think of the misery of old Bainbridge and his men when they look out and see this beauty of a ship lying at the mole, with a gang of Tripolitan pirates at work on her!” “I’ll never say a word in favor of prudence again,” groaned Somers, still thinking of his disappointment. Then began questions about their shipmates. Decatur was lucky enough to have as his first lieutenant James Lawrence, who was afterward to give the watchword to the American navy, “Don’t give up the ship!” James Decatur was also in the squadron, although not on the Argus; Decatur also had Danny Dixon as his first quartermaster; while Somers had as his quartermaster, Moriarity, who “never was in ould Ireland, God bless her!” The two young officers went on deck, where they found Danny, whom Somers went forward to greet. Danny was delighted to see him, and could not touch his cap often enough to express his respect for Somers’s new rank. “Lord, Cap’n Somers, when I remember you and Cap’n Decatur as reefers aboard o’ ‘Old Wagoner,’ and now I sees you both commandin’ smart vessels, like the Airgus and the Nartilus, I says to myself, I must be a-gittin’ old. I ain’t very old, sir; you know I warn’t but a little shaver when I was on the Bunnum Richard with Cap’n Paul Jones——” “Yes, yes,” interrupted Somers hastily, remembering that once, started on Cap’n Paul Jones and the Bunnum Richard, Danny was difficult to stop. “We have a fine lot of young reefers here now.” “Yes, sir; Mr. Macdonough, he’s a fine young gentleman, and there’s a little ’un, they calls Mr. Pickle Israel, ’cause he’s allus in a scrape o’ some sort. But he ain’t got no flunk at all in him, and the men says as how, when it’s work or fightin’ to be done, that this little midship-mite is right on top. ’Course, there ain’t no Paul Joneses among ’em, axin’ your pardon, sir—there never was but one Cap’n Paul Jones—but we’ve got as fine a lot o’ young officers as ever I see, and no ladybirds among ’em—all stormy petrels, sir.” Somers presented Danny with a pound of tobacco, which was shown in the fok’sl with great pride, accompanied with more reminiscences of “Cap’n Paul Jones.” Some days passed in giving the men on the Argus liberty and in making ready for a cruise to Tripoli, which was to precede the great attack. The bomb-vessels, shells, and many of the preparations necessary for the gigantic struggle with the pirates were not completed, and would not be for some time; but Commodore Preble wisely concluded to give the Tripolitans a sight of his force, and also to encourage Captain Bainbridge and his companions in captivity by the knowledge that their country had not forgotten them. The commodore had determined to wait for the return of the Siren, under Lieutenant-Commandant Stewart, which had been sent to Gibraltar for some stores and to have some slight repairs made. The Siren, however, did not return as promptly as was expected, which annoyed Commodore Preble excessively. The officers, all of whom were Stewart’s friends, were fearful that it might hurt him very much in the commodore’s opinion. His arrival, therefore, was looked for anxiously, and every hour of the day the question was asked, “Has anything been heard of Stewart?” and every day Commodore Preble’s vexation became more evident. At last, one morning, seeing a very fine merchant ship that was bound for Gibraltar making her way out of the harbor, the commodore signaled to her and sent a boat with a letter to Captain Stewart. The letter was written in the commodore’s most fiery vein and with his curtest decision. It simply directed Stewart to sail at once, without waiting for further repairs. A day or two afterward, when the usual inquiries were made about Stewart, Trippe answered dolefully: “The commodore has just had a letter from him saying his mainmast is so badly sprung that it is unserviceable, and he is having a new one made. Was there ever anything so unlucky? Of course, he can’t get here for a considerable time, and all that time ‘Old Pepper’ will be lashing himself into a rage; and on top of this Stewart gets the commodore’s orders to sail at once.” Things seemed black enough for Stewart, and as they were all looking forward to the chance of distinction in the approaching attack on Tripoli, it seemed more unfortunate than ever. However, one morning, only a day or two after this, a vessel which looked very like the Argus, a sister ship to the Siren, was discerned, and a few minutes revealed her to be the Siren. But she had no mainmast, and her appearance with only one mast was grotesque in the extreme. “What can it be that Captain Stewart is towing?” asked Pickle Israel of Lieutenant Trippe, as the two watched the Siren’s approach from the deck of the flagship. Trippe examined it carefully, but before he could make out what the object was, the commodore walked up, and, handing Trippe his glass, asked him: “Will you be kind enough, Mr. Trippe, to examine the Siren and see what sort of a spar she is towing?” Trippe took the glass, and, after a minute’s survey, he could not refrain from smiling as he answered the commodore: “It is undoubtedly the Siren’s mainmast, sir. As you see, she has only her foremast standing, and the spar is much too big and too long for anything but the mainmast.” Commodore Preble’s mouth twitched; he had never seen a ship of war in such a plight before. He remembered his peremptory orders to Stewart to sail at once. Stewart had evidently taken him at his word, and had sailed with one mast and was towing the other. The good news that Old Pepper had smiled instead of scowling at Stewart’s device quickly communicated itself to the officers and gave them great satisfaction. The reception of the Siren’s captain, when he came aboard the Constitution soon after, was comparatively mild, and his explanation so satisfactory, that he was invited to prolong his visit and have luncheon with the commodore. Decatur and Somers, standing together on the deck of the Nautilus, and seeing that Stewart did not return from the frigate, concluded that he would either be sent home or given a chance for promotion; and much relieved they were at the news brought them that “Old Pepper grinned when Stewart told him about the mainmast, and said that was the way he liked to have his orders obeyed.” The fleet was now assembled for the first demonstration against Tripoli; and not until Commodore Preble had himself seen the Philadelphia and her position in the Tripolitan harbor would he finally fix upon any plan, although Decatur had a promise that he should have the honor of commanding the expedition. One morning, in response to a signal from the Constitution, all the captains—Decatur, Somers, Hull, and Stewart—assembled on the flagship to hold their first council of war with the commodore. As the four young captains met on the quarter-deck, the extreme youth of every one of them seemed to strike them simultaneously. After a moment’s pause Somers remarked: “Decatur will be the only one of us with assurance enough to parley with the commodore.” “Somers,” said Decatur with unwonted gravity, “I do not feel as if I could make a suggestion, or argue with Commodore Preble, if my life depended upon it.” “Heaven help the rest of us, then!” said Stewart dismally. As the four young captains entered the cabin they passed a gentleman of middle age, who was a guest of the commodore’s on board of the flagship. Captain Hull saluted him as Colonel Lear, the American consul at Tangiers, and with a bow to the assembled officers the consul retired. After the usual formalities, which Old Pepper was careful to observe, unless he happened to be in a choleric humor, the captains seated themselves around the table, the commodore at the head. Commodore Preble then opened his plan of campaign, which was listened to with the most respectful attention. He next asked each of the youthful commanders for an individual opinion. Each hastened to agree with that of the commodore. The commodore then asked if any one of them had a suggestion to offer. Somers looked at Decatur, and Decatur looked gravely at Somers. Hull and Stewart looked straight before them. After hemming a little, each one in turn protested that he had no suggestion to make. “Old Pepper,” with a glance around the table, rose suddenly. “Gentlemen,” said he, “this council is over. I regret to say that I have not had, in any way, the slightest assistance from you. Good-morning!” The four young captains filed out in the same order in which they had entered, but very much quicker, and looking like whipped schoolboys. Some hours after, Colonel Lear, entering the cabin, found Commodore Preble sitting at the table, leaning his head on his hands in an attitude of the deepest dejection. “Lear,” said he, raising himself up, “I have been indiscreet in accepting the command of this squadron, with the duty of punishing Tripoli. Had I known how I was to be supported, I certainly should have declined it. The Government has sent me here a lot of schoolboys as commanders of all my vessels, and not one of them but is afraid to open his mouth before me!” Nevertheless, the commodore went on with his preparations, and about the middle of December he set sail. The squadron kept fairly well together for some days. Then a heavy gale arose, and for several days more they did not see each other. Toward night, on the afternoon that the gale abated, Decatur, while off the Tripolitan coast, caught sight of a low vessel with lateen sails and flying Tripolitan colors. He at once gave orders for the pursuit; but the ketch—for such it was—showed herself a fairly good sailer, and it took several hours to overhaul her. She was skillfully navigated and ran very close in shore, hoping to induce the Argus to follow her. But Decatur was wary, and, keeping well off the shore, declined to trust his ship upon the treacherous rocks and shoals toward which the Tripolitans would have led him. At last, just as a faint moon rose in a murky sky, the Argus got to windward of the ketch, and, bearing down on her, opened fire with deadly precision. The Tripolitans at once hauled down their colors; but Decatur, remembering their treachery as told him by Somers, and knowing that the pirates preferred hand-to-hand fighting, did not slacken his fire, but, standing on, ranged up alongside. The call for boarders had been sounded, and, of the Argus’s small company of eighty men, two thirds were ready to spring aboard the Tripolitan at the word. In another minute the two vessels were broadside to broadside. Decatur himself gave the order to board, and as the Americans sprang over the side they were met by every available man in a crew as numerous as their own, and armed with the terrible curved sword of the Barbary pirates. The fight on the deck of the ketch was furious but short. The Tripolitans fought desperately, but in disorder, and within fifteen minutes they were beaten. Decatur, in examining his prize, found that she had sustained but little injury; and bearing in mind, as he had done ever since the first day he had heard of the Philadelphia’s loss, the destruction of the frigate, he determined that the ketch would be of great use on the expedition, and he would therefore take her back to the rendezvous at Syracuse with him. “She is of a build and rig common in the Mediterranean,” he said to his first lieutenant, James Lawrence, who had lately joined, “and in arranging a surprise it would be best to have a Mediterranean vessel, which would not be readily suspected.” Lawrence agreed with his young captain. Leaving the prisoners on board, a midshipman was put in command of the ketch, with a prize crew, and sent back to Syracuse. Decatur then joined the rest of the squadron, and they proceeded to Tripoli, where, lying off the town, they gave it a bombardment by way of a promise of what was to come. The lack of small vessels to enter the tortuous and rocky harbor prevented much damage being done; but the Bashaw saw the fine fleet the Americans could muster, and it was conveyed to him that it would return in a few months with guns, vessels, and bombards to sail in and attack the town in earnest. To Captain Bainbridge and the poor prisoners with him in the dungeons of the castle the sight of “Old Glory” fluttering from the gallant little fleet in the far distance was an assurance of hope, and the cannonade, which was merely a defiance, was sweet music to the captives. The sight of the great Philadelphia riding at anchor under the guns of the castle and the fort, and degraded by wearing the Tripolitan colors, was a sore one for the American officers and sailors. But Decatur, during all the days of the cannonade, kept his eyes fixed on the frigate whenever he could, studying her position, examining charts, and thinking out his scheme for destroying the ship to save her honor. Every time he saw her his heart beat with a strange premonition, and he felt with rapture the presentiment that he was destined to glory in that undertaking. |
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